If you’re reading this, either I survived the night or I didn’t bother to delete my notes. Both possibilities feel equally plausible. By day, I’m Dr. Yoofi Akerman, clinic psychologist, specialist in second chances and third strikes. By night, I am the person people pray doesn’t find them. The city prefers me sleepless, dressed in…
Tag: Investigator
Fear is a terrible therapist
People think fear screams.It doesn’t. Fear whispers. It waits until you’re alone, tired, and convinced you’ve survived the worst. Then it leans in and reminds you exactly who you are. Tonight, fear smelled like burnt rubber and bad cologne. * * * I was halfway through reheating leftover lo mein when Sniper flicked her tail…
Mirror, mirror, lie to me
I used to believe mirrors were neutral. Reflective surfaces. Passive observers. That was before I found a dead man folded into a funhouse mirror like a broken origami swan. The mirror stretched his face into something long and mournful, like a scream that had given up halfway. His eyes what was left of them, were…
Howling at 3:17 A.M.
3:04 a.m.Sniper is sitting on my chest, staring at me like I owe him money. “Don’t judge me,” I tell him. “You’re the one who puked on my boots yesterday.” He blinks slowly, which in cat means confession denied. Outside, the city exhales. Somewhere a siren howls, and I briefly wonder if it’s a police…
Death becomes her
If I had a nickel for every time I found myself crouching in a darkened corner, contemplating the ugly truths of the human psyche, I’d have a small fortune. Instead, I have a cat with a gift for disembowelment and a boss who thinks “ethics” is a four-letter word. My name is Yoofi Akerman. Used…
Croissants of the damned
Journal Entry — 2:17 a.m.If there’s a hell for carbs, it smells like butter and regret. Sniper is judging me from the kitchen counter, tail wrapped like a question mark. He does this when he thinks I’m lying to myself. I pour coffee. He sniffs it. “Don’t,” I tell him. “You’ll get ideas.” Sniper blinks….
Allegro Mortis
By day, I’m Dr. Yoofi Akerman, clinic psychologist. PhD on the wall, ficus by the window, a kettle that screams like it’s seen things. By night, I become a woman in elegant black with opinions about justice and a fondness for knives that don’t announce themselves. Sniper approves of the wardrobe. He does not approve…
Mirror, mirror… you’re dead
The rain slicked streets reflected the neon signs like broken glass shards on water. I tugged my collar up, trying to ignore the way the cold seeped into my bones. Sniper, my feline accomplice and self-appointed conscience, perched on the passenger seat, blinking at me like he already knew this night would be messy. “I…
Reflections in a glass coffin
6:17 a.m. Coffee tastes like regret today. Not the bitter kind I enjoy in the mornings—the kind that sticks to your gut and whispers, someone’s going to die, and it’s probably before lunch. Sniper, perched on the edge of my desk like he owns half the universe (and he probably does), flicked his tail at…
Sharp ink, sharper teeth
It was raining again. Typical. The kind of rain that makes the city streets slick, the neon puddles glow, and everyone suddenly a suspect in my mind. I stood under the awning of Café Mistral, black leather gloves tightening around my coffee cup like a vice. Sniper, my cat yes, my cat was in his…
The Sphinx 