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If I come on too strong, if she becomes too aware, then she could request my transfer. I decide it’s better not to chance it by provoking her and avert my eyes to the chain resting against my leg.
“I refused your interview a year ago,” I say, finally giving her the answer to her question during our first session, “because I didn’t trust you.” I look up.
Her dark eyebrows arch. “And you trust me now?”
Dr. London Noble has a reputation of getting convicted murderers a lighter or reduced sentence. She humanizes monsters. She tames the untamable. She’s the answer to every serial killer on death row—their angel of mercy.
But beneath that façade, a devil lurks.
It’s taken me months to accept that she was put in my path for a reason. At first, I refused any connection to her. We couldn’t be farther apart on the spectrum—and yet, her name kept coming to me, a chant my own damned soul recognized as kindred.
I lean forward, getting as close to her as my restraints allow. “I trust in the inevitable.”
My response unnerves her. The delicate column of her throat jumps as she maintains an unaffected expression. “At some point, all your victims’ fates were inevitable to you. Do you view me as a victim? Have I committed some sin that I’m unaware of?”
Her twisty words bring a real smile to my face. Is she aware? Or is the ruse a part of her seduction? I don’t have the answer. Not yet. I need all the pieces of her puzzle first.
All I know for sure is that we have a story.
Ours is not a love story—we’re too volatile, too explosive for monotony. No, our story comes with a warning.
Beware.
“You’re twisting things,” I say. “But you’re not wrong. All sinners are first victims. Everyone who lashes out to harm, has suffered harm themselves.” I run my hands over my thighs, staring at the gleaming metal of my cuffs. “It’s a simple yin yang; dark and light feeding each side and devouring. A snake eating it’s own tail. A vicious cycle.”
London doesn’t use a notepad to write down our sessions. She records them, watches them played back to her. She’s a watcher. A voyeur. She uses the here and now to process my words. Silence builds between us as she takes her time sorting my voiced thoughts.
“You feel you’re powerless against the cycle?”
My gaze snaps to hers. My hands itch to tear those glasses from her face so I can stare into her eyes unobstructed. “None of us are powerless. Choice is the most powerful thing in this world. Everyone has a choice.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, that small action igniting my skin. I curl my hands into fists as I await her next question.
“That’s a powerful statement in itself,” she says, surprising me. “Yet if you render your victims helpless, forced to make only the choices you provide them, then they’re not truly free to choose, are they?”
I unclench my hands. My fingers splay across my lap. I’ve wiggled an inch beneath her skin. I can see it in the way she touches her finger, anxious for her little string. “Much like our sessions,” I say.
Her eyebrows knit together. “How do you mean?”
I lift my arms and rattle the chains. “If we were on even ground, able to voice our thoughts truthfully, then my answers might be different.” I eye her closely. “And your questions, I bet, would be much different.”
She’s so still, if I blink, I could miss the slight tremor of her hands. I keep my gaze trained on her face. We are each other’s inevitability—a certainty that no amount of chains and bars and guards will prevent.
She breaks the connection first this time and looks at the wall clock. “That’s enough for today.”
Disappointment pulls at my shoulders. Where is the combative psychologist? Where is her determination to make me see the world her way? Doctor Noble is a narcissist. I’ve spent the past year studying her and devising my strategy for a woman I have yet to meet.
I release the mounting anger with a forceful exhale. Tomorrow.
We have an infinity of tomorrows.
4
Insight
London
A blank screen stares back at me, daring me to hit Play.
