“Nervous?” asks Gretchen, tapping in a security code on a chunky metal keypad beside a heavy steel door.
“A little,” Lydia admits. This place is designed to make a person nervous, she believes. The corridors they walked to get here are narrow and claustrophobic, such that the footsteps of two people reverberate around them in a foreboding cacophony. The door in front of them has no window, and when Gretchen finishes punching the numbers and its lock clicks, Lydia’s instinctive human fear of the unknown kicks in. She has learned over the years to suppress the fight or flight reflex, but there are limits even to her mastery of the mind. Her heart rate quickens as Gretchen pushes the door open. Lydia closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and follows the doctor inside.
Everything is a dirty off-white in here; the walls, floors, lights, everything but the man in the orange jumpsuit sitting on the far side of a large, wide window that Lydia recognises immediately as a two-way mirror. He is hunched forward, long, lank strands of dirty brown hair hiding his face, but not out of reserve or shyness. Lydia at once understands that this is for her benefit. A performance, to prolong her anticipation, to feed her fear. And it’s working. She feels her heart quicken, and breathes deeply in order to counter it, forcing herself to look at him. Even bound and still, Devere has a powerful aura, the broad shoulders, the wiry frame, strong forearms resting on the table. An animal caged, but not tamed. Subdued, but not broken.
Next to the window is another door, guarded by a middle-aged man in a pale grey uniform. Asylum camouflage, Lydia thinks, making a mental note of the phrase for her book. The man holds out the palm of his large hand and Lydia glances inquiringly at her companion.
“Your bag,” says Gretchen. “It’s procedure.”
Lydia hands over the bag. “Of course,” she says airily, but she’s resentful of the lack of trust. Or perhaps more pointedly the lack of deference. Don’t they know who she is? The thought makes her ashamed, and she tries to banish it. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“What’s that?” Gretchen replies, her flat tone of voice speaking to an exhausted mind.
“Does Jason talk much about his childhood?”
Gretchen peers at her through that thick, red-gold hair, a look half suspicion and half understanding. “Sometimes,” she says finally. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering,” Lydia replies, casually. “Just because, you know, a lot of the issues with people like him are rooted in childhood experiences. Parents, friends, school…” She watches Gretchen’s eyes carefully, and the doctor seems to sense that she’s being read because she looks away.
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I will.”
“But don’t trust the answers.” Gretchen turns back to her, that odd duality in her eyes again that Lydia cannot place. The frustration causes her to flex her fingers gently.
“Don’t worry,” Lydia smiles, “I know when I’m being lied to.”
“Do you?” Gretchen’s eyebrow lifts ever so slightly.
“I’ve interviewed plenty of murderers.”
“Not like this one, you haven’t.”
“What do you mean?” Lydia asks sharply, unable to conceal her irritation at this stranger’s presumptuousness.
Gretchen looks through the window at the still man. “He’s dangerous.”
“They’re all dangerous, aren’t they?” says Lydia, waving a hand as if to gesture at the asylum itself. “I mean why else would they be here?”
“He’s different,” says Gretchen. She sees the incredulous look on Lydia’s face and sighs wearily. “You’ll see.”
Lydia studies the doctor’s face for a moment. She is beautiful, or was at any rate before this place sucked the life out of her. Is she batting away these questions because she’s tired or because there’s something she doesn’t want Lydia to know? “Any advice?” Lydia asks as the guard rifles through her personal property, every click of lipstick, of phone, of keys setting her teeth on edge.
“He might not say very much,” Gretchen offers. “He doesn’t like these situations. Sessions. Interviews. I think he finds them quite impertinent.”
I know that feeling, Lydia thinks, and as if sensing her empathy Jason Devere turns his pale face, surrounded by long, dirty, matted hair, to look at her. And smiles. A shiver runs all the way up Lydia’s spine and then washes over her whole body like a frozen, crashing wave. She had compared him to a wild animal, and now she knows what kind of animal he is. The sly eyes, the hungry mouth, the power, the effortless confidence. A motionless swagger. Jason Devere is a wolf, and he can smell blood in the air.
“Can he see us?”
Gretchen glances through the window. “No,” she replies, but she too looks slightly unnerved. “I guess he knows we’re coming, so…”
“Right,” says Lydia. That sounds plausible. Yet she remains unconvinced.
“Okay,” grunts the guard, handing back Lydia’s bag. There are many men of few words who conceal fascinating personalities, but he, she decides, is not one of them.
“Thank you.” She takes the bag and steps forward through the door as he opens it. It creaks. Everything in this place seems to generate its own sounds, as though the building itself is alive. Devere’s eyes follow her as she enters the stark room, tracking her like a predator. There is a smirk not just playing about his lips, but deep in his eyes as well that she does not like one little bit. But her gaze passes over the chains around his wrists and ankles that bind him to the ground, then to the guard who has joined her inside the room, and she knows that she is safe. She knows it, even if she doesn’t quite feel it. She also notes that Gretchen has not joined her, and Lydia wonders if the doctor is watching them from behind the mirror as she makes her way to a single metal chair some six feet from the bound patient. He hasn’t spoken yet. Gretchen had warned her.
