A Dark Compulsion

Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This story deals with themes of mental health. It is a work of fiction, however I recognise that issues mentioned here are real and can be deeply personal with people. The intention is not to make light of mental illness or dismiss the impact on those affected by it. The story is about the characters and their circumstances and is certainly not a statement on my, or anyone else's, experiences with mental health.

A Dark Compulsion

Prologue:

The silence was broken only by the light creak of leather as a figure squirmed in place, seeking the comfort spot in the deep leather chair.

Satisfied, they became still, save for their right arm, which raised itself slightly, pointing at the large television mounted on the far wall.

The inky blackness of the screen remained, the small red LED power light in the bottom right corner shining like a cyclops's eye in the darkness of the room.

The figure didn't seem to mind, however. A small sigh of contentment escaped them as they settled further back into the chair, blue eyes following images on the screen that it seemed only they could see.

A moan, the sort that accompanies loneliness or despair, echoed through the empty hallways connected to the room. The sound was as familiar to the figure as the chair they sat in, causing no blip in their viewing pleasure, not registering for even a moment on the rapt expression they wore.

Footsteps now rang out. Rubber soles on vinyl-sheeted floors. Loud because of the bulk of the person, an authoritative swagger to the rhythm of their pace.

This was early. Off schedule. Unusual enough to make the figure in the chair freeze in place, save for a finger tapping a mute button on a remote control that existed only in their mind.

A large shadow passed along the hallway adjacent to the open-plan room, a slight jingling of keys now audible with every confident step. Navy-blue clothing seemed black in the darkness, the dim bulbs marking the presence of doorways along the length of the hallway offering the only illumination--and feeble at best.

The jingling, stomping march came to a halt beside one of these doors.

'Too early, not due for another hour.' The thought came to the still figure, whispered in their mind because one could never know who was listening.

A rattle of a key in a lock. The long, drawn-out creak of a door opening slowly. The monstrous shadow disappeared into the room beyond.

Silence.

The seated figure's finger hovered above a phantasmal TV remote, itching to continue listening to the movie on the blank screen.

A moan. Soft, pathetic in its weakness, disturbing in its breathless quality.

A bed, hidden from the listeners view but unmistakable as the source of the short sharp burst of creaking noises that entered the seated figure's world, making them feel suddenly uncomfortable. Sex was anathema to them, an almost forgotten pleasure that had turned as sour as last weeks milk as the years had passed by. The moaning and creaking served to waken thoughts they would rather have left consigned to the back of their mind where they'd been cast long before.

Then, sounds of a scuffle, as weak as the moan that heralded it. A soft thump, a frail body slumping to the floor? The seated figure had spent so many years wrapped up in the world that existed on the tv screen that it took an unusual, or an unusually disturbing incident to make a dent into the safe domain they'd built around them. What was happening in that room, real or imagined, now gripped their attention fully. Even the imaginary tv remote was temporarily forgotten as frail fingers curled back into a feeble looking fist lest they need to protect themselves.

Then, a return to silence. And with it, a return of the urge to turn the sound back up on the television.

A minute passed, and then the large figure re-emerged, closing and locking the door behind them before returning the way they had come.

The sounds of the keys and the heavy steps faded away into a silence more oppressive than that which had existed before their appearance.

The hovering finger finally lanced down to strike the unseen, unfelt remote control, ending the muting of the film.

"Think of what all those walls are hiding. Broken hopes and bodies and hearts. Absent dreams. Starvation, madness. Crimes of the streets. And tragedies of the river."

The figure croaked out the quote from the movie they were reliving, Leon Ame's playing the part of Pierre Dupin in Murders in the Rue Morgue.

They tried to refocus, to pick up from where they had been interrupted, but every so often the paltry light above the door in the hallway would draw their eye.

Their routine disturbed beyond saving that night, the figure rose, cinching the belt of the hospital robe tight around their narrow waist before shuffling on slippered feet back towards their room.

Chapter One:

Eve Sinclair slid off her motorcycle, hanging her helmet from one of the handlebars.

It hadn't been a long trip but the heat of the day and her reluctance to be here had left a sheen of sweat on her top lip and the short tousled black hair on her head a little damp. Stripping her gloves off, she ran her fingers through her hair, enjoying the sensation as a light breeze picked up at that moment.

She pulled the zip on her jacket all the way down, turning to catch the breeze on her face and body. The black leather jacket with its red leather shoulder panels fit her athletic frame like a glove. Her slim figure, head turning already, given an eye-catching boost by the green and yellow racing stripes running down the sleeves of the jacket. Underneath it, she wore a fitted black button-front top, cropped and with a low neckline.

The breeze had brought some relief but until this errand was done, Eve knew she was going to feel sticky and gross, the reaction having little to do with the day's warmth.

Long legs dressed in tight black leather pants, ending in black leather combat-style boots, carried her along the small driveway she'd pulled up in and towards the yellow painted front door of an innocuous looking two-story home.

She took a breath, knocked twice and then a third time for good measure.

A moment later an irritated voice, female, older, called out from behind the door.

"Who is it?"

"Eve. I'm a... friend, a friend of Maddox's. Is he here?"

There was a pause, Eve having no doubt that the phrase 'a friend of Maddox' was one unfamiliar to the woman behind the door.

"He's in the basement. Go round the side. I just mopped in here."

Without responding, Eve followed the instructions, circling the front of the house with its faded and peeling paintwork, almost missing the set of stairs leading to the basement, the overgrown bushes and unkempt side lawn hiding it from the casual observer.

Descending to the door below, Eve hesitated as she caught sight of herself in the pane of glass that made up the top quarter of the basement door.

Her hair, cut to chin length and with straight bangs, still looked a bit flat from wearing her helmet and she lifted her hands to fix that. Normally she wouldn't worry about touches like that, but she knew her audience, and if she was going to enlist Maddox's help, her appearance would play a factor.

Hence her choice in top.

She was attractive if not beautiful. Her features delicate, with prominent brows, a straight nose and full lips. Hidden from the reflection, a series of tattoos on her left arm. Symbols and shapes that had drawn her eye, the unconnected ink starting just above her wrist and ending at her shoulder.

Steeling herself for the unpleasantness to come, Eve rapped her knuckles on the pane of glass. From behind the door she could hear a clatter, hard plastics on a work surface perhaps, then a voice, thick with irritability.

"Fuck's sake Ma... what are you bugging me for?"

"It's Eve, can I come in?"

"Eve? Eve who?"

She felt the fist she'd knocked with balling up again and forced herself into a semblance of calm before answering.

"How many Eve's do you know? Stop fucking around Maddox," Eve shouted back.

"Oh... that Eve. Well come on in then."

There was a click as a lock on the door disengaged and Eve pushed it open and stepped inside.

The warmth of the day melted away as she entered the airconditioned basement of the house. The racks of servers stored in trays on one side of the small basement were obviously the need for the air-con to be on full blast. The whole room screamed computer geek. Aside from the multitude of working servers, at least three more sat in different stages of disassembly on a small workstation, sharing space with a couple of old monitors. On the wall behind it was a large poster of a heavy breasted female warrior in golden bikini-style armour, a sword in her hand. The legend 'Barbarian II' stood out boldly beneath her en-garde stance.

Two retro arcade gaming consoles, neither apparently working, took up more valuable wall space. Beside them a battered looking folding table supporting an equally battered looking microwave. The floor beneath the table covered in the discarded wrappers of Hot Pockets.

Sitting like a King amidst this clutter was Maddox Dempsey, self-styled 'Net Ninja'. Ten years older than Eve's twenty-one years, he looked much older than that. With his receding hairline and growing bald patch, expanding waistline and unkempt beard, he looked more like a tramp who had decided to throw two fingers up to the world and really let himself go to seed. The computer he sat in front of and the t shirt he wore were the only things about him that were clean.

"I like the shirt," Eve said as she moved to stand in front of him.

Maddox cuffed some crumbs from his beard before pulling his white t shirt down at the hem to display the image on it properly. Three figures in bright red cardinal's cassocks, one of whom was wearing a leather flying helmet. Beneath them the phrase 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.'

"You came here to admire my wardrobe?"

"Just admiring you in general," Eve replied with sugary sweetness neither of them bought.

"Hey, can I help it if the good Lord blessed me with a buff bod and a big brain?"

"Mens sana in corpore sano," Eve commented earning her a wry smile from Maddox. Hang around in enough tattoo shops and a bit of Latin rubs off on you.

"Anyway, I'm looking for a favour, figure you're the guy who can make it happen," Eve continued. She looked around for somewhere clean to sit, deciding after a moments perusal that standing was her best option.

"Well if it's another fake ID then you are in for a wait," Maddox snorted, jerking a thumb over one shoulder towards a pile of plastic and electronics that held a vague resemblance to a printer of some kind.

"Nope, twenty-one now so I'm all good. It's something else I'm looking for."

"Well, well, well. Look at you all grown up." He reached out with a flabby hand to pull out the bottom drawer of the desk he sat behind, lifting his feet onto it as a footrest as he leaned back in his chair to regard Eve properly. "The wizard is in... what is your wish?"

"Okay so three things. I need the layout of a private psychiatric Hospital outside of Sacramento California. It's called Mens Refecta psychiatric center. Blueprints, staff details, ward layouts... anything you can get me."

"Easy enough."

"Also, I need you to create a fake psychiatric evaluation for me. About me. I need a recommendation from a psychiatrist for an extended stay... couple of weeks maybe... but I need to be able to get voluntarily committed to this Mens Refecta center."

"Hang on... you want to get locked up in a loony bin?"

"Yeah and third, I need some fake health insurance documents to pay for it all."

Maddox threw his head back as he began laughing hysterically, a hiccupping, wheezing display that Eve sat quietly through, waiting for him to get it out of his system.

"Ahhh fuck, I needed that," he said, wiping tears of laughter from his face a minute or so later. "You got me good... okay, but seriously, times wasting and my mom is cooking meatloaf tonight. What do you really want from me?"

"Exactly what I just told you," Eve said, her voice even, her face serious.

He sat up straight, pulling his feet free of their perch on the desk drawer, peering at her to see if the 'joke' was still happening.

"Okay, right. Let me just say this. If you are looking to get into this place just to score some decent drugs, well there are easier ways to do it than travel across the country from Philly to California. I have a buddy who can hook you up with 'scrips from a doctors office."

"It's not a shakedown, not me looking to score, not a robbery either. I just need to get into that place as a patient, exactly like I said. And no questions asked."

Maddox shook his head but he turned to face his computer, fingers beginning to tap on the keyboard before him.

"Right, three things. The layout isn't a problem. I can hack into the center's server, get you employee records and stuff easy enough. County clerks will have the architectural plans on file, so a blueprint is simple. The fake report... yeah I can do that, generate one, slap on a digital signature, email it directly from a psychiatrist's office. I'll do it out of state but somewhere closer to California than here... Nevada maybe. The insurance funds... I did that before last year to get my mom's sister a Gastric sleeve, so also not a problem."

He paused, looking towards her.

"You said three things, but no questions asked is four... I need to ask some things."

"Go on," Eve said. She'd followed his rapid-fire explanation with a small smile on her face. Maddox might not be the most pleasant person she'd made the acquaintance of, but he knew his shit.

"First, what name do you want on the psychiatric evaluation?"

Eve's gaze drifted to the remnant of the printer Maddox used to make fake IDs.

"I guess I'll have to stick with Eve Sinclair," she answered.

"Okay. Next, what are we having you locked up for?"

"Something simple that someone might reach out for help. Nothing that would make me a risk to myself or the staff there though."

"Gotcha... and how will we be paying for all this?"

This was the part of the conversation that Eve had been dreading. Working part time in a bar and pulling the occasional shift in one of a number of tattoo shops she had friends in just about kept the wolf from her door. It didn't leave her with a hell of a lot of spare cash for hiring the services of a local hacker though. She'd sold some stuff, things less important to her than this was, and that had stretched her cash flow some more.

"I'm thinking I can stretch to two thousand dollars now, another five hundred when I get back," she offered.

"Yeaaah... see this ain't Walmart or Dollar Tree. You're looking for premium services and offering me bargain basement payment. If I didn't know you better I'd think you were trying to insult me."

She thrust the wad of notes she'd begun to remove from her jacket, back into her pocket with a small sigh of frustration.

"Okay, so what's the Maddox rate for a repeat customer?" Eve got ready to haggle.

"I'm thinking... lemme see," he tapped a finger against his bottom lip, looking towards the ceiling contemplatively. "Let's call to six grand up front, nothing to pay later... and I get to play with the twins for five minutes." He looked pointedly at Eve's chest as he said the later.

"Oh shit, so we've gone from Walmart to Tiffany's fairly fucking fast," Eve snorted. "It's a simple job, your own words. So let's say, two thousand now, eight hundred after."

"Yeah, yeah, I did say it was simple... for someone of my skill level. But you know, you want to shop around, find someone else to do the work, hey... be my guest. Otherwise it's six thousand and play time."

"Two thousand now. Five hundred later... and you can see the twins for a minute. No touching."

"Really? No touching? Be still my throbbing junk. Four up front, I see the twins for two minutes, touch them for another two."

Eve considered her options for a minute. She needed this done quickly and well so Maddox was her best... her only option. She still needed to get to Sacramento and that was a week's ride on her bike, so better to take a flight instead, either option costing money.

"Okay, counteroffer," she said, tugging suggestively at her fitted black button-front top.

Twenty minutes later, Eve was walking out of Maddox's basement, minus the thousand dollars she'd ended up paying.

Swinging her leg over her bike, she settled in the saddle, zipping her jacket closed. The tight fit pressed across her chest, and she imagined she could feel the dampness of his saliva still clinging to her nipples.

Letting the bearded freak suck on each of her tits while he'd furiously jerked off into a wad of paper hankies had gotten her the fake documents she'd need at half the price she'd been willing to pay. Her life experience, as short as it had been, had given her a sense of practicality. It wasn't that she had no shame, an accusation her parents had thrown in her direction more than once, it was just a matter of expediency and knowledge that it was the best deal she was going to get. Besides, she was under a time constraint here, she needed to get to and into that mental health clinic asap.

All she needed now was to either get some decent tips at the bar over the next few nights, or hustle some college kid at the bars pool table, and she'd be able to make her travel arrangements.

Maddox had told her to expect a text in the next few days, a week at most, confirming her fake insurance details along with confirmation that the evaluation had been sent to Mens Refecta psychiatric center. That meant she could ring the center once they were in place and organise her stay there.

Pulling her helmet on, she sped away, her objective now a long hot shower to flush away the moist, clammy sensation of Maddox's mouth gnawing on her tits.

In his basement Maddox was a whirlwind of activity. Since he'd already had the fake insurance backdoor in place, he'd set up a policy in Eve's name before she'd ascended the short flight of stairs out of his basement. The hack to get the clinic's layout was a pedestrian job, something he could tackle later while watching a rerun of BSG. He found watching Number Six in her red dress an aide to his creativity. Now though, he wanted to get the fake evaluation done, something he'd never been asked to do before. Something fun.

"Mood disorder... nah, cliché and she didn't want anything too negative. That's a nix on schizophrenia as well." He mumbled away to himself, hands poised over the keyboard, a world class pianist preparing to strike the first note.

"Pyromania... kleptomania... wait, I got it, I got it..." He began typing furiously, the hiccupping, wheezing cackle of a laugh starting once again as he set to work.

"Damn... I wish I could be there when she turns up at that clinic," he muttered after he stopped laughing, continuing to type.

Chapter Two:

The cab rolled to a stop beside the weathered marble slab that bore the words 'MENS REFECTA'. That was it, no details about the buildings purpose beyond that.

Eve got out, passing the cash to the driver and removing her two pieces of luggage from the trunk of the cab. As her ride pulled away, she headed towards the main reception area located at the front of the building.

Built twenty years ago, the clinic had purposely been designed to look less like a medical center for the mind and more like an office. The main building was low and broad, constructed from concrete and with the outer walls faced with dark brick on the bottom quarter of their expanse. Long strips of tinted windows dominated the central area, where the subtle signage indicated the reception was located, the glass reflecting the washed-out blue of the Californian sky.

Two wings jutted from the main building and Eve's familiarity with the layout, thanks to Maddox's help, allowed her to recognise these structures as Wards A and B where inpatients resided for the course of their treatment. She also knew there were some smaller structures to the rear of the buildings connected to power, water supply and storage.

In addition to housing reception, the main building contained offices, consulting rooms, a kitchen, laundry, staff rooms and an in-house pharmacy. The small carpark to the from of the building was for visitors and staff and given the number of vehicles and the knowledge she'd gleaned regarding staffing numbers, Eve could make an educated guess that the overwhelming majority of the vehicles there were for the staff.

She caught sight of herself in the tinted windows as she approached the door to the reception. Eve had ditched her biker leathers and her usual wardrobe, borrowing some more mainstream fashion from a friend at the bar. She had managed to keep an edge to her choices, going for a sleek, all-black look.

The fitted black, long-sleeve crewneck sweater had been the wrong choice for a Californian summer, even with it slightly cropped at the waist. It had just looked so good with the high-waisted black faux-leather midi skirt that Eve hadn't been able to resist wearing it. Tall black leather knee-high boots with slim stiletto heels and narrow black sunglasses completed the ensemble.

Her heels made a click-clack sound as she walked confidently across the polished floor towards where a smartly attired woman in her early forties sat behind a desk, a sign with 'Reception' on it hanging over the spot. The woman had a professional look about her which she softened at Eve's approach with a wide, charming smile.

"Good morning, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Eve Sinclair and I'm... I guess I'm checking in? I'm not sure if that's the correct term?"

The woman laughed, unforced and friendly before indicating a choice of plush leather chairs scattered about the lobby.

"Don't worry, I know exactly what you mean. We've been expecting you of course. Please have a seat and I'll let Dr. Thorne know you've arrived."

Eve took a seat, setting her luggage beside her. She was seated looking out towards the exterior of the building, once again seeing herself dully reflected in the glass. She removed her sunglasses and now as she considered the reflection again it had change. Gone was the confident twenty-one-year-old Eve, replaced by her eleven-year-old self. Ponytailed, fresh faced and smiling. Seated beside her, in the reflection at least, a ten-year-old black girl, a face like a cherub, short legs dangling over the edge of the chair, an infectious gap-toothed grin on her face. Dian, as how Eve liked to remember her.

'Oh Dian, how the fuck did you end up in here?' Eve had asked that question of herself countless times, never with an answer she could accept. Which was why she was here, to put that question to rest.

"Ms Sinclair?' A man's quiet voice cut into her daydream and Eve rose to her feet smoothly, annoyed at herself for drifting off.

