Mirror Mirror (Closed for Rick957)

Mandy was sitting on the floor in a bundle, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin perched on her knees as she stared at the full length mirror in her hallway ... tears silently streaming down her cheeks as she slowly rocked backwards and forwards.

In her mind she could see Melissa sitting next to her in the driver’s seat, coming back from a lady’s night out. Tammy was sitting behind Mandy singing along to a song that was blaring over the sound system. They were laughing, happy and giddy from having a glass or two of wine early in the evening and then dancing the night away, swaying under the strobe lights with a wicked DJ that had their bodies rocking until the early hours of the morning.

They were travelling down the side of a steep mountain slope on their way home. The view was magnificent ... the full moon glistening its silver light across the meandering water in the ravine below, a perfect cloudless evening with millions of stars studding the night sky.

None of them saw it...

An eighteen-wheeler was broken down in the middle of the road just past a bend with no markings or warning signs anywhere near it. By the time Melissa noticed the black mass looming in front of them it was too late to do anything ... a desolate crash of metal echoed across the ravine, birds fluttering as they were woken from their slumber.

Deathly Silence...

Mandy woke up in hospital on a respirator, the pain jarring through her entire body. She had fractured her skull and had massive internal injuries that afforded her a month’s stay in the ICU. Her body had slowly healed but the disjointed images that were lodged in her mind were haunting her.

Tammy had been fine, just a few scrapes and bruises ... but Melissa...

Mandy absently extended her hand, her fingers tracing along the outlines of her reflection in the mirror. She had lost her twin sister on that mountain slope, and she was finding it increasingly hard to deal with the fact.

She was barely aware of the person that had entered through the door. Sarah was standing at the end of the hallway, tears glistening in her eyes as she watched her daughter’s huddled form on the floor, desperately trying to reach out to her sister in the mirror. Sarah knew she needed help. None of them could help her deal with it ... and seeing Melissa reflected back at her every time she looked in a mirror or passed a shop window did not help either.

“Come honey,” she said walking up to Mandy and gently helping her up from the floor. “We are going to see a doctor that will help you.” She led Mandy to the car and started making her way to the doctor’s consulting rooms. According to everyone that she had spoken to, he was the best in the industry.

Mandy was much better now. When the doctors initially broke the news to her she went into a catatonic state. It took a while for her to recover. There were days that Mandy was perfectly fine ... and then there were days like today when it was just too much to deal with.

Mandy completed her details on the sheet that the receptionist handed her and was waiting for her name to be called. The waiting room was decorated in a very homely style that made her feel comfortable right off the bat. The pretty blonde receptionist levelled her hazel eyes on Mandy and said softly, “Miss Mandy Lawson, the doctor is ready to see you.”

Sarah gave her daughter a re-assuring pat on the shoulder as Mandy climbed to her feet and walked to the door. For a moment she hesitated, her blue eyes staring at the wooden door in front of her as she self-consciously ran her fingers through her raven black hair. I hope you can help me, she thought desperately.

Mandy slowly turned the handle...

Donald Crutchfield stared into the glazed-over eyes in William Beasley's dreary face and explained to him that even though his father was never going to love him the way a parent should, that didn't mean he couldn't apply for a supervisor's position at the shipping office where he worked. Peeking discreetly down at his notepad, he added another mark to the 27 other hash marks, neatly clustered in groups of 5, that lined the bottom of the page. This was the 28th time in 36 sessions that he'd made this same explanation to William. Donald liked to track recurrences like that, not for therapeutic purposes, but simply for his own edification.

By all accounts, Dr. Crutchfield's private psychiatric practice was thriving. He'd built a reputation as a leading authority on modern psychotherapeutic techniques while teaching at the Mercer University School of Medicine. As William moved into his discussion of self-loathing for the 23rd time, Donald drifted into a fond reverie of his period at Mercer.

Most of his published research involved long-term, intensive talk-therapy sessions using undergraduates as subjects. How he longed to turn back the clock and replace William's morose scowl with the sky-blue eyes and cascading blond locks of sophomore Heather McIntyre ... or the alluring Italian charms of senior Stephanie Pascano. They were just two of the young beauties he'd spent hundreds of hours ravishing with his eyes, while they prattled on about abusive childhoods and burgeoning psychoses. Those were truly the best years of his life, Donald thought to himself: back before he lost it all.

Donald had succeeded in putting six particular hot coeds through what he liked to think of as his "avant-garde" therapy: an independent, unpublishable bit of research that he conducted on his own, part-time, in between his sanctioned, publishable work. Carefully selected for their aesthetic merits and extreme vulnerability, each of the young women had recently lost a close family member. Through a delicate series of self-administered treatments, he had slowly unwound their fractured psyches until he could refashion them according to his will ... eventually making use of the girls for the satisfaction of various personal needs.

He had been forced to resign his position when one of these special subjects, a grad student named Melanie Sykes, had taken her boyfriend's advice and disclosed the nature of Donald's therapeutic techniques to the Dean of the med school. Donald covered his tracks well enough to leave no documentation of wrongdoing, and Melanie had been far too unstable to undertake a lengthy criminal trial process. Threatening a libel suit against the university, he had escaped without a hint of public scandal and was able to launch his lucrative private practice ...

... In which he now spent his days reciting rehearsed speeches to desperate losers and drugged-out zombies like William, whose hour had mercifully concluded before he could launch into his impotency complaint for the 17th time.

The next name on Donald's appointment schedule was refreshingly unfamiliar. With an endless backlog of repeat patients, he seldom got to see any new faces, much less a female one. He assumed she'd be a dog of some sort, but the mere chance to start a new page in his notebook, and a new collection of hash marks, added a little amusement to his day.

He hardly suspected the opportunities this patient would present, not only to revive his "avant-garde" program, but to take his techniques to whole new heights ... or depths.

Mandy opened the door and stepped into Doctor Donald Crutchfield’s office. She knew she wasn’t looking her best. She didn’t even bother to change out of her tracksuit. She had dragged her fingers through her hair before she climbed in the car with her mother. Mandy looked gaunt, her complexion was exceedingly pale which made her violet blue eyes look like saucers. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she nervously chewed on her bottom lip.

She was a far cry from the woman that danced the night away alongside her sister that fateful night.

She tentatively took a few steps forward, extremely self-conscious. She was unable to meet his gaze. Instead Mandy glanced around his office. It had a big table in it, which he sat behind with two chairs in front of his desk. There were a few couches scattered around the rest of the office comprising of the same design style as the reception area.

Mandy sat down in one of the chairs but kept herself perched on the edge of it, as if she was about to jump.

