He dragged himself into the room, carefully shutting the door behind him, and dropped himself down onto the couch. It was late, the room illuminated only by the light of the moon shining through the window.

A sensible Shrink would have probably turned the light on, but this client, an actor who booked late-night appointments and paid plenty of money for the privilege, much preferred having his sessions take place in the dark. Besides, she was hardly sensible. She was far more concerned with this client’s wallet than his mind.

“How are we today, Mr. Garret?” she asked.

“Not entirely sure,” replied the Actor. He eyes were transfixed on his hands, although the Shrink couldn’t see this.

“Are you still having difficulty… getting out of character?”

“Sometimes,” he said, “I feel like I’ve finally clicked out of it.”

“Sometimes.”

“Yes. And sometimes,” he held his hands up, and she could see the blood dripping from his fingers. “Sometimes I don’t.”

She drew in breath to scream. She didn’t get the chance.