An older man, in his late fifties, and wearing an expensive suit stood patiently before her, arm outstretched to shake her hand. Eve lifted her own in response, leaving the length of the greeting his to determine. He shook her hand warmly, longer than a brusque business handshake but not so long as to be considered creepy.

"I'm Dr. Thorne and can I say I am very pleased you've decided to use our facility for your betterment."

"Thank you, ahh, my doctor recommended your clinic and well... I am hoping you can help me," she answered. Maddox had given her the barebones on the background he'd come up with for her, the name of the psychiatrist she'd attended in Nevada and a vague reference to her ailment as being 'obsessive and focused' in nature which she'd taken as meaning some form of OCD.

"Of course. Well, if you'd like to leave your luggage here, Maggie will arrange for it to be stored safely away. You'll find we provide everything you'll need during your stay with us. Now, if you'd care to follow me."

Eve walked beside and a little behind the elegantly dressed psychiatrist. He reminded her a little of her Uncle George, who was in finance in the city. Dr. Thorne had the same self-assurance, wrapped in obvious wealth but with a genuine warmth to his personality that offset any ill feeling one might possess regarding his success in life. He even looked a little like Uncle George with his blonde wavy hair turning to silver at the temples and short, thin stature.

Dr. Thorne led the way to the next floor and then into a comfortable looking office. The books on the shelves, the framed prints on the walls all had a manufactured feel to them, lacking in personality. Add in the fact that there were no framed photographs on his desk and Eve drew the conclusion that this was more of a generic consulting room space than somewhere the good Doctor actually worked from.

"Please make yourself comfortable," he said, taking a seat behind the office desk.

There were two leather chairs and also a leather divan, Eve hesitating between the choices.

"This isn't a session and I ascribe no meaning to where someone sits, wherever you find comfortable is all that's important," he said noting her indecision.

Eve picked the chair that was closest to the desk, sitting down into it. She was starting to feel nervous now. Her plan had seemed straightforward in her head when she'd come up with it a week before, but it had been birthed on the back of a few vodkas and the reality of the deception she was attempting started to hit her. The man was a professional at reading people, and she was going to try fool him...

"Now I like to think people look a little into the background of this center before deciding to come here for help, which means you probably know a little bit about me. Of course, I know what is written on the website for the center which means I have a good idea what you've learned. I prefer my relationship with patient's to be open and even from the start, and that's why..." He lifted a couple of printed sheets of paper from the desk, handing them over to Eve.

"That's why I invite patients to familiarise themselves with the psychiatric appraisal that I received. This way, you know a little about me, you know what I know already about you and the rest we will discover together. Sound good?"

"Ah, yes, very good," Eve replied, eyes already glancing down at the sheets in her hands.

"Well take a minute to peruse the details and I will check and see if everything is in order for your stay." He rose, a gentle smile on his face before excusing himself once more and leaving Eve alone in the office.

She began reading before the door had closed behind him.

CONFIDENTIAL PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION REPORT

Patient Name: Eve Sinclair

Date of Birth: March 12, 2005 (Age: 21)

Date of Evaluation: July 22, 2025

Evaluator: Dr. Marcus Hale, MD, Board-Certified Psychiatrist

Referral Source: Self-referred with family encouragement

Session Format: Initial comprehensive outpatient evaluation (90 minutes)

Identifying Information:

Ms. Eve Sinclair is a 21-year-old single Caucasian female presenting for assessment of intense, compulsive sexual urges and behaviors. She reports no current romantic partner and lives independently in an apartment while pursuing part-time undergraduate studies in communications. She is employed part-time as a barista.

Chief Complaint:

Ms. Sinclair states: 'I can't stop thinking about older men--especially Black men in their 40s, 50s and 60s. It's consuming me. I feel out of control and it's starting to ruin my life.'

She describes an 'extremely intense' pattern of selective hypersexuality (commonly referred to in lay terms as nymphomania) that is narrowly focused on older men in general, with a marked preference and intensity toward older African American men.

History of Presenting Illness:

Symptoms reportedly began intensifying approximately 18 months ago, following exposure to certain online content and a brief consensual encounter with a significantly older African American man. Since then, the patient reports daily intrusive sexual fantasies, compulsive masturbation (often 4-6 times daily while viewing targeted pornography), and repeated risky real-world behaviors including frequenting venues known to attract older patrons, initiating conversations online with men fitting her preferred demographic, and engaging in multiple anonymous sexual encounters.

The urges are described as 'overwhelming and ego-dystonic' yet irresistible during peak episodes. She reports physiological arousal (increased heart rate, genital sensitivity, difficulty concentrating) triggered by visual or verbal cues associated with older men--particularly those with greying hair, deep voices, authoritative demeanours, and darker skin tones. Fantasies center on power dynamics, experience, father figure dynamics and racial contrast.

She denies similar intensity toward men her own age or younger, describing them as 'boring' or 'incapable of satisfying the need.' There is no reported history of trauma, but she acknowledges a pattern of seeking validation and a sense of being 'overwhelmed and cared for' by mature figures.

Psychiatric History:

No prior formal psychiatric diagnoses or hospitalizations.

History of mild anxiety in adolescence, managed without medication.

No reported substance use disorder, though she admits occasional alcohol use to 'lower inhibitions' during encounters.

Family history: Mother with treated depression; no known sexual compulsivity in relatives.

Mental Status Examination:

Appearance: Presents an outwardly confident appearance with a focus on individuality, notably through a number of piercings and tattoos, appears stated age. Mild psychomotor restlessness noted.

Mood: Aggressively confident, a possible overcompensation for unexpressed embarrassed; congruent belligerence when discussing loss of control.

Thought Process: Linear and goal-directed, though with noticeable preoccupation when discussing triggers.

Thought Content: No delusions, hallucinations, or suicidal ideation. Prominent obsessive sexual ruminations.

Insight: Partial--recognizes the behavior as problematic and distressing but feels powerless to resist urges.

Judgment: Impaired in the sexual domain due to repeated risk-taking (unprotected encounters, meeting strangers, neglecting academic/work responsibilities).

Diagnostic Impression:

Primary Diagnosis:

Hypersexual Disorder (Compulsive Sexual Behavior Disorder), severe, selective subtype (focused on older males with predominant racial preference for African American men).

This presentation exceeds typical sexual exploration for a young adult and meets criteria for clinically significant distress and functional impairment. The selectivity is notable and appears fetishistic/compulsive in nature rather than purely preference-based.

Additional Considerations:

Rule out contribution from underlying anxiety or attachment issues.

No evidence of bipolar disorder, personality disorder, or psychotic features at this time.

Risk Assessment:

Moderate to high risk of continued impulsive sexual behavior leading to physical health consequences (unintended pregnancy), and social/occupational impairment.

No imminent danger to self or others.

Recommendations:

One month period of inpatient psychotherapy with a specialist in compulsive sexual behaviors.

Consideration of pharmacological support for impulse reduction, pending further discussion.

Removal of potential triggers from immediate environment during inpatient period.

Prognosis: Guardedly optimistic with consistent treatment adherence. Early intervention at age 21 could prevent chronicity.

Confidentiality Note: This report is for clinical use only. Release requires signed authorization.

Signed:

Dr. Marcus Hale, MD

July 22, 2025

"That motherfucker Maddox," Eve whispered to herself, the paper trembling in her grip as her hands shook with barely suppressed rage.

"When I get out of here and back to Philly, I'm going to park my front wheel in his flabby asshole and ink 'dickhead' on his bald patch... then I'm really going to fuck him up..."

The hacker had done a complete number on her. She'd been prepared to exhibit some OCD behaviours, share some made up shit at group therapy sessions and skate over her personal life in any one-on-one discussions with the staff here. All that had been doable. And it meant she'd have time to poke around to find some answers to her questions.

Now he'd set her up as some black cock obsessed nympho who spent most of her day frigging at herself when she hadn't a dick to suck on... Jesus but she was going to kill that freak when she got the chance.

Voices, muffled by the still closed office door, announced Dr. Thorne was returning. That gave her a few seconds to decide if she was going to continue her self-appointed mission or bale out now while she still could.

"All done? All good?" Her psychiatrist poked his head around the door, raising an eyebrow fractionally at the sight of the slightly crumpled sheets in Eve's hands.

"All good," she replied, rising and setting the evaluation on the desktop. "Shall we get started?"

Eve had been led towards Ward A, stopping just outside the main doors leading to the clinic's wing where she was shown a changing room she could use.

Gone now were the borrowed fashionable black top, skirt and boots, replaced with a sky blue, patterned hospital gown with matching thin, blue dressing gown and comfortable blue slippers on her feet. Taking in to account the sick feeling in her stomach since reading Maddox's fake evaluation and Eve was feeling and looking the part of a patient.

"As you can see, the doors into Ward A remain unlocked although we do have a member of staff stationed here at all times, but I do want to emphasis that this is not a prison, and you are here on your own volition. If at any point you wish to leave, you may."

"That's good to know," she replied to Dr. Thorne, thinking it'd be likely she'd be taking that option sooner rather than later.

"Also, given the umm 'triggers' for your particular issue, I have ensured that certain members of our staff will not be working Ward A during your time with us and naturally you won't have access to your phone or any internet capable devices during your stay. With the removal of these triggers and some solid work around understanding your compulsions and then building some impulse control techniques, I see no reason but to be entirely confident in the success of the treatment you'll receive here."

"That sounds fantastic, I really hope you can help me get past all this," Eve said as they came to a stop beside the doors.

"Well, I myself will not be involved as I begin a month's sabbatical tomorrow, however Dr. Curtis who you will meet tomorrow will be working with you directly and I have absolute confidence in him. And please remember to have faith in yourself as much as the people here looking to help you. This is a collaborative effort after all. Ms. Sinclair, an absolute pleasure, I look forward to learning of a successful outcome in your case on my return. Ryan here will show you to your room."

"Thank you, Dr. Thorne," Eve said, then turning to see a heavyset white man in navy hospital scrubs waiting beside the open door.

"Hi, I'm Ryan, okay if I call you Eve?"

"Sure."

"Great. Well welcome Eve, if you come with me now, I'm going to show you your room and give you a quick tour of Ward A."

Ryan showed Eve around the ward without hurrying her, happy enough in his role as tour guide.

"And this is your room."

He pushed open the door and stepped aside so she could look in. It was a lot smaller than she'd expected. A narrow bed pushed against one wall, a bedside table, a wardrobe with two empty shelves already waiting for her. There was a small window overlooking a stretch of blue sky and some of the outer buildings in the complex. No curtains though, no blinds. Nothing that could be pulled shut. Eve wasn't sure how much the center would be charging her fake insurance, but she was glad she wasn't having to cough over her own money for this kind of spartan accommodation.

"Bathroom's through there," Ryan said, pointing to a door beside the wardrobe. "You'll have your own shower and toilet."

Eve nodded, looking again at the wardrobe and empty shelves and wondering what the point to them was since her own belongings were being stored until her departure.

There was nothing particularly unpleasant about the room. That was almost worse. It was clean and warm and boringly plain, void of personality. Ryan gave her a moment longer before moving the tour on.

"The dining area is just down here."

Eve followed him along the corridor to find the dining room was little more than a bright, square space with a handful of tables pushed together. A fridge stood against one wall, beside cupboards and a kettle. There were laminated notices pinned up near the door: mealtimes, medication times, visiting hours.

"Breakfast is at eight. Lunch at twelve-thirty. Dinner at six," Ryan said. "If you're not feeling up to eating with everyone, let someone know. A lot of people aren't, especially when they first arrive here so we can work something out for you."

Everyone. That was what had been missing on the tour so far. No other patients to be seen. And they were the reason she'd done all this; she needed to meet with the people who'd been staying here. With Dina.

Ryan kept up with his patter as he led her down the long corridor of the ward.

"And this is the day room."

The general area was larger and warmer than the dining room, open to the right of the corridor that ran alongside it. The doors of other patients' rooms closed and running the length of the left-hand side of the corridor. A television hung on one wall, currently playing something muted and indistinct. There were two battered sofas, armchairs, a low table covered with magazines and books, and shelves filled with board games.

At the far end was a little arts-and-crafts corner filled with paints, brushes, paper.

"You can use any of that," Ryan said. "Just ask if you need anything that isn't out."

Eve nodded again, but she wasn't here to watch TV, read books and finger paint her feelings.

A woman sat curled into one end of the sofa, reading. She looked up briefly when they entered, her eyes moving from Ryan to Eve before returning to her book. Somewhere further down the corridor, someone called out, high pitched, angry and intense.

The sound made Eve wince and Ryan noticed her reaction.

"It's okay," he said in a quiet voice, full of reassurance.

"Where is everyone... everyone else?" Eve nodded towards the lone woman reading a book as she corrected herself.

"Well after breakfast, those who haven't got private sessions are either in group or they are encouraged to stay in their rooms and meditate or focus on whatever coping techniques they've been shown. Except Lisa over there, she likes to be the exception to the rule."

"Isn't that right Lisa?" Ryan pitched his voice to the woman with the book. Without looking up, she raised her middle finger towards the male nurse, then licked the tip of it, using it to turn to the next page.

"Yeah, like I said, she likes to be the exception to the rule."

Ryan showed her the nurses' station next, then the location of the main bathroom and also the small courtyard at the rear of the building that patients could use at certain times. He explained the routine, the things she could ask for, the things she wasn't supposed to do.

It was all very ordinary, very straightforward. Eve figured if she wasn't out of this place soon, then she would start to lose her mind.

Ryan eventually glanced at his watch and said, "I'll leave you to settle in."

Eve remained where she was for several seconds after he disappeared around the corner before eventually, she turned around and went back to her room. She closed the door behind her but didn't bother locking it. It wasn't like there was anything in here likely to be stolen.

She crossed to the bed and sat down carefully; the mattress firm but comfortable beneath her. Then she placed both of her hands flat beside her thighs and stared at the slippers on her feet before lifting her eyes to look at the carpeted floor.

There were faint marks in the carpet near the wardrobe and leading into the bathroom. Faded patches, worn into the fibres of the carpet by hundreds of slipper wearing feet.

God only knew how many people had sat on this same bed over the years, thinking the same thoughts as she was... 'what was she doing here?' Eve couldn't imagine spending time in this place by choice, not for long anyway. Then again, she hadn't really had a choice about coming here.

Not really.

Not after Dina.

She wasn't sure why, but she'd imagined that she'd have gotten a sense of her friend once she'd arrived at this place, an inkling of her presence. But there was nothing. The sheer plainness, the uniformity of it all robbed her of any impression that Dina might have walked the same corridors, maybe sat on the same bed.

It was funny in a way. At one point in their lives Dina had followed her around, and now here Eve was, tracing her friend's footsteps. Her final footsteps.

Eve and Dina had met at the age of eight and seven respectively. Eve had been the older by a year and she was the one who had set the terms of play for all the games they'd enjoyed. Butterfly dragons, Dinner with Pooh, Wishing stone skip... childish names for childish games born out of childish imaginations and yet they'd been some of the best things she'd ever done in her life.

They'd lived at the opposite ends of the same well to do suburban close. The only children on the street, drawn to one another at first from a lack of options, after from something that could only be called a familial love. Eve's parents were old money, wealth garnered over the course of a century of shrewd and profitable investments. That she now lived in a shitty apartment and worked two jobs was all that needed to be said regarding her attachment to her parents, their money or the legacy she was supposed to have embodied.

Dina's parents had made their money via her father's work in a start up tech firm, riding the digital wave of success and money to a big ass house and a bigger bank balance. He'd died when Dina was four, her mother remarrying a couple of years later to a young, respectable psychiatrist called James Johnson.

Eve's parents didn't mingle much with their new neighbours. It wasn't a race issue; they just didn't particularly care for the nouveau riche as they saw anyone who hadn't been wealthy prior to the roaring twenties. It didn't matter if they were tech geniuses or respected medical practitioners.

That hadn't bothered Eve and Dian though, they'd become inseparable from the first day they'd met and that bond had carried right through until the day Dian's stepfather had accepted a job offer from the Mens Refecta psychiatric center in Sacramento.

The two best friends had wept bitterly at their forced separation, Eve remaining behind in Philadelphia while Dian moved with her family to California. They'd made a promise though to remain friends, no matter the distance, to always be there for one another, no matter what might happen.

The promise of a thirteen-year-old to a twelve-year-old.

And yet they had stayed in touch. A letter a week, every week without fail.

Even with emails, mobiles and texts opening up their world as they grew up, they kept to the old ways... something about the act of putting words on paper making the exchange more personal, more binding. Pages long or a scribbled note, the correspondence flowed ceaselessly.

Even two thousand seven hundred miles away, Eve had still been there for Dian when her mother passed away when she was sixteen. Dian had been just as supportive a year later when Eve had decided to skip college, leave home and strike out alone, sick of her parents trying to run every aspect of her life. They remained almost as close as sisters, despite not laying eyes on each other in nearly a decade.

Then Dian's letters grew darker in tone. Depressing. The death of her mother had hung over the young woman regardless of the passage of time. As she neared her twenty first birthday, a milestone that would see her come into her full inheritance, the legacy of both her parents' death so young in life seemed to crowd in on the ever-sensitive Dian. Despite Eve's best efforts, her letters, her words hadn't helped her friend. Dian's own letters became filled with tales of nightmares, growing paranoia and thoughts of self-harm.

Thankfully her stepfather had seen the signs, and he had persuaded Dian to see a colleague of his, a Dr. Thorne. This doctor had then recommended a stay in the same center her stepfather worked in, though obviously under someone else's care.

This intervention and care seemed to work. Gradually Dian's letters changed, reverting into something approaching her old self. Better in some ways as she began to speak of plans for the future. A future that included ending their absence from one another's lives, Dian considering selling the home in Sacramento and returning to the east coast. Returning to Philadelphia and Eve.

Then, just three weeks ago, Eve learned of Dian's death.

Suicide.

Found hanging in her room at the Mens Refecta center from a curtain in her room.

Eve's eyes flicked towards the bare window of her own room. No curtain there but the slight discoloration of the paint around the window, an area protected from the sun, showed the signs of a curtain having been in place until fairly recently. A lesson learned too late.

And nothing about it had sat well with Eve.

Dian had been improving, her letters full of hope. She'd said as much to the detective she'd finally managed to make contact with, expressing her fears that Dian's death had been more than what was being made of it.

"Suicidal people often are at greatest risk of committing suicide not when they are really depressed but often when it appears that they are doing well in their recovery."

That had been the detectives take on it. Oh, he'd been solicitous, kind, understanding. But he'd also been very clear.

Case closed.

But not for Eve.

Chapter Three:

Eve had been at the clinic for exactly six hours now and already felt as though she had been there for days. The place, her room especially, seemed designed to make the passage of time indistinct. Pale, plain walls. The quiet corridors. The bland view from the window. Even the smell, an institutional mix of disinfectant and despair, seemed an intentional effort to pacify... bore... the people stuck in this building.

