Love Thy Neighbor
A Halloween Short
by
S.L. Pierce
Copyright 2011 S.L. Pierce
Smashwords Edition
Cover Image Copyright Dietmar Höpfl Dreamstime.com
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Katy Ross and Missy North
present
The 2011 Halloween Costume Party
The Most Killer Party of the Year
October 31
8493 Silver Dollar Lane
8p.m.
No children allowed
“You will come, won't you JoAnn?” asked Katy, JoAnn's neighbor. JoAnn looked at Katy and was reminded again of that woman in those 70’s Vidal Sassoon commercials. The tall, lean woman with the long silky black hair. The hair JoAnn had always dreamed of having instead of her own stringy blond. On top of that Katy’s skin was so perfect it seemed unreal. JoAnn really wanted to ask what kind of makeup she used but was afraid the response would be none. And it just wasn't fair to be so effortlessly perfect.
“Yes, you will, right?” said Missy, JoAnn's deceivingly southern belle-like other neighbor. Missy was, well, Missy. Physically she was easy to describe, of course. She was quite petite, not an inch over five feet and not a pound over one hundred, with waves of thick brown hair and large hazel eyes. But to describe her personality, that was difficult. At first, she seemed the picture of a southern lady, all soft spoken and sweet. But two weeks ago JoAnn heard her tell Sam, who lives around the corner, that if his dog poops on her yard one more time, she would cut him. And from the way he scrambled off, he seemed to believe her. Maybe it was just because she was holding a freshly sharpened pair of yard trimmers, or maybe it was because she just seemed quite serious. There was no doubt she knew how to use garden tools, pruning away at the bushes like they had offended her by daring to grow out of sync.
No, there was definitely something more to Missy, thought JoAnn.
“We are so sorry for the late notice but, we forgot you didn't live here when the invitations were mailed.”
“But I've lived here for two months. How early do these invitations go out?” JoAnn asked. JoAnn and Jay had barely opened the first box when Missy and Katy had showed up at their door. Katy lived to the right and Missy to the left. They brought a basket of treats, asked a few general questions, then left with a promise of getting together when they were more settled.
After watching them walking back and forth between their respective homes nearly every day JoAnn bit the bullet and invited them over. But after that morning of coffee and gossip they'd hardly spoken to her, despite JoAnn's attempts to get together. She'd replayed the conversation in her head for weeks, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. I mean sure, it was painfully obvious they didn't have much in common; Katy ground her own flour for goodness sake! Who did that? But JoAnn was a live and let live kind of person. They were neighbor's after all. They should be looking out for each other.
“This is the party of the year! We send these invitations out four months ahead of time.”
“Though it's hardly necessary. No one would miss one of our parties,” Missy said, laughing. Katy put her arm around her and they laughed together.
“You don't have plans, do you?” Katy asked.
“Nothing you can't change, anyway, right? I mean this is the neighborhood party. You can't miss the neighborhood party!”
“No. No, we don't have any plans. I just...it's going to be hard to come up with a costume on such short notice. I mean, today is Halloween.”
“Oh, you can come up with something. I'm sure it will be fine,” Katy said, patting JoAnn's hand.
“Well, we have to go. Lots of preparing to do. See you tonight.” And off they went, arm in arm, not an easy feat considering the height difference.
********************
“Look at this,” JoAnn said, handing Jay the invitation. “Katy and Missy caught me outside. They apologized for the late notice. Said we weren't here when the invitations were mailed.”
“Weren't here? Well, how early did they send the invitations?”
“Four months. It's the party of the year,” JoAnn said in a poor imitation of Missy's light southern accent.
Jay laughed. “Sounds like a big deal.” He looked right at her. “Sounds just like what you've been waiting for.”
“Yes, it does,” Jo Ann smiled. “I am surprised though. They’ve been giving me the cold shoulder since we had coffee that morning.”
“Ever figure out what that was about?” Jay said.
“Nope,” JoAnn said shrugging.
“Well, what does it matter anyway? They're a little...”
“Little what?”
“Intense if you ask me. I was out washing the car the other day and they both came up asking me all kinds of questions.”
“Questions?”
“Yeah, like how did I like the neighborhood? Was my job working out? Did I think we would be staying here very long?”
JoAnn laughed. “They're just trying to make small talk.”
“It wasn't the questions. It was their tone. I don't know. They’re just...”
“Intimidating? Yeah, they come on pretty strong. The only time Katy speaks to me is to give me recipes, even though I told her I don't like to cook. And Missy gave me the name of her yard guy.”
“So?”
“Three times.”
“Oh. Maybe she's forgetful.”
“Well, at least they invited us. This will give us a better chance to all get acquainted. But what about costumes? The party's tonight. Oh, I'll bring some of those TGIF appetizers. You know, they sell them in the frozen section now.”
********************
“JoAnn, what an interesting costume,” Missy said. “Katy! Katy! Come over here.”
Despite the crowd, Katy had no trouble hearing Missy and came right over.