Her emotions were on an emotional tightrope. She kept hovering between tears, fury and just plain staring into space. She felt utterly useless. You are 24 years old and can’t even drive yourself to your own goddamn Doctor’s appointment! A sudden voice of rage screamed in her head. By the time Mandy lifted her eyes to Doctor Crutchfield’s there was an ominous look of fury kindling in them.

Just as suddenly her expression morphed into a look of fear as she said “Hello,” in a soft voice that seemed lost in the room. “I’m Mandy Lawson,” she said as she extended her hand to him in a greeting, her hand visibly trembling.

He is going to think you’re an idiot Mandy!

OOC I tried to squeeze in a little physical character description in this post; it might be nice if you could work in some more too, in one of your next couple posts -- for Donald's sake, of course. Thanks!


Donald took one look at Mandy Lawson and immediately remembered her case. She'd been referred to him by her family doctor, a general practitioner named Dr. Alex Belway who had sent Donald patients before, but never one with such a fascinating story.

After over a decade of seeing patients, Donald almost never saw a case that didn't closely resemble hundreds of previous patients. Even Belway had noted the peculiarity of the case: the unique bonds that exist between twins, and identicals in particular, was a well-documented but largely unexplained phenomenon. The case had struck Donald as a rich opportunity for publication in a major journal. His professional reputation, although untarnished by his extracurricular activities, had diminished substantially since his departure from academia, and he welcomed any chance to restore his standing among his colleagues.

Belway had failed to mention, however, either the girl's age or her attractiveness -- both details that an impotent old fart like Alex would have considered irrelevant, Donald figured. As for him, little else about the young lady occupied his thoughts as they ran through the standard first-meeting background questions. His professional ambitions washed away under a deluge of recollections of similar beauties, with similar problems, and the very special opportunities they represented.

Once their session had ended, Donald disappeared into the bathroom in his office and sized himself up rather harshly in the mirror. He was an attractive older man by any standards, about 6' even, with a rich golfer's tan and a lean physique, and only a smattering of gray in his golden brown hair -- which he decided to color at once. He resolved to renew his gym membership as well and work off the 10 pounds he'd gained over the last couple years. He always figured his eyes were his best feature: a placid crystal blue like the surface of a summer lake, he considered them an asset in attracting younger women.

(His wife liked them, too, but he hadn't liked his wife in about 15 years. She was a gynecologist whose stressful career had overshadowed any concern for her looks almost immediately after they wed. It had been a loveless marriage of social convenience almost from the start, and he'd always preferred much younger women anyway. She suspected his affairs but was mostly relieved not to have to sleep with him anymore.)

The topic of Melissa had only come up toward the end of Mandy's first session with Donald, when he matter-of-factly asked her reason for seeing him. She'd been able to mention the fact of the tragic death without breaking down, and he hadn't pressed her for details yet. Those would come up in the following week's session.

At the end of the hour, however, she had shook his hand again and he noted the bone-whiteness of her knuckles -- from where she had been gripping the edge of her seat, as if it might fly out from under her. He also noted the milky delicacy and petiteness of her fingers ... which he later pictured blissfully sucking on, one at a time ...

But that would come later. There was much work to be done beforehand. Having weathered 3 months of psychic distress since the accident, she was beginning to show the first telltale signs of recovery. And that would simply not do -- not at all, Donald decided.

Mandy felt more in control. It did her the world of good to speak to someone who was not emotionally involved in it … someone who didn’t judge her or have pre-conceived ideas of what she should be feeling.

When her mom dropped her off at home, Mandy stood outside the door for a moment. She stared at the door ... somewhere deep inside her soul was deciding to be the master of her own destiny once more. She knew she will need to take it one day at a time but she needed to pick up the pieces of her life and move on. Melissa wouldn’t have wanted her to waste her life away.

Mandy purposely walked through the door and opened her linen cupboard, roughly yanking out a few blankets and sheets. She systematically worked her way through the entire house and covered every mirror that she could find. She needed to separate herself from Melissa in her mind. She needed to find a way to get over her death and to mend the part of her mind that had died with Melissa on that mountain slope.

She reached the final mirror in the hallway, the sheet poised in her hands as she stared at her own reflection. Mandy’s violet blue eyes and her raven black hair framed her very expressive features. She stood 5.4 tall and in the aftermath of the accident had lost a great deal of weight that made her look fragile … her naturally fair skin taking on an almost translucent pale colour.

She let her fingertips absently trail along the scar on her right temple. It wasn’t obvious unless you made a point of looking for it. To Mandy it was a constant reminder … a mark of great loss. “Why did I live, Melissa?” she asked her sister in an almost accusing tone. There were days that she wished she hadn’t …

Mandy closed her eyes for a moment … when she opened them again, there was a strong determination edged in them as she purposely threw the sheet over the mirror.

The rest of Mandy’s week went surprisingly well. She even allowed herself to have some fun, by going for a movie and a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree.

On Wednesday, Mandy walked into Doctor Donald Crutchfield’s consulting room, a glimmer of the old Mandy radiating from her. She had gone through extra trouble to make herself presentable after her previous disaster. She was wearing a pair of tight-fitting denims with a sky-blue button up shirt that accentuated her violet eyes. She still had a fragile air about her, but she lifted her chin bravely.

She was here to get better.

During the week-long interim between Mandy's sessions, Donald had invested in a full-length dressing mirror that he had positioned carefully opposite one of the couches in his office. When Mandy arrived for their next meeting, he had rearranged the other chairs and couches in his office to make each of them slightly inaccessible or out-of-the-way for visitors to use. When she entered he was sitting in a chair next to the couch that he wanted her in, as if the positioning was completely coincidental and normal. He was fairly certain she wouldn't recall if the mirror had been present at her first session, given the size of the office and the brevity of her time there.

All the answers she gave to his questions about the week prior only served to cause him further concern. She had taken several discouraging steps toward restoring her social and personal life to normalcy. He concluded about halfway through the meeting that urgent steps were necessary.

That was about the time when he raised the topic of the accident again. He could tell she wasn't eager to dredge up those memories, but that was precisely his intention. He asked her repeated, detailed questions requiring that she carefully reconstruct the events leading up to the crash, and the moments just prior to it, in particular. Finally he got her to speak at length about her return to consciousness in the hospital after the crash, and the emotional trauma that attended her discovery of what had happened to her sister.

In a desperate but apparently effective move, he had paused during the emotional latter half of their session and reached over to take her hand in his. The gesture was something one might expect from a concerned love one, not from an emotionally neutral, detached therapist. Yet, the impropriety of the move was not overt enough to be blatant. He acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to show such care toward a distraught patient.

