Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1) by Netta Newbound Page A

myself and wondered whether I was paranoid after all."
    Doctor Freda raised her eyebrows as she tapped a pen on the side of her chin.
    "Until I had a visit from a detective. They said my dad had been released from prison six weeks earlier, which was the exact time the sensation of being watched began.
    Freda's professional façade almost slipped. She shuffled in her seat, moved a couple of pens around her desk and cleared her throat. "How has it affected you—this news?" she asked, back in control.
    "I'm scared. I preferred thinking I was paranoid. Now he's in hiding, which terrifies me. I have no idea where he is, or what's going on in his head." I leaned back into the chair, stretching my shoulders and arching my back.
    Her head cocked to the side. "In hiding?"
    "Yeah—that's reason the detective came round. He'd stopped checking in with them and he hasn't been home. He could be anywhere." I shrugged.
    "How are you in yourself?" she asked as she steepled her fingers on the desk again.
    "Fine," I said. My voice sounded flat.
    "You mentioned you caught Michael with another woman."
    "Yeah, at a party. She was giving him a blowjob in the bathroom. I walked in on them." I bounced in the chair, fidgeting.
    "How did it make you feel—seeing him like that?"
    "Upset and angry at first."
    "And afterwards?"
    "Horny. It turned me on thinking about it."
    "So what happened?"
    "He said they'd just met, and that he was sorry. He lied though—he's still seeing her."
    "How do you know?" Her eyebrows arched.
    "I changed her number in his phone for mine. I received loads of raunchy texts, not intended for me."
    She smiled, her eyes softening again. "Ingenious, Amanda. Upsetting though?"
    "No, I don't care. Once he found out about my dad our relationship was over anyway." I shrugged again.
    "And you're not bothered?" Her eyes narrowed.
    "I was, but not now."
    She nodded, her lips pursed.
    "What?" I asked.
    "I know you don't want to hear this, Amanda. But you're showing classic symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder. Understandable, after all you suffered."
    "I'm sorry, Doc, I disagree. I googled it after our last meeting and I don't have multiple personalities." I took a deep breath and tipped my head back as far as I could to stare at the ceiling. I exhaled deeply.
    "That can be a part of it, yes, but not in the way you're thinking. There are different degrees, like with everything. For instance, did you ever drive somewhere, and arrive at your destination with no recollection of the journey?"
    "Yeah, but doesn't everyone?"
    "Exactly. Now cast your mind back to something you didn't want to do. How did you feel?"
    "I dunno—scared." I pinched an aching spot between my eyes.
    "How scared? Think—quickly. How scared, Amanda?"
    "Scared! All right! For God's sake!" I snapped.
    "Good. Now think about doing that thing. How did you feel?"
    "I don't know!" I shrugged again. My chest tightening, I placed my fist on the spot between my breasts.
    "Think. Can you remember?" she demanded.
    "Kind of." I was agitated, my legs bouncing up and down irritably.
    "So you remember being scared, really scared, leading up to the actual event?"
    I nodded.
    "But you can't remember how you felt during the event?"
    I shook my head. "No," I said, puzzled. She was right. I could remember the fear from before, but not during. It didn't make sense. It should have been much, much worse. "Why not, Doc?"
    "It's because you dissociated. You would have learned to do this as a child, to enable you to deal with what was happening to you."
    "So you're saying I'm crazy?" My legs, still twitching, now felt weak. I chewed my bottom lip.
    "No, I am not. There are some severe cases—but as I said earlier, you're not that bad."
    "So what other symptoms should I look for?" I rubbed my forehead, not sure I could cope with much more.
    "Promiscuity, sexual repression, depression, paranoia, inability to make friends.”
    I thought about the feelings I’d had towards DS Adam Stanley.