She'd imagined all of this very differently. In her plan, she was going to steal keys off an orderly or a nurse then use those keys to sneak into a file room or computer where she'd immediately discover the smoking gun connected to Dian's death. Eve's version of this private investigation had been a mix of Mission Impossible and One flew over the cuckoo's nest.

Instead, she'd spent the last ten minutes staring out the window, tracking the one solitary cloud in the sky and seeing what shapes her idle mind could make out of its outline.

Her problem was that she'd been so focused on getting into this place, she hadn't really worked out what exactly she'd do once she was here. Marching up to various patients and members of staff, shaking them by the shoulders while demanding answers about Dian wasn't exactly subtle or likely to lead to success. But one thing was for sure, she'd get no answers in this bedroom.

Eve opened her door, walking down the corridor towards the dayroom. She passed two other patients on her journey, a middle-aged man and woman who while not together could have passed as a couple, both of them wearing the same hangdog expression on their faces.

In the Dayroom, there was a lot more life than when she'd been there earlier on her tour with Ryan. The TV on the wall was on, a program about tracing Celebrities genealogies entertaining the three patients watching it. Two others were quietly playing a board game, checkers, and two more were reading, one of them Lisa, whom Eve had sort of met earlier.

Even as Eve hung at the edge of the room, undecided as to her next step, Lisa closed her book, standing up to stretch and knead her lower back. The woman, ten years or so older than Eve, slipped a hand into the pocket of her dressing gown, producing a crumpled looking packet of cigarettes a moment later. Lisa then checked the contents briefly before heading out of the Dayroom.

Eve tracked her with her eyes, waiting until she saw Lisa take a turn to her right about halfway down the corridor, the passage that led to the small outdoor courtyard area.

She didn't hesitate in recognising the opportunity. Eve gave Lisa a count of thirty before following.

The courtyard wasn't worthy of the name. A square of concrete surrounded by four-foot-high walls with a couple of slightly battered looking chairs in the center of it and a very battered looking metal bin in one of the corners. Only a few hanging baskets attached to the low walls containing petunias offered any colour to the drab scene.

Lisa was leaning against the wall beside the bin, Eve emerging into the courtyard as the other woman was taking a long drag on her cigarette.

"Hey. Ask you something?" Eve got straight into it.

"If you are looking to bum a smoke, then no, you can't," Lisa answered shortly.

"Well, I wasn't going to ask that," Eve replied.

"Yeah? Good."

"I was going to ask why you flipped off Ryan earlier. You have a problem with him?"

"He disturbed me. I don't like being disturbed," Lisa said looking pointedly at Eve.

"Fair enough. I'm only asking because this place seems to dull. Nothing to do, nothing to say."

"You're here half a day. Wait till you are here six weeks, then talk to me about it being dull."

"Six weeks? Fuck," Eve said, lighting up inside as she realised that Lisa's stay here overlapped with Dian's. "And nothing happens in that time at all?"

"People come. People go. Some get better, some don't," Lisa responded, taking another pull on her cigarette. She was halfway through it now, so Eve knew she needed to push the conversation along.

"Well, I guess this is the place where the fucked up get fixed up," she said.

"Not always."

"Yeah, what do you mean by that?"

There was a bit of reaction then from the taciturn Lisa. Not a sympathetic wince or shudder, not even close, but definitely a crack in the mask she wore.

"Well, come on. You can't just leave it like that. Something I should know?" Eve pushed, an urge in her to just blurt out a straight question. But she'd learned that straight answers buy you silence more often than not, especially with strangers. Still, a bit of prodding was called for.

"Nothing much. Someone off'd themselves a few weeks back is all. Some sort of big deal. Just a kid really, twenty years old or something. Think she had some connection to this place or maybe her old man was a big deal because there was a lot of stone faces after and they made changes to rooms and stuff."

"Sad," Eve commented.

"Life's unfortunate, just doesn't have to be short," Lisa remarked, stabbing out her cigarette butt on the bin, talking like it didn't matter a life had been lost.

Eve felt irritation flash through her. She took a half step forward and an instinct warned the other woman that violence was imminent.

"What's your problem anyway?"

"No problem so long as you keep talking," Eve replied, close enough now that Lisa would have to physically brush past her if she wanted to leave. Eve was probably giving up twenty pounds to the other woman, but she had youth and rage on her side... she didn't see any contest going more than ten seconds.

"Why the fuck are you so nosy? What's with all the questions? Maybe I should call Ryan over," Lisa blustered.

"Yeah, after your little performance earlier, I'm sure he would rush over to help a ray of sunshine like you."

They stood staring at one another for a few moments before Lisa deflated. She pulled out a second cigarette and lit it up.

"So what do you want to know?"

"The person who died, tell me about them."

"The fuck do you want from me? Their biography? I never met them."

"Don't bullshit me, you just said you were here when it happened."

"And? Doesn't mean I met them. They were on the other ward, Ward B. That's where they keep anyone who is maybe gonna harm themselves or you know, injure someone else."

Eve suddenly felt incredibly stupid. She had been so focused on her own reason for attending the center to be one that wouldn't require supervision, she'd never considered that being in a different category to Dian would place her in a different building. The anger she'd felt towards Lisa and her arrogant way of talking was redirected now at herself.

"How do I get there?"

Lisa looked amused at that.

"To Ward B?"

"Yes."

"You don't. Least nobody I know since I came here has."

"Be more helpful," Eve inched a smidge closer and Lisa's amusement faded.

"You could try walking across."

"Across?"

Lisa turned, pointing over the wall and down the length of the building they were stood behind.

"Across. All the way down there, past the admin block and the next wing is Ward B, same set up as here... at least from the outside anyway. But you won't get in. They give us a lot of freedom here but not that much. There's always staff on duty here and more over there probably. Plus, the doors and windows will be locked."

"Shit. And that's my only option?"

"You could always hurt someone," Lisa suggested. It seemed to occur to her then that Eve might choose her as 'someone' because she quickly added. "Or yourself."

"Are you serious?"

"You wanted answers, you got them. Not my fault you don't like them."

Seeing Eve was distracted by these options, Lisa flicked her smoke over the wall in the direction of Ward B, not wasting time putting it out, and sidestepped Eve deftly. The fast but fading slap of slippers on the floor was all that was left of her as Eve stood silently looking towards the place Dian had died.

Dinner turned out to be as bland and disappointing as all her experiences with Mens Refecta Mental health center had been thus far. A strip of boiled meat she guessed was beef, all taste leeched from it in the cooking process, some lukewarm and too soft vegetables which had all followed a thin barley soup. She'd opted to eat in her room; there was no one here in Ward A she had an interest in talking to now and in her current mood she wasn't going to be good company should anyone try interacting with her.

By half past nine, the ward had begun to settle.

Leaving her own door slightly ajar, Eve listened to the soft clicks and fading voices as the patients began to gradually disperse to their beds for the night. A little bit down the corridor from her room, she could hear the sound of the television beiung played softly, sporadic bursts of laughter from the few patients still up watching it. She lay on her bed listening, silently willing them to call it a night and go back to their rooms.

Eventually even this noise stopped and quiet descended on Ward A.

Although the patients had retired for the night, Eve was aware from her conversation with Lisa that there would still be staff active on the ward, so she continued to lie on her bed, counting off the seconds until twenty minutes had passed since she'd heard the last person close their door.

Carefully, she slipped out of her room.

The corridor was dimly lit, the fluorescent lights in the ceiling turned off, so that the passageway was only dimly illuminated by the small lights at the doorway to each patient's room. She moved slowly, her slippers making no sound as she walked, keeping close to the wall while her ears strained to hear any warning of a nurse patrolling.

Thankfully Eve encountered no one on her path to the small courtyard where she'd spoken with Lisa earlier that day. As she'd hoped, the door to it was unlocked for nicotine addict needing a late-night fix, so once in the small space it was a simple matter of clambering over the low wall in her blue hospital gown.

A neatly trimmed strip of lawn ran the length of the three phases of the clinic, running parallel to Wards A, the Administration building and on to Ward B. That would mask any sound of her steps, the shadows of the buildings themselves working to clock her in darkness to make her almost invisible in the night.

Behind her, Ward A remained silent, so Eve moved onwards.

Passing the Administration block, she saw all the windows were black, any staff working confined to the two wards.

So far, so exactly as she'd gathered from her conversation with Lisa. That was good and bad. The bad part meaning that the other woman's warning about the windows and doors being locked was probably true.

But Eve still had to try.

Reaching Ward b, she tried the first door she came to.

Locked.

The second.

Also locked.

She moved further along, finding a third door halfway down the building's length. Trying it and... no joy.

Her pulse was up now. The strain of sneaking around, waiting to be spotted by an eagle-eyed nurse passing by a window coupled with the frustration that her own impulsive stupidity had left her resorting to this.

The doors weren't happening, time to try the windows.

Randomly, she picked a window and walked over to it, pulling a thin piece of metal from her dressing gown pocket as she did so. It was all she'd managed to find in her room, a short length of a metal hanger from her empty wardrobe that she'd twisted, bent and snapped into the five-inch length she now held. As tools went it was better than nothing. Barely.

First, she tried the window, hoping for a miracle and being denied one once again. With nothing to lose, she began poking and prodding with the sliver of metal around the edge of the window hoping to find a gap she might exploit.

Pressing too hard, the makeshift window-pick slipped off the aluminum frame of the window, tapping against the glass itself before Eve could stop it. It made a tiny click, as loud as a fingernail striking glass lightly. Still in her keyed-up state it might as well have been the same as banging on a bass drum.

Eve froze, waiting for a cry of alarm.

No movement inside.

She waited.

No sounds.

Eve tried again, more cautiously this time, trying to guess where the locking mechanism was on the window and hoping to find a gap at that point.

A scream sent her heart thudding into her throat. Eve looking up to see a pale, wrinkled face of an elderly man pressed to the glass on the opposite side of the window. The old man was staring wild eyed at her, mouth open from the first scream.

She raised a finger to her lips, then made shushing actions with her hands, hoping to calm and quiet him.

"They're here, they're here, they're coming for me! I told you! I told you! They're coming for me!" He began shouting loudly despite his feeble appearance, breaking into another scream of terror when Eve's now vexed looking face pulled an expression that was pure pissed off as she tried to shush him again.

There was too much noise, even if the old man regularly had nighttime episode's, which was much more of a hope than a given, it would still mean a member of staff would be at his room soon to calm him down. Eve needed to abort, for an hour anyway, until things settled down again. Then she could try a different window.

She ran, a square of light appearing behind her as she did, someone turning on the light in the elderly man's room. That just added wings to her heels, Eve sprinting into the darkness.

"Hey!" she heard from behind her in a voice distinctly different to the patient she'd managed to terrify.

'Shit,' she thought. They wouldn't know who was out, though if they saw the blue of her hospital clothes, they'd know it was a patient. If she could make it to her room before anyone noticed her missing, she could still bluff things out.

Reaching the low wall of the smoking area, she vaulted the four-foot-high barrier, stumbling on the other side as her slippers lived up to their name as they met the concrete surface of the small courtyard. Eve steadied herself, gasping from the exertion of her dash.

The slow handclap sounded dim to her, the blood pounding in her ears.

"Well, that's a hell of a first day by anyone's standards," a woman's voice said.

Eve looked up to see a muscular though heavy-set woman in a nurse's dark blue smock standing at the doorway leading back into the ward. Her face must have reflected the wild desperate thoughts that suddenly surfaced in her mind because the burly woman raised a finger in warning.

"Don't even think about it. I'd sedate your ass if you try running on me."

Eve nodded, slowly standing upright and managed a resigned shrug as an answer.

"Mmhmm, that's right. Now let's get your ass back to your room. You'll need to explain this to Dr. Washington in the morning. Dr. Thorne's on sabbatical so you get to tell the deputy director what the hell you were doing."

'Dr. Washington, shit,' Eve thought. 'That's Dina's stepfather.'

It was past ten in the morning before Eve was escorted by Ryan, the male nurse from the previous day, into the main administrative block to see Dr. Sam Washington: Deputy Director of the institution, psychologist and stepfather to Dian. This office was nothing like the sterile room where she'd spoken to Dr. Thorne. Personal touches filled the space: framed family photos on the desk, a collection of fishing rods standing in the corner, and the faint, rich aroma of cigar smoke that clung to the leather furnishings despite the gentle breeze filtering through an open window.

It had been nearly ten years since she'd last seen Dr. Washington and the first thing that struck Eve was how much younger he appeared against her memory of him. He had been younger than Dian's mother, she remembered, but looking at him now, she realized he must have been in his early thirties when Eve had met him. To a twelve-year-old's eyes though, that would have been positively ancient.

He was a handsome black man, now in his forties but trim and fit looking. The beard on his face was new, well he hadn't one when she'd known him, and he kept it trimmed short. The watch, the suit and the rings he wore on his right hand all spoke of a comfort with wealth, something Eve recognised instantly from her own family members and how they advertised their lot in life. Refined, classy, never showy.

"Take a seat please," he said waving her towards the chair in front of his desk. "Ryan, can you hang back for a moment?"

Ryan nodded silently, taking up a sentry-like posture by the office door while Eve sat down.

She'd fucked up and now it was time to pay the piper.

Feeling combative despite it all, her anger mostly directed within, Eve slumped in her chair, legs stretched out in front of her.

"Now. Ms. Sinclair. Can I call you Eve?"

"Sure."

"Good. Eve it is then." He paused for a moment. "Have we met?"

It seemed he was having the same trouble placing her as she had with him. They'd met only a handful of times and there was little left of twelve-year-old Eve in the sulky looking young woman sitting in front of him now.

"Doubt it," she lied smoothly.

"Okay," he brushed the thought aside and looked at his laptop. "Now I've only had a few minutes to look over your evaluation and Dr. Thorne's brief admission notes from yesterday. An interesting case."

"Not for me," Eve said in a flat voice.

"Of course. Well let's set the notes aside for the moment. Why don't you tell me what happened last night."

Eve had spent half the night wondering what the hell she was going to say when, not if, she was asked that exact question and despite five hours of gnawing at the problem, she'd come up with no answer that didn't sound like bullshit.

The silence stretched out and the thought that she'd come all this way to find answers only to fuck things up so royally made Eve worry she'd betrayed the memory of her dead friend.

Something of that worry and recrimination was picked up by the psychologist she was sitting in front of because he softened his tone as he spoke again.

"Eve. This is a safe place. This entire center is. We only want to help you and the others here. You have to understand though that we need to keep everyone safe and Mr. Kowalski had a very real fright last night. I need to understand how that happened and why."

Inspiration, or at least the faintest glow of it, struck Eve and she began to wing it.

"I was scared," she said simply, squirming slightly in her chair so that to Ryan watching, she slumped further down into it, looking smaller, more pitiable.

"Scared?" Dr. Washington pressed gently.

"I had a nightmare, and... and I woke up scared. Terrified really."

"What was the nightmare about?"

"I..." Eve offered a hesitant glance toward Ryan at the door.

"Would you feel more comfortable with Ryan not present?"

"Yes please," Eve answered.

With a subtle flick of Dr. Washington's wrist, the nurse was dismissed. Eve waited until the latch clicked shut.

"Go on, a nightmare you were saying," Dian's Stepfather prompted her.

"You know about my... what Dr. Thorne called my... triggers?"

"I do," he answered, voice smooth, neutral.

"Well in my nightmare. I guess I was remembering what Dr. Thorne said. That I would spend the next month isolated from anything that could trigger me. Well my nightmare was more of a sensation really than anything I could describe."

"That's okay. Tell me about the sensation."

Eve slipped one bare foot free from her soft hospital slipper.

"I felt completely alone. Empty. Like I would never be happy again." She lifted her foot, letting her toes lightly graze the side of his thigh beneath the desk. "Like I'd never be filled up again... with what makes me happy."

Her foot slid higher, coming to rest between his legs. Her toes flexed, pressing deliberately against the bulge, centred on the crotch of his expensive suit trousers.

Dr. Washington's expression didn't flicker. His face remained carved from stone. His eyes though... if Eve had him in a poker game she'd have won the overpriced shirt off his back. And if she needed any more confirmation than her gut instinct, the hardening flesh beneath the silk, cashmere and wool blend suit that pressed back now against her gently rubbing foot told her she'd read the situation correctly.

Doctors think they are Gods. And what God doesn't want to be worshipped.

"And in your terrified state, you went to Ward B?" His voice was even, measured.

"My body just made the choice," she murmured, her foot maintaining a rhythmic, pressing friction against the growing swell. "Some part of me knew I'd be safer there. Not in Ward A, where my triggers are... removed for my own good."

Her foot continued to press and rub against the lump it had located, a lump whose swelling advanced impressively as she did so.

"I see. Well, under the circumstances, you can hardly be held responsible for an instinctual response beyond your control."

The way he spoke, the slight weight on certain words, he sounded contemptuous. Eve dropped her foot as a cold wave of embarrassment washed across her. She was certain she'd overplayed her hand.

"Ryan," Dr. Washington called out, his voice raised just enough to carry. "Step back in, please."

The heavy office door swung open, and the sturdily built Ryan re-entered.

"Ryan. I'm transferring Ms. Sinclair to Ward B effective immediately. Please arrange it. I'll coordinate with Dr. Curtis later regarding her session schedule."

Ryan blinked, caught off guard. "Are you sure, sir? Dr. Thorne mentioned..."

"Ms. Sinclair is experiencing acute anxiety that resulted in irrational, uncontrolled behaviour last night," Washington interrupted, his tone sharpening. "There is every reason to believe it could happen again, meaning she is at risk in her current environment."

Dr. Washington didn't rise from behind his desk, Eve knowing exactly why not, but his voice did grow louder as he continued.

"And are you honestly challenging me... me of all people, regarding my judgement when it comes to patient safety?"

Ryan had the good grace to flush in shame by this reminder of Dr. Washingtons recent bereavement and his challenging gaze dropped to the floor, the mumbling apology skirting above the office carpet as he backed down at once.

"No, sir. My apologies. I'll handle it right away."

While the two men spoke, Eve let her own gaze wander around the office. It looked like she was off to Ward B after all and she doubted the new ward's decor would be any less bland than Ward A's, so she might as well enjoy the sights in Dr. Washington's office while she could.

Something struck her as off all of a sudden and she nearly forgot to put her foot back into her slipper as she got to her feet to confirm her suspicion.

"Thank you very much Dr. Washington, I appreciate it and I am sorry again for the trouble I caused," Eve said, stepping around the desk to offer her hand.

His grip was firm and warm, his broad hand briefly engulfing her small one. Eve barely registered the touch; her attention elsewhere.

