Page 107 of Brainwashed

Something in what he’s said feels off, but I ignore it and clink anyway, taking a sip while watching him over the rim of my glass.

Manuel Blanco seems very much in his element right now. And I’m beginning to think he’s always like this. He’s like one of those villains from movies. The ones who somehow do every single thing right; who live and breathe evil, but make it look good. And easy.

Leaning back casually in his chair, he says, “Take care of him, Lem. I’m telling you, based on what I’ve seen so far from the research, yours and Johansson’s respectively, he really seems to have taken a shine to you. Your performance with him has been exceptional, and we’ve only just begun. Keep up the excellent work. Without allowing him to set my other inmates free, of course.”

He rumbles a laugh and I nod, expelling a breath that’s not quite a laugh, but as close to a fake one as I feel necessary. The way he’s speaking also reminds me that this job is open-ended. The contract I signed has me at a minimum of four weeks, but after that it’s up to my own discretion.

However long I wish to stay on Alabaster Isle.

“That is something I wanted to mention,” I interject. He makes a motion that saysby all means.“Dr. Johansson and his… ensemble. I appreciate to no end how you’ve instructed them to yield to me and my research. But still, I wonder about their… qualifications.”

My mind drifts to the video of Templeton performing sexual stimulations on Felix and my fist tightens beneath the table.

Manuel’s pale eyebrows slope together. “You were given their individual files, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was. But I just mean… I believe that some of their work could be directly harmful to my research. I just wonder if maybe they wouldn’t be better suited to other patients…”

“Lem, don’t worry so much.” He smirks, swirling his wine around and around. “They’ll do whatever you want them to. You’re in charge here. But make no mistake, their methods shall continue.” He takes a sip. “I thought you would appreciate the way they work. Being that so much of how they operate is similar to your research inBeneficial Brainwashing.”

It takes all of my strength not to roll my eyes. “Well, yes, that’s true. But that book was written under the guise that each patient is vastly different. Plus, I explored a lot of theories in the book. That doesn’t mean I choose to utilize them all…”

“You’re such a doctor.” Manuel shows me a dazzling smile. “You all despise working in tandem, don’t you?” I make a face and he chuckles. “Lighten up, Lem. Felix is yours, you know that. Work with him however you see fit.” He tilts his head. “Just remember who’s examining whom.”

My face goes still, my muscles tensing in defense of what he’s saying. “I assure you, I’m in complete control.”

His lips curve pleasantly. “Good.”

At that moment, our food arrives and he claps. “Ah! Perfect, gracias, Javier. Bueno, bueno. Huele delicioso.”

The conversation pauses while we eat. The food is spectacular, the wine so complimentary of the flavors I find myself polishing off three glasses. I wouldn’t call myselfdrunk, but I am a lightweight, so I have a nice buzz going. And by the time we’re finishing dessert, we’ve killed two bottles between the two of us.

We only really speak about work, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it. I tell him all about med school, about my work with Trevel, and how this job is something I’ve always wanted to do. And he tells me about how important Alabaster Isle is to him.

When I ask him about how the island came about, he gives me the standard answer. The same one that Yari gave me before I got here. That between a handful of government officials who keep their involvement veryhush-hush, and himself, with some helpful funding from Colombia—I know he means the cartel, though he never actually uses that word—they were able to build Alabaster Penitentiary and the Ivory Mansion. He tells me that the prison was originally designed as an asylum of sorts, but it shifted gears toward the beginning. But that explains the difference between the East Wing and the rest of the Pen.

I tell him that I think it’s interesting how the East is kept very much separate from the rest of the prison. Even the guards rarely come to the East… It’s mainly frequented by Johansson and his guys, and the orderlies.

And he says, “It’s done for a reason. I prefer to keep the sides apart. It’s better for business.”

I’m intrigued about whatbusinesshe’s referring to, but I don’t ask. I keep my interest strictly on my side of the operation. Mainly because it’s all I was hired for, but also because I don’t want him thinking I’m someone to watch out for. Someone who’s looking for information so I can spill it.

Overall, the dinner is pleasant. My guard is up—I refuse to let it down around someone like him, knowing what kind of man he is—but I can’t deny that he’s delightful company.

He’s polite, charming, and intelligent. Inquisitive, and not one of those rich, powerful men who pretends to know everything. When I mention something he isn’t familiar with, his eyes go wide and he sits patiently, absorbing the information I provide.

It has me wondering about the difference between Manuel Blanco and The Ivory. Reminding me of the blatant differences between Felix Darcey and his alter ego, The Carver.

Do all sociopaths have two distinct parts to their personalities? Maybe more? Or is this something specific to these men…

If so, do they realize how similar they are?

Manuel has just paid the bill, and now he’s on his phone while I fidget in place. I haven’t used my regular cell phone since the day I arrived on Alabaster Isle. One of the stipulations in my contract was limited contact with anyone from my life. They allowed me to keep my phone, but it stays in a drawer in my room. I use the work phone if I need something.

Manuel checks his watch. “I need to get back. I have something waiting for me.” The way his eyes seem to sparkle at this makes me think it’s personal. He peeks at me. “But you’re welcome to stay in the city if you like. I have a penthouse on reserve at the Plaza. I can send the helicopter for you in the morning…”

Considering this offer, a strange homesick feeling grips my insides. It’s subtle, but oddly enough, I feel like I need to get back, too.

I know I should take advantage of being off that desolate island for the night…Stay in the lavish penthouse suite. Maybe find a gorgeous woman to keep me company.At this point, it’s been weeks since the last time I got laid, and I’m feeling the burn just a bit. I know Manhattan would be the perfect place to pick someone up for some casual stress-relief.