By the end of the interview he was actually holding her hand in both of his and slowly stroking his fingers across the skin on top of her hand, while staring meaningfully into her eyes. He had deliberately violated her personal space but succeeded in doing so in such a gradual, subtle way that she couldn't recoil from him without making a bit of a scene. He had calculated correctly that she was still too emotionally fragile to stand up to him in that way.

By the time she left, he felt certain that the mirror-gazing, the hand-fondling, and the traumatic recollections had made the desired impressions on her.

He finished by speaking briefly to her mother, who had once again driven her daughter and waited in the outer office throughout the session. He claimed to Sarah that Mandy was well on the way to recovery. In fact, he recommended that Mandy now accelerate her visits to three times a week, in order to supposedly complete the therapy sooner. He also informed Sarah that her presence was not required at the sessions, and Mandy ought to be driving herself to his office from now on.

Both changes were intended to increase the privacy and frequency of their meetings, to help accomplish Donald's surreptitious plans. Mandy agreed to return two days hence.

Mandy’s eyes riveted on the mirror in Donald’s office. It took her a minute to register that he was looking at her expectantly to take a seat. She precariously took a seat next to him, directly opposite the mirror … it was visibly unsettling her. She could not remember seeing a mirror in his office the week before, but then again, she was not paying that much attention.

Donald kept her talking, and about halfway through the session he started asking pointed questions about the accident. Mandy had images of Melissa flitting through her mind, what she was wearing, the way she danced, the way she laughed. She could vividly remember the music that was playing. Then the accident …it was as if everything slowed down in her mind. She could remember every detail, every smell, every sight, and every sensation. Her mind has been replaying the same images over and over trying to find something that they should have done differently.

They should have driven slower, they should have come around the bend a little more cautiously, they could have swerved to the right, Melissa could have hit the brakes a little sooner … by the time she had finished recounting the accident, Mandy was staring at the mirror transfixed. She could almost touch Melissa, read her expression … she sometimes imagined Melissa staring back at her with cold dark eyes, filled with hatred and accusation.

Mandy had recoiled in her seat and was desperately trying to avoid the mirror as she told Donald of her recovery in the hospital. He had reached out and taken her hand …

Mandy quickly straightened in her seat as her eyes riveted on his hand. She was in so much emotional pain that his touch was almost soothing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her subconscious mind was raising an eyebrow at his move as Mandy surreptitiously stole a glance at him.

His eyes were sincere and she could see that he was worried about the amount of distress that she was experiencing. It gave her a bit of comfort, knowing that he cared.

“When they told me that Melissa …” Mandy stared at the mirror again, her violet blue eyes assuming an almost cold grey colour. “…I … my mind could not wrap itself around the thought. It was as if a part of me had died. A vital part … a connection was dead…” Mandy said in a broken voice, as silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

“The doctors tell me that I went into a catatonic state for two weeks … all I can remember was being lost in this deep, dark place … I couldn’t get out,” she said as she gripped Donald’s hand tightly. He had taken her hand in both of his and was gently stroking his fingertips across her skin to show her his sympathy, while staring deeply into her eyes. Mandy felt safe, she felt as if he was trying to give her courage.

At the conclusion of the session, Mandy had walked out of his office feeling a little emotionally drained, but over-all she felt a little better. She had an overwhelming need to spend more time with Donald ... it was almost as if she needed him.

On Friday, Mandy was there early for her appointment. She had driven herself and had once again gone through a great deal of trouble to make herself look presentable … for Donald. Every time she felt anxious the past two days she remembered Donald’s caring eyes ... the way he gently held her hand. In her mind it had helped a great deal.

She needed more of it … she needed Donald to give her the strength to carry on.

Donald maintained the positioning of the mirror and seating areas in his office but held off on the physical contact in their next session. He was glad enough to see that the mother had followed his advice and left Mandy alone with him. After his last catastrophe with the loudmouthed grad student, he knew better than to rush the careful treatment process he had mapped out.

He continued his usual questions about Mandy's day-to-day activities, what productive work or social effort she had managed to attempt -- less and less, he noted with satisfaction. At this meeting, he introduced the approach of asking her to picture how Melissa might have reacted to whatever situation she was describing. How did Melissa like to spend her days? What would Melissa have said about that? Do you think Melissa would have enjoyed that sort of thing, too? ... Anything to get Mandy to put herself in the mindset of her lost twin. Each time her violet orbs wandered over to the giant mirror, he considered another bit of her selfhood lost.

Her sense of individuality and freedom of choice were both critical targets. The goal was to achieve a kind of disassociation of Mandy's mind with her own body, allowing him to eventually make more intimate use of it, while simultaneously chipping away at her sense of personhood. The less she thought about her own needs and her own wishes, the better.

The session after that, Mandy entered the office to discover that Donald's usual chair opposite the couch was gone, as if it had needed repair or simply been discarded. Notebook and pen in hand, he sat nonchalantly on the third of the couch furthest from her.

By the end of the hour he was on the third right next to hers, and his notes had been set aside, so that he could take her hand once more and offer her his nurturing, consoling touch.

The mirror once again, transfixed Mandy. She saw Melissa’s eyes and expression staring back at her more and more. Donald was asking her more pointed questions about Melissa, wanting to understand what Melissa would have understood and how she would have reacted to situations.

Mandy needed him to ask these questions. She needed to be reminded of Melissa’s presence. In her mind, she was petrified of forgetting Melissa, of forgetting what she was like, the sound of her laughter ringing in a room, the way that she acted around people. Mandy needed to remember her essence … everything that Melissa was and continued to be in her memory.

Every time that Mandy looked back at the mirror, it was as if Melissa’s image … her memory and her presence grew stronger in the room … in Mandy’s life and in her mind. She could almost touch the connection that has been missing for such a long time.

The hour was up before she even knew it, and Mandy slowly made her way home while images of Melissa haunted her mind. Mandy parked her car and walked to the front door. She unlocked the door and threw her handbag and keys on the dining room table before walking into the hallway. She walked up to the mirror and pulled the sheet from its smooth cold surface.

Standing back, Mandy gently ran her fingers across the reflecting image. She could see her sister staring back at her … Mandy had woken up the next morning, huddled on the floor in front of the mirror. It was weekend, but she had no inclination to attempt to do anything, so instead just spent most of her days on the couch watching movies or aimlessly staring at the mirror.

By Monday morning, Mandy was a wreck. She arrived an hour early for her appointment with Donald …desperately needing his support and guidance … his magic touch. She was feeling lost …

After waiting anxiously in the waiting room, his receptionist finally ushered her into his consulting room. She was a little shaken to find him sitting in a different position, but she had taken the seat on the other side of the couch. Mandy was desperately trying to explain to Donald …

“I wish she was here Doctor Crutchfield. Melissa is watching over me, I can see her everywhere …” Mandy said as her eyes stared hauntingly into the mirror. Donald had put his notes aside and in an attempt to soothe her pain, had moved closer to offer her his hand for support and comfort. Mandy grabbed his hand with both of hers, holding it tightly … as if it was a lifeline that was being given to her.

