Read Online Hollow Man by Mark Pryor - Free Book Online

for a “yes,” and if you score more than twenty-five out of a maximum forty (although the passing score is thirty in the United States, which tells you how scientific it is), then you're in the club. You're not supposed to be evaluated until you're eighteen years old because so many of the factors run consistent with the behaviors of regular juvenile delinquents, and even “normal” teenagers, who are selfish, willful, and judgment-free. I was evaluated at age sixteen, after the pheasant incident, thanks to a private shrink and my parents’ money. Luckyfor me they had some then, before farming in England went to the dogs, and lucky for me I could be marked and graded as a sociopath—I passed the test with flying colors. One of the early questions deals with “Pathological Lying” and to no one's surprise I scored full marks on that one.
    Even though I did lie, a lot, I never liked the word pathological because it implied some sort of disease and suggested a compulsivity that over the years I managed to tamp down. Still, lying was undoubtedly a trait of mine, usually a strength but occasionally a weakness. It irritated me to be caught out and have to invent a covering lie, especially with Gus around, who seemed oddly gifted when it came to remembering things about me.
    My mysterious act at the club may have worked a little too well, prompting one from our companion. Or maybe she got sick of Gus leering at her. Either way, she disappeared on us. She drifted off to use the bathroom and never came back. Gus was worried, then outraged, then worried again, but I assumed it was a game and I liked it. What I liked best of all, for some reason, was that she'd taken Gus's phone number and not mine, but had given neither of us hers. As we walked toward our cars, I decided on some minor revenge.
    â€œNever seen you drool like that over a girl.”
    â€œI wasn't drooling,” Gus said. “If I ever did, though, it'd be over her. But you were quiet.”
    â€œNo choice, you wouldn't keep your yap shut.”
    â€œYeah, well, I think she liked me, kept asking me questions.”
    â€œYou know who else likes you?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYour fucking wife.”
    â€œI was just talking to the girl, dude. Michelle doesn't mind me talking to girls. You know I've never cheated on her.”
    â€œYou would have tonight though.”
    â€œBullshit. Flirting, that's all it was.”
    â€œRight. Ever given your number to a girl before?”
    â€œI didn't give her my number.” He stopped, a goofy grin on his face. “Oh, shit, I did.”
    I patted him on the back and circled the front of my car. “When it rings, make sure you get to it first. I think she liked you, so who knows what she might say.”
    I knew she didn't really like him. I knew it was me she was interested in and that she was using him as a foil. My evaluating psychiatrist, Evelyn, would have raised an eyebrow at such confidence and no doubt patted herself on the back that she'd scored me right on another PCL-R topic: “Grandiose Sense of Self-Worth,” two out of two points.
    I would have pointed out to Evelyn, a stout lady with the kind of penetrating, beady eyes an empath isn't supposed to have, that judging me like that was unfair. After all, I'd also maxed out on the very reason I knew Gus was my runner-up for the evening, the first rating on the list that scored me full marks for “Glibness and Superficial Charm.” Evelyn joked that there should have been a “Hell Yes” response for that one. She was right, I think, and I knew that even if I didn't have her number, my new friend would be in contact soon enough.
    It took sixteen days and she called Gus, not me, which pissed me off. She called at 9:30 on a Saturday night, while Gus was in the shower. His wife answered the phone, which made me laugh.
    When Gus got on the line, she claimed to have a gun in her hand, pointed at