Page 64 of Her Wicked Plan

I debated calling Myles to talk me out of my nerves for today's session, but then I remembered what he would say. His saying this isn’t a bad idea between Veronica and me wouldn’t help.

Sure, I held my composure mostly when interacting with her between sessions because the moments we were together were brief, and we were not alone. I need to have that same mentality during our sessions. It’s that fucking easy.

I want to talk with her about a lot. Eliza, for starters. Why does she suddenly want to be friendly with her?

I also want to bring up what I read the other day; that Veronica might have killed other men and gotten away with it doesn’t sit right with me. I’d also like to discuss the letter she is writing to her sister.

See, there is plenty for us to discuss. The only thing I need to handle is diverting her back to the conversation at hand if she gets off-topic with a flirty or sexual remark. I can do this.

A light tap sounds from the doorway. Lifting my eyes from the notes and questions I was jotting down, I find Veronica standing just before the door. She remains still on the other side of the frame, almost as if awaiting permission to enter.

My eyes rake down her body without me realizing it. She is in a tight white shirt, her arms folded over her breasts, and her usual gray sweats.

“Come in,” I tell her. Her arms drop to her side when she walks forward, and my eyes drop to her chest. I can see her hardened fucking nipples through the thin material.

Dammit. Get it together, Leo.

Before she can notice my staring, I return my focus to the paper pad. I write something down that doesn’t even make sense. Random letters flow from the pen not writing an actual word.

I need to look busy. Veronica lets out an exasperated breath of air when she plops down into her seat. The sound causes me to look up at her finally.

“Everything all right?”

“No.” She shakes her head. Her fingers come up to play with her bottom lip. Pinching it between the tips of her fingers, her brows furrow in confusion. “I had a dream about my sister last night.”

“Oh.” That was the last thing I was expecting to hear from her. Before I ask the next question, I turn on the recorder. “What happened in this dream?”

“I was reliving all of it again. How I killed her boyfriend and when she came out of the house.” Her eyes still haven’t met mine. She keeps staring at the edge of my oak desk while she recalls the dream.

“It’s normal for people to have recurring dreams about certain events in their life,” I attempt to reassure her, but she only shakes her head.

“This is the first time I’ve had a dream like this.” Finally, her eyes leave the focus they held on my desk to look at me.

“Maybe writing the letter to your sister brought some feelings to the surface. You could be experiencing guilt about what you did.”

She shakes her head again. “I don’t feel guilt about killing him, Leo. But this dream... I woke up very early this morning and couldn’t stop thinking about it. Do you think talking about it will help it leave my mind?”

“It might.” I lean forward, my elbows resting on the top of my desk. “Tell me about it. You can go into detail or keep it brief—whatever you are comfortable with.”

Her eyes soften. It is an expression I’ve never seen from her before, and it doesn’t last long before the hard exterior pops back up like a shield. That split second was enough for me to realize there could be a chance to help her improve.

“Everything was the same. I followed him home, the conversation we had, me slitting his throat and then my sister coming out.” She shifts awkwardly in the chair. “After Stephanie was done yelling at me, she didn’t reach for her phone to call the cops. Instead, she reached for the knife in my hand.”

Veronica goes silent for a moment. Therefore, I take the opportunity to ask, “Did she use the knife on you?”

“No. She ripped it out of my hand and started sobbing and yelling again. ‘I can’t live without him!’ is what she screamed at me before grazing the knife along her neck. There was so much blood, and I remember feeling panicked. Her dying wasn’t part of the plan.”

“How did her dying make you feel?”

“Afraid? I hated it,” she admits in a hushed tone. “This whole time, I was protecting her, and in the end, she ended up dead. But then...” She pauses for another moment before continuing. “It was quiet. Eerily so. That night, crickets were chirping annoyingly loudly in the bushes, but in my dream, they never existed. There was no noise or a breeze, and I didn’t understand it. Then it hit me—it wasn’t real. That I was dreaming.”

“Interesting.” I remove my elbows from the desk to write that piece of information down. “Not everyone can tell when they are dreaming. It’s intriguing when a person can differentiate the real world from a dream.”

“Great. Add it to my list of issues, and we can discuss it again,” she states blandly. “Back to my dream… or nightmare. I’m not sure what to call it. When I realized I was dreaming, I shut my eyes tight and told myself to wake up. I chanted it multiple times, but when I opened my eyes, I saw I was still standing in front of his house. Only he was lying on the ground by himself. My sister was nowhere in sight.” Her eyes shut, reliving the dream in her head.

“I felt a light tap on my shoulder, and I felt utter fear. I’ve felt nothing like that before. Not that intensely. Slowly, I turned around to find my sister standing there. Blood was dripping down her neck from where she had cut herself, the knife still in her hand. She didn’t speak. She didn’t say a single word as she lifted the knife and drove it into my chest.”

I stare at her, enthralled with the vivid details of her dream. “Then what happened?”