Mastery of Darkness

By Erin Lee and Olivia Marie

Dr. Patricia Hamlet is no rookie when it comes to head games. In fact, after losing her therapy license to unethical experimentation, she's determined to show her former supervisors just what the word 'unethical' means.

Now, using her former private practice, Hamlet will train the unsuspecting student – Dakota Newman – how to manipulate both hearts and minds.

Together, they will master the darkness. Only, Dakota, in it for the right reasons, has no idea just how cunning her puppet master can be.

Will she read behind the treatment plans or will Dakota be the first of Dr. Hamlet's victims?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Oct 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393139799

Erin Lee

Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

Book preview

International Bestselling Authors

Erin Lee

Olivia Marie

Dr. Patricia Hamlet is no rookie when it comes to head games. In fact, after losing her therapy license to unethical experimentation, she’s determined to show her former supervisors just what the word ‘unethical’ means.

Now, using her former private practice, Hamlet will train the unsuspecting student – Dakota Newman – how to manipulate both hearts and minds.

Together, they will master the darkness. Only, Dakota, in it for the right reasons, has no idea just how cunning her puppet master can be.

Will she read behind the treatment plans or will Dakota be the first of Dr. Hamlet’s victims?

For those who see beauty in darkness.

And for Walter, who loved the game of truth or dare.

May your forever be on the pond.

Chapter One

Dr. Hamlet

A nd what is your preferred therapeutic modality? I stared at her, wondering if she’d ever heard of a hairbrush and why it never occurred to her to look up my credentials. How she expected my signature to get her anywhere with her clinical hours was a whole other situation. But why should I care? It’s her problem. She’s sloppy – not me.

Solution focused, she said proudly – as if she was original.

Maybe you should go to someone else.

Why?

I’m not client-driven. That’s why. The postmodern shit is for the birds. There’s something to be said for structure, Dakota.

And tradition?

Her question, while on the surface, could have been taken a hundred different ways, gave me hope. Perhaps her mind was pliable enough to mess with. Open minded? Eager to please? Certainly. But what had my attention was her choice of words. Structural or not, when I thought of modern therapeutic modalities, I thought of the masters: Freud, Bowen, Erickson. The idea she wasn’t turned off by their chauvinistic ways told me she was a submissive. Sure, she was brainwashed in the client-centered hippie shit that had plagued my thirty-year career and countless case meetings. But she was too green to be rooted in career-long philosophies. Christ, she was only a student. I could fix things for her.

Tradition. Interesting. Yes. I leaned forward, Who is your favorite and why?

She shrugged. I’m still trying to figure out my favorite. I’d go with narrative if I had no other choice.

So, Brown?

Yes. He’s good. Her eyes opened wide.

What an idiot. He’s good if you like talking verses doing. He’s fabulous if you love to yammer.  

Yes. He’s great. Very – feely. In tune with words and things. ...So how many hours are you looking for?

She looked down at a frayed purple notebook in her lap. Pulling it open, she scanned the pages before finally looking back up. I need twenty a week to graduate on time.

Way to wait until last minute, fool. You’re gonna have to work for that – and hard. Desperate. Desperate is good. Supervision? Client contact? Face to face? Research? Straight mentor? What kind?

We have client contact covered at the clinic. Really, all I need is supervision.

Very well, then. You can shadow me or just jump in on one of my research projects. But I’ll still require CC credits. It’s just how I do things.

Either is fine. I mean, I’d love it. I’m so excited. It will be good to get more face time even if it doesn’t count for my degree. I can’t wait. Really!

Cool your jets, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’re signing up for yet. Excited—for now. Right now, I only see private pays. You’ll learn – billing is a hassle. State came in and changed the Medicaid billable protocol too. Not worth it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t do my part – systemic thinking, you know? I take three pro bono pays a month but could probably add to that with you around. I have a waiting list for that. I could assign you, say, five new cases? Unpaid, of course.

That would be great.

Sucker. And your specialty is what? Or your preference even? Say borderlines.

Couples.

Yep. Not a thing. Borderlines it is. Extreme pathologies. Dual axels too. It’ll be good for you – I promise. Impress your professors and pack your resume to be able to handle anything. I didn’t look up at her. I might laugh. I could only imagine her mortified expression. I was stuffing her foreseeable future with absolute shit and as a last year student, she darn well new it. And, like you said in your cover letter, challenges are good.

She frowned but didn’t argue. It was as good of a start as any. I smiled, wondering what Dr. Walter Lowen would say if he could see me now. Truth was, I missed the two-way mirror in his office and would have enjoyed a case critique. It was impossible to forget what he’d done to me. It was my turn now.

I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your full name. Dakota what?

Newman, she mumbled.

Great. And when can you start?

She tilted her head and reached for a pleather datebook – also on her lap. After a minute or two, as if she had anything better to do, she finally said, Monday.

Well, you have a lot of work to do before then, I said.

Oh?

Homework.

Like the clients get?

Excellent. She’d be even easier than I’d imagined. Yes. Something like that. But different. Have your professors worked with you on personal bias statements?

We’ve done a few papers on it.

Great. I’d like to read them. You’ll need them for licensing anyway. By the time we’re done, you’ll be way ahead of your peers. Your cohort will be jealous. ...On Monday when you come in—eight on the nose—we can go over those. Meantime, I’d like a two-page paper on your blind spots. You know what those are, correct?

