Page 10 of One Flew Over the Omega's Nest: Part One
"Oh," she pats my arm. "I have a PhD in psychology and worked with the FBI for years in their Behavioral Analysis Unit."
My brow furrows. Leslie doesn't look like she could be any older than thirty, so how could she have gone to school for a PhD and worked for the FBI for years? Maybe her skin care routine is actually just that good.
"I know what you're thinking," she grins at me, "I graduated high school at thirteen, then got my Bachelor's at seventeen, and my PhDat twenty-two. I had my fun at the FBI, and now I work here, where I get to go toe to toe with the nation’s most interesting minds."
"But…you're not a doctor?" I ask, utterly confused.
"Technically, even if I'm not employed as a doctor, I have my doctorate…but no, to you, and to every patient here, I'm not their doctor. Just their…friend. Advisor. Mentor, if you will."
"Huh." I frown, not quite knowing how to feel about all that. Leslie is obviously a genius, and I worry that she might figure out what I have planned. After today, I’ll make sure to steer clear of her.
Before I know it, we're in front of a door helpfully labelled "Nurse", and after Nurse Helaena checks me over, she gives me an ice pack and sends me on my way. The irony of the two of us having mirroring injuries today is not lost on me.
Then we're sitting in Leslie’s office, a homey little spot that if I hadn't walked in myself, I wouldn't believe that it resided in the same building I just knocked an alpha unconscious in.
"So, Jo." Leslie looks at me from her spot behind her desk, tenting her fingers together. "What do you like to do? Do you have any special talents? Basically, how would you like to spend the labor part of your day?"
Special talents? Somehow I don’t think she’s looking for “Can subdue an alpha in fifteen-seconds,” or “Makes really cool shivs.”
"Um…" I bite my lip. Would it be too obvious to request to work in the kitchens? All those knives… "I've always loved to cook." I lie through my damn teeth.
"Wonderful!" She smiles, rubbing her hands together before typing quickly on her computer. "Okay, you will report directly to the kitchen at seven in the morning tomorrow. You'll rotate week by week which meal you help prepare, and you'll start with breakfast."
That was…easy. Frowning, I observe the bubbly beta as she finalizes a few things. She's obviously smart as a whip, so why would she let me, the omega who's murdered thirteen alphas, around any sort of sharp object?
Huh. She must figure I won't risk getting sent to Zombieland.
After she finishes typing, she reaches into a drawer and pulls out a file. Out of it, she pulls a keycard on a lanyard, and two pamphlets. "This key will allow you access to your room, which is 5D. The dorms are co-ed, and we…highly discourage fraternization, but all the same, you'll have an appointment with Helaena tomorrow to take care of birth control and an STD panel. Since the medication is still in its experimental phase, we don’t want to risk it workingtoowell and letting you get pregnant outside your heat. This trifold is your map of the facility so you don't get lost, and this one is your schedule. Starting tomorrow, you'll have regular sessions with Dr. Monroe every day at eleven, and on Fridays you’ll have a medical assessment with Dr. Brooks at one. Circle time is non-negotiable, and that's every day at nine in the morning. Any questions?"
Um, yeah, why is this place like a rehab instead of the place where dreams go to die?
"Nope," I lie for the second time in five minutes, and she smiles, excusing me as I pull out my map to find Dr. Monroe's office.
Now all I have to do is get through our session without drooling all over him.
four
West
The little siren sits across the room from me, her fiery red hair only slightly more tamed than when I saw her last.
Which was an hour ago, shakily getting to her feet beside an unconscious alpha easily twice her size.
Sam and I saw the whole thing on the security feed from the control room. Dr. Brooks had us sit in and watch the siren's second altercation of the day like some kind of fucked up viewing party, only allowing us to go to her aid when she had successfully knocked him out.
I fucking hate that guy.
Don't get me started on Banesworth, either. His eyes were glued to the screen likehe couldn't wait to break her.
Her spirit, her fire, her…everything.
Part of me thinks Brooks purposely sent Lars that way just to see what would happen. The bastard is having way too much fun with this omega.
My eyes had darted to Sam's, as if to say, "Isn't this enough? Isn't this the proof we need?" but he had only shook his head. If we want this place to go down, we need more than just mistreatment of patients. As horrible as it is, those situations are a dime a dozen around the country.
No, we need more information on Henry Whitmore—the head of everything pharmaceutical related and the brains behind everything that goes on here—and that can't happen if we get ourselves fired for disobeying direct orders.
I was prepared for her to be a lot worse off than she was after facing off a bastard like Lars. I'm sure I'm not supposed to think of my patients as bastards, but the guy is sick. His parents pleaded insanity when he wouldn’t stop killing their neighbor’s pets. Imagine my shock when she walked away only needing an icepack and some painkillers.
