Page 55 of Brainwashed

“I tried it with a mannequin first,” he says, and I can’t help the way my lashes flutter in surprise and morbid fascination. “I found one they were throwing away outside Old Navy and brought it home. I practiced on him… Like, conversation and whatnot. I talked to him every day, and then one thing led to another…”

His eyes linger on his fingers where they twist on his lap, and I can’t help but notice the flush creeping up his neck. I’m reveling in it, because from what I can tell, he doesn’t feel shame or embarrassment much. At least not when talking about his victims. Maybe this is different… Because this is more abouthimthanthem.

“Did he have a name?” I ask, keeping my tone even.

He clears his throat. “I just called him Want. Because I wanted him to be a real person.” His forehead lines and he actually looks upset.Over a fucking mannequin.“But things didn’t work out, and that’s when I realized I needed to find a real person.”

“What brought you to that realization?” I’m on the edge of my goddamn seat right now.

His eyes flit up to mine. “Because he didn’t feelreal. He had no warmth, no substance. No… flesh, no blood.”

“That was what you really wanted.” My voice comes out softer this time, a statement rather than a question. “A human…”

“Yea…”

“A victim,” I add, and I witness his jaw clench.

His gray eyes darken, and for the first time, I witness some of the anger he must possess in order to do what he does. It doesn’t need to be the driving factor, but it has to be in there. Loneliness, need, and craving are all well and good, but rage will pull the trigger.

Felix cracks his knuckles. One of those uncontrollable grins almost tugs on my mouth again, because I’m getting inside his head. And that’s exactly where I need to be.

I lean back in my chair, feeling all sorts of victorious. “Is that when you met Emmanuel?”

He nods slowly, remaining silent for a few seconds before he answers. “I went to the club and saw him.” His expression changes suddenly from frustrated to wistful. “He was gorgeous… Really just fuckingbeautiful. I watched him for a couple days and found out he didn’t have a place to live. He sort of bounced between friends’ places, which was perfect.”

“Because he didn’t have anyone who would miss him?” I ask, prodding. I don’t think that’s why he chose Emmanuel, but I want to be sure.

And unsurprisingly, Felix shakes his head. “No. No, it meant he could stay with me. It took me two weeks to finally work up the courage to talk to him. But when I did, we hit it off right away. He came back to my place, and we spent the whole weekend together… In bed.”

He stops as his gaze lingers on mine, almost expectantly. I’m not sure what reaction he’s searching for…Does he think I’ll be uncomfortable talking about gay sex with him?If so, he’s barking up the wrong tree. I can talk about all manners of things that might make other people uncomfortable. I don’t have that switch in my brain that triggers humiliation, especially second-hand.

Sex is just sex. It’s something pretty much everyone does; a part of life.And why would I be able to listen to him talk about murder but not sex? It makes no sense.

“How was it?” I ask him, getting my point across. “The sex?”

He makes a little noise, then clears his throat as my brows knit. “It was good…”

“Justgood?” I keep pushing, containing that damn little smirk that keeps trying to pop up.What is it about talking to him that has it lingering in my facial muscles?

Felix is squirming, and it’s very entertaining. The guy hacks people up for a living, but he’s struggling to tell me about his sex life.

“It was what I expected,” he goes on. “I’ve never been a hugely sexual person, anyway. With Emmanuel, I was more concerned with having him. I mean, keeping him around.”

I let him off the hook about the sex stuff, though I make a note to bring it up again. And I ask, “But that didn’t happen, did it?”

He breathes out slowly, lowering his gaze. “No… No, it didn’t.”

Felix Harmon Darcey

Age: Eighteen

Location: Amity Street, Apartment 213

Brooklyn, NY

My first summer on Amity Street was like one long scene fromRisky Business.

I spent my days working out, either doing push-ups and sit-ups in the apartment or jogging around Cobble Hill Park. I spent my nights in my boxers blasting eighties music, eating Chinese takeout. And, on occasion, watching people.