Once Upon A Psychopath

Boone watched herons hunt along the river’s edge as fog turned the damp leaves into fleeting glitter. He’d come to this spot for months, the marshy landscape reminded him of home. He decided to return to Louisiana, unsure why he’d left in the first place. His Vermont house, perched on a wooded hill with berry bushes and a view of Mount Mansfield, offered solitude, but it wasn’t home. By 4 a.m., he was back at the river for one last sunrise before packing his things. As cattails swayed in the breeze and blackbirds called, Boone followed a dragonfly’s dance, his thoughts quiet. 

The peace was broken by an approaching vehicle. A metallic SUV pulled up, and Boone’s eyes caught the woman behind the wheel, a dog on her lap. His breath hitched. Her ash blonde hair brushed her cheek, sparking an unfamiliar warmth in him. He turned back to the herons—now gone—his heart racing. 

A faint laugh and the sound of a car door snapped him back. She was outside now, holding her dog, and Boone felt something stir that he’d never felt before. Boone's eyes locked on the woman, his curiosity growing into an undeniable pull. Something about her stance—beautiful yet uncertain—captivated him. 

He opened his door, stretching his legs and leaning on his truck, feeling the sun’s warmth. A slow smile spread across his face as he felt the urge to speak, a rare lightness filling him. Hannah cursed under her breath as she spotted the truck. She’d come early to avoid people. Movement from the truck caught her eye. “Really?” she sighed. Lizzie whined, eager to get out. "Alright, make it quick," she said. As Lizzie bolted out, Hannah struggled to move. Balancing on her weak legs, she laughed at the dog’s energy. Then, she saw him get out of the truck. Anxiety crept in. She felt insecure; always comparing herself to able-bodied women. Hannah couldn’t escape the image of “Today’s Woman”—fit, flawless, and never crippled. She felt her insides quiver as she noticed the man watching her. 

His Cajun accent broke the silence: "Beautiful dog." 

She glanced over—he was handsome. "Thanks," she replied, tugging the leash. Lizzie darted behind her, pulling her off balance. She fell hard, hitting the ground.

Boone saw her stumble and jogged over, feeling an odd compulsion. 

Lizzie stood protectively by her side. 

He knelt a few feet away. “Y’all ok?” 

She nodded, embarrassed, shaking her head but not moving to stand. "I have MS," she admitted, her voice practiced but resigned. "It’s craptastic." 

Boone smiled, their eyes finally meeting—green against hazel. 

She flushed and turned, revealing a blackbird tattoo on her neck. 

His sleeve rolled up, showing a matching tattoo. “Darlin’,” he murmured. 

She smiled. "I love birds." 

“Me too. Can I help you?" 

She hesitated. "I... can do it." 

“Stubborn?" he teased, stepping closer. 

She laughed, a sound that stirred something in him. 

Boone bent down, offering his hand. She took it, and he gently supported her as she struggled to rise, her weakness clear. 

“You’re alright,” Boone said as she leaned against her car. 

“If you say so.” 

He smiled, and something shifted inside him. He wasn’t moving back. This woman—she was home. In 51 years, he’d never felt this. He’d gone to war at 18, untouched by love, despite dating. Even after retiring from the Marines, when his brother set him up with a florist, the connection wasn’t there. He’d left the date mid-conversation, overwhelmed by the noise of normal life. But now, standing in front of this woman, he felt his heart race for the first time. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, breathe her in. His body tingled with anticipation. 

“Thanks for the hand up,” she said, petting her dog. 

“Would you, uh… want to grab brunch?” 

She laughed. “Brunch?”

“Yeah,” he purred. 

“Well,” she paused, then looked directly at him, “I’m vegan.”

He smiled wider, knowing this was one of those early dealbreakers. But for the first time, it didn’t matter. He mirrored her tilt. "Me too," he said, surprising himself. He’d never called himself vegan, though he hadn’t eaten animals in years. Once, while sweeping a bombed-out town, an IED had thrown Boone 25 feet, knocking him out. As he regained consciousness, the smell of burning flesh hit him—his men, Martin and Jimmy. He’d salivated at the scent, then felt sick. From that day on, he never touched meat, convincing his family to stop too.

“No way. Really?” Hannah smiled, her hair brushing her cheek. 

