Chapter 5 - The Psychopath's Smile
A soft, deliberate rustling sound drew Mark’s furious gaze away from his daughter. Across the room, Eleanor was slowly getting up. There was no groan of pain, no frantic apology. Methodically, she dusted off the knees of her slacks, smoothed the deep wrinkles from her pale blue shirt, and reached up to pin a stray lock of silver hair back into place.
When she finally looked up, the demonic, snarling predator from seconds ago had vanished completely. In its place was a chilling, perfectly constructed smile. It was the warm, gentle smile she wore at Sunday service, the smile she wore when serving Thanksgiving dinner. It was flawless, and it was utterly terrifying.
"Oh, Mark, please don't be so dramatic," she said. Her voice was steady, dripping with artificial sweetness and a heavy dose of dismissive condescension. "She's just acting up again. You know how she is for attention. She always lies." The psychological whiplash of her sudden, eerie calmness was infinitely more horrifying than her previous rage. It was the calmness of a seasoned predator gaslighting its prey.
