Free The New Patient (Dr. Epstein's Couch: Criminal Minds Series) by Ann Black Page A

gelled hair and tight clothes. Her sessions are covered by the compensation claim she won several years ago.
    She glares at me as she storms past and flops onto the couch. She sits back and tucks her worn Doc Marten’s under her. Visions of torn two thousand dollar leather dance in my head.
    “Hello Khia.”
    “Fuck. As if your foyer music doesn’t suck enough. I had to listen to that shit for half an hour.”
    I indulge the small fantasy of telling her to fuck off before sitting back in my well-practiced “open” body posture. “You seem upset this morning Khia. Care to tell me about it?” I ask, drawing on my well-rehearsed ‘soothing therapist’ tone.
    “The new medication isn’t working,” she answers accusingly.
    I realise she’s angling to go back on the Valium and I get it. Her life has been one traumatic mess after another. A series of foster homes and a gang rape at 14 had toughened her, but when our sessions occasionally scratched at her defenses, it was clear she lived with enormous unexpressed pain. Her last psychiatrist was a dinosaur and rather than treat her underlying trauma, had her hooked on benzo’s.
    “No, I’m not prescribing your old medication,” I state simply.
    “What? I didn’t even say anything about Benzo’s. Everyone thinks the worst of me.”
    I know she’s angling since emotional manipulation is part of her arsenal. It comes with the territory. I spend the next thirty minutes in psychological battle before she finally leaves with my referral to a drug rehab facility. No promises, but it was a small victory.
    I’m drained.
    11:10am
    “Last one before break,” Phyllis says as she hands me the thick folder. Not for the first time I’m pleased I saw the compassion in her eyes when I interviewed her for the job five years ago.
    “You’re an angel,” I say as I glance at the name on the file.
    Kyle Stevens. Psychopath. He’s a referral from Corrections and these sessions are part of his parole obligations. Today we have session two.
    My heart pounds, the headache disappears. “Give me a minute will you?” I call to Phyllis walking back into my office and shutting the door behind me.
    I slap the heavy file down on my desk and go to the ensuite. Washing my face, I look at myself in the mirror above the sink. My eyes are a little bloodshot, nothing I can do about that now, but I school my face into distant neutrality. I need to keep this look, no matter how rattled I get.
    When I invite him into my office, he greets me warmly and shakes my hand. I make eye contact and force a smile. “Hello Kyle. Take a seat.” I motion toward the couch.
    I sit opposite, pull my face into position and get ready to defend my secrets. Kyle’s wearing new jeans and his clean blue shirt compliments his eyes...it’s an effect I’m sure he was aiming for.
    He’s a handsome man, 26 years old with a superior range I.Q., particularly on the verbal subscales. He’s muscular thanks to the prison gymnasium and while his record shows the most recent incarceration was due to a rape conviction, it’s only because the Police couldn’t get the murder charge to stick.  I have no doubt he’s a Psychopath and his traits place him in the most dangerous category of the disorder. My skin crawls, but I maintain a steady gaze.
    “You look a little tired today John. What did you do last night?” he asks conversationally. He’s trying to ingratiate himself with me, but his question advertises his lack of respect for the doctor-patient boundary and by inference, his continued disregard for socially acceptable norms.
    “More to the point Kyle, what did you do last night?” I counter.
    Kyle smiles smoothly but I know I’ve annoyed him. He wanted me to be charmed by him, to like him, to believe his remorse and ultimately to write a report saying he’s no longer a risk to society, “You’re the expert. Why don’t you tell me?” he asks.
    I push, deciding to call an end to the bullshit early. “Are