“Melissa is haunting my every waking moment, I can’t function without her … I can’t live without her …” Mandy said as she levelled her eyes on his crystal blue ones, feeling as if she would drown in their depths. Desperation was etched in her eyes; everything about Mandy was screaming for help … she needed something to keep her afloat while her mind threatened to drown her …

Melissa’s image grew stronger …and stronger.

“Melissa is haunting my every waking moment, I can’t function without her … I can’t live without her …”

"Of course not, my dear," Donald replied. The mesmerizing blue pools of his eyes transfixed her, plunging her into their serene, soothing depths. "But why would you want to? Don't you think Melissa -- I mean, Mandy -- don't you think Melissa would want to be with you, Mandy? ... And in a way, she is with you always, isn't she? Mandy -- I mean, Melissa is in your heart as long as you remember her, isn't she?

"Melissa -- um, Mandy, that is -- between now and our next session I want you to think about how Melissa is still there inside you ... and anytime you feel like it, I want you to try to let her out for a little while. Think about what Mandy, I mean Melissa, would want to do or say if she were there with you each day, and maybe even practice a little, let her voice speak to you, and through you ... I'm sure she'll be very happy to be with you again, Mel -- Mandy. Try to let your sister guide you where she wants you to go, a little bit each day, and I just know you'll be able to draw strength and comfort from her.

"After all, Melissa was never afraid to live her life to the fullest, was she? Melissa didn't hide in her house and cower like that Mandy, afraid to be a part of the world. That's the Mandy that we want to put away, Mel -- my dear, try to set the scared Mandy aside and let Melissa 'call the shots' for a while, so to speak. You can do that for Mand -- I mean, Melissa, can't you, my dear?" He'd kept his eyes locked with hers through the entire speech, daring seldom even to blink, all the while gently massaging her hand.

Just before their hour together had begun, he'd set the thermostat on the central air conditioning to a mere 59 degrees Fahrenheit, so that by the end of their session, the office air was positively frigid, in contrast to the mild midsummer afternoon outside. He'd prepared himself with a concealed extra layer of clothing, so that his hands could transmit their welcoming warmth into hers. When he finished talking, he leaned towards her on the couch and gave her a long, quiet hug, sharing his body heat with her through his comforting embrace.

"Just remember to let Melissa be with you inside, Mandy, and you need never be without her strength again. Practice letting the helpless, frightened Mandy disappear inside you, and let your sister's energy come out instead."

He peeked through the blinds of his office window and watched her shuffle slowly to her car, head hung and shoulders drooping. Then he grabbed up his notebook and scribbled down that her initial treatments were progressing rapidly, and the next phase was ready to begin.

Mandy’s violet eyes were transfixed by Doctor Crutchfield’s gaze. His soothing voice … the strength in his eyes. She felt utterly lost … somewhere deep inside her mind Mandy was screaming to be set free from the torture; she wanted to escape the pain. She could feel Melissa holding her up somewhere in the recesses of her thoughts, she could feel Melissa holding her hand … gently massaging it.

Something inside of Mandy snapped. She was losing her grip on reality … losing her personality … her individuality. Scared and weak Mandy was huddling somewhere in a corner … her strong and wilful sister stepping in to take the reigns … to take control.

Melissa was never afraid to live her life to the fullest …

The room suddenly felt cold … devoid of all feeling. Mandy’s soul felt cold and dead like the grave. He was right, she is afraid to live her life. Melissa was the one that had kept her going.

Mandy was trembling as her mind was raging a losing battle against Melissa’s authority on the reigns. Donald leaned close and wrapped his arms around her, burying her in a long and comforting embrace that seemed to thaw her frozen heart. Mandy let her fingers slide around his shoulders holding him tightly as the tears of defeat ran down her cheeks.

“I will take care of Mandy, Doctor Crutchfield,” she said softly as she left his office.

The next day was hell on earth for Mandy. She could not eat. She could not sleep. She was constantly crying … Melissa’s knowing eyes were watching her everywhere … everywhere!!

Wednesday morning Mandy was sitting in Donald’s waiting room, on the edge of her seat gently rocking herself backwards and forwards. Her arms wrapped around herself tightly. Her blue eyes looked like saucers in her pale face. Donald’s receptionist kept eyeing Mandy worriedly. Mandy had been sitting in the waiting room two hours before her appointment, anxiously waiting. Doctor Crutchfield’s previous appointment did not arrive. His receptionist gingerly walked around her desk and gently helped Mandy to her feet, pushing her softly into his office.

She could see this girl needed help … badly.

The moment Mandy saw his crystal blue eyes; tears welled up and spilt onto her cheeks. She half ran across the room and threw herself down at his feet, her head on his lap as she gripped his legs tightly. “Please … Pl-please, help me!” she said as sobs racked her body.

Donald waited several long moments to enjoy the sensation of this delectable young woman clutching his legs, resting her pretty head in his lap. Then he stood, not wanting her to notice his physical arousal, and helped her onto the couch. He stepped into the hallway to get her a paper cup with some water, and he discreetly engaged the lock on his office door as he re-entered. He held the cup to her lips for a sip and then set it aside.

Pulling her toward him, he lay her head on his chest and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently and muttering to her, "Oh, poor, dear Mandy, the poor, poor girl. It's alright, you don't have to be strong now, just let it all out. You're safe here with me." He bowed his head above her and inhaled the sweet floral scent of her hair.

"Now, Mandy, I want you to close your eyes and concentrate. I asked you last time to try to think of Melissa and her strength, and let her be inside you. That's what I want you to do, right now. I want you to practice with me, being strong, being confident and self-assured, just like Melissa. Do you understand? I want you to be Melissa, now, my dear, and put Mandy away for a little while." He gently pushed the girl off his chest and watched her, hopefully, expectantly, to see just how suggestible she had become after all their sessions together.

The goal he sought was to induce a kind of split in Mandy's personality, shifting her psychoses and emotional trauma onto one part of her psyche, while creating an artificial, separate personality within her to manifest feelings of strength and assertiveness. He theorized that if he could get her to exhibit healthy social behavior under the pretense of becoming "Melissa," then she would appear to all outsiders to be experiencing a miraculous recovery due to his treatment ... while leaving the weak and defenseless "Mandy" personality buried and accessible only to him.

