“Professor Rollins, what would you say to someone who had a high profile career, public facing, but privately had a penchant for kidnapping young women?”
The question comes from the back of the room in a clear, insolent voice. I feel my lips curl up in a dark smile as I recognize the questioner. My sweet little protégé is here; my favorite student has made an unexpected appearance.
For the first time today, I feel a real bolt of excitement. She came all the way here to Los Angeles just to try to troll me. She wants my attention. How adorable.
“What would I say? I’d have to report them of course. Criminal activities undertaken while in treatment that harm anybody have to be reported.”
She’s dressed herself up in a way that makes her look a little older than she usually does. She has a black blazer and a professional dress. Her hair is swept up in a bun.
She’s stalked me.
The tables have been turned. I imagine she is incredibly proud of herself right now. She found me and she’s confronting me in a venue where she cannot be easily brought to justice.
“What if your client was high profile enough that you knew reporting them wouldn’t have any effect? What would you recommend in that case?”
Oh, she is really pushing my limits now.
“It’s a clinician’s personal decision whether or not to continue treatment with such a challenging client. There may very well be some value in continuing to pursue a therapeutic relationship in order to reduce harm.”
“How can you hold a client accountable if the world will not?”
“It’s not our job to hold clients accountable. It’s our job to explore with them, and to facilitate growth.”
“Can people exhibiting serious ASPD traits actually grow? Or are we just teaching them how to mask better? Helping them to settle into society and make fewer ripples while still preying on the vulnerable?”
“That’s a question that could be debated endlessly,” I say. “And there’s…”
“I think such individuals might be beyond repair,” she says, brazenly interrupting me. “I think they only become more sophisticated over time. But they can also overreach. Pick the wrong victim. End up in situations they never expected to be in.”
She smiles a little as she finishes her so-called question. She’s right at the back of the crowd, and she’s garnering more than a few irritated looks, but some people are finding this line of questioning interesting.
“The notion that people with ASPD cannot be helped is an old one,” I say. “And yes, in many cases, such a patient may weaponize the therapy. In fact, in my experience, that will almost always happen in the beginning. Someone who manipulates people is always going to enjoy learning new means to manipulate. I expect it in my patients. I often use it as a hook to garner further interest and increase treatment compliance…”
I use her question to provide a deep answer that is actually quite intriguing to the audience as a whole.
The moderator takes the microphone from her and moves onto the next person with a question. Laura smirks at me. Little brat. She wanted me to be afraid she was going to expose me. She wanted me to feel some of the fear she feels when I appear in herworld unannounced. Unfortunately for her, I don’t feel fear the way most people do. I feel a mild amusement and some piqued interest, and I am aware that she is asking to be taken in hand much the same way a spoiled child is.
When my panel is over, and the general throng of admirers with books to sign and questions to ask has dispersed, I see her standing toward the rear of the room trying to look nonchalant. She is not good at it. If there was ever an intense young lady, it is Laura Brown.
I walk straight up to her and take her by the hand, pulling her several inches toward me.
“Come with me.” I murmur the command in her ear, and of course she follows.
She came here to get my attention. She’s going to get it.
I take her to my suite in the hotel. It is well appointed and quite comfortable, though I have some ideas as to how to make it uncomfortable for her specifically.
“Proud of yourself?” I ask the question dryly as I escort her into the room, and close the door behind her. If she notices when I flick the latch to lock it, she doesn’t show any signs of it.
She stares around at the room. I notice she does that whenever she is taken anywhere remotely nice. She is impressed by wealth. I don’t think it is in a gold-digging way. I think she genuinely finds it fascinating, like a little mouse raised in a coal mine finding itself in a shining castle.
I let the question hang in the air as her mind takes the time to work out what I asked, and then remembers she’s supposed tohate me, and all the other little internal machinations that need to happen before she can respond.
She turns to face me, and I can see her working up both courage and anger.
“How dare you?”
“Vague question, darling. I will need specifics.”
