Page 10

Chapter nine

Little Boxes

Kenny staggered upstairs into his office, the door clicking shut behind him like the sealing of a tomb.

“Jack,” he said into the phone. “Tell me.”

“Got the preliminary investigation signed off. Pushed it through with the Chief Superintendent. Given the circumstances. Given that it’s you. But mostly because I examined the body myself.”

Dread coiled in Kenny’s gut. “And?”

“Petechial haemorrhages. Tiny, pinpoint blood vessels ruptured in her eyes.”

“ Fuck .” Kenny rubbed his temple as if that might block out the weight of inevitability crushing down on him. He’d known it. Felt it in his bones. But hearing it aloud cracked him wide open. Those ruptured blood vessels meant foul play. No doubt about it.

“They’re transporting your mum’s body now. Chong’s team is prioritising the post-mortem. She’s rearranged her caseload to give it her full attention—again, because it’s you.”

“Thank you.”

“Scene’s been processed by forensics, but like you said, it was wiped down. Clean job. We’re still running trace analysis, though. Never know what they might pick up.”

“And the statements?”

“Your initial report helped get the Chief on board. Appreciate you sending that through so quickly. It gave us leverage to act. PCs are on-site now, canvassing staff and residents, trying to establish a timeline. Uniformed officers will be dispatched to speak to your aunt soon. If you haven’t told her yet, it might be better coming from you.”

“No, I’ll do it. I’ll handle it.”

“Right. Once Chong gets us her findings, we can escalate this to a formal homicide investigation. Until then, it’s all hands on deck building the groundwork.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this, Jack.”

A pause lingered on the line, heavy and unspoken. Then Jack’s tone softened. “You got anyone there with you?”

Kenny rubbed his forehead. “Aaron’s here.”

“You told him?”

“That she’s gone, yeah.”

“That you have suspicions this isn’t natural causes? About the roses? The card from Jessica?”

“No.”

Jack hesitated, then pushed forward. “You need to think about involving him in this. Telling him everything. I know how you get, Kenny. You’ll bury yourself in this until it pulls you under. You need someone who can pull you back out. Who can look for those signs. If you’re as deep in this thing with Aaron as I think you are, then give him the chance to do that for you. Be that for you. Don’t shut him out. He won’t thank you for it.”

“I don’t need relationship advice from you, Jack. I need you to do your job.”

“I am. And you should let Aaron do his—by being your fucking boyfriend.”

“Aaron has enough shit to deal with without me dragging him in this, too.”

“You’re not dragging him, Kenny. He’s already in it. Whether you like it or not. You’re in a fucking relationship with Roisin Howell’s son. He’s not some outsider you can feed half-truths to and hope he stays safe.”

Kenny closed his eyes . “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“He’ll hurt more when he finds out you’re lying to him.”

Silence.

Kenny had no response. Because Jack wasn’t speaking in hypotheticals. That was his experience talking.

A beat. Then, “I’ll check in later.”

The line went dead.

Kenny collapsed into his chair, body folding in on itself as if the weight in his chest might crack him open. He knew all too well how long investigations could take. He’d lived through the endless days. The painstaking process. And the waiting that stretched on like a void. But that knowledge didn’t temper his relentless drive to push this forward. It wasn’t just about the heinous act committed against an elderly woman. His own mother . It wasn’t solely about whether it was tied to him, to his relationship with Aaron, or to some twisted attempt to torment him. It was because it consumed him. He could drown in this.

The way he’d drowned in Jessica’s death.

He’d dedicated his entire life to Jessica. Finding her killer. Uncovering the truth that had haunted him every sleepless night since he was fourteen years old. Why her? Why would someone choose to snuff out her light in such a brutal, calculated way? Decades had slipped through his fingers, along with countless relationships, including Jack, as he clawed through police reports, chased leads that dissolved into nothing, and meticulously dissected evidence. All of it in a desperate bid to impose order on the chaos. To find peace in understanding. As if knowledge could ever truly quiet the agony. Like a neat and tidy house couldn’t ever appease his messy mind.