He wanted to tuck it behind her ear. “Yes ma’am.”

“Since when?”

“1998.”

“What made the connection?” Her smile was radiant.

“I’ll tell you another time, mama,” he said with a grin.

Laughing, she agreed. 

He opened her door, gently helping her into the car.

“Thanks,” she blushed.

“Darlin’, are you ashamed of it?” he asked.

She hesitated. "I’m..”

“You got no reason to be. MS doesn’t define you.”

Hannah stared at the steering wheel, bewildered. "This is not the conversation I expected this morning."

Boone winked when she looked up. “Darlin’, I’d like to spend time with you.”

“Spend time with me?”

“Forever.”

She laughed, tilting her head back. 

He fought his own smile, biting his lip.

“We don’t even know each other’s names,” she said, shaking her head. "Forever?"

“Boone McAuliffe,” he said, hand on his chest.

“Hannah Cohen.” She rubbed behind Lizzie’s ears. "And this is Lizzie."

Boone’s eyes were locked on her, smiling. 

Hannah’s smile softened. “What are we gonna do about forever, Mr. McAuliffe?”

“We ain’t wasting a bit of it.”

His firm tone jarred her. “You don’t know me. I’ve got... a lot of crap.”

“I got my own. Doesn’t matter now. I found you.”

She eyed him—tall, dark, handsome, maybe 6’3”. “Yeah, you seem real weighed down by life,” she teased, half-skeptical.

“Hannah, let’s go talk, figure it out. My place, yours, doesn’t matter.”

“When?”

“Now.”

She hesitated. “Okay... no bodies in the basement?”

He grinned. “No, darlin’. I bury ‘em far from home.”

She laughed. “Alright. I’ll follow you.”

He nodded, heading to his truck. Boone turned the key, watching Hannah talk to her dog. He caught her mouthing “this is crazy.” He laughed, reversing his truck. He wanted her everywhere; next to him, behind him, in front. “Hannah,” he murmured. “Miss Hannah.” 

Her jaw dropped as his blinker signaled a turn into a driveway. “No way. He lives in the castle!” she whispered, glancing at Lizzie, who was busy panting. Years ago, the media had buzzed about this castle in rural Vermont. The gated entrance opened slowly as Boone’s truck rolled forward. The long, winding driveway led up a hill, framed by boulders and hedges that melted into the woods. Hannah followed nervously, realizing she didn’t have her wheelchair. Anxiety crept in; what if she had to pee? She parked, turning off the ignition with a sigh. Boone walked over, confident strides, that ever-present smile on his face. Too good to be true.

“You live in a damn castle.”

“Dang, woman, the mouth on you,” he teased, leaning down, resting his arm on her car. His smile was easy, genuine.

“I’m a terrible cripple,” she said with a sideways grin. “Forgot my wheelchair.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Bad cripple, huh?” He opened her door. “Should I carry you damsel-in-distress style?”

“What?” she laughed as Lizzie jumped onto her lap. Boone offered to take the leash, and she handed it over. When he moved with Lizzie, she slowly slid her legs out. Stiff, weak, numb, she struggled. Once standing, she pivoted, closing the door while fighting to stay upright. Hannah scanned the ivy-covered façade. Vines climbed to a second-story window, wrapping the stone in a soft, natural embrace. The front door looked like a drawbridge, with a thick metal handle. She couldn’t shake the thought of “wench.”

“I can walk if you give me your arm,” she said.

“Alright.” He returned, Lizzie trotting alongside. Hannah grabbed his arm, both hands holding tight. She took the first step, stumbled, and leaned into him. Slowly, they made their way inside. She wasn’t shocked to find no furniture in the huge living room, just a cot. She collapsed onto it, recovering from the short walk.

“MS got a kung fu grip on ya, darlin’.” Boone brought two sodas.

She took one, placed it on the floor. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He pointed it out. 

“I always need to know.” Her tone was reluctant.

“Ok.”

She sat up, cracked open the soda and took a sip. 

“So.”

“So.”

“You have no furniture,” she observed.

“Nope.”

“You live in a castle.”

“Sure do.”

Hannah laughed. “Divorced?”

“Never married.”

“Kids?”

“None.”

“Prison?”

“Nope.”

“Are you—”

“Darlin', shouldn’t these questions have come before you followed me home?” Boone grinned as she laughed, snorting.

