Chapter Four That’s Not My Name
Chapter four
That’s Not My Name
The cursor on his laptop screen blinked, a silent metronome counting down the moments of his indecision as Kenny hovered his fingers over his keyboard.
Looking up the profiles of his students on the internal system felt somewhat like snooping. It wouldn’t feel like that for any other student, of course. Course results and personal info were available for everyone who taught them. But what had Kenny reeling in anxiety, uncertainty clawing at his resolve, was what he would find within Aaron Jones’s.
Having pulled off the registration listing for the lecture, it had confirmed that Aaron was in his cohort. It was his real name, too. Which was more the shocker, as Kenny had been ninety-nine percent certain it had been a fake. An alias. A name given to backroom men he didn’t want knowing his real one. So unless he was an exceptionally talented stalker, having planned this elaborate ploy from as early as when he’d chosen his A Levels at age sixteen, Aaron Jones was a first-year student on his Forensic Psychology BSc. Meaning their liaison on Saturday had to be a rather improbable coincidence.
Kenny couldn’t pinpoint what was making his spine tingle, his senses heighten, but he’d learned not to discard his initial instincts. Years of researching human behaviour, of interviewing people with various disorders, of delving inside the minds of others, had given him the ability to know when to dig further. And something didn’t sit right about Aaron Jones. Something he refused to chalk up to happenstance .
With a heaved sigh, he tapped his fingers over the keyboard and was into the student system, searching for Aaron Jones. Rather drab name for a man who dazzled and defied. His photo came up first and Kenny sat back, ripping a pen from a pot and tapping it on his lips. He stared at the photo. At him. Aaron . On the surface, it was like an ordinary mug shot taken during enrolment, but Kenny looked beyond the surface. Into the eyes. Eyes were the window to one’s soul, and the first indicator of what was going on behind the mask. Aaron’s eyes, although a hypnotic blue, were blank. They weren’t radiating excitement, as Kenny would expect of a first-year student who’d grabbed a place on the course of a lifetime. They were elusive and detached. He drifted his gaze to Aaron’s mouth. He wasn’t smiling, either. But Kenny couldn’t shut off his natural reaction to those strawberry shaped lips, stretching around his cock and he shifted in his seat at the agonising memories.
“You’re good at that. Good boy.”
Kenny cringed. Bits and pieces of that night were coming back to him. Too much wine at the conference, followed by Dutch courage at the bars, then a final pick-me-up at the club. It hadn’t been his first time there, either. Over the years, whenever he’d been in London for this, that or the other, that club had become somewhere he lost himself in. Even when he’d been with Jack. It was as though he was someone else in there. And that night, he hadn’t been in complete control of himself. But intuition was intuition. He’d never been able to shut down the way he analysed movement, speech, actions and reactions. Had he known he was talking to someone in his class for the next three years he wouldn’t have been so bold with his analysis. But as Jack had always warned him—one day, he’d pick up someone he couldn’t handle.
Scrubbing a hand down his face, his leather chair creaked, and he peered over to his open door, gazing out at the administration office, the place abuzz with everyone now back from summer.
He stood. Marched over in silent stealth. Closed the door.
He sat back down to study Aaron’s file closer. The most recent results from his A-Levels told a story of a high achiever. Above average intelligence. He’d sailed onto the course. Next step was to garner what he could from his personal statement. Kenny was one of the faculty members who sifted through admission applications, so he’d probably already read Aaron’s, accepted it as gospel, welcoming whoever it was onto one of the most sought after psychology courses in the UK. But he hadn’t known then who he’d been saying yes to.
He read it again, intrigue sparking his gut.
Years ago, he’d been a consultant on a blackmail case. The offender had sent letters in the post so as not to be traced online. Kenny had been called in by the police to find anything hidden within the words that could ascertain the state of mind of the person threatening mass deaths by infecting a nearby water supply. Kenny could pick out certain words people used, style and syntax, that could determine who they were as a person. Their education levels. If they’d used spellcheck or a thesaurus to aid with forming sentences. It was all there, painting a picture of the mind of the author. In the case of the blackmailer, he’d been of average intelligence, spelling the same words wrong each letter, and Kenny had helped pinpoint that it was someone familiar with the water company. A disgruntled employee. The police caught him before any damage was done.