"Okay, I'll take you through to B then," Ryan said, clearly wanting to get out of Dr. Washington's presence as quickly as humanly possible.

Eve followed him out into the corridor, trailing silently as he stopped at the duty station to call in the transfer. She didn't say a word the entire walk down the hallway, the same single realization repeating over and over in her mind:

He's a liar. Dian's stepfather is a liar.

Chapter Four:

It was the photographs that had tipped Eve off.

She had been in plenty of offices in her young life. Growing up, her father and mother had dragged her from one high-stakes meeting to another, desperate to impress upon their daughter the power and prestige of wealth, and the relentless work required to maintain it. Those lessons hadn't worked out exactly as her parents' had planned. Instead of the desired effect, they had in fact poisoned Eve's mind against spending an eternity in some plush office, her soul broken by first spending years at college only to swap an academic institution just to earn a desk at a financial one. That wasn't life. It wasn't living.

What she had learned however was that when people spend that long in one place, especially somewhere like an office, they tend to keep the things closest to their heart as near to hand as possible.

In her father's office, there had been a half-dozen photos of her mother and the family. Her Uncle George kept a photo of her aunt on his desk, though a framed shot of his mint-condition, fully restored, fire-engine-red 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air sat a few inches closer to his elbow.

Dr. Washington had exactly four photographs on his desk.

One showed him accepting an award, prestigious no doubt, the photograph framed in ostentatious gold leaf. Another captured him and Dr. Thorne handing an oversized charitable check to a well-known actress, though her beaming smile was hardly the focus of the shot; that honour belonged to the deep plunge of her figure-hugging dress. The third image caught Dr. Washington aboard a yacht on the Pacific, posed beside a deep-sea catch. Lastly, there was a picture of an attractive young Black woman with the ghost of a smile on her face. Dian. His stepdaughter--and Eve's friend.

So far, so normal.

Except that three of those pictures faced inward, angled precisely for Dr. Washington to admire from his leather chair. Only one photograph faced outward toward the room, arranged for visitors to see.

Dian's face greeted anyone entering her stepfather's office: proof positive of Dr. Washington's deep and devoted love for the young woman he was so proud to have helped raise.

Pure bullshit.

The man was a liar, his true affection limited solely for himself and the life he was leading, the proximity of the other pictures a sure sign of that. The outward placement of Dian's photo was an exhibit, not a tribute.

Eve was alone in her new room in Ward B--a stark upgrade from her previous quarters, and not in a good way.

The door locked strictly from the outside, equipped with a sliding inspection hatch for periodic visual checks. The wardrobe and bathroom contained nothing that could be improvised into a weapon. Dining alone was no longer an option; in Ward B, everyone ate together.

Sitting on the edge of her mattress, her mind chewed through her realization while she waited for lunch. The meeting with Dr. Washington and the administrative hassle of her transfer had caused her to miss the morning's group therapy session. That suited her fine. She needed time and space to think.

Just because her picture was turned outward doesn't mean he didn't love her, she argued with herself. Could it have been bumped by accident?

No. He had deliberately weaponized Dian's death to rattle and embarrass Ryan earlier. If Dian had truly been on his mind, he would have instinctively adjusted her frame back toward himself. The positioning was intentional.

And if he didn't love her, did that mean he had something to do with her death?

Eve recalled the news reports following Dian's passing. Her stepfather had been forced to rush back from an out-of-town medical conference upon hearing the news. An airtight alibi. By chance, or by design?

If he hadn't killed her personally, but had arranged it... why? Why murder a twenty-year-old girl?

Eve drummed her fingers against her knees, pacing the thought out. Why bring Eve here to his own facility? If he wanted her quiet or out of the picture, wouldn't letting her spiral without intervention be safer?

Yes. Unless her spiral was tied directly to something he had already done.

She felt her thoughts spinning out of control. Too much supposition, zero proof. She wasn't a detective; she tended bar and was learning the art of the tattooist. What the hell did she know about building a murder case?

Eve knew Dian though. And there was no way in hell the Dian she had been friends with would have taken her own life. If Eve knew anything for certain, it was that.

She walked into the tiny bathroom, filled a plastic cup from the tap, and took a slow sip while glaring at her reflection in the mirror.

'Come on... think', she chided herself. 'What do you actually know?'

Dian had been admitted here because of rapid behavioural changes: severe paranoia, sudden bouts of hysteria. If her stepfather was behind those symptoms, how had he engineered them?

Maddox's taunts echoed in her memory:

"If you're trying to get in here just to score decent drugs, there are easier ways..."

Drugs. Eve had enough experience with recreational pharmaceuticals to know how the system worked. Adderall and Lisdexamfetamine were standard prescriptions for ADHD, but misused in higher doses, they created intense dopamine rushes. Prolonged abuse induced violent mood swings and acute paranoia.

As a chief medical officer, Dr. Washington would have had easy access to both.

Okay. So, he dopes Dian up enough to justify having her committed. Then what?

Eve tried to recall the frantic letters Dian had sent her week after week. It was as if the discovery of the desktop photographs had cleared a film from her eyes, recasting every memory in a cold, logical light.

'He's always checking up on me.' Eve had assumed Dian meant her stepfather was merely overprotective. Had she been describing something far more sinister? Control? Intimidation?

'He isn't happy about me moving back East.' Was that really just a stepfather reluctant to let his stepdaughter move away, or was it a handler, peeved at the thought of losing control of his target?

Eve leaned against the sink. 'Okay,' she thought, 'So the good Doctor is a controlling bastard. But that's still a massive leap to premeditated murder.'

Why bring her to this specific clinic? Dian had been terrified of losing her mind, so agreeing to seek help made sense, but why would he want her here?

One, disturbing, possibility came to Eve's mind. Dr. Washington wanted Dian here because perhaps drugging her wasn't the endgame. He was the one administering the dose and once she was admitted, he could quietly taper her off the illicit stimulants, replace them with standard sedatives, and let her "recover." Her sudden improvement would be hailed as a triumph of his care. No suspicion, no questions.

She stepped back into the main room and began pacing, a dark adrenaline surging through her.

"Who? How? Why? Where? When?" she muttered under her breath, reciting the checklist from every true-crime documentary she'd ever binged watched.

The where and when were established facts. Dian's death might not have had eyewitnesses, but the location and official time were locked on record.

The who pointed straight to Dr. Washington, even if it was currently based on gut instinct. That left the why and the how.

A soft metallic click broke the silence, followed by the sliding sound of the inspection hatch being drawn back.

Eve froze.

A pair of dark, unblinking eyes observed her through the narrow rectangular frame. Deep creases etched the espresso-hued skin around his heavy brow indicating that a mature, powerfully built black man was watching her with cold precision.

"What's up?" she asked, adopting a neutral posture.

"Just checking in. Everything okay, Ms. Sinclair?"

"All good. Just burning off some nervous energy," she replied, wishing he would slide the panel shut and grant her peace.

"Good to hear. I'm Jackson. I'll be looking after you on this ward. Dr. Washington asked me specifically to keep a close eye on you."

"Great. Thanks. See you around, then." Eve turned her back on the door, offering the international body language for 'fuck off and go away'. A moment later, the hatch slid shut with a dull snap.

Eve resumed her pacing, mind racing. Why kill Dian after bringing her here? And how could he pull it off inside a secure facility while maintaining an alibi miles away?

Before she could dig deeper, a sickening realization hit her, and her head snapped back toward the closed door.

"Dammit," Eve swore out loud. She fought the sudden urge to smash her fist against the concrete wall.

Maddox had backed her into an unbearable corner with his twisted psychological evaluation. Eve had managed to weaponize his fake diagnosis, playing along with the hypersexual, compulsively manipulative label to trick Dr. Washington into transferring her to Ward B.

But now she was committed, she had to maintain the act. If she toggled the persona on and off, the staff would catch on immediately. Whenever Dr. Washington, or now Nurse Jackson, was in the room, she had to play the hypersexual provocateur.

'Fuck my ass', she thought, closing her eyes in sheer embarrassment. Solving a murder is a hell of a lot easier on television.

Her mood wasn't improved by her first Group Therapy session.

The psychiatrist leading it was a young woman, though not as young as Eve, who was possessed with the unnerving enthusiasm of someone who had discovered most of what they knew about people through books rather than true interaction. The fact that human beings were complicated seemed beyond her.

She sat with a notebook balanced on one knee, a sham smile on her face as she nodded encouragingly at the semicircle of patients gathered on chairs around her.

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Angry," a middle-aged man sitting diagonally across from Eve responded.

"Uh-huh," the psychiatrist said, writing something to that effect in her notes. "But beneath that, under that anger, what do you think you were feeling?"

"Uh... more anger?"

Eve fought the urge to roll her eyes in boredom and despair. She checked the clock on the wall, the minute hand crawling by. Twenty-seven minutes she'd been sat here and she was beginning to wonder if the therapy was designed to induce more mental health issues that it corrected.

By the time an hour had passed, she was convinced of two things. The first, that nobody in this room could have hurt Dian. There was anger here aplenty but mostly it seemed directed inwards, desperately sad people at odds with an uncaring world. Between their personal issues and the heavy medication, the more aggressive of the patients seemed to be on, none here were viable suspects.

The second thing she was now aware of was her own personal feelings of recrimination for her intrusion into this world. The people here needed help and while her presence wasn't denying it to any of them, she couldn't help but feel guilt that she was occupying a place that someone in real need might have been able to use. Already feeling low due to the mistakes she'd made planning this personal inquest into Dian's death, this fresh realisation hurt her further.

As the session ended, Eve got to her feet gratefully, avoiding as best she could looking directly at one man. She'd spotted him worrying at a thread in his gown all through the session and now small spots of blood marked the sleeve where his finger had rubbed itself raw. She skirted another man who was standing near the door, whispering obscenities at the wall.

Walking down the corridor toward the dayroom, she fell into step alongside an older woman named Elaine, who had offered her a gentle smile at the start of the session.

"How did you find it?" Elaine asked quietly.

"Fine, I guess. Don't have much to compare it to."

"It's better when Dr. Thorne or Dr. Washington lead the sessions," Elaine said.

As they reached the dayroom, Eve noticed an elderly man sitting motionless in a deep leather armchair. She slowed her pace. He looked far too frail to be a physical threat, but she hadn't managed to get a read on him yet.

He was in his seventies, with wild white hair and a face carved deep with lines. He wore the standard institutional scrubs, but he lacked the slouched, defeated posture shared by most of the long-term patients. His gnarled fingers were loosely curled, his gaze locked onto a blank television screen across the room.

"Why wasn't he in group?"

"Old Jake doesn't do group."

"How did he manage that? Think he'd tell me his secret?" Eve kept her tone light, though avoiding another hour of "And how did that make you feel?" was high on her priority list.

"You can ask but he wont respond. The way it was told to me, he's been here years. Came as a patient when Dr. Thorne started up the clinic. Apparently, he was in Thorne's care at another facility before that."

"Oh. Okay. Sad... well, thanks."

"Better head back to your room," Elaine added, nodding down the hall. "Med's round is coming up."

Eve nodded, the door to her room just a few steps away.

"This Dietrichson business."

The voice was a harsh rasp, like unused vocal cords grinding together. The sound sent a cold prickle down Eve's spine. She paused. Old Jake hadn't moved; he was still staring blankly at the dark television screen.

"It's murder," he said. "And murders don't come any neater."

Eve went completely still. Beside her, Elaine let out a soft, dismissive chuckle.

"Don't let him spook you," Elaine whispered. "He does that all the time. Doesn't mean anything by it."

"What? Talk about murder?"

"No, quoting old movies. It's his thing--the only way he communicates. I think that line is from Double Indemnity."

"Never heard of it," Eve admitted.

"Why would you? It was from the nineteen forties, black and white. You kids wouldn't be seen dead watching something like that. My father used to love them though. It was a pretty good one if I remember right. Murder for money."

"Right... yeah, don't know it. Look, I'll probably see you later."

Eve stepped into her room and began pulling the door shut. As the gap narrowed, she caught Jake turning his head away from the TV, looking directly at her.

For a fraction of a second, the cloudy, distant haze vanished from his eyes, leaving them startlingly clear and sharp. He offered her a faint, knowing smile, then raised his hand toward the television, mimicking a remote control clicking through channels.

Eve closed the door, a chill lingering on her skin as an uncharitable thought crossed her mind that the impending drug dispersal was needed by some more than others.

The faint metallic rattle of a supply cart echoed down the hallway. Eve sat up on her mattress, bracing herself.

She had spent the last hour trying to devise a way to avoid taking her pills, but she knew the staff on a psychiatric ward would spot every trick in the book. Refusing medication would immediately flag her as uncooperative, destroying her cover. She was going to have to swallow whatever they gave her and deal with the consequences.

The sound of the cart faded down the corridor, and Eve relaxed against the wall. Perhaps Dr. Washington hadn't written a prescription for her yet, leaving her treatment to evaluation and therapy. Drugs or counselling, it didn't matter, speculation was a waste of her time. She needed to turn her mind back to the reason she'd come here in the first place. The sooner Eve had an answer, the sooner she could put this place in her rear-view mirror.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the cart return until her door unlocked with a heavy click.

The heavy door swung open, and the cart was wheeled into her room by a broad-shouldered male nurse.

He was in his early fifties, built like a powerlifter--the kind of frame designed to effortlessly subdue or lift uncooperative patients. The creases in the dark skin of his face contrasted sharply with the pressed navy-blue hospital scrubs that were stretched across his heavy frame. There was grey flecking at his temples and in the close-cropped beard, along with the creases around his eyes, the only signs of aging in this imposing presence.

Intimidating as his build was, it was his eyes that caught Eve off guard. Dark, intense, and instantly recognizable.

"Jackson?"

"That's right."

It was the same man, the same eyes that had stared through her door earlier in the day. The same eyes that had reminded her that she had a part, unfortunate and awkward as it was, that she had to play.

Eve forced her posture to loosen, leaning back against her pillow.

"Mmmh, nice to see the rest of you," she purred, hoping that some overt flirting would suffice to meet any expectations the nurse might have of her. She was pretty sure a professional like this would have come across any number of embarrassing patient related situations in their time. Eve wasn't concerned about him being made to feel uncomfortable with her 'role'... it was the humiliation she was feeling in playing it that concerned her.

He didn't respond, a good thing, instead turning to close her door behind him. The extra click as he locked it barely penetrating as Eve struggled to avoid her natural persona coming to the fore. Smart mouthing and attitude were not the attributes she could let slip.

Jackson turned back to her, taking up a relaced pose as he leaned against the wall of her room.

"How you finding day one here?"

"Well a fuck load better now you're here," Eve said, forcing a coy smile while internally cringing so hard it physically hurt.

"That a fact? Well, good to be appreciated." He picked up a clipboard from the cart, scanning down the paperwork attached to it. "Eve Sinclair... Eve Sinclair. Let's see... what have we got for you today? Ah... fluoxetine. Patient suffering from hypersexuality."

"Well you know. There's suffering and then there's suffering," Eve responded with a cheeky pout. "But I'm supposed to be a good girl... Doctor's orders."

"That's a good attitude to have," Jackson said, not looking up as he transferred her medication into a small clear plastic cup. "Two people you should always listen to: Doctors and Daddies."

The heavy emphasis he placed on the last word struck Eve like a physical blow. She knew that he'd only have said it if he was aware of her condition, having read her file or had its contents shared with him. The fact that it was complete bullshit didn't matter a damn. He believed it and she was trapped into maintaining the facade.

'Next time I see Maddox,' she thought, 'I'm going to kick his balls into his throat!'

"Yes," she agreed, a touch weakly but Jackson didn't appear to pick up on it.

"I don't think you need this. I think we can skip the drugs don't you? Dr. Washington explained to me that he was planning on doing some exposure and response therapy with you. You know what that means?"

"Nuh-uh," Eve said, tentatively shaking her head.

"That means that instead of removing the triggers that set off your particular issue, you get exposed to them instead. Then you need to work on how you respond to them. Sound good?"

"Sure." This time she managed to control the quaver in her voice. If this was all part of a structured psychological treatment, then perhaps she'd misread Jackson's intentions. Maybe she didn't have anything to be concerned about. The assignment of Jackson, a designated trigger, as her attending nurse was ostensibly intended to help her overcome her supposed condition. It was working, she felt better already.

"Sure... Daddy." Jackson waited for her to respond.

That prompt instantly shattered her brief sense of relief. Her gut instinct had been correct, confirmed by the intense, unsettling look in his eyes.

"Sure Daddy," she intoned.

"Better. Let's make it... Black Daddy. I like the sound of that, don't you?"

"Yes, Black Daddy," Eve answered quickly.

Since leaving home, Eve had seen enough during her time working behind a bar to know how men like him expected women to react. From behind the counter, she had observed the full spectrum of personalities--the aggressive, the meek, and the dominant. She'd been hit on multiple times a night, seeing the spectrum of Philadelphia's male inhabitants from behind the safety of the bar's counter. She had learned how to navigate them to survive the interaction.

"Good girl. Well, I got rounds to finish but how about you show your Black Daddy what you're hiding under that gown, yeah?"

She nodded, staving off a grimace of distaste, turning it instead into what she hoped would pass as a half-smile of hopeless adoration. Slowly, attempting to make her delay look deliberate, Eve began to draw the hem of her blue hospital gown up along her legs, revealing her pale, toned skin inch by inch until the fabric reached her waist, exposing her plain white underwear.

Jackson's patience however seemed finite. "I got work to get back to. Just pull the damn gown off over your head," he said, his tone flat, authoritative.

Without any choice, short of blowing her reason for being her, Eve complied, pulling the ugly gown off as she sat up in the bed. The room temperature seemed to drop as rapidly as the garment did, goosebumps rippling across naked flesh, her nipples hardening as she tossed the gown onto the floor of the room. Fear, not air conditioning, making her body think the room was suddenly colder.

Left now in just her underwear, Eve not bothering with a bra as her youth meant her breasts were high and firm without any need of support, she waited for him to make his next request.

"Oh yeah. Nice. Very, very nice. I can work with that, most definitely," Jackson said, those dark eyes of his raking across her exposed body. He took a half-step forward and his hip jostled the cart, setting its contents to clinking and rattling, Eve's teeth suddenly chattering uncontrollably in fright. She was on edge, full fight or flight mode, neither though was an option.

"Nice ink," Jackson commented. "I'll show you mine later on. Now, take off the underwear."

Her panties joined her gown on the floor, revealing the small, trimmed triangle of her pubes. She knew what was expected of her. Eve preferred to do this next part of her own accord, a small taste of victory by making a personal choice in a situation where she had lost control. It was probably going to be the only sense of satisfaction she could glean from this fucked up situation.

Before Jackson could speak, she began to touch herself.

