I'm a Therapist, and My Patient Is in Love With a Pedophile- 6 Patient Files From Prison

by Dr Harper

  My eyes went wide.

  Jesus Christ, was Zhang the new ‘coach’ he’d been talking about?

  “Chase, she’s manipulating you,” I said quickly, ignoring my better instinct to keep quiet. “I can help you, but you need to trust me.”

  “Hmmm…” said Dr. Zhang, staring intently at Chase. “Now why on Earth would you trust a dangerous prisoner over a licensed psychiatrist?”

  “Because I have nothing to gain from helping you,” I answered. “I want to get you back on the highway — so we can fix the crash. But first, you have to tell me what she wants you to—”

  “Mr. Collins,” Dr. Zhang interrupted me. “I can get you back on the football team. But not if you’re listening to liars like Mr. Harper.”

  Chase’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of us, trying to figure out who to trust.

  “You can’t get back on the football team.” I shook my head. “Anyone who promises that is lying to you. But I can help you find something much better.”

  “What?” he demanded. “What’s better than the football team?”

  “You can feel peace and happiness in your own body again,” I said. “You can feel light and free, instead of that empty black hole in your stomach.”

  To my surprise, Chase’s eyes began to water. It was his first display of true emotion since we’d met.

  “Mr. Harper is trying to seduce you. He’s a sexual predator—”

  “She kidnapped a bunch of kids!” Chase stood up and pointed at Dr. Zhang. “She wants me to eat the ones they kill, so there’s no evidence left behind.”

  What the fuck.

  Dr. Zhang’s eyes glowered. “Nonsense. That’s enough—”

  “Yo, it’s not nonsense!” he shouted. “You told me I’m supposed to replace the current guy who disposes kids — you said he’s burning their bodies!”

  “Who?” I stood up too. “Who’s burning the kids?”

  “ENOUGH!”

  “Chase, tell me who you’re replacing!” I pleaded. “Who’s hurting these kids?”

  Chase nodded anxiously. “You know him. He’s—”

  “BULK UP, SKINNY FAGGOT!” Dr. Zhang shrieked and pointed at me.

  Chase immediately got a frenzied look in his eyes and lunged toward me.

  “No!” I gasped. “Remember the crash on the highway!”

  He bit into my arm and I felt pain surge through my body.

  “Please stop,” I pleaded. “You can fight this.”

  “I can’t!” he growled. He bit me again, this time in the stomach. I fell to the ground in agony.

  Dr. Zhang stood by her desk, her expression a mix of fascination and excitement as she watched her latest weapon at work.

  Laying on the ground, helpless and exposed, I continued begging Chase to stop.

  “You’re not what they said you are, Chase. You were abused and manipulated.”

  He pinned me down and knelt over me, locking his mouth around my ear.

  “Please, Chase.” I squirmed to get away. “Listen to your conscience. Those kids need your help.”

  Finally he stopped for a moment and ran his tongue along the inside of my ear. He was breathing heavily and grunting — almost like he was fighting against himself.

  And then, in a barely audible whisper, he croaked:

  “I’m replacing your cellmate, Doctor H.”

  But before I could even process Chase’s words, he moaned with pleasure and bit my ear off.

  End of Patient File: The Dragon

  Company Retreat: The Dragon

  “James, the police are almost here,” I said gently. “After you’re home, would you like to keep talking with us?”

  James looked at Noah.

  “I’ll be there!” said Noah. “We can keep telling stories together.”

  I was shocked to see James jump up from the ground and run into Noah’s arms.

  “Will you be my new dad?”

  “Oh!” Noah bent down to his level. “Well, I can’t be your dad, but I’d love to be your friend! Will you be my friend?”

  James nodded. “And you’ll keep me safe from the dragon?”

  Noah raised his eyebrows. “There’s a dragon out there?”

  “Yes,” said James. “But he only comes when we’re in trouble.”

  I bent down next to them. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Sometimes a boy says no. He fights. And that makes them mad.”

  “So they send a dragon?”

  “Uh huh,” said James. “After the hornet puts the boy to sleep, and then the dragon comes.”

  “What does the dragon do?” I asked.

  His eyes were glazed over, reflecting only the stormy ocean behind him.

  “He comes in the middle of the night,” said James. “He takes the sleeping boy, and lights him on fire.”

  “Doc!” Noah whispered. “Please stop. We need to wait for the police”

  But James continued. “It smells like a barbecue. And then I never see him again.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said softly. “James, have you ever seen the dragon? Can you tell us what he looks like? Maybe we can help catch him.”

  “I saw him once,” said James. “He was missing teeth.”

  “Anything else?” I pressed.

  James thought for a moment, and then added:

  “His arm — it was in a sling.”

  False Flag

  PART ONE

  “What are you writing?” I asked Tony.

  “Letters.”

  “To who?” I pressed.

  He looked up from his bed.

  “You know, doc, in all our time together, you’ve never once taken an interest in my writing. Why the sudden shift?”

  I bit my lip. “Just curious.”

