This is the safer option because when forced between interrogating twenty psychotic patients and letting one go without medication for a few hours, most counselors veer toward the latter—even ones as hopeful as Bryce.
Confident the tablets are far enough away from me to evade suspicion, I return my eyes front and center. On their way, I catch the inquisitive glare of a pretty pair of hazel eyes. It’s the demure mouse. Little Ms. Sunshine in a fucked-up world.
I expect her to rat me out, to advise the counselors of my inability to follow procedures.
She does no such thing. She keeps her head bowed and her suspicious gaze on the down-low.
I had wondered earlier if I found an ally. Now I know without a doubt. I’ve been on Bryce’s radar since I walked in the door, so I’m confident the guards not as light-footed as him spotted this brunette just as quickly. Not because she’s outstandingly beautiful with a smile that outshines the sun, but because at one stage in his life, every man wants to bed a psycho.
The rumors are true. Psychotic women are just as crazy in the sack as they are outside of it.
You can take my word on that.
two
DEXTER
“Is this seat taken?”
The still unnamed brunette sheepishly lifts her eyes to mine. They’re more unique than first perceived two weeks ago. More gold flecks are mottled throughout the green than I realized.
This will work well—very,verywell.
Although Little Ms. Skitzo doesn’t answer me, I fill the empty seat next to her. We’re on a thirty-minute allotment of free time. It is an experiment the counselors thought would help ‘clear the congestion from our minds.’
The only thing it’s helping is my escape plan.
When I lean in close to the brunette’s side, the hairs on her nape prickle from my nearness. That’s not unusual. My attention does that to both men and women. The women want to fuck me. The men want to be me.
Sometimes it’s hard being this brilliant.
“What’s your name? Have you been here long?” My back molars crunch together. It sounds as if I’m striving for a date, not a pawn to be discarded like trash the instant I get what I want. “Do you want to play a little game? Show the professionals their years of study weren’t squandered?”
My sick and twisted game hits a snag when the brunette shuffles her chair away from me. I’d feign hurt about her rejection if it didn’t expose a vault load of information. One scrape of her chair and three guards’ eyes popped up. One pair belongs to Bryce—he doesn’t count—but the other two give away fascinating clues. They aren’t eyeing me with worry. They’re warning me to back off. Their slitted gazes and tense jaws assure me of this, not to mention the jealousy flaring out their nostrils.
They’re reactingexactlyas hoped.
Never one to back away when challenged—and interested to see how far I can push the boundaries—I scoot my chair closer to the brunette. Probably a little too close when the scent of her shampoo streams through my nostrils. It isn’t the smell of the shampoo supplied in every penitentiary three states over. It is fresh and fruity—almost enticing.
“Your hair smells pretty. Did someone gift you fancy shampoo? Was it one of the guards?” Because my first comment isn’t a lie, it covers up the interrogative nature of my questions.
Silence. Nothing but dead silence greets me.
I’m not even sure she’s breathing since she is so still.
Her frozen-in-fear stance is even more alluring than her zesty shampoo. I like that she’s a hard nut to crack. I’ve been void of stimuli for years, so my brain is well overdue to flex its muscles.
Outside this environment, I’d be on my game, but this is different. I’m not being forced to act like an ordinary man. She already knows I’m fucked in the head, or I wouldn’t be here, so shouldn’t that make the game easier?
“Why are you so quiet? Are you doped up on meds?” I pinch her chin between my thumb and index finger then return her eyes to mine.
She comes without too much protest, revealing she’s more submissive than first perceived.
Another impressive development in my campaign.
If you can look past the infinite number of secrets in her pretty eyes, they are clear, almost lucid—for a psycho.She’s not tripping on personality-stripping drugs.This is who she is—plain and demure.
She will learn well.
