How Does 'Pickman'S Model' End?

A NOVEL ON STOCKHOLM SYNDROME BOOK 3 OF A THREE BOOK SERIES *TRIGGER WARNING* This book contains scenes that some readers may find disturbing… and also slightly annoying. “Miss. Iris, do you believe she has a point?” she asked and returned to her seat once again. “I don’t think so, her father and uncle deserve to go to jail.” My answer extracted a smile from her like she was proud of my response. “My name is Christine; I am a renowned medico-legal psychotherapist. Been in the business for over twenty years and that is what a case of Stockholm syndrome looks like. In my years of experience, we see situations similar to this but its our job to help the victims realize” “Wow…” I started, really amazed at what she had said and what her work entails. I was only concerned why they locked me in a room with a psychotherapist “it must be difficult at times” I added. “yeah, its difficult every time” she laughed “but today isn’t about me, I have a question for you.” There was a brief pause in between before she carried on “Does Hunter deserve to go to jail?”

My husband is poor. We've already been married for three years, but I've covered all our expenses during that time. Even when I'm interested in a cheap bag when we go shopping, he says it's too expensive. He tells me not to buy it. Later, I discover that he gives his first love a four-million-dollar diamond necklace for her birthday. It turns out he's not broke and heavily in debt—he's the heir to an affluent family with a net worth of billions of dollars.

I was a sketch artist acting for the police. On a secret mission, I was discovered by a murderer. My eyes were gouged out, and my body was dismembered, unceremoniously dumped in a garbage bin. On the brink of death, I called my boyfriend, a criminal investigator. However, he hung up on me because he was busy accompanying his first love to a prenatal checkup. A few days later, he received a painting that was a vital clue to finding the murderer, but he thought I was playing tricks on him. In his anger, he tore that portrait to shreds. After he found out the truth, he spent the whole night searching through the garbage to piece it back together.

On the day I get discharged from the psychiatric hospital, my wife, Lisseth Gabler, speaks up all of a sudden. "When your mom was struck and killed by Donny's car, I was the one who hired a lawyer to defend him." My dad—the most elite doctor in the city—is still driving as he adds coolly, "I was the one who personally forged your mental illness records." Throughout the three-year torture I've received in the psychiatric hospital, I keep recalling the tragic way my mom died when she was struck by Donny Kaufman's car all the time. Meanwhile, my own wife chooses to defend him, whereas my own father has me admitted into a psychiatric hospital. I do my best not to collapse from the sheer shock. In a quivering tone, I ask, "Why?" Dad averts his gaze. Lisseth is the one who answers my question nonchalantly. "It's simple. You have everything. It's pitiful enough for Donny to be labelled as the illegitimate son. Now, I'm giving you two choices. Either patch things up with Donny, or stay in the psychiatric hospital for the rest of your life."

Jeremy Goodman had a bet with his friends that he would win the aloof and beautiful Bailey Scott’s heart in a month’s time. She was the volunteer who was going to donate her kidney to me. Jeremy had spent a fortune on this. I watched as he slowly fell for her. He even ignored the board of directors’ objection and bought the club she worked at. However, he earnestly said, “Whatever that’s happening between Bailey and I isn’t real. Don’t worry, once I win this bet, I’ll propose to you.” I had heard that same promise many times. While he played hero saving the damsel in distress, Bailey overheard the terms of his bet as she stood outside of the private room. She threw a tantrum. Jeremy thought I had purposely let Bailey hear about the bet. In order to appease Bailey, he let her take my spot for the overseas exchange program, which I had spent a lot of effort applying for. “I have the ability to make her save your life, and I have the ability to call off the surgery too. “If there’s a next time, you know just what I’m capable of.” After hearing his chilling threat, I finally let go of this painful seven-year relationship. He broke my heart way too many times, so I hopped onto a flight and left the country.

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest friends teasing her. "Emmy, how much longer are you planning to keep up this fake-death act?" A familiar voice answered, one I could never mistake, that was tinged with indulgence and amusement. "As soon as Corbin Ellery's heart condition is cured. Back then, if Grayson hadn't insisted on sending the butler to the destruction plant, Corbin wouldn't have needed to pretend his system malfunctioned. And I wouldn't have had to fake my death to help him disappear completely." Another friend clicked her tongue. "Still, nobody expected you to go this far. Having Corbin wear a custom synthetic skin suit and pose as a robot butler right under your husband's nose all those years? That's insane." Fake death? Corbin? The blood drained from my face. The woman I had mourned for five years was alive. And the robot that had stirred her desire had never been a robot at all. It was my closest friend. A passing server accidentally slammed into me, sending a tray crashing to the floor. The conversation inside stopped instantly. Emmy turned toward the doorway, and our eyes met.