The first thing I noticed was the flickering light. It buzzed overhead like a dying wasp, making the shadows move on the concrete floor. I had been here long enough to name each shadow. Each one had a voice.
He came in at 9:03 every morning. Sharp. Controlled. Always with the same black gloves. He never touched me directly. Never raised his voice. He was a gentleman psychopath.
"Good morning, Allie," he said today, setting down a tray of eggs and toast.
"We're not doing this today," I replied, as calmly as possible.
He tilted his head. "Doing what?"
"Pretending you're in control. You're not. And you know it."
He smiled like it amused him. Like I was the entertainment in his private theater of chaos.