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.

Part 2

Jeanette

I woke up early that morning. I had to get my daughter ready for school — pack her lunch, make her breakfast and breakfast for me — don't forget a cup of coffee.

After I got back from dropping her off, I made breakfast for my husband and went to wake him up.

As I sat across from him, pretending to listen carefully, I kept replaying Daniels words in my head: "What if there's someone who can give you love, romance, and respect?.. You must listen only to me. Who are you, Jeanette, if no one sees you as a mother, a wife?.."

Could Irène have gone through the same thing I'm going through? Did he act ambiguously with her too? Is that why she's so thrilled? What kind of therapy is this?

"What time will you be home today?" Paul mumbled through a mouthful of food, brutally pulling me back to reality.

"Probably late again."

"What's so important at the office that you come home at midnight? And why did you even go to a therapist? Your head's fine. Are you just burning through money?"

"Stop it. And dont you dare count my money. When are you going to get a job though? I'm tired of carrying everything on my shoulders."

The silence was broken by a rude sound — he'd done it again, right there at the table. Like a pig.

I got up from the table, rinsed my second coffee mug, and placed it on the drying rack.

"There's soup in the fridge. And salad. Pick the kid up from school. Don't forget. Classes end at three."

"I won't forget."

He added a loud belch to his reply.

I pressed my lips together and left the kitchen without a word. I went into the bedroom and changed into a classic kneelength pencil dress, deep navy blue. I brushed my shoulderlength wavy chestnut hair with a wide comb.

A couple of sprays of my favourite Arabian perfume — a gift from a friend on my birthday — and I headed to the hallway to grab my coat and put on my lowheeled ankle boots. I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn high heels

On my way to work, I thought about Daniel and Paul, comparing them. Paul chewed without looking at me — he always did that. Daniel, on the other hand, looked at me as if he were undressing me with his eyes — right from our very first meeting.

Paul used to be tall, slim, smart They say a man makes his woman — that is, his attitude affects her appearance. But what if it's because of me he's become like this? Did I turn a prince into a pig?

At the office, Irène greeted me.

"So, tell me — whats Daniel like? I can tell you've already seen him."

She was smiling broadly, showing off her veneers. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed. Her light auburn hair was beautifully styled — clearly done by a professional. Yes, she'd started going to a stylist right after she started seeing Daniel Skinner.

She hooked her arm in mine and whispered conspiratorially:

"Hes amazing, not just a man."

I was taken aback at first, unsure what to say. I just needed a regular therapist.

"Irène, tell me — were your sessions with him normal?"

I stopped in the hallway of my centre. The students hadn't arrived yet — this was the morning, reserved for meetings with teachers and business matters. All the students would come after three.

"Well yeah," she drawled. "Why? Did he hit on you?"

She narrowed her cunning green eyes, the corners of her mouth lifting.

"No. Maybe I'm just not getting something. Or maybe that's just his approach."

I shrugged, trying to convince myself I was overthinking it.

Fine. I'll go see him again today. Maybe then I'll understand his approach to patients.

I called Skinners admin and confirmed the appointment.

That evening

The sun was setting, casting dim shadows across the ceiling of the office. Daniel sat at his desk, flipping through some papers, when there was a quiet knock on the door. He slowly set the folder aside.

Come in.

Jeanette stepped cautiously into the familiar office. She was late again — held up at work. She felt deeply ashamed.

"Hello, Mr. Skinner. May I come in?"

Daniel sat back in his chair, arms crossed. He glanced at the clock — five minutes to the hour. A faint smirk played on his lips.

"Come in, Jeanette. You're not too late not like last time."

He gestured to the chair.

"Have a seat. And don't make that face — I'm not the university rector or your conscience.

His voice was soft almost gentle.

"So, what did you want to talk about? Romance? Or why you're still thinking instead of living?"

"I've been thinking about your offer, and I still can't figure it out: why would you do this? I mean, I'm depressed. Can't you just prescribe me some medication?"

She looked hopefully into his blue eyes — so cold, it seemed.

Daniel tilted his head slowly, his smile turning predatory.

"Depression isn't a stamp in your passport, Jeanette. It's not youre sick — here's a pill — you're cured. It's depth and if you just toss a pill into it, the result won't come quickly. For a fast result, you need a person."

He leaned forward, and the light from the floor lamp caressed his handsome face — a strong, masculine face.

"And I'm offering to pull you out by the hand. First to the edge of freedom, then to stand on your own feet and after that? After that, you can start running on your own."

