The New Patient (Dr. Epstein's Couch: Criminal Minds Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

seeing him. No...it’s more than that. I want to do battle. “No thanks, would you just let me know when he gets here?” I snag the file from her and head toward my office.
    “Sure...John! Are you alright?” she asks as I turn to face her.
    “I’m fine Phyllis.” I give her what I hope will be a reassuring smile.
    I’m glad to have some extra time to take a more thorough look at Kyle’s file. I’d given it a quick flick through before our first session, but now I want to know as much as I can. Hopefully there will be something in there that can give me an edge over him. I go straight to the back and find the attachment documents that came with the original referral.
    I note that the copies of Psychiatric and Psychological assessments dating back to Kyle’s teen years follow the standard aetiology from child to psychopath.
    The earlier assessments cite numerous child protection reports and describe Kyle’s removal from his drug addicted mother as being ‘life-saving’. At the time Kyle was taken into State care he was seven years old.
    Hospital ex-rays revealed there were untreated fractures in his right wrist, three toes on the left foot and two on the right...which suggested torture.
    The hospital notes reported he was dehydrated, under weight and hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. Kyle had numerous bruises on his back, arms and legs and had told staff they were the result of being in trouble with his mother and her new boyfriend.
    I notice the time and flip quickly through the file. Multiple foster homes, one unsubstantiated report he’d been sexually abused by a carer, poor academic performance, frequent school detentions, suspensions for violence and eventually, at age 17, he was admitted to Wyama Adolescent Psychiatric Facility.
    I freeze.
    Wyama. I do some calculations and realise Kyle and Monica were roughly the same age. The possibility that they were in Wyama together hits me like an icy slap.
    My stomach churns. Images of Monica, sleepy-eyed and bringing our morning coffee back to bed, mingle with memories of the last night we were together. I shut my eyes but she’s still there, reaching for me in the night, moving with me as she orgasms, eyes drowsy with pleasure.
    She was warm, funny and smart. Nothing out of place, no glaring inconsistencies to tell me anything different. But I have to admit that I hadn’t looked too hard either. It was difficult to enjoy a few hours of uncomplicated pleasure when you took account of your playmate’s neuroses. In the interests of self-preservation I’d learned how to shelve my diagnostic manual long ago.
    But the question remained; what was the nature of Monica’s relationship with Kyle? The possibility that Monica was working with Kyle occurs to me but I can’t accept it—maybe I just don’t want to accept it.
    And not for the first time since working with Kyle, I feel deeply vulnerable. Monica had been in my house maybe a dozen times. There were plenty of opportunities for her to rifle through my personal effects while I slept or showered.
    But I still can’t believe she was actually working with Kyle. And if she was, then her death shows she’d gotten herself involved with a monster—and paid the ferryman with her life.
    A lump forms in my throat. Monica had her whole life ahead of her and I don’t believe she was disguising her true character during the time we spent together.
    Casting my mind back, I remember on one occasion we’d read the morning paper together. Her comments were intelligent and empathic and her politics more left wing than right.
    I remember that not long before her death, she said she’d like to have children one day, but worried about the kind of world she’d be raising them in. At the time I thought she’d make a good parent, but comments like that told me it was time to end it. Looking back, her words take on new meaning. I feel a chill working its way down my spine and my mouth dries up.
    She’d somehow