Jericho glanced at the shelf to his left, wondering what kind of child wanted to read books with titles likeThe History of PalestineandThe God Code. A true psychopath, no doubt.
“I ran a background check on you. I also had you followed,” Thomas said casually, crossing the room to the small bar against the wall, reaching for a bottle of amber liquid. It wasn’t even noon yet.
Jericho made sure his tone matched Thomas’s. “Find anything interesting?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know. You have a brother, your father’s deceased, your mother’s…unwell. You have a record so clean it squeaks. Not even a speeding ticket. Given your extracurricular activities, I find that very impressive, especially when your ‘crew’ consists of boys barely old enough to vote. I know better than anybody that teaching a group of murderous teens how to not get caught is a full-time job.”
Jericho supposed he should have been pissed that Thomas had him followed, but Atticus had already warned him there was a chance that his father would look into his life. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Yeah, but unlike your sons, my boys weren’t born killers. They were made that way by life.”
Thomas gave him afair enoughnod, gesturing for him to have a seat. Jericho almost refused but thought better of it. The couch was brown leather and supple beneath his fingers.
Thomas uncorked the crystal decanter, filling the glass with two fingers of the dark alcohol. “Not every psychopath is born a killer. A large majority go on to be ruthless in far different ways. Corporate raiders, CEOs, defense attorneys, surgeons. But those are often the ones who come from good homes, without trauma. And even that sometimes doesn’t matter. I found broken boys who needed a purpose and taught them how to utilize their evolutionary advantage to help the greater good.”
Jericho snorted. The greater good. “You think the lack of empathy or remorse is a…gift? Some kind of superpower?”
Thomas poured another drink, holding it up. Jericho shook his head. It wasn’t even noon. “I think that we live in a world full of dangerous predators. Who better than to eliminate them but other predators? A group of people who can kill without the burden of a conscience.”
“I’m no psychopath and I sleep like a baby at night. My boys aren’t conflicted. We understand that some people don’t deserve the gift of breathing. You didn’t need to find psychopaths to create a group of killers. You only need people whose sense of right and wrong is greater than their fear of getting caught.”
“But what if you could have done what you did without having to have been radicalized by trauma? Surely, your mother’s attack spurred you to act, to retaliate? How could it not?”
“But the choice was mine. Did any of your sons have a choice? At any point, did you ask if this is what they wanted, or did you just make it clear that this lifestyle came with a price tag? That they were killers first, your sons second.” Thomas faltered, then gravitated closer. Jericho couldn’t help but ask, “How could you even know they were all psychopaths?”
Thomas sat beside Jericho on the couch. “I’m a trained psychiatric professional. I know the warning signs.”
“What if you got it wrong?” Jericho asked.
“I didn’t.”
“Not even with Aiden?”
Thomas’s drink was halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”
Jericho shifted so he was turned towards Thomas. “Did you know one of your sons doesn’t think Aiden is a psychopath? Did you know that when you adopted him?”
Jericho expected him to lie but, instead, he just said, “Aiden is a…special case.”
“Because you love him?” Jericho prodded.
Thomas’s pupils blew wide, studying Jericho, as if trying to discern exactly what it was he was getting at. “I love all my children,” he hedged.
“Do you? Because Atticus is convinced you don’t love him at all. In fact, he’s almost positive nobody in this family cares if he lives or dies. He claims that doesn’t bother him, but I know for a fact it does. You might have dulled his ability to feel remorse over killing scumbags who deserve it, but Atticus is no psychopath. He feels things…deeply.”
Thomas looked dumbstruck. “What do you mean my son thinks I don’t love him? Of course, I do. He’s my first. My oldest. I’m not particularly affectionate with them because they don’t like it. Too much touching or declarations of love makes them uncomfortable. I love my son even if he’s incapable of loving me. And Atticus is a psychopath.”
Jericho’s jaw thrust forward. “You’re wrong.”
Thomas shook his head. “I’m not. Psychopathy is a scale. My son never had the ability to feel remorse or guilt or empathy for others. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want people to feel those things for him. My son doesn’t like being inconvenienced or questioned. He does have a lot of feelings about a lot of things, but that doesn’t negate that he is a psychopath. Have you ever seen him express a shred of regret or even empathy for another person?”
Jericho nodded. “Yes. Me.”
Thomas shook his head. “I’ve watched two of my sons find their partners over the last year or so. They are perfect for their significant others. They show concern for their feelings, show a shocking amount of self-awareness with how they can provide Noah and Lucas with what they need. They love their partners to the fullest extent of their capabilities. That doesn’t make them any less psychopathic. If my son says he loves you, believe him. He likely means it. But you will find that when he wants something, he is ruthless about going after it and he will cut through anyone who gets in his way.”
“That’s not how he is with me,” Jericho assured him.
Thomas took a sip, looking at Jericho from over the rim of his glass before saying, “Maybe you’ve just never gotten in his way.”
“Even if Atticus is a psychopath, he still wants your love and respect, and he doesn’t feel like he has that. So, if you were trying to be their father, you failed, and it’s sad because none of you seem to realize how good a man you’ve raised.”
