28. Twenty-Seven

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead as I made my way down the hallway deep in the heart of the Twin Valley Behavioral Health Hospital. My footsteps echoed, mingling with the murmurs and moans of the disturbed residents.

I approached the security desk, straightening my charcoal suit and readjusting my crimson tie. The guard glanced up from his crossword puzzle.

“Doctor Shepherd Laskin, here to visit Julian Amsel,” I stated crisply, sliding my ID across the scratched laminate countertop.

To him, I was just another psychiatrist coming to visit one of his patients, as I’d done weekly for the last four years. He saw me every Monday morning, so this Monday would be no different.

The guard barely glanced at them before waving me through the metal detector. It chirped as I passed under, prompting an irritated sigh, just like every week.

“Belt and shoes off,” he droned, finally setting down his pencil. I complied silently, slipping off my oxfords. As I undid my Italian leather belt, I subtly readjusted the slim plastic shiv hidden along the inseam of my trousers.

The detector remained blessedly silent on my second pass. I redressed efficiently, and was soon being escorted by an orderly, a bored-looking woman in teddy bear print scrubs, down the dim hallway to the visitation room. She slid her badge through the reader and the door buzzed.

“Fifteen minutes,” she said, pulling open the door to let me in.

I nodded curtly and stepped inside the small visitation room. It was bare except for a metal table bolted to the floor and two chairs on either side, also bolted down. The walls were a dingy off-white, the paint peeling in places to reveal the cinder blocks beneath. A single barred window allowed a sliver of gray light to penetrate the gloom.

Julian was already seated at the table, his wrists and ankles shackled. He wore a jumpsuit the color of spoiled milk.

“Doctor Laskin,” he greeted me, voice rasping from disuse. “Right on time, as always.”

I slid into the chair across from him and flipped open the manila folder I carried, arranging the papers inside with deliberate precision. To any observer, it would appear a routine psychiatric visit.

“How are you feeling today, Julian?” I inquired, meeting his gaze steadily. My tone remained detached, professional, betraying none of my true intentions.

“Same shit, different day,” he shrugged, fidgeting restlessly. His fingers, stained yellow from years of nicotine, tapped an erratic rhythm on the tabletop. He leaned forward, hunched over the table. “Do you have them or what?”

I slid a hand into my suit jacket, withdrawing a small plastic bag. Inside was a pair of lacy red panties. I placed the bag on the table and slid it across to Julian.

His eyes lit up with a sickening hunger as his nicotine-stained fingers scrabbled for the bag. “Are they...?” he breathed, pupils dilating.

I gave a curt nod. “Well worn, as you requested. Though procuring them was not without difficulty.” In truth, they were brand new, straight from a package ordered discreetly online, but Julian need not know that. His perversions were not my concern, only his cooperation.

He brought the bag to his nose, inhaling deeply, a look of obscene bliss contorting his features. I fought down a surge of revulsion. The man before me was the lowest sort of creature, incarcerated for unspeakable acts against children. The only reason I tolerated his presence was necessity.

“My end of the bargain is fulfilled,” I said flatly. “I trust you remember yours.”

Julian tore his gaze away from his prize, annoyance flickering across his face before being replaced by a sly grin. “Yeah, yeah. No problem, Doc.”

“It has to be today,” I said, folding my hands on the table.

Julian's eyes narrowed. “That's not what we agreed, Doc. You can't change the deal.”

I leaned forward, holding his gaze with an icy stare. “Circumstances have changed. It must be done today, or our arrangement is finished. I'm sure the warden would be interested to learn how you've been acquiring certain... items.”

His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the plastic bag. “You fucking bastard. Fine, I'll do it today, but it’s going to cost you.”

I sighed. “What do you want, Julian?”

He licked his lips and leaned forward. “There’s an elementary school a mile east of here—”

“No,” I said firmly.

“Aw, come on. I just want some pictures . Not even naughty ones. Just some fresh, new innocent faces. I’m sure this year’s class at Saint Marie’s is so sweet.”

I felt my jaw clench, a wave of cold fury washing over me at his vile request. The shiv hidden in my trousers seemed to grow heavier, an insistent weight against my thigh. It would be so easy to end his miserable, depraved existence right here. To watch the light fade from his eyes as I opened his throat.

But no. That would be far too quick, too merciful an end for a creature like Julian Amsel. Death was too good for him. He needed to suffer first, to feel a fraction of the terror and pain he had inflicted on his victims.

I took a slow, measured breath, reining in my rage. When I spoke, my voice was deceptively calm. “That will not be possible. But perhaps we can come to an alternative arrangement.”

Julian scowled petulantly, like a child denied a treat. “What kind of arrangement?”

“One that will make your remaining years in this place significantly more... comfortable. Better food, softer sheets, certain magazines delivered discreetly.” I paused, letting the offer dangle. “And of course, a more regular supply of your preferred items.”

His eyes gleamed. Lust and greed, the only language men like him understood. “Keep talking, Doc. I'm listening.”

As I laid out the details of my counter-proposal, I kept my expression carefully neutral. Internally, I was already plotting the next phase. Julian was merely a pawn, a loose end. I didn’t leave loose ends dangling.

Once the details were ironed out, I passed in the plastic shank discreetly and rose from my chair, straightening my cufflinks. “I'm glad we could come to an understanding, Julian. I'll make the necessary arrangements.”

He grinned, displaying nicotine-stained teeth. “Pleasure doing business with you, as always, Doc.”

I didn't respond, simply nodding curtly before rapping twice on the reinforced door. The orderly opened it a moment later, her expression as dull as before.

I stepped out into the hallway, waiting as she secured the door behind me with a buzz and a clank. As we walked back down the corridor, my mind was already racing ahead.

Julian might’ve been a disgusting necessity, but he would do as he was told. By the end of the day, Julian would have stabbed Xion non-fatally, as instructed. Xion would be recovering in Grant hospital, giving Warrick access to get him out. Warrick was a plastic surgeon by trade, who worked with a charity. No one would second guess a surgeon coming into a hospital. Once Xion was in the less secure hospital, I was relying on Gavin to help. He worked at Grant as an imaging technician. All he had to do was remove Xion using the excuse of taking him for imaging, escorting him to the morgue where Warrick would smuggle him out.

It was a plan with many working pieces, and one that had cost me a lot of time and phone calls to set up, but it would be worth it to move Xion out of Algerone’s reach. In Boone’s care, Xion would be hidden and protected. Hopefully, it would be enough to get Algerone to stop threatening Eli. If not, at least it gave me the upper hand in negotiations with Algerone. Perhaps I could force him to help me extract Dani from the cult before handing over Xion. He seemed a practical man.

I left Twin Valley and walked in the muggy July heat to my car. The engine purred to life, and I pulled out of the parking lot, merging onto the highway that would take me south. Everything was falling into place, each pawn moved meticulously into position on the chessboard. And yet, doubt crept into my mind, an itch I couldn't quite scratch. There were so many variables, so many pieces that could tumble out of alignment with one wrong move. If even one player didn’t behave as expected…

I shook my head to clear it. Dwelling on potential failures was unproductive. I had to trust in my plan. There was no room for error, not with lives hanging in the balance.