I had reworked demure little Bronwin Home to have some of the highest-level security in the country. Externally, it looked like a simple two-bedroom cottage at the edge of the woods with cozy leather chairs and deep, polished bookshelves. Internally, it was Fort Knox. Pearson House was of course, similarly protected. I wasn’t about to take any chances with Katherine.
These past two weeks, I had been slowly acclimating Katherine to my presence: visiting her on lonely, rainy evenings, checking on her as she filled her time with useless house projects, books, and her work.
I have been leaving her little tokens that represent me, like the rhododendron. Just a few days ago, I had left her a nice, cold glass of her favorite wine.
That one had actually been kind of fun to watch.She had basically flipped her shit and pulled a knife on the empty house. Katherine had no idea just how close by I was.
As soon as I got word that the eldest Pearson girl was indeed planning to move into the house, I upped my game even more. I made a spare copy of the key and installed high resolution security cameras both in and outside of the residence. The cameras were minute, powerful, and all matte black, blending in seamlessly with the gothic black wainscotting of the gothic architecture that defined Pearson House.
I spent a full night clearing a forgotten trail with my machete which began just West of Bonn’s Ruins, past a thicket of lush ferns. The trail stretched from the edge of Bronwin Home’s property and wound through the trees and over the ravine. It eventually led right up to the old wraparound porch at the back of Pearson House.
I had perfectly executed my pathway to her, both literally and figuratively.I would not let her walk out of my life for a second time.
These past two weeks had been about laying the groundwork. But now? Now it was finally time. Katherine was finally ready to meet, or re-meet me, and I was sure as hell ready to make my formal entrance into her life.
So naturally, I did what any reasonable man, or stalker, would do.
I scheduled a goddamn appointment with her.
7
GAME
KAT
Iroll my neck as I peer down at the intake form, a rare morning ray of golden sunshine spilling into my office and across my laptop screen. A brand-new patient, a “Joseph Dillon” was due here any minute for his initial session, and I wanted to reorient myself with his intake paperwork before he arrived.
Briefly, I peruse the relevant information from his chart: male, age 36, he/him pronouns, no noted history of psychotherapy or psychotropic medications. He lives locally and notes that he would like to work on “personal relationships.”Huh, I think,don’t we all.
Closing my laptop and positioning it neatly in the exact center of my desk, I rise and smooth out my crisp black pencil skirt. Making my way to the office door, I pause just before reaching for the handle. The sunlight that had just been pouring in through the large square window abruptly stops, as the clouds shift. The office space is plunged into grey, dim light.More rain, I think. A little shudder runs down my spine, and I exhale and step out into the waiting room to greet my new patient.
My dark eyes scan the room, seeing a few other people sitting in the tasteful brown leather chairs set up in rows within the space. My gaze falls to a very tall, and very handsome man, sitting close by my office door. Taking in his face, I am startled to see him, not on his phone, as most of the other patients are, but staring directly back at me.
My breath falters in my lungs and it takes me a moment to inhale a normal breath. I unstick my feet from the floor and start forward, letting a gentle, warm smile spread across my face as I approach his chair.
“Mr. Dillon?” I query quietly, and he nods and stands. The patient towers over me, and swallowing hard, I feel the sudden need to smooth out my skirt again. His eyes immediately fall to my hands there at the tops of my thighs, and I quickly place them back at my sides.
Was I… flustered? What in the hell?I’m never flustered with patients. Not these days anyway.
Wordlessly, I gesture him into my office space, flick on the white noise machine, and gently close the door behind me. Mr. Dillon makes his way over to the cream-colored sofa and takes a seat. He seems relaxed, confident, and quite at ease. His massive frame on my small sofa is almost laughable. He spreads his long legs out in an easy pose, the way a man might if he were relaxing to chat with friends at a wine bar or lounge.
I pull my small notepad and pen towards me as I take a seat on my plush black leather chair and face him. “Welcome, Mr. Dillon, it’s a pleasure to meet you. As you know, I’m Dr. Katherine Pearson. I’m so happy you scheduled with me. How are you today?”
A subtle grin spreads across his face, and I notice two identical dimples pop out on either side of his chiseled face.Holy shit, I think.This was maybe going to be a problem.
“I’m just fine, Doc, and yourself?” He grins, and I feel his ocean eyes pierce my own. Their depths seem to run me through like a sword, and I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Though, I sometimes get that with new patients, as I have talked to hundreds and hundreds over the years. At times, their stories blend together into an amalgam of presenting issues. The feeling passes and I focus once again on the man’s startling blue eyes.
Swallowing, I manage to say, “Oh. I’m well, thank you. What brings you to therapy today?”
“Just ‘well’? Are you acclimating alright to the area? Used to all the rain yet?”
I pause for a moment.Huh. He must have done his research on me before coming in. That was something I always appreciated when patients did. He must have seen that I lived and worked in Seattle for many years whilst working for the State. Hell, he may have even found out about my involvement in the Demon of the PNW case. The details of his sentencing had been splashed across the major news outlets for months.
Either way, it seemed like he knew that I wasn’t born and raised here. Given this, I decide to cop to it and allow a little appropriate self-disclosure.
“I am getting reacclimated to the area nicely, thank you. I actually used to spend some time here in a past life. It’s nice to be in a familiar place once again. And the rain is just lovely. Very atmospheric,” I answer him, adding in a polite smile and taking care to keep my tone neutral and professional.
Mr. Dillon nods his head, and I see a flash of something behind his blue eyes that I can’t quite place.Was it amusement? No… memory?That déjà vu feeling again washes over me. He leans forward from his seated position and rests his elbows on his knees as he peers at me.
