The Psychiatrist

Sweat beads on Sheila's pale cheek in a gritty close-up, the 19-year-old stumbling along the desolate road like a ghost in the night. Her eyes glaze over, clothes soaked and clinging to her slender, trembling body, a precious bundle crushed against her racing heart. She spots the rundown shed, glances back with feral paranoia, then slips the package into jagged rocks at its rear. From below, her tear-streaked face looms, hollow and haunted, sobs breaking free. She straightens, flees. As she rounds the front, a shadow erupts— a man grabs her arm. 'You alright?' he growls, voice laced with suspicion. Panic surges; she bolts, silent, vanishing into the dark, leaving him baffled. He prowls to the back, peers... then a guttural scream rips the air. Cut to Sheila, frozen in icy defiance, wrists bound in cuffs to a stark chair, a cop looming like a sentinel. A slick-suited figure strides in, hand clamping her shoulder possessively. 'Uncuff her. Out,' he orders. Door clicks shut. He eases back, perches across from her, eyes devouring her silence. 'Recognize me?' No flinch. 'I'm Dr. Powell, court-appointed to crack your fractured mind.' She stares, unyielding, as tension coils like a noose.