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most who find solace in things being drama free, I’m here to delve into the minds of those society has deemed outcasts – and rightfully so, their crimes so heinous as to turn the stomach of the most seasoned profiler.
    “Miss Fairchild,” I turn and look in the direction of the smooth voice calling out to me, and see a middle-aged man in a suit seated behind a desk. He motions for me to enter his office, so I do.
    “Please, take a seat,” he gestures toward the black leather chair across from his desk. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
    I look down at his nameplate, curious to see who this man is. I’m shocked but not altogether surprised to see he is the executive director of the hospital. This isn’t the standard interview process at all. I can already see my father’s influence all over this meeting and he isn’t even aware that my interview was scheduled to take place today.
    “Mr. Brinkley,” I address him as I sit and brush the imaginary lint from the black suit skirt I’m wearing. “I’m going to take a leap here and assume you know my father.” I don’t give him a chance to answer before I continue. “I’m certain it isn’t protocol for the executive director to interview potential research assistants. I did not get here on my father’s merit, but on my own. I’d like to keep it that way.”
    He shocks me when he locks his fingers behind his head and leans back in his chair, answering me with more of a challenge than a reply. “Why are you here, Miss Fairchild?”
    His gaze is steady, almost imposing and I take a moment to study the man eyeing me. He looks more like he just walked off the cover of GQ magazine than a creepy mental ward director. His dark hair is dark, almost black but with a hint of gray at the temples. His blue eyes watch me intently, almost like he’s sizing me up, looking for any weakness I may exhibit so he can pounce on it. He thinks I’m not tough enough for this job; I can see it in his eyes. He’s only solidifying my determination to get this job.
    “I’m certain I’m not the only person familiar with your father, the man is a revered medical professional in this community and beyond. And you still haven’t answered my question, Miss Fairchild.”
    He’s trying to intimidate me. “I’m here to work with the criminally insane, to learn from them as I pursue a career in criminal profiling. I have a question for you, too.”
    I resist the urge to become perturbed by the smug look on his face. He steeples his hands beneath his chin and leans forward, preparing to once again challenge me.
    “Really?” he asks, intrigued. “By all means. Ask away.”
    “Okay, um. Why are you hiring during the middle of the school term? I assume you have a long line of students who would kill to work with you. Why did your last assistant leave?”
    His steady gaze becomes steely and I grip the arms of my chair tightly as I wait for an answer. My dad insists that I ask that question during an interview, as a way to find out more about the working environment and culture of a potential employer.
    “My last research assistant was unable to maintain the proper…objectivity… in her dealings with our more twisted residents. Now, moving on, Miss Fairchild. Let me get this straight, you purposely came here in hopes of working with some of the most dangerous serial killers in the nation.”
    I don’t hesitate when I answer, “Absolutely. What better way to learn than to go directly to the source?”
    “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”
    “Of course I don’t. What I do know is I’m serious about my career. I have no intention of waiting until I enter the field of criminal profiling to get my feet wet.”
    “Very well, Miss Fairchild. It’s obvious your mind is made up. No time like the present. Shall we, as you say…get your feet wet?”
    I quickly stand and follow him as he makes his way down the hall to an elevator. I don’t need him to tell me