“Hello, Jason,” she begins, polite and confident. She declines to offer him a smile. That’s what he would be expecting, she thinks, from somebody who wants something from him. That they would be friendly. Overly so, perhaps. But Lydia wants to get a feel for her opponent first, to lure him out of his shell and then offer him kindness when she decides it will benefit her the most. “I assume you’ve been told why I’m here?”
Jason Devere says nothing; his expression barely moves, but his eyes give him away. They are burning with a ferocity that betrays the cool front he wants her to see. He’s excited. He wants her to be here. That’s good. She can use that.
“We can sit in silence for as long as you like,” Lydia says, placing her bag on the ground and her hands in her lap. “Doctor Engel tells me that is your favourite way to pass the time.”
Jason Devere shrugs lightly.
“To be honest,” says Lydia airily, “I think she’s a little hurt that you don’t want to be friends.”
No response.
“Is there something about her in particular, or is it just people in general to whom you object?” She pauses for effect. “Or maybe just women?”
A flicker of irritation travels over his face. It’s a tiny tell that Lydia only sees because she’s expecting it, but it’s definitely there. Lydia already knows that Jason isn’t that kind of monster, but suggesting that he might be scores her two points in a single stroke. It wounds Jason’s pride, makes him want to open up and let her know that he isn’t what she thinks he is, and it invites him to underestimate her. Just another dime store psychologist. His mistake.
“Well,” she presses on, being careful to hide her satisfaction, “what Doctor Engel may not have mentioned is that I’m here to offer you a deal.”
Jason sits back in his chair, like a king ready to receive his subjects with easy generosity. He’s interested.
“As I’m sure you know I’m a very influential person.” Lydia’s arrogance comes easily, but in this case it is deliberate. Gloating, she finds, is an exceptionally reliable way to irk those in captivity. “I can make your life here considerably more comfortable than it is now.” She lets the idea percolate. Let him imagine the possibilities. “If,” she says finally, “you give me what I want.”
Jason Devere’s mouth begins to open, slowly, as though choosing his words even as they begin to form. “And what would that be?” His voice is low, but confident. Not the growl that she expected, but clear and strong, and packed with indecipherable subtlety. A cold sensation ripples around Lydia’s heart. Was it fear she was feeling? Or satisfaction that she had truly found her worthy case study that she had so hoped for?
“To hear your story, of course.” Lydia feigns innocence. She knows he will see right through it. Let him believe that he can read her.
“I’m sure you read my story in the newspapers.”
“Oh, come now, Jason,” Lydia leans forward conspiratorially, “I know better than to believe everything I read in the newspapers.”
Jason smirks. He can’t help himself. He’s flattered by this beautiful woman’s interest in him. He enjoys the hint of playfulness in her response. He likes games. Lydia knows as much from reading his patient file. She returns his smirk, acknowledging the connection they’ve made, giving him the approval he doesn’t even realise he wants.
“What do you say, Jason?”
He thinks for a moment. He doesn’t want to seem too keen. He wants to be in charge, to dictate the terms. “What sort of things can you do for me in here?” he asks finally, raising his shackled wrists pointedly.
“Well, I’ll have to speak to the warden,” Lydia replies. This is true of course, but she is at any rate not about to make any cast-iron promises. Not yet. She doesn’t need to. The suggestion of reward will be enough to get the ball rolling. “But I’m sure he’s prepared to be quite flexible, in exchange for favourable publicity.”
“I want books,” says Jason quickly. “Paper, pencils, that sort of thing.” He’s leaning forward now, and the pose accentuates his strong jaw. He’s quite handsome, Lydia thinks. Or at least, he used to be.
“That sounds…” Lydia chooses her words carefully, “possible.”
Jason throws back his shaggy, matted hair and laughs a deep, rasping laugh. “Possible?” Jason repeats. He’s positively beaming now. He’s got her all figured out. Just the way she planned. “You’re going to have to do better than that. I want it in writing.”
“Okay,” Lydia replies. Her expression has slipped back to pleasant, neutral. Don’t go too hard, too soon. The doctors here could learn a thing or two from her. She glances at the two-way mirror. Had Gretchen been watching this whole time? Had she figured out what Lydia was doing?
“Okay what?” Jason has cooled off a little too. There’s a hint of frustration in his voice.
“Okay, I’ll put it all in writing and sign it for you when I next visit.” Lydia reaches down by her side to pick up her bag.
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure,” Lydia lies. “That depends on Doctor Engel’s schedule.” She gets to her feet and slings the bag over her shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, Jason.” The farewell is intentionally abrupt. She’s almost to the door when Jason makes the attempt to extend their brief time together that she is hoping for.
“Why me?” he calls out. Lydia smiles, but checks herself before she turns around.
“You’re… different.”
“You can say that again.” Jason tries to act casual, but the heavy chains that bind him clink and rattle. “You’re going to have quite a job figuring me out.”
“I like a challenge.” Lydia smiles again, inclining her head such that her blonde locks tumble over her eyes. She sweeps them back with those slender fingers and tucks them behind her ear.
“So do I,” replies Jason. The feral smirk is back, and for the briefest second Lydia questions herself.