Seduction of the Mind

The clock on the wall read 7:18 p.m. The clinic was nearly silent, its hallways washed in the soft hum of fading fluorescent lights. Dr. Ethan Hale closed the folder with a sigh, watching his last patient disappear down the corridor. His head throbbed, the weight of the day pressing into his shoulders. Finally. Home. Or what passed for it these days. He stood, loosening his tie, when raised voices echoed from the reception area. A woman’s sharp tone cut through the quiet like glass against stone. “I need to see him. Now.” “Ma’am,” his secretary’s voice replied firmly, “Doctor Hale is finished for the day. You’ll need to make an appointment like everyone else.” Ethan frowned and stepped into the hall. “Mister Hale,” Mrs. Collins called as soon as she spotted him. Fifty years old, prim, always in control—but right now, her lips were pressed tight in frustration. “I told her—” “I’m sorry,” the other woman interrupted, storming past the desk. Expensive heels struck the tile, her perfume arriving a second before she did. She was in her fifties, elegant but fraying at the edges—perfect hair, trembling hands, eyes too bright. “Doctor Hale?” she asked, voice cracking under the weight of something raw. Ethan glanced at Mrs. Collins, who mouthed do you want me to call security? He shook his head and raised a hand. “It’s fine, I’ll handle it. Close up, Mrs. Collins.” The secretary hesitated, then muttered something about “boundaries” before disappearing behind the frosted glass door, heels clicking like a metronome. The sound faded, leaving only the hum of the lights—and the woman standing before him, clutching her handbag as if it were armor. “I’m sorry for the intrusion,” she said, her words quick, breath uneven. “But this… this can’t wait.” Ethan adjusted his glasses and gestured toward his office. “Come in.” She walked in without looking around, as though the room itself didn’t exist. Only he did. She sank into the chair opposite his desk, fingers tightening around the leather strap of her bag until her knuckles gleamed white. “Start from the beginning,” Ethan said calmly, taking his seat. He picked up his pen, its weight familiar and grounding. “What brings you here?” For a moment, she only stared at him, her throat working as if swallowing words too heavy to speak. Then, in a voice that scraped against the silence, she said: > “My daughter is going to kill someone.” The pen froze in his hand. “That’s a serious claim,” he said slowly. Her laugh was brittle, the sound of something breaking. “You think I don’t know that? You think I want to be here, telling a stranger my daughter is a murderer?” She leaned forward, eyes burning with a desperation that smelled like fear. “She’s beautiful. Perfect. Everyone loves her. But I know what she is.” Ethan held her gaze, searching for the hysteria he expected—and not finding it. “What’s her name?” The woman exhaled, and for the first time, her mouth curved in something close to a smile. “Vivienne,” she whispered. “But everyone calls her Vivi.” The clock ticked once, twice. Rain brushed against the window, soft as breath. And Ethan Hale felt it then—the first thread of something he couldn’t name tightening around his throat.