Page 14 of Dream a Little Dream

So he flicked the cigarette butt into the metal bin, pushed onto his feet, and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Let’s go.”

Whatever happened in that room, whatever came next, he was ready for it. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Because the truth was, if Dr Kenneth Lyons so much as looked at him the way he had outside, as if he’dseensomething buried deep, the things Aaron kept locked away, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Or how much of himself he could hold together.

But he’d find out soon enough.

And with that, Aaron stepped through the door.

Chapter four

That’s Not My Name

The cursor on his laptop screen blinked, a silent metronome counting down the moments of his indecision as Kenny hovered his fingers over his keyboard.

Looking up the profiles of his students on the internal system felt somewhat like snooping. It wouldn’t feel like that for any other student, of course. Course results and personal info were available for everyone who taught them. But what had Kenny reeling in anxiety, uncertainty clawing at his resolve, was what he would find within Aaron Jones’s.

Having pulled off the registration listing for the lecture, it had confirmed that Aaronwasin his cohort. It was his real name, too. Which was more the shocker, as Kenny had been ninety-nine percent certain it had been a fake. An alias. A name given to backroom men he didn’t want knowing his real one. So unless he was an exceptionally talented stalker, having planned this elaborate ploy from as early as when he’d chosen his A Levels atage sixteen, Aaron Joneswasa first-year student on his Forensic Psychology BSc. Meaning their liaison on Saturday had to be a rather improbable coincidence.

Kenny couldn’t pinpoint what was making his spine tingle, his senses heighten, but he’d learned not to discard his initial instincts. Years of researching human behaviour, of interviewing people with various disorders, of delving inside the minds of others, had given him the ability to know when to dig further. And something didn’t sit right about Aaron Jones. Something he refused to chalk up tohappenstance.

With a heaved sigh, he tapped his fingers over the keyboard and was into the student system, searching for Aaron Jones. Rather drab name for a man who dazzled and defied. His photo came up first and Kenny sat back, ripping a pen from a pot and tapping it on his lips. He stared at the photo. At him.Aaron. On the surface, it was like an ordinary mug shot taken during enrolment, but Kenny looked beyond the surface. Into the eyes. Eyes were the window to one’s soul, and the first indicator of what was going on behind the mask. Aaron’s eyes, although a hypnotic blue, were blank. They weren’t radiating excitement, as Kenny would expect of a first-year student who’d grabbed a place on the course of a lifetime. They were elusive and detached. He drifted his gaze to Aaron’s mouth. He wasn’t smiling, either. But Kenny couldn’t shut off his natural reaction to those strawberry shaped lips, stretching around his cock and he shifted in his seat at the agonising memories.

“You’re good at that. Good boy.”

Kenny cringed. Bits and pieces of that night were coming back to him. Too much wine at the conference, followed by Dutch courage at the bars, then a final pick-me-up at the club. It hadn’t been his first time there, either. Over the years, whenever he’d been in London for this, that or the other, that club had become somewhere he lost himself in. Even when he’d beenwith Jack. It was as though he was someone else in there. And that night, he hadn’t been in complete control of himself. But intuition was intuition. He’d never been able to shut down the way he analysed movement, speech, actions and reactions. Had he known he was talking to someone in his class for the next three years he wouldn’t have been so bold with his analysis. But as Jack had always warned him—one day, he’d pick up someone he couldn’t handle.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, his leather chair creaked, and he peered over to his open door, gazing out at the administration office, the place abuzz with everyone now back from summer.

He stood. Marched over in silent stealth. Closed the door.

He sat back down to study Aaron’s file closer. The most recent results from his A-Levels told a story of a high achiever. Above average intelligence. He’d sailed onto the course. Next step was to garner what he could from his personal statement. Kenny was one of the faculty members who sifted through admission applications, so he’d probably already read Aaron’s, accepted it as gospel, welcoming whoever it was onto one of the most sought after psychology courses in the UK. But he hadn’t known then who he’d been saying yes to.

He read it again, intrigue sparking his gut.

Years ago, he’d been a consultant on a blackmail case. The offender had sent letters in the post so as not to be traced online. Kenny had been called in by the police to find anything hidden within the words that could ascertain the state of mind of the person threatening mass deaths by infecting a nearby water supply. Kenny could pick out certain words people used, style and syntax, that could determine who they were as a person. Their education levels. If they’d used spellcheck or a thesaurus to aid with forming sentences. It was all there, painting a picture of the mind of the author. In the case of the blackmailer, he’dbeen of average intelligence, spelling the same words wrong each letter, and Kenny had helped pinpoint that it was someone familiar with the water company. A disgruntled employee. The police caught him before any damage was done.

Aaron’s statement, though, was fairly bland. Nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary. It was as if he’d looked up how to write a personal statement online and followed the guidelines to the letter. With a little embellishment so as not to come across as copy paste. It contained everything the admissions team would check for. But within it, Kenny could filter out sentences Aaron had cut short. As if he’d intended to say something else, then deleted it. Certain words popped up as odd choices, too. He had a vast vocabulary, that was obvious, not hitting the thesaurus within Word. A natural wordsmith. His intelligence was in the higher realms, yet he’d pruned it for the layman.

Kenny’s interest piqued tenfold.

Why would someone strip the level of their intelligence? Especially in a university application?

He clicked out of the statement and continued his leisurely stroll through Aaron Jones’s academic life. Recent records were from a college in central London. That explained that. Although there was no parental address. All forwarding correspondence went to Aaron’s current residence of the on-campus halls. Which was odd. All students needed ahomeaddress. And nor was there any reference to his education prior to the college, as he could only have attended there for his post-16 education. Kenny clicked on personal info. A password box popped up.

“Huh.” He leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen over his lips.

There were a few reasons he wouldn’t have permission to open a student’s personal info. One, because it was private. A need to know. Andhedidn’t need to know. It would bear norelation to how he taught him. He wasn’t in his pastoral care team. If it was important, he’d have the password. Two, because Aaron hadn’t allowed for whatever was in there to be general knowledge. And three, because there was something in there that was sensitive.

Kenny wanted to know what it was.

He picked up his office phone, the curly wire stretching as he leaned back in his chair and pressed zero.

“Switchboard.”

“Can you put me through to Recruitment and Admissions?”

“Hold the line.”

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