  At this point, neither Tony nor Dr. Zhang knew what Chase had told me, so I was just trying to play dumb while I pried for more details. I couldn’t ask Chase, because he had been sent to solitary after attacking me. Thankfully Pickowitz heard my screams and restrained him before I lost any more than my ear.

  “Well, if you must know, I’m writing to the supposed ‘survivors’ of SlapDot.”

  I frowned. The SlapDot bombing was over two years ago. Sixteen social media employees died that day, and twelve were left with horrific injuries.

  “That’s nice,” I said. “But why are you sending them condolences all this time later?”

  “Condolences?” He snorted. “No, doc. These are death threats.”

  “What?” I hopped down from my bunk and stood next to him, certain that I must have heard him incorrectly through the bandage on my ear. “Did you say death threats?”

  “Yeah.”

  I screwed up my face. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Because the bombing didn’t happen,” snapped Tony. “The whole thing was staged. Those ‘survivors’ are crisis actors. They just hired a bunch of amputees—”

  “Jesus Christ…” I muttered. Most of the time, I managed to have a sense of humor about his ridiculous conspiracies. But this just pissed me off.

  “Tony, you can’t send those letters.”

  He continued writing intently. “Why not?”

  “Because, those people have already gone through unimaginable grief and trauma,” I said. “You need to let them heal in peace.”

  He laughed. “If the bombing actually happened, I would agree with you.”

  “It did happen,” I insisted. “If anyone’s faking injuries, it’s you with that stupid fucking arm sling.”

  He glared at me. “This protects me from—”

  “Mind control chem trails,” I finished for him. “You’ve told me. Well those people actually lost their limbs. For fuck’s sake, it was captured on video.”

  “Videos can be faked,” said Tony, nursing his non-existent injury. “Evidence is always fabricated in these events.”

  “What events?”

  “False flags,” said Tony. “They manufacture these tragedies to
make us afraid. That way they can control us — take away our weapons, regulate everything, make us complacent.”

  “Who’s they?”

  He looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “You keep referring to this omniscient ‘they’ — organizing these scary events to trick and control you. Who are ‘they’?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not your patient, doc. Never will be.”

  “Is it the government? Deep state?” I continued. “I’m genuinely just curious… What organization has the resources and means to pull off these tricks every other week? And how do so many actors manage to stay quiet about these massive coverups?”

  He looked up from his letter. “You know what’s funny, doc? I’m used to skeptics mocking me. But I’m a bit surprised by you.”

  “I’m not mocking—”

  “Since the day you got here, I’ve covered your ass. Every piece of information I’ve shared with you has turned out to be true. And yet you still have the arrogance to make fun of me.”

  I thought for a moment and realized he actually had a fair point. He had been right about Arthur and Sam. He had swiped the photo for me. He had warned me about Bernard. But most of the other stuff he babbled on about was incoherent nonsense. Even a broken clock was right twice a day.

  “Tony, look, I’m not trying to belittle you. I just hate the idea of harassing people who have already suffered so much.”

  “They haven’t suffered!” he said bitterly.

  “Okay, but are you 100% certain?” I asked. “I know you’re probably able to debunk every piece of evidence from the bombing. But for every single thing you debunk, there’s someone out there debunking your debunk. And what if they’re correct? What if you’re harassing people who have already lost everything?”

  “I’m not!”

  “But what if you are!” I exclaimed. “Even if it’s just a tiny chance, doesn’t that risk outweigh anything you could possibly gain from insulting some unethical actors?”

  “There’s not a tiny chance,” said Tony defensively. “SlapDot never fucking happened.”

  “But how can you actually know that? Unless you were there that day—”

  He threw the letter down on his bed. “I was there, doc.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What?”

  “I was a web developer at SlapDot,” he said. “And I’m telling you, nobody fucking died.”

  PART TWO

  God, I missed the Internet.

  Back in the library, I scanned magazines and newspapers for stories to corroborate Tony’s claim that he worked for SlapDot.

  I was surprised to find that he was actually telling the truth.

  In fact, he had been outspoken about the attack since the day it occurred:

  SlapDot Employees Puzzled by Colleague’s Bizarre Claims

  Hours after the bombing at SlapDot’s headquarters, one employee vehemently denied that the event took place.

  According to a senior developer, Tony Singer, the entire bombing was staged.

  “Crisis actors were brought in weeks ago. They planned this whole thing. We had a bunch of trial runs yesterday.”

  News anchors cut his interview short, but he continued ranting on his SlapDot profile.

  “I’ve never worked with these people. That woman who says she lost both her legs — never met her in my life.”

  Singer’s claims have spread like wildfire on the Internet, serving as fuel for “false flag” conspiracies that often arise after mass tragedies.

  I looked up from the article and shook my head in disbelief.

  So Tony was telling the truth about working for SlapDot — but was he telling the truth about what happened that day?

  ◆◆◆

  “Tony, I wanted to apologize for last night.”

  “It’s alright, doc.” He stood up from his bed and stretched. “I’m used to it. When you become a warrior for the truth, you put a target on your back. Ridicule is a favorite tactic of the skeptics.”

