by Lucian Bane
“Okay,” she said, following him up. “You could use an elevator,” she joked, her heart pounding.
“Nah. It’s good exercise. That’s why I have my bedroom upstairs as well. So I have to use them. But don’t worry; it’s on the opposite side of the house from yours.”
“Pfff, I wasn’t worried,” she said, kind of lying. How could she not be nervous? “So, I don’t get it. What does your thesis have to do with psychology? That is what you majored in?” Miriam inquired
“It is, yes. Behavioral science is a study of humans’ reactions in certain situations. Without those changes in situations, would human behaviors change? The Chaos theory is just a mess of situations that somebody hasn’t sorted, and the human condition is linked to them.” He turned to her at reaching the landing. “Or is it that the Chaos theory is linked to the human condition? Are humans directing the Chaos or is Chaos directing the humans?”
Excitement raced through her veins at his statement. “I believe it is both,” she said, trying to contain her excitement.
“Really?”
She wasn’t surprised by his surprise, his or her theory for that matter, were not popular ones and hers was very similar to his. “I believe that… the Universe is intrinsically tied to humanity, that it is made for us and us for it and that nothing happens in either realm that is exempt from the other.”
“Which is the leader?” he asked her, or tested.
“I believe we are.”
“How so?” he again challenged.
“Because I believe all things were created by God, and humanity is his offspring and the world is our home. The home is created for us, we are created for the home, but I believe we hold the power and the authority, by design, over all external factors that move upon us.”
She held her breath as he held her gaze tightly. Her heart plummeted to her stomach when he lowered his head with a nod. “And that is where our theories part ways.”
A huge release flooded her as she nodded, “I figured as much.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“No, I… I’m not. At all. Just… it’s rare to have anybody share that belief and maybe I’m secretly hoping to sway an opinion.”
“Maybe you will one day. You plan to try to prove this theory?”
“It’s the spear-head of my thesis.”
“To prove God?”
His open shock would’ve been insulting if it weren’t for the familiarity she had with it. “Not exactly, no. I preferred to choose something more pinpointed to prove.”
“Really,” he said, seemingly interested and maybe a little impressed. “How about you tell me in the library?”
“Okay,” she said, fighting her nerves that suddenly went haywire. Telling him her thesis was big. Especially with him. With any male, really.
At first step into the library, her breath escaped her in a single, huge rush. She went slowly into the two-story room with the cathedral ceiling and glass surrounding its peak, unable to contain her astonishment. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered, putting a hand over her mouth as she turned to him.
The smile he wore stole her thoughts as her brain pointed out it was the first one he’d given. The transformation held her spellbound. “Glad you like it,” he said, enjoying the view too. “I didn’t touch a thing. It was perfect just like it was.”
She was relieved he wasn’t looking at her; it gave her time to gather herself. And then he was, fully and straight on.
“So what’s your thesis exactly?”
C H A P T E R F O U R
THESIS
“Yes,” she cleared her throat, searching the space for something to keep her grounded. She spotted the window nook with the seat and gasped. “A reading nook!?” She hurried to it. “Can we sit here?”
“Sure.”
She made it before him, sitting and peering out the third-floor windows, happy laughter gushing out. “I love it!”
He sat, and she scooted to give him plenty of space. She needed it more than him. “I like this spot too.” He turned from looking out the window and the natural light lit up half his blue eyes, making them appear to glow. “Something wrong?”
“Oh,” she rushed, lowering her gaze. “You have the most striking eyes, I’m very sorry for staring.”
“It’s your nature to stare, I think.”
She returned her gaze to his, wondering. “Why do you say?”
He added a near smile to his perfection. “You’re in behavioral sciences, studying. Looking and staring is kind of required.”
“It is,” she agreed, relieved.
“So what is your thesis,” he asked, propping an arm over the top of the leather seat cushion and leaning comfortably.
She wished she could do the same. “Only my advisor and professor know that.”
“If you prefer not sharing, I understand.”
“No, I don’t mind, it’s… it’s just… a sensitive subject.”
“For who?”
“For… well for… in general, I think it’s a sensitive subject. Not specifically. It can specifically be a sensitive subject, depending. I’m rambling,” she added in a huff before blurting it. “I aim to prove that certain addictions or conditions can be reversed.”
He kept an even gaze on her. “Sounds legit.”
“Ugh,” she scraped at her nails with a small headshake. “Of course it sounds legit, it’s as vague as you can get.” She prepared to shoot straight. "I believe people can change, and I want to prove it.”
He gave her that smile again. “I’m being patient. In five minutes I’ll demand you tell me every detail.”
She laughed too loudly then rubbed her hands along her dress. “Wow, this is turning out to be harder than I ever imagined. Okay, here goes. I… want to prove that certain conditions, that are commonly thought to be irreversible, are in fact reversible. Okay, I did it again.”
“I see you like making puzzles for me, so, let me help. What realm is this condition in?”
