Page 45 of Dream a Little Dream

Killer

Kenny’s weekends were getting shorter.

Or maybe he had things to fill them with now. Another date with Heather on the Saturday had gone as well as it could have. This time they ate dinner in the pub, talked less about horrific things, and he walked her to her door, kissing her again, but leaving her unfulfilled and him empty. Again.

Maybe on their third date he’d move things on a bit.

If he could shake a certain troublemaker from his mind, that was.

But he couldn’t. It wasn’t just the haze left over from a night of reckless indulgence, clinging to him like his filthy smoking habit had his lungs. And like those cigarettes, that night would always call him back to it, even if he’d told himself he’d quit. Because this craving was deeper. Visceral. There was something far more unsettling lurking beneath the surface, too. Far moredestructive. And it gnawed at him, an unease he couldn’t fully grasp but felt with every fibre of his being. Something about this, about Aaron Jones, was more dangerous than he wantedto admit. More dangerous than the memories of the night with him.

So on Sunday, he spent his time trawling through old case files. Searching the internet for any scrap of a lead on the case that had never left his mind either. He wrote a letter to HMP Ashbridge, backing that up with an email to the internal lead Clinical Psychologist he’d known for a few years hoping to gain access to one of his inmates and get some answers. Another email sent to the team at Ravenholm Psychiatric Hospital, then he’d prepped for the week’s lectures, his supervisory meetings with his students. He ended the night watching a David Attenborough documentary about killer whales on TV, mulling over the irony of labelling a creature hunting for survival a killer, when it was humans who hunt for sport and amusement. The thought lingered, heavy and unsettling, until sleep claimed him on the sofa.

When Monday arrived, he wasn’t refreshed.

But he turned up on time, suited and booted, hair down, glasses on, for the faculty staff meeting later where he had to present his research budget to the Dean. Before that, though, he had Intro to Criminal Psychology, year one.

Aaron’s class.

He kept his eyes down on entering the theatre, purposely not scanning the tiered seats for pink hair. As soon as he raised his head to address the students, his eyes would pick him out among them all, as if he already knew where he was. As if he could sense him.

Was it because of that night?

Or was it because of what he feared might be true?

“This week, we’re going to be talking about psychology and investigations.” Kenny pointed his remote clicker at the screen behind him, the little red dot circling over the link to his own book on the subject, part of the core reading list. “Interviewingand Deception. I’m sure you all have a copy and have read the chapter, but if you haven’t by now,getone.”

Kenny swept his gaze over the room, and as suspected, it snagged when he landed on Aaron at the back. He had his eyes locked on him. Unblinking. Intense. And Kenny froze mid-sentence, unable to tear his attention away. It wasn’t just the striking presence, the wrenching attraction, or the unexpected connection with a man who’d meant to be nothing more than a throwaway. It was the dark bruise surrounding Aaron’s laser blue eye, causing Kenny to linger.

Aaron didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact. He held Kenny in place, a silent challenge, a tension humming in the space between them, fizzling over the heads of the other students who felt like statues. As if the room had shrunk, he and Aaron were the only two people there. The only two in the world who knew it was about to implode. Kenny’s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to break away, and return to the lecture. His voice faltered, but he pushed through, desperate to shake the unsettling feeling creeping inside his chest.

“There are two key approaches to investigative interviewing and we’ll talk later about how each can support in aiding lie detection,” Kenny said, voice booming over the lecture theatre and getting himself back into the room. “But for now, we need to understand the two potential ways to interview a suspect or a witness—information gathering and the accusatorial approach.”

The next hour passed in a flash of rabid typing or scribbling of notes from his class, and Kenny conjured his ability to do his job, then dismissed the class with a sigh of relief, shutting down his laptop. But before everyone could leave for seminar, Kenny’s mouth flew out the words, “Aaron Jones?”

It surprised evenhim.

Not more than Aaron, though, as he stopped his descent from the top of the theatre, passing a brief exchange with the emo girlhe sat next to, before peering over to Kenny with a nonchalant raise of his eyebrow. Those eyes. Those piercing blue eyes hid so many sins Kenny wanted to dive right in and commit the cardinal.

Aaron Jones was going to ruin him.

“Can I see you down here for a moment?”

Obsession is just a process of the mind.

Aaron said something to his friend, then chucked his bag over his shoulder and thumped down each step to the side, passing his fellow students all clambering to get outside for their hour of freedom. Aaron approached him at the front lectern and the swollen and cut hand he clutched his bag strap with caught Kenny’s gaze.

Kenny waited until everyone was gone to ask, “What happened to your eye?”

“Walked into a door.”

“And your hand?”

“Paper cut.”

Kenny shifted from one foot to the other. “Is that what you’ll tell Drew later?”

“Who the fuck is Drew?”

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