Detective Evelyn Hart's hand hovered over the interrogation room door handle, her mind racing as she mentally prepared herself. This wasn't an ordinary case, and Dr. Marcus Fallon wasn't an ordinary suspect. Renowned as one of the city's most brilliant psychiatrists, Fallon had a spotless reputation. But now, he was tied to a series of grisly murders, each victim bearing the hallmarks of a disturbing psychological game.
She opened the door, and there he was-Dr. Fallon sat calmly, hands folded on the cold metal table, his gaze focused and unblinking. Tall, impeccably dressed, with a penetrating stare, Fallon looked more like apolished executive than a man accused of murder.
"Detective Hart," he said, offering her a faint smile as she stepped inside. "I've heard so much about you."
Evelyn didn't return the smile. She pulled out the chair opposite him, keeping her expression neutral as she sat down. "Dr. Fallon," she replied. "I'm sure you know why you're here."
He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "I have some idea, but please, enlighten me."
She pushed a folder across the table. Fallon didn't open it, but his eyes lingered on it briefly before shifting back to her.
"Three victims," Evelyn began, her tone steady. "Each found with a handwritten note describing their deepest fears. Each note is signed with the initials 'MF.' Care to explain that?"
Fallon raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. "A coincidence, perhaps. There must be many people with those initials."
"Except," she continued, her gaze fixed on him, "each victim had a history of therapy sessions with you, Dr. Fallon."
For a moment, his expression flickered, just the briefest hint of something lurking beneath his polished exterior. But he quickly composed himself. "Detective, I am a psychiatrist. I work with many patients, some of whom, sadly, struggle deeply with their fears and anxieties. But to suggest I'm involved in their deaths? That's... unfortunate."
Evelyn watched him carefully, noting the way his fingers tapped ever so slightly against the table. The man was poised, yes, but there was a tension there-a restrained energy that she was certain held the truth.
"You're very selective with your patients, aren't you?" she asked, leaning forward. "Only those suffering from extreme phobias, the kind that keep people up at night. That's quite the specialty, Dr. Fallon."
He smiled, a faint, unsettling curve of his lips. "I believe in helping people face their fears, Detective. It's the only way they can conquer them. Fear is a powerful force, wouldn't you agree?"
"So powerful," Evelyn replied, her tone edged, "that each of these victims died in a way that mirrored their worst fear. A man terrified of heights, found dead at the bottom of an abandoned building. A woman afraid of drowning, pulled from the river. How does that happen?"
Fallon met her gaze, unflinching. "Perhaps they sought to face their fears and... went too far. I can't control what my patients do outside of our sessions."
Evelyn felt her frustration building, but she kept her expression even. "You're playing games, Dr. Fallon. I've seen killers hide behind masks before, but they always slip. You think you're untouchable because you hide behind your title, but I see through you."
Fallon chuckled softly. "Oh, Detective. You make it sound as if this is personal. But we both know you're just doing your job." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Just as I do mine."
She refused to let him intimidate her. "Your job doesn't include writing taunting letters signed with your initials."
"Taunting?" he asked, tilting his head with curiosity. "You think that these letters are my doing? Maybe they are... maybe they aren't. But let's assume they are. What would that say about me, Detective?"
"That you're a narcissist," she shot back. "That you enjoy the power of manipulation and control. You treat your patients like pawns in your twisted game."
Fallon's expression turned dark, the polished mask slipping just for a second. "And you, Detective Hart. You're the one determined to stop me. Tell me, what's your greatest fear?"
Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine, but she held her ground. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattle. "My fears aren't relevant, Dr. Fallon."
"Oh, but they are," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "Fear is the truest mirror, Detective. It reveals everything. Perhaps you'll understand that soon enough."
He leaned back in his chair, that unsettling smile returning. "But I do hope you come back. This has been... enlightening."
Evelyn forced herself to stand, even though part of her wanted to stay, to keep pressing him until he cracked. But she knew that wouldn't happen-not yet. Fallon was a predator who knew how to play the long game. And she would have to be patient if she wanted to bring him down.
As she closed the door behind her, Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that she had just crossed into dangerous territory, that she was now part of a game she didn't fully understand.
But one thing was clear: Dr. Fallon was no ordinary killer, and this case would be no ordinary hunt. She would have to outwit him, to find the chink in his armor before he found hers.
And as she walked away from the interrogation room, she could almost feel his gaze still on her, as if he were watching her every move, anticipating her next step.
The game had only just begun.
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