3. Willow
3
WILLOW
I glance at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes, my attention split between my current patient and the looming afternoon session.
“And how does that make you feel, Marcus?” The words come out rehearsed. Marcus continues talking about his relationship with his cellmate, but my mind drifts to the file on my desk.
Axel Morrison.
Two-hour session.
Why would Dr. Pierce schedule him for such a long session? The note reads, “Extra help needed,” but something about it pricks my skin.
“Dr. Matthews?” Marcus’s voice snaps me back. “You seem distracted.”
My face grows warm. “I’m sorry, Marcus. You’re right.” I lean forward. “Please, continue about the conflict you were describing.”
As I nod and take notes, my thoughts return to my afternoon appointment. I’ve read Axel’s file three times. The photos, the psychiatric evaluations, the detailed accounts of his crimes—they paint a picture that terrifies and fascinates me.
Marcus shifts in his chair, and guilt twists in my stomach. He deserves my full attention, not this distracted version of me. But the clock keeps ticking toward lunch, toward that two-hour block that feels like a weight pressing against my chest.
“Perhaps we should wrap up a few minutes early today,” I suggest, hating myself for cutting his session short. “I can see I’m not giving you the attention you deserve, and that’s not fair to you.”
“Everything okay, doctor?”
“Yes, just...” I manage a smile. “Just a challenging afternoon ahead.”
After Marcus leaves, I pull Axel’s file from my desk drawer. His intake photo stares back at me—he’s utterly gorgeous, and those piercing green eyes seem to look right through me.
Two hours.
What could require two hours?
A soft knock at my door breaks through my fixation on Axel’s file. I snap it shut, stuffing it back into my drawer as Eleanor pokes her head in.
“Ready for lunch?” Her warm smile eases some of my tension. “I missed you yesterday.”
“God, yes.” I grab my purse, desperate for a distraction from my spinning thoughts. “Sorry about that. I had so much paperwork, I worked straight through.”
We walk down the sterile hallway. Eleanor’s presence steadies me, like a lighthouse in the storm of my anxious mind.
“The cafeteria’s serving their awful meatloaf today,” Eleanor wrinkles her nose. “Want to grab something from that deli across the street?”
“Perfect.” Fresh air might help clear my head. I sign us out at security, following Eleanor through the heavy gates.
As we leave, the spring breeze hits my face, carrying away some of the prison’s oppressive atmosphere. Eleanor links her arm through mine, a motherly gesture that tightens my throat.
“You look stressed.” She guides me across the parking lot. “First week getting to you?”
“Is it that obvious?” I force a laugh.
“Only to someone who’s been exactly where you are.” Eleanor squeezes my arm. “Sometimes getting out of those walls for an hour makes all the difference.”
She’s right. With each step away from the facility, my shoulders lower a fraction. I could tell her about my concerns regarding the afternoon session. Get her perspective before?—
“Come on,” Eleanor tugs me toward the deli with a cheerful red awning outside. “Let’s get some real food in you. Everything feels more manageable on a full stomach.”
We walk in and order our food, sitting at a window booth.
I bite into my turkey club, the fresh sourdough and crisp lettuce barely registering. Eleanor watches me from across the small table, her eyes narrowing as I rearrange the potato chips for the third time.
“Alright, out with it.” She sets down her sandwich. “What’s got you so wound up?”
My fingers twist the paper napkin in my lap. “It’s my next patient.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Axel Morrison.”
Eleanor’s expression shifts. “Ah.”
“Dr. Pierce, why is his session two hours? None of my other appointments run that long.” I lean forward, lowering my voice, though we’re the only customers in the deli. “His file... the things he’s done...”
“Willow.” She reaches across the table, stilling my fidgeting hands. “Remember what we discussed about boundaries?”
“I know, I know. It’s just—” I pull my hands back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Two hours alone with someone like that. Someone who—” The words stick in my throat.
“Who what?” Eleanor’s tone sharpens. “Fascinates you?”
My ears burn with embarrassment. “That’s not—I didn’t mean?—”
“You’re not the first to be drawn to his type.” She sighs. “Charismatic psychopaths are like flames, Willow. Beautiful to look at, but get too close...”
“I understand the risks.” I straighten my spine, trying to project more confidence than I feel. “I’ve studied cases like his for years. I just want to know why such a long session?”
“Because he’s manipulative. He needs more time to warm up, to let his guard down.” Eleanor picks up her sandwich again. “And because the state requires extensive documentation for high-risk inmates. You’ll need extra time for paperwork.”
“Oh.” Some of the tension leaves my shoulders. “That makes sense.”
“Have you met him much?” I take a small bite of my sandwich, trying to sound casual. “Axel, I mean.”
Eleanor wipes her mouth with a napkin, taking her time before answering. “We’ve crossed paths in the medical wing. He had an altercation with another inmate last month.” She folds the napkin into precise quarters. “But I’ve never sat in on any of his sessions.”
“What was he like?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“Charming.” Eleanor’s lips press into a thin line. “Polite. Asked about my children by name, though I’ve never met him.”
A chill runs down my spine. “How did he?—”
“He makes it his business to know things about the staff. Personal things.” She pushes her half-eaten sandwich away. “It’s part of how he operates. Information is currency to men like him.”
I think of the family photo on my desk—Mom and me at graduation. Should I take it down? But that feels like letting him win, like admitting he has power over me before we meet.
“Does that happen often?” I ask. “Inmates finding out personal details about staff?”
“More than we’d like.” Eleanor checks her watch. “The smart ones watch, listen, piece things together. A casual comment here, a glimpse of a phone screen there. They have nothing but time to observe.”
My turkey club sits heavy in my stomach. I’d been so focused on preparing for Axel’s psychological evaluation that I hadn’t considered he might end up evaluating me right back.
“Should I be worried?”
“Not worried.” Eleanor meets my eyes. “Just aware. There’s a difference.”
Eleanor reaches across the table, her warm hand covering mine. “You’re one of the brightest psychologists I’ve met, Willow. Your instincts are sharp, and your empathy is a gift.”
“But what if—” I bite my lip, unable to voice the real fear in my gut.
“You can handle him.” Her tone brooks no argument. “I wouldn’t have recommended you for this position if I didn’t believe that.”
My fingers trace the condensation on my water glass. Eleanor’s faith in me should be reassuring, but there’s something she doesn’t know. Something I’ve never told anyone.
That little voice inside me whispers how fascinating men like Axel are. The way my pulse quickens when I read about their crimes. The thrill of understanding their twisted minds.
“Thank you.” I manage a weak smile. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”
“You won’t. Remember your training and keep your boundaries firm.”
But that’s exactly what I’m afraid of—my boundaries dissolving like sugar in the rain. Because despite everything I know about Axel Morrison, despite the horror of his crimes, there’s something magnetic about him. Even his photograph has held me captive, those green eyes promising secrets I want to unlock.
“You’re right.” I straighten my shoulders, pushing away thoughts of Axel’s alluring smile. “I’ve trained for this. I’m ready.”
But am I?
My fascination with the forbidden awakens, and I yearn for a glimpse into his world. This ability to comprehend the shadows in others’ minds makes me good at my job. But with Axel, I fear it might be my undoing.