Black Heart (Cursed Hearts 1)

They were done.

Chapter 1

23 Years Later………

“Tristan, is there anything that you’d like to discuss today?” Dr. Bryne asked, the words leaving his mouth with very little effort or thought, thanks to twenty years of practice. He settled back in his favorite faux brown leather chair and looked through the thick personnel file on his lap that he technically wasn’t supposed to have access to, but given the patient that he was dealing with, it had been agreed that a few rules needed to be broken.

After a moment of silence, he looked up from his notes to find the patient he’d been dying to get on his couch for years, lying on the couch across from him reading a book, obviously set on ignoring him once again. At least this time Tristan wasn’t just sitting there glaring at him. Even Dr. Bryne had to admit that had been a little unnerving, especially the way Tristan just sat there never saying a word or moving a muscle as he glared at him for the entire hour. Not that Dr. Bryne would ever admit this, but that one session had almost scared him off this case.

Almost.

“Tristan, this is your third appointment in the last week and a half and you have yet to participate in a conversation. I think it would be beneficial for you to talk about something that's bothering you,” he said, not really expecting much of a response as he returned his attention back to the thick file resting on his lap, not because he was afraid of another glaring match. He wasn’t, he decided, thankful that the file was so thick that it would probably take him the entire session to read through it, again, and give him a reason to focus on anything other than his patient.

“Can it be anything?” Tristan suddenly asked, surprising him. He hadn’t actually expected Tristan to say anything. Perhaps he was finally about to make some real progress with this stubborn patient. At least, he hoped that was the case.

For years, he’d been dying for a chance to get inside Tristan’s head. He hoped to help Tristan open up, get in touch with his feelings, and learn to express himself in a calm, productive manner. At the very least, he hoped to help Tristan to stop being such an ass**le.

Tristan slowly replaced his bookmark and sat up as he considered the doctor. He opened his mouth and abruptly closed it. He shook his head slightly before he looked around the room, his gaze pausing on the large bay window behind the desk and then on the door that led to the waiting room.

The only two exits from the room.

“Now, you’re serious about anything that's bothering me?” Tristan asked, shooting another glance towards the door.

“Yes, of course. Please feel free to talk about anything that’s bothering you,” Dr. Bryne replied, feeling almost giddy at the prospect of finally getting this patient to open up about something, anything. He’d been dying to discover what made Tristan tick since the moment Tom had introduced him to his adopted son, his very pissed-off adopted son. Dr. Bryne knew without a doubt, that given a chance, he could fix Tristan. Now it looked like he was about to get it.

“I don’t even know where to start," Tristan said, rubbing his hands roughly down his face. “This is pretty serious, Dr. Bryne. I need to know that I have your complete confidence here, because what I have to say is pretty disturbing,” he explained before adding in a harsh whisper, “maybe too disturbing.”

This had to be the breakthrough that he’d been waiting for. It was a start at least, he decided as he slowly moved to the edge of his seat, placing the file on the table so that he could give Tristan his full attention.

“What would you like to talk about, Tristan?” Dr. Bryne asked in what he hoped was an encouraging tone and not one that betrayed his excitement.

Tristan looked down at his hands and, after a slight pause, shook his head. A moment later he looked up at the doctor, appearing stressed as he ran his hand through his carefully styled, short blonde hair, messing it up and making it look a little wild. “Doctor, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Go on,” he said quickly, yet encouragingly, not wanting Tristan to stop, not now, not after waiting all these years for this moment.

“I keep getting these uncontrollable urges to do bad things, but you have to understand that it’s not my fault. It’s the bunnies. They’re telling me to do them,” he whispered hoarsely, shooting nervous glances around the room as he spoke.

“Bunnies?” Dr. Bryne repeated slowly, sure that he'd misheard Tristan.

“Yes, pink bunnies.”

“Pink bunnies?”

“They just keep telling me to do these awful things,” Tristan whispered softly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Tristan, what types of things have they told you to do? Has anyone been hurt?” Dr. Bryne asked, suddenly nervous and for good reason.

“I wish I could tell you no, but yes, people have been hurt. It’s really bad,” Tristan said, sounding a little panicked.

Dr. Bryne didn’t say a word as he sat there, shocked and admittedly more than a little frightened. Almost too afraid to find out what Tristan was about to reveal.

“Dr. Bryne, there have been beatings, vandalisms, and of course I can’t forget about the sacrifices. Pink bunnies require a lot of human sacrifices.”

Dr. Bryne slowly sat back in his chair as his head started to spin. He was frightened, more like terrified. Never in his twenty years of experience had he ever dealt with anything like this before.

“Dr. Bryne, they beat me,” Tristan confessed in a harsh whisper.

“Beat you?” he asked, his voice cracking as panic took over. He wasn’t ready for a patient like this. He should have listened to his wife when he’d had the chance and refused this case.

“The bunnies. They beat me silly when I don’t do what they want. They slap me around like a red headed stepchild. The spankings are awful. They leave little bunny paw prints all over my ass!” Tristan’s cold gaze locked on him as he explained, “Dr. Bryne, the reason I'm telling you this is because they want me to do something really bad right now and I thought that it was only right to warn you.”

Terrified, he ran his eyes ran over Tristan’s large frame. The man was huge, covered in solid muscle and unfortunately for him, a highly trained police officer. There was no way that he would be able to fight him off. Not to mention that he was pretty sure the man was currently armed. He slowly stood up and walked to his desk, careful to appear relaxed as he sat down. He needed to keep Tristan engaged until he could get help.