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I snorted and sat on my butt, lifting my legs up so that my heels were pressed against my butt resting on the hard bench.

I didn’t go for the bed because too many people made that their home.

I’d rather wake up with a neck crick than ever stay on that stupid, disgusting mattress that never got cleaned.

“That would probably be appropriate if you were referring to someone that wasn’t a psychopath, but since I’m fairly sure that Leo actually is, I have no issues with calling him that.” I leveled a look at her. “Why so sensitive about me using that word?”

She swallowed hard. “What makes you think that he’s a psychopath?”

I rested my chin on my upraised knees and leveled a look at her.

Normally, I wouldn’t bother.

No one really wanted to know. They just faked the caring because it was easier than not appearing to be caring.

Zee, however?

She looked like she really was interested.

I tossed the idea around.

If I told her and she didn’t agree, in reality it was no skin off my nose.

I mean, the likelihood that we talked outside of today was near minimal.

But since she pissed my brother off today by taking my side, I decided…why not.

“Do you know what a psychopath is?” I asked finally.

“Officially, there’s not an actual clinical term called psychopathy. It’s actually under a term called antisocial personality disorder.” She hesitated. “But, if we’re going on it being an actual thing…psychopaths are callous, manipulative, and deceitful. They may be prone to acts of violence, and will use whatever means necessary to get what they want,” Zee said. “They also show no shame, lack empathy or remorse, and don’t care who they hurt in the process of getting what they want.”

I nodded. “My brother, at age four, killed a kitten. He was swinging it around the room in a pillowcase, whacked it against a wall, and opened the pillowcase up to find it’d passed away. He just left it there, uncaring who found it.”

She swallowed hard.

“There was no remorse. No ‘oh, no. I shouldn’t have done that.’ Just a ‘huh, that’s interesting’ and then he went on with what he was doing,” I said. “He is incredibly smart. Genius level. Though my parents never had him tested. But he graduated when he was barely a teenager. From college.”

Zee’s lips parted in surprise.

“Over the years that I was at home, I noticed that he would do things just to get a rise out of me. Hide my things. Then, when I finally stopped looking for it, he’d bring it back and hand it to me. Maybe even after I’d replaced it. One time, when he was around seven, he’d locked me in a shed outside for two days. I’d been living by myself at the time, having moved out at eighteen because I couldn’t stand to be around him anymore.”

I told Zee about the time that Leo had packed a knife in my backpack and then told the teachers that I was going to hurt the people in the school. It told her about my suspicions that he killed both my parents and my grandparents.

I told her about literally everything that I could think of over my brother’s eighteen years of life.

“And there’s zero emotion,” I said. “At one point, when I was still living at home, I tried to teach him about emotion. I tried to tell him why it was important for people to feel, and it was like he retained that conversation, and morphed himself into ‘someone who cares.’ It was like overnight, he was this charming individual. He was helpful and kind—at least outward appearance wise. He volunteered at the shelter. But while he was there, these animals would get sick. I remember reading the newspaper and saw that they appeared to have drank antifreeze—at least that was what their symptoms were showing. One day I walked in on him pouring antifreeze from our shop into a bottle on the same day that he was going to volunteer. That very same day, two dogs died.”

“Jesus,” she said.

“When he was fourteen and our parents ‘died,’ the sheriff asked if I would take him in with me,” I said. “But there was no way I could bring him into my home. I’d finally recovered enough financially after he practically made me unhirable—I’ve been arrested eleven times, ten of those because of my brother. One time, while I was at work, the sheriff got a call that I’d beaten him up. My parents even corroborated it. The only thing that saved me was that I had a camera on me while at work, proving that I wasn’t out of the truck when that ‘assault’ would’ve happened. When his ploy didn’t work, he waited until I was unable to provide an alibi, and then got a couple of friends of his to say that I brandished a gun at him. That charge stuck, because it was my word against his. Well, not that particular charge. The charge that stuck was them coming to bring me in for questioning, and their K-9 hitting on the gun that I had illegally on me. I was fired from my job with the city because I had a criminal background, and then all of a sudden, there were rumors everywhere regarding me. How I abused my brother. How I stole from The Mercantile—that was also my brother. How I was refusing to take him in. What kind of sorry, good for nothing girl didn’t take her sweet, sweet brother in and let him go to a group home at Camp Grizzly?”

Her head jerked up. “Camp Grizzly? Your brother is there?”

I nodded. “Or was. He aged out at eighteen, but they help youth find jobs, housing, stuff like that. I guess since I saw him in town today, that means I’ll be seeing more of him now that he’s out. Usually, the owner allows them to come into town to buy things they need once a month. So I didn’t have to see him all that often. The program allows the campers to work for him, and Milo pays them after they cover their room and board. I have no doubt in my mind that my so-called brother will excel in life. He’ll probably make a million bucks, probably by inserting himself into some rich person’s life and acting like he’s the sweetest thing ever. Then he’ll kill them just like he killed my parents and grandparents—without a trace back to him—and then he’ll have their fortune because they didn’t see the monster that lurks behind his eyes.”

“He would’ve been young if he’d killed your grandparents like you said,” she pointed out.

“My brother was killing animals at four, which I can confirm.” I snorted. “I don’t know how he got away with what he did—with my grandparents or my parents—but I know he did it. I’m not sure how, but I just know…” I placed my hand over my heart.