Insanity (Kings of Grove Academy #5)

Prologue

ELLIE

“Have you heard the term hybristophilia before?”

The therapist is a lean man with a generous amount of brown hair framing a tan, angular face. His shrewd eyes—an unassuming color of palest green, almost yellow in certain lights—peer back at me from beneath a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

Dr. Peter Churchill, he introduced himself as.

Or “Doc Pete.”

I stare over his shoulder at the tank of exotic fish. Blue, yellow, red, and even one that appears green, their scales illuminated by display lights.

I’m not surprised he has a fish tank in his office.

Everything about Peter is a walking cliché, from the way he talks—all stilted syllables and amused reprimands, like he’s telling a joke no one but him understands—to the outfits he wears.

A sweater vest today, of course. Tweed. Tweed.

Beckett would have a field day with him.

And that damn fish tank…

I sometimes feel like those fish—trapped.

Do they ever wish they were free in the ocean?

Or are they content mindlessly swimming in this tank with random humans peering in?

Would they even survive being reacclimated with others of their type, in an environment they’re unfamiliar with?

Or would they perish immediately, eaten by predators bigger than them?

The largest one, its scales a deep blue interspersed with black smudges, like someone rubbed charcoal across its back, stops swimming in front of me. Its beady eyes seem to home in on me with unwavering intensity, chiseling away my defenses, stripping me bare—

“Ellie.” Doc Pete’s smooth baritone washes over me, and I snap my head in his direction automatically.

Feigned concern etches itself across his features, turning down his lips and deepening the furrow between his eyebrows.

He taps the edge of his pen against his mouth. “What are you thinking about?”

The last thing I want to confess is the truth, so I straighten my spine and meet his gaze impassively.

A tentative smile tilts up the corners of his lips before he stifles it, becoming serious once more. “Hybristophilia. Have you heard of it before?”

Again, I don’t respond.

“It’s a disorder where a person will feel romantic or sexual attraction to criminals, particularly serial killers.

” He watches me carefully, but if he’s expecting a reaction, he isn’t going to get one.

“Sometimes, these people believe they can change the killer. Others believe it’s romantic to have someone go to the ends of the earth for them—even if that includes murder. ”

I stare at him blankly.

He leans forward so he can rest his arms on his thighs, a decidedly casual posture despite the cunning gleam in his eyes. The sight causes my chest to tighten, invisible ropes coiling around my heart and squeezing.

Squeezing.

Squeezing.

“Tell me, Ellie… Which category do you fall in? What made you fall in love with five deranged serial killers?”