Mind Games: The Obsession of Dr Lewis

Chapter 2

Nathan

She wasn't what I expected, and judging from how she scrutinised me, she wasn't buying my charm—yet. I expected her to be an oddity and perhaps more manly with the trouble she got into, but she was petite in stature and attractive. Most of the women that came to me would always make an effort. I saw this in their hair, make-up, nails, and choice of clothing. She looked scruffy and, at first glance, not much to look at.

I held the door open for her as she walked in. The scent of stale alcohol wafted from her. Her thick, long hair was a fiery reddish-brown colour, and she couldn't be any taller than around 5ft 3 inches. Her eyes were a hazel colour with hints of green and yellow in them, most unusual. She downplayed her features, and the only reason for this was to hide. I closed the door. She jumped and turned to face me, but her eyes lingered on the closed door.

“Please take a seat,” I said, watching to see where she would sit. I had an office table with comfortable leather seats.

The two couches and an armchair were arranged around the coffee table. When she settled on the corner of a sofa, I knew she was trying to place herself as far away from me as possible.

She looked around the room, and her lips twitched with amusement.

“Is something funny?”

“You certainly like the colour of shit,” she said.

There was a lot of brown and cream in the room, but my brown suit might be overkill in my office. I glanced down at her clothing and worn-out trainers. I wouldn't be taking any fashion or decorating tips from her.

“Indeed. You've had eight therapists before me. That is quite an accomplishment,” I said as I sat on my armchair.

“Huh. I thought you were my fifth or sixth,” she said with a genuine look of surprise.

“Dr Cavell mentioned an incident at work which led you to be terminated.”

She relaxed on the couch as she saw this as a safe subject.

“You will be able to relate to this since you must have been born in the 60s or 70s,” she began to say.

The cheeky little bitch knew what she was saying when she made a dig about my age. I was only forty-one. My face must have given me away because she smiled before she continued.

“In the 80s, it was all the rage to harass women sexually. You know, grab an ass, rub your dick on someone or proposition them. I chose not to have a work colleague’s hands on me, and I got fired.”

I picked up my notebook and glanced at the notes I’d jotted down.

“So you hit him with a burning hot basket full of fries before you knocked him to the ground, sat on him, and repeatedly punched his face?”

“Actually, the basket was empty, but yes. Shouldn’t I defend myself?” she asked as she crossed her arms defensively.

“You don't think that reporting his behaviour to a senior member of staff was the correct thing to do?”

“Management doesn't want troublemakers. Another girl before me had reported him, and nothing was done about it.”

“Society has laws that we follow. What do you think about rules and lawlessness?”

Her eyes died before me, and her stare turned blank.

“They are all lies to keep because no one protects the weak. They only protect the wealthy,” she said in a cold, stern voice.

“What age were you when you realised this?” I asked softly.

I knew she ran away from home at the age of fifteen. She was resourceful in travelling and finding shelters, but she only stayed at the same ones for a short period of time. She lied about her age and got jobs off the books in small businesses. My investigator had several alias names listed for her.

“Too young,” she snapped at me with anger simmering in her eyes.

I steered the conversation to her current circumstances while I recalled Dr Cavall’s notes of her theory on deep-seated childhood trauma in Daisy’s past. Daisy put up a facade of being strong, but she was locked into being a victim of her past. She was dishevelled, stank of alcohol, and her eyes had circles beneath them.

I would help Daisy in ways she could never imagine.

◆◆◆

After Daisy left, I spent a great deal of time reviewing all of her records. This is why I decided to become a psychiatrist rather than a psychologist. I could access medical files and write prescriptions. However, it would take some time to organise my calendar so that I could spend less time in my office and offer more video appointments.

I knew what I was. Certain people triggered my darkest urges, and Daisy pushed every single button I had. It felt Godlike knowing that I had a person’s life in my hand. Most people succumbed to my wishes in the end. People's brains fascinated me, and it didn't matter if they were men or women.

I would need to find and visit Daisy’s past problems. I needed to visit her parents' house. The PI did a good job, but I needed personal information. A thorough investigation was always required before a person went missing.