“Were you in the military?”

“Marine Corps.”

“Your rank?”

“Colonel.”

“Wow,” she was impressed. “How come you never settled down?”

“Never found the right one.”

“No serious relationships?”

“None at all.”

She shook her head. “Never?”

“Never, Miss Hannah.”

“You’re not a virgin.”

“Sure am,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“Impossible. You’ve seen a mirror, right?” She couldn’t believe him, finding him too attractive for that to be true.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” he said confidently. “Besides, I’d have said asexual anyway.” She stared, trying to believe him.

“I’m diagnosed antisocial,” Boone explained. “Never wanted to touch anyone... or be touched.” His face twisted slightly.

“Isn’t that a psychopath?”

“Sure is.”

Her eyes widened with her grin. “You’re a psychopath?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t care about people?”

“Not in the usual way.” he said, watching her process it.

“Then why ask me to follow you?” Her face grew serious, doubt creeping in. Boone leaned closer, his gaze locked on hers. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel something.”

“What are you feeling?” Her head tilted, curious.

“Love.”

Hannah looked confused, maybe even annoyed. She rubbed her thighs like she was working out an ache.

“Look, mama,” Boone began, “I don’t fully get it myself. But can’t ignore it. You’re here, so I guess you feel it too.”

They sat quietly, staring at each other. No fidgeting, just searching.

After a moment, Boone asked, “Need anything, mama?”

“Mama?” She teased, mimicking his accent. Boone shook his head, smiling. 

“I like it,” she laughed. “I want to see your kitchen. Gotta check the contents.”

“I don’t eat animals, woman. Told ya.”

“It’s just... you’re so,” she deepened her voice, “manly.” Boone smirked and held out his hand. She took it, hugging his arm for balance. They walked slowly to the kitchen. Hannah gasped. The refrigerator gleamed in a stone grotto. Dark wooden beams ran across the ceiling. Smooth carbon stones, like smoky ice, lined the floor. Thick bark-edged wood countertops boasted age in endless rings. Boone watched as Hannah leaned on the counter, giving him a suspicious glance before opening a wooden cupboard with an iron handle. Peanut butter. Applesauce. She rummaged through his shelves, then faced the fridge. "If there's anything to confess, now’s your chance." 

He smiled, hopping onto the counter, legs dangling. 

She opened the fridge, revealing beer, pickles, and jam. She sighed, “That’s that then.” Her face softened, and she sank to the floor. “MS break.” 

Boone smiled gently, eyeing her with no judgment. 

‘Unreal,’ she thought, feeling his gaze. Suddenly, Lizzie bounded over,, licking Hannah’s face, her tail wagging.

“She’s a beauty,” Boone murmured. 

Hannah scratched Lizzie’s neck, feeling calm wash over her. 

Boone joined, their hands brushing as they pet the dog together. "That can’t be comfortable," he nodded at her hips.

"Nope." 

He offered his hand. She grabbed it, struggling to stand. Her knee buckled. “Oh!” she gasped.

“I got you,” he said, pulling her close. Their bodies pressed together, electric. 

She hadn’t been this close to a man in years. She’d long believed her disabilities locked her out of intimacy. Over time, she’d lost friends, even her boyfriend. People in her life didn’t stick around once her illness became too much. She stopped telling others about it, knowing it burned people out. She wondered how quickly Boone would disappear once he saw the reality of her life. Or maybe, like others before, accuse her of being lazy. As if she had a choice.

“Something on your mind, Miss Hannah?” Boone’s voice was softer than expected, his eyes searching.

“I…” She hesitated, unsure if she should speak the truth or lie, like usual.

“You…?”

“I need to sit,” she said. 

Boone’s arm, warm and steady, supported her. He walked with her, noticing her unsteady steps, guiding her to the cot. 

“There ya are.” He sat on the floor in front of her, folding his legs. His eyes narrowed in curiosity.

“You…?” he asked again, placing his hands on her knees, signaling his attention. 

She blinked, then finally asked, “Why did you want me here?”

“We’ve been over this,” he whispered, nose crinkling.

“Sure,” she teased.

“You think I want to use you? If so, you're wrong.”

“Then why?”

“Because I asked, and you came.” He smirked.

“I don’t know… I’m confused.” She covered her face with her hands.

