Call Me | American Psycho Reader Insert

Chapter 22

The shorter officer, his eyes sharp and assessing, declined with a curt shake of his head. "We're fine," he said, his gaze never leaving Y/N. "What can you tell us about the detective?"

Y/N's smile was a masterpiece of innocence, his eyes wide with concern. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice a gentle lilt. "I don't know anything about that. I've been here all night, just taking care of myself." He gestured to the gym equipment in the corner, the towel around his waist the only indication of his recent workout.

The shorter officer's eyes narrowed, a glint of suspicion in his gaze. "You're not aware of anyone coming to see you today?"

Y/N's smile grew broader, a picture of innocence. "Not at all," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "I've had quite the workout, as you can see," he gestured to the gym gear, his body still glistening from the shower. "I've been preoccupied with my own little world. What's this detective's name?"

The taller officer's eyes searched his, the discomfort in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. "Detective Donald Kimball," he replied, his voice a mix of suspicion and skepticism.

Y/N's smile remained unchanged, a mask of innocence in the face of accusation. "I'm afraid I can't help you there," he said, his tone genuinely apologetic. "I haven't had any visitors today. I've just been here, working out and watching a bit of TV. You know how it is, trying to keep the stress at bay in this fast-paced city."

The officers exchanged another look, the taller one's skepticism palpable. "Alright, Mr. ..." He trailed off, waiting for Y/N to fill in the blank.

"Bateman," Y/N offered, his smile unwavering. "Y/N Bateman."

The officers nodded, their expressions unchanged. "Alright, Mr. Bateman," the taller one said, his pen poised over his notepad. "We'll need to take a look around, if that's alright with you."

Y/N's smile remained in place, a mask of cooperation. "Of course," he said, his voice a calm sea of reassurance. "I understand you're just doing your job. I have nothing to hide." He stepped aside, allowing them to enter further into the apartment, the towel still clinging precariously to his waist.

The officers began their search, their eyes sweeping over the immaculate living room, the gleaming kitchen, and the spotless bedroom. Each step they took was measured, as if they were navigating a minefield of secrets. Y/N followed them, his movements fluid and graceful, his eyes never leaving theirs. He pointed out the spotless surfaces and the lack of any signs of struggle, his voice a gentle guide through his personal sanctum.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for, officers?" he inquired, his tone earnest. "I'd be happy to help you in any way I can."

The shorter officer, his badge glinting in the soft light of the apartment, fixed Y/N with a sharp gaze. "We're just following up on a few leads," he said, his voice tight with suspicion. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about Detective Kimball's disappearance, would you?"

Y/N's eyes widened in feigned surprise, his smile never faltering. "I'm afraid not," he replied, his voice a soothing melody. "But I'm more than happy to help you in any way I can. This is quite disturbing, really. A man of the law, gone missing? It's terrible.

The officers continued their search, their eyes peeling back the layers of his pristine apartment. They poked and prodded, searching for any clue, any hint of the macabre events that had transpired just hours before. Yet, despite their thoroughness, they found nothing out of place, nothing that suggested the dark secrets that lurked beneath the gleaming veneer of his life.

Y/N watched them, his heart racing in a symphony of dread and excitement. He knew that the evidence of his crimes was well-hidden, tucked away in the shadows where no one would ever find it. The knives were cleaned, the blood washed away, and the body was now a silent witness at the bottom of a lake.

The officers moved through the apartment with a methodical precision, their eyes scanning every corner, every surface for something that didn't belong. Yet, they found only the trappings of a wealthy executive: designer furniture, gleaming surfaces, and a refrigerator stocked with expensive wine. The walls were adorned with art that spoke of taste and sophistication, not the madness that lurked behind them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the taller officer straightened up from his search, his eyes meeting Y/N's in the reflection of a framed Van Gogh. "Well, Mr. Bateman," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of unasked questions. "It seems like you're telling the truth. We didn't find anything out of place."

Y/N's smile remained in place, a mask of innocence. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," he said, his voice a gentle purr. "I hope you find your detective soon."

The officers nodded, their eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary before they turned to leave. The door clicked shut behind them, and the penthouse was once again swallowed by silence.

Y/N's heart hammered in his chest, the sound echoing in the empty apartment like a drumbeat of fear. He had done it. He had convinced them, had kept his secrets hidden. The thrill of the near-miss was intoxicating, a heady mix of terror and triumph that made his blood race.

With a shaky hand, he picked up the phone and dialed the number for the escort service. His voice was smooth and steady when the operator answered, the epitome of a man in control. "Yes," he said, his tone was cool and measured. "I'd like to book an appointment for tonight. Someone...compliant."

The line was silent for a moment before the operator's voice, professional yet knowing, responded, "We have just the girl for you, Mr. Bateman. She'll be there within the hour."