said her four o’clock patient. She sat down in the love seat across from Olivia in the hardback chair. Candace Lavery was a thirty-one-year-old divorcee who sometimes cut herself. Through hypnosis, Olivia had helped Candace curb the self-mutilation, but hadn’t entirely broken her of the habit. That was why the slightly dowdy brunette wore a long-sleeved tee and jeans on this hot afternoon. She had to keep the scars covered. “I told my friends—the ones who know I’m getting help—I told them, ‘That’s my therapist at Portland Wellness. It was her patient who went crazy and started shooting those people.’ They couldn’t believe it.” In addition to her self-harming compulsion, Candace didn’t have much tact. She glanced around the room and frowned. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised they gave you a different office, though I think this one’s smaller—and darker. Is anyone using your old office, or is it still considered—like a crime scene?” “It’s vacant right now,”
