Page 37 of Brainwashed

Apparently, most of the doors are controlled by operators in a control room, which is also very interesting. It means that this building has servers and cameras watching your every move. Not that such things worry me, but I’ve already been guaranteed by Blanco several times that I’m allowed free rein of the entire prison.

A point he drives home when he says, “I’ve hired you because you’re not like the rest, Dr. Love. I understand that masks must be worn. I wear them myself. But make no mistake, I want you for your true ideals. Those reflected in that masterpiece you wrote all those years back. You will examine Felix Darcey in ways that no one else has, or will, or can. I want you inside every crevice of The Carver, Doctor. Leave no mental stone unturned. And do so by any and all means necessary, worrying not of the consequences.”

It’s been a few hours. We’ve explored many an area of Alabaster Penitentiary, but still, I get the sense I haven’t even grazed the surface of what this place holds.

I met another C.O., Joy Jameson. She’s the only female on this island, apparently, though interacting with her for only a few moments and I get the sense she’s tougher than even her large, angry counterpart.

Officer Chevelle has been giving me his grouchy glare for the better part of three hours now, and while I’m sure it works wonders with everyone else around here, it’s not making me want to do anything he’s been blathering to me about any more.

Okay, maybe I’m being sort of obstinate. Surely I understand that Felix Darcey is dangerous. From what I’ve been told, he’s already killed one inmate since he’s been here.

But the thing is… I made a conscious decision never to fear a human being, or what they can potentially do to me, again. And The Carver, no matter how threatening, is no exception.The fact that he’s hazardous to the lives of the other inmates here, well… That’s not something I feel compelled to care about. Regardless of how important it is to the Head Correctional Officer.

We’ve found our way back to the office that’s been deemed mine. Manuel Blanco had to leave several minutes ago, stalking away, cell phone in hand, but not without first extending an invitation my way for dinner once I’m settled.

I’ve already been handed a set of keys to all of the doors in the East Wing and solitary confinement, including the cells, much to Officer Chevelle’s chagrin. And even with the general understanding that the control room operators will open any door for me, no holds barred, the officer and I are still bickering.

I think he just wants to feel like he’s in control of this entire place, and my presence sort of eclipses that notion. If this is the case, then I definitely understand why he’s so threatened and stabby around me. I swear I caught his eye twitching a moment ago, and it took everything in me not to crack a smile.

The other, more important thing I’ve been given, is Felix Darcey’s file.

Now, naturally, I did my own research on The Carver before coming here. Much of the information I already knew from when I was following the investigation into his crimes before he was caught. Also, Yari had sent me a dossier on Felix’s arrest, and his time in Alabaster Pen leading up to right now, which I’ve been reading like my new favorite book for the last week.

But his file, his actualconfidential file, is so much more than all of that. It’s everything, and I meaneverything.

Everything there is to know about his childhood and his family. All the known evidence against him. All the details of his crime scenes never released to the press, like photographs of bodies, coroner’s reports and whatnot… His up-to-date physicals.

It’s all here, inmyhands.

Everything prior to what I’ll get out of him.

Flipping through the pages of Darcey’s file, I reacquaint myself with the name of the officers who’d closed in on him… NYPD Homicide Detective Jacob Courtney, working in conjunction with FBI Special Agent Keisha Barnes.Ah yes, I remember now…

The last time I read about Detective Courtney and Special Agent Barnes, it was reported that they cornered Felix in the park by his home in Brooklyn Heights, and he lunged at them with a knife in his hand. The reports claim that because of that, he was shot and killed during the arrest process. But it’s still widely speculated—mostly conspiracy theorists in subreddits—that this is bullshit.

I feel stupid for even believing that story now… It always seemed far tooconvenient. Felix Darcey was never the type tolungeat anyone. He’d probably kill himself before he tried to go for the cops.

To think that these are all things I’ll get to ask him about… To speak with himin personabout all these details… I’m experiencing a level of delight I never knew I could.

So when Officer Chevelle decides to leave me to my bask in the gloriousness of the chunky file I’m leafing through, I ask him to bring me my new patient.

I’m sure Icouldwait until tomorrow to hold our first official meeting, but I’m too anxious. Too eager to get into the same room with him.

Flicking back to the beginning of the file while Officer Chevelle storms away, I read the profile, and some basic upbringing info…

Born February 3rd, 1998 in Fairfield, Connecticut, to Dr. Harmon Darcey and his wife, Charlotte.

His father was a neuroscientist—now retired—who worked with Yale and then Columbia’s research divisions. His mother was a housewife and homemaker. They bought the house Felix grew up in shortly after they were married in ninety-six, and owned it until they divorced three years ago, while Felix was still going to LIU.

I’m glued to the pages while I read, waiting for him to grace me with his presence. And I’m captivated already.So much of his history, his childhood and upbringing are like a cookie cutter mold for murderous sociopaths…

Bipolar mother. Workaholic father.

Head trauma.When he was eight, he was trying to build a fort in the backyard with his brother and somehow ended up being knocked unconscious by a two-by-four. He was brought to the hospital, where he had six stitches and was diagnosed with a severe concussion.

I check the next page for the standard killing of animals, and sure enough, there were reports of cats in the neighborhood going missing, along with some incident with a fox…

But before I can get to it, my office door flings open, and I turn to find curious eyes behind black-framed glasses, tousled chestnut hair and long limbs strapped into a straitjacket.