Chapter 5: First Session
1178 Words
MAEVE'S POV
“How did it go?” Vince, blurts out, the moment the door swings open, not even giving me a proper greeting.
“Good to see you too,” I say, brushing past him as I walk into his house. The familiar scent of coffee and his signature cologne hits me as I step inside. His place is as immaculate as always, though a little impersonal, like a showroom.
“Maeve,” he huffs, closing the door behind me. “Don’t stall. How did it go?”
“Not a single hello? A hug? Maybe ask me if I would like a drink first?” I toss my bag onto his pristine couch and flop down like I own the place.
He rolls his eyes, hands on his hips. “Fine. Do you want a drink?”
“Now that you mention it, yes,” I say, kicking off my shoes. “Whiskey. Neat. Make it quick, Vince.”
He grumbles something under his breath but disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass. He thrusts it toward me, practically glaring. “Here. Now spill.”
I take my time, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. “Ah, that hits the spot.”
“Maeve!” he snaps, pacing now.
I smirk. “Relax, my god. It went fine. He agreed to continue the sessions.”
Relief floods his face, but it is short-lived. “Good. That means you can start digging for answers. We need-”
“Not so fast.” I cut him off, setting the glass on the coffee table. “There is a catch. The sessions will have to be held at his house.”
His pacing halts as he stares at me like I have just announced I am moving to Mars. “At his house? Are you insane?”
“It is what he wants,” I say, shrugging.
“And you agreed?” His voice is rising now, and I know that tone all too well. Overprotective big brother is making an appearance.
“Yes, I agreed,” I reply, crossing my arms. “Because it is the only way he would continue.”
“Maeve,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You will be alone with him. A murderer. In his house. Do you have any idea what you are getting into?”
“He is not going to hurt me, Liam,” I say firmly. “And you are overreacting.”
“Am I? You are walking into a potential lion’s den, Maeve. This guy is unstable. He-”
“And that is exactly why he needs help,” I cut in, my tone sharp now. “If he doesn't do this, he could spiral even further. Besides, it is not like I am going in blind. I can handle myself.”
He glares at me for a long moment before sighing heavily. “Fine. But if anything feels off, you walk away. Promise me that.”
“I promise.”
“And you have to let me know when you are going in and when you are leaving his house, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” say, standing and giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. “Now stop worrying. I have got this.”
************
The room is quiet, dimly lit with soft golden hues from a standing lamp in the corner while Asher sits across from me, his posture tense, like a coiled spring.
His gaze flickers to the windows, the walls- anywhere but me.
“I am not sure about this,” he mutters, shifting in his chair.
“It is just a conversation,” I say gently, keeping my voice low and soothing. “You are safe here, Mr. Kingston.”
“Asher.”
“What?”
He fixes his gaze on me as he responds. “If you are going to be getting into my head, you might as well call me Asher.”
“Very well, Asher. You can call me Maeve.”
He doesn’t reply, but his jaw tightens.
I take a deep breath, grounding myself. “I would like to try something… unusual, today. It is called guided recall. It might help us piece together what has been happening during the blackouts.”
He looks at me, suspicious. “Guided recall? What’s that?”
“It is not hypnosis,” I clarify quickly. “You will be fully aware the whole time. I will ask you some questions, and you will just... walk me through what you remember. No pressure, no judgment.”
He hesitates, but eventually, he nods. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
I guide him through a few breathing exercises, watching as his shoulders relax slightly. “Close your eyes if you are comfortable,” I say softly. “Let’s start with the most recent blackout. You mentioned you were gone for two days. Can you take me back to the day it happened?”
There is a pause, and then his voice comes, quieter than before. “I was at the office. Working late. Everything felt... normal.”
“Good,” I say. “What happened next?”
He frowns, his brows knitting together. “I... I don’t know. I remember stepping outside for some air. And then... nothing.”
“Nothing at all?” I prompt. “What is the next thing you do remember?”
He is silent for a moment, his breathing slowing. “The cemetery,” he says finally. “I was at Westfield Cemetery.”
My heart skips a beat. That is where my parents are buried. I keep my voice steady. “Why were you there?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “It is like... something pulled me there. I remember standing by a grave. A couple’s grave.”
A chill runs down my spine. “Do you remember their names?”
His brow furrows, his lips moving silently before he finally speaks. “Matthew and Clara Thompson.”
The glass in my hand feels like it is slipping.
Those are my parents.
What was he doing at my parents' graves?
I fight to keep my expression neutral, my tone calm. “How long were you there?”
“Hours,” he says, his voice distant. “It felt... safe. Peaceful, almost. But then...”
“Then what?” I ask, leaning forward slightly.
“I don’t know,” he says, his breathing quickening. “I am not there anymore, I am at the estate.”
My chest tightens. “Which estate?”
He stiffens, his eyes flying open as if I have just shocked him. “No,” he says, his voice sharp and panicked. “No, I can’t—”
“Asher, it is okay,” I say quickly, but he is already sitting up, his eyes wide and unfocused.
“What did you do to me?” he demands, his voice rising. “What the hell just happened?”
- Writer
