When someone dies mysteriously during a Psych experiment, Rhiannon becomes enmeshed in a conspiracy that includes both the survivors and the killer.
*****
Short on cash, Rhiannon...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER THREE
REINFORCEMENT
( — a stimulus that strengthens the behavior that produced it. )
— ♡ —
CHRISTOPHER FORD SLAMS A HANDFUL OF STAPLED SHEETS OF PAPER AGAINST HIS DESK LIKE A CLOTH. "Frankly, Rhiannon, do you have any idea of just how badly you've potentially screwed us over?" Rhiannon gulps, attempting to stand as immobile as possible, so as to prove to him she knows how to remain firm, even when droplets of his saliva hit her face, but it feels like a slap in the face. "You have absolutely no idea of the consequences of your recklessness and pure stupidity—"
"Dad, I'm—"
The real slap in the face comes before she gets to finish her sentence, echoing in his office, and she immediately falls silent, her skin still reverberating with the impact of his hand against her cheek. The floor sways beneath her feet and she stumbles to the side, having to support her weight on his desk, as all the air escapes from her lungs.
"Don't," Christopher hisses, "try to come up with excuses. Don't talk back to me. Not after you put all our hard work in jeopardy over your selfishness."
"I'm sorry," Rhiannon mutters, inhaling as much oxygen as possible, but it feels like breathing in smoke and she's burning from the inside out. Though she's truly ashamed of having him yell at her and over having been slapped in the face, part of her understands his anger. It's her job to try to rationalize everything that happens—everything is the product of a synapse and the release of a neurotransmitter. So were her mistakes. "I'm sorry. Please let me fix this—"
"We already did! Your mother and I had to pay for what you did and so had the thousands of other people working for this company and what it stands for!" She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from trembling and closes her hands into fists, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms. "We keep having to pay for and fix your mistakes and we're exhausted, Rhiannon. When your mother told me I had screwed up for letting you be here and trusting you with confidential information, I wanted to believe she was wrong. I really did." He takes a deep breath, with the vein on his neck being two pulses away from bursting. "I guess I was in the wrong after all."
"I can fix it," she insists, despite knowing she's fighting a battle she can't win. It's a decisive one, one that dictates whether you win or lose the war, and it's not hard to determine who the victor is in the current situation. "If I messed it up, I . . . I know how to fix it. I have the means to do it and all I need is you to trust me—"
"I can't, Rhiannon!" She shudders, with an involuntary whimper escaping from her throat. "I did it for far too long, and look at where that got me! Look at where that got all of us!"
