Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
“Good morning, Delilah,” Bronwin greeted Delilah with a falsely bright voice. Low instrumental jazz played from a stereo that Rowan couldn’t see but knew was hidden under Bronwin’s desk.
Delilah—clearly prepared for what would be a not-at-all productive therapy session—shut off her mocking attitude and eyed Bronwin with thinly veiled disdain. Rowan secured her to the same chair she’d suffered through the day before. When that was done and Rowan had stepped away, she spoke.
“Is Rowan truly your head of security, or have I been lied to?”
Bronwin hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Has something happened that you’re concerned with?”
“Is it true?”
“Well, yes. But is there—”
“So it would be true then,” Delilah interrupted, “that she would know where the blind spots are in patient rooms?”
Bronwin’s frown grew, her brows creasing as she looked between Rowan and Delilah.
After mulling over the question, and apparently failing to see the harm in answering, Bronwin said, “I suppose she would, yes. Is this something that is important to you?” Bronwin knew for a fact that Rowan knew everything about the security camera system as she’d once had Rowan walk her through it.
“Does she ever watch the cameras?” Delilah asked, sidestepping Bronwin’s question completely.
Bronwin opened her mouth then thought better and closed it again, darting a quick, concerned glance at Rowan. “Let’s steer this conversation back to you, shall we? I’d like to know how you’re adjusting to being here.”
Delilah’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the arms of the chair, perched on the edge like she was debating the benefit and practicality of lunging for Bronwin’s throat.
“When does she check the cameras? Or is that job too low for her?”
Bronwin folded her hands on her desk and looked at Delilah with more patience than Rowan would have been able to muster. “Delilah, I really must insist—”
“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” Delilah snapped. An irritating reminder of the unspoken deal they’d hesitantly entered the day prior. Not that Bronwin wanted to give Delilah any information.
“I can’t answer anything that might compromise facility security,” Bronwin finally said. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re so intent on learning Rowan's schedule?”
“I don’t want to escape,” Delilah drawled.
She relaxed and her expression switched from burning hatred to innocence, a smile gracing her features as she widened her eyes enough to exaggerate the act even further.
“If that’s what you’re worried about. I like it here,” she said.
An olive branch, and again, not an answer to Bronwin’s question.
But it seemed to satisfy the therapist enough.
Either that, or she saw it for the bullshit it was and recognized that Delilah wasn’t going to give her anything more.
“Rowan?” Bronwin asked tiredly. Rowan gritted her teeth, wondering if she could refuse Bronwin or, if in this room, Bronwin held the authority over her.
“Yes?”
“Do you check the cameras?”
“Sometimes,” Rowan gritted out. It was a lie but Delilah didn’t need to know that. Rowan checked the cameras religiously, a part of her daily routine. The same time every day except on weekends.
“When?” Delilah asked, her all-too-innocent smile still painted on her lips.
“Delilah, if I may interrupt,” Bronwin interjected, barely withholding the annoyance that Rowan knew she must be feeling.
Even her body looked relaxed, leaning back slightly in her chair, jotting something down in her notebook while she spoke.
If Rowan didn’t know her better, if she didn’t know to look for that minor eye twitch that signaled annoyance, then she would have thought everything was perfectly fine.
“Can you tell me a little more about why you want this information? You must understand how it looks from a security perspective.”
Delilah clenched her fists. “I’m just getting to know my guard.”
“Getting to know your guard is not exactly encouraged in your position. Do you have any concerns that we need to be aware of? Our job, believe it or not, is to make your time comfortable and to help facilitate your healing journey.”
Delilah looked almost like she wanted to laugh at that. “And what do I need healing from?” she asked.
“Well, we might explore your past, your childhood. There may be certain experiences and life choices that have led you here, which can help me better understand the best way to provide support. You determine the pacing, but ultimately all I’m doing here is trying to provide a safe environment for you. One that is free of judgement.”
“I would feel a lot more comfortable and supported if I knew when I was being watched,” Delilah said, her innocent smile and tone back in an instant.