And now he knew the truth? It didn’t stop the pain.

Didn’t lessen the horror.

And this was worse. So much worse. His mum hadn’t been some random victim, caught in the crossfire or in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d died because of him. And that knowledge tore at him, forcing him deeper into a relentless storm of guilt and turmoil, each wave of anguish more suffocating than the last. Not only had he not been able to save her. He’d led her right to her death.

Kenny saw the signs. They were etched into his memory like scars. Impossible to ignore. He’d seen them before. Recognised the gradual, consuming spiral dragging him down when he let himself drown in fixation. Back then, with Jessica, it had been Jack who bore the weight of his obsession. Or tried to. But Kenny’s needs were relentless, pressing and insistent. When his mind locked onto something, it didn’t let go. Days, weeks, it didn’t matter. He’d vanish into the chase, consumed by the pursuit of understanding, of unravelling the mess in his own mind through others. But the aftermath of those spirals was always the same. A gaping void he couldn’t fill. A desperate need for release clawing at him until it became unbearable.

Jack hadn’t been able to temper that. He hadn’t been able to handle the storm Kenny brought into their lives. So Kenny sought release elsewhere. In back rooms and dark corners, anonymous bodies against his, a fleeting reprieve by fucking away the misery gnawing at his soul. But the relief never lasted. Jack would find out. They’d fight. Ugly, vicious arguments leaving them both bleeding and broken. Not always physically, but there had been times Kenny had let Jack punch him until he couldn’t take anymore. And Jack would leave. Hating himself. Then come back. Over and over. Because no one else gave Jack what Kenny could. No one else could pull him into that dark, consuming world and make it feel like home.

Until the day Jack walked away for good. Because no matter how strong he thought he was, he couldn’t survive Kenny’s turmoil. Not forever. And Kenny thought no one would.

Now there was Aaron .

Kenny couldn’t do that to him. He wouldn’t . Because what they had was different. Aaron was different. With Jack, there had always been a push and pull, a tension that teetered between desire and destruction. But Aaron didn’t try to temper Kenny’s needs or push back against them. He absorbed them. Held them. Gave them a place to rest. He didn’t demand explanations or solutions. Didn’t try to fix Kenny or change him. He let Kenny unravel without judgment, stepping into the storm with him. With Aaron, it wasn’t about fleeting physical release or the transactional intimacy that had marked so much of Kenny’s past. It was about connection. Unfiltered and terrifyingly real .

Jack had been right about one thing. This was about him. And it was also about Aaron. It had to be. There was no other explanation for why someone would target his mother, using Jessica as a twisted calling card. It all screamed of the Howells, and the dark shadow they cast over his life. And Aaron’s life. And it killed him how he couldn’t shed this. Stop this. For him. For Aaron.

But he couldn’t bring himself to involve Aaron. Not yet.

Not until he had the facts . All of them. Whether Aaron was in danger or just him, he wasn’t sure yet. Aaron had protected person status. Couldn’t be easily found. Unlike him. Who had his name and image splashed all over the internet. So he locked himself in his office to do what he could. What he was legally able to. Some of it teetering on the edges of legality.

By the time he finally emerged from his office, the house was silent. The rich scent of spaghetti bolognese lingered in the air, warm and inviting, but something about it felt wrong. Too still. Too untouched. Raking a hand through his hair, Kenny trundled downstairs, bracing himself for the chaos Aaron inevitably left in his wake. But the kitchen was… spotless. Not a single dish out of place. No dirty countertops. No half-used ingredients abandoned mid-thought. The only thing waiting for him was a plate of uneaten dinner, neatly covered in foil. A note on top saying Eat Me.

Kenny stared at it, a hollow ache clawing at his chest.

Aaron had cooked. Cleaned. Then left.