She chewed rabidly on her lower lip. “The particular one I’m studying is… in the… Dark Triad.”
Both his brows rose this time. “Dark Triad.”
She nodded, knowing he knew what that was—every psychology major did.
“Any particular part of the Triad?”
She pursed her lips, nodding. “All.”
Brows higher. More staring. “So you’re going to prove that psychopaths can be cured by?”
She fought the cringe her answer was sure to bring. “It’s going to sound ludicrous, I know, but…”
He angled his head suddenly, pinning her with a severe gaze. “Don’t… ever make excuses for your beliefs. No matter how ludicrous others think they are. It takes a special kind of… individual to test the founding supports in century old constructs.”
She swallowed, nodding while feeling foolish. “Right. It’s why I’ve come this far.”
“Finish the equation,” he said quietly.
She eyed him, immediately ensnared in his magnetic gaze. Finish the equation. “God,” she said, making her voice firm. “God finishes the equation.”
He held her with that stare until she forgot why, who, what. “Very good,” he finally answered softly.
“But ludicrous,” she added.
He smiled and put his arm back on the pillow, staring out the window. “For me?” He finally hit her with those eyes full on, his expression turning stone-like. “Utterly.”
Disappointment hit her chest with a confusing pain. She shook it off immediately. Why should she be hurt that he thought she was utterly ludicrous? “Now you see my dilemma in finding a subject to study.”
He turned away from the window and stretched his long legs. “Actually, that’s going to be an easy one.” With his arms crossed over his chest, he was officially a biological distraction.
He turned a new expression toward her, not at her, but at the space between them. The intrigue he emanated was plenty enough to straighten her spine. “I don’
t believe in miracles,” he began lowly, “but… I have to say that, if I did, I might actually consider this to be one.”
This had her full attention. “What do you mean?”
He kept his gaze on the space between them, his brows raising high. “I’m your candidate.”
She stared before a laugh escaped her. “That’s funny,” she blurted at the pointed gaze now aimed at her. “You… you hardly qualify.”
“Three doctors think I do. Would you like my records?”
She sat there, stunned. “You display no symptoms, you… Oh my God are you… are you saying you’re a…”
He tossed an easy smile at her. “Psychopath. Or so they say,” he muttered, giving her a second of hope.
“You disagree?”
“I haven’t killed anybody.”
“Do you…”
“No. I don’t want to kill anybody.”
“Then how…”
“Because I have within me every manner of psychosis that exists in psychopaths. I’m considered…” he aimed his gaze up, contemplating before turning to her. “A ticking time-bomb. Perhaps with age, or the right situation, I will come into my full, lethal potentials and gifts.”
Her heart was officially hammering even though he said it like a joke. “But you… you don’t agree?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been diagnosed three times. Maybe I wouldn’t mind a fourth opinion.”
****
If winning bets came with angelic chimes, Mordecai would be hearing a chorus all around him. One after another, she did exactly as he’d staked, all the way down to what was about to come out of her pure, unadulterated lips.
“Are you suggesting we… study one another? How would that work?”
All but the particulars now. “You tell me.”
Her wheels immediately went to turning with that while Mordecai allowed himself to go over some things he’d not wagered. How much he was enjoying things so far was one, only he’d not allowed himself to wager that. But he was thinking maybe he might have wagered wrong on it had he permitted it.
Were the doctors right? That he was merely a situation away from becoming a living psychopath? The need to test that was officially at an all-time high as he waited for Miriam to finish his home run.
“I suppose we could schedule sessions like we would with any clinical study. When we’re not in sessions, we study. To formulate data collecting strategies.”
Data collecting strategies. That was music to his ears. “Sounds doable,” he said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. “Aren’t you worried?” he asked, allowing an un-wagered question.
“I’m… oddly not, no. Nervous, excited but not afraid. Not of you.”
“Your faith?”
“Or my optimism.”
“Isn’t that the same?” he wondered.
“Not at all.”
He angled his head toward her, interested. “How so?”
“Well… faith is about believing. That doesn’t mean you have to believe in foolish things. We should have faith in sound science, and if God is the creator of all, then the sciences will support Him.”
“But they don’t.”
“Maybe science is lagging a bit. Maybe God is a lot like your chaos theory. A puzzle waiting to be put together, an equation waiting to be solved.”
Her answer was applause worthy and interesting. Now if he could get her to explain how she’d developed universal truths from subjective, personal experiences. “So you’re optimistic about your safety with me, but don’t necessarily have faith in that.”
“I have faith in truth, which includes wisdom and prudence, and knowledge.”
“Well, I think I have all of those, does that mean I have faith?”
She smiled with that. “Yes, it does, you have utter faith in all those things. I happen to have faith in more than that.”
“That God is the supervisor of wisdom, prudence, and knowledge.”
“Well… more that God is the supervisor of those who give themselves over to Him for the supervision and education in such things as knowledge and wisdom and prudence.”
