Читать книгу: «In Devil's Hands»

Part 1

The steady ticking of the clock and the rhythmic tapping of a pencil against the desk were slowly becoming maddening. Being a therapist wasnt exactly fulfilling, but it paid well. Daniel glanced at the clock and exhaled loudly.

"Shes late," he muttered. His last patient of the day was already fifteen minutes behind schedule. "Irresponsible."

A knock came at the door, followed by it cracking open slightly.

"Hello? May I come in?"

Daniel looked up from his desk and studied the woman who had just entered. He gave her a measured onceover and gestured to the chair across from him.

"Please, have a seat."

"Thank you."

The woman stepped into the room hesitantly. As she made her way to the chair, she took in her surroundings. A floor lamp stood on the desk, casting a pool of light over the surface and faintly illuminating the space around it. The corners of the office were swallowed by darkness. An antique grandfather clock in the corner ticked away with mechanical insistence. The air carried the scent of sandalwood from a diffuser, mingled with the smell of old paper and leather.

Daniel settled behind his dark oak desk — massive, with intricately carved legs — and folded his hands. He looked at his patient.

"So, may I have your name?"

Jeanette. The woman had barely taken her seat — a soft chair without armrests, positioned across from Daniels desk.

"French?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Half. My mothers French, my fathers American."

She cast an inquisitive glance at the bookshelves lining the walls. It was clear the books werent arranged by subject, but by aesthetics — spines matching the decor. Most were in foreign languages. Among them were works on psychoanalysis, but also poetry collections and Kafkas novels.

Jeanettes fingertips tingled. She longed to pick up one of those books, just to hold it.

Daniel made a note in his notebook and nodded.

"Jeanette, then." He gave her another critical look. "And how old are you?"

"Thirty seven."

She looked at the therapist. A colleague had recommended him — hed helped her once. Tall, probably six foot three, broadshouldered, dark hair, blue eyes — they contrasted sharply with his hair, giving his gaze a particular intensity.

Slightly surprised she looked younger than her age, Daniel made another note.

"Thirtyseven, then." He tilted his head. "Do you have children?"

"Yes, a daughter. She's ten."

Daniel jotted it down again.

"A daughter, I see." He fixed his gaze on her. "Is there a husband in your life?"

"Its complicated. Kind of there, kind of not."

Daniel leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting — he'd sensed a weak spot.

"Kind of there Interesting phrasing. Like Schrödingers cat — both alive and dead at the same time. But your husband, I'd guess, is more dead to you or does he just ignore you?"

He smiled faintly, almost with pleasure.

"Tell me: when was the last time you felt like yourself? Not a mother. Not a ghost wife. Just Jeanette."

"Um... that was a long time ago. Right after I started working, just after university."

Daniel made another note, raising his eyebrows slightly, as if he'd just uncovered something intriguing. His expression held nothing, but cold, sceptical interest.

"How many years ago was that?"

"Thirteen or fourteen, the woman sighed."

A beautiful woman, Daniel thought, and licked his lips.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His voice dropped — like raindrops sliding down glass.

"So... you felt like yourself before your daughter?"

He didnt let her answer, adding gently:

"Doesnt it feel like your life has become a TV series with someone elses script? Youre cast as the mother — a supporting role. And the heroines been taken off the air and no one even noticed she was gone."

Why do his words cut so deep? Like he sees what I hide even from myself. Jeanette gripped her bag tighter, holding it on her lap like a shield, the leather handle biting into her palm.

"I suppose. But without that role, I wouldn't even know how I'd want to live. I'm happy with my daughter." She finally spoke aloud.

Daniel tilted his head, as if hearing sincerity — a rare delicacy — for the first time. A pause. Then, softly, almost in a whisper:

"All right But isn't all that I'm happy just a habit?"

He ran a finger along the edge of his notebook.

"You're not against your daughter. On the contrary — she's a part of you. But when you say you live for someone else, Jeanette all that's left is ashes of yourself. Then you look in the mirror and ask: Who lived here before me?"

A brief silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the old clock.

"Who would you want to be if no one was watching you as a mother or a wife?" The man's voice sliced smoothly through the vacuum of silence.

"I don't know. I don't even, you know, Daniel, I don't even know how to dream. Or desire. It's just not there. Sometimes I think it'd be wonderful to travel the world. But then, how could I go alone? What if something happened to me? Especially back then, when I was young and trusting."

Daniel tilted his head sharply and studied her. All his scepticism had suddenly vanished, replaced by genuine interest. He slowly placed his hand on the desk.

"That's quite an unusual answer, Jeanette. Not dreams — but worries. Doubts. Fears. Youre afraid not of getting into trouble, are you? Youre afraid of making a mistake."

"Yes."

Daniel nodded slowly, his voice dropping to an almost intimate tone, as if revealing something forbidden.

"Then youre not living out of fear of death but out of fear of life."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"Many do. But at least you're honest. That's rare. You're afraid to be alone in a foreign city — but you know what? That fear isn't about planes or hotels. It's about what if something goes wrong and there's no one to save you. Because the person who should have been there has long been kind of not."

A pause. He held her gaze; she didn't dare even breathe.

"Now imagine this: youre travelling alone. Nothing bad happens And then, suddenly — oh my God! — you realise: I did it on my own. What then?"

"Huh. If I apply that to my whole life, I manage everything on my own. I ask myself why I keep living like this. And I think it's right. For my daughter. It's the right thing to do. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with one hand."

Daniel smiled slowly — not mockingly, but with a gentle, almost warm cruelty.