And Kenny was alone because he was too fucking scared to tell Aaron how much he needed him.

Gut sinking at the realisation he was once again falling into the abyss, he drifted his gaze to the small pile of items sat beside the plate. Pocket change, a crumpled receipt, the kind of clutter that meant Aaron had unpacked his suitcase. The distant hum of the tumble dryer in the utility room confirmed it. His clothes, freshly washed, hung over the heated rack.

Fuck .

How long had he been up there? While Kenny had shut himself away, drowning in everything except the one person who made it bearable, Aaron had been here. C aring . In his own quiet, restless, impossible way. And Kenny had ignored him. Pushed him out. Left him to piece together the wreckage of a man who didn’t know how to ask for help.

He should call him . Get in his car and storm into his room the same way Aaron did to him. Fuck the consequences. Aaron deserved better than silence. Deserved more than being shut out. But before he could reach for his phone or keys, his gaze snatched on something buried in the small pile of clutter. A business card. Dr Laura Pryce, Psychiatrist.

The breath stalled in his throat.

He’d forgotten about her , too.

And before he could talk himself out of it, before he could claw his way out of the wreckage of his own fucking misery, before he could choose Aaron over the self-inflicted solitude of case files he always gravitated toward, he was already moving. Already bolting up the stairs, back into his office, slamming the door behind him as he dialled the number on the card.

The call rang twice before flipping to voicemail.

“Hi, Laura. It’s Dr Lyons. Kenny. Sorry we didn’t catch up in Barcelona. I…” He rubbed his forehead, voice faltering. “I had some bad news, and… well, I’d really appreciate it if you could call me back as soon as possible. It’s rather urgent.”

Ending the call, Kenny leaned back in his chair, nausea coiling tighter in his stomach. Coincidence? No, he didn’t believe in them. Never had. And certainly not now. The dull throb at his temples mirrored the buzzing tension in his chest as he clicked open his emails, seeking refuge in mindless distraction. Seeing if there was anything else he’d missed. Instead, he found another distraction in an email. Official, curt, and absolute. From his Dean of Faculty. Inviting him to discuss his professorship application first thing Monday morning.

Monday.

September 21 st .

Aaron’s birthday.

Fuck .

He grabbed his phone, hesitated for half a second, then typed out the only thing that felt true. To Aaron.

I’m sorry.

The reply came almost instantly.

See you in class, doc.

Short. Distant.

The sting of it hit sharper than he’d expected. But he deserved that. A fresh slap of reality. A reminder that this—whatever this was—was never built to last outside the walls they’d forced it into.

And maybe that was exactly what he needed.

Boxes . He needed his boxes.

Shove it all inside—grief, guilt, Aaron—slam the lids shut, lock them down tight. Compartmentalise. Breathe. Function.

Because if he didn’t, he might just break apart completely.

* * * *

But those boxes never stayed shut anymore.

They were overflowing. Bursting at the seams. And as he drove to campus on Monday morning, the fear it would all spill out at the wrong time choked him. The world outside Kenny’s windshield was hazy and disconnected and the ache in his chest from lack of sleep felt like a bruise spreading. He should have begged Aaron to come round after his shift at the campus shop. To stay with him. A night holding Aaron might’ve given him a few hours of peace.

But that would’ve been disastrous. Waking up with his limbs entwined with those of his student probably wouldn’t be the best way to start the morning that would outline the rest of his entire life. And yet, as he pulled into the staff parking lot, the thought lingered like a phantom touch.

The campus loomed, familiar yet alien. He’d roamed these grounds for decades, but today they felt diminished. Smaller. Confining . The illusion shattered. He’d glimpsed a world beyond these walls, and it hadn’t been as terrifying as he once thought. But he stepped out of his car, regardless, the bite of autumn settling, the muffled sounds of early footsteps echoing across the winding pathways. Students shuffled by with their heads bowed to phones or conversations. To them, this place was vast, filled with possibility. To Kenny, it felt like a cage. One he’d willingly stepped into at eighteen and never quite left. He knew he was institutionalised. And felt the irony. Like all those he researched were now stuck in a box. But they were there under duress. He’d entered his little box willingly.

