Never Saw Me Coming

by Vera Kurian

  “Oh. One of those.”

  “Daisy and I slept together. We—”

  “You cheated on Kristen?”

  He looked weary. “We survived it. Someone must have been really attached to her, because he attacked us both in every way he could. All my accounts got hijacked, my utilities shut off. Credit cards got taken out in my name. Child pornography sent to my email.”

  “That seems extreme.”

  “That’s nothing compared to what he did to Daisy—all of the above plus more. He must have spent hours reading through her emails and texts to come up with every snarky thing she ever said about anyone, so he could send it to her friends and alienate them. He posted her phone number and address on all these personal ads for women seeking casual sex. It drove her crazy.”

  “Did she report him?”

  “She went to the police, but she couldn’t pinpoint who was doing it—neither could I. They said, ‘If someone’s harassing you online, why don’t you get offline? What did you ever take a nude picture of yourself for?’ The police both didn’t have the know-how and didn’t care.”

  “How did you get him to stop, then?”

  “I paid him. I should have been more careful—I should have been specific and said to leave both of us alone. I didn’t realize that he kept on with her. She was a sensitive person—she couldn’t take it. She was the second suicide off Suicide Tower last year. The tower in the Math building—people have jumped off it before.”

  What a dumb name—Daisy. That sounds exactly like someone who would kill themselves instead of carefully plotting a way to destroy their enemies. And I was almost disappointed in Charles in opting for the easy way out, but I suppose as a rich boy he doesn’t know any better. He’s never had to scrape his way through the world.

  “And how am I supposed to know that literally everything you just said isn’t a lie?”

  He made a hold-on gesture, scrolling through his phone. When he handed it to me I could see email after email of him trying to deal with the aftermath of the cyberattack last year. Even personal emails to Kristen. A complaint he had filed with the police. He was telling the truth.

  “I’m guessing,” Charles said, now struggling to his feet. I still stood in a defensive position. “That whoever gave you that file is the same person who attacked me.”

  “Why would he have a fake file on you?”

  “Maybe he got the real file and made up some fake stuff with the intention of publishing it somewhere, or maybe giving it to Kristen. That’s how I know he’s in the program.”

  “Huh?”

  “This guy attacked me in every way possible except exposing that I’m a diagnosed psychopath in this special program for psychopaths. He was covering his own ass.” Charles was watching me carefully. “Does the person I described sound like the person who gave you this file?”

  Goddamn it. Charles was right again.

  “I went and talked to Will,” Charles said. “I directly asked him about what happened with you and I could tell he was lying. Not even lying particularly well—it’s like he’s convinced himself he’s in the right. I trust you, Chloe. Now can you trust me? Because if you can, I can tell you everything.”

  What else wasn’t he telling me? “Okay.”

  “No, I want to hear you say that you think that file’s fake.”

  “It’s fake—all right? The guy is a loser named Trevor. He pretended to be an RA in the program and I fell for it. Meanwhile, he hacked my webcams and has been creeping on me. He flat out told me he’s in the program—it’s like he wants to be buddies now.”

  Charles looked alarmed. “Then Trevor is extremely dangerous. Someone broke into Kristen’s house—I’m sorry, I thought it was you, but now I know it’s him.”

  Trevor had serious skills. He was smart enough to fool me, and this alone made me suspect him more than the other psychopath in the program, Emma, who I knew so little about, anyhow. I didn’t know why he was doing it—maybe he was a serial killer fanatic or something, but who cared. The most important thing was that no one could know for sure who the killer was and have them locked up before I could kill Will. Ideally, I would have an opportunity to plant some evidence. “What about the twins?”

  Charles shook his head and wandered out of my room into the common area, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Um, it’s not the twins.”

  “What makes you so sure?” I asked, suspicious, following him.

  “Well, I kind of lied. I know Emma—we’re sort of friends because of the program, inasmuch as a person can be friends with her. I just didn’t want to tell you about her.”

  “You’ve known her all along?!”

  “I didn’t trust you! I was protecting her!”

  “You’re sure it’s not her?”

  “I mean, ninety-nine percent. I don’t know much about her sister, but I can see what I can find out about her. I keep trying to make plans with Emma but she’s super weird and not easy to get ahold of.”

  “So we have a list of all seven students, then,” I mused, turning the information over in my head.

  Charles chewed on his lower lip. “Let’s go with the most obvious thing—we already know Trevor’s sadistic. He managed to figure out that you and I are in the program. He’s crazy good with computers—he probably got into that experiment room and killed Michael, and maybe messed with the MRI somehow. We have to find proof about Trevor.”

  I went to the windows and watched students cutting across the brick pathways of the quad. “Trevor doesn’t realize that I think he’s disgusting. I could get close to him.” And be in control of any information I found out...

  “That’s not a good idea—he’s dangerous. He was hovering over Kristen while she was sleeping.”

  Apparently, he has a thing for sleeping girls. “Just because Trevor is a creep doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.”

