Áilín Quinlan: I may have dodged a bullet.. but encounters have stayed with me

Phew. Dodged a bullet there, I thought. Two bullets, even.

We’d switched on Netflix to watch Apex, starring Charlize Theron.

Theron plays the part of an elite athlete – a mountain-climber, kayaker and God knows what else – who seeks solace in the Australian outback following a terrible bereavement.

Only to be stalked by, you guessed it, a terrifying ritualistic serial killer.

Apex wouldn’t normally be my cup of tea, plus it only scored 67% on Rotten Tomatoes, but I was in the mood for something escapist, and I like Theron.

Only a few minutes into the film, Theron is shopping for supplies in a rural shop when she experiences some moderate pestering from a group of leering rednecks.

A mild-spoken local man quietly intervenes. The lads back off.

Theron’s response to his kindness, however, is merely one of cool politeness. Not quite grateful, even though she does purchase a packet of his jerky as a mark of appreciation before departing on a solo extreme kayaking expedition through a remote national park.

Oh, oh, I thought.

I had just read an article by psychologist Emma Kavanagh, which discussed how psychopaths have what she termed a “subconscious quest for dominance” and an “insatiable need to be at the top of the pile.” Ah, dominance.

Strange how the combination of Kavanagh’s comments and that scene in the outback shop reminded me of two very minor, yet oddly disturbing encounters that happened years ago and yet have always stayed with me.

The first occurred on a dark and glowering winter’s afternoon when I stopped to buy a newspaper at what was then Porter’s newsagent’s counter near the main entrance to Paul Street Shopping Centre.

The assistant was just about to take my money when a bulky man suddenly appeared beside me. Shouldering uncomfortably close, he picked up a chocolate bar and held out his money too.

I glanced at him, a bit surprised. It’s difficult to describe what happened next, except to say that the look I got back made my skin crawl. It was like a snarl. A predator’s gaze.

My neck prickled. I stepped to one side and nodded to the assistant to serve him first.

As he took his change, the cold eyes switched back to me, and I’d swear his face bore the tiniest trace of a smirk.

I couldn’t put my finger on what had just happened, but as I walked alone to my car, which was parked in a quiet-ish area some distance from the city centre, I found myself looking over my shoulder and feeling inexplicably relieved that I’d made way for that odd character. That’s all I can say about it.

The second encounter occurred when I was staying in Dublin for a few days, covering a huge international medical conference for my newspaper.

My hotel boasted a small gym, which I would visit every day after I’d filed my news stories. It boasted only one treadmill, one rowing machine and some weights, but on the plus side, it was always empty. One evening I was three or four minutes into my run when the door of the gym opened.

A tall, handsome man and two children came in. The walls of the gym were mirrored, and as I jogged, I found myself casually watching the children, a boy and a girl, maybe aged nine and 10, standing beside the door.

Where had their dad got to, I wondered – and then I almost jumped out of my skin.

He was standing right beside me, facing me, so close that his shins must have been touching the side of the machine I was running on. Staring right at me.

I switched my eyes back to the mirrored wall facing the treadmill and looked at the children. They were watching me. The man stayed where he was, maintaining that full-on arctic stare, his chest almost touching my elbow. Nobody said anything.

It was all too menacing for words. I gave it another minute or two just for show, put the machine into cooldown and stepped off. The man immediately stepped onto the treadmill.

As I left the gym, the boy looked right at me. It was a look of pure gratitude. I remember wondering where the mother was. And if she was ok.

In her article, Kavanagh explained that the term psychopath does not just apply to notorious figures like Hannibal Lecter or Harold Shipman.

Psychopaths are amongst us; they are colleagues, siblings, spouses, partners.

They’re generally mean, she explains – mean, that is, in terms of being antagonistic, low in empathy and greedy. Somebody who’s always spoiling for a fight and seems happier when they’ve made others miserable.

Someone who doesn’t always interact or behave appropriately, who leaves behind a trail of failed relationships and lost jobs and may have engaged in criminality.

These people are fearless, bold and very charming – and contemptuous of others. They are manipulative, using lies and gaslighting to keep you off balance. They may be occasionally nice, but mostly make you feel stressed.

Interesting, I thought, flicking through the Sunday newspapers with stories about the Irish being encouraged to visit the US and a cascade of breathless reports that a Trump visit to Dublin is on the cards.

Coincidentally, and in contrast, these attention-grabbing articles appeared on the very same weekend that the low-key but impressive Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney and his wife Diana visited Ireland.

Em, what was that psychologist saying again about the quest for dominance and the need to be top of the pile?