“Violence is such a mild-mannered word, dear.” I dismissed his continued use of dear, focusing on what he was implying.
“Do you feel you might harm your son if you were to come into contact with him?”
“I want nothing less than to crush him between my fingers,” he seethed, his face distorting.
“Have you thought about this often?”
“Every damn second of every day since he betrayed me.”
“It sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it. Do you have a plan?”
“Oh, I know the perfect way.” He flicked his gaze up to mine, the coldness seeping into me from his look, and I shivered, unable to stop my body from reacting. “Do you have the means to put your plan into place?” My voice came out small, the last question of assessing his homicidality locking into place.
“Not yet. But I’m close.”
“I have to say, Mr. Mascro, the information you’re telling me is concerning. If you remember at the beginning, one of the reasons for breaking confidentiality is homicidal ideation. And I’m worried that you might do something you’ll regret.”
“Oh, I won’t regret this.”
“I’m starting to think perhaps more intensive services are needed here. I applaud you for opening up more today, and I appreciate your willingness to share. But I’m concerned you’re not safe to leave my office. I think it’s in your best interest to notify someone and create a safety plan to help reduce the likelihood of you following through with your plan. That way, when you leave here, you won’t make choices you’ll regret later.”
“Oh, you thought this was real? I thought this was the place to share my fantasies? But of course, dear, do whatever you need to ensure you feel comfortable. I don’t even know where my son is.”
His whole posture changed, and he fell back into the bumbling idiot act, dropping his eyes. My skin crawled, and I wanted to rake my hands over it, dispelling the way he made me feel, but I held it in, not wanting him to know how much he’d affected me. Swallowing, I took a few minutes to collect myself.
“Okay, well, what are some high risks we can identify?”
Dayton was agreeable for the rest of the session, willing to work on this safety plan, and gave me the appropriate answers. For the rest of the session, he kept his perfect mask of non-emotion on. There was a moment where I wondered if he had dissociative identity disorder, but I knew that wasn’t right. His switches were purposeful, controlled. It was abundantly clear there was more going on here. The question still remained of why?
“I would like to refer you for some testing if that’s okay?”
“Sure. Sure. Sure. Can we talk about it next time, though? I need to go.” He’d already gotten up and headed to the door before I answered.
“Yes, of course. I have you for next week at the same time. Does that still work for you?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Mrs. Carter. I will. I will speak with you then.” He walked out quickly, and I worried I’d made a huge mistake letting him go.