He had great plans for the helpless Mandy, once he shunted all her defenses and strength onto this artificial Melissa persona. But all this psychotherapeutic chicanery depended on her acquiescence to the many suggestions he had carefully planted in her mind up to this point. Now, at last, he was ready to test his results.

"Weak, pathetic little Mandy," he sneered, "let's just forget about her for now, shall we? I'm going to call you 'Melissa' for a little while, and I want you to let the part of Melissa that's inside you come right to the surface, and give you strength. You don't need to whimper like that sniveling coward Mandy anymore; you're Melissa now, the one who can take care of herself and is in charge of her life.

"You're going to be Melissa now, and you may address me as Donald, because we're equals. You're not my patient; you don't need my help; you can take care of yourself now -- as Melissa.

"When you're ready now, Melissa, I want you to tell me how you're feeling." He all but held his breath, awaiting the results of his latest psychology experiment.

Mandy sat on the couch with tears streaming down her face as she took a sip of water, before Doctor Crutchfield pulled her into his arms, giving her a soothing hug while gently rocking her. He spoke softly to her while her sobs echoed hollowly around the room.

Doctor Crutchfield spoke of Melissa’s strength and her confidence … her unfailing self-assuredness. Mandy needed to hold on to that desperately. She felt weak. She had no footing to stand on anymore. She clutched her eyes closed tightly, the tears streaking silently down her cheeks.

He gently pushed her back into a sitting position. Mandy moaned softly, she felt so unprotected without his arms around her. She brought her feet up against her chest wrapping her arms around her legs as she slowly rocked herself backwards and forwards, her head resting on her knees … her hair sprawled all around her.

“Let go Mandy … let go,” she whispered softly. “You are weak and pathetic,” she kept saying. Her sobs slowly subsided … her tears drying.

After quite a few minutes, Mandy finally uncoiled on the couch setting her feet firmly on the ground. She brought her hands up to her temples pressing her fingers tightly to them as she slowly sat up straight. She brought her hands down to her lap and folded them into each other as she finally opened her eyes.

She stared out in front of her for a minute or two before she finally blinked … and started looking around. Melissa found Donald’s eyes and looked at him with an amused little smile lingering on her features. “Hello Donald,” she said in a confident little voice as she held her hand out for a greeting, her eyes appraising him and taking in her environment as if she had never seen it before.

“I am feeling perfect, thank you for asking Donald,” she said, as she smiled into his eyes. “I feel like I’m the master of my own destiny … completely in control and happy,” she added as she stood up and took the cup of water that Donald had left on one of the little side tables. She walked over to the window and stood staring out. Melissa was a picture of self-control with confidence positively radiating from her being.

Donald scrutinized the changes in Mandy's body language and tone of voice, noting with satisfaction the way her back had straightened, her chest had come out, her chin raised. The dissociation of personality traits into separate psychic entities appeared to have taken hold.

In his past experiments with vulnerable young women who had lost loved ones, he had convinced his patients to go back to living normal, healthy lives outside of the treatment sessions, while letting their psychoses show only around him -- when he could take maximum advantage of them, under the pretense of treating their illnesses. But the additional dissociation made possible by the use of this secondary personality promised to make his work infinitely more effective. He pictured Mandy turning into an utterly helpless vessel for all his most depraved yearnings. His patience had been extraordinary thus far, and his technique flawless; now he stood to reap the personal rewards.

The goal from here on was simple reinforcement, burying the "Mandy" traits until they were accessible only to him. While her mother and the world outside saw the renewed confidence of the new personality, Donald could look forward to their private moments, when the hidden self became his victim.

"Melissa. At last, what a pleasure to finally meet you. Poor Mandy has had a rough time of it without you ... but now that you're here, you can finally help her out. I know you want to help your troubled sister, don't you, my dear?

"You see, Mandy's made a bit of a mess of things since you've been away ... Letting her life turn to shambles, hiding in her house and wallowing in self-pity. I'll bet she's just as relieved as I am to see someone with a little backbone in command once more.

"Now, Melissa, you must understand that outside this office, people are going to think you're actually your sister, the weak one. They won't understand -- they can't, really -- the way that I do.

"You need to play along with your mother and your friends, let them call you 'Mandy' and pretend you're her. You and I know what's really going on, and that's all that matters. Mandy will be so proud of you, so grateful ... And so will I, Melissa. I'm so grateful to you already."

Donald walked up to the window where Mandy stood and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them like a doting parent. Then he turned her around and looked at her with a beaming smile.

"I want you to leave the real Mandy, the weak, simpering Mandy, in this office today. When you go out, you can leave Mandy behind here, where she's safe and can't be harmed ... And you, Melissa, can take over her life out there, start fixing things back the way you want them. Make your mother happy again; make yourself happy again. Would you do that for Mandy's sake, my dear? And for me?

"Next time we meet, we'll check in with Mandy, and make sure she's doing okay. You don't need to worry about her anymore, I'll give her the best care possible, when you come in for your sessions. Until then, you go enjoy yourself, and do what's best for everyone, alright? I know you'll make us all proud, dear Melissa." In a sense, his gratitude to Melissa was very real, for what she was going to make possible for him.

Sarah was absolutely astonished when she put the receiver down. She could not remember when last she had such a conversation with Mandy … actually, she could. A light of sadness touched her eyes at the memory of her daughter. Her hand was still on the receiver as she lightly tapped it and walked back to the kitchen to finish cooking supper.

Mandy had invited them over for a barbeque on Saturday and Sarah was looking forward to it. She was looking forward to having Mandy back, spending some quality time with her. It did her good to know that she was finally coming to grips with Melissa’s death. She absently stared at the photo atop the microwave of the two of them. She walked over and took the photo in her hands, gently letting her fingers trace over the faces of her two daughters smiling back at her.

She hugged the photo to her chest as her eyes teared up. “My babies,” she whispered softly.


Melissa spent a great deal of time setting everything right the next two days. Mandy had made such a mess of everything. She did not know when last the house had been cleaned, for starters. All the plants in her house had died and the garden had not been touched in months.

She spent the entire Thursday knee-deep in the garden, trimming back shrubs and planting new seedlings to add a little colour to the otherwise dull landscape. By that evening, the difference was pronounced. Melissa stood on the porch idly shaking her hands off and placing them on her hips as she surveyed her handy-work with a satisfied look in her eyes.

By Friday morning, the house was spotlessly clean, the garden was looking beautiful and she had replaced all the plants throughout the house. Just spending time getting the house in order had done her a great deal of good.

She slipped into a denim and a navy button-up shirt, her heels from her black boots clicking on the driveway as she walked to her car. She drove to Doctor Crutchfield’s office and made it there five minutes early. The receptionist kept peering at Melissa surreptitiously, with conflicting emotions flitting across her face. She almost looked astonished to see Melissa.

