"Hello, how may I help you?" The lady at the front desk asked not even acknowledging my presence, she was too busy talking into her microphone and jotting down symptoms of a patient that was on the phone with her.
I was here because my boss had given me orders to meet and interview an ex-military soldier—her name—I had forgotten. It was a surprise to me to have a woman as a recruit, I was already curious about meeting her, but more curious to see how well she'd handled a firearm and how well she handled things out on the field. It was evident people had their bragging rights about her, until now. She was in an institution for her mild depression, which spiked to severe. I hadn't understood why she was here but hopefully, she was stable enough to become a recruit because frankly, I was becoming a bit wary of running around trying to find the best recruit.
"I'm here to see a young woman by the name of," I took the letter from the breast pocket of my blazer reading the name written on there. "Delaney Tate. I need to interview her." I stated, returning the letter to my blazer.
"I'm sorry sir, she's not allowing visitors to see her at the moment,"
"It's an urgent interview." I interrupted.
The young, blonde-haired woman looked up at me, "I apologize, you're extremely early, she doesn't allow people to visit until after 10:00 AM,"
"I understand I'm early. I work for an organization under the Queen and my boss has sent me to visit this patient in particular for business matters," I replied, trying my best to be polite as possible but I couldn't ignore my impatience with this woman. She, too, must've also been trying her best to keep her temper under control, you could see the forced smile and the small tick in her blue eyes as she tried to reason with me.
"Do you have your badge?" She asked. I sighed, whipped out my badge, and she leaned forward to examine it, "Not an Englishman and under the Queen," she muttered to herself. "Very well, you'll have to deal with her." The woman warned as I finally caught a glimpse of her white name tag, Gwen was her name.
"Not an early riser?"
"She is," she said as she wrote down the room number on a yellow sticky note. "She doesn't socialize," Gwen handed me the note. "Have a good day." She wished, again with that fake smile.
"You too," I replied and headed for the elevator seeing that Delaney's room was on the second floor of this institution.
The two steel doors to the metal contraption slid open with a small squeak, nobody else was inside but me and the four mirrors—not the best design for people who have mental issues and have to be wheeled into this metal box. I pressed the button that led the box to the second floor, the button lit up red and the counting began as I climbed the floors. In the corner, there was a small monitor reading what floor I was on. 1. 2. I reached my destination.
The doors slid open, my curiosity to meet this woman had elevated as I started my pursuit down the hall to room 206. I passed the few doors eager to find her's, then finally I found it. Delaney's name was written on a small whiteboard plaque in a doctor's poor handwriting that sufficed to a 2nd grader's handwriting. I read the small chart and saw she only had depression, that's why she was here? Just depression? Maybe she had attempted suicide or something crazy like that, but depression didn't seem that big of a deal to be sent to a mental institution. I knocked my knuckles against the white door,
"Come in," a female voice bellowed from the other side. I turned the knob and the door was unlocked, was that exactly safe to do? As I pushed the door open, I saw a young slender woman sitting at her desk in front of an open window, she wore a black tank top, juniper green cargo pants, and a black belt, her feet bare, and she had hair that draped over a little past her shoulder that was dark brown, her hand was holding a pen that was hard at work writing. "You can leave the tray on the counter, I--" she turned around and stopped. Delaney Tate had a set of green eyes that had dark and long lashes surrounding them, her cheekbones a little more protruded than they should be, her jawline perfect, and what some would consider sharp. Delaney evidently was somebody who had a strict workout, she was toned and fit from the looks of it, but still possessed a sense of lean and thin. "Who the hell are you?" She asked as she stopped to stare at me. "Visitors aren't supposed to see me until after ten," she looked at her black watch, the face of it sitting down instead of up like you'd typically wear one. "It's 9:15."
"I understand," I replied as I shut the door behind myself. "May I?" Hoping to show me to a seat.
"You're already in here, no stopping you now," she replied.
I chuckled and shook my head at her evident sarcasm.
"What's your name?" She asked me.
I sat down on the edge of her bed, "Vlad," I replied.