  “It was wrong of me,” I said. “I looked up your story, and you were telling the truth. You’ve been telling me the truth since the beginning.”

  He gave me a small nod. “I appreciate that.”

  I took a deep breath. “So I’m going to be honest with you too.”

  “About what, doc?”

  I closed my eyes. This was probably a huge mistake.

  “When Chase attacked me, he told me that you…”

  Tony raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “He — He told me that you’re responsible for disposing children.”

  Tony gave me a grim look.

  “That’s correct.”

  “What?” My heart began to race. “Tony — Why? Why would you ever do that?”

  Tony sighed. “Can I sit up there with you?”

  “Sure,” I said, moving over to make room for him.

  Tony grunted as he re-adjusted his arm sling, and then climbed up onto the bed.

  “Doc, this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out,” he said quietly. “But I’m the one who’s been sending you those letters.”

  “That was—” I stopped myself and lowered my voice. “That was you?”

  Someone had been writing anonymous notes to me since the day I arrived, proclaiming their innocence and trying to form some sort of escape alliance. Had I seriously been communicating with my cellmate this whole time?

  “I didn’t know if I could trust you,” he said. “I didn’t know if you were working undercover. So I’ve been testing the waters — with the notes, and the photo.”

  “Are you working with Zhang?” I asked.

  “No!” he exclaimed. “I’m trying to stop her. But I can’t do it alone.”

  “What exactly is she doing?”

  “She’s running a pedophile ring,” he said.

  “In prison?” I asked incredulously.

  “Not exactly,” said Tony. “But she takes us on ‘field trips’ to the facility.”

  “Us?”

  “Prisoners,” he said. “She uses prisoners to run the whole operation. You’ve already met most of them.”

  “Like who?”

  “Arthur — he had direct connections with different kids and dark web forums. He basically helped to recruit them. Then there’s Bernard — he drugs the kids with tranquilizers and stimulants, depending on the situation.”

  My eyes went wide. I’m embarrassed to admit, this was the moment where I finally connected our company retreat with the pedophile ring. Every animal the boy told us about was a prisoner here. Except…

  “What about the copy cat?” I asked.

  “The what?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “The guy who mimics and brainwashes kids.”

  Tony nodded darkly. “Richard Scott. He’s in cell block B — for strangling his own toddler to death. Couldn’t handle the reality of what he did, so he decided to stop being Richard Scott and borrow identities from other people.”

  “Jesus…” I muttered. “And you? Why are you involved in all this?”

  “I swear to God, I’m helping them,” he said. “After Bernard overdoses the rejects, I’m supposed to get rid of the bodies. But I always carry Narcan and Adrenaline with me. If I’m able to wake them up, I let them go.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Do you write on their shirts? Things like ‘No police’?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “How did you know that?”

  “A year back, my assistant and I found a little boy on the beach.”

  Tony’s eyes lit up. “What did he look like?”

  I thought back to that day. “Umm… Blonde hair… Green eyes…”

  “James!” said Tony happily, eyes tearing up. “Where is he now?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Where did you take him?” Tony leaned in close to me. “Is he somewhere safe?”

  “I’m not sure. We called the police—”

  “NO!”

  I jumped, taken aback by Tony�
��s guttural scream.

  “What the hell—”

  “WHY DID YOU CALL THE POLICE?” he continued shouting. “I PUT IT ON THE FUCKING SHIRT.”

  “Tony, I didn’t—”

  “FUCK!” He punched the wall until his knuckles started to bleed. “FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.”

  “Tony!” I stopped him and grabbed his hands. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  He hung his head and let out a horrible sob.

  “Zhang has my son again.”

  ◆◆◆

  I comforted Tony for the next hour, trying to process what he had just told me.

  It was well beyond midnight at this point, but I wasn’t tired in the slightest. I still had so many questions.

  “Tony, are you willing to keep talking about this?” I asked gently. “I want to help James, but I don’t want to upset you.”

  Tony sniffled. “It’s fine. What do you want to know?”

  “Well, first, I need to know how the police are involved.”

  “Doc, you have to understand, this organization caters to the elite, wealthy, and powerful — politicians and CEOs. People who have the money and connections to pay off law enforcement.”

  Hours ago, this would have just sounded like another paranoid conspiracy. But now I believed every word he spoke.

  “Zhang keeps collateral on all of them,” Tony continued. “The Glade Farm Boys aren’t victims — they’re perpetrators. You saw number 93, right?”

  “Yes, that was Sam.”

  “Number 93 was Arthur,” he corrected me. “Every photo captures one of her clients. There have been hundreds of them over the years, and she keeps them all locked up in her desk.”

  “We have to get those pictures!” I said. “With all that evidence, we could finally end this.”

  “It’s not that simple,” said Tony. “Zhang keeps that key around her neck every second of the day. Those photos are her lifeline if anything ever goes wrong. And she’s been getting more paranoid since I let those kids escape.”

  “Does Zhang know you were the one releasing them?”

  Tony let out a small laugh through his nose. “She had her suspicions. That’s why she’s been purging everyone.”