Entry 91 – If it smells like popcorn and gun oil, it’s not a date. You ever smell cotton candy, diesel exhaust, and unresolved trauma in the same room? That’s how I knew my Thursday was about to go full tilt. It started in my clinic office, the one with the too-bright lighting and a…
Tag: Profiler
Nine lives and a Sniper
I always thought the day would end with chamomile tea and reruns of The X-Files. Instead, I’m bleeding onto the marble floor of a tech tycoon’s penthouse, cradling a USB stick in one hand and Sniper, my cat, in the other. Don’t worry, the cat’s fine. I’m not. It started, like all bad ideas, in…
Ink in the Shadows
Journal Entry: Night ShiftI hate paperwork. And I hate small talk. But here I am, Yoofi Akerman, ex-FBI profiler turned daytime shrink for ex-convicts who probably think therapy is a setup for a con. By night? Well, that’s when the real fun starts, hunting monsters who think they can outsmart a woman who reads minds…
Dead Men’s Toys
Yoofi’s JournalI’m Yoofi Akerman, and yes, I know what you’re thinking, ex-FBI profiler turned shrink-for-convicts sounds like a midlife crisis with a badge. But that’s me, by day I’m unmasking the traumas behind bars, by night I’m chasing down monsters who think they’re ghosts. Today started with my usual: my cat Sniper demanding breakfast like…
Dolls, Death, and Dirty Secrets
Yoofi’s Journal – Day 16:45 AM. Coffee. Black, no sugar, just like my soul after reading Flores’s latest memo about budget cuts. I swear, that man’s idea of leadership is as crooked as a candy cane in a hurricane. Sniper, perched on the windowsill, gave me the usual disdainful look. “Don’t even think about skipping…
Tick-Tock, Heartstop
Journal Entry #14 — Yoofi Akerman11:04 p.m. It was the kind of summer night that smelled like bad decisions and burnt brake pads. I was parked outside a crumbling halfway house in East Highland, sipping black coffee laced with espresso and spite, when a call came in: another body. Ribcage butterfly’d, heart clocked out and…
Low Beams
Monday, 12:17 a.m.Location: Third and Mercer, under the burnt-out amber glow of an old sodium streetlamp.Mood: Suspicious. My cat just tried to smother me with his tail. * * * * * * I wasn’t planning on killing anyone tonight. I’d made peppermint tea, taken off my boots, and had just started reading a paper…
Chapter & Curse
Monday, 9:17 a.m. – My Office, East End Clinic, Above a Laundromat That Smells Like Regret Let’s begin with the fact that my cat, Sniper, peed on my latest patient file. Again.His message was clear: “This guy’s lying.”And as usual, Sniper was right. “You said you served four years for securities fraud,” I reminded Leonard…
Hourglass hemoglobin and distractions
Journal Entry: Thursday, 11:43 PM – Somewhere Between Too Late and Should’ve Stayed in Bed There’s blood in my espresso. Correction: there shouldn’t be blood in my espresso, but after your third corpse of the week with a throat like a drained Capri Sun, the line between coffee and crime scene gets blurry. Sniper, my…
Dagger Therapy
8:14 A.M. — Clinic Office, Midtown Martin “Sweaty Neck” Flores waddled in; clutching his fifth donut like it owed him rent. He smelled like menthols and misplaced ambition. I sipped my black coffee. No sugar, no cream, no time for idiocy. “Yoofi,” he huffed, already winded from the effort of existing, “Patient Seventy-Four’s having another…
The Sphinx 