Olive was very experienced with the mentally ill. She had worked at three different hospitals. She was used to trying to subdue someone during a breakdown and how to be friendly enough that they don't find her overbearing, or worthy of obsession. Olive was familiar with dosages and time management and diets. That's why they didn't think twice about hiring her at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital. Her job was simple: bring food to the most non-violent inmate in their care and give the security guard a break twice a day. Non-violent didn't mean safe. She knew that from Malcolm, his son.

"Is this a joke? A mistake?" Olive asked quietly and calmly as gentle tears ran down her pale cheeks.

"I'm sorry, no." Malcolm Bright stated before Gil Arroyo could open his mouth. "I don't make mistakes."

"Ms. Jackson." Gil said, "There is overwhelming evidence. Your mother murdered your father."

"She was going to murder you, too. Took out a $500,000 life insurance policy on you."

Olive shook her head. Her mother had always been cold. It was obvious that she hated Olive, but she thought that her parents were in love. "How? How did she do it?"

"Ricin. A little bean, very poisonous." Malcolm spoke more than Gil. She wondered if he had ADHD.

Olive nodded slowly, "I watched that episode of Breaking Bad with her."

"What?" Gil asked, "She got this from a television show?"

"I hate her." Blurted out of Olive's mouth before she could stop. She was passed the grieving stage and was entering rage.

"Hey." Malcolm kneeled next to her, "It's okay. Having a parent as a murderer is a hard thing to deal with, but, you don't have to hate her. My father was a murderer and I loved him so much when I was younger. While he was killing people."

"She's always been distant with me." Olive sniffed, "I wanted her love. To love her. It never happened."

It was different from Malcolm. His father had been great while they were growing up. Olive's mother showed her true intentions from the moment she was born, "She never wanted me." Olive was twenty-five.

Twenty-five years of hate.

The Surgeon was Malcolm's father. He had shown his family love while being a monster. Olive's mother couldn't. She wanted to know how. That was her goal. Not by asking, but by observing. She planned on not saying anything. Maybe a 'hey' every once in a while. Mostly, just watching. Listening.

Her natural platinum blonde hair was put into a neat low bun, two strands hanging in front of her face. It had been three months since her mother was arrested for murder, but that didn't affect her ability to put on a touch of light pink lipstick and mascara. She was depressed and scarred; looking pretty was like an armor. At least she didn't have to worry about the bags under her eyes. Olive wore nurse's scrubs that she had from her previous job and non-slip shoes. The scrubs were form-fitting, comforting for the career she had chosen. She always had to buy a size up due to her breasts, which were a little big for her, but not too unbearable. Olive, unlike her name states, had skin so pale that they used to think she was albino. She doesn't tan, she burns.

Olive walked into the ominous, lone hallway with a tray that was given to her in the cafeteria at the utterance of the name Dr. Martin Whitly. At the end of the hallway was a tall, old man in a security uniform who sat in a chair next to a door with a glass window. The Surgeon's room.

"Whoa, there." Said the man as he stood, "Stop right there." Olive had never halted so quickly, "You're here to feed the Doc and finally give me a break?"

"Yes, sir." Her voice was naturally quiet. He must think that this tiny thing shouldn't be guarding anyone.

"You?" He shook his head, muttering to himself. "Alright, come along. What's your name?"

Olive walked up to him as he unlocked the door with the window, "Olive." Her heart was in her throat, but she tried to think of him more as Malcolm's father than a serial killer. She may have inflated her resume a little too much. She usually worked with disturbed teens, not killer men.

"Mr. David!" Dr. Whitly called happily, "I'm starving! What's on the menu tod-" He silenced himself as Olive peeked out from behind Mr. David. "Who's this?"

"Dr. Whitly, this is Olive. She's here to deliver your food." He motioned for her to do so with his eyes. "Sit it on the floor, slide it forward past the red line."

"I'm like a dog with a shock collar." Dr. Whitly watched her intently from his desk, "They took away the cage, but this wire is keeping me here." He gestured to the wire anchored to the wall that kept him within the red border.

"Right. A dog." Mr. David said as he saw Dr. Whitly look at her chest. "Now, I'm finally going to take a damn break."

"What? A break?" Dr. Whitly stood, "You haven't taken a break in twenty years."

"I know. Follow me, Olive. Enjoy your breakfast, Doc." Olive followed him out and he locked the door tightly behind them before giving the keys to her, "The rules are simple. Don't open the door until I come back in an hour. These are for medical emergencies but don't open the door until you called the medics with your walkie. Don't open the door when he asks and don't give him anything. In fact, don't talk to him. Don't even look at him. When I come back, I'll escort you in to grab the tray and then I'll see you at dinner time."

"Okay. Thank you, Mr. David."

"You're welcome."

She watched him go as she sat down in the chair. She didn't think to bring a book, so she wondered if the doctor would think she was vapid if she pulled out her phone. Olive didn't think about how she was going to stealthily watch him through the window panes on either side of the door. It was easy while he was eating. He paid attention to his food and not the stranger outside his walls.

Olive wondered if her mother ate without care as well. Would her mother get a room that was like an apartment as well? With bookcases and a desk? She never planned to see her mother. Ever. Olive zoned out and stared at the wall in front of her, thinking of her father. Yes, she was a daddy's girl. She had to be without the love of her mother. Olive was never going to see or hear him again.