Eve's hands went to her nipples, both hard now from her body's response to the worm of disquieting fear in her stomach. They'd never been overly sensitive but as she laid hands on them, pinching and rubbing, Eve felt small spasms move across her chest and down into the pit of her belly. It couldn't be pleasure, it had to be a result of disgust and dread, that's how she chose to see it. The shivering sensation and the beating of her heart couldn't be explained in any other way.

"Lower. Spread those lips for me."

Eve's eyes flicked towards Jackson. He hadn't moved any closer and yet he seemed to be looming over her. A trick of the light and her agitated mind... and the fact that he was such a big, menacing looking fucker of course.

"Yes, Black Daddy," she answered... another lurching sensation in her stomach. Christ, what if she threw up?

Her fingers moved to her crotch, her thumb playing across her clit before her fingers drew aside and parted her pussy's lips, a single finger pressing inside.

Motherfucker! She was actually wet!

Eve bit her lip to avoid swearing out loud. The disgust she'd reserved entirely for Jackson now split, a decent proportion of it set aside for herself. She'd gotten herself off in front of boyfriends before but never had her body reacted as quickly as she was responding to this big bastard leering at her.

Eve closed her eyes, working her finger in and out of herself at a slow steady pace. Frustrated at the nonconformity of her own biology.

"Look at me Baby Girl, keep lookin' right at me."

Eve kept her eyes closed for a second longer. Not in defiance, just so she could take control of her own emotions. Last thing she needed after having gone this far was to spoil it all by shooting daggers with her eyes in his direction. Her temper reined in; she opened her eyes and stared at his face.

He wasn't bad looking she conceded to herself. Not her type for sure but not bad looking. She preferred pretty guys, her own age and those she had gone out with more than once had tended to share her interests, mainly bikes and tattoo's. Old and black weren't items on her grocery list.

There was something to be said for his intensity though, married as it was to a brutish demeanour and visage with its heavy brow. It was in complete contrast to his chosen role as a caregiver and a member of the medical community.

The finger inside her didn't seem to be enough, the firm embrace from the walls of her pussy accenting the lack of penetrative clout a single digit provided. She slipped a second finger inside, the effect instantaneous and she was forced to bite back a sigh of contentment. His knowledge of her pleasure registered in his eyes despite her effort to conceal it, those dark orbs missing nothing as they met her green ones.

Her breasts called to her, a hollow feeling that simply begged for attention. Eve set her other hand to the task, moving onto one of her pert breasts and squeezing it while the pace of her fingers moving inside her picked up.

A sensation, familiar and welcome, began to make its presence felt. Growing slowly, a thin sapling of ecstasy began to sprout in her stomach. She couldn't pass off the sensations and longer as a product of fear or loathing as much as she wished she could. Eve was moving steadily closer towards climax and the face of this black guy was front and center of it all.

She sped up her touch, her body reacting independently of her conscious intent. An involuntary sigh slipped past her lips as the physical tension mounted, a development that Jackson clearly noted.

"Getting close?"

"Y-yes," she stuttered.

Staring into his face, hands playing with her oh too sensitive core, her athletic form shifting atop her bed, Eve didn't miss the tightening of the skin around his eyes as he narrowed his gaze in annoyance.

"Yes, Black Daddy," she said hurriedly.

"Good. Now stop."

"Wh-what? No, no."

He moved forward, quick on his feet despite his bulk and his hands seized her wrists with an iron grip. He didn't pull her touch free of her body, just stilling all movement as he grasped her firmly.

"Golden rule: Black Daddy knows best. So, when I say stop, you..."

"Stop," Eve said with a petulant expression that had nothing to do with her 'role'.

His fingers slowly released their hold on her wrists, the small throb of discomfort that accompanied it a testament to the strength of the man's hands. Eve lifted both of her hands free of her body, the two fingers she'd worked deep inside re-emerging, wet to the third knuckle on her hand. She concentrated, looking to step away mentally from the now ceased physical contact.

"Better," Jackson said. "I've got to get back to work. I'll be keeping an eye on you. You don't finish yourself off without me being here. Understood?"

"Yes... yes Black Daddy." The desire to cum was a torment she hadn't anticipated and for a moment Eve was tempted to ask when he'd be back so she could finish what she'd started. Her pride reasserted itself before she could.

Eve had thought she'd be struggling against an overpowering urge to spew into her toilet or craving a cleansing shower after this encounter. That she'd be burning with the need to orgasm had not entered her thoughts at all.

Jackson gave her a long, evaluating look before turning back to his cart. While his back was turned, Eve swung her legs off the bed and hastily pulled her gown back on before the door could open to the hallway.

With a cheerful whistle, the burly black man exited and Eve wandered to her doorway, staring at his retreating back. If she had access to the internet and had looked up Exposure Response Therapy, she doubted it would entail anything like what had just happened.

As Jackson disappeared around the corner, Eve looked into the Day room ato find old Jake still in his chair, but once more looking straight at her.

"Help you?" Eve was irritated but at herself and instantly regretted snapping at the harmless old guy.

"I killed him for money and a woman. I didn't get the money, and I didn't get the woman," Jake spoke.

"Yeah... that's not creepy at all," Eve muttered.

"Smart, tricky, almost perfect. But... I think Papa has it all figured out. Figured out and wrapped in tissue paper with... pink ribbons on it."

"Yeah, okay Papa. That's clearly too much TV you've been watching. You need to lay off that weird ass movie, maybe read a book instead."

Annoyed at men in general and herself in particular, Eve retreated back into her room before the old guy could spout any more nonsense in her direction. As soon as she closed the door however the smell hit her.

Her room smelt of... her. Her body's excitement. She didn't need reminding of what had just happened. No way. There was no chance she was going to be able to think about Dian, not right now.

She quickly left the room, leaving the door open to air it out. She passed Jake, lost in his own mind again, and crossed the room to the long window at the far side. The view was nothing to write home about but it would do as a distraction while she struggled with what she'd just done to maintain her cover.

Sometime later, following a group therapy session that had devolved into mandatory artwork, Eve was informed she was needed in Dr. Washington's office for a one-on-one appointment.

She wiped her hands on a rag, trying to scrub away the paint droplets staining her skin, and cast a critical eye over her canvas. She had started with the intention of painting a dog, then pivoted to a flower the moment her brush touched the fabric--anything bland, neutral, and uninteresting.

Somehow, though, she had painted a small figure in a faded blue dress--or perhaps a hospital gown. The figure lay prone on a floor, swallowed by the elongated shadow of a second silhouette standing in an open doorway.

'What the actual fuck', Eve thought, staring at the canvas. It was the exact opposite of what she needed. A painting like that was guaranteed to trigger a barrage of questions about her mental state.

Annoyed with herself and unable to pinpoint what had driven the impulse, she tossed the rag aside and followed the nurse assigned to escort her down the hall.

Dr. Washington was seated in an armchair in the center of his office when Eve was ushered inside. He was engrossed in a sheaf of paperwork, barely acknowledging her arrival beyond an offhand gesture toward the chair opposite him.

Eve sat and waited.

And waited.

Bored after a minute and irritated after two, she fought the urge to break the silence. Instead, she used the time to scan the office. From her vantage point, she could clearly see the framed photos on his desk. She hadn't misremembered the placement--he had deliberate angled them outward. Among them was Dian's face. The young Black woman smiled brightly from the frame, a stark mockery of Eve's failure so far to uncover the truth behind her disappearance.

"Is that your daughter?" Eve asked, breaking the quiet.

"Stepdaughter," he replied without looking up, balancing the papers on his knee, one leg crossed casually over the other.

"Pretty," Eve said, adopting a tone of idle small talk. "Looks about my age."

"A fact not lost on me," Dr. Washington said. He scribbled a signature at the bottom of a page and turned to the next.

Eve looked to her left, seeing another framed picture there, this one bigger than the others on the desk. In it, Dr. Washington was again on a boat somewhere in the ocean, fishing rod in hand.

"Nice boat."

"You know boats?"

"I know expensive."

That got her a wry laugh, and he finally looked up from his paperwork, following her gaze to the photo.

"Well, I am not too proud to admit I've done well for myself."

Eve hadn't been lying when she said she knew expensive. She was well aware how much a boat like that would run to. Far out of the reach of someone like Dr. Washington. It seemed he hadn't been reluctant to spend his late wife's money. Money that Dian's father had made.

"Enough about me. We're here to talk about you. Tell me, since the change in wards, how are you feeling now?"

Eve groaned internally, she really was beginning to loath that question.

"Okay I guess. Less scared than before."

"Good. Less tense?"

"About the same," Eve replied. A lie. The knot in her stomach was still there from her encounter with Jackson; she was a lot more tense.

"About the same... I see." He dropped his foot to the ground, shifting forward slightly in his chair. "Well, we need to discuss how I see your treatment going forward over the time you'll be with us."

"Sure, let's do that."

With the same nonchalant manner he'd addressed her interest in the photo of his boat, Dr. Washington unbuttoned the front of his expensive suit pants, removed his dick and let it hang out before settling back into his chair.

She froze.

Was this a test? How was he expecting her to respond?

"Now I am certain Dr. Thorne gave you his 'I like things to be open and even between us' speech when you arrived. Yes?"

"Uh... yes."

"Good, well in the spirit of that, let me tell you where I am coming from." He had turned his gaze back to the sheets of paper he'd kept balanced on his knee, but at the lack of response from Eve he looked up.

"Something wrong?"

"I... uh... no?"

"Good. Well let's not waste any time. We only have the hour. Now let me see... where was I?" He made a show of shuffling through the papers.

The smooth dark shaft hung limply over the edge of the chair, the weight of its length pulling it straight down as if it were straining to reach the floor. It was as big a dick as any Eve had encounter, online or in real life, and the fact that it was still soft meant it probably had some stretch left in it.

'Let's not waste any time'

She'd been unsure if exposing himself had been some sort of psychological test, a response to her earlier flirting, a way to balance the scales between them. But that phrase left her in no doubt as to what he expected to happen. Once again cursing Maddox's sense of humour and her own lapse in judgement for trusting him to play it straight, Eve found herself wetting her lips nervously. The soft rustle of papers was the only sound in the office as he waited on her next move.

She slid off her chair and onto the floor, the plush carpet soft against her bare knee's as she shuffled closer. Close enough, her shoulders in line with his splayed knees, Eve reached forward and settled her small hand around the shaft of the cock. The soft flesh was warm in her grip and her touch alone was enough to send a sliver of steel into the black length. His cock stiffened slightly, tugging at her grip as blood began to pump into it, the impressive length beginning to rise.

Eve began to stroke it, feeling it hardening more rapidly as she did so, the feeling of warmth increasing with the friction of her palm against his skin.

'Too dry,' she thought, followed by, 'I can't believe I'm going to do this.'

She stretched her mouth open, taking the half hard cock in past her lips. She let her tongue trace around the tip in a slow, lazy, circling motion before bobbing her head onto the meaty shaft.

Eve breathed deeply through her nose, working the top third of the stiff cock with her mouth, one hand stroking the remainder of the man's length while her other hand gripped his thigh to keep her balance as she went at him.

"Ah yes, open and even communication," Dr. Washington began speaking again. From the corner of her eye, Eve saw him toss the paperwork onto the floor beside his chair, whatever was coming next was apparently off script.

"Given your clumsy attempt at seduction, I was left in little doubt as to the type of person I was dealing with. Another time, another patient and I would have been insulted by your approach and firmer in my rebuttal. However, I believe that would have been a disservice to you. I think your combative nature that you've attempted to play down but which is obvious from your manner, along with your energetic attempt to access Ward B means that you require a certain approach to your therapy. Now Dr. Thorne and the first psychiatrist you attended saw the removal of triggers and some coping training would be the ideal route to you gaining a measure of control over your selective hypersexuality. Before meeting with you, I would have been inclined to agree with them."

Eve felt his hands come to rest on her head, fingers running through her short dark hair. He was stroking her head like he was petting a dog, even interjecting some soothing sounds and a 'good girl' as he paused in his little speech to acknowledge her efforts.

If she had hackles, they'd have been up at this treatment.

As it was, if his cock hadn't been quite so thick, stretching her jaws wide, and if she hadn't needed to remain on his good side, Eve might have been tempted to bite down to teach him a lesson. But it was a thick, hard cock and she did need to keep her temper, so instead Eve just moaned around the flesh in her mouth, refusing to think about the growing dampness between her legs.

"Given my own personal experience with rebellious young women of a similar age to yourself, knowing how they are incapable of taking advice or understand what is best for them, I feel a more radical approach is needed for your therapy."

'Personal experience? Did he mean Dian? Had she refused to listen to her Stepfather's instructions? Was this linked to her desire to sell up and move away?' Eve wanted to follow that train of thought to see where it might lead but his cock required her full attention and she was forced to prioritise, shifting those questions to the back of her mind, concentrating fully on the hard black cock in her mouth.

"Your compulsions were described as ego-dystonic... that means running opposite to your core values and self-image. I think over the next month we will work on shifting those values and belief so that they fall more in line with your... darker compulsions."

"Shlurp-Sloch-Smooch-Snuuck," Eve worked her mouth and tongue over as much of his cock as she could swallow without choking. The nasty wet noises and the meat-muffled moans from her throat seemed loud in her ears but she knew a man like him wouldn't have set this up if there was any risk to someone overhearing.

He was such a conceited asshole. Fine, a conceited asshole with an amazing dick but that wasn't the point. Even if she was wrong, and she had no proof he'd had any part in Dian's fate, the fact that he was taking advantage of a patient like this meant he was rotten to the core. A part of her wondered if he'd always been this way? Had he married Dian's mother for the money or had the money and its corrupting influence turned him into what he was now?

It didn't really matter. The starting point and journey were immaterial. It was the destination he'd reached and what he'd done once there that mattered to Eve.

The damp spot between her legs was becoming as distracting as the rock-hard cock between her lips. She burned with the need to touch herself but she held off. Instead, she gripped his leg all the tighter, redoubling her efforts to get him to the finish line as quickly as possible.

Sinking to her knees and sucking on his cock... that had been a mortifying choice.

Moaning like a sick whore while she sucked on him had been ten times worse.

If she started fingering herself in front of him... no... she had limits she'd sink to and that was a step too far. She wasn't going to give him that satisfaction no matter how good it might feel to slip a finger ins-....

'Stop that!' she warned herself, shaking her head, looking like a terrier chewing on a bone as she did so, his dick splitting her lips obscenely.

"Yes, I believe some positive reinforcement, perhaps a little self-control and you can re-enter your life in a few weeks time more content in the knowledge that you're simply a little white slut."

'In a few weeks time I'm gonna find that boat of your's and drill a fucking hole in its side,' Eve threatened in her head. Her pussy spasmed at the mention of 'drilling' and she moaned gutturally.

"That's it... that's a good little slut," he crooned, working fingers through her hair, damp now as she perspired from her valiant efforts.

Her jaw was aching now and part of her wanted to spit his cock free before spitting right into his gloating smug face. But that was only a small part of her. The part currently in charge... not that Eve fancied herself to be in charge of anything happening in that room... it just ached for him to finish in her mouth. He'd finish and she could leave, think on what she'd learned, his attraction to wealth, his issues towards young women offering him any form of defiance or disrespect.

He'd finish and she could taste his cum.

That irreverent thought proved too much for what remained of her self-control, her hand leaving his leg to spear between her own legs like a hawk diving out of a clear blue sky to strike its prey. The moistened panties were pulled aside in a frantic clawing motion and she sank two fingers into her drooling pussy, gasping in lust maddened contentment as she did so.

Eve had barely begun to tear at her own pink flesh when one of his hands gripped the back of her head. Dr. Washington half rising from the chair in a hunched, stooped posture. Pinning her head in place, a second hand gripping her sweat dampened hair, he began thrusting his cock in and out of the wet, sucking hole that her mouth had become. Eve's tongue became a pink welcoming mat, the underside of his big black cock sliding across it as he fucked her mouth with a desperate energy.

"Gak-Goggh-Glurgh," Eve spluttered as he suddenly began to squirt sperm into her mouth, most of it splattering in a sticky torrent against the back of her throat.

"Fuck... cunt... slut," he grunted as the thrusts of his hips dissolved into shaking spasms, the sawing motion of his shaft over her lips and tongue falling into a series of shuddering throbs. The obscenity rich accompaniment to his ejaculation struck her as out of character for the well-heeled, urbane persona he liked to project.

He might have believed he'd picked her character and compulsion apart in a forensic manner, but Eve found some comfort as she gulped down his warm cum that she'd learned a lot about him as well.

He drew his still hard cock out of her mouth, Eve a bit disturbed to realise she was still suckling on it right up to the point he pulled it free, He stuffed it awkwardly into his pants before tossing a small box of pocket tissues onto the floor in front of her. These were normally on hand to soak up an overwrought and emotional patient's tears, now they were to be put to use daubing her face clean of spit and semen.

"Clean yourself up, I'm sorry to say that's the end of our session today."

Reluctantly Eve pulled her fingers out of her pussy. For the second time today she'd come close to her own climax only to be denied. Glancing at the overpriced wristwatch he wore, she realised the entire hour-long session had in fact run its course. True, there had been lost time at the beginning while he'd set the tone for the encounter and put her in her place as he no doubt thought of it, but he'd still lasted the best part of forty minutes before cumming in her mouth.

'Time flies... but did what just happen count as fun?' Eve chose not to chase that thought any further for fear of what answer she might arrive at.

It seemed Dian's Stepfather was full of surprises. His size and stamina had left her wrong footed but now she had a measure of him, Eve just needed to figure out what else he was hiding from the world.

Chapter Five:

The key turned in the lock of her door, a double-click that vibrated through the night air in her room, straight into Eve's pounding skull and causing her to snap upright in her bed.

She'd been on edge since returning from her therapy session with Dr. Washington. Questions about his supposedly noble intentions toward his stepdaughter plagued her mind, the actions he'd prompted in his office had left her nerve-endings raw and her physical state was as hyped as her mental one.

For hours, she had fixated on the final threads of Dian's life, piecing together vague memories of Dian's stepfather from when they were childhood friends alongside the cryptic weekly letters she had received. It was a melting pot of clues, and she felt tantalizingly close to an answer. But without proper training, or perhaps the right instincts, 'close' was as far as she could get.

The ward's distractions hadn't helped her process. Dinner had been as depressing as the mornings group therapy. Long silences as patients worked methodically but joylessly through their meals, with the only interjections of conversation the occasional angry whisper and half choked sob. All in all, it put paid to Eve's appetite, she only finished the meal so as to not draw the watching nurse's attention. Even after retreating to her room, the noise persisted, patients arguing over the TV in the day room, followed by the squeak of rubber soles on polished floorboards as curfew kicked in and staff conducted routine bed checks.

