Moonstruck, p.1
Moonstruck, page 1
Necessary Evils
Unhinged
Psycho
Moonstruck
Damaged
Headcase
Mad Man
Lunatic
Maniac
Click HERE for a complete list of Onley’s books and their respective links.
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Atticus
2. Jericho
3. Atticus
4. Jericho
5. Atticus
6. Jericho
7. Atticus
8. Jericho
9. Atticus
10. Jericho
11. Atticus
12. Jericho
13. Atticus
14. Jericho
15. Atticus
16. Jericho
17. Atticus
18. Jericho
19. Atticus
20. Jericho
21. Atticus
22. Jericho
23. Atticus
Epilogue
Headcase Preview
Afterword
About the Author
MOONSTRUCK
necessary evils book three
Copyright © 2021 Onley James
www.onleyjames.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover and Interior Formatting by We Got You Covered Book Design
Trigger warning: This book contains graphic violence and very dark humor.
SUBJECT: ATTICUS
Thomas shook off his umbrella, looking back at the storm raging outside the children’s home. It was almost apocalyptic out there—lightning chasing across the sky, thunder shaking the ground with each boom. The streetlights gave the sheets of rain an eerie glow, or maybe that was just Thomas’s imagination. His head was a mess tonight.
This was it. The beginning of his plan. A culmination of everything he’d planned for the last year…if the boy worked out. Allen seemed sure that this boy—this orphaned eight-year-old child—was the perfect subject for Thomas’s project.
He wiped the rain from his brow as he walked towards an elderly security guard hunched over the front desk. Just as he was about to announce himself, Allen came sweeping out from a doorway on the left. “Thomas, just in time. Come with me.”
Allen clapped him on the back and turned him around just as the security guard noticed him. Allen gave the man a wave. He dipped his head, returning to whatever had his attention on the desk.
Allen gave him a reassuring smile, running a hand through his dark hair. He was in his late forties, handsome in a distinguished way, graying only at the temples. He was almost the same age as his father would have been had he lived. It made sense given he was one of Thomas’s father’s closest friends. All these years later, their friendship still baffled Thomas. His father was a nightmare of a human, rotten to his core.
Allen on the other hand was…solid. Not overly friendly or ingratiating. Not too cold or distant. He was the definition of steadfast. When people said somebody had a good head on their shoulders, they were often talking about somebody like Allen. He was respected, connected, and beyond reproach. How had Allen tolerated his father all those years?
It didn’t matter. Thomas was grateful to have Allen as an ally, somebody to easily navigate the system, cut through red tape, facilitate transfers, and run interference.
The building was deceptively small outside, but inside was a sea of closed doors and tunneling hallways. They’d painted the walls a nauseating mint green that had faded to an even dingier yellowish green over time. The linoleum tiles were starting to peel up from the concrete floor beneath, and the lights flickered like something out of an old horror movie. When they reached a crossroads, they took a hallway on the left.
Thomas gave a nervous laugh. “There’s no end to this place.”
Allen chuckled. “It seems that way.”
Thomas darted a glance in the older man’s direction. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me, just…just trust me,” Allen said, increasing his pace.
They made a right turn and came to a dead end where there were four closed doors. Allen nodded to a woman wearing jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and a ponytail. “Is he in there already?”
She nodded.
“Alone?”
She shook her head, eyeing Thomas curiously. “No sir, with Frankie.”
“Excellent.”
He led Thomas to the first door on the left. An observation room of sorts, with a two-way mirror dividing them and two young boys. One of the boys had a shock of red hair, eyes so blue Thomas could see them from across the room, and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He might have been the most wholesome looking child he’d ever seen. He sat at a table with a small blond boy, much younger than himself. He was showing the little boy something in the book. The little boy made a face like he thought something was gross and then began to giggle. The red-headed boy followed suit.
He and Allen observed their play for roughly five minutes before Thomas asked, “What am I looking at here?”
“Just wait for it.”
Thomas shifted restlessly, crossing his arms over his chest. Another minute or two passed, and then the woman with the ponytail entered, calling the smaller boy to come with her. He stood and waved. The red-headed child eagerly waved back. Thomas gave one more puzzled look at Allen before the man pointed back to the room.
When Thomas looked back, the red-headed boy was now methodically tearing out the pages of the book, taking those pages and shredding them into smaller and smaller strips, a blank expression on his face. The rapid shift in his demeanor was bone-chilling given his liveliness just moments ago.
