Page 55 of PSYCHOlogical

Chapter Twenty

Val

Evil isn’t easy.

The human brain is programmed to feel compassion. Empathy reminds us that the pain we inflict upon others is often felt two-fold by the one inflicting it, through the presence of guilt.

A psychopath’s lack of empathy allows them to kill without feeling guilt, remorse, or compassion. I’d always believed, however, that ordinary people suffered through—and after—the act of killing.

I now knew that wasn’t completely true.

The fight-or-flight response occurs when we’re terrified. The body’s nervous systems stimulate the adrenal glands, triggering the release of catecholamines, which include adrenaline and noradrenaline. The release of hormones prepares us to fight or to seek safety.

Our breathing quickens. Our heartrate increases. Our muscles tense. Our brain, fueled by the hormones released by our adrenal glands, makes the decision to turn and run or take on the threat.

It was obvious I believed I was being threatened by the Office of the DNI. My decision, surprisingly, was to fight. Although I wasn’t the one committing the murderous act, I was playing a part in it—as an accomplice and conspirator—and I was completely satisfied knowing I was a participant.

Justified murder.

As I nervously sat in the parking lot of Buster’s Barbeque waiting for Vincent to return from Pike’s house, I accepted the murder of Wallace and Pike as being a necessary part of my survival.

Vincent nonchalantly walked past the front of the car, around the side, and opened the door.

He climbed inside and buckled his seatbelt. “It’s done.”

I shifted the car in reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “To your rental car?”

He nodded. “The Target in Stafford, off 95.”

I pulled onto the road and headed toward the highway. “Then what?”

“I’ll exchange the car for my truck and meet you at your house.”

On any other occasion, I’d look at Vincent’s presence in my home as a gift. The two dead bodies that lay in our wake led me to believe that our upcoming visit was going to be anything but pleasant.

* * *

In the last thirty minutes, I’d driven away from the site of two murders that weren’t committed under the authority of the Office of the DNI. My instincts—and my experience of federal investigations—led me to believe we’d be caught, sooner or later.

The instant Vincent walked through the door, my overactive mind began asking questions. “Do you think the fact that both men were employed on-base together and they died within minutes of one another that the police will look at their deaths as planned and executed murders?”

He lowered his bag to the floor. “Not at all.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he replied. “I’m good at what I do.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that there haven’t been two murders here in the last year. Two in one night is going to make headlines. It’s going to be a big deal.”

He glanced around the room, and then peered over my shoulder, toward the hallway. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

I thought he said he wanted to take a shower. I stared back at him in sheer disbelief. “Huh?”

“A shower,” he said. “I just killed two people. I feel dirty. I need to take a shower. I’ll explain everything when I’m done.”

“Uhhm. Sure,” I stammered. “Towels are in the hall closet. You know where the bathroom is.”

“I’ll just be a minute.” He reached for his bag. “I will bring you up to speed on everything as soon as I get done. Then, do you want to go get something to eat?”