Page 10 of Pretty Cruel Love

Patients like Chris Watts, Jodie Arias, Scott Peterson, O.J. Simpson, the Menendez brothers…

All convicted murderers, their cases were tragedies wrapped in bloody-red media boxes with dazzling spectacle bows on top. Somehow, they all struck the perfect tone of violence and chaos, all while keeping the public obsessed with their emotional, heart-stopping backstories.

The moment Sadie Pretty’s case hit the mainstream media, she gained all the notoriety of those infamous cases… and more.

Her face sold newspapers and tabloids, so she was plastered on the front page of multiple editions. The deep dives on true crime podcasts were endless, andDatelineand20/20dedicated multi-night airings to keep their audience coming back.

Even in the professional mental health arena, it was all my fellow colleagues and team members could talk about behind closed doors.

How could a woman who had it all suddenly “turn bad” and commit murder?

And not just one murder—three.

“There’s no way she wasn’t certifiably insane at the time.”

“Maybe she’s been walking around undiagnosed with a mental disorder for years.”

“Nothing in her profile shows she’d ever be capable of something like that…”

Their whispered conversations circled my mental drain for years, never adding anything new. It was all speculation swirling endlessly, only to spiral down into the sewage.

But now that old noise is rising up the pipes again—louder than ever—with the media covering her second attempt at parole and her behavioral stay with me. Her attempt to convince the world she simply “went crazy” when the murders happened, but she isn’t crazy (or dangerous) anymore.

Then again, it’s my job to decide how true that is.

Needing to get to my office early, I speed through the streets, but slam on the brakes when I’m nearly there.

Camera crews and media vans are clogging the street that leads to my twenty-acre Weiss Behavioral Institute.

I should’ve known…

I ease up to the red light, and a brunette reporter rushes to my window.

“Dr. Weiss?” She taps her foam-tipped red mic against the glass. “Are you prepared for Sadie Pretty’s arrival? Care to share any thoughts about the case?”

I keep my gaze forward.

I’ve never spoken to the media about any of my cases, and I’m not changing that process now.

The light turns green, and I hit the gas.

As I approach, the iron gates welcome me with open arms.

The first mile of the road winds up a tree-covered hill, shrouding me for good.

The only parts the media could ever see—maybe—are the five connected black-glass buildings on the right side, but that’s where all the staff and my usual patients reside.

The famous “cabin” for the experiments—the one whispered about in journal articles and courtrooms—can’t be found without assistance from me or my staff.

I park in front of the main building, expecting a government official with final paperwork and Sadie’s arrival itinerary.

But there’s no one here except my lead researcher, Robin.

“Good morning, Dr. Weiss!” she chirps. “I’m still looking into what you sent me, but I did schedule a meeting with that private crime scene analyst you asked for.”

“Where’s the prison official?” I check my watch. “Has something changed?”

“Not that I know of… I think Miss Pretty is still scheduled to arrive this evening.”

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