The Psychologist of Heretic City

A Clouded City, a Diseased Mind…

It was morning, and Heretic City lay under a thick blanket of clouds.
The dense gray sky made the city feel like a sorrowful entity — silent, watchful — observing the events unfolding beneath its heavy, bruised skin.

Living in Heretic City, for many, felt like inhabiting purgatory while still alive.

Poverty was tangible.
Streets crowded with beggars, filth everywhere, and violence… ah, violence.
Violence wasn’t just present — it lived there.
A local lord, firmly seated on its throne, with no intention of ever stepping down.

It was June 1st, 1999.

That morning, Rohan Darcy Nezeu, a renowned psychologist, was seeing patients in his private clinic in the Riviera district, on the east side of Heretic City.
His specialty: severe depression, deep trauma, and patients with histories of self-harm.

But inside that clinic, Rohan didn’t treat.

He hunted.

He collected young women for his dark, twisted, and utterly illegal experiments.

Wanted by the Heretic City police for over a year, he remained untouched.
And while he was not found, he continued choosing.

His favorites:
young. beautiful. broken.

Thalia Godoy, 22 years old, a History student, sought help for a depression that had been her constant companion for more than two years.
She was about to encounter the most diseased side of the world she tried so hard to understand.

“Thalia, my dear, what a pleasure to meet you! I’m very grateful you came.”

He extended his hand like an old acquaintance.
But his gaze… his gaze lingered far too long on every detail of her face.

“Did you find the office easily? I hope so. Heretic can be… hostile to those who wander while lost.”

Thalia smiled — without knowing why.
A reflexive smile, the kind people give when they don’t want to appear too fragile.

“I found it on the map. Yeah… it was fine.”

Rohan gestured toward the leather armchair.
Elegant. Dark. Unsettling.

“Please, have a seat. Tell me what brought you here. I enjoy listening to stories…”

When she sat down, the room seemed to close in on itself.
As if the walls were suddenly closer than before.

“I… I’m feeling something strange. Is that normal?”

“Yes, that’s perfectly normal. You can start telling me your story. And tell me — do you mind if I grab something from the back to help us along? I’ll be right there and back…”

He smiled.
Slowly.
Different.

“Sure…”

Thalia took a deep breath — but the air felt thicker now.

He was very kind…
yet something about him made her want to hide her hands.

“Go on, it’s alright…”

“You can keep talking — I’m listening, my dear…”

“Well… my life has always been very gray. I’ve always had very few friends…”

Out of sight, Rohan prepared a sedative while Thalia spoke.

“My relationship with my mother has always been really bad, you know?”

“Yes, I understand. And even today… would you say that relationship hasn’t improved at all?”

Before Thalia could answer, she was seized from behind.

Rohan pressed a cloth soaked in sedative against her face.
Within seconds, Thalia lost consciousness.

He adjusted her in the chair so she wouldn’t fall.
Locked the clinic.
Retrieved a large linen sack, covered Thalia’s body, carefully positioned her inside it.

Calmly, he lifted her by the arms and exited through the back of the clinic, where his van waited.

He placed her gently in the rear of the vehicle.
Started the engine.
And drove away.

Patterns in the Dark

Across Heretic City…

On the other side of Heretic City, tension filled the air.

Detectives Dantas and Patrícia stared at the glowing monitor in silence.
Another name had just been added to the list.

“Goddamn computer!” Dantas snapped, slamming his fist against the screen three times.

“Calm down, Dantas,” Patrícia said sharply. “One of these days you’re going to smash that thing, and then I want to see you explain it to Ferreira.”

“Another one, Patrícia. Another one.”
He paced the room, eyes burning.

“I know… I saw it.”
She swallowed hard.
“Thalia Godoy, 22 years old. History student. Recently changed psychologists.”

She paused.

“There’s something wrong here. Something sick.”

Dantas stopped pacing.

“Do we have a pattern?”

“Girls between twenty and twenty-three… humanities majors, maybe.”

“What do we have? Talk to me, beautiful Patricinha…”

Patrícia narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“And you get even prettier when you’re angry.”

“Focus, asshole.”
She sighed.
“Leandra, 21. Psychology.
Larissa, 20. History.
Carla, 23. Sociology.
Monique, 23. Psychology.
And now Thalia, 22. History.”

“What the hell is this guy after…?”
Dantas rubbed his face.
“This case is driving me insane.”

“All of them have psychological issues.”

“Leandra?”

“Depression.”

“Larissa?”

“Depression too.”

