Page 1 of Dark Therapy
PROLOGUE
The rain was coming down in sheets, drumming against my office window in a steady, relentless rhythm. The gray skies outside matched the weight in my chest, though I couldn’t quite place why. Everything felt…different. A small chill crept along my spine as I flipped through the day’s appointments, my eyes lingering on one name that felt like it didn’t belong here—DamienBlackwell.
New clients often come with their own mysteries, each one bringing a story that unwinds slowly in this quiet, safe space I’d created. But something about his file felt different. The name alone left a strange taste in my mouth, as if I’d swallowed a memory I couldn’t place. I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just another case, just another person who needed help. Butthe sense ofuneasepersisted, deepening the quiet shadows in the room.
When he finally arrived, it was as if the temperature dropped. Dark hair, whiskey eyes that seemed to drill right through me, and a presence that held the room in a tight grip. I’ve met all kinds, seen all shades of darkness in the eyes of those who sit across from me, but never likethis. In that moment, every nerve in my body seemed to vibrate with something foreign—a mixture of curiosity, intrigue, and something that felt far too close to fear.
I forced myself to hold his gaze, refusing to flinch, wondering if he could sense that I was already losing my footing. If he did, he said nothing—just offered a small, almost mocking smile.
And that was how it began. A stranger in the rain, a patient I should have turned away, and the first step into a darkness that would strip away every layer of who I thought I was.
THE GAME BEGINS
Amelia
The sound of rain tapping gently against the window replaced the usual morning sunlight, filling the room with a soft, steady rhythm. The dim light from the overcast sky filtered through the blinds, casting a cool, muted glow across my bedroom. I sat on the edge of my bed, brushing out the long waves of my hair, lost in thought as I listened to the rain’s steady beat. The motion of the brush through my hair felt grounding, a small moment of calm before the unpredictable chaos of the day ahead.
I looked up, catching my reflection in the mirror. My eyes seemed to be searching for something, a trace of assurance, perhaps, that today would be like any other. But something had felt different lately—an unease that I couldn’t quite place, like a shadow lingering at the edge of my thoughts.
I pulled on a simple, fitted blouse and skirt, smoothing down the fabric with a practiced hand. Professional, polished—armor of sorts for the work I do. I had learned that appearance mattered in my field. A calm, composed exterior had the power to soothe even the most agitated patients, and it helped me, too, in maintaining a sense of control.
Downstairs, I made a cup of tea, letting its warmth seep into my hands as I took a sip. As I waited for it to steep, I mentally ran through my schedule, recalling the patients I’d be seeing that day. Each one with their own struggles, fears, and histories. I had my usuals—clients I’d come to know well over the years, whose stories I carried with me. But today, there was someone new.
Damien Blackwell. The name alone made me pause. Lily had called me the day before to mention that someone had insisted on booking an appointment as soon as possible. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” she’d said, her tone laced with a bit of frustration and…maybe intrigue. She’d quickly added, “But he sounded polite enough.”
I took another sip, trying to focus. I had met many clients with turbulent pasts, individuals grappling with dark, twisted secrets they hid from the world. But something about Damien’s urgency, his insistence, had been at the back of my mind since the call.
I grabbed my bag, slipping my keys, phone, and notebook inside—my usual essentials. The leather strap rested against my shoulder as I made my way to my car. With a quick click, I unlocked the door and settled into the driver’s seat. The soft hum of the engine was comforting as I turned the key, feeling the car come to life beneath me.
Driving to the office had always been part of my morning ritual, a time when I mentally prepared myself for the day, letting the familiar route soothe my mind. The streets were beginning to fill with people heading to work, their routines woven together in quiet harmony. I weaved through the city, my gaze flickering over familiar landmarks: the bustling café on the corner, the park where I sometimes went to clear my head after a difficult session, the quiet bookstore with its dusty charm.
As I pulled up to a red light, my mind drifted back to Damien Blackwell. I knew nothing about him beyond his name and hisurgent need for the appointment. But something about the way he had insisted on seeing me—on seeing me, specifically—unsettled me. Most new clients came through referrals or word-of-mouth, but Lily said he had come on his own, finding my office and calling himself.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel as I tried to shake off the apprehension that had settled in my chest. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt wary before meeting a patient, especially one with an unknown background. But I couldn’t ignore the lingering tension, a feeling almost like anticipation.
The light changed, and I pressed on the gas, forcing my thoughts back to the present. Soon, I pulled into the small lot beside my office, parking in my usual spot. I took a moment, hands resting on the wheel, eyes closed as I took a deep breath. Focus. Today was just another day, another chance to make a difference, to help someone find peace with whatever demons they carried.
With that thought, I grabbed my bag, stepped out of the car, and headed toward the entrance. The weight of my day began as soon as I unlocked the door.
Inside, the quiet of the office greeted me, a stillness broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The space was warmly lit and inviting, a conscious effort on my part to create a calming environment for both myself and my clients. Soft chairs, framed art, and shelves lined with books added a warmth that I hoped would ease anyone who walked in.
As I was arranging a few files on my desk, Lily arrived, offering her usual cheerful smile, “Good morning, Dr. Harper!” Her upbeat presence had a way of grounding me in the here and now, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this.
“Morning, Lily,” I responded, smiling back at her. “Any updates for today?”
She handed me a neatly typed schedule, a clipboard tucked under her arm. “Mostly routine sessions, but don’t forget you’ve got a new intake at ten,” she said, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper. “The one with the intense voice on the phone.”
“Damien Blackwell,” I murmured, my fingers brushing the name on my schedule. I couldn’t quite shake the unease I’d felt when I first saw it.
“Yes, that one,” Lily said, raising an eyebrow, as if sensing my thoughts. “He was… persistent. I double-checked his references, but there wasn’t much to go on.”
“Thanks for looking into it,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. I didn’t want her to pick up on my reservations.
I checked my watch. I still had a few minutes before my first session, so I took a moment to walk over to the window. Outside, people passed by, oblivious to the complexity behind these walls, the lives and stories I encountered every day. I reminded myself why I was here, of the lives I had managed to impact and the lives I hoped to reach.
Soon enough, it was time to begin.
I eased into the chair across from my first patient of the day, Mr. Thompson. He was an elderly man with a familiar smile, someone I had come to know well over the past year. That day, he was proudly talking about his grandson’s graduation, a milestone he never thought he would witness.