Eve hadn't thought she'd manage to sleep at all, only laying her head down on her pillow in the hope that closing her eyes she might still her brain enough to allow her to focus and order her thoughts. Before she knew it, her eyelids had settled into a weary locked position and she found her ability to think blurring as slumber approached.

Until someone unlocked her door...

She knew this wasn't a standard bed check, these were done via the inspection slots, and besides the handle on her door wasn't simply turning. It was turning carefully, by someone wishing to minimize any sound being made.

The door swung open, letting in a draft from the dimly lit corridor. The breeze carried a heavy, warm scent: cheap sandalwood and cardamom, the kind of old-fashioned aftershave worn by an older man.

Framed against the faint corridor light, her visitor was nothing more than a dark, bulky silhouette. Still, she didn't need a clear view to know who it was.

"Jackson?" she whispered, as softly as she could.

He hissed a quiet shh, stepping silently into the room and approaching her bed.

"C'mon. Follow me," he murmured.

Eve nodded though she doubted he could tell, and swung her legs over the bed before stepping into her slippers. Moving as slowly as he, Eve followed Jackson out into the corridor.

She watched as he carefully locked her door behind them, clutching his bunch of keys tightly to eliminate any jingling sound that might betray them. He'd apparently finished his shift, his uniform replaced by a dark jacket, grey shirt and dark pants. She couldn't place the aftershave he was wearing but cheap and old fashioned were worthy adjectives to label it with.

Room locked up, he crooked a finger in a 'follow me' gesture before heading down the corridor. When they'd reached the approximate point where the smoking area had been located in the other ward, Jackson halted. The door before them was different to the one she expected, more secure looking for a start. A tinny jingling as Jackson selected another key from the bunch her carried and the door opened, Eve finding his hand in the small of her back as he propelled her forward.

Eve hadn't been entirely sure what Jackson had intended when he'd collected her from her room. Given the quiet of the ward at night, she'd suspected he was merely hoping for some muted heavy petting in a dark corner of a corridor. A little part of her almost welcomed that idea. Accomplishing a climax might be the very thing she needed to unburden her thoughts of all the physical distractions her body kept throwing at her. Little urges and random, needful twinges from her intimate parts had served to be as disruptive to her thoughts as any screaming patient.

From her first glance through the doorway, she knew Jackson was after more than a fumbling kiss and embrace from her.

Smooth, cream-coloured padding covered every inch of the walls and floor, deep, quilted diamonds stitched patterns that muffled her soft footsteps as she moved inside, his hand still pressing into her back. There were no sharp edges to be found in here, even the corners rounded out with padding. The light in the room came from a single recessed fixture high on the ceiling, the heavy duty looking clear plastic that covered it was probably shatterproof.

The door closed behind them, Eve turning her head to catch Jackson pinning a sheet of paper over the small window set in the door, eliminating any view of the rooms interior from the corridor outside.

"We use this place for anyone... acting out," Jackson explained. "When it's not in use, nobody checks in on it. Remote, soundproof and one hundred percent discreet... ain't nobody gonna disturb us here."

Against the far wall sat a narrow bed, built low against the cushioned floor, its frame was completely wrapped in thick, seamless rubber. A vinyl covered mattress lay on it, but there were no sheets, blanket or pillow. Opposite the bed, in the centre of the floor was a low stool. It was made of a single moulded piece of dense, soft foam.

The room had been designed to eliminate every edge, every object... every possibility of harm. It couldn't account for the man who had brought her here though.

"Mmmh, and I thought you had to get out of here after your shift finished Black Daddy," Eve said, stalling and hoping to plant a seed of worry in Jackson's head.

"Nope, well maybe if Doc Thorne was here... me and Doc Washington, we gots an agreement you might say."

"What about your family? They won't be missing you Black Daddy?"

He snorted. Contemptuous. Bitter.

"Only time that blood sucking bitch misses me is when she's lookin' to buy another damn thing off the damn internet. Nah, she'll just think I hit a bar on the way home." He dragged a calloused finger down the curve of Eve's jawline. "Bitch might give me a hard time when I get back but you worth it."

'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' Eve swore silently. She couldn't see an obvious out for herself and about all she could do before things escalated was to make peace with herself, accept this price as something that needed to be paid so she could ultimately get justice for her friend.

"Now, we got time but I don't want to waste a minute of it, so get your fine ass naked and do a little twirl for your Black Daddy."

Eve pulled the gown over her head. At least this allowed her to relax from the sycophantic expression she'd adopted, meaning that for a couple of heartbeats while her head was covered by the gown, she could let the anger and disgust she actually felt shine through. As soon as she'd stripped off the gown however, the breezy, happy, horny look was back on her face.

"Good girl. Panties as well."

She knew his type now. Eve had seen his sort raising a beer in the bar she worked in plenty of times. Oh, full of piss and bile when they had a beer in their hand and an audience to gripe to, but when they were back home it was a different story. They felt they couldn't fly, couldn't strut with their partner working to be a ball and chain on their lives. So, when they could, they acted out. Big time. Full on dominant, aggressive, controlling. Thinking they were all that, and wanting to prove it.

From behind the comfort of her bar counter, it would have been funny. Naked now and locked in a role she had to play and a room she couldn't leave, Eve wasn't even slightly amused by Jackson.

"Yeah... look at you. All tight... white... burnin' for your Black Daddy to feed you some dick. That's it, turn around slow... lemme look at that little bubble butt of yours... oh you a sweet piece of fuckmeat and no mistake."

Eve finished her slow twirl as Jackson began to remove his own clothing. The shirl peeled off to reveal heavy slabs of muscle on his upper body. He wasn't gym ripped, but he was powerfully built. His natural God given strength built on over years working to handle and control patients who would happily hurt him if he gave them an inch.

He had a dark vine of thorns running up his left arm, the tattoo starting at his elbow and stretching onto his chest to curl over his left breast.

"You like it? Every one of them stands for a bitch I fucked," he said, pointing to individual thorns on the vine. "I remember them all."

He paused, pointing to two specific thorns near his collarbone. "Those two were white girls just like you."

Caught off guard by her physical reaction to his body, she'd found herself staring hungrily at his powerful arms and chest, Eve realised she'd been quiet too long, not fulfilling her role as a hypersexual black cock addict.

"Where you going to put me then Black Daddy?"

He smiled at her question, grabbing first at his crotch and then tapping an empty stretch of vine near his heart.

"Put you on my dick first, ink you on to my chest after," he answered. Then his pants were undone and he was letting them fall to the floor.

The lack of underwear didn't really surprise her. It fit with the cheap aftershave and the swaggering confidence.

The vicious looking club of black cock jutting out, hard, angry looking and every bit as big as Dr. Washington's from earlier today, that had her backing off a half step.

He took two steps forward, still wearing his boots though the rest of his body was now as naked as her own, his big hand settling round Eve's throat in a loose but firm grip. Enough pressure to demonstrate complete control, not so much to damage what he saw as his.

Jackson didn't speak, his hand remaining in place as the intensity of his stare now drove Eve to her knees before him.

'Just to get it over and done with,' a honeyed lie she told herself to make what would happen next taste a little better.

With his free hand, Jackson pushed his cock between her pursed lips, Eve opening her mouth to accept it, her head rolling slightly as she let the thick hardness pivot in her mouth. He released her throat and she took a grip on the base of his shaft, shovelling cock into her mouth like a child gorging itself on candy.

"That's right, get that dick. Yeah, you don't need tellin' do you? Nah, you know what you want." Eve closed her eyes as she sucked energetically on his cock. She might have been able to avoid looking at him but she couldn't block his voice out that way.

"I saw your file... read it through a couple of times. You like yourself a Black Daddy. Hell, way I read it, you NEED yourself a Black Daddy. Aint that right?"

"Mmmph." He took her chock-full-of-cock reply as agreement.

"Ready to please and puttin' yourself at all sorts of risk. Well tonight I'm gonna fuck you bare and there is no chance in hell I'm gonna pull out till I nut in that sweet Baby Girl cunt of yours."

"Mmmmph-uuummph." If she hadn't been inhaling cock like a demon, he might have translated that as 'fuck off' but again, her appetite for dick fouled up her diction.

"Now, did you get yourself off after I told you not to?" He pulled her mouth off his cock using the hair on the back of her head as a necessary lever.

"Nu-uh," she gasped, eyes watering as she strained against his grip to take his dick in her mouth again.

He released her and she was choking herself on his length once again.

'It's all for show, just a game, playing a game because I got no choice, this isn't me, this isn't me... this isn't me,' Eve coached herself silently.

She was still running affirmations through her head a minute later, phrases to keep herself grounded, focused.

'Beat the shit out of Maddox... this isn't me... doing this for my friend... this isn't me... not a slut... this isn't me.'

Her train of thought was interrupted by Jackson pulling her too her feet, only for him to manhandle her onto the stool on all fours. Her knees tottered on the lip of the foam block, her hands gripping the far side of it, ass raised up while the hulking figure of Jackson stood behind her.

"Look at you, dripping wet."

'This isn't me,' she thought, trying to kick the affirmations back into gear. The fact that the way her body shivered when his finger dipped into her wetness made it hard to concentrate though.

"Dripping... wet... for... my... cock." He spoke slowly as he got into a crouching pose behind her, knees bending slightly as he lowered his big frame to line up with Eve's petite body balancing on the foam pedestal.

His cock began to slide inside.

'This... this... this... is me.' The shivering became a shuddering as Eve felt his cock pressing against the walls of her pussy. She was already close to cumming and he'd just begun entering her, the fucking hadn't even begun. Her first black cock and she was trying to sell him on the idea she was a seasoned hand at slutting for black guys. The fact though that she was supposed to be an addict of sorts for this kind of man, which might add feasibility to her startled reactions to his size.

"Jesus," she whimpered as he pressed more of his body into hers. The tightness of the fit meant that her body was straying forward on the padded stool, so much so that Jackson had to grip her hips and haul her back.

"Daddy's home," he said with a dry chuckle.

She felt his big cock sinking deep. There wasn't an iota of softness about it, the flesh as unyielding as some sort of sex toy and proportion accordingly. Whatever complaint's his wife might have about the man, surely they couldn't include the bedroom.

He seemed to bottom out, Eve feeling as stuffed as the Thanksgiving turkey her family feasted on each year. She could only hope her fate was cheerier than the turkey's.

Jackson began to fuck her with long, deep reaching strokes that had Eve's fingers and toes curling with pleasure. It wasn't often she found herself in two minds about something, if anything it was her singlemindedness that had gotten her into this fix by setting her on this quest for justice. Now however a part of her wanted Jackson to take his pleasure quickly and be done with it. Another part of her wanted him to take his time.

"Jesus... Jesus I'm about to cum." A mix of awe and disbelief as she felt her innards crackling with an orgasm too long suppressed.

"Mmmh, yeah, this is what you've been missing. This is what you've been wanting," Jackson said, hips pressing forward now with greater urgency.

"Uhhh, uh, Jesus," Eve grunted at this taste of his power.

"Say it, say you been missing having a Black Daddy fuck you," Jackson grunted. He paused mid-stroke, waiting for her response.

"Fuck. Yes, okay, I've missed this, missed a Black Daddy fucking me," Eve answered, just managing to keep up the façade and not tell him to stop being an asshole about it and just get her off. She wasn't the pathetic creature he imagined her to be, helpless in the grip of her compulsion. But... she had a healthy sex drive, was young and spirited and he was a goddamn good fuck despite everything else.

"That's a good girl," Jackson said, he brought a hand down sharply in a slap on her right butt cheek. The crack of flesh, his hand striking her soft flesh with a viciousness that went beyond sex play, would have been enough to bring tears to her eyes. The sting of the blow, the bloom of pain and heat that followed... that did set her eyes to watering. Her cry of suffering however was swallowed whole by her gasping shriek of sexual release as her orgasm took that moment to explode, wave after crashing wave of raw pleasure cleaving through her.

"Fuuuuuccccckkk," Eve screamed, the padded walls of the room doing their work, dampening and absorbing her wail.

Her head pressed down onto the stool, right between her clenched hands as the explosive echoes of the orgasm faded slowly. He hadn't stopped fucking her throughout her climax and the young woman discovered that she'd started pressing back on his thrusts out of some kind of base instinct.

"Damn but you are one hot piece of ass."

Eve didn't respond, the compliment not one she was pleased to have earned. She'd cum, and damn but she'd needed to, now though she needed him to finish so he'd leave her alone.

Jackson reached forward and down, taking a hold of her throat and lifting her head up by it. He wasn't quite choking her but the grip was tight and the slight flexing of his fingers as they moved to secure his hold had a disquieting feel. Something about the way her breath caught, the slight wheeze as she exhaled from a deep thrust of his cock seemed to excite him. Eve could genuinely sense a shifting, swelling of his cock in response, the tight squeeze of her pussy around his big black cock leaving her able to perceive everything, down to the throb of blood pumping through each and every inch of it.

He definitely had a taste for power and dominance and maybe something darker as well. Eve could only hope her short stay here would mean she'd be done and gone before ever having to understand how dark.

"Ah! Ahhh! Jesus fuck... ah! Cu... fucking cumming again Daddy," Eve croaked through a throat bound with his big hand as securely as if she was collared by living flesh. The 'Daddy' part had been automatic. If she hadn't found herself cumming her brains out on his cock, it might have concerned her how readily she'd dropped into that automatic habit.

She was still mid climax as he pulled out of her, blind to the view of him pressing a fist into the small of his back.

The big black man stood a little straighter, rolling shoulders that had stiffened from the awkward posture of crouching over her petite body balanced on the stool. With a contemptuous swipe of his hand, Jackson toppled Eve's trembling form off the padded perch. She landed on the padded floor of the room, only her pride hurt by the fall and she hadn't much of that right now to be injured.

Eve had landed and rolled, finishing up face down on the floor, her left arm stretched out before her, the line of inked swirls and shapes vibrant against the paleness of her flesh and the cream-coloured room.

There was an irritated grunt behind her as Jackson dropped to his knees behind her.

He didn't say anything, merely giving her another slap on her ass. This one didn't have anything like the same viciousness as the earlier one that had left a red raw handprint on her ass cheek. It didn't need to be, the memory of the first blow was enough to spur Eve into prompt action. She raised her ass slightly, a piteous whimper birthed from her lips on the back of his big dick pressing into her young white pussy once more.

He was fucking her hard seconds later and Eve's whimpers changed into little cries of delight each time he drove deep inside her until the speed of his thrusts made the sounds from her mouth become one long drawn-out squeal.

A third climax broke inside her and Eve's squealing was cut off as she drew in a long shuddering breath.

"JESUS! Yes! Fuck me, fuck me hard!"

Jackson grabbed the back of her neck, slamming her pretty face into the padded floor repeatedly as he shook her upper body like a rag doll. He never stopped fucking her as he did this though his thrusts became slower, more ragged in their tempo.

"You don't tell me what to do. You ask, you beg, you don't ever tell me. And you don't ever forget to call me Daddy or Black Daddy. DO YOU GET ME?"

"Uhhh, s-sorry Daddy... uhhh, sorry... you just... I just came so hard Daddy," Eve gasped. She hadn't been hurt, though she might end up with a bruise in the shape of a fingerprint on the side of her neck come morning. It had been the suddenness of his reaction, the anger and contempt in his words and action, which had left her shaken. She suddenly wondered, if things had been reversed, could Dian have done something like this for Eve? It wasn't a serious question but Eve knew that Dian wouldn't have had the mental fortitude to go through this and come out the other side unchanged. Eve's body might have been enthralled to the deep dicking but she wasn't going to lose sight of her goal even with this unexpected turn of events.

The steady pounding resumed, the beast placated, the pleasure returning.

"Uh... uh... uh... Daddy." This was Eve's soundtrack for the next while. She could only thank God that the contractors who had built this room hadn't shirked on the soundproofing. Without it, she had little doubt that her moans and cries would have woken everyone up... including the patients sleeping in the other ward!

"Such a good Baby Girl, learning so quickly," Jackson said.

She was pressed against one of the padded walls, finding it was as soft as the floor had been, her face and tits sinking into the quilted surface. As soon as Jackson had hauled her too her feet and positioned her there, Eve had moved her feet apart in anticipation, earning herself the praise from Jackson.

He turned her around, running his hands over her tits, groping them roughly before once more taking her by the throat, pinning her with her back now against the wall and leaning in close to savagely kiss her.

Eve didn't exactly melt against the heat of his kiss, The fucking... in a way her body and mind being at odds somewhat with each other kind of made it easier for her to detach herself emotionally from what she was having to do. The kiss... his tongue exploring her mouth, the smell of that cheap aftershave in her nostrils, his black eyes as unnerving as ever as they looked into her open green eyes. There was an intimacy to that which she found less easy to distance herself from.

Then he slipped a finger into her pussy, the effect of it curling and probing against the sensitive clusters of nerves inside there, it made her make a mewling sound of helpless delight, her tongue inspired to take up the fight against his.

Mouths still locked together, tongues still waging their war, Eve found herself being lifted off of her feet. His big hands made little of the weight of her slender body, Eve's legs wrapping around his waist as he supported her. The wall was a squidgy presence behind her, the sinking feeling as it embraced her body an echo of the misgivings of her mind with her course of action.

Her legs spasmed and then tightened around him as he shoved in his cock by simply letting her fall back onto it. Eve's fingers clutched onto his muscled arms, one hand gripping the vine he'd had inked into his flesh, a representation of the women he'd fucked. She tried to count the dark thorn's, each one a pussy pounded by this big dicked black man, but she lost focus before she reached seventeen, courtesy of yet another climax.

Eve had never cum as hard or as often... hell she'd never been fucked for this long a time, and she wondered if her twenty-one-year-old body would quit before the more than twice her age Jackson's.

"Getting close Baby Girl," Jackson muttered through clenched teeth.

'Thank Christ,' Eve thought, almost despairing he'd finish.

"Uh, uh," is what she chose to say instead.

"Remember what I said, I'm not pulling out."

Eve hadn't remembered that, the multiple orgasms had kind of knocked that little factoid out of her head.

"Do you want to get me pregnant Black Daddy?"

In her head, this had been meant to sound cautionary, an attempt to ward him off this course of action.

Somehow, when she said it amidst squeaks and panting, her face aglow and damp with perspiration, it had come across as an invitation to knock her up.

"Damn but Doc Washington had you read right... genuine black cock addict baby girl. Urrrghhh... don't you worry, you'll get all you need. You want seeding and breeding, then Black Daddy will make it happen."

Her pussy clamped down on his cock at this, gripping it in the same way he'd grabbed her throat, as if ready to strangle it. Getting put in the family way by anyone... a domineering and possibly sadistic definitely not top of her list... was a terrifying idea to Eve. Only apparently her pussy hadn't gotten that particular message.

