Savage Spawn Read Free

still. The grin had also returned.
    Definitely
smug.
    I said, “Your grandmother raised you because your parents passed away.”
    â€œYeah!” he exclaimed, as if I were a quiz show contestant who’d guessed right.
    That threw me. Were his defenses so calcified that he’d moved a universe beyond hurt?
    I said, “What do you remember about your parents?”
    â€œMy dad was a pilot.” He pantomimed a swooping jet. “Cool guy.”
    â€œAnd your mom?”
    He shot to his feet, as if on cue. “Want to see a picture?”
    Ah, he carries a snapshot. So he does care.
    â€œSure.”
    Out came an expensive-looking leather billfold from which he withdrew a small, creased photo that he handed to me.
    A good-looking couple in their twenties stood hand in hand against a backdrop of greenery.
    â€œThat’s her,” said Tim, pointing to the woman. Smirking. “Major piece of ass, huh?”

    I had one more session with Tim during which he boasted of having had sex with over a dozen girls. In several cases he claimed to have collected their panties, which he sold to other boys. He produced a packet of condoms as evidence. He also crowed about trafficking in a variety of other “found” goods but would offer no further details. He denied using drugs but winked when I asked if he ever sold dope.
    All of this was delivered in an even, strangely unmodulated voice that nevertheless managed to brim with self-satisfaction. His braggadocio assumed a prurience that clogged the room. I steered the conversation to his schoolwork. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. Improving his grades was out of the question because school was stupid and wouldn’t help him attain his goal of being a “big businessman.” No, he owed nothing to his grandmother for taking him in. It had been her decision, he still thought she was a stupid asshole.
    He never displayed a whit of anxiety, rarely blinked.
    I realized I’d been wrong. There was no wall of defenses. He had nothing against which to defend because he was truly untroubled.
    Completely different from the other noncompliant boys I’d seen.
    It was as if I were sitting across from a member of another species.
    Toward the end of the second session I did witness a single flare of strong emotion. He asked again if he could smoke, and when I turned him down, his eyes narrowed to slits. Then he favored me with another kind of smile—knowing, focused. Hateful. His body remained loose, at ease, his voice flat, but the anger coalesced in his eyes. He spread his legs. Touched his inner thigh briefly. Winked.
    Occupying the office as if he owned it.
    I reminded myself he was only thirteen.
    When he left, I made sure he exited first. He knew I was watching his back. Stopping at the door to the waiting room, he made a sudden move with his shoulder, as if about to butt me. I recoiled. He checked the movement, a classic bullying technique.
Faked you out!
    Then he turned to me. Winked again.
    Before I could say anything, Grandma was opening the door. I asked to talk to her, but she said she had to rush somewhere.
    Tim chuckled and saluted. “Bye, Doc.”
    He swaggered down the hall ahead of her. Pulled out his cigarettes. She said something to him. All I could make out was a whining tone. He lit up and increased the distance between them.

    That night i phoned her at home. She was out, didn’t return the call or the three others that followed. Two days before the next appointment, she reached my answering service and canceled, citing a time conflict. I called her again. No answer. She never rescheduled.
    I reached Tim’s pediatrician, filled him in, venturing that Tim might very well be a budding psychopath.
    â€œReally?” he said. “Yeah, I can see that. He
was
kind of slick.”
    â€œYou might want to talk to his grandmotherabout it.”
    â€œThink so? And tell her what?”
    â€œAt the very