Sure, there’d been moments outside Ryston. A psychiatric ward placement where every corridor felt thick with ghosts, the haunted gazes of the criminally insane burning into his back. A stint in a prison, surrounded by concrete walls and razor wire, where danger pressed closer than the air. But those were detours, blips on the map of a life spent here. Researching. Writing. Consulting. Building a profile brick by painstaking brick.

Now, the countless hours, the papers, the late nights, the consultancies, the building up of his reputation as the UK’s foremost mind on understanding and predicting the behaviour of serial offenders would culminate in this meeting. A single conversation that would determine if he’d finally earned tenure. His mind whispered doubts, louder than the sound of his shoes clicking on the polished floors. The university wasn’t just his career. It was his identity.

If he didn’t achieve this, what was left?

What would his lasting legacy be for Jessica?

For his mum?

He climbed the creaking steps of the faculty building to the third floor where his office resided, along with the main open plan administration. At the end, the Dean’s office. Kenny blew out a breath, adjusting his tie. He’d opted for the full three-piece suit for this. And his glasses remained on, hair down. The academic look. As he weaved through the rows of desks, he greeted those from the administration all watching on, catching onto his nerves. They couldn’t know his life was balancing on the edge. The submission for professorships happened in January. He’d completed all the paperwork then, gathered his evidence for it, references, two from his international work, and submitted it. The panel of peers from other faculties had met and made their decision. They’d told him in June there was a delay in finalising the outcome. Unusual, but not unheard of. Then, over the summer, an offer for him to transfer to a rival institution on full professor status had presented itself as the perfect way to twist the Dean’s arm. Which meant he was being called in now to either receive his congratulations or…commiseration.

Adjusting his laptop bag on his shoulder, he knocked on the door which the plaque nailed to the wood stated belonged to Professor Eleanor Marwood, Dean of Psychology Department.

“Come in!”

Kenny stepped into the Dean’s office, closing the door behind him. Like its occupant, the private room exuded meticulous control. Polished wood, perfectly aligned bookshelves, and a faint scent of coffee. Ellie sat behind her desk, sharp features as unreadable as ever.

“Kenny!” She rolled away her chair and stood, holding out her hand to shake his. “I have just read your email about your mother. I’m so sorry.”

Hoping for compassionate leave, Kenny had sent that before seeing the meeting notice. No such luck.

“We could have rearranged this meeting.” Ellie searched his face.

“It’s fine. I need the distraction.”

“As you wish.” She gestured to the chair beside her desk while she sat back in hers.

Kenny didn’t need the invitation. He sank into it, the load in his chest forcing him deeper into the foam chair.

Adjusting her sitting position a few times, she eventually settled for crossed legs and a poised stance. An immediate sign that this wasn’t a crack open the champagne moment. She then reached behind her where an open file had pages upon pages spilling out. It was his application. The essay he had to write. References. Links to his research and international publications.

“We’ve reviewed your application for professorship,” she said, the words heavy with the promise of disappointment. “And as we said back in June, we are all in agreement. Your contributions to forensic psychology are undeniable. Your publications, consulting work, teaching. It’s all exemplary. Not to mention your help with our more recent PR nightmares.”

“Funny way to describe the atrocities of murder committed by staff members.”

Ellie wasn’t a forensic psychologist. Nor any type of criminal behaviour specialist. Her field was in cognitive psychology and neuroscience. An expert in understanding the mechanisms of human cognition, memory, and decision-making. A much more structured and empirical field, grounded in lab-based studies and data modelling, differing from Kenny’s more narrative-driven and emotionally charged case studies.

Still, facts were facts.

