Page 4 of Mind Games

“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.

Chapter 3

Daisy

Dr Lewis was more helpful than I’d anticipated. It had been five weeks since I’d been seeing him, and the new trial medication for Psilocybin mushrooms was something that was helping me. I never liked the usual drugs my doctor prescribed me, and I wouldn't have taken these, but Dr Lewis has assured me that they were natural.

He knew I didn't like being in his office. So we would meet in various coffee shops around the city. The atmosphere was much more relaxed, and I got free hot chocolate, which was a bonus. I wasn't drinking as much alcohol, and my usual spiralling thoughts had lessened.

He advised me to hold off on looking for a job until we could work on my treatment. He also wrote to the Department of Work and Pensions to ensure my disability claim wouldn't be rejected. Other than Dr Cavall, he seemed to care about my personal circumstances.

My phone vibrated, and I picked it up.

Dr Lewis:My video appointment ran longer than expected. Can you meet me at my house?

I frowned at his message because it felt a little strange going to his house. He hadn't given me any creepy vibes and always kept our appointments professional, regardless of the setting.

Me:Sure, send me the address.

???

I paused at the white five-storey townhouse. It was in an affluent area, which didn't surprise me, but the sheer size of his property did. I peered down at the basement level, where there was a small decked area, but the windows were all barred up. Robberies were common in the city, and these type of windows weren't uncommon.

I climbed up the steps and rang the doorbell. When Dr Lewis opened the door, he was wearing a white shirt and navy trousers. It was strange to see him without his full suit. He smiled politely and moved back to let me inside.

“Thank you for coming. I didn't anticipate getting caught up in that meeting,” he said.

His house was as grand as his office and worth several million, given its size and location.

“That’s okay. There was a direct bus from my area to yours,” I said, glancing at the artwork in the open hallway.

The canvas was red and black, and I did a double-take as within the strokes of the paintwork, it looked like a horned face hidden within the pattern.

“Let’s go into the kitchen. I could use a coffee. Would you like a hot chocolate?”

“Uh, yes, please,” I said, following him through the hallway.

I was taken aback when we reached the kitchen because it wasn't sleek and modern but more homely.

“Take a seat,” he said as he waved a hand towards the kitchen table.

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