"Ah, there it is It's the right thing to do."

He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. Only now did Jeanette notice the window behind him, tightly curtained with heavy, deep burgundy fabric.

"It's a beautiful mask. You wear it and think: I'm a saint, a martyr. I'm Mother Earth. But inside someones knocking. Quietly: It hurts. And you silence it with my daughter, like it's both a prayer and a sentence."

He looked straight at her.

"But tell me honestly: if someone had told you as a child — You'll grow up and spend your whole life feeling guilty for wanting to be happy — would you have believed it?"

Another silence fell, and the seconds seemed to stretch.

"You can endure a lot for your child but don't forget who you are." Daniel broke the silence again.

"But I am happy. Everything's fine. He doesn't drink, he doesn't hit, he's a good father, not a great husband, sure. But I'm not young anymore, and I have my daughter. I've got maybe fifty years left — that's the max. And then life ends. That's it. Basically, everything's fine. I survive. I'm happy when my daughters happy. Her happiness matters more to me."

The smirk slowly faded from his face. Daniel leaned forward, folding his hands into a steeple once more.

"Really?" He tilted his head slightly, as if examining her under a microscope. "Do you truly believe that? Or are you just saying it?"

His eyebrow lifted slightly. He seemed intent on getting to the heart of the matter.

"Are you happy now, Jeanette?"

"Yes. I just I wish there was more romance, more love, more respect."

Daniel nodded slowly, as if he'd finally struck a nerve. His voice grew a touch warmer — yet it remained piercing.

"Ah, there it is. Not I'm unhappy, but I'm missing something.

He leaned back in his chair.

"Romance. Love. Respect. Such simple words and so dangerous when they fester inside for years beneath a layer of well, at least its okay."

A pause. He held her gaze.

"Can you imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and realise you truly deserve all of that? Not because you're a patient mother but simply because you are you — Jeanette?"

"But who would give me that? Let's say I do realise it — but who would actually give me all that? My husband?" Jeanette spread her hands wide, nearly dropping her bag. She felt like a high school senior facing a final exam.

"That's a good question. Your husband? Doubtful." Daniel tilted his head slowly, offering a faint smile.

"What if I told you I know someone who could give you all of that?"

"And who might that be? Who would bother with a married woman, with a child, whose whole life has been one long depression? Pills would be easier." Jeanette lowered her eyes.

The corners of Daniels mouth slowly lifted, but his eyes remained cold. He leaned in slightly, narrowing his gaze.

"Someone who can give you what you've been missing all your life."

He settled back in his armchair, watching her intently.

"Someone who won't ask for anything in return."

He leaned closer.

"But there's a condition."

"Are you talking about yourself, Mr. Skinner?"

His smile warmed slightly. Daniel nodded slowly, confirming her guess.

"I'm talking about myself." A beam from the floor lamp flickered, casting a shadow across his face.

His sharp eyes studied her face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to what he was about to propose.

Has he done this before? Or is this some kind of experiment? Jeanette pressed her lips together but decided to ask.

"And what's the condition? Can I hear it before I agree?"

"The condition is simple, Jeanette".

Daniel leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. His voice was soft, almost lazy — but with an undercurrent of steel.

"You have to stop pretending. With me. With yourself. And with that hollow space in your chest you call Im happy."

A pause.

"You want romance? Love? Respect? Then start seeing yourself as deserving of it. Not someday — now. Even if you're shaking with fear. Even if it shames you. And the second condition you won't be afraid of the consequences of the truth."

He leaned in, almost whispering.

"Because after that you can't go back to everythings fine."

"Will this help me discover my true self?"

Daniel gave a slight nod, tilting his head to the side. His gaze burned right through her, as if measuring her reaction.

"Yes, it will help you discover who you really are. The real Jeanette — not a mother, not a wife, not just another role you play. You'll understand what you truly want."

He held her eyes, then gave a small chuckle.

"If you're not too afraid to face the truth, that is."

"I understand. Can I take some time to think? I don't have to answer right away, do I?"

Daniel nodded, leaning back slowly. His tone softened a little.

"Of course. This is important. Sort things out properly."

"I can come back tomorrow and give you my answer."

"I'll be here. Thank you."

Daniel smiled and nodded.

"Until tomorrow, Jeanette."

He watched her with interest as she left the office.

"Goodbye, Mr. Skinner."

Daniel remained silent, watching her go, motionless for a few seconds. Then he tilted his head to the side and chuckled quietly to himself: "Well see."

Later that day. An hour passed. Jeanette decided to clarify things further and sent Daniel a message on the messaging app. She couldn't stop thinking about his offer.

Mr. Skinner, good evening. I still cant quite understand: why would you cross the line between therapist and client to offer me love, romance, and respect?

Daniel was sitting in his office, scrolling through something on his laptop. Suddenly, a notification popped up on screen. He chuckled softly and opened the messenger. A thin smirk spread across his lips as he read Jeanettes words. He stared at the message for a moment, as if mulling over his reply, then slowly began typing:

Just felt like it.

Understood. Until tomorrow, Mr. Skinner.

Daniel lingered his thumb over her name. The game has begun, he thought — but aloud, he simply said:

Until tomorrow, Jeanette

He ran a finger along the edge of the desk, where a barely visible scratch lay beneath the varnish. How many times had he stared into his own reflection and asked: Who are you?

The laptop beeped — a new email had arrived.

Daniel didn't bother opening it.

Instead, he pulled up the chat window with Jeanette, looked at her profile picture — a smile, but sad eyes — and closed the screen.

The room grew darker.