Read Online A Window into Time (Novella) by Peter F. Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B

but she’d closed it down.
    I remembered the date Vladimir posted his tirade—three months and eight days ago. The post was actually quite scary. Even the stupids have a kind of logic to their behavior, which is easy for someone smarter, like me, to discern. Then there are criminals, who are actually clinical psychopaths, which doesn’t mean they go around hacking people apart the way films depict them (Mum and Dad wouldn’t let me see the ones with Sir Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter even though they’re classics, but I know the plot; there are literally thousands of spoiler reviews on the Internet). Their neurochemistry means they simply don’t empathize and conform with normal human social constraints (looking at
you:
Kenan Abbot & Scrap Owen). That’s why they turn to crime; they don’t see anything wrong with stealing or threatening other people. Interestingly, the top 1 percent of them wind up running companies or banks or going into politics. People always misclassify them and call them ruthless; they’re not. They simply see an advantage for themselves and take it without any regard for the consequences. It’s their nature.
    Again, I can understand them.
    Vladimir McCann was not stupid or psychopathic. Michael Finsen was right; Vladimir was flat-out mad.
    I went on Vladimir’s Facebook page. His posts there were even worse than the one he wrote on Jyoti’s page. It was very hard for me to follow his writing. There was nothing rational there. But he did mention his medication. Mainly when he wasn’t taking it.
Oops, forgot again,
he was always saying. Or:
These new tabs make everything dull, I can’t think proper.
Or
They space me out too much.
A couple of times he talked about being sectioned.
Logging on from inside my padded cell.
Which couldn’t be right; I’m sure mental hospitals don’t allow patients Internet access.
    I couldn’t tell what was true or not. You can’t analyze something like that; there’s no reference point. I wouldn’t like it if he’d sent me anything like that. So no wonder Michael was worried and angry.
    And Michael and Jyoti were engaged now. That was something nice to come out of this, I supposed.
    “How good are the anti-stalking laws?” I asked Dad that night.
    He gave me a very surprised look and just said: “Why?”
    This time I’d worked out what to say in advance. It was no good me trying to explain what had been happening. Dad and Rachel don’t understand anything that happens outside their view of the world; their brains aren’t big enough. So I wasn’t lying to them, just explaining in a way they’d understand. “I saw this strange man today. He was in the Angel Center. I think he was following a woman. She didn’t know. He was hanging around outside the shops when she went in, and he sat by himself in Wagamama when she went in to meet some friends. It was kind of creepy.”
    “Did you tell her?” Rachel asked me.
    “No. I couldn’t be sure. It might have been coincidence.”
    “You didn’t think so, though, did you?” Dad said.
    I shook my head. “No. He was acting all weird. But that’s just what I thought. The police need solid evidence, don’t they?”
    “Okay, well, the next time you see something like that, tell the mall’s security people. They’ll know how to deal with it.”
    “Ha,” Rachel grunted. “This is what it’s like being a woman, Jules. You get some right creeps on the street these days. Harassment is getting worse all the time.”
    “But if she’d complained, would the stalking laws protect her?” I asked.
    “Not if he’s a complete loon,” Dad said. “But they’re good enough to warn most people off.”
    I went back to Docklands the next day. This time I disguised myself so the building security people wouldn’t recognize me. A red T-shirt now, and shorts (yesterday I had a green T-shirt and jeans); I never wear red on Tuesdays, so it was pretty radical. I couldn’t bring myself not to wear socks in my