69 Gripped With Paranoia (1/2)

”Head in,” he urged. He was flipping through a magazine about mass anxiety levels increasing or something. I shrugged and went in, clutching the file I had received from my last therapist.

When I entered, I was stunned to see the room. It looked like a little hall and the pictures hanging on the wall showed that this man took classes for younger children here. But Philip Knight was actually sitting with his back to the wall alongside the door. I had to turn to my left to see the man scrolling through his phone.

”Dr Knight?” I asked tentatively.

The man looked up and I finally got a full view of him. He was clothed in a crisp white shirt and blue formal pants. The exciting thing about him was that he had a humongous belly and wide sparkling eyes that reminded me of Santa Clause.

”Evie, I presume?” he said, sounding amused. ”I've spoken to Sebastian about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, really.” The greeting was warm but I sensed the underlying meaning.

”That is to say that he has spoken about me. What's wrong with me?” I asked, thinking that he will answer me.

”I come into this room after washing my hands,” he proclaimed, stunning me. ”I mean... I don't trust what people tell me. I'll have you tell me everything. Sebastian doesn't know what he is talking about anyway!” he scoffed.

I found myself laughing, the noise traveling across the room. I had to bite back the effect before I could speak. ”Don't let him hear that. He'll probably throw a tantrum,” she teased.

”Yes, I know. The child never grew up.” He rolled his eye. ”Did he tell you how much of a brat he was when he was younger?”

”He was a patient of yours?” My eyes widened and Dr Knight had to stop himself from saying more. ”Don't worry. I'm his assistant. He won't mind me knowing the details of his life, narcissistic as he is.”

”Well, not really a patient. His parents brought him in thinking that he had a learning disability, turned out they were just being overprotective.” He paused. ”I had to talk his parents out of therapy or going to someone else because the boy was reading some very grownup books from a young age. He was just bored and thought his parents weren't intelligent enough to indulge.”

”Sounds like him. But why are you sitting between me and the door?” I just had to ask. The curiosity was eating me. I knew that suspects were usually treated this way but patients too?

”Oh, I know what you are thinking. I'm not trapping you here. You can see the door clearly so if you plan on escaping, you have an option. I won't be stopping you and you can leave without explaining anything to me.”

”I'm not doing anything. I'm just making conversation so that I get to know you better.” He had a pleasing smile that calmed me.

”I suppose you have your wiley ways of getting my story and problems out without having to hear everything from me.” I snuck a look at him and sure enough, he was smiling.

”You're perceptive. So, tell me. What do you want my help with?” Plain and simple. Straight to the point.

”I believe I have unresolved trauma related to my capture seven years ago. I get very little sleep, my diet is a mess and I am constantly gripped with paranoia.”