Aaron’s statement, though, was fairly bland. Nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary. It was as if he’d looked up how to write a personal statement online and followed the guidelines to the letter. With a little embellishment so as not to come across as copy paste. It contained everything the admissions team would check for. But within it, Kenny could filter out sentences Aaron had cut short. As if he’d intended to say something else, then deleted it. Certain words popped up as odd choices, too. He had a vast vocabulary, that was obvious, not hitting the thesaurus within Word. A natural wordsmith. His intelligence was in the higher realms, yet he’d pruned it for the layman.
Kenny’s interest piqued tenfold.
Why would someone strip the level of their intelligence? Especially in a university application?
He clicked out of the statement and continued his leisurely stroll through Aaron Jones’s academic life. Recent records were from a college in central London. That explained that. Although there was no parental address. All forwarding correspondence went to Aaron’s current residence of the on-campus halls. Which was odd. All students needed a home address. And nor was there any reference to his education prior to the college, as he could only have attended there for his post-16 education. Kenny clicked on personal info. A password box popped up.
“Huh.” He leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen over his lips.
There were a few reasons he wouldn’t have permission to open a student’s personal info. One, because it was private. A need to know. And he didn’t need to know. It would bear no relation to how he taught him. He wasn’t in his pastoral care team. If it was important, he’d have the password. Two, because Aaron hadn’t allowed for whatever was in there to be general knowledge. And three, because there was something in there that was sensitive.
Kenny wanted to know what it was.
He picked up his office phone, the curly wire stretching as he leaned back in his chair and pressed zero.
“Switchboard.”
“Can you put me through to Recruitment and Admissions?”
“Hold the line.”
Within a few seconds, the phone rang. For a department who spent most of their life on the road, Kenny didn’t expect a quick answer. So he was more than surprised when it answered, and Kenny didn’t have time to conjure up his moral compass.
“Recruitment and Admissions, how can I help you?”
He closed his eyes, blocking out his transgression. “Hi, yes, it’s Doctor Lyons from Psychology. Is Liam Golding there?”
“Lucky, you just caught him going out. Hang on.”
“Kenny, hi,” Liam came on the phone. “Please don’t say you can’t do that talk on Friday. I literally just confirmed it with the virtual school.”
“No, no.” Kenny rubbed his forehead, cursing himself for having agreed to that. But it had got him to Liam. And he worked for the department supporting underrepresented and disadvantaged students into the university. Having seen him with Aaron earlier, this was a case of deduction. Aaron had come through him. Meaning he was one of the target students Liam worked with. “I wanted to talk to you about a new student of mine.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Aaron Jones.”
“Okay. What’s up?”
“He was in my Crim Psych today and I have a few concerns so went into the system and, well, I know this isn’t procedure, but much of his file is closed off.”
“Right.”
“I’m under the assumption he came through your department?”
“We know of him, yes. What are your concerns? His grades are sound. No contextual offer this time.”
“Yes, I can see that. Solid grades. Better than most. It’s more of a pastoral concern…” He winced, biting on his pen.
“Maybe welfare can help?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be sure to pass him along, but I just wondered if you had the password to open his previous education, as there’s something amiss in his study form.” That would at least give him something , even if it wasn’t a home address.
“I’m sorry, Kenny, I can’t give you that. You could ask Aaron himself?”
“Yes. Of course. My apologies.” He clenched his jaw.
Whilst he understood the necessity of such barriers, the delicate balance between knowledge and ethics, it grated on his relentless pursuit to know who Aaron Jones was . And more importantly, how he’d come to his life. He couldn’t put it down to chance. Coincidences were acausal.
“No fret. But Friday’s good, yeah? Lecture theatre one, twelve pm.”