“Carla?”

“Beaten by her father for years. Since childhood.”

“What the fuck…”

“Relax. The bastard’s been in prison for six years now.”

“Good. Keep going, sweetheart.”

“Monique. Depression. Rumors say her mother…”
She hesitated.
“…slept with half of Heretic City.”

“With me, definitely not,” Dantas smirked.

“Don’t joke about that, you ogre.”

“And Thalia?”

“Depression. For two years.”

Dantas exhaled sharply.

“Shit, Patricinha… that’s it. Psychological history across the board.
This guy has to be a psychologist. A therapist. Maybe even a psychiatrist.”

“I’ll ask Cardoso to pull a list of every psychologist, psychiatrist, and therapist in Heretic City.”

“Do it. And tell that son of a bitch not to take forever.”

Patrícia gave him a faint smile, glanced back over her shoulder, and winked before leaving the room.

Another corner of Heretic City…

Verônica Brasas, 23 years old, a psychology student, sought help for the traumas that had piled up over the years.
Problems with her parents — especially her father — had haunted her since childhood.
At twenty-three, it all still burned inside her.

“Good morning, Verônica! What a pleasure to have you here,” said Mauricio, smiling.
White lab coat.
Sharp eyes.
That unmistakable intellectual air.

“Thank you, Mauricio.”

“Any trouble finding the place?”

“No… I used the app. It was actually pretty easy.”

“My dear, please sit there.”
He pointed to the dark leather chair — heavy, imposing.

Verônica sat.

Instantly, a strange sensation washed over her, as if the space around her were shrinking.

“Wow… that feels weird…”

“It’s alright, my dear. Everyone who sits there says the same thing,” Mauricio replied, smiling — a smile that lingered too long.

“Okay…”

“You can start telling me your story. I’m just going to grab something in the back that helps me around here. Keep talking — I’m listening.”

“Well… I never had peace at home, you know?”

Mauricio didn’t even wait for her second sentence.

In one swift movement, he was behind her, pressing a cloth soaked in sedative against her face.

Verônica went limp.

He bagged her body and, like a well-rehearsed ritual, carried her to the van.

The route was identical:
highway, curve, farmhouse gate.

Mauricio took her down into the underground chamber beneath the barn.
One of the swings was still empty.

He worked efficiently.
IV drip.
Metal spikes through her palms.
The helmet, wires, sensors.

Everything in place.

But then…

Verônica murmured.
Her eyes fluttered open.

Mauricio froze.

Without thinking, he punched her hard in the face.
She passed out again.

Breathing fast, shaken, he finished the connections.

The sixth girl was secured.

Mauricio returned to the surface and met his master.

“How is she?”
“Did you finish the setup?”

“Yes. All six are unconscious.”

“You didn’t leave any traces, did you?”

“Of course not!”

“I’m heading back to the city. Stay here and watch the girls. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Nezeu entered the van and drove away toward Heretic City.

Yet another corner of Heretic City…

Gisele Albuquerque, 21 years old, psychology student, depressed for a year — another statistic the predator favored.

Rohan had already placed her inside the sack, positioned her in the van…

But something bothered him.

The rear door of the van wasn’t properly closed.

He stopped, stepped out, and went to fix it.

Coincidentally, Dantas, walking down the same street, noticed the suspicious movement.

“Patrícia,” he whispered, grabbing her attention.
“There’s something wrong there…”

She quickly checked the location.

“It’s a psychology clinic. Let’s go.”

They ran toward the van.

Rohan noticed.
Jumped inside.
Floored it.

The tires screeched, drawing even more attention.

“Pat, let me handle this!” Dantas shouted.
“Go get the car! Pick me up in front of the clinic! Go!”

Patrícia sprinted across the street, stopped traffic with her badge, jumped into the Jeep Cherokee, and took off.

Minutes later, she pulled over and Dantas jumped in.

“What did you see?” she asked, accelerating.

“I felt it was him, Pat.
Rohan Darcy Nezeu. Psychologist.”

“Did you see where he went?”

“He took the highway. That way. BR-267. Step on it.”

Patrícia slammed the accelerator.
The Cherokee roared.

Up ahead, Nezeu was already on the radio with Mauricio.

“Two cops are following me. Do what we agreed…”

Mauricio listened.

At the crossroads near kilometer 79, he positioned a Volvo truck, loaded with massive logs, ready.

“If necessary, throw the truck at them.
I’ll keep going. You slow them down.”

