The Darkness Within

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

It only takes reading a few pages of the file to see that Sergei is a truly vicious being. Almost admirably so. Born and raised in and around Moscow, he was bred as the heir to an expansive bratva that had a tight hold on Moscow and St. Petersburg. At 18, he decided he no longer wanted to wait for the bratva throne, and took it by killing both of his parents in a public affair. After that, Sergei spent a year or so dealing with backlash. And for the last ten years, he's been steadily expanding control over most of Eurasia—not just Russia.

The amount of people he's slaughtered is estimated to be in the hundreds, though the only ones that can be pinned down for sure is the twelve people he killed in Denver during a dinner party.

He's certainly the most successful criminal I've had as a patient so far. Also the most dangerous, since I have no doubt his people will be doing everything possible to get him out.

For the first time, I feel a flicker of trepidation at the thought of a patient. I've been confined in rooms with people who've committed some truly vile crimes, but never someone of this status. I'm half surprised he hasn't already managed to break out.

Flicking through the informative section, I glance over his IQ test results.

A cumulative IQ of 189. My trepidation grows.

The first lesson I was ever taught by one of my professors was to always be the smartest person in the room. Fortunately, that was never a problem...before now.

Sergei has me beat by three points.

No wonder he's so ruthless and powerful—he's likely always been the smartest person in the room.

Unfortunately, if I try to pass of his case to someone else, people will view that as a weakness and leap on it. There have been those trying to discredit me from day one, finding it galling that someone so young is better at their job than them.

I start unwinding my hair from its knot, glancing around my apartment. It's tastefully decorated—dominated in navy-blue-and-cream-tones, despite being fairly small. Only one bedroom and one bath, with a living room that doubles as my office and dining room, and a small kitchen off to the side.

I travel for work so often that there's barely a point in even having an apartment, I stay in it so rarely. Still, it's my little sanctuary; somewhere nobody can disturb me, because nobody—not even Asher—knows where it is. I've always treasured my privacy.

I drop Sergei's file onto the coffee table, before heading into my bedroom, to the small ensuite bathroom. Then, I step into the shower, nearly groaning at the feel of hot water on my tense muscles.

No point in ruminating over Sergei. By this weekend, I'll be done with him—unless I'm asked to give expert testimony in his trial. Either way, that'd likely be months down the line. Getting worked up over temporarily not being the smartest person in the room won't be an insurmountable struggle—since he won't know that.

* * *

The interior of the prison Sergei's being held before trial is the epitome of sterile. My car was searched when I first entered the gates, and I was searched no less than twice before even stepping foot in the building. Now, accompanied by a surly guard, I'm being led through the gleaming halls lit by fluorescent lights, towards one of the many interrogation rooms. Guards are stationed in every hall and at every turn, indicating just how dangerous the inmates are.

The only noise is the faint hum from the lights, and static coming from radio's on the belt of each of the guards. Other than that it's eerily quiet. The air is tinged with a lemon cleaning scent—palpable, yet not overwhelming.