“Doctor is ready to see you now,” Donald’s receptionist said. She did not even get up from her desk to help Melissa. She clearly needed no help. She smiled as the raven-haired girl disappeared through the door. She was impressed with her employer’s progress on this particular case. She was exceedingly worried about Mandy last week.

Melissa walked into Donald’s office and greeted him with a dazzling smile. “Good morning Donald,” she said as she held her hand out to him in a greeting, as if they had been the best of friends for years. “It is so good to see you.”

She placed her handbag on the couch and walked up to the mirror, straightening her clothes as she absently ran a hand through her hair. Then she turned back to him and comfortably crossed her arms across her chest. “Would you like a glass of water?” she asked eyeing the pitcher in the corner.

"Certainly, my dear -- why not?" Donald replied, as if he'd just been offered a cold beer after a long day's work. "You're quite good at taking care of others, aren't you, Melissa? That's right, I'll bet you've been hard at work on your sorry little sister, haven't you? fixing up her messes?"

Nursing his glass of water, Donald sat with Mandy on the couch and glowed with approval as she reported her recent activities to him. Earlier that morning he'd received a phone call from Sarah, overflowing with astonished gratitude over Mandy's recent improvement, so he already knew his treatment had taken hold.

While Mandy was sharing some of her best gardening tips, he discreetly rose and locked the office door, drew the blinds, and turned off all the lights except for the floor lamp by the couch. The darkness combined with the cranked-up air conditioning to cast an absolute pall over the room. Donald took a seat in a chair across from the couch and patted Mandy on the knee.

"Wonderful, my dear, simply wonderful. I think we can safely say that we're well on the way to recovery. I couldn't be happier for you, Melissa.

"Now," he sighed heavily, taking on an aspect of weighty solicitude. "Now, my dear, I'm afraid it's time we checked in on the weaker half. I'm sure it will be difficult to let go of the reins again, but rest assured that we'll take good care of Mandy, and have you back in charge in no time at all, alright?"

Donald's voice grew soft and quiet, taking on a soothing tone and a nearly hypnotic rhythm. "Now then, I want you to lie back on the couch there, put the cushion under your head ... close your eyes ... and take several slow, deep breaths ... Try to clear your mind completely, and let go of control ... Remember that you're totally safe here ... That's it ... keep breathing, slowly, in, and out ...

"I want to speak to Mandy now. It's alright, you can come out now, my dear, come out and say hello, Mandy. Is that you? Oh, how I've been looking forward to seeing you again. Yes, I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time, indeed. Hello, my dear -- tell me how you are feeling."

The lamplight shone harshly in Mandy's face as she opened her eyes, blinking against the white haze. In the chair nearby, Donald's features were shrouded in shadow, but his voice had hardened, as if he had suddenly become angry with her -- a menacing, almost threatening tone.

Mandy kept her eyes closed. She was lying on something soft, a pillow beneath her head as she surveyed her surroundings, listening intently. She felt scared … her mind racing along with her heart rate that seemed to be throbbing through her entire body.

She slowly opened her eyes to a blinding light that seemed to encompass her view. The globe was burning into her pupils. Mandy tried to look around but could only make out shadows and dark objects in the areas outside the light. Doctor Crutchfield was talking to her in an angry voice … a forbidding tone reverberating from him. She could see him sitting next to her, the shadows playing across his face … adding a menacing dimension to his persona.

Mandy’s breathing was increasing rapidly as her hands flailed around and finally latched onto the couch gripping it tightly. “I’m sorry Doctor Crutchfield, I am not good enough to do this on my own,” she said in an almost inaudible voice, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears her voice apologetic, trying to sooth his anger.

“I will try harder,” she said as her eyes kept flitting between Donald and the huge orb of light that was mercilessly beaming down on her. Mandy was trembling atop the couch. “Please Doctor, don’t be mad,” she pleaded, squirming against the couch trying to make herself as small as possible … hiding from his fury.

“I’m sorry Doctor Crutchfield, I am not good enough to do this on my own,” she said in an almost inaudible voice ... “I will try harder ... Please Doctor, don’t be mad,” she pleaded ...

Donald rose from his seat without another word and slapped Mandy in the face.

The blow was open-handed and hard enough to sting a little, but no harder. Nonetheless, the sudden show of force had a profound effect on both of them, further unsettling her, while whipping his level of sexual arousal into a fevered pitch.

"'Please doctor don't be mad!'" He parroted her words derisively in a high, girlish voice. "'I'm not good enough, I'll try harder, please!'

"Disgusting. Pathetic!" Flecks of his spittle landed on her cheek and forehead as he hurled insults at her. "No wonder your mother is so disappointed in you. No wonder your sister died. She's better off without you, I'd say.

"Little Mandy, the weak one, the crybaby. Good for nothing, scared of her own shadow, hiding from the world. This is where you belong, bawling to a psychiatrist, begging for help.

"You make me sick. You make us all sick. Melissa feels the same way, I could tell, you know; it was in her body language, in her expression. You disgust her. You disgust me, too.

"Move over!" he ordered, pushing her shoulder roughly to make space for him on the couch as he sat next to her. He put his face very close to hers and grabbed the inside of one of her thighs, squeezing all the tighter the more she backed away and squirmed, until he was gripping her painfully hard, just below her crotch.

"You're all alone here, Mandy, and no one's going to help you now. If you so much as raise your voice, I swear to god I'll beat the shit out of you, I'll slap you so hard you'll beg me to stop. So you keep quiet!" The words came out in a frantic whisper right next to her face, he spat threats at her with an excited expression that veered wildly between repulsion and rage.

All the while he was getting more and more aroused. He had lost anything resembling normal sexual response decades ago; this was the only way he could be with a woman anymore: crushing her spirit and exulting in her degradation. Donald had gone without this sort of release for almost two years, and now that he could finally vent his cruel desire, it poured out of him in a crazed torrent.

"No one else wants you, Mandy. They've all had enough of you -- your sister, your mother, your friends. They're all sick of putting up with your sniveling, so they've left you here with me. I know what to do with pathetic, horrible little girls like you. I have ways of dealing with you, giving you the treatment you deserve.

"You're nothing but a little slut, a good-for-nothing whore that got her own sister killed, and now you're stuck here with me, and I don't want you either. You disgust me, too, you make me sick." He had gotten so caught up in the verbal abuse that he found it difficult to reign himself in, but he would have to in order to move into the final, sexual phase of her subjugation.

Donald’s handprint stung across Mandy’s face, her head jolting in response as her dark hair flailed around her head. She brought her hand up, softly cradling her cheek as the colour drained from her complexion.