“Yes. Quite.” She wiped the crumbs from her pastry off her skirt. “And HR valued your assistance in refining their recruitment processes, which I understand are now being implemented. The updated approach incorporates a greater emphasis on behavioural assessments.”

“Anything to help prevent further bad publicity.”

“Ha. Yes. Of course.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands on her lap. “Look, Kenny, I appreciate your email regarding the University of Warwick offering you the full professorship with them, forcing us to confirm our decision for your promotion. And normally, I would bite your hand off.”

“But?”

“But there are some…concerns.”

“Concerns?”

“Not for any of your academic achievements. The peer reviews are outstanding. But I have come across some concerns about your methods. Boundaries with subjects. And your…” She paused. Deliberately. “Personal life.”

There it was. The other shoe dropping. Speculation dressed up as professional critique.

“My personal life?” Kenny’s voice edged with frustration. “What does my personal life have to do with my professional one?”

“Quite a lot.” Ellie tilted her head. “There are questions about your ability to maintain professional boundaries and until those questions are addressed—”

“What sort of questions?”

“Three years ago, Kenny, you were involved in a highly disruptive relationship with a research assistant, which culminated in a significant incident within the faculty administration office. In which I had to intervene. She subsequently left the university and did not return. The occupational psychology unit spent weeks addressing the impact on staff productivity and morale.”

“That was…” Kenny fell back in his chair, wiping a hand over his forehead. That was a really fucking long time ago. A lifetime ago. “Ill advised, yes. Granted. But if we judged everyone on their ill-advised relationships, none of us would be in the positions we are now.”

“Indeed. But there are now more recent concerns. One I can’t gloss over like I did that one.”

“Recent?” Kenny’s heart thumped.

Ellie didn’t blink. “Perception matters, Kenny. Particularly in academia. Your ability to separate personal and professional boundaries has been…questioned.”

“By whom?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics.”

Of course she wasn’t. She never was.

“So how can I challenge this… perception , if you can’t offer details? Specifics?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them. To find out this was, once again, all about Aaron. Because what else could it be about? But he had to know. At least be offered the chance to refute it. Or explain it. Rather than merely have all the speculation surrounding him. And he’d quite like to know who had the suspicions. Who’d brought it up to his line manager and not him? He’d been careful. Despite what Jack had said. He’d declared he was supporting Aaron through his personal trauma. He was taking him to therapy. That the things that had happened on campus had deeply affected him, which Kenny could support him through. All to put aside any whispers about their relationship outside the classroom. Deceptive? Yes. Of course. But apart from Barcelona, they’d never been anywhere outside of Kenny’s house in the nine months he’d been sleeping with him. No dates. No holding hands in the street. Not even a fucking shopping trip. Kenny took him to his therapy sessions. Brought him back to his house. Okay, yes, he fucked him while he was there but…

Damn . It fucking hurt when he thought about it like that.

That he hadn’t, in nine months, given Aaron anything other than that.

“Because we’re still gathering evidence.”

Kenny shot up from his seat, pacing to the window as the tightness in his chest threatened to choke him. The campus stretched out below, students bustling through the quad, blissfully ignorant of how small their world was. He turned back to Ellie, her serene expression somehow more infuriating than outright hostility.

“You know my work is solid.” He held her gaze, refusing to back down from the title he deserved. Despite appearances. “You know I’ve earned this.”

“I know your work is exceptional,” Ellie replied with a challenging gaze of her own. “But exceptional work isn’t enough when there are unresolved questions about professional integrity. I need more than brilliance. I need trust .”

He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “Trust? I haven’t earned your trust enough by catching not one but two killers on the payroll?”

“For which we are grateful. But that isn’t the trust we are talking about here.”

“So, what are we talking about?”

Ellie sighed, her gaze steady but unyielding. “This isn’t a dismissal, Kenny. It’s a deferment. You may reapply once we’ve addressed these concerns.”