Before he could enquire further, another woman entered. This woman was wearing a skirt and blouse, dressed as if she were about to go to a function or maybe on a date. The boy turned to the woman, looking her up and down with slow, methodical precision. She smiled warmly. He did as well. She extended her hand and he took it, shaking it. When she sat beside him, she crossed her legs at the ankles, keeping her hands in her lap. The boy did the same. When she leaned in, he did the same.
“He’s…mimicking her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We’re not quite sure.”
“What’s his backstory?” Thomas asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the seamless way the boy mirrored the woman.
“They raided a property down south after they’d heard rumors it was a grow farm. And it was. Everything from weed to poppies. There were several people living on the property. None of them related, all of them indigent. They still haven’t sorted who’s who. The ones who can speak with any coherency aren’t talking and the rest have had their brains strangled from huffing paint and gasoline.”
“Jesus.”
“This boy is one of thirteen children they detained, ranging from six months to eight years. He was caring for all of them. Feeding them, dressing them, creating makeshift diapers out of old bedsheets, doing the best he could to keep them clean considering there was no running water and the trailer the children were kept in had a floor that was sagging straight into the dirt.”
“And nobody knows who he belongs to?”
Allen shrugged. “Nobody is claiming him. We haven’t sent DNA swabs yet. Even if he does belong to one of those tweakers, they’re not going to see the light of day for years. The others are young, easy to place. But this one… I saw him and I knew.”
“Knew what?” Thomas asked, riveted by the boy on the other side of the window.
“They had him evaluated by a psychiatrist. He’s intelligent, well-spoken, fastidious, very particular about his things. Shows a surprising level of education given his living conditions and even speaks fluent Spanish, though that likely has to do with the migrant workers on the farm. The psychiatrist gave him a glowing report other than a diagnosis of obsessive compulsive disorder.”
“So, why am I here, Allen?”
“Because he fooled a board certified psychiatrist, Thomas. When he’s not interacting with another person, he’s observing. He watches them, mirrors them, does what they do. He’s teaching himself to fake emotions he doesn’t have. And he’s learning very quickly.”
“You’re saying…”
“He has no sense of fear, no anxiety, no guilt. He steals from the other kids, hoards food, money, clothes. Admits guilt when caught but feels morally righteous about his crimes. He’s not violent. At least, that we’ve witnessed. But if he’s placed in the wrong hands, imagine what he’ll pick up. The behaviors he would mirror. Make no mistake. That boy is a psychopath.”
The gears in Thomas’s head were already turning. Allen was right. The boy was perfect for his purposes. A gifted mimic who could blend seamlessly into polite society, while also lacking the remorse or guilt others might have at committing violent acts, no matter how deserved they might be. Nobody knew how to train this child better than Thomas. It would almost be a crime not to take him.
“And nobody knows about him?” Thomas asked sharply.
“Nobody but those of us who have worked with him. It would be easy enough to fabricate a transfer to another facility on paper. Nobody would question his disappearance.”
Was he truly doing this? This was the point of no return. If he took this child, he had to put his money where his mouth was, literally. He’d have to forge documents, bribe officials, and raise a child under rigorous moral guidelines. He was barely more than a child himself.
Still, he knew this was the right thing. It had to be. If he could prove that psychopaths weren’t a plague on society but a gift, an evolutionary tool that could be harnessed to cull the monsters of their society, he’d change the world.
Dr. Molly Shepherd had proven it could be done once. She’d raised a sociopath, had turned him into a productive member of society. But she did it as a mother, not as a scientist. No peer review board would approve a study with children as lab rats, but science required proof via replication. And that started with study subjects like the boy in there.
“Does he have a name?” Thomas asked.
Allen nodded. “He says his name is Christian.”
Thomas nodded. “We’ll have to change that. We’ll have to make him disappear and reappear as somebody else entirely. New name, new birthday, new birth certificate.”
Allen nodded. “We’ve been putting these things into place for months now, Thomas. This one is your first. I know it.”
Thomas swallowed audibly, feeling like there was dust in his throat. “May I speak to him?”
“Of course.”
Allen led him around to the room’s entrance and beckoned the woman within. “That’s all, Nancy. Thanks for humoring me.”
“No problem, Allen. What a sweet boy. This was probably more fun than the dinner I’m being forced to sit through tonight.”
She was gone with a wave and a nod.
Once more, the boy sat quietly, picking at something beneath his fingernails.
Thomas approached him slowly. “Mind if I sit with you?”
The boy looked up at him with solemn blue eyes and shook his head. Thomas took a seat.
“I’m Thomas.”
“I’m Christian.”
“Do you like it here, Christian?” Thomas asked.
The boy looked him in the eye and said, “It’s nice. I’m very happy here.”
Thomas tilted his head. “Are you really?”