“So you just… allow him to be God of those things.”
“Yes,” she said, like it were simple. And that simplicity is where he found intrigue. That any obviously intelligent person could hold such beliefs so strongly, had to have merit, and discovering that merit was fast becoming an addiction before he even took his first taste. Part of him hoped she was able to sustain her delusions with a worthy enough logic, wisdom, and prudence as she called them. He didn’t believe in fighting stupidity, he’d not waste his time. But there was a lot more to do with her than spar over her faith.
“So your wisdom and prudence says you very well may not be safe with me but your optimism says you’re going to believe the best. Essentially you’re putting your optimism before your faith.”
“I’m putting faith in the wisdom that I believe you can change—”
“But I don’t share that faith,” he cut in.
“I’m optimistic in the data you’ve provided thus far, that you will at least hear me out, allow me to employ whatever methods to prove my thesis.”
“What data did I provide you that lead you to this?” he wondered, curious about her deduction abilities of him.
“You’ve clearly demonstrated that you’re a man of logic. A man that respects the laws and all they require. That you respect others right to live and believe as they wish. And you’re kind--. why are you laughing?”
He leaned forward, unable to keep it in. “I’m kind. How did you figure that one?”
“Well you…” She eyed him as he faced her, his interest alive and all over her. “You cooked for me.”
“Because I don’t want you touching anything in my kitchen.”
“You… you fixed me a lot of food.”
“Because I can’t have a malnourished subject.”
“You gave me the Princess room,” she shot at him with a finger to which he laughed.
“It’s the only other bedroom on this floor and I needed my homework on the same floor as me.
She straightened even more. “You offered to create my own exercise program,” she cried.
“Merely an opportunity to study you.”
She finally sat back with a huff, staring at his humored expression. “I suppose you are sadistic, what with that smirk you’re wearing. Enjoying the fact that you’re a Mr. Meany Pants.”
Meany Pants. Fuck, he just got his first hard on.
“Oh you mean you’re going to get offended with that?”
“Who said I’m offended?” he challenged softly.
“Well, you looked… it.”
“What do you think a sadist like me, with all the qualities I possess, might be right now? Miriam?”
He held his breath and his pulse literally beat in his cock as he waited, as he met her gaze and tasted his first real challenge with her only two feet away, in touching distance. She licked her lips but held fast to his stare which was quite impressive. “Possibly… depending on your… type, you could be…”
“Aroused out of my mind?” he suggested. He had to chuckle at the look on her face. “I’m not,” he easily lied. “But you might want to reconsider this entire thing. Most sadists would be aroused with all of this and if you can’t handle that, you shouldn’t be in this field of work.”
As he’d wagered, that put her right back on track with a stiff backbone. “Nothing I can’t handle, Mordecai. Don’t mistake my inexperience with cowardice. I may appear out of sorts, I may even be out of sorts at various times, but you can be sure I have a firm hand on who I am and what I can do. I can do anything and all things. Because I have a power living inside me that orders my steps and my mind, a power that is able to make crooked paths straight and sway the hearts and minds of men unto the accomplishing of His good will.”
Mordecai sat frozen in place. His body had locked down with what she’d just hit him with. It felt like b
olts of electricity ping-ponging through his blood, bones, and balls until his brain buzzed frantically to name this fire, connect it to any single prior experience.
The urge to do things flashed through his mind in the aftermath of it, things he’d never imagined doing, sadistic things, sexual things, to her. He wanted to return the favor he realized, he wanted to give her some of himself, much like she’d just given him.
He realized it had finally begun. The war between them. She’d thrown the first shot and now, it was his turn. “You have laundry to do and we both have a clinical study to present to our advisors.”
“I already have,” she said. “Did it last year. I just need to present that to you.”
He stood, keeping his back to her. “I’d appreciate a concise list of what you will need from me—when, where and how you will need it. I’ll provide you the same since I too have already consorted with my advisor.”
“Okay,” she said, softly, back to submissive.
He stood, keeping his back to her. “We can meet tomorrow at lunch. Go over our plan and make any changes necessary.”
When she stood, he headed out, not wanting to look at her again. Not because he didn’t want to see her, he did. Very much. He wanted and he would see her in every expression she possessed, in every situation he could imagine. But he didn’t want her seeing him. Him and all the sadistic things still burning in his blood to do to her, with her, because of her. Not until he had her where he needed. Under his complete control.
“Thank you,” she called out when his first foot hit the stairs. “For dinner. And the nice room, even though it wasn’t to be nice,” she yelled as he hurried downstairs, his mind already locked on to his next tasks. Get the kitchen in order. Perform his workout, shower, and go over his own plans for her. Not the ones he’d presented to his advisor, but the ones he’d presented to nobody but himself.
He had a long night ahead of him. And he’d never looked forward to anything more.
C H A P T E R F I V E
PSYCHO