Any emotionally sound person would be panicking right now. Pleading to be released, begging to know why this has happened to them, what’s going to become of them…

“You’re very intelligent, Blakely,” I tell her, adjusting my glasses as they slip down the bridge of my nose. “That’s why you’re so perfect, and also why I had to subdue you in the manner that I did. You’re so aware of your environment, always alert and on guard. Taking you by surprise was never going to be easy. So, I set the stage for you to expect an attack, to be ready for it, so when that one opportunity presented where your guard slipped, just for a second…” I snap my fingers to demonstrate.

The corner of her mouth kicks up into a smirk. “You sound proud of yourself. How very courageous of you to attack a girl.”

I lift the clipboard strung to the back of the gurney. “Let’s drop all the predictable banter. We both know you’re not just a girl.” I walk toward her and touch the inside of her wrist. She doesn’t flinch away, and I smile. “Steady pulse. Nice and slow.” I make a note on the page, then lift my eyes to hers. “You’re a psychopath.”

Her gaze narrows, her chest rises and falls with measured breaths. Her mind is puzzling out the situation. It’s fascinating to watch. What conclusion will she draw?

“Is this some revenge against me?” she asks. “Who hired you?”

I tsk as I pull the swivel stool around and take a seat. “I expected more from you, but I suppose we need to get the obvious questions and assumptions out of the way. No one hired me,” I state. “Though I’m sure there are plenty of vilified ex-husbands who would pay to see you suffer painfully, that’s not why you’re here.”

She tosses her head to clear away the strands of blond that have fallen over her eyes. A sudden yearning to reach out and brush her hair aside grips me. I clench my hand into a fist around the pen, then make a note about my impulse on the clipboard.

Everything must be documented, even my reactions to her. I’m part of the parameters of the experiment. I’m a variable. Plus, I’m human and have human urges; this is normal. I simply need to make sure I’m aware of those urges at all times, as she will try to use them to manipulate me.

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“As cliché as this sounds—and I apologize—it’s not personal. My twin sister was a victim of a psychopath. A serial killer. Dr. Mary Jenkins was a renowned neurologist at Hopkins. Then a deranged killer without a conscience set his sights on her.” I pause for dramatic effect. “He lobotomized her. To death.”