His biting words were gnawing at Mandy’s mind, sending ripples of fear and self-loathing through her body. He mocked her words and made her feel small and insignificant for even thinking them … for even saying them. Mandy was quietly sobbing, tears running down her cheeks as she hung her head in defeat. Every insult rolling over her like a tidal wave, smashing into the fibre of her personality … mentally bringing her down to her knees in front of him.

Donald pushed her shoulder, moving Mandy further into the couch, pinning her down as he sat down next to her. His hand tightened around her thigh, gripping her leg tightly in a vice-like grip. Mandy half rose off the couch in pain as an “Aaaaaaah,” escaped her lips, her eyes riveted on his crystal blue ones that were staring down at her mercilessly, a terrifying mix of rage and repulsion.

He lowered his head to her ear whispering a menacing threat, forbidding her from making a sound. The memory of the scolding slap still lingered. Mandy clamped her lips together, her ragged breathing racing through her nasal passages as the tears ran down her cheeks. Mandy nodded her head wildly in agreement, not wanting to anger him any more.

“P-please Doc … tor …Crutchfield,” Mandy stammered, in a soft voice begging him to let go of her leg. He was cutting the circulation, the pain biting at her nervous system.

He continued his ceaseless barrage of words, slowly breaking away the last pieces that were left of Mandy’s armour. She stared back at him with hollow eyes, conflicting emotions of uncertainty and fear flicking across her expressive face. She nodded her head in agreement to every single degrading word that he said. Her fingers were going numb from gripping the couch so tightly, that her knuckles went white.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me ...,” she breathed half into the pillow as Mandy writhed beneath his mental attack. “I promise I’ll be a good girl,” she said as her hand found his that was gripped around her thigh, gently stroking it to try and persuade him to ease up.

Donald saw the opening that her frightened caress of his hand represented, and he took it.

"You like it, don't you? My god!" He feigned shock and utter revulsion. "You like being treated like the dirty whore you are. You like it when men hurt you, don't you? It turns you on, it makes you wet. Are you getting wet, Mandy, you filthy slut?"

His grip of her thigh released and his fingers went straight to her crotch, probing the fabric there to stimulate her clitoris underneath, hoping to force her into a state of arousal. He knew that once her body responded to his touch, even involuntarily, she would forfeit her last shreds of dignity. Ignoring her attempts to displace his hand, he began to firmly and steadily massage her groin.

With his free hand, he took a firm grip of the back of her head, reaching his fingers up to the rear of her jaw and just behind her ear, so he could deliver hurtful squeezes to her neck to discourage resistance. He also put much of his weight onto her where his elbow rested on her upper chest, making her ragged breathing even more difficult. She was sprawled somewhat sideways on the end of the couch while he manipulated her body and pinned her so she couldn't slide off the couch, away from him.

He continued his whispered tirade with his face a mere inch from hers, his eyes locked with hers, the spray of his saliva wetting her mouth and cheeks. Successive waves of anger and desire washed across his face, one after another, in a bizarre display of seemingly contradictory feelings. He restrained himself from kissing her so that he could witness her tortured expression right up close, to revel in it, although he couldn't resist pressing his lips to her face periodically to snatch up a fresh teardrop.

He paused his massage of her crotch long enough to undo the fly of her pants, ignoring her clutching efforts to block him. When he got down to her panties and found the growing moistness there, he declared victory in his mind.

"Mandy, the slut! Mandy, the whore! So weak and pathetic, she wants to be used and abused, she likes it! It gets her off! She's a filthy cunt who gets off on being hurt. You're a sick freak, Mandy, you deserve everything you get --"

His tone suddenly grew low and serious. "And I'm going to give it to you, too."

With the arm that wasn't pressed into her to hold her still, he unbuckled and unbuttoned his pants.

"You keep that damn mouth shut or I swear I'll break your neck, you little shit."

A soft gasp escaped her lips as he let go of her leg. Pins and needles shot through it as Mandy tried to move beneath him, sobs threatening to overtake her. She was desperately trying to keep her breathing under control to prevent any sound from escaping her lips.

Donald’s hand made its way to her crotch his fingers probing her delicate mound as his other hand clasped around the back of her neck, his fingers biting into her skin. His elbow was pressing into her chest restricting her breathing. Mandy closed her eyes tightly, feeling her traitorous body react to his touch despite her fear that was raging through her body like a wildfire.

She opened her eyes, staring blindly into his blue ones that were so close to her. His eyes were smouldering with emotions that Mandy could barely register as he continued his verbal assault on her senses … her mind. She could almost feel his lips moving against her skin as he spoke, his warm breath washing over her.

Mandy opened her mouth slightly, to allow more air into her body. She felt light-headed from the pressure on her chest and her own efforts to try keep her breathing under control. Her heart was pounding in her ears, throbbing in her head. Her pupils dilated as she stared into Donald’s eyes with a tortured expression, her skin feeling clammy. His lips occasionally touched her skin, only for Mandy to whimper softly.

“I don’t like ...,” she managed to breathe before Donald’s hands undid her denim button and unzipped her pants. His fingers greedily dug into her pants, making contact with her sex through her panties. Mandy was horrified to find that she was growing wet. She looked away in shame as she tried to push his hand away.

She closed her eyes tightly as his words washed over her, "Mandy, the slut! Mandy, the whore!” It echoed in her mind like a sickening whirlwind.

She emerged from her momentary reverie when she heard the sound of a buckle being uncinched. Mandy’s eyes shot to Donald’s and then down to his hands where she could see him unbutton his pants.

"You keep that damn mouth shut or I swear I'll break your neck, you little shit,” he hissed close to her ear as he clamped his fingers around her neck, sending a jolt of pain through Mandy’s body.

She shook her head, a scared moan escaping her lips. “Please don’t …,” she whispered breathlessly. “I promise I’ll be good,” Mandy whimpered.

“I promise I’ll be good,” Mandy whimpered.

"That's right, you will," Donald mocked in a frantic whisper, his lips right by her ear. "You'll be a good girl and hold still ... You hold still and this will all be over soon, Mandy ... I -- I promise ..." His vengeful tirade had suddenly morphed into the soft mutterings of a lover.

But, his hard hold of her neck remained, threatening a vicious squeeze at any sign of resistance, while his other hand seized a fistful of thigh and forced her legs to stay open. He had scooted both their pants and underwear down to their ankles, but otherwise both remained fully clothed; not even their shoes were removed. The only flesh he needed to expose to accomplish his goal was their genitals.