The Hunt Ends

The Chase

“Patrícia, look!” Dantas shouted. “That’s him! That son of a bitch! Step on it!”

“I’m already pushing it, Dantas!”

Nezeu’s van accelerated.
Patrícia pulled alongside him — they were nearly door to door.

“Up ahead… there’s a truck stopped. You see that?”

“Yes! Forget it — our focus is Nezeu!”

As the patrol car reached kilometer 79, Mauricio, driving the log-loaded truck, suddenly cut across the road.

The impact was brutal.

Metal screamed.
The Jeep Cherokee flipped violently, dragged across the asphalt.

Inside, Patrícia and Dantas lost consciousness.

Mauricio, injured but still moving, crawled out of the truck.

He didn’t hesitate.

The farmhouse entrance was just a few meters away.

He started running, leaving a thick trail of blood along the road.

At Central Dispatch…

With no response from Dantas and Patrícia’s unit, officers began tracking the vehicle via GPS.

A rescue and backup team was immediately dispatched to BR-267, near kilometer 79.

Luca and Marianne now took over.

In another patrol car, they reached the crash site.

The Cherokee lay overturned.

Patrícia and Dantas were alive — injured, unconscious.

Paramedics rushed in.

Luca crouched, studying the ground.

“Marianne… there’s a lot of blood here. Fresh blood.”
He smiled grimly.
“The bastard’s hurt. That’s great. Let’s move.”

They followed the blood trail to a dirt road.

“On dirt, the blood’s harder to track,” Marianne said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Luca replied.
“It’s this way. I’m sure of it, Blondie.”

Beneath the Barn

There were seven girls now.

Some cried.
Some whimpered.
All were weak, pain hammering inside and out.

Nezeu injected another dose of sedative into Thalia — but something went wrong.

With the last of her strength, she bit his arm savagely.

“Aaaargh, you bitch!” Nezeu screamed.
The syringe fell.

At that moment, Mauricio burst in, bleeding.

“Master! It’s me! I did it! I did it!”

Nezeu turned pale.

“What is this?”
Then realization hit.
“You’re hurt, you idiot?! You ruined everything, you worthless piece of shit!”

“What did I do, master? I did exactly what you said! I killed the cops!”

“You came here dripping blood, you moron! They’ll be here in minutes!”

On the Trail

“Luca, look at this!” Marianne called.
“There’s blood everywhere — it doesn’t stop!”

“He’s done. And that’s perfect.”

“Even on dirt, it’s still visible. Let’s go!”

They advanced through the narrow trail, following the fading, reappearing stains.

Until they saw it.

“There, Marianne! That’s it!”

“Weapons ready!” she shouted.

“Always. Stay behind me. Slow.”

Discovery

Still groggy, Thalia heard footsteps above the barn.

She gathered what little strength she had.

“Here… please…”
Her voice barely carried — but it was enough.

“Did you hear that?” Marianne whispered.

“Yes. It’s coming from below.”

Panicking, Mauricio punched Thalia again, knocking her out.

But it was too late.

“Help! Down here!” Verônica screamed.

Luca noticed something odd in the sawdust.

He kicked it.

Hollow.

“There’s something here…”

He pulled the hatch open.

Climbed down.

And found hell.

Seven girls — unconscious or crying.
Spiked swings.
Blood.
Grotesque equipment wired to computers.

Mauricio stood frozen.

Luca raised his gun.

“Don’t even try.”

“There’s another one!” Marianne shouted from above.

“He escaped through an underground tunnel,” Mauricio said, defeated.
“If you go now… you’ll still catch him.”

Luca cuffed him and dragged him outside.

Then, without hesitation, he entered the tunnel.

The Tunnel

The air was damp and suffocating.
The passage narrow, twisting beneath the fields.

Nezeu staggered forward, arm bandaged, breathing hard.

Sweat streamed down his face.

He believed he would escape.

He didn’t know Luca was right behind him.

As Nezeu reached the railing of an exit staircase—

“STOP!”

The voice echoed through the tunnel.

Nezeu froze.

“Hands up! You’re under arrest! Move and I shoot!”

Rohan raised his hands.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court…”

The psychologist lowered his gaze.

His hunt was over.

Epilogue

Hours later, in the hospital, Patrícia and Dantas woke up — injured, but alive.

The girls were rescued and taken for medical care.
All survived.

Rohan’s clinic was shut down.
The media exploded with the case:

“The Psychologist of Heretic City.”

Heretic City remained under clouds.

But that morning,
something rotten had been torn from its flesh.

THE END🌸