By Joshua Scribner

“So tell me why you’re so angry.”

The brown-haired adolescent squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, sighed, and said, “Because no one has wronged me enough lately.”

Dr. Janice hung onto her straight face and said, “I’m not sure I understand.”

Just then, the boy’s expression changed, as did his posture. He studied her as if on the verge of discovery.

“But you think you do understand.”

Unimpressed, she stated, “I don’t know why . . .”

“Sure you know why I’d say that. You’re presuming that I’m using drama as a defense mechanism, that I’m trying to make myself more interesting than I actually am. Now, I suggest you not presume anything about my mind again.”

Dr. Janice nodded and calmly said, “Tell me how you know what I’m thinking.”

The kid laughed. “No, that’s not what you want me to do. You want me to come around to the fact that I’m presuming what’s in your mind when I just told you not to presume what’s in mine.”

Dr. Janice could not withhold a smile. There was no denying he was good, but then again, he had probably done this dance with many mental-health professionals.

“If you would have studied my chart, you would know that’s not the case”

A chill ran down her spine. “What?”

“About the professionals. If you would have studied the chart you would have seen that you’re only the second shrink I’ve talked to.”

A surge of anger erupted in her. She couldn’t bear his smug attitude any more.

“Well, Fredrick. I think I see what’s going on, and I’m concerned for your wellbeing. I’m going to have you hospitalized.”

He suddenly closed his eyes, sucked in a breath and then exhaled heavily.

“Thank you. My anger is gone.”

Dr. Janice said, “Wait here. I have to make a few calls.”

She left the therapy room and went into the reception area. She made the necessary calls and they came and got the boy. He was smiling pleasantly when they took him out. She had a few more clients that day. The receptionist left before her, so she had to lock up. Afterward, she walked across the lot and got into her car. She felt the gun on the back of her head before she looked into the rear-view mirror and saw the masked figure.

“Drive,” a male voice said.

Her heart beating out of control, she searched her mind for words to save her life. She thought she had them.

“Of course. You’re in complete control.”

The masked man laughed, but his voice was different now. In fact, he was a woman.

“Yes. You’re very well trained, and you think giving over the power will appease me and make me want to kill you less, but the time for psychology is over, Doctor. You’ve released us, and that’s all the therapy he needed. Now drive.”

Nothing in her training having prepared her for this, she drove the car away. She never came back.




Joshua Scribner has published five novels and over thirty short stories. His fiction won both second and fifth place in the 2008 Whispering Spirits Flash Fiction contest. Up to date information on his work can be found at joshuascribner.com. Joshua currently lives in Michigan with his wife and two daughters.