A pause. They sank into silence again, broken only by the ticking of the old clock.

"And yes why would I do this? Because I'm interested in watching dead souls come back to life. Especially when they're so beautiful, yet fading because no one sees their beauty."

"You want a pill? Take something else: an opportunity." This handsome therapist smiled attractively.

"But how will all this work?"

Jeannette shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It felt like she might fall off any second.

Daniel pushed a few papers aside on the desk with a chuckle.

"In the simplest terms: you do what I say."

He tilted his head slightly. His eyes were cold, fixed on her. Jeanette swallowed involuntarily, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest.

More complexly: "I'll help you break free from the shackles you've put on yourself over the years. I'll remove what you think are your principles and replace them with freedom."

A pause. He smiled — slyly.

"Are you ready?"

"If this means cheating on my husband, then no."

Jeannette blurted it out in one breath. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach.

Daniel's eyes narrowed slowly, a glint of mockery and coldness in them.

"No, Jeanette, it won't."

He leaned back.

"I wont ask you to cheat on your husband or ignore your child. I'm asking you to change yourself."

A pause. He studied her face carefully, as if searching for an answer in her expression.

Jeannette tried to process it. So he wasn't going to ask her to do anything improper — she could relax? But why did a wave of hurt and disappointment suddenly wash over her?

"So — are you ready or not?"

Jeannette pressed her lips together, afraid to give a rash answer.

Daniel watched her every move, gauging her reactions. When her lips pressed together, he chuckled slightly, as if confirming his own guess.

"You're afraid, aren't you?"

His voice was soft, almost soothing — with a hint of cunning.

"Afraid you won't be able to?"

Jeannette nodded involuntarily.

"I am. Afraid I won't be able — and afraid something might happen that could ruin everything."

"Ah, life..."

Daniel leaned forward slowly.

His voice dropped to a nearwhisper — and somehow, that made it even more dangerous.

"You're already living there, Jeanette. In that kind of life — the one that's gone completely off the rails. You just dont notice it."

He traced a finger along the edge of his notebook.

"Every morning, you get up and play a role: mother, wife, good girl. But the real Jeanette?"

His words seemed to echo off the walls of the office.

"The real Jeanette is sitting in the dark, afraid to step into the light. Because she knows: once she steps out everything could really change."

A pause.

Jeanette's ears were ringing. It was getting hard to breathe.

"But tell me honestly — isn't your life already going off the rails?"

Jeanette let out a heavy sigh and looked up at Daniel. Handsome, damn it

"Maybe you tell me, how long will this experiment last? It is an experiment, right?"

Daniel leaned back slowly with a smirk and gave a short nod.

"Yes, it's an experiment. But not for long — just two weeks."

He made a light gesture with his hand, then laced his fingers together, watching her intently.

"Two weeks — to see how far you can go."

His long, elegant fingers sank into his dark hair, pushing it back.

Why can't my husband wear his hair like that?

"What do you say?"

She wanted to object — to remind him of her daughter, her duty, that this was madness.

But the words dissolved in his gaze.

"All right. I agree. When do we start?"

Daniels smirk widened, almost predatory. He nodded slowly, as if he'd expected her to agree.

"We start right now."

Daniel rose from his seat and moved slowly toward her, stopping very close.

"Close your eyes."

Jeanette took a deep breath and did as Daniel said.

He stood directly in front of her, watching carefully. A faint chill and the scent of expensive cologne emanated from him.

"Don't think about anything, Jeanette. Just breathe — and listen to my voice."

He leaned a little closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. His voice was low, quiet.

"Good. You're breathing deeply and listening to my voice. Your breath is syncing with the ticking of the clock in this room. You'll let go of all thoughts and worries in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Jeanette felt as if she was falling into a bright tunnel, drifting into nothingness.

Daniel held that position for a few more seconds, then stepped back and spoke in a brief, commanding tone:

"Open your mouth."

His voice had grown slightly harsher.

Jeanette snapped out of her trance, as if she'd just hit her head on a rock.

"Why?" she asked, frightened, her eyes still closed.

Daniel tilted his head slightly, and the cold glint in his eyes sharpened.

"Because I said so."

He paused, his voice like a whisper across raw nerves:

"And you already agreed to obey — from the very first second. Havent you forgotten?"

Somewhere deep inside, a voice screamed, Stop! — but Daniel's voice was louder:

"Open your mouth, Jeanette. That's an order."

She opened her mouth hesitantly.

Daniel's eyes watched her reaction closely. He was standing so close she could feel his breath.