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His leg began toquiver, and he pointed his elbows outward. Penelope was no stranger to clientsexhibiting physical signs of distress, but something about Darren's growingagitation felt alarmingly different.
‘I can see somethingis troubling you. It's all right. Can you share with me what's upsetting you?’
His head shot up, eyeswide and darting around the room like trapped insects beating against glass.His breath came in short gasps as if each lungful of air was a battle wonagainst an invisible adversary. Penelope leaned back in her chair slightly,giving him space, knowing that pressure could fracture the fragile trust theywere building.
‘Urges,’ he spat. ‘Ihave urges I can't control.’
Penelope's pulsequickened. In her years of practice, she’d encountered many individualswrestling with compulsions, but there was an intensity in Darren's confessionthat put her on edge. She reminded herself that she had dealt with explosiveclients before, those teetering on the brink of their self-control. She haddefused potentially violent situations with nothing more than her words andempathy.
She could handle this.
‘Tell me about theseurges, Darren,’ she encouraged.
He looked at her thenand Penelope saw the raw fear in his eyes. It was the look of someone staringdown into the abyss within themselves, terrified of what stared back.
‘I want to stop them,’he whispered. ‘But they're so strong. They take over.’
Penelope had to fightthe urge to retreat from the palpable distress radiating off Darren. Instead,she edged forward in her seat, maintaining eye contact, providing him an anchorin the storm.
‘Help me understand,Darren. We can work through this together, whatever it is. What exactly arethese urges?’
He shook his headviolently, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts that plagued him. His handsgripped the edges of his seat, knuckles turning white. Penelope mentally notedevery detail—the way his breathing became ragged, the sheen of sweat on hisforehead, the desperation in his clenched jaw. Each small action was a piece ofthe puzzle; she just needed to fit them together.
‘Please,’ Penelopepersisted, her voice firm yet compassionate. ‘You've taken the first step bybeing here. Let's take the next one together.’
‘I've killed people,’Darrem said abruptly, the words hanging in the air like a toxic mist. ‘Three people.And it's like I can't stop wanting to do it again.’
Penelope's heart beganto race, thudding against her ribcage with such force she feared it mightbetray her composure. A client - a man she'd only met ten minutes ago - wasconfessing to murder.
Was this genuine? Somekind of fantasy role play? Had a production crew hid cameras in her office andthis was all content for some prank TV show?
Suddenly, a chillingrecollection surfaced—an email she'd received from Sturgeon Bay PoliceDepartment this afternoon. She'd been too busy to consume the entire details,but now she wondered if they were trying to alert her about the very mansitting in front of her.
‘Killed?’ she managedto say, struggling to maintain a calm exterior despite the tempest of fearraging inside. ‘That's very serious, Darren. It's important that—’
‘Are you going to tellanyone?’ Darren demanded. His body language became erratic, his movements wildand uncontrolled, as if he were on the verge of being consumed by his owninternal chaos.
Penelope knew sheshould say yes, that she should report this immediately. Yet the instinct topreserve the therapeutic space, to keep him talking and perhaps prevent anyfurther harm, overrode her practical reasoning.
‘No,’ she liedsmoothly, her training keeping her voice even. ‘Your secrets are safe with me.’
But as she spoke, shecould see that reassurance did nothing to quell the storm within her client. Hewas lost in his own world, past the point of rational conversation orself-control. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in, and Penelopesuddenly understood with terrifying clarity that she was in trouble. She neededto act and fast, but any sudden movement might provoke an already unstable man.
‘Let's just keeptalking, Darren,’ she coaxed, hoping to anchor him back to reality. ‘We canwork through this together.’
Darren's eyes dartedaround the room, unfocused and wild. Penelope couldn't shake the feeling thatshe was no longer seeing the troubled young man who had walked into her office,but instead was staring into the depths of someone who had untethered from allreason. She braced herself for what might come next, acutely aware of everysensation—the ticking of the clock, the faint hum of traffic outside, thecoolness of the air as it brushed against her skin.
She was trained forthis, she reminded herself. She had dealt with volatile clients before. Butnever one quite like Darren—a murderer confessing his sins with a look in hiseyes that spoke of more violence to come. Penelope could almost taste themetallic tang of fear as it crept up her throat, her senses hyper-alert to theshift in energy.
‘Darren?’ she probedgently, but the man before her was unraveling at alarming speed. His breath washeavy and ragged, his eyes reflecting an internal chaos that had breached itsconfines.
‘Darren, talk to me,’Penelope urged, trying to keep her own voice from betraying the panic thatnipped at her heels. She needed to maintain control of the situation, for boththeir sakes.
But her words werelost on him. Darren's hands shook violently, his entire form vibrating with anintensity that screamed of danger. It was a physical manifestation of thepsychological tempest he was caught in, and Penelope knew she was running outof time.
‘Darren, I need you tofocus on my voice,’ she said, attempting to ground him. But it was too late.Darren's eyes glazed over, his mind captivated by whatever demons tormentedhim.
She had to dosomething.
