58 Sugar (2/2)

”What will you do? Feed him to the serial killers?” He levelled me with a glare of his, but I could tell that it was playful.

”I don't like mixing business with pleasure,” the smugness in his voice startled me.

”Pleasure? Pray tell what pleasure you are speaking of in this case.”

”I am what some people call a non-criminal highly functioning sociopath. I don't mix that pleasure. What did you think?”

”Not a single thing,” I told him, not giving him the pleasure of making a joke out of it. ”You are far from a sociopath. Don't worry. You aren't going to kill anyone in this lifetime, at least.” He chuckled.

”I'm glad you know that. I believe at least one person has that faith in me.”

”Why? Are there people who think you are capable of murder?” I asked, curious.

”Sure, my own mother thinks that she will someday see me in the news,” he shrugged. I eyed him with trepidation. With his personality, it was quite possible to take him as a potential killer. He was indeed capable of getting into the minds of the criminal. That was a bog that most people feared, yet he leapt into it with ease and came out unscathed.

”And do you think you are capable of it?”

”No. The key to being successful in this field is not to be self-righteous but understand that the violent thoughts you are having or experiencing are not your own but a projection of what you are solving.” His words made sense, but I could feel my throat constrict.

”I wish I could say the same,” I mumbled under my breath, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear. But hear, he did.

”Evie, you are not a psychopath.” I lurched forward, stunned at his sudden proclamation.

”I know I am not,” I said in a small voice. I didn't know who I was trying to convince, him or myself.

”I am glad you know that.” And the conversation could have ended there, but we were already in the common room, with speculative eyes on us.