The statement was so unexpected I nearly laughed aloud. "Danger? From Micah?"
"Hear me out," he insisted. "I've been researching his background."
My fingers curled on the edge of my desk. The idea that this stranger had been investigating Micah, my Micah, sent protective rage coursing through my veins. He had dared to examine what was mine, to form judgments about my beautiful boy's mind without understanding its true perfection.
"His mother's suicide, his religious upbringing, his psychological history. The pattern is troubling," Daniel continued, oblivious to my growing fury. "In my free time, I’m something of an amateur sleuth. I've studied cases likehis extensively. Childhood trauma, religious abuse, documented psychological instability. These factors often create individuals with disturbing fixations on authority figures."
Amateur sleuth. This fool thought a weekly one-hour podcast and reruns on cable television made him an expert. He was no closer to being a detective than he was an art critic.
His fingers tapped nervously on his portfolio. "There's more. I took the liberty of having someone examine some of Micah’s artwork. A psychiatrist friend of mine."
I clenched my jaw.How dare he?I thought, but said nothing.
“He says Micah’s artwork is concerning,” Daniel continued. “That it shows he may be violent. I looked into his history, Ezra. His grandmother—God rest her soul—had the boy committed when he was sixteen. Said he had homicidal tendencies. Here. I have proof.” He opened his portfolio and slid a paper across my desk.
I studied the document. I knew about the incident, of course. I knew everything there was to know about Micah, even if he didn’t know it yet himself. But Daniel…
"This information is protected by HIPAA,” I said quietly. “How exactly did you acquire this?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I have contacts at various institutions. My brother is a juvenile psych nurse upstate." A nervous smile flickered across his features. "My concern for your safety justified some... procedural shortcuts."
"I see." I turned back to the paper.
"When I saw the pattern emerging, I couldn't ignore it," Daniel insisted. "Did you know there’s been an uptick in missing people in the area? The police suspect foul play. Of course they haven’t found any bodies, but the evidence speaks for itself."
I took a deep breath. “What exactly are you accusing my protégé of, Mr. Harlow?”
A beat of silence passed between us before Daniel scooted to the edge of his seat, hands folded. Then he met my eyes and said with all the confidence in the world, “I believe Micah Salt is a dangerous, violent psychopath—a killer—and that you may be his next victim.”
I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing the poor man out of my office. He had good instincts, I’d give him that much, and his ability to put two and two together and see four? Unparalleled. Even the local police had proven incompetent. But not Daniel Harlow. No. His only sin was mistaking the predator for prey.
"I appreciate your concern for my safety," I said.
Hope and validation flickered across his features, utterly unaware that he had signed his death warrant. "You're taking this seriously then?"
"Of course." I was already envisioning how I would display his dismembered body for Micah's appreciation. "Actually, I have my own concerns. Micah’s work has taken a darker turn of late. Perhaps I could show you? And I would appreciate not being alone this afternoon. My home is in quite a remote location and… Well, you see I’ve given Micah a key.”
“You should call the police,” Daniel encouraged.
“With what proof?” I shrugged. “But perhaps if you and I put our heads together, we might find more evidence than either of us could alone.”
His face lit up. “You’re serious? You want me to help you?”
“Absolutely,” I said, standing.
There was a slight hesitation. “Now? You mean right now?”
I frowned. “Unless you had another appointment?”
“No, no. Not at all.” Daniel practically leapt out of his chair. He grabbed his coat from the coat rack. “Would you mind if I followed you? To your place, I mean. Safer if we drove separately. Just in case.”
“Not a problem at all,” I replied.
I gathered my materials and locked my office. The campus quad hummed with afternoon activity as I strode toward the faculty parking lot. Daniel began chittering about his interest in true crime, and bragging about his amateur detective skills, but I barely heard him. I was already two steps ahead, physically and mentally. The thought of this insignificant gnat digging around in Micah’s life…
Busybodies, I mused. It would be the perfect title for my next composition.
Micah