A minute or two dragged by as he thrust his erection wildly about in her groin area, trying to line the head of his penis up with the entrance to her vagina; he couldn't release his grip of her to guide it in without risking her squirming free. Finally the raw, engorged tip aligned itself properly, with just enough leverage to gain access on his next thrust. After an interminable string of attempts, his penis dove into her body right up to the hilt, stretching her slick walls with his substantial girth.

He closed his eyes to focus on the sensations, but continued gently encouraging her. Apart from the involuntary grunts and moans, he sounded just like a doctor talking a patient through a painful procedure: "That's it, good, Mandy ... mmm ... uhn ... here we go, al- almost there ... uhm ... uhn ... good, that's a good girl ... uhn ... uhh ... good, Mandy ..."

His parted lips drooled onto the side of her face while the obscene chant continued. Slick with her tears, his cheek slid against hers as he violently humped her.

Doctor Crutchfield’s words suddenly became soft and whispered in her ear. She could feel his hand roughly yanking her denim and underwear down to her ankles, leaving her most sacred of places exposed as his hand gripped her thigh tightly, forcing her legs apart ... the cold air caressing her moist flesh.

Mandy’s body was immobilised in fear, as she stared at the orb of white light that was mercilessly burning into her soul, her eyes transfixed. They looked almost black as her pupils were fully dilated, tears streaking down her cheeks. Donald pressed his body down between her thighs, his body making contact with her clammy skin that felt cold against his. A violent shudder reverberated through Mandy’s body as his cock made contact with her soft folds. He probed her vagina to find the entrance to her silky depths, while his hand gripped her neck tightly.

“Please don’t ...,” she whispered, as she stared into his impossibly blue eyes ... begging him.

With a sickening thrust, Donald buried himself fully inside Mandy. His cock violently made space for itself within her moist depths. A pained gasp escaped Mandy’s lips as she clutched her eyes closed. Mandy’s entire body went rigid with shock at the overwhelming violation. She turned her head to the side as she opened her eyes, staring blindly at the couch as sobs tore from her chest. Donald had his full weight on her, crushing her to the couch his face sliding against her cheek as he drooled over her. Her hands were on his shoulders ... her nails biting into his skin through his shirt.

Mandy’s body jolted like a piece of meat with every vicious thrust that Donald made into her. The wet sex sound echoing in the room over Mandy’s incessant soft moans. Donald’s breathing in her ear repulsed her as he spoke his breathy chant, telling her over and over that she’s a ‘good girl’. Her body was trembling violently.

Mandy’s mind was bordering on hysteria. She was ashamed of her body’s reaction to Donald. She hated herself for just lying here and letting him have his way with her. She deserved this punishment for not being strong enough...

Although he'd had a vasectomy performed by a colleague years ago, Donald felt no need to inform Mandy and alleviate her probable fears in this situation. Instead, when he reached his orgasm, he put his full weight onto her groin and let his ejaculate spray into her and fill her vagina, dribbling out slightly at the bottom. He released several long, loud moans as his organ spasmed over and over, until the intensity and frequency of the sensations lessened.

Breathing heavily, he remained on top of her for some time after his orgasm concluded, oblivious to the respiration problems his overwhelming weight caused for her. The room silence became palpable as his breath rate normalized and her sobs quieted, until he lifted off of her. She swallowed a huge gulp of air when he stood up.

He located a loose roll of paper towels and dried his softening member carefully, before throwing the roll onto the couch in her general direction. During the next couple minutes, he pulled up his pants and inspected himself meticulously in the mirror, smoothing his clothes and righting his disheveled hair, without so much as a glance backwards -- as if he were completely alone in the room. He helped himself to a cup of water from the pitcher nearby. Finally he walked around his large wooden desk and settled back into his office chair. He raised his blinds and stared out the window while addressing her. The greying sky outside was threatening rain.

"Go on, clean yourself up, we're done for today. You can let Melissa finish for you, just wipe up a little and straighten your clothes. When you think you're ready, we'll let you go back into hiding and bring your sister out. Won't that be a relief? Of course it will.

"You won't be needed again until I call on you next; your sister is doing quite well without you -- better than ever, in fact.

"Hurry now, your hour's been up for several minutes now."

When she appeared ready, he instructed her to sit upright and explained that Melissa should return after a slow countdown of ten. Once that was done, he smiled politely at her and behaved as he would at the conclusion of any other therapy session. He walked up to her and waited for her to stand, then shook her hand and wished her well until their next meeting.

Donald moved frantically atop Mandy. She felt physically sick when he finally rammed into her one last time, exploding inside of her. She closed her eyes tightly as her body shuddered against him … silent tears trailing down her cheeks.

He collapsed his full weight atop her, and Mandy’s eyes fluttered open staring wildly up into his blue eyes as she gasped for air. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and eventually sagged limply to her sides as her eyes lost focus, the world spinning around her. He finally lifted himself up off her. A big surge of air rushed into Mandy’s chest, making her feel light-headed as a strangled cry escaped her lips. She was breathing heavily for a few minutes while she kept her eyes closed, her hands holding on to the couch in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. Mandy’s heart was thundering through her veins trying desperately to dispense much needed oxygen to her body.

Mandy finally opened her eyes and stared into the orb of light that was still mercilessly burning down on her. She wrapped her arms around herself as she rolled into the couch, the tears still soundlessly trailing down her cheeks … Mandy was not making a sound. Her eyes had a dead quality to them … her mind was numb.

He threw a roll of paper towels at Mandy as if she was a dog. She jumped as it hit the couch just next to her with a soft thud. She lifted her head slightly and looked at the paper towels. For a moment she had the irrational urge to pick it up and throw it back at him, but she was in no way, shape or form in any position to defend herself, much less put up a fight. She apprehensively glanced at Donald, and then slowly pulled herself up. She righted her clothes and pulled her fingers through her hair.

She walked over to Donald’s table and cowered on the chair, her eyes securely glued to the floor. Mandy looked as white as a sheet, but her body was absolutely still … as if she wasn’t there. Her mind could not cope with it. By the time Donald started his countdown, she was relieved to hand the reigns back to Melissa … to disappear into nothing. The last thing that Mandy wanted right now … was to feel … anything.

Melissa straightened her shoulders, placing her feet firmly on the ground. She looked up at Donald and gave him a glorious smile. “Thank you very much Doctor,” Melissa said in a soft but friendly voice. “I will see you on Monday?” she said as she stood and shook Donald’s hand. She walked out of his office and smiled brightly at his secretary.

When Melissa got home, she had an indescribable need for a long, hot bath. She laid in the bath and soaked for two hours … something was niggling at the back of her head. That night she crept into bed early … she felt drained.

The most horrible nightmares haunted her dreams, a man with a dark face was doing horrible things to her …