Ficorpio
Chapter 1
I have XYY Syndrome. I spent three years in a psychiatric hospital and was finally discharged.
Then, on a high-speed train, I ran into a spoiled, out-of-control child throwing a tantrum.
I told him to keep it down. Instead, he spat at me and threw my medication away.
That wasn’t just my calming medication he’d tossed.
It was the regret his entire family would soon wish they could swallow.
I have severe Antisocial Personality Disorder, and I only barely managed to get out of the hospital last week.
Today, I was supposed to return for a follow-up evaluation.
So last night, I crammed all the correct answers like a student praying for a miracle.
For example:
“If you accidentally bump into someone, say you’re sorry. Don’t kill them.”
“When you have a conflict with someone, call the police instead of showing up at their house with a kitchen knife and slaughtering the whole family.”
“Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal! Repeat important points three times.”
Those stiff, baffling rules had already left me frustrated and miserable.
Then I boarded a high-speed train and encountered a spoiled, out-of-control child.
I had no idea what kind of lowlife had raised the little monster, but the boy screamed and leaped around the carriage like he owned it.
He ran from one end of the train to the other with a plastic toy gun in his hands. Whenever he saw a snack he wanted, he pointed the gun at whoever was holding it, whether he knew them or not, and ordered them to hand it over.
If they refused, he spat at them.
A train attendant came over to stop him.
The child’s parents acted as if they hadn’t seen a thing.
They couldn’t even be bothered to look up. The father kicked off his shoes, stretched out across the seats, and kept scrolling through short videos on his tablet.
The volume was turned all the way up. Wheezy canned laughter filled the entire carriage, as if an audience with emphysema had been trapped inside the speakers.
The attendant endured the smell of his feet and reminded him to keep an eye on his child.
Ethan Sterling rolled his eyes and said loudly, “We bought tickets. That makes us customers, and the customer is always right. You’re here to serve us. Do you understand?”
The attendant said, “But you’re disturbing the other passengers’ rest—”
Before she could finish, Ethan Sterling cut her off.
“Why shouldn’t a child be allowed to play in a public place? Who do you think you are?”
The attendant tried to say something else.
At that moment, the boy suddenly grabbed the hem of her short skirt and yanked it upward with all his strength.
Chapter 2
He didn’t manage to lift it, but everyone heard the fabric rip.
“It’s black! It’s black!” the boy shouted, bursting into laughter. He pointed at the attendant and announced, “She’s wearing black underwear!”
The attendant was young and clearly thin-skinned. Tears spilled down her face on the spot. Clutching her torn skirt, she fled.
A few passengers had finally seen enough.
“That boy has gone way too far!”
“You’re in public. Have some basic decency!”
“Like parent, like child. No wonder he behaves that way!”
Claire Sterling curled her lip. “Oh, please. I suppose you’re all perfect.”
Milo raised his plastic toy gun and shouted, “Keep talking and I’ll kill every one of you!”
Then he spat at the nearest passenger and burst into laughter.
Hands planted on his hips, the little brat swept a triumphant gaze around the carriage. Then his eyes landed on me.
He ran over, stared at my tablet, and thrust out his hand.
“Give it to me!”
I blinked. “What?”
“Your tablet. I want to play games!”
“Get lost.”
He pointed the toy gun at me and issued another command. “Give it to me now, or I’ll shoot you!”
His wretched mother spoke up. “Why are you being so selfish? He’ll give it back after he plays with it. What’s wrong with letting a child use it for a little while?”
All the blood in my body seemed to surge toward my head. My ears began to ring.
Two voices argued inside my mind.
One screamed, Kill him. Kill him.
The other insisted, Do as he says. Do as he says.
Just as rage was about to drown the last of my reason, another voice exploded in my head.
Murder is illegal! Murder is illegal! Murder is illegal! Important things must be repeated three times!
I realized I was about to lose control. I reached into my pocket for my medication, intending to take two pills and calm myself down.
Milo was quicker.
He snatched the medication bottle straight out of my hand.
“Give that back,” I said. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
He grinned. “Are you sick? Are you going to die?”
He twisted off the cap and dumped every pill onto the floor.
“Then go die! Hee-hee!”
Claire gave him a thumbs-up. “That’s my boy. So brave!”
One second later, she watched her precious son fold around my flying kick and sail backward through the air.
Before she could react, I grabbed the little brat, lifted him, and slammed him into the floor like a volleyball.
He hit with a heavy thud.
Milo burst into shrill sobs, screaming for help over and over.
The carriage fell silent for one brief instant.
Then his mother’s piercing howl tore through it.
“Help! He’s killing my son!”
Chapter 3
The spectators snapped out of their daze. They urged me not to sink to a child’s level while, with remarkable coordination, blocking Claire from reaching me and leaving a clear circle of space around us.
I crouched, grabbed Milo by the hair, and smiled at him.
“What game did you want to play?”
He was too terrified to answer. He kept twisting around to look at his mother, crying so hard he could barely breathe.
I slapped him across the face.
“I asked you a question. Answer me!”
“P-Plants vs. Zombies,” he stammered between sobs.
“Great. I’ll play with you. You’re the zombie, and I’m the plant.”
I scooped up a handful of sunflower seeds and flicked them at his forehead one by one.
“Peashooter! Pew, pew, pew!”
After a while, I decided the seeds were not doing enough damage. I glanced aside and spotted a cup of iced coffee on the table beside me.
I took a sip and sprayed it all over his face.
“Now I’m a Snow Pea!”
Coffee streaked Milo’s face, and his wet hair clung to his cheeks. He did not dare make a sound.
“Having fun?” I asked.
He shook his head frantically.
“You dare say it isn’t fun?”
I picked up his plastic toy gun and cracked it against his head.
“I’ve gone to all this trouble to play with you, and you say you’re not having fun?”
Milo shrieked in pain. Clutching his head, he nodded wildly.
“It’s fun! It’s fun!”
“Since it’s so much fun, you can keep playing with me.”
Snot bubbled from his nose as he sobbed. “I don’t want to play anymore! I don’t want to! I’ll never play again!”
Claire finally forced her way through. She threw herself at me and sank her teeth into my leg.
I drove my foot down against the back of her neck. Then I grabbed her by the hair and smashed her head into the floor.
Novels often portray people like me as volatile, flying into rages at the slightest provocation.
Maybe other psychopaths are like that. I wouldn’t know.
I’m not.
Most of the time, I’m exceptionally calm. Far calmer than any normal person.
It’s just that, to me, human life is as worthless as grass. Killing someone would feel no different from crushing an insect between my fingers.
For instance, if I had a knife in my hand right now, I would cut Milo’s head off without a moment’s hesitation.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a knife.
And the train attendant who came rushing over stopped me before I could do anything.
“Call the police!” Milo Sterling’s mother shrieked, clutching at my shirt. “I want him thrown in prison!”
I took hold of her fingers and bent them back one by one. “Touch me again, and I’ll cripple you.”
Claire Sterling screamed in pain. When she finally tore herself free, she didn’t dare try anything else. She only hid behind the train attendant, glaring at me with pure hatred.