  “It would probably be to your benefit to have a healthy fear of him.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Uh-oh, is there another geode in your pocket?”

  I laughed. “I can become friends with him. Maybe do a more thorough snoop of his dorm room.”

  “No,” he said, suddenly vehement.

  “Why not?” I said, edging closer to him. I had to admit I was relieved it wasn’t Charles, after all. He trusted me—it gave me a little leeway to almost trust him.

  “Because you’re attractive—if he takes a liking to you, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  “So you think I’m attractive?” I teased.

  Charles sighed. “Why do I get the sense that you’re going to do whatever you want to do regardless of what I say?”

  “Bingo,” I whispered, touching the tip of my index finger to his nose.

  “We need to plan. Emma likes me—I might be able to get some information out of her, where she was those two nights to rule her out.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Chloe, there’s something else we have to consider, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “What?”

  “What if it’s Will? What if it’s been Will all along?”

  “What? My Will? Stupid Will?”

  “You got attacked at Stupid Will’s house. Stupid Will has a motive to get rid of you.”

  “Stupid Will has access to the SAE house,” I muttered. Charles looked puzzled, so I showed him the picture someone had texted me. “Someone took a picture of me sleeping at the SAE house.”

  “Why were you sleeping there?”

  “I get tired after fucking.”

  “Chad, really?”

  “What makes you think Will could be a criminal mastermind?”

  “We already know that one person on campus is capable of killing people. And we know another person who is capable of—of doing what he did to you. Isn’t it improbable tha
t those would be two different people?”

  “Then what’s his motive for killing anyone else in the program? Will isn’t smart enough to do all this. You should see how dumbly he falls into my traps.”

  “Maybe he falls for them on purpose. Chloe, there’s an intersection between these two crazy things, and that intersection is you.”

  I was already impossibly biased against the idea. Did I think that Will murdered two people without leaving behind enough evidence to get caught? The same guy that literally filmed himself committing a crime? Hell no. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have Charles think this—it could help my endgame.

  “I’ll think about it. Honestly, I’m too exhausted to do anything right now. I have a French paper and my Bio lab report and all this Wyman stuff, and on top of it I have to deal with Will.” I sighed. He did, too.

  “You stunned me. With a stun gun I bought you.”

  “It’s the risk you run being generous.”

  “You really thought I was a serial killer,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What did you expect me to think seeing that file?”

  “I don’t know—have a little faith?”

  “I’m sorry.” He made a fake sad face. “I’m sorry!” I said, laughing, putting my hands on his arms. “Can’t you forgive me?” I looked up at him beseechingly.

  “Never,” he murmured, smiling. He hugged me in that same flirty way I had seen him be with other girls but not me. Flirt friends. Totally innocent. I squeezed him with exaggeration, feeling the muscles of his chest, the ribs beneath; my arms then slipped around his waist.

  “All is forgiven,” I said. “We kiss and make up.” I reached up and kissed his cheek. I’m not sure how it happened, if he turned his head or if I did, or we both did, but then his mouth was on mine. His lips were soft. The kiss only lasted a couple seconds, but we paused there, a mere millimeter away from each other. He nudged my face up with a subtle movement of his head and then kissed me, this time his mouth open, our tongues touching, an electric thrill shooting through my body.

  Then I heard the sound of a key working its way in the lock of our door. We pulled away just as Yessica came in. She looked at Charles suspiciously.

  “Hello,” he said, all charm.

  She gave me a look any woman could interpret—girl, you should know better.

  42

  It was so rare that Megan would agree to be in the same room with Emma that Elena had made certain to arrive early so she could see as much of the girls together as she could.

  Emma arrived on time, her face expressionless, and hugged her knees to her chest on one of Leonard’s chairs. “Hello,” she said to both Elena and Leonard. Emma cared little about her appearance—broadly speaking—and this was yet another reason why she was an intriguing addition to the study. Sometimes her hair wasn’t clean, and she didn’t have the charm and penchant for manipulation that psychopaths typically used to win the admiration of others. This would require actually being interested in other people. It was like she was a ghost in human form; Elena had once imagined that this was how Emma took her remarkable photographs of insects—she could sneak up on them without notice.

  Megan came in moments later, her face tight, a scarf wrapped around her neck. It was remarkable how different the twins looked even though they were identical. They had the same facial features, and they were the same height, but that’s where the resemblance stopped. Megan dyed her hair auburn and years of competitive gymnastics as a child had altered her physique. She didn’t compete anymore, but she always seemed shorter than Emma, broader in the shoulders. Her life consisted of worrying about classes, her boyfriend, and hanging out with her friends. She wanted a normal life, but had to contend with having a bizarre family.

  Megan chose the chair that was farthest from her sister.

  “Hello, Megan.” Leonard closed the door, then sat back down. “We haven’t seen you in a while.” His casualness grated on Elena’s nerves. They had had one of their rare arguments yesterday. Elena thought they should discuss what was happening with each member of the program. She could still see the horrific image of Kellen’s body, the ichor syrupy on the floor.

