Page 195 of Brainwashed

An almost Cheshire Cat-like smile forms on my mouth and I sit back in the chair to create my nonchalant stance, crossing my ankle over my knee. “Stephen, do you know what I do for a living?”

“No,” he grumbles. “How the hell would I know that?”

My shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Maybe you kept tabs on the one who got away. Who knows…”

“I didn’t,” he growls. “Youruinedmy life. You should have just kept your fucking mouth shut.”

Wow. The audacity.

Ignoring that for now, I sigh. “I’m a clinical psychiatrist and I study behavioral psychology, particularly as it pertains to sociopathy.” His angry glare turns a bit chagrined. “And so, because of that, I know with absolute certainty that you are notcured. You never will be.” My head tilts. “You are just as sick, depraved, and socially stunted as you were when I was fourteen and you tied me to a beam in an abandoned basement and sucked my dick.”

He lets out an angry roar and jumps up from his seat, stalking over to me. I remain seated.

“You are such a goddamn cock tease, Lem! You always fucking were,” he hisses down at me. “Traipsing around without a care in the world. You justlookedlike the easiest prey in the world. But instead, you turned out to be a massive pain in my ass!”

“Because I forced you to stop…?” I ask casually. “By opening my ‘fucking mouth?’”

“Yes!” He gasps. “Because you were an entitled little shit. You could have justtakenit, like the rest of them. Butno… You had to get your fucking panties in a twist.”

My teeth grind together as the vines of rage crawl faster and I stand up slowly, putting myself within an inch of his face. I witness him fumbling in his resentment as I narrow my gaze. “What was the name of the boy you killed again? Tim Meadows, right?”

“They never found a body,” he stammers quietly, that confidence from a second ago wavering. “Couldn’t tie me to it.”

“Funny you should mention that…” I smirk. “Because my P.I.—his name is Sven. Fuckingphenomenalat digging, I’m telling you—he was able to locate the body of a John Doe in Atlanta. The boy would have been about thirteen. Same age as Tim Meadows when he disappeared…”

“There’s no way to tie me to it,” he says again, insistently. Trying to convince himself.

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Like I said, my guy is very good. And he knows a lot of people in a lot of offices. Coroners, medical examiners, forensic analysts, detectives. Who knows what they might find now that they’re finally looking into this. Like they should have twenty-plus years ago, if your father wasn’t so consumed by how it would look… to have a vicious killer pedophile for a son.”

His eyes glisten with fury, and he makes a move, lunging for me. But I’m faster.

Using all of my body weight, I shove him, pushing him across the room into the bookshelf. His back connects, a grunt fleeing his lips as I grab him by the throat.

“Thing is, Tim wasn’t the only one, was he??” I seethe in his face, squeezing his throat and trapping him with my size while his arms flail around and he tries to pry me off. “You’repatheticto me, Stephen. But the thing is, I don’t blame you for what you do. I’m only doing this because it’s what youdeserve. This is pure vengeance, plain and simple.”

“W-what… what the fuck…” he utters breathlessly, struggling against me.

I reach for one of the glass picture frames behind him, smashing it on the shelf until I’m holding only a five-inch shard.

“Now, I know this from experience,Uncle Steve…” I hold the glass up to his throat, my heart hammering in my chest. “There are only two things you can do with a rabid dog. Cage him or put him down.” I lean in for one final whisper. “You should have taken the cage.”

“No… wait—”

But I don’t.

I move back and flick my wrist, slashing the sharp glass along his throat with force. The sound of the slice into his flesh is remarkably audible, cut so deep that he opens immediately, blood pouring from the gash.

Stephen grabs at it, trying to hold it shut, but I snatch his hands away and pin him down, allowing his body to bleed him out. His eyes are wide and bulging as he sputters, gushing in rough spurts, coughing blood in my face.

The spatter coats me, and I feel a rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Except with Felix.

I smile bloody, thinking about my killer bee and how much he would love to watch this with me. Observe my rapist dying atmyhands.

I let go of Stephen and he crumbles to the floor, bleeding and dying while I just stand over him, watching. And I do feel things… But none of them are remorse. I don’t feel guilty for taking his life, because it was mine to take. Heowesit to me.

I know this makes me a psychopath. But I don’t care. He stole something much more precious from me… The remains of my childhood. Because after that incident, after escaping with scars from the ropes he’d tied around my body, the child in me was dead. He forced me to grow up before I was ready.

The experience was scarring—mentally and physically—yes, but it’s also what sparked my eternal morbid fascination with human monsters. With people who do heinous things.I suppose I should thank him for that part. Because while it left me feeling unfulfilled for so many years, it also brought me to Alabaster Penitentiary. And to Felix.