Boone leaned in. "Darlin', this is bizarre for me too. I didn’t expect to meet you and lose my heart." He shook his head. "I can’t explain it, but when I look at you, I see home." He tapped his chest. "I’ve doubted everyone, until you."

Hannah’s pulse quickened. Was it possible? She felt like she’d known what he’d say before he spoke. Her mind raced.

“What scares you?” Boone whispered. 

She swallowed, shaking her head.

“Wanna know what scares me?” 

She nodded, smiling slightly.

"That you'll reject me." He eyed her, tongue in cheek.

"Psychopaths aren’t scared," she whispered. 

A wide smile grew on his face. 

"I’m scared,” she confessed, “because I’m disabled, and not normal.”

“Darlin', I’m not normal either. Love me some violence." He watched her changing expressions. "I have PTSD. But I know the rules. I play the part." 

Hannah thought about how she'd just been thinking the same thing. It was uncanny.

“What part do you play?” he asked. 

She stared at him, lips pursed. She shrugged. "The inspirational cripple girl.” Suddenly, she had to pee. Her wide eyes signaled urgency. 

Boone stood, helping her up. Then, without warning, he scooped her up, carrying her honeymoon-style. Before she knew it, he set her down in the bathroom, steadying her before leaving. 

She quickly sat down, relieved to avoid an accident. She knew Boone wouldn’t have judged her, but she’d still mentally punish herself. Finishing, she pulled herself up with the countertop, taking in the grand bathroom—stone walls, a kidney-shaped tub, a rain-effect shower head. Looking at her reflection, she wondered if Boone saw the same sadness she did. Shrugging, she opened the door and called for him.

Lizzie trotted over, tail high. Boone followed, a slight smile on his face.

"Thanks for carrying me," she giggled. "I wouldn’t have made it in time." 

He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.

“For what?”

“MS, I guess.”

“Darlin', are you sorry for your eye color?”

“No…”

“Then don’t apologize for what you can’t control.” 

Back at the cot, she lowered herself with his help. 

"Ain’t no reason," he repeated, sitting down in front of her. "Why do you talk like that?" His eyes searched hers. He knew society ignored people like her, but he didn’t care. In fact, he felt pride that she let him help. Sure, her situation was tough, but to him, she was everything he wanted. Boone knew about love but never expected to feel it. He couldn’t explain it, but she changed something in him. 

"Oh no.” Hannah said, looking at her watch. 

Boone instinctively helped her up, his stomach sinking. 

She had to leave. Hope had briefly filled her, but now it was ready to vanish, another letdown. Her chronic disability always made these moments harder. Before she could make her exit excuse, she saw something in his eyes—was it pain? A weight dropped in her stomach. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to believe this was real. They were each other’s home now. “Darlin', I…" Boone started but didn’t finish. 

She watched his lips part, saw his breath rise, and felt everything he couldn’t say. Her mind raced. She’d been let down before—empty promises, apologies. She hated how she always needed help, and how much of an inconvenience it seemed to others. Now, this man had filled her with more hope than all of them combined, and it terrified her. Maybe leaving would save her from more pain. After hearing for years that her situation was "sad," Hannah agreed. Especially now. When Boone held her in the kitchen, she felt a long-lost desire she hadn’t felt in years. But at the same time, she imagined what it would be like to sleep with him—her uncontrollable legs, her physical limitations. Boone was right—she did feel shame. And she couldn’t help but believe she had every right to. Hannah feared intimacy. She couldn’t lie to herself this time. Every word Boone said, every smile—she anticipated. It felt right, yet unnerving, like her life had led to this moment. And now, she was backing out, not even trying. She had followed him home, which wasn’t like her at all.

“C’mon, Miss Lizzie,” Boone called, patting his thigh. Lizzie trotted over, wagging her tail. Hannah gripped Boone’s arm, walking toward her car. The sun blazed overhead, and her energy drained with each step. She focused on where to place her feet, careful not to trip. The jingle of Lizzie’s tags were comforting.

“Oh!” Her toe caught on the stone, and she stumbled. 

Boone caught her with his strong arms. “I got you.” 

Her breath quickened, cheeks flushed. 

“I’ll always catch you, darlin’,” he said.

“That’s a full-time job,” she joked.

“Sounds perfect,” he smiled.