"Very foreign for London," she said.
"Your accent is very foreign for London too." I retorted, pointing out her slight southern drawl.
"Thank you," she replied. "Why are you here visiting me?"
"You're an ex-military soldier, correct?"
She nodded.
"An American soldier?"
"Yes, sir."
"When were you pardoned from your service?"
"Eight months ago,"
"Are you still familiar with firearms and weaponry?" I continued to question.
I watched her eyes narrow, she was confused as to why I was asking her these questions. "Yes, why do you ask?"
"And you're here for your depression, what'd you do to get yourself in here?" I asked ignoring her last question.
Delaney adjusted herself in her seat, her body facing me, further revealing herself more fully to me showing she had some curve to her slender figure, more so northward. "I've had problems with my mental health, I haven't particularly been happy with myself, don't you understand the meaning of depression?" She asked.
She was a smart ass too—great. "I do understand the meaning of depression, thank you. What did you do to get here?"
"I overdosed," she answered lowly. "I didn't intend on it."
"How did you not intend on overdosing?"
"I forgot how many pills I took and, well, I overdosed. People said I was attempting suicide only because the pills were for depression, another was for anxiety, and the other one just a painkiller." She said, the tone of her voice making me question whether she was telling the truth.
"What was the painkiller for?"
"Just had a bullet removed from my appendix, it was pushing through and finally doctors actually considered removing it."
I just nodded, rolling with the story hoping she hadn't actually considered overdosing and killing herself. "What's the depression from?"
"Too much alcohol, just moping around my apartment, having to pop pills like their candy to keep me healthy," she sighed and ruffled some of her bangs out of her face then stretched. "It's not as bad as it sounds, I just get bored."
I nodded again, trying to make the best of what she was saying, "Okay," I said. "Would you like me to tell you why I'm here?"
"Yes, I've already asked." She replied bluntly.
"I'm an agent from an organization under the Queen, I've been sent to recruit you under our alliance to protect the streets of England, to protect the country. It's like the military but a bit more sophisticated with its battles," I stated, she nodded. "Once we're somewhere a bit more secluded I'll consider telling you more but for now I'd like to seek your permission to allow me to take you to visit my boss and possibly experience your first mission."
"Why do you want me?"
"You're a retired American soldier who's general has his bragging rights about you to the nations of the world. Given you live here in London, we decided to take our chance and offer you a spot," I replied.
Delaney scanned me top to bottom, stopped at my clasped my hands, then to my eyes again, she bit her bottom lip and looked out her open window, mentally weighing her options. "Okay," she replied. "Take me to my apartment, let me change into something more suitable, and let me get my car."
"Deal, what all do you have here?" I asked.
"That hoodie," she said pointing to the black hoodie that was laid out on her bed with ARMY posted on the back. "This mess and those jeans and that t-shirt." She also pointed to a t-shirt and a pair of jeans strung out on her floor.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"Three days, but they say I'm fine. I want to leave, they aren't protecting me from everything else by just isolating me here." She shrugged as she closed her brown leather journal with the pen inside, then took a picture from the lamp and also put it in the journal, wrapped the string around the book that kept it closed. She then started to put on her pair of black combat boots, lacing up the black string and tying them. As she bent down, her breasts rested themselves on her knees, I averted my gaze from her then once she was finished she put her hoodie on, folded up the t-shirt and jeans, and picked up the stack of her things.
"Where's your toothbrush? Toothpaste? Hairbrush?"
"They give us "safe" toothbrushes and hairbrushes to keep us from killing ourselves or injuring ourselves, then they give us toothpaste too." She replied while rolling her eyes, "us" refers to all the sane patients she knew that probably didn't deserve to be here either. "It's pretty stupid, so shall we?"
I opened the door, "I suppose." Delaney stopped on her way out, wiped away her name from the plaque, and started down the hall.
