Page 99 of Psychopath

Six. Years. Old.

Before that realisation, there was nothing, no memory of his parents. He was raised by a begrudging aunt who ignored his presence in favour of her own children. Nothing was known about his biological parents, and his aunt and cousins refused to ever speak about him or them.

Virgil didn’t kill anyone until he was thirty-five.

He had, in his own words, resisted the call from the devil until one night, he turned fantasy into reality and killed a man.

The first kill, he’d been secretive about it to the point the police were unconvinced it had happened. His official charge was four murders, but he’d said there was a fifth man, the first, the tipping point, but it was as secret as the place he took his victims to butcher.

Still, two years on from his arrest, no one had found his ‘killing room’ and the body parts of his victims contained within, and no one had been able to identify the first victim.

“The first man,” Quinn started. “He’s special to you.”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed, giving nothing away.

“Is the reason you haven’t said much about him because of perhaps…guilt?”

Virgil’s mouth quirked. “No. I don’t feel guilt.”

“Do you remember what happened? Where it happened? Or is it all…a red haze?”

“Anyone that tells you a red haze descended on them, and they can’t remember, is a liar. I remember when, I remember where. I remember in stunning detail what happened the first time.”

“Did you know his name?”

Virgil slowly nodded, then stopped. “Well. I know the name he gave me. Whether it was truly his name is another matter.”

“Why him?” Quinn shook his head. “If you resisted for thirty-five years, then why him? What was it about him?”

When Virgil didn’t answer, Quinn carried on pressing.

“Was he…rude to you—was he known to you, someone you didn’t like?”

“He was kind actually.” Virgil shrugged.

“Did you know as soon as you saw him…he’d be the first one?”

“No. That night… I didn’t expect things to turn out the way they did.”

“You didn’t go out that night with the intention of killing?”

“No.”

Quinn frowned, looking down at his notes.

Virgil turned his head. “That surprises you, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t understand. At what point during the night did you know you were going to kill him?”

“A few seconds before I did. I was confronted with a choice.”

“What choice?”

Virgil smirked. “Whether to kill him or not.”

“But surely you’ve been confronted with that choice before. From the age of six, you knew you were capable—”

“More than capable, it was inevitable.”

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