"Yoohoo!"

She jumped at the sudden call and look up through the windows at the doctor. "I'm finished with my food now, Olive. You may take the tray."

"Not until Mr. David gets back." She looked at her watch, "We still have half an hour."

"I'm sure he won't mind. Come in!"

"Didn't you kill twenty-something women?" She found herself snapping. "I'm not going in there." At any other job, she would've been reprimanded. However, she was alone and her father was just murdered.

The doctor was quiet for a moment, "You know, it's unfair that you can come in here with these pretenses and I know nothing about you. Tell me, how old are you, Olive?"

This wouldn't hurt, "Twenty-five, sir."

"Please, don't call me 'sir'. Call me 'doctor' if you'd like."

Olive had a memory of one of her dad's favorite movies, Little Shop Of Horrors, where the damsel in distress was made to call her evil boyfriend 'doctor'. Made sense in this context as well. Olive didn't answer. After a minute of silence, he said, "Something is making you upset, what is it?"

"Please, I'd rather not speak with you. Sir." She added that last part out of spite.

The doctor laughed, "Oh, what a spit-fire! Okay, I'll leave you alone. I've enjoyed our talk."

Olive found him charming. That was part of his appeal. He was a people person. He had to be to get away with doing what he was doing all those years ago. He had unruly hair that was comical almost and she found herself thinking that if it were tamed, then he wouldn't look that bad. He looked the opposite of her own dad. He had blonde hair just like hers and bright blue eyes, just like hers. Shocking almost.

Dr. Martin Whitly thought that they put a chill through him like ice.

Not soon enough, Mr. David returned.

"How'd it go?" He asked.

"Fine." Olive refrained from tattling about the doctor trying to get her to open the door.

"Well, let's get you out of here." Mr. David took his keys back and they opened the door to retrieve the tray. Mr. David had his hand on his stun gun just in case as Olive walked into the space, breaching the red line to retrieve the tray that was in front of him on the desk. He didn't hide the fact that he smelled her very well. She smelled like vanilla cookies, which he will never have again.

"Olive." He called as she walked away. She turned once she was back across the line to find him right in front of her.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you know that your name is from the Greek word elaion? It means oil, which, as I'm sure you know, is one of the most revered things in Greece. And you, dear girl, are a slippery one."

Olive also felt that chill right then.

"Come on, then. You need to be back here in six hours."

"Excellent." Martin grinned.

At her apartment, she sat heavily on her grey couch with a sigh. She was getting paid a pretty penny to do this, although now that her mother was in jail, Olive was the sole inheritor of one million dollars. She didn't need to work for a long time, but she was a hoarder of money. Maybe she got that from her mother. Her apartment had a loft over the kitchen that had enough space for her to stand in. It held her bed and her dresser, as well as a couple of tiny bookshelves. She lived in the upper floor of a townhouse and the bay window that was in her loft held a nest area filled with pillows and cushions. For movie nights, mostly. It could be reached by a tiny spiral staircase.

The living room was separated by a rectangle dark wood dining table, hosting a coffee table and a television stand of the same color. There was a great collection of movies and series sat inside that television stand. She was a big fan of the movies.

Olive pulled a notebook out of her bag and wrote down what had happened today:

Charming. Not sure if he really loves or if it's an obsession, maybe. I've heard that some psychopaths get the two confused. He smelled me, looked up the meaning of my name. But, before I spoke to him, his goal was for me to open the door. He was going to escape or kill me, that's for certain. However, it all changed when I spoke badly to him. He likes challenge.

Six hours later, she was back at the cafeteria, back to the hallway, back to Mr. David. He appeared to be sleeping in his chair when she got there. Olive nudged him, "Mr. David, it's me, Olive." He jerked awake, making Olive nearly lose her tray.

"Oh, hey there, girl. You can't just sneak up on a security guard like that."

"I'm not scary."

"You are when you look like a damn ghost."

"Where's my meal? I'm hungry." The doctor was grinning at Olive. She was hungry, too, for answers. She was going to get them.

"Yeah, yeah." Mr. David stood up and unlocked the door for Olive. She brought it in and slid it towards the doctor.

"Ah, thank you, Olive. Nice to see you again. A fresh face in my gloomy world."

"I'm sure." She muttered a little too loudly.

Martin barked a laugh, "My, my. I do enjoy this so far."

"Come on, Olive. Time to leave him to eat in peace."

This time, it was uneventful. She could feel his eyes on her as she read her book this time. An Anonymous Girl, it was called. It was helping her understand a person's morality. It was started to make her paranoid of her own morals. She had sat a cracker in her friend's chair when she was younger and he sat on it. Was that too bad? Or is it only bad when you're killing twenty-three women or your husband? What is the limit?

"You're poor." His sudden voice made her jump. "That's why you took this, pardon my French, shitty job. You're desperate."

Would lying be too morally corrupt? She kept silent. "How desperate are you?" He asked.

"... What do you mean?" Olive wanted to see where this went.

"Okay, girl, I'm back." Mr. David came in, interrupting the doctor. She felt that he did that on purpose. Now, she was going to think about it overnight.

Olive wasn't desperate at all.