  Elena thought it was unconscionable that Wyman wasn’t explicitly warning their students about the murders. First Michael, then Kellen. Wyman had assured her that he was working closely with the police and there was no reason to be worried—the police had a significant lead pointing to a local drug dealer. Elena was adamant, but Wyman had wielded a final argument that had convinced her: their students were not average students. Witnessing or being proximate to a murder was just not the same thing to them—any one of them could easily misuse the situation for some personal gain. Maybe for media attention—what if they publicized the program?—maybe for financial gain; it was not a tragedy to them, but something they could use. She thought of the way Charles had looked at Kellen’s body with interest, rather than terror.

  “I imagine you’ve settled into the school year somewhat already,” Leonard said.

  Emma didn’t say anything. Megan chimed in instead. “Classes are getting more intense. I’m busy with organizing stuff for my sorority.”

  “Sisters,” Emma said. Expressionless, it was impossible to tell if she was somehow kidding. “We had a new sister once.”

  “She’s referring to sixth grade,” Megan translated. “This fad where everyone got these heart necklaces. You know, a heart broken in two pieces. One girl wears one half and the other wears the second half.”

  “Some said ‘Best friends.’ Megan’s said ‘Sis’ and the other one said ‘ters,’” Emma said, more eagerly.

  “Maureen Demirez was my best friend that year,” Megan said carefully. “We each had half of the necklace.”

  “They knew each other from gymnastics,” Emma said. Megan had legitimately been good up until then, competing in state and regional competitions.

  “That was the year I had my injury,” Megan said, averting her eyes. She didn’t like to talk about the injury at practice that had torn several ligaments. Despite physical therapy and the best sports doctors the family could find, it had ended her competitive career.

  “The news said there might be rioting,” Emma said abruptly. This wasn’t outside the realm of normal for her—because conversations often disinterested her, it wasn’t unusual for her to completely hop between topics, playacting what she thought a conversation was.

  “Rioting—oh, the protests?” Leonard asked.

  Megan was distracted for several minutes before she started talking in earnest. She, like many undergraduates, was anxious about the political climate and constant barrage of bad news on the TV. Just last week, police clashing with protestors had led to dozens of arrests and a fire downtown. This conversation went on, Emma occasionally throwing in a fact she had read. Every time she had a session with both girls, Elena was fascinated at what their contrasting behavior could mean. How on earth Leonard had managed to recruit a pair of identical twins where one was psychopathic and the other wasn’t was beyond her. She did know that it had been expensive to recruit them. Megan hadn’t even wanted to come to DC, but with a considerable signing bonus for both girls, Emma’s free tuition and Leonard “making some calls” at American, they had managed to be convinced. He was cagey about the amount, but Elena’s understanding was that it had taken a significant chunk of grant money.

  But it would probably be worth it. The field was only on the verge of beginning to understand to what extent psychopathy was heritable. Certain psychiatric disorders—schizophrenia, bipolar disorder—were highly heritable, a fact that had been determined by studies over the years comparing monozygotic twins—those who share one hundred percent of their genes—and fraternal twins. If one identical twin had bipolar disorder, there was about a sixty percent chance that the other would have it, as well. This was what made the Dufresne twins fascinating: Emma had been
diagnosed, and Megan, too, had been tested. While Megan was not psychopathic, she had an anxiety disorder and often seemed to bear the brunt of their family’s problems. Emma was something to be managed, and while she didn’t want to do it, Megan was the closest relationship Emma had. Their parents out in San Diego—the nice house and the Bernese mountain dog—had seemed about as kind and do-gooder as parents got, so what was it that had shaped the twins to be so drastically differently?

  When the session ended, Emma scurried from the room, Leonard said his goodbyes and Elena and Megan left at the same time.

  Megan lingered by the door. “Something wrong?” Elena asked. She believed she had a better rapport with Megan than Leonard had—it was just easier for two young women to relate to each other.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the vault accident lately,” she said. They headed down the hallway and started down the stairs together. “It was just a normal practice. I had done that vault a million times—it wasn’t even the hard one. Mom brought Emma to practice with her, but I didn’t care—she would just sit there and read.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was about to do my vault, about to start running, and I happened to look up and Emma was just staring at me. That’s the vault that tore my ligaments.” They stopped on the landing, Megan looking up at Elena with earnest eyes, the exact earnestness someone had on their face when they were about to tell you how they saw a UFO once. “It was like she willed it to happen. She wanted me to get hurt.”

  “Megan, that’s outside the laws of physics,” Elena said gently. “Maybe she spooked you—”

  “But yeah, it was me who fucked up the vault and ruined my career.” Megan hopped down two stairs ahead of her, and Elena wondered if she had offended her. “It’s not like I was ever going to make nationals, anyway. But she got what she wanted.”