Broken Warrior

They Own This Town

Eirene

I don't know what changed. The exhaustion was still there, but for some reason it was no longer smothering me. I was left alone for a couple days after that, kept company only by the ever watchful eyes of the cameras and the seemingly unlimited supply of blood brought by silent, stone faced guards.

On the third day, not long after I had finished the bottle they brought me, the one called Tim walked into the room, followed by an older looking human woman. She glanced at me, frowned, then moved to sit in the chair that Tim had moved to a spot specifically out of my reach.

"Thank you, Tim." The woman offered, pulling a notebook out of her bag. She was dressed in a pant suit, her graying hair pulled out of her face and into a bun, grey-green eyes surrounded by crowsfeet.

But, her expression was kind, open.

She had aged in a way I could never and had probably seen the life of a mother in her time, as I could not. I was easily ten times her age, but I felt as if I was the one who had less experience.

"Wynona..." Tim murmured softly, cutting a glance my way. "We discussed this, she is ca-"

"I know exactly what a vampire is capable of, Tim." The woman offered him a calm, gentle smile, "You'll be just outside the door, I know."

He turned his gaze on me, giving me a hard glare. "Doctor Heffenen is here to help you." His tone spoke of just what would happen if I messed that up.

As if I would harm a human.

I nodded, watching Tim leave the room, though I did note that the door didn't fully click shut. He would be through the door and on me in seconds if I slipped up. With a sigh, I turned and looked at the woman who was watching me.

"I suppose I should introduce myself." She offered me a smile as she glanced up from whatever notes were in front of her. "I've been involved with Knight Corp ever since my daughter was turned. Before that and since then, I have been a psychologist. I specialized in trauma and the reintegration of child soldiers and civilians into society after civil wars. I've worked in nearly every war zone you can imagine. I specialize in the study of Stockholm syndrome and the cognitive theories around removing violent conditioning used to turn people towards violence."

"I am not brainwashed." I shook my head, frowning at the woman.

Dr. Heffenen's expression didn't change. She just offered me a small, knowing smile. "No. I'm not going to tell you that you are. I'm just here to help evaluate you, to speak with you."

I didn't have a response to that. It was semantics, and I had no idea what they expected me to do with a therapist, though I had a suspicion that if I didn't cooperate, I would never walk out of this room.

"Let's start with something easy for today, just tell me what's on your mind." She smiled to me, tilting her head to the side and watching me with that open, trusting expression.

I glanced to the door, then back to her, shrugging carefully. "I've decided I would prefer not to die."

"Of course." She nodded, as if that made perfect sense, and she surprised me by making no move to write anything down in her book.

The silence stretched between us, and I glanced up to the ceiling as I finally spoke, "I am worried. The man Daryl, is he alright?"

"Why would he not be?"

I scowled at the door again. "I do not know what they do in anger. I know he wasn't supposed to be in here, and I know that Timothy there has a very tight grip on his people. My experience would tell me that Daryl is dead."