Page 7 of Edging Sanity

“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.”