"Cumming, fuck... yes... take my nut Baby Girl... take it all."

"C-Cumming... uh, uh, yes... uhhhh, Black Daddy... so good... uh, so good."

Her pussy seemed to act like a mouth clamped onto a straw, seeking to draw Jackson's load out, to empty his nut sack, all the better to maximise the chance of pregnancy.

This had been one of Eve's weirdest fucks. Made so more by her own confusions than Jackson's behaviour. At least the older black man was predictable in his attitudes.

"How you feeling?"

Eve was sitting cross legged in a corner of the padded room. She was trying to ignore the small ooze of cum escaping her pussy. Irrationally, she wondered how or if Jackson would clean up afterwards, it wouldn't be easy getting semen out of the rooms padded floor. There was no logical reason why that should have been a more pressing concern over 'Am I going to end up pregnant?' but nothing that had happened to her since deciding to sneak into this place had been logical.

"I'm so much better now Daddy... I needed that so bad," Eve answered. "Sorry you need to get back to your wife, but you will be working again soon?"

"Working tomorrow and don't worry, I'm not going anywhere yet. That fat bitch can sit and wait. I aint done with you, not even close."

Much later, it was Jackson who was sitting in a sprawl in the corner of the room, his long legs stretched out at ninety-degree angles. He ran the back of his hand against his brow, dashing aside some of the sweat that threatened to overwhelm the dam-like qualities of his eyebrows again, his dark eyes stinging slightly from blinking away the salty perspiration.

Eve was lying face down, her head buried between his legs, a look of quiet contentment on her face as she suckled on his black cock that had lost most of its hardness but was still a mouthful and more in size.

She felt his hand smooth her hair, stroking with an absent-minded attentiveness. Eve wasn't unhappy, she'd spent the best part of the last three hours having his undivided attention and it had left her shattered. Well fucked and happy, yes, but shattered all the same.

"I know I got you for the next month you're gonna be here but shit... I already want to make this a full-time thing," Jackson said.

"Ull-fime?" Eve didn't quit her suckling as she looked for clarification.

"I'm getting paid... got money coming to me for... never you mind. When I get it though, I won't need to work here anymore. How'd you like it if I left my fat ass wife wondering where the hell I got to, while I'm in Nevada with you, keepin' you well fucked and happy... working on swelling that belly of yours? How'd you like that Baby Girl?"

"I gluv id," Eve responded midst suckle. With her face pressed in his crotch, she felt safer in the lie.

About ten minutes later, they were moving back up the corridor towards her room with the same level of caution as when they'd journeyed in the opposite direction. Jackson had been confident enough, claiming that he had an 'excellent relationship' with Dr. Washington so that even if they were seen, nothing would come of it. Eve didn't doubt Jackson had some sort of friendship with the psychiatrist, how else would he have laid his hands on her file otherwise? She did doubt his act of self-assurance regarding getting caught red-handed with a freshly fucked patient however. There would be little doubt in anyone's eyes that she was exactly that, fucked hard and not long ago, given the flush that still had her skin glowing, the mess that was her hair and the faint but unmistakable odour of cum and sex that clung to her like the aftershave Jackson had daubed himself with earlier.

Reaching her door, he pulled out his key and unlocked it. He didn't wait for her to step inside, giving her a pat on the ass in lieu of a proper farewell before walking swiftly up the corridor and out of sight.

Eve stood by her open door watching him leave. By rights, now that she was done with him and she'd managed to unravel the knot of sexual tension that had plagued her during the day, she should have been feeling relaxed. Instead, she could already feel the muscles in her shoulders stiffening with tension. Alone again with her thoughts, the anxiety of the burden she had assumed settled on her again. Two days she'd been here and aside from a gut feeling regarding Dian's Stepfather, backed up by supposition and circumstantial 'facts', she was nowhere.

"How could I have known that murder could smell like honeysuckle?"

She clamped a hand across her mouth to muffle the scream that rose in her throat. The voice had come out of nowhere and Eve's heart pounded in her chest.

The light above her door was feeble and she had to peer blindly into the darkened Day room, giving her eyes a minute to adjust before she could make out the figure seated in the leather chair.

"For fucks sake Jake... I nearly wet myself," Eve whispered harshly at the old man. "Honestly, you'd think at your age you'd know better than to sit around scaring people."

"I loved you Walter, and I hated him. But I wasn't going to do anything about it until I met you."

"Seriously? Are you honestly telling me there isn't a movie quote you know that you could use to apologise with?" Eve waited for Jake to speak again but it seemed he'd either lost focus again or was just drawing a blank on an appropriate quote... it was hard to tell in the dark.

"Well, I need to sleep... shower, then sleep. G'night Jake, enjoy the movie."

Feeling better for not snapping the harmless old mans head off, though it had been a close-run thing, Eve stepped into her room, shutting the door which locked behind her. She needed to wash the smell of Jackson off her, not to mention flushing his seed out of herself as best she could. Then maybe sleep would come and, in the morning, refreshed, she might actually have a good idea. She was definitely overdue one.

Chapter Six:

The next morning. Eve found herself as much of a nervous wreck as she had been the day before.

She had slept, the heavy, gruelling encounter with Jackson acting as effectively as a sedative, dropping her into darkness the moment her head hit the pillow. Her sleep had been fitful, though, filled with wild dreams of everyone she'd been focused on these past few days, keeping her tossing and turning until the small hours.

When she was collected for breakfast a short while later, Eve hoped some caffeine and a full stomach might quell her lingering anxiety. The meal, however, possessed the same nightmarish quality as yesterday's dinner: bad food and worse company. Dark mutterings and oppressive silences from her companions at the table destroyed whatever meagre comfort the porridge and weak coffee offered.

Finished, Eve rose and shuffled down the hall with the same listless spirit as the other patients. Head bowed, she made her way back toward her room to await morning medication and the first therapy session of the day.

Could it really be that simple?

Could her behaviour last night be explained by her environment? Was her reaction to Jackson--his touch, his demands, his dominance--a result of the subtle, suffocating influence of this institution?

Eve would never have believed herself capable of slipping this far, this fast, from her usual strength of willpower. The idea that an environment could manipulate her behaviour would have been laughable a few days ago. Yet here she was, not only mimicking the hunched posture of the other patients but acting entirely out of character.

She shuffled down the corridor, shoulders slumped, meeting no one's eye.

Maddox had set her up to play a part that she was, if not comfortable playing, then quite capable of doing so. However, by taking on that part in this play, this stage that she found herself upon, perhaps it and the accompanying drama of Dian's death had left her in a state of vulnerability. Susceptible to someone with the strength of personality that Jackson so readily demonstrated.

It was a sobering thought.

Back in her room Eve sat on her bed and waited for her medication to come. Every noise coming from the corridor had her glancing up, expecting to see Jackson back in his roll as a caregiver arriving at her door. She wasn't able to decide if she hankered to see him turning up at her room or if she dreaded any further meetings with the man.

When a different nurse turned up to pass her a couple of nondescript white pills and a small glass of water to wash them down with, Eve was pretty sure that the twist in her stomach wasn't related to any feelings of relief.

An hour later, Eve and several other patients were rounded up for group therapy. Once again, she sat in a semicircle of hospital gowns, facing the same eager young psychologist from the day before.

The session opened with a battery of "And how does that make you feel?" questions. Eve simply shut down, letting the answers from the other patients drift past her. She offered only the briefest responses, hoping to satisfy the doctor's rigid, by-the-book style.

It wasn't enough.

The psychologist--Eve had never bothered to learn her name--frowned at her lacklustre answers. She reached into her folder and pulled out the painting Eve had made during yesterday's art therapy.

"Ms. Sinclair," the psychologist began, holding the page toward a nonplussed Eve. "You must accept that recovery requires genuine investment in our methods. Honesty is key. When assigned a task, we expect you to engage with it rather than simply copying someone else's work."

The accusation stung, shocking Eve straight out of her stupor.

"What the fuck do you mean, copying?" Eve snapped, her prickly nature flaring. "I didn't copy anyone. It's just a picture, for fuck's sake."

The psychologist held up a hand toward an observing nurse, forestalling any intervention, before giving Eve a slow, patronizing shake of her head.

"Now, now. There's no need for that kind of language or aggression. We're just talking. I am here to help you, Eve--we all are. But that help is only effective if you're open to it. Honesty is essential. All I am asking is that you take these tasks seriously."

Infuriated at being spoken to like a child--especially by someone who looked barely older than her--Eve leaned forward, refusing to let it go.

"Nope. Uh-uh. I want to know: who do you think I copied?"

"Please, let's leave it there," the psychologist said smoothly. "I can see this is upsetting you, and I don't want to agitate you further. This time belongs to everyone, so let's move on."

The sudden surge of adrenaline was intoxicating, flushing away the dreary numbness of the morning. She was spoiling for a fight.

"Moving on? Fuck that," Eve said, her voice dropping, sharp and deliberate. "Answer the question. Why do you think I duplicated someone else's work?"

The psychologist sighed. "Fine, if you insist. I'm very familiar with that image because it's pinned to the wall in the day room--where I'm sure you saw it yourself. Now, let's move on. Umm... Greg... yesterday you were telling us about the anger you felt when your puppy ruined your rug. Let's explore that."

Eve sat quietly for the rest of the session. She'd been simmering with anger, irrational as it might have been, but she had to admit that the impetus for the painting yesterday had escaped her at the time, she'd no understanding as to why she'd created the bleak image. If only to solve one question that day, she decided to follow up on it the moment group concluded.

Sure enough, having suffered through the torture of the hour long 'touchy-feely time', Eve was the first through the door once the psychologist called time on the session, making her way at a much brisker pace than she'd displayed since waking up.

Reaching the day room well ahead of the others, she paced the perimeter, searching for the picture that she had apparently plagiarized. It took only a moment to spot it pinned to the wall amid a clutch of other artwork that ranged in quality from expressive and intricate all the way down to kindergarten finger painting.

It looked like Eve owed the other woman an apology. It was almost a carbon copy of what she had painted the day before.

A small, dark-skinned figure in a blue dress, maybe a hospital gown, lying prone on the floor of a room.

A small, dark-skinned figure in a blue hospital gown lay prone on the floor. A dark shadow spilled across the scene, cast by a second figure outlined in an open doorway. Looking at it properly now, the depiction radiated a sense of violence, sorrow, and death that practically jumped off the wall.

She'd been drawn to it, that much was obvious. Or at least her subconscious had. And staring at it now, Eve understood why.

She was looking at poor dead Dian. Drawn by someone here, captured at the moment of her death. A moment that she had shared with another person.

Murder. Not suicide.

No proof... Eve didn't think she'd ever find proof, but this was enough for her at least, anorexic as it might be as 'evidence' went. Eve no longer felt like a fraud or a failure because someone else here was as convinced as she was that Dian had died at the hands of another. That vindication of her quest put a fire back in her belly.

But like everything else since she'd arrived in this place, nothing was simple. There was no initials or signature on the artwork. So how the hell was she going to identify the artist?

Eve cast about the room, looking for a familiar face that she could ask. Spotting Elaine from her therapy group, the quiet woman just arriving at the day room.

She moved across, Elaine jumping in nervous reaction when Eve took her by the elbow and steered her towards the part of the wall that displayed the picture.

"Hey, who did this? Do you know?"

"Oh, this is about the incident in therapy? Don't get upset over it. I always get a nice, cold glass of milk to settle my nerves after an argument like that."

Eve didn't release Elaine's arm, twitching at it, her expression leaving no doubt that the pleasures of fresh milk would have to wait for a while yet.

"I'm fine. Honestly. I just need to know who painted this."

"Well I was kind of perplexed nobody said in the session because I think everyone knows who did it. It was kind of a big deal, though obviously before you got here. Old Jake never gets involved in group or any activities; he just had his one-on-ones with Dr. Thorne and sits around in front of the TV the rest of the time. So when he painted this, people noticed."

"Jake, old Jake did this? The old guy with the invisible remote?" The pieces began tumbling into place.

Eve might not have been a detective. She might not have had any investigative skill. But Eve was no one's fool and now, some things at least were starting to make sense to her.

Jake had been practically invisible the night before. In fact, had he not spoken, she would never have even registered his presence. No doubt he was in the habit of sitting in the dark at night 'watching his shows'. If that was the case, then clearly he must have seen something as he'd been inspired to pick up a paintbrush when he'd never done that before.

Now Eve had a witness. Only her witness wasn't exactly Mr. Communication. Guy hadn't said anything except spout off quotes from old black and white movies since she'd arrived here.

And maybe, as in the case of the painting, Eve was missing an answer that was right in front of her the whole time.

"Elaine?"

"Yes?" The woman answered timorously, the grip Eve had on her arm hadn't slackened and the grim determination for justice that Eve felt must have come across in her expression as potentially hostile to Elaine who was confused about where this conversation was going.

"You said you knew the movie Jake keeps quoting. That's right?"

"Ah... yeah, Double Indemnity."

"Can you tell me what it's about?"

"Oh God, it's such a long time ago since I saw it, I couldn't remember the whole plot."

"Well whatever you do remember," Eve pushed.

"Umm okay. As far as I remember, two people kill someone... I think the husband of one of the people. And they make it look like suicide instead of murder. Sorry, that's about all I remember."

"Thanks." Eve released her arm at last and Elaine backed away hurriedly, finding the man whispering disturbing thoughts to a plant pot far better company than Eve at that moment.

That sealed things for Eve. There was definitely method in old Jake's madness. He'd seen a murder staged as a suicide. Had dropped clues to anyone who would listen. Only nobody was really listening to him.

But now Eve would. Understanding him though was going to be challenging.

She crossed to where the white-haired old man was seated in his usual comfortable spot, dragging over a small chair so she could sit alongside him.

"Jake?"

Watery eyes, unfocused, slowly blinking, remained directed towards the TV across from him, an infomercial for a new range of vacuum cleaner fittings that didn't deserve the attention he appeared to be giving it.

Erica tried again, this time settling her small hand on his rheumatic looking right hand, the left one occupied with his ever present, entirely phantom, remote control.

"Jake, can you tell me what you saw? Were you here the night the girl died on the ward?"

No response.

"Jake. I think you've been trying to tell me something and I really want to listen to you now. But you need to give me something I can understand. I don't know these old movies you love, I need something recent, something I might have seen. Can you do that? Can you help me here?"

Eve didn't know if the poor old guy even heard her. He seemed to drift in and out of his psychosis and there didn't seem to be any pattern to it. She couldn't know for sure if he'd even understood what he'd seen when Dian died, though the painting suggested he did on some level. Thinking to try later in the day, Eve began to get to her feet.

"Is that crazy enough for ya? Want me to take a shit on the floor?"

He'd never turned towards her but the hand under her own had definitely twitched, a feeble pressure that might have been a squeeze, as he'd delivered the line. It meant nothing to her. Yet

"Thank you Jake," Eve said, leaving him to his show.

Jackson had yet to make an appearance on the floor of the ward, but an instinct told Eve that he wouldn't let the day go by without visiting his 'Baby Girl'. That being the case and fearing he might look to divert her attention as thoroughly as he had the day before, Eve decided she needed to follow up quickly on Jake's 'clue'.

She spotted Ryan, the first male nurse she'd met on entering the facility, standing near a nurse's station.

"Hi, would it be possible to get a message to Dr. Washington?"

"Yes, I can pass on a message too him. Everything alright?"

"Sure, no problem. I just wanted to know if we were having a session today, there are some things I'd like to get off my chest is all," Eve said, trying to make her enquiry seem trivial.

"I'll pass it on Ms. Sinclair."

"Thanks so much."

Plan, of sorts, in motion, all Eve could do now was wait.

The wait wasn't long, though it felt an eternity to her. Ryan approached her to tell her they were to head up to Dr. Washington's office for a therapy session, promising her she could look forward to an unappetising lunch once it was done. He didn't use those words, but Eve couldn't imagine the food to be any other way.

As they walked to the session, Eve stumbled, clutching at the beige coloured wall of the corridor for support.

"You okay?" Ryan looked genuinely concerned and Eve was relieved that there were genuine members of staff in the facility, that Jackson and Dr. Washington were the exceptions rather than the norm.

"I'm okay, I just kind of came over a little woozy all of a sudden."

"Maybe take a seat against the wall here, I can contact Dr. Washington and reschedule."

"No, I'm fine now. Honestly. Anyway we are practically there already."

They continued on, Ryan taking Eve's elbow in a solicitous manner, lending her a little support as they walked.

Ryan's brisk knock on the office door was answered with a muffled invitation to come in and the male nurse guided Eve inside.

Dr. Washington was seated behind his desk as they entered and his eyebrows climbed high on his forehead as he noted Ryan's concerned manner as he walked Eve to a chair.

"What's all this then?"

"She felt faint on the way over here."

"It's nothing, I'm okay now," Eve said, waving a hand to flag Dr. Washington back into his seat as he made to stand up at this explanation.

"I'm the medical professional in the room thank you very much. I think I'll make the call on if it's nothing," he said, coming around his desk. He rested a hand on her forehead, setting two fingers against Eve's wrist to check her pulse after that.

"Well, no temperature, but pulse is a little fast. You felt faint, any other symptoms?"

"I didn't sleep well last night, bit of a headache this morning."

"I think it's most likely stress related, maybe the change in environment or circumstances. Still to be safe, let's extend this morning's session and see how you are feeling by the end of it." Dr. Washington tapped a finger against his lips contemplatively before turning to Ryan.

"Head over to Dr. Nicholl's, have her take my next two appointments on will you?" Then turning back to Eve, he continued speaking. "If you wait here a moment, I'll get you some water, something for that headache as well."

The two men then left the room, one turning left, the other right, both out of sight before the office door closed fully.

Eve was on her feet like a cat, sprinting round to the other side of the desk. All signs of weakness and frailty gone.

"Worked to get out of Geography class with Sister Margaret... if I can fool a nun, I can fool those guys," Eve muttered, sitting into Dr. Washington's chair. As she'd hoped, his laptop was open, the screen unlocked. Knowing every second was precious, she hurriedly typed the quote Jake had spoken to her earlier on into the search engine.

'Is that crazy enough for ya? Want me to take a shit on the floor?'

"One Flew over the Cuckoo's nest... Jack Nicholson... 1975," Eve read in a low voice, scanning quickly over the plot. She smiled weakly, noting the lead character had done much the same as she had, feigning an illness to be admitted into a mental health facility.

"McMurphy is at odds with Nurse Ratched..." Eve clicked on link for the nurse and read, "Classic villain... institutional tyranny... psychological manipulation."

She didn't know the movie, and she hadn't time to dig any further into it, someone could come back in at any moment. Eve took a moment to close the web page after clearing the search history, then she scrambled back to her seat on the far side of the desk.

