Dr. Sarah Chen was young for a psychiatric evaluator—thirty-five, with sharp eyes and a skeptical demeanor. She didn't believe in ghosts. She believed in trauma, in the mind's ability to create elaborate stories to cope with unbearable reality.
And Rhys Castor's story was very elaborate.
"Tell me about Pryce," she said, pen poised over her notepad. They sat in a comfortable office—not the sterile white room. This was meant to feel safe, non-threatening.
Rhys didn't feel safe.
"I've seen him since I was five," he said, voice flat. He'd been over this so many times. "He started as just... shadows. A figure in the corner of my room. Then he got more solid. Started talking."
"What did he say?"
"That he loved me. That I belonged to him. That we'd been together before." Rhys laughed, but there was no humor in it. "My parents thought I had an imaginary friend. Then they thought I was schizophrenic. Then they just thought I was attention-seeking."
"Were you?" Dr. Chen asked, not unkindly.
"No." Rhys met her eyes. "I wish I was. I wish he was just in my head. But he's not."
"Rhys—"
"He killed Kai. He's killed before. And he'll kill again unless someone stops him."
Dr. Chen wrote something down. "You mentioned that Pryce claims you've lived multiple lives. Can you elaborate?"
Rhys hesitated. "He says... I used to be someone named Elara. In the 1700s. And that he—Pryce—was a prince. Prince Valerian. And we were in love."
"Were you?"
"I don't remember! I'm not—I'm just Rhys. I'm not some reincarnated tragic lover from three hundred years ago!"
But even as he said it, doubt crept in.
Because there were the dreams.
"Tell me about your dreams," Dr. Chen said, as if reading his mind.
Rhys swallowed. "I dream about... places I've never been. Time periods I've never lived in. And I'm different people. Different names. But there's always..." He trailed off.
"Always what?"
"Always someone who loves me. And then someone who dies."
Dr. Chen's pen scratched across paper. "These dreams—do they feel like memories?"
"Sometimes." Rhys looked down at his hands. "Sometimes they feel more real than being awake."
"Have you ever experienced dissociative episodes? Times where you 'lose' hours or days?"
"No."
"Blackouts?"
"No."
"But you don't remember writing the message on the wall in Mr. Morrison's blood."
Rhys's jaw clenched. "Because I didn't write it. Pryce did."
"Rhys," Dr. Chen said patiently, "ghosts aren't real. What is real is that you've experienced significant trauma in your life—an emotionally distant family, pressure to conform to certain expectations, your sexuality—"
"Don't," Rhys interrupted, voice sharp. "Don't reduce this to 'gay trauma.' I've been out since I was sixteen. My family is awful, but not about that."
"Then what are they awful about?"
Rhys was quiet for a long moment.
"They never believed me," he finally said.
"About Pryce. About seeing things. They'd rather think I was crazy than accept that something was wrong—something they couldn't control or fix with money."
"So you felt unseen. Unheard."
"I felt haunted." Rhys looked up at her. "And I still am. Whether you believe me or not."
Dr. Chen closed her notepad.
"Rhys, I'm going to be honest with you. Based on this evaluation, I think you're experiencing a severe dissociative disorder, possibly with psychotic features. You've created an elaborate internal world with this 'Pryce' figure to externalize feelings of guilt, anger, and powerlessness. The murder of Mr. Morrison—"
"I didn't kill him!
"—was likely committed during a dissociative episode. You genuinely don't remember doing it because your mind has split that memory off, blamed it on your 'ghost.'"
Rhys felt his world crumbling. "You're going to testify that I'm insane."
"I'm going to testify that you need help. Long-term psychiatric care, not prison."
She leaned forward. "Rhys, you're not a monster. You're sick. And you can get better."
"I'm not sick! I'm haunted!"
But no one believed him.
They never did.
"It's part 1 of chapter 3"
To be continued...