“So address them.”

Ellie parted her lips to respond, but a sharp knock at the door sliced through the tension. “I can’t right now. There’s another matter we need to discuss.” Raising her voice, she called to beyond the wood. “Come in!”

The door creaked open and soft footsteps crossed the threshold, making the air in the room shift. It was an almost imperceptible change, but enough to send a jolt of unease through Kenny’s spine. He turned his head, a casual glance over his shoulder. Then flinched in surprise.

No .

Standing there, poised and composed in her fitted blazer and perfectly controlled smile, was Dr Laura Pryce.

Ellie rose from her seat, extending a polite hand. “Dr Pryce, thank you for joining us.”

Dr Pryce. The woman he’d tried calling yesterday. Who’d seen him in Barcelona. With Aaron. Kenny barely heard Ellie’s words over the sudden, deafening rush of blood in his ears.

Fuck .

Laura shook Ellie’s hand before shifting her attention to him. “Dr Lyons.” Her smile was warm but clinical, and it made his stomach coil. “Good to see you. Again.”

For a split second, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His brain scrambled for something— anything —to explain why she was here, why this was happening. But she extended her hand toward him. A perfectly neutral gesture. No malice, no accusation.

Still, his fingers stiffened when they clasped hers.

“What are you—?” His voice cracked before he could stop it.

“Dr Pryce is the newest member of our faculty,” Ellie spoke for them all. “As you know already, she specialises in behavioural neuroscience and trauma rehabilitation. A solid career in industry, but for the last five years, is it?” She checked with Laura.

“That’s right.”

“She’s been progressing the academic pathway at UCL. Now we’ve convinced her to join us. To support you.”

“Support me?”

“Consider this a chance to take a step back. You’ve had a challenging few years as it is what with all the…bother on campus. Now, with your recent loss, you can take a breath to grieve your mother.”

Kenny’s head pounded.

“She’ll be shadowing you as part of her integration to the team.” Ellie moved things around on her desk. “I’ve already given her access to the third-year dissertation projects which she’ll be supervising.”

“They haven’t come in yet.”

“The deadline was Friday, Kenny.”

Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t on this at all.

“She’ll also be leading some research while she’s here.”

“What type of research?” Kenny glanced at Laura.

“I’ll explain it all later.”

Kenny’s stomach twisted. Translation: she was here to monitor him. Babysit him. To take away his job.

Kenny turned back to Laura, who stood with the poise of someone completely unbothered by the tension in the room. “I’m looking forward to working with you,” she said, offering a polite smile. “I think our work compliments each other nicely. We’ll make a great team.”

He forced a tight smile. “Right.”

Ellie rose from her seat, a subtle cue the meeting was over. “I trust you’ll make Dr Pryce feel welcome. This arrangement is in the best interest of the department.”

“Of course.”

As they stepped into the faculty administration, Laura turned to him.

“Sorry I didn’t get the chance to warn you when in Barcelona.” Laura squeezed his arm. “Think you had other things on your mind then.” She gave him a wink. “And I am really sorry to hear about the loss of your mother. Was it sudden?”

“Yes.” Kenny rubbed his forehead, trying to dull the ache.

“My condolences. If there’s anything I can do?”

“No. I just need to…”

“Compartmentalise?”

Kenny sighed. “Yes. Exactly.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here then. To help. Take some of that stress off. Now, I’m rather interested in meeting your third years. You have quite the cohort this year.” She looked at her dainty watch. “Ten a.m. lecture theatre two, isn’t it? This way?” She pointed ahead.

Kenny didn’t answer immediately, his thoughts spinning too fast to settle. This wasn’t just about his work or his professorship anymore. Laura Pryce wasn’t just another colleague. She was a link to Aaron’s past. Another complication he hadn’t seen coming. And she was just about to walk into Aaron’s class.

Kenny didn’t believe in coincidences.

How the fuck was he meant to handle this?