Page 4 of Edging Sanity

Bronwin offered her a tight smile, the smallest upward pull of her lips, which made her look a hair more hospitable. “Would you please tell me?”

“To be rehabilitated, of course.”

“And is this what you believe to be true, or what you think I want to hear?”

Delilah sat back, her smirk evaporating as she evaluated Bronwin in a new light. No doubt she was planning her next move in order to get what she wanted.

“Why don’t we try again,” Bronwin offered generously. “I’d like to be able to optimize your care, to help you as much as possible. To do so, I would appreciate it if you could tell me why you’re here and what you hope to get out of our sessions."

“Is it naivety that makes you expect the truth from me, or are you just optimistic? Besides, how am I supposed to open up to you when you’ve not even given me your name?”

She sighed, clasping her hands together on the desk in front of her. “What a wonderful point,” Bronwin started with much more sincerity than Rowan had expected. “I apologize for not introducing myself. You may call me Dr. Bronwin. I am in charge of your care while you’re here. We will see each other five times a week for one-hour therapy sessions for the foreseeable future. My goal is to work with you, not against you. So let’s get this started on the proper foot, shall we?”

Delilah’s expression morphed, a small smile playing at her full lips while mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Dr. Bronwin,” she said slowly, in a less seductive tone than she’d used with Rowan. Dr. Bronwin wasn’t a treat for her to play with, but an obstacle in her way. Someone to manipulate and deceive. “I’m here to be rehabilitated.”

“And, given your history, do you believe that to be possible?”

“Isn’t that your job to determine, doctor?”

“Have you considered what you would like to get out of these sessions, Ms. Watson?” Bronwin asked, refusing to give in to Delilah’s bait.

Delilah shrugged but didn’t answer. Rowan furrowed her brows, watching Delilah, and couldn’t help but to wonder if, for once, she didn’t have an answer. Or maybe she was just trying to bait Bronwin again.

“Would you like to know what others might think?” Bronwin asked after the heavy pause made it clear that Delilah wouldn’t elaborate on her shrug. Delilah’s predatory smile was a bit larger now as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and propping up her chin on her hands.

“Please,” she said with such heavy sarcasm that, for a second, Rowan thought Bronwin’s facade might crack, revealing the tiniest splinter in her otherwise spotless mask.

She didn’t. Bronwin replied with the same level expression and even tone she’d used the whole session thus far. “It could appear that you’re here because you got bored,” she started, pausing to read Delilah’s body language, which didn’t change. “That you think yourself too smart to be kept locked in a cage, and that you believe this stint in my facility will be more fun. That it might even pose more of an intellectual challenge. In fact, some may even worry that you’re here to find new victims.”

“Is that so?” Delilah asked with a raised brow. Her gaze slid back to Rowan, and this time, Bronwin fell for the obvious bait, following the look and pursing her lips before returning her attention to Delilah. Rowan, for her part, kept her expression schooled and looked ahead at the little cat poster on the other side of the wall, just above Delilah’s head. “I think it’s already more entertaining here.”

Bronwin nodded slowly, and Rowan knew that she was searching for a response. Eliza Bronwin was a good therapist—a great one, really. Calm, collected, brilliant in her own right. But Delilah… Delilah might just be a puzzle that Bronwin couldn’t solve.

“In your file it says that you requested this hospital in particular,” Bronwin offered, drawing Delilah’s attention back to her. “Would you like to tell me about your thought process in choosing Raven Wood?”

Rowan frowned, hoping the surprise didn’t show in her face. Delilah leaned back in her chair, a flash of anger crossing her features as if Bronwin had said exactly the wrong thing. Her tone shifted, and her next words were less open and playful and more like she was negotiating a deal.

“I’m happy to give you what you truly want. A deep dive into the mind of a serial killer,” Delilah said dramatically, watching Bronwin with narrowed eyes. “If you’ll give me the information I request too.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how therapy works, Ms. Watson.”

“Delilah,” she snapped automatically before relaxing, a luring smile on her face. “You don’t even want to know what I want?”

Rowan saw the debate on Bronwin’s face, the way she stared at Delilah with a severity Rowan had only seen a couple times before: the barely noticeable twitch in her fingers, the slight tension in her jaw. Bronwin was battling with her desire to delve into Delilah’s psyche and her desire to help her patient. Rowan had already understood that Bronwin was a great therapist, but her one fatal flaw was that Bronwin would trade almost anything for knowledge. Delilah had found her weakness in under ten minutes.

“I’d like to know anything you feel comfortable with sharing. Would you like to tell me what you want?”

Without so much of a word, Delilah turned and faced Rowan.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Adele sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose while Eliza paced one side of the small office. Rowan looked calmly between them, hands clasped in her lap as she fought not to move. There had only been one session and they were already reconsidering their actions. Rowan schooled her expression, trying to look unbothered and neutral, picking at her nails even, while she watched them debate Delilah’s future care.

“I agree that it’s concerning,” Adele finally admitted after an entirely too long pause. “But it’s only been one session. She’s testing you, both of you. She wants to see what she can get away with and how the system can be worked to her advantage. You know that.” Adele looked first to Bronwin then to Rowan who nodded solemnly. “It was in her file.”

Bronwin stopped pacing and looked over at Rowan, who was still sitting on the hard, wooden chair that dug painfully into her ass. She didn’t meet Bronwin’s gaze, looking instead at the various junk cluttering Adele’s desk. The small picture frames and various trinkets were pushed haphazardly to one side while the rest of it was taken up by her computer and about fifteen files pulled from the cabinet behind her.