The boy tilted his as well, studying Thomas’s expression for a long moment. “No?”
“Is that a question?” Thomas asked.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say,” Christian finally admitted.
Fascinating. “I imagine this place isn’t a lot of fun.”
The boy shrugged tiny shoulders. “It’s clean. Nobody beats me or touches me where they’re not supposed to. I wish people would stop touching my stuff, though.”
Thomas’s stomach churned at the casual comment. How much had the child endured that he would make a statement like that offhand? “People touched you where they weren’t supposed to?”
The look the boy gave him sent a shiver down his spine. “Only once.”
The malice in those two words was the very reason people like this boy needed Thomas and his program. “I am looking to adopt a boy just like you.”
The boy’s brows knitted together. “No offense, mister, but you don’t look much older than me.”
Thomas grinned. “I’m older than I look.” When the boy shrugged again, Thomas said, “I have this big old house and nobody to share it with. I want to fill it with kids just like you. But there are rules. A lot of them. But it’s very clean and nobody will touch you without your permission. Ever. I can’t promise that when you have brothers they won’t mess with your stuff. But you’ll be my first. My eldest. You’ll look out for them. How does that sound?”
“What do I have to do for it?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just abide by my rules.”
He seemed to think on it for a long moment before giving a singular nod. “Yeah, I guess I can do that.”
“There is one more thing. In order for you to come with me, we’ll have to give you a new name. Would that be alright?”
“Okay.”
“What name would you like?” Thomas asked.
“What name would you like?” the boy countered.
Thomas could have pushed the issue, tried to make the boy choose a new name for himself, but it seemed a ridiculous hill to die on given the battles he was sure would come as he aged. “Me? I’ve always liked the name Atticus.”
Again, the boy tilted his head the way Thomas had. “Atticus? Why?”
“Because Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird was my favorite book character.”
“Why?”
Thomas chuckled. “Because he believed in personal responsibility and in doing what was right. Because he was brave in the face of opposition. Because he didn’t need to throw his weight around and get violent or defend himself against people who talked badly about him. He let his actions speak for themselves. But mostly, I guess he’s my favorite character because he was a good father and my father… My father wasn’t.”
Thomas hadn’t really meant to get that deep with his answer, but the boy looked him in the eye, nodding. “It’s a good name. I like it. I don’t know if I can be all those things.”
“You don’t have to be all of those things. You just have to live a life where you leave the world better than you found it,” Thomas said.
“Okay.”
Allen entered the room, looking between the two of them. “Are you ready to go, Atticus?”
Of course, he’d been eavesdropping.
The boy nodded, pushing his hair from his eyes. “Yeah.” He looked to Thomas. “What’s our last name?”
“Mulvaney.”
“Mulvaney,” the boy parroted. “Cool. I’ve never had one of those before.”
Thomas put a hand on the boy’s head briefly before removing it. He’d promised the boy no touching without his permission. He didn’t want to damage his trust in him before they left the building. “Well, it’s yours now. From now on, you’re Atticus Mulvaney, eldest son of Thomas Mulvaney, and that’s all anybody ever needs to know.”
Atticus looked him in the eye. “Okay.”
Atticus cursed as his three hundred dollar hiking boots sank into a muddy rut in the ground. It was the closest thing to a path in the heavy underbrush. It had rained hours ago, making the trek through the woods far more treacherous than he’d imagined. He’d dressed for the occasion in a black long-sleeved shirt and waterproof tactical pants. Even the small bag slung over his shoulder was made for hiking. He just hadn’t expected it to be this hot…and dirty. He hated getting dirty.
His boot made an obscene sucking sound as he pulled it free of the muck with a disgusted grunt. He was going to have to find a way to clean that off before he left. He’d never get the filth out of his car if he didn’t. The smell of rain and rotting vegetation was permanently imprinted in his nostrils.
His target, Trevor Maynard, was a sniveling little wannabe gangbanger who got off taking advantage of the immigrant women his parents employed at their dry cleaners. He wore his shirts too tight and his pants too low and thought tying a bandana around his forehead made him some kind of thug.
Trevor liked to abuse his power, threatening the jobs of his victims to lure them out into the woods where nobody would hear them scream. While Atticus’s father’s insistence on taking the man out in the middle of nowhere to kill him was karmically just, it was also unnecessarily dramatic in Atticus’s opinion.
Guys like Trevor rarely put up a fight in the face of danger. If anything, he would beg and plead, attempt to use his perceived status—of which he had none—and offer money as a last resort. It would all end the same, with Atticus Jackson Pollacking his brains against the back wall of his shitty cabin. This could have all been done closer to the city.