“I’ll be there.”
“They’d love to hear about your consultancy work.”
“I’m sure they would.” Kenny hung up, then scraped two hands through his hair. After another moment of indecision, he rolled back his chair, stalked over to his office door and yanked it open. “Gail?”
Gail stood from the line of desks, slipping her glasses down her nose. “Yes?”
“Is Charlotte still in seminar?”
“I believe so.”
“Bugger.” He dumped his hands on his hips.
“Anything you need help with?”
“I need a student in here.”
“Thought I said to get a wife, not chase the girls who swoon over you in a lecture theatre.” She smirked.
A few snickers from the office had him sighing. Dr Legs or Dr Swoony. He wasn’t sure which he detested more.
“Funny, Gail.”
“Which student?” Gail grabbed a pen from a pot and ripped off a post it note. “We have an intern today. I can get her to rush over to Charlotte.”
“Aaron Jones. Forensic Psych. He’ll be in Charlotte’s group. Can you get her to bring him to me after?”
“Will do.”
Kenny went back into his office, leaving the door open. Liam was right. If Aaron wanted him to know something, he’d tell him. So he had to give him the opportunity to do so. And as he was quite the expert at worming things out of people who wanted to keep their sordid secrets hidden, he figured the best approach was to hash it out with him. One on one.
Hand on his mouse, he went to click out of Aaron’s file, but something caught his eye. He leaned closer. “ Fuck me! ”
“Excuse me?”
Kenny darted away. Gail stood at his doorway.
“Nothing. Sorry.”
“The Dean told me to remind you of the faculty meeting today at four. In person.”
“To remind me in person, or the meeting is in person.”
“The meeting is.”
“Why? Is IT down?”
Gail shrugged and scurried off.
Kenny went back to his screen.
Date of birth: September twenty-first, 2005. At least that made him nineteen. Not that it was any consolation. He was still twenty years too young. But it wasn’t the year that had Kenny’s alarm bells ringing.
Saturday had been Aaron’s birthday.
Another coincidence?
What would Carl Jung say about that?
For the next half an hour, Kenny pored back over the files from the case that had never left his mind. Like on Saturday, here he was again, the anniversary knocking on his door and making him return to the horror.
“Dr Lyons?”
Ah, no. It was Gail knocking.
At some point, Kenny had put his reading glasses on and he ripped them off at noticing the pink hair glowing behind his secretary. Why? Because it was an instinctive reaction. Along with his elevated pulse.
“Yes?” He threw the glasses on his desk and shoved all the files into his folder, where he should leave them be. Forever. It wouldn’t bring her back.
“Aaron Jones to see you.”
“Thank you, yes, bring him in.”
Aaron teetered out from behind Gail, bag slung over his shoulder, denim jacket and ripped jeans, scarf still wrapped around his neck. Thank fucking god for that. Kenny wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain the levels of detachment required if he could see the indentations of his dental records on Aaron’s neck.
Gail left them alone.
“Could you close the door?” Kenny pointed a pen at the door.
Aaron arched an eyebrow, but did as he was told and shut it, closing off any potential prying eyes. Dozens of people had seen him come in. It wasn’t unusual for student-professor talks to happen in privacy. Still, it tugged on Kenny’s principles to do it like this.
Aaron turned back, and Kenny drifted his gaze over him. He couldn’t deny his attraction. He hadn’t been able to in the club, either. When he’d danced in solitude among the throng, bold and unapologetic. The colour of his hair was enough to pull his gaze. It wasn’t just pink, but a shade demanding to be noticed. Somewhere between cotton candy softness and the striking vibrance of magenta. Messy, but purposeful, too. A deliberate tousle framing his face in loose strands, falling just enough into striking blue eyes and a faint gloss giving the texture of silk. Yet it had a wild edge, as if he’d just run his hands through it. Or someone else had.
Like Kenny had.
When Aaron had been on his knees.
Kenny could still feel the softness on his fingers.