Not a moment too soon, Dr. Washington returning with a bottle of water and some painkillers. He seemed to sense he was missing something, checking Eve's pulse once more as she swallowed the pills and drank half the contents of the bottle.

"Better?"

"Much, thank you Dr. Washington."

"Oh I think you can be a little less formal now, don't you? Call me Marc."

"Thank you... Marc."

"You are very welcome Eve." He walked back towards his office door, flipping the latch on it so that nobody could enter the room.

"I believe Jackson may have been a little too driven in his own manner of positive reinforcement. That would account for your dizzy spell earlier on."

'So, Jackson hadn't been bullshitting, he and Dr. Washington did have some sort of arrangement going on', Eve thought. It didn't shock her. Jackson was a bully, all brute strength and ignorance. Dr. Washington was every bit the bully as well, only he was smoother, less obvious but in his own way no less intimidating. Bullies, abusers, killers... they all had an innate skill to recognise their own kind.

He took a seat behind his desk, not even glancing at his laptop. The picture of professionalism except for his eyes. There was no trace of calm or compassion to be found in those dark brown orbs.

"Were you a good little slut for Jackson?"

"Yes Marc," Eve replied, anticipating the direction this conversation was going. She'd assumed any session with him would end up along the lines of the first one. Requesting to meet him had most likely fuelled his already rampant ego, but it a necessary toll so that she could access his computer. Now came the price to be paid.

"And it seems you are eager to be as good a slut for me as well, yes?"

"Yes, very much," she answered, committing to her part to the fullest.

"On your knee's then," he said. Eve began lowering herself to the floor, sparing a quick glance to the closed door that didn't go unnoticed by Marc.

"Nothing to worry about. I requested that we meet at this time so we'd have complete privacy. When I was getting the water, I added an additional hour onto the office staff's lunch break today, just so that there wouldn't be any need to rush this."

Bang went any hope Eve had that she could get away with just giving him head again. Dr. Washington was apparently determined to get a taste of everything Jackson had enjoyed last night. In a twisted sort of way, Eve felt flattered by all this attention, though if she was to have a say in things she'd have preferred time alone to think on the meaning behind Jake's message.

There was no time for thinking, only for action and even the slightest hesitation on her part would be pounced on by this man. He was no fool, the framed qualifications on the walls of his office were just one indication of this fact. It was the fact that while her gut told her that he was linked to Dian's death, there wasn't a hint of proof to back it up. Getting away with murder wasn't the act of a stupid man.

Eve sank fully to the floor, crawling forward to disappear beneath the high-end walnut desk he was seated behind, Marc leaning back in his chair, proud as a peacock, as she disappeared beneath it.

She worked her way under the desk till she was between his spread knees. The back of her head pressed against the underside of the wood panelled desktop, her neck bent uncomfortably forward as Eve willed her fingers to stop trembling long enough for her to open the front of his suit pants.

He was already hard. Elevated confidence, reduced empathy and an overriding sense of self... all the hallmarks of a psychological state of dominant power. Not that Eve had the education to tell her that. She just knew Marc Washington probably only loved himself and having a pretty white girl under the sway of his influence, as he saw her being, was enough to make his cock stiff as a board.

The office chair rolled back a few inches on their castors, the lubricated wheels gliding smoothly over the carpet. Eve followed after the retreating black cock, ascribing her eager pursuit to a desire to free her head from beneath the desk and nothing more. Her fingers grasped the root of his cock, halting the gradual creep backwards and filling her hand with warm hard flesh.

She worked her fingers around the shaft, leaning forward to plant fast darting licks against the underside of it. The licks came faster as she worked to spread a thin veneer of spit to dark skin.

"Very - uh - good," the older man groaned, the leather of his chair creaking as he leaned back into it.

Eve stayed low, jerking his cock, her eyes fixed on what she was doing. She didn't want to look up at him for fear that the hostility she felt might be betrayed by her eyes. On the plus side, the rapt manner of her behaviour could only sell her hypersexual obsessive 'diagnosis' to the psychiatrist.

She used her free hand to awkwardly unbuckle his belt, then open up the suit pants fully, easing her cock and balls fully out. Like the outer image he projected, everything was groomed, his balls smooth to the touch. Eve took one into her mouth.

That action tilted her face so that she was now looking up towards Dr. Washingtons face.

"Yes. Now tell me why you did that," he said, voice tight.

Even now, he was still playing the role of therapist. Or maybe that was part of what was getting him off.

"To please you," she mumbled, licking and mouthing on his heavy balls.

"What truth are you avoiding right now? This only works by being open, saying the unsaid."

Eve's pretty face crinkled up as she fought a grimace, hiding it by lifting her head and swallowing the top third of his cock, sucking on it with savage energy, looking to distract him.

Failing.

"Deflection isn't a healthy response. Now... think about my question and consider the answer and its connection to your body. Your mind is capable of deceit, but your body isn't. So once again, tell me why you did that?"

"Because I'm a slut."

Eve spoke without thinking, impulsively following his instructions because her own thoughts were so distracted by Dian's murder and the way her body was behaving itself, diverging from her rational self.

"Very good. Admitting that, acknowledging that, well that's what I like to call a turning point. A good start but just the beginning of the real work." He pushed Eve's faced back onto his cock, leaving his hand resting on the back of her head until the sound of wet suckling filled the silence.

"For the rest of this session, I'd like you to anchor on this cognitive realisation, observe how your body and mind relate to one another and to the epiphany you've just experienced."

"Yessh Dlocthor Loshinthon," Eve slurred, tongue wrapping around the hardness of his black dick.

"Marc," he corrected her. "Call me Marc... you'll drool less."

How he could be such a condescending motherfucker to her while she was sucking on his cock... Even if she didn't have concerns about his involvement with his stepdaughter's demise, Eve would still dislike the arrogant prick on general principle.

She moved back to his balls, tongue lashing and sucking them with fierce, almost reckless, determination until saliva literally dripped from them. Eve only switched back to his cock in order to reapply some spit, her fist pumping action needing a lubricant top off.

"What are you feeling right now, in this exact moment?"

"Like I want you to fuck me Marc."

Eve knew he wanted to hear that and to be honest, despite the sex with Jackson last night, she felt ready for more herself. She was able to justify her statement internally by applying the rational that full sex would get him off long before her blow job would. Sooner the doctor was satisfied, sooner she could apply some clear thinking to the message old Jake was trying to impart to her.

Dr. Washington pushed back on his chair, clearing a half foot from where Eve was still partially crouched beneath the desk. He stood up, indicating with a crooked finger that she should rise as well. He might have dressed like a gentleman but that didn't seem to extend to him helping her to her feet apparently.

Standing, she pulled her hospital gown off over her head, pushing her panties down her legs and stepping free of them. Her lithe form, pale white save for the blue and black ink of her tattoo's, spun about and with a sweeping movement Eve cleared a space on the desk. Files and photographs were knocked over, some tumbling to the floor. His laptop snapping shut and sliding almost to the edge of the desktop. A small act of vandalism on her part, one that he might read as excited passion, but for Eve it was about all the vindictive behaviour she could express in that moment.

As she turned back to face him, seeing he had removed his own pants be this point but had retained his shirt and tie, Marc grabbed her hips and hoisted her up onto the cleared space she'd just created.

There was nothing to say, she just lifted her left leg up in time for him to step beneath it so her ankle rested on his shoulder. Marc slapped his long, hard cock against the wet slit of her pussy and Eve shifted on the spot as a thrill rippled through her body.

'Arrogant fucker,' she thought, recognising the swagger in the action.

"Slut," he commented clinically, doubtless because of the sheen of secretion on her splayed pussy.

It was probably for the best that he took that moment to push inside her. It was one thing Eve calling herself a slut but given the way his attitude was rubbing her raw and her concerns about him orchestrating Dian's death, when he called her it, she was a half breath from slipping out of character and letting him know what she thought of him.

Instead...

"Ohhh my God... yes!"

As his big cock pressed into her with a sudden, savage thrust, Eve temporarily shelved the disquiet and dislike she had for the man. Instead, she focused on to the 'cognitive realisation... body and mind relating to what they were experiencing'. After all, the man was, if nothing else, a professional.

She was sitting on the desk, leg raised, propped up on her elbows. He was gripping her short hair at the back of her head, pounding his cock in and out of her with none of the affected detachment he had displayed even moments before. If Eve had come to a realisation that she enjoyed being fucked, then Dr. Washington seemed just as self-aware regarding his liking for fucking her.

His other hand grabbed the soft flesh of her thigh, using her body as an anchor as he slammed his cock forward and back, putting his entire frame behind the thrusts. When people refer to a boxer 'punching from his feet', they could have easily adapted the saying to reflect his fucking style.

Her breasts shook wildly as her body rolled under the assault. If the desk hadn't been so solidly built it would have been shifting on the carpeted office floor. As it was, it proved to be a solid if somewhat uncomfortable setting for the torrid sex.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck yes. Fuck me. Fuck me harder," Eve called out. She didn't attempt to keep her voice down, a part of her perhaps hoping it might draw attention to what was happening. Or was it just the simple fact that as the big black dick banged away inside her, she didn't give a damn about anything else right then.

Marc was holding one of her tits now, squeezing it hard enough to misshape it. As Eve cursed up a storm, he lifted his hand to deliver a stinging slap to her face in rebuke.

"Ask politely," he growled. It wasn't the cursing that bothered him, it was Eve ordering and not begging that annoyed him.

"Please... uhhh... slap me again, please slap me," Eve whined, losing herself in the moment.

He did as she asked, the slaps lacking viciousness, symbolic rather than aggressive.

They had the desired effect though, Eve howling into an orgasm, her ass cheeks beating out a signal in morse code for 'FUUUUCCCKKK' as she spasmed on the edge of the desk.

Eve's howl of ecstasy tailed off into a contented whimper, Marc pausing his thrusts while she was cumming. Seeing she'd calmed down some, he started back up once more. A black hand pulled her leg off his shoulder, the man using both hands then to hold Eve's legs out either side of her, opening her up so he could stretch her pussy with the entire length of his cock. As pleasure built within her once again, Eve fancied the rippling of her stomach muscles reflected the big, black cock delving deep within her slender frame.

"Nnn-hhh, uuuhhh," she moaned.

"You need to articulate what's happening better than that, communication is key in the process." Wrapped up in a haze of pounding flesh and twisted emotions, Eve could still her the scorn and smugness as he spoke down to her.

"So good," she huffed.

"What is?"

"Cock," she gasped.

"And you still see your compulsion as 'problematic and distressing' as you described in your initial analysis?"

"Nuh... uhh... no."

"Your trigger, mature black men. Still something you feel needs to be removed?"

"Nuh... Noooooo!" Her strident response coming as he pulled out of her entirely.

"Are you sure Ms. Sinclair? After all you did refer yourself for psychiatric help."

"I'm sure... please... put it back in... I'm sure Doctor."

He pressed an inch back inside her, Eve hating how she pressed against his restraining hands, trying to hump onto more of his length. It appeared he wasn't done making his points, one of them being that he was in control, not her.

"Patient displays a fetishistic preference-based compulsion for...."

She knew he wouldn't continue if she didn't respond to this twisted taunt around her supposed condition.

"Black men," she gasped.

"Specifically..."

"Black Daddies... please... do it... fuck me..."

"The crux of the compulsion being..."

"I don't know... I don't know what you want me to say," the frustration in her voice was unforced.

"What are you pretending not to know?" He shifted back, a microscopic movement but she felt it, the need her body was in the throes of serving to amplify it beyond reason.

That provided the answer.

"Cock... black cock," she moaned.

"Good, excellent. You're accepting the reality of yourself. That warrants celebration."

He began fucking her again. Harder... faster than before. Eve's lower body was in the grip of the man taking her, but from the waist up it was under the dominion of the sensations ravaging her flesh. She whimpered, moaned, thrashed, squirmed as the big black cock stretched her, pounded her, used her.

"More... uhh, more."

"High risk that continued impulsive sexual behaviour can result in physical consequences like unintentional pregnancy or social impairments like the patient's friends and family learning she's a freak for black meat." Self-satisfaction oozed out of every pore, even with her body at a fever-pitch of desire, Eve could see how a man like this would never have stood still while Dian went against his wishes.

"I don't care... more... fuck me... make me cum... I-I need to cum again," she moaned.

His length scrambled the nerve endings lining the walls of her pussy as the roaring furnace of an orgasm on the brink scrambled her emotions and the little resistance remaining in her mind.

She came.

The orgasm starting like the vibrating stimulation she'd feel between her legs when riding her motorcycle. Only more so. So much more. And then it spread like a virus, infecting every cell and atom in her body so that she felt a flush suddenly pervade her entirety... followed by a mind shattering whump of pleasure that led her to scream till her throat hurt with the rawness of it.

Somewhere between shrieks and the shuddering, arm flailing loss of control, Eve felt him send a punishing blast of thrusts her way, stopping with an abruptness that almost shocked her out of her delirium... and then the perception of his cock throbbing deep inside her spasming pussy as he unloaded thick glops of seed inside her.

Chapter Seven

The return to her room was as anti-climactic as her multiple orgasms had been... well, climactic.

Dr. Washington had dismissed her as though what had occurred had been a conventional therapy session. The only slight acknowledgement to what had occurred was his instructions to the nurse, Ryan, that Eve be excused any further sessions for the remainder of the day. Again, dripping with egotism, he had informed Ryan that 'Ms Sinclair has made some significant strides this morning and she would benefit from some time alone in her room in order to dwell on them.'

Not that he realised it, but he was doing Eve a favour, leaving her undisturbed in order to think.

He might have thought she'd be frigging herself into a lather as she relived the fucking but Eve had plans to dwell on something far darker than his cock.

Dian's murder.

Alone in her room she mentally laid out all that she had discovered, surmised and plain pulled out of thin air since coming to the institution.

First, the loving relationship between Dian and her stepfather Dr. Washington had been a lie. He might have made a public show of it but in private Eve was fairly certain his personality would not have tolerated Dian seeking independence from him.

Second, the wealth and lifestyle afforded to Dr. Washington, courtesy of Dian's late birth father, was most likely contingent of Dian remaining with him. Should she choose to sell up and move back east, then it would be bye-bye big boat and expensive clothing for Dr. Washington.

Third, Dian's mental breakdown was probably tied to her stepfather drugging her and her subsequent, gradual recovery at this clinic was more likely tied to a cessation of that dosing rather than any therapy she might have undergone here.

Fourth, Eve could only guess but she believed that Dr. Washingtons initial idea was to break Dian's will by subjecting her to a bout of mental health issues, confident that his role in her recovery would not only earn him her gratitude but also erase any thoughts in the young woman's mind of leaving to start a life of her own. However, she was sure that the good doctor would have monitored her correspondence and Dian's letters to Eve would have shown him she was still intent on leaving.

Which brought her to point five. Dr. Washington deciding that Dian had to die. And for that, he had a solid alibi.

It didn't sound like that would have taken her long to put together but it was nearing dinner time by this point and for once Eve was glad of the distraction. There was no sign of Jackson among the nurses and orderlies who corralled the patients together in the canteen. The food was as usual basic and plain, but she munched her way through it having burnt off a lot of calories in the last twenty-four hours.

Returning to her room she passed old Jake sitting in his usual spot and that jogged her mind to reconsider what he had tried to tell her.

Point six, the movie quotes. Double Indemnity had dealt with a person being killed, the murder staged to look like a suicide, to claim money in an insurance scam. Murder instead of suicide, that matched Eve's own thoughts and, regardless of the question mark hanging over the source - an old man with some obvious mental health issues - it did give Eve the comfort in thinking she was on the right track regardless of her total lack of evidence.

It didn't help her with the fact that Dr. Washington had an alibi.

Then the quote from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, a movie where the villain was the nurse. That suggested that Dr. Washington had used a nurse to help him kill Dian. But which nurse? There were so many of them working here and aside from Ryan and Jackson, she hadn't interacted with any of them.

It was frustrating as fuck that the only eyewitness couldn't tell her what he had seen.

Or could he?

Eve remembered the painting again, the dark figure casting a black shadow towards the prone figure in the blue dress.

There was only one person who came to mind when it came to casting a large, intimidating presence, one that might be represented in art form as a shadow.

Jackson.

Point eight. Jackson had mentioned a number of times his 'relationship' with Dr. Washington. He'd also boasted about how he had money coming to him when he was musing about leaving his wife and fucking Eve on a regular basis instead. All good indicators that he'd killed Dian and made it look like a suicide, strangling her most likely before staging her body to make it seem like she'd hanged herself in a bout of suicidal depression.

The more Eve thought on it, the more she knew she was right. But even as one weight lifted from her shoulders, the search for the truth, so another one settled in its place.

What the hell was she going to do? She had no proof, certainly nothing the cops would listen to. Even if she did approach law enforcement with her theory, she'd have to admit she'd discovered her 'facts' by falsifying medical and insurance documentation. Eve was pretty sure they'd be more interested in prosecuting her than investigating a respected psychiatrist.

But if she couldn't get them arrested, she also couldn't let them get away with what they had done to her friend. Eve wasn't quite sure how, but she'd make them both pay for Dian's death. If it had all been about money, then she'd make sure that neither got to enjoy it.

The ability to exact revenge would mean making sure both men thought they had gotten away with it all, that they were smarter than everyone else. That meant that nothing, not a single thing, could seem strange or suspicious in their lives. Everything had to go according to how they saw things.

That meant that Eve couldn't check herself out. She had to remain here for the month, baling on her 'therapy' after seeking to be referred to this facility would raise eyebrows. Leaving while her 'treatment' was going so well... that would definitely seem suspicious to Dr. Washington. He was too clever by half and if his guard was up, then Eve wouldn't be able to slip past it.

So, she would have to accept a month's stay here... and everything that came with it.

Hot bile rose unexpectedly from her stomach and she dashed to the ensuite bathroom, dropping to her knees and spewing her partially digested dinner into the toilet. Her shoulders heaved as the reflex to vomit continued long after she'd emptied her stomach. The acid in the bile burned her throat and, steeling herself, Eve got to her feet and drank greedily directly from the faucet.

Everything that came with it.

That was a hell of a thing to take on, for a friend she hadn't seen in years.

A memory, a happy thought occurred to her, giggling with Dian as they shared popcorn and watched Shrek on the TV in Eve's bedroom.

Happier times. Innocent times.

The door to her room opened. She lost all track of time, the corridor outside darkened and quiet. A dark shadow spilled across her floor till it pooled around her slippered feet.

"You been thinking about me Baby-Gurl?" His voice a hoarse whisper that couldn't hide the lust in it.

"Oh yes Black Daddy, you don't know how much."