Yes. They asked us that in our grad school interview. For me, it’s sex offenders.

Perfect. Were you molested or just a do-good? Or, better, just a typical follower? "That’s so hard. I had a supervisor... Well, I won’t tell you about him just yet. But remind me to tell you about Walter. Any others?" Fuck, it felt good to plant seeds again. I could hardly wait to water her.

Alcoholics. My father drank too much.

Join the club, princess. So substance abuse and pedophiles? Those are hard rules for you?

Yes.

Great. Ray Winston and Greg Capree. She’ll die. Rule one: be careful what you say out loud. Especially to a therapist. Ethics be damned!

Okay. No problem. Of course, I can’t control when they surprise you. You know how clients are after the first few sessions by now. Never know what they come out with by, say session five. At that point, we don’t terminate. We just address those blind spots in supervision. Better for the client and the only way to stay in line with the Code of Ethics. I’m sure you agree.

Of course.

Regardless, thank you for your transparency. Be assured that I’ll do my best to steer you clear. I have a guy in his thirties. Suicidal ideation, but nothing that’s manifested in an actual attempt. He’s really easy. Just lonely. Oh, and we also use a two-way mirror.

We use those at the clinic too.

Great. Easy for you. The other client I have in mind to start you out with is clinically depressed – problems in his marriage. No big deal there either. It strikes me that most of my client list is male. Will that be a problem for you?

No, not at all. I grew up with three brothers. They sound easy enough – the clients, I mean.

Oh? What’s your birth order?

Youngest.

Spoiled. Entitled. Babied. Fabulous. No regrets here. Youngest. Oh, I bet they watched out for you.

Oh, yes. My poor boyfriends!

She’s straight. For now. Boyfriends, plural?

Oh, I mean in the past.

I held my hands up on both sides of my head. Oh, no judgement here. Your personal life is personal. I’m all for it. I figured with a client driven, solution focused modality preference you might be polyamorous. You know, the trend.

I swore she scowled. She hated me already. It took everything in me not to laugh out loud. She hated me and I loved her - for now. Welcome to hell. Soon, the feelings would be mutual. I wasn’t much for spoiled brats who’d procrastinated so long on the clinical internship list they had to settle for the last name on it. If she didn’t think I knew what was going on, she was sadly mistaken. But that was fine too. I was used to being underestimated. This was going to be fun.

It had been twenty years since I’d sat on a similar couch with notebooks in my lap staring expectantly at my potential mentor. Only I’d been at the top of my class and the only that year to win a spot with Dr. Lowen. God, it was crazy to think about how time had flown and how much had changed. But it had. And it would continue to – at least, if it were up to me.

Oh. No. That’s not me. I’m monogamous.

Very well. No need to fill me in. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other in time, I said. But my case notes call so I should probably wrap this up. Boundaries are very important, you know. I hope they are teaching you that.

Yes. They are.

Great. Self care. It’s so important. Don’t want you to burn out before you even get started. I stood and opened my office door.

Fumbling with her notebooks and a datebook the fool hadn’t bothered to write anything in, Dakota Newman smiled at me, told me to have a good afternoon and said she’d see me Monday.

Great. Look forward to it. And don’t forget your homework.

Chapter Two

Dakota

Iwalked out of the room with my head spinning and really questioning my decision. I’d known I wanted to go into this field since I was a child and there was no way I was giving it up now, but my self-esteem had taken a hit.

With my dad a drunk, clinically depressed schizophrenic, I thought I knew more about things than I did. All the tell me more and how does that make you feel I had heard growing up, I figured I had this. Listen to them, write in a yellow notebook, and google their symptoms, but there was so much more.

Since I was on by a thread and this was the only teacher left on the list by the time I caught up enough to pick one, I was starting to second guess myself. The good news was that I was her only student so fighting for her attention wouldn’t be a thing.

She had asked for so much from me. I played it well, I thought. She threw out terms I was clueless about but seemed to buy every bullshit answer. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was shrinking me the whole time.

I made it back to my dorm and fumbled to open the door. My notebooks flew from my fingers like they had given up and jumped off the cliff. I fought to hold on to the precious cup of coffee with no luck. It followed the notebooks and landed hard on the floor covering them and myself in the sweet mocha flavored slice of heaven I wouldn’t taste now.

Hey Dakota, Blake said coming up behind me. Think it works better if you drink that instead of wear it.

She had been my roommate since halfway through freshman year when we took our generals. My first roommate had dropped out because she couldn’t handle it, and since Blake and I had been friends forever, she got her dad to pull a few stings so we could room together.

Unlike me, she was a petite five-foot-three, but she was plumper and had the tiniest chest I had ever seen. There was a reason she was called a boy so often. Her face was so feminine though and her hair had copper waves that reached all the way to her butt. The complete opposite of me. No matter what I did, there was no taming the out of control mane on my head.

I was about average height and my build was athletic. Freckles ran across my face in a wild game of scatter. My best feature, though, was my eyes. They were a deep green with specks of blue and gold tossed in like stars in the night sky. At least that was the one thing my last boyfriend had told me before he left me for a cheerleader who put out on first dates.

Want some help? she asked and bent down to scoop up a pile of sticky wet notes.

Can you make this year skip ahead cause that would be the only thing that would save me.

Tough day?

"I hope I’m not in over my head, but