Pairing that with the tattoo curling up his neck, and the touch-me-end-die vibe, it was clear Aaron hadn’t chosen the pink to be sweet. But edgy. Defiant . An act of rebellion. Daring anyone to underestimate him. And all of that combined grabbed Kenny’s attention as if hypnotised. He couldn’t deny it. Nor could he deny what was still there. Kenny had wanted him then, as much as he did now, more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
But Aaron Jones was like a beaming light shining down a dark alley. An open fire on a mound of dereliction. Beautiful, striking, and could commit harm. Aaron was a spark that, if tested, would rage and flare and destroy everything. And their connection was a living, breathing thing, ready to spread and infect.
Kenny hadn’t had a feeling like that since Jack .
And they’d nearly killed each other.
“You can sit.” Kenny pointed the end of the pen at the tatty leather sofa pushed up against his bookcase.
Aaron slid his bag off and did as he was told. Obedient . Sitting positions could reveal a lot about a person. The classic hands behind the head pose suggested an assertion of authority, of self-importance. Crossed arms and legs equal closed off, standoffish or uncomfortable. Aaron sat in the figure four lock position. One ankle crossed over his opposite knee, ripped jeans spreading to reveal pale skin beneath, laid back and relaxed, arm gliding along the backrest of the couch. But his fingernails, short and blunt, bitten down to stubs, picking at the worn leather, suggested he wasn’t totally at ease. Kenny couldn’t expect him to be. But he still had an air of confidence. Of sharp buoyancy. A self-reliance seeping from his every pore.
He didn’t hold the expected posture a student summoned to his office on the first day would. Normally, they sat forward, hands on knees. Women might cross their legs. But they’d transfix their gaze on him, wide eyed and open, hanging on his every word by leaning into his space. Aaron remained at a distance. Looking anywhere but at him, he read through the spines on the bookshelf. The sofa wasn’t comfortable, either, meaning to look relaxed in it took effort .
“I’ll assume you know why you’re here,” Kenny started with.
With a brief glance his way, Aaron winked. “Round two?”
His cocky brashness masked his distrust. He didn’t believe that. But there was an apprehension in his delivery that maybe that was why he was here, and he was contemplating what that meant for him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position.
Kenny’s chest tightened. Would he go through with round two if asked?
Kenny wouldn’t find out.
“I asked for access to your file.”
That got a far more interesting reaction. Miniscule, but enough of a blink out of synch for Kenny to cling onto.
“From who?” Aaron pursed his lips, prevented himself from adding the m for the correct whom . Like how he’d simplified his personal statement. He didn’t want people to think he was as smart or as well-spoken as he was under the surface. Sure, he had rough edges, but a soft undertone. His early years might have significantly differed from his later years. Because Kenny detected a hint of home counties in his accent. It wasn’t the full-bodied, inner city multi-cultural London where his file had said he was from and Aaron played up to.
“Admissions.”
Aaron noticeably relaxed. Well, noticeable enough for Kenny. A hint that his secrets were still safe if he wanted them to be.
“And they told you to jump a rope?” Aaron chuckled, turning his face away to rub his eyebrow with a finger.
“There are certain parts in your file I don’t have access to. But I’ve been here long enough to know the reasons that might be.”
Aaron turned back to him. A challenge. Kenny waited. Aaron remained tight-lipped. So Kenny tried a different line of questioning.
“Did you know who I was?” he asked. Carefully. Cautiously. Side stepping over the potential maelstrom.
“I know who you are, yes.”
“Did you know who I was ?”
Aaron waited a beat, then he let himself answer. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“But you’d applied to be on my course.”
“No offense, but we don’t all pine over you on Insta.”
He wouldn’t find anything on there, anyway. Kenny kept his image out of social media. But people could find him. He was Associate Professor at the University of Ryston. He’d authored books. Spoken at conferences. His image was there if someone wanted it. But why would this bloke want it?
“So, this is as much of a shock for you as it is for me?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Kenny fell back in his chair, studying Aaron’s reluctance to say anything more.
