The murderer and rapist had been unsure how he 'd play it before he 'd entered the Psychiatrist 's office, and how much he 'd reveal in his first session. Ms McMillan was the expert, and it would depend on how much she could draw out of him. However, now that he 'd arrived, he couldn 't resist teasing with his demeanour, and tone. Would she pick up on it, and the slight smirk that had passed across his features? Jarrod didn 't care; it was he paying the two hundred dollars an hour, or whatever it was, to reveal his soul, and he could do and say whatever he liked. She was here to listen.
He arched an eyebrow after his response, and awaited her reply. His fingers played with the tie, and Jarrod briefly closed his eyes to conjure an image of the Doctor with it wrapped around her neck, on all fours on the floor, before he re-opened them, and shook his head to clear his mind. It took a second for her words to register, and once they had, like the eager patient
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"I 'm a fortunate soul, successful and wealthy, but lately I 've questioned my purpose in life. Why am I here, why are any of us here? It 's a cruel place; poverty, war, famine, death and murder. Each time you read the newspapers, or switch on the evening news, all you get is crime and violence, grief and destruction. Last week, for example, in my neighbourhood, only a couple of blocks down, a twenty-three year old woman, completely innocent, and causing no-one any harm, was brutally raped and murdered in her …show more content…
"Can you image that, Doctor? The pain and suffering, the humiliation she must have endured. And for what? Because some psycho felt that it was his right? To get himself off? With people such as that in this world, how could a man