Bronwin pursed her lips and looked at Rowan for a long minute before she nodded. “In the morning,” Rowan answered, begrudgingly.
“How often?” Delilah countered. Rowan raised an eyebrow and looked at Bronwin, who waved a hand as if to say please just answer the question so we can move on.
Rowan sighed. “Every morning from nine to ten.”
Delilah’s smile turned vicious now, a predator relishing her success at cornering her prey. Rowan swallowed, heat swirling inside her at the thought of being Delilah’s prey. Of being at her mercy. What would she do? Would she listen to anything Rowan said?
“Now that I think about it,” Delilah said, turning back to Bronwin. “There is some healing I’d like to do.”
Bronwin looked like a fucking dog with a bone. Excitement flashed in her eyes as she sat up straighter, her pen poised against a fresh sheet of her notebook. “Please, go on whenever you’re ready.”
“Before I got caught, I was a social worker. Did you know that?”
“Yes, it was in your file,” Bronwin said, paying rapt attention and scooting forward in her chair. “I actually was quite curious about why you’d chosen that profession.”
“What do you mean?” Delilah asked, as if a serial killer choosing a profession which revolves around helping protect children wasn’t a strange choice. Especially since there was no record of her having killed children before, even given what Rowan imagined had to be considerable opportunity.
“Well—” Bronwin hesitated, biting her lip. “People who go into that field… Well, they usually do it because they care, right? They want to help. And it’s a brutal profession with a lot of strong emotions, which may not be something that you fully feel or understand.”
Delilah smiled. “And wouldn’t that make me the perfect candidate for such a job?”
“Your case notes have indicated that you often show a lack of empathy and morality when confronted with certain experiences. Wouldn’t that be incongruous to social work?”
“Now you’re just making assumptions, Doctor,” Delilah said snidely. “I do understand what society deems right and wrong. I just disagree with some of it. I have my own preferences, and I don’t particularly care what others think of that.”
“Can you illuminate me as to what drew you to this type of work, then? What are your preferences for right and wrong, Delilah?”
“Social workers,” Delilah started, a twitch of her lip barely holding back the genuine smile threatening to grace her lovely features, “deal with the scum of the earth. The things we see would make your sad little heart shatter into pieces. The abuse those children go through. The disgusting, manipulative, narcissistic bastards who are supposed to care for them”—she took in a deep breath as if relishing the memories of pain and torture. “It’s a veritable feeding ground.”
“My first kill,” she continued unprompted and seemingly lost in the memories, her eyes distant.
“He was pathetic. Thought he was god’s greatest gift and the kids in his care were…
You can imagine what men like that do to those they hold power over.
Nobody missed him. Hardly anyone looked for him until it was too late.
I was the only one who heard his screams—at least, until his disgusting begging got annoying. Then I gagged him.”
Rowan waited for her to keep talking, to fill the silence with something more than Bronwin’s pen scratching freshly across the paper and the light jazz still playing from the radio. But she didn’t, not about her first kill at least. Instead, she turned abruptly to face Rowan.
“Are you alone when you check the cameras?”
“Yes,” Rowan answered instantly, not even bothering to wait for permission or let Bronwin steer the conversation back. She wanted to know more, and she didn’t want the delay of an argument or to risk them getting off topic.
“I protected those children,” Delilah continued as if she’d never even stopped, facing Bronwin again whose pen had barely left the paper since Delilah started.
“Believe it or not, I think they deserve a chance—a chance to grow into their potential. I don’t kill kids because it’s a waste…
And they’re a bit boring, don’t you think?
It’s much more satisfying to watch the dawning comprehension of a full-grown adult when they realize what I’m about to do. ”
“Can you explain what you mean when you say ‘their potential’?” Bronwin asked, and at Delilah’s sly smile, she hazarded a guess of her own.
“Were you wanting followers? There were some accounts from your trial of people revering you as an angel of death. Was that what you wanted from the children as well? Worship?”
Delilah laughed. “No.” Then she turned to face Rowan again. “Do the cameras have sound?”
“No.”
“Pity. What use would children be to me, doctor?” Delilah continued, scoffing as if insulted. “Of course I don’t want them to follow me or to worship me. Helping the children was simply a byproduct of what I was doing.”