So he jumped over the unrest. “Were you in care?”
Aaron’s intake of breath showed his annoyance at having been called out. “What does that matter?”
“It doesn’t.” Kenny studied his reaction. Okay, that riled him up. The stigma. The humiliation of being a child in need. He hated it. Detested it. Kenny could tell by the slight grimace curling his lips. “But that would be one reason I can’t open your file.”
“Why do you want to look in my file?”
“Because you picked me out in a club, then ended up in my lecture hall. I’m curious about how that happened.”
“One, you picked me.”
“I di—it doesn’t matter the details.”
“Surely, the details matter. You literally lecture about the details.”
“Not in this case.”
Aaron shrugged, looking away, running a finger over a book on the shelf, eyes distant and faraway. Kenny thought perhaps appealing to his self-important nature might help strike a chord.
“You had the highest entry points in the year.”
Aaron tossed his eyes back on him. Pride rippled within them. A hint of confidence, not quite melding into arrogance. As if he wasn’t used to compliments about his brains when he looked as good as he did.
Kenny inhaled, chest rising to psych himself up enough to say what he needed. “If this is really coincidence, and there’s no ulterior motive for you being here, for what happened the other night, and you’re willing to forget, to keep Saturday nameless, then I’m happy for you to remain on my course.”
Aaron twisted, foot dropping from his knee, and slanted forward. Now he was in Kenny’s space. Remnants of cigarette smoke masked by mint chewing gum wafted through the static air and Kenny inhaled Aaron’s breath as if it gave him life, preventing his need to swallow and ingest it to fill the hunger he’d had since he’d left the club on Saturday night. Like the lingering recollection of a fantastic meal, he was desperate to reheat it and eat it again. And his eyes, that penetrating blue, observed him as if he could read every single thought he’d ever had. Now he understood why Jack had always hated that look. Kenny couldn’t breathe.
“You have the power to remove me?”
“I can make suggestions for it, yes.”
“And you’d do that because I sucked your cock?”
Kenny flickered his eyes shut. He cracked his neck from side to side before opening them again. Aaron licked his lips with a grin full of relish.
Cocky bastard.
“I’d do it because our encounter could cause our student-tutor relationship to be uncomfortable. Unbalanced.”
“Unbalanced?” Aaron pursed his lips, nodding his head as if contemplating the meaning. “I’d say we were pretty balanced. Level. Tit for tat.”
“I’ll declare it.” Kenny reached behind him, waggling the mouse for his machine to light up. “I’ll complete the form now.”
“Wow. Do you have to write a detailed description? Do they get sent to the creative writing course for plot material?”
“Do you want me to declare it?”
“What would happen if you did?”
“To be honest, not much. Faculty would suggest I’m not your personal tutor. Which I’m not, anyway. They’ll call you in to ask how you feel about it. Get your version of events. It’ll go on both of our records.”
Aaron stood, grabbing his bag. “Don’t worry. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
Kenny lifted his gaze as Aaron headed toward the door. “You have somewhere to be?”
“Thought this was done.” A tiny, miniscule, almost undetectable slither of disappointment crept into that delivery.
Kenny could sense it, because he felt it too. He’d never felt anything more visceral in his life. To reach out, grab Aaron’s arm, haul him back and have him against his desk was overwhelming. Why was this unrelenting desire creeping through his professional walls? He was meant to keep them at bay. Only let it out when he was far away. He was meant to be respectable . Not someone who would throw himself at a student for a quick, hard fuck.
“If there’s nothing else.” Kenny gestured to the door.
“See you next Tuesday.” Aaron reached for the handle.
“My next lecture with you is Friday.”
“I know.” Aaron grinned, then yanked open the door.
He left it open as he walked out, and Kenny tilted his neck to watch him sashay down the corridor. He caught some of the staff watching him, too. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. Then got up, closed the door and fell back in his seat, clicking into the password protected files on his laptop and falling back down the rabbit hole.
Jack would call karma. He may well have met his match.