She was a pretty girl, I admit, she definitely had a little sway in her hips and a sense of confidence in her body alone—you don't see that every day. Delaney pushed the button for the elevator, the steel box making it's way back to where we were, I stood behind her waiting for the steel doors to slide open, I could smell the lavender scent of her shampoo and whatnot, a good scent for her, radiating off of her. The doors opened, Delaney stepped inside and as did I, she pressed the button for the lobby and the doors closed again. She seemed eager to escape this place, I'm sure. Delaney watched the monitor, we were going down, and she was escaping. It felt wrong I let her do this, but she was an amazing candidate to be apart of our organization, she had all the skills required from the reports. Her green eyes looked down at her watch, to me, then back to the monitor.
"What's the name of you're alliance?" Inquired Delaney.
I looked around the moving box, looking for a camera, these people didn't know Delaney was working under the Queen, enemies could easily then try and find her, capture her, and probably do something awful, I didn't want to put Arcane or her in that kind of danger. "I'll tell you later,"
"Okay," she replied without dispute.
The monitor showed floor 2 to floor 1, I was at the bottom floor again. The doors opened and Delaney started her pursuit for the front desk to check out, a man sitting here this time. "Tony," she summoned, the black-haired young man looked around, searching for whoever summoned him, then he saw Delaney and smiled.
"Long time, no see, sister," he said as she neared the desk. Tony had a queer sense to him, like he was more of a guy best friend to a girl than a manly man, not that I was criticizing so long as he didn't have his eyes on me.
"It's been a day and it's only the morning," she said with a small giggle.
"That's a lot for me," he replied with a laugh.
"I'm heading out, docs ain't said nothin' about me being critical, or dangerous, or anything,"
He looked through a yellow file, Tate on the label, "You're right, they haven't." He agreed. "Already leaving and we were getting along so well,"
Delaney laughed which was a beautiful song of bells, "You're funny,"
"I try," he said. "Well, I guess I'll be seein' you," handing her a white paper, a letter of release for her. "Next time, watch the amount," he warned.
Delaney nodded with a smile, "Yes, sir." She turned around to face me, I showed the way to the doors of the mental institution, my gray '68 Mustang sitting out front, I led the way and opened the door to the passenger's side. "It's been a while since a man's ever held a door for me," she commented with a sly smirk playing on her face like a Cheshire cat.
I got in on the driver's side, "Chivalry isn't dead for me." I replied while getting my keys from the pocket of my black trousers, then put the keys in the ignition. "Where to?"
"Carolyn Road, my apartment is there."
"Okay," I replied and put the car in gear.
Delaney rolled down the window and stuck her head out breathing in the fresh air, "Freedom at last," she sighed. "It's only been three days but isolation like that feels like forever." She commented, I couldn't disagree with her, I could only imagine what she felt like being cooped up in that small white room for a full 72 hours without proper sunlight.
"They never let you outside?" I asked.
She stuck her head back in, "Nope," she replied.
"That's not very healthy,"
"They're running a madhouse, what is the definition of healthy for them?" Her sarcasm was definitely getting the best of her.
I glanced over at her, that same smile, "You're very sarcastic. Might wanna get serious."
"I will," she assured. "I'm breathing fresh air, I'm out of my depressing four walls, let me live a little again and try to get my normal schedule back together." She retorted.
"Did you have a job?"
"Did." She replied. "They fired me. My best friend Cassie paid my rent this month for me, she shouldn't but she does and I love her for always taking care of me."
The loud clatter of the city was different from where the organization sat, but Delaney didn't seem to mind, she'd watched the pedestrians as if she'd never seen them before. "They didn't give you pay after they pardoned you?"
"No," she replied. "It was a deal when I had to go to court. Get years in jail or the field with no pay, never allowed to move up, always a soldier and nothing else, and show respect then maybe you'll earn some." She stated without remorse. "I missed the army," she admitted while gazing out of the window. "But it was pretty scary too, all the blood and guts, all the cries and groans, all the bodies of good men." Her voice was filled with despair and depression; like she was replaying a painful memory of her time out in the field. "But it's all gone now and I'm just trying to make a living." She stated proudly.
I smiled, "Great way to think, Delaney."
"I know," she replied arrogantly. "Turn here." She ordered and I did. "Almost there."