“And what were you doing, Delilah?”
“Experimenting.”
Bronwin frowned again. “Experimenting?” she asked, finally looking up as she finished whatever she’d been writing.
“I’m sure you can understand a scientific inquiry, the desire for answers.
It takes time, getting them. It’s all trial and error.
And what better way to experiment than being given all the time and resources you could want?
” Delilah chuckled, clicking her tongue against her teeth.
“The children don’t matter, doctor. You’re focusing on the wrong thing. ”
“Would you like to guide me to what I should be focusing on, then? Help me understand why you wanted to experiment because right now, none of this is aligning with what you’ve shared about yourself thus far,” Bronwin said in a relaxed tone, as if understanding was the least of her concerns.
Delilah’s eyes lit up. She sat up straighter in her chair like Bronwin had just given her the greatest present—a slip of her professional mask. “And what do you think I’ve shared about myself?” She leaned back with a snide look on her face. “What do you know about me, doctor?”
“You have given the impression that you like a challenge,” Bronwin started carefully. “Which is why I’m having trouble aligning your desire to choose the easy target.” The way Bronwin emphasized “easy” made Delilah’s nostrils flare, her gaze narrowing.
“I did not want an easy target,” Delilah snapped, seemingly ignorant of Bronwin’s blatant attempt to frustrate her. “Were you not listening? I wanted to experiment.”
Bronwin nodded, nonchalantly writing that down in her notebook.
But Rowan caught the glimmer of excitement in her eye.
The idea that she had Delilah eating out of the palm of her hand.
That she’d tricked her. A humming noise followed the gesture, which drove Delilah crazy.
Rowan saw the anger and coiled tension in her jaw and wondered if Bronwin’s tactic might actually work.
“It was a first kill, doctor,” Delilah shot, enunciating her words and rising surprisingly easily to the bait. “I had questions and kinks to work out. Who better than someone that no one would miss? I didn’t pick an easy target. I picked one that would afford me the time I required.”
“And how much time did you believe you would require?”
“Enough to answer my questions.”
Bronwin flipped back a page in her notebook, skimming as if searching for the questions, but Rowan knew they hadn’t yet discussed them. “Would you like to explain why you sought another victim after your first? Were you unable to obtain the answers you were looking for?”
Rowan was watching Delilah closer than she should, ignoring the spot on the wall she usually stared at while pretending not to eavesdrop on sessions. Bronwin was going to chew her out for listening so obviously, but right now it was worth it.
“It wasn’t really a single victim question,” Delilah laughed again, a soft huff of enjoyment.
“I want to better understand pain tolerance. How much could this one endure before he lost consciousness. I started small, little nicks and cuts with a scalpel, nothing too bad. I was testing which areas seemed to hurt the most. It was exactly where you’d expect.
” Delilah gave them both a knowing smirk, letting them figure it out while the silence swirled around them.
The lingering question in the air begging to be asked.
Unable to help herself, Rowan did just that. “So how long did it take?”
It was a mistake to ask. Rowan understood that the second the words were out of her mouth and Delilah looked at her with such a knowing look.
A look that said we’re the same, you and I, and now we both know it, like Rowan had just offered herself up on a silver platter. A look that left Rowan cold inside.
“I didn’t learn that from him. He died while I was carving his foster daughter's name into his penis.” Delilah sighed in disappointment. Then when she looked at Bronwin, who was so clearly fighting the downward twitch of her lips, Delilah smiled. “I wanted him to remember what she felt like.”
There was a sort of sick poetic justice in that, Rowan thought, and she could feel herself starting to appreciate what Delilah had done.
Delilah claimed not to care about the children, but it felt to Rowan like she was avenging them.
Bronwin, on the other hand, looked like she might be regretting her line of questioning—not that regret would stop her from asking more, of course.
But she might switch to a lighter topic while digesting the information.
Bronwin wasn’t going to stop taking advantage of what might be her only chance at a dive into the psyche of someone as twisted and unforgiving as Delilah Watson.