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“Yeah?”
“Why did you bring me home with you? Why didn’t you just kill me back there?” Probably not the best question to ask a guy like this, but I had to know what had been going through his head. Why not just keep things neat and tidy if he didn’t mind such ugliness?
“I don’t know.”
It was a far less comforting answer than I’d been hoping for. I had a feeling that the amount of emotion and empathy I’d seen on his face when he’d discovered me with Trevor was about the most he’d ever shown. Somehow, despite knowing he’d been traveling with others that night, I imagined him as a person who lived completely alone.
But I was wrong about that. A fluffy white cat sauntered into the room. She jumped up on Shannon’s lap and started to purr, giving me a disdainful glare as if to say,Bitch, no way am I sharing him with you.I worried the cat might scratch my eyes out while I slept.
“What’s her name?”
Shannon just stared at me for a moment, completely baffled. “She doesn’t have one.”
“How can you have a cat without a name? Is she new?”
“No.” He stroked the back of her neck, and she pressed harder against his hand. “I’ve had her for a long time.”
“How old is she?”
“I don’t know. We could cut her open and count the rings.”
I wasn’t sure if he was serious.
I couldn’t believe it didn’t occur to him just how fucking weird it was to have a pet in your house that you chose not to give a name to.
“If she doesn’t have a name, then what do you call her?”
“I don’t need to call her anything. She comes to me on her own when she’s ready. We communicate just fine. She doesn’t have a name for me.” The words were almost defensive, but he didn’t sound defensive when he delivered them. It was more like he was just rattling off a list of logical facts that should be obvious to any thinking person.
The cat probablydidhave a name for him... it was just some version of a meow that didn’t translate straight to English.
“I thought sociopaths killed small animals.” I don’t know why I felt the need to say that. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. It seemed unwise now that it was out there—like making unappreciated commentary on someone’s handicap.
He gave me a dark look. “You watch too much TV.”
“I don’t remember ever watching TV.” Except the movies at the castle. He must have forgotten the amnesiac trapped in a theme park for months situation.
“You must have watched it at some point. Where else would you get your ideas about sociopaths? The abnormal psychology fairy?”
Had he just made a joke? Possibly his second in the space of a couple of minutes? It was so odd even thinking about him making a joke. I swear his face just had that one expression. I wasn’t sure how he got on in life without every single person near him clearing a big wide path in terror. I thought sociopaths were supposed to be outwardly charming. He was really attractive, but I wasn’t sure I’d call him in any way charming.
“There are plenty of low-level sociopaths in the world who get a lot of evil accomplished with very little feeling involved. More than you’d care to know about have wives, kids, dogs. For most, those things are camouflage.”
“Is your cat camouflage?”
Shannon shrugged. “Not a lot of things make me feel things. When they do, I don’t let them go.”
I’d made him feel something.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask more. He already seemed like he’d hit his human interaction quota for the day, and more frightening than making him feel something where he wouldn’t let me go, was not making him feel something so he would. I was sure with Shannon, letting someone go was pretty much final.
When I was finished shopping, he ushered me out of the office and locked the door.
“I have to finish cleaning up. I’m going to lock you in for a while.”
“I... um... finish cleaning up?”
Shannon looked at me like I was a mental patient. “The body?”