“Well, isn't that...interesting,” Katy said.
“That's just what I thought,” Missy said.
“I just threw it together,” JoAnn said, laughing.
“Yes, I see. Now what are you exactly?” Missy asked, giving JoAnn the once over.
“I'm Jay. See the pocket protector, the glasses. I mean, I'm not really Jay, but an exaggeration. You know, the stereotypical computer geek. Though what does it say that he had all this stuff just laying around?” JoAnn laughed again.
Katy and Missy exchanged a look.
“But, wow, you guys look amazing,” JoAnn said. “Where did you find such elaborate costumes?”
They were both wearing witch costumes. Not like the bad witch in the Wizard of Oz either. No, No. These were a fabulous display of black velvet lined with silk, red for Katy and purple for Missy; tall pointed hats with delicate lace draped down to their shoulders. And makeup that only enhanced their natural beauty; no green face with strategically placed warts for them.
“Find?” Katy said.
“We made them, of course. Like we do every year,” Missy said.
“Sounds like a lot of work. You know the price has come way down on costumes lately. You can pick them up for like twenty bucks now. Plastic, easy to clean.”
“Twenty...” Katy said. Missy grabbed her hand and squeezed. They did that a lot. “Yes, yes. But we enjoy the process. Now where is Jay?”
“He’s coming,” JoAnn said looking back toward the door. “Oh, there he is.”
“Where is his costume?”
“He’s dressed as Jay also,” JoAnn said laughing. “Sorry, costumes just aren’t his thing.”
“Not his thing!” Katy said.
“And what are these?” Missy said quickly, changing the subject again.
“Oh,” JoAnn said holding out the tray she'd brought, “they are those little TGIF quesadillas. Have you seen them before? In the freezer section. I just love them. Friday dinner has never been so easy, huh!”
“Oh my God-”
“You didn't have to do that JoAnn,” Missy said, cutting Katy off mid sentence, “we have all the food taken care of already.”
“Oh, it was no trouble. Really,” JoAnn said holding out the tray. “I know you guys make food all the time, what with an organic food business. You know I didn't realize you two were the owner's of Cassie's All Natural Pies until just two weeks ago.
“Well, thank you. I'll just put it over here,” Missy said taking the tray and placing it in the butler's pantry.
“How about a drink?” Katy said.
“The adult magic words,” JoAnn said. “I’d love one.” She took the skeleton hand cup from Katy and tried a sip.
“Mmm what is this? Kool-Aid and vodka? No, tequila?”
Katy choked on her drink. “Are you making a joke? This is a blackberry thyme margarita. The thyme is from my garden and I hand crush the blackberries. It’s all natural.”
“Well it's good,” JoAnn said, taking another drink. “Maybe a little sugar would sweeten it up a bit. Oh, I see Eliza's here. I'm going to go say hello.”
“Kool-Aid...really...” JoAnn heard Katy say under her breath to Missy.
“Don't worry. It will all be over soon,” Missy replied softly.
********************
“Why don’t you use my bathroom upstairs,” Katy said to JoAnn, when she noticed her waiting outside the main floor bathroom door.
“That’s OK. I can wait.”
“But you’ve never seen my house, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, then I insist. Top of the stairs, first room on the right. Feel free to give yourself a tour while you’re up there.”
“Thanks Katy,” JoAnn beamed.
JoAnn went upstairs and used the spotlessly clean master bathroom, then decided to give herself that tour, but when she left the bathroom Katy and Missy were waiting for her.
“Hi Katy, Missy. Are you going to give me the tour?”
“Give her the tour?” Missy said to Katy.
“No, JoAnn. We are not here to give you a tour.”
“Why do you have a knife Missy? Witches use broomsticks. I will say, it’s a good one. Looks almost real.”
“Almost real! This is a custom made Attillio Morroti polished steel black lip pearl interframe linerlock folding dagger you idiot! I brought it especially for you.”
“For me. OK, kind of an odd gift but...thanks.”
“Is she for real?” Missy said looking at Katy.
“I told you. She hasn’t got a clue.”
“Uh, if I may,” JoAnn said. “What are you guys talking about? I feel a bit like I’m being insulted here.”
“The knife isn’t a gift. It’s to kill you,” Missy said.
“Kill me? Why? Why would you want to kill me?” JoAnn asked, taking a step back.
“You just don't belong here,” Katy replied.
“Don't belong? What are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about? You see,” she said, turning to Missy, “she doesn't even know.” She turned back to JoAnn. “You eat processed foods! Frozen, processed foods.”
“And your yard!” Missy said. “My husband is beside himself. Your yard is killing him.”
“What’s wrong with my yard?”
“You don’t rake your leaves.”
“We get them with the mower,” JoAnn said.
“And your grass is too long.”
“But, we mow every week.”
“Exactly. Once a week! It's just not enough. And you have weeds...in the grass.” Missy spat the last part out like it left a bad taste in her mouth.
“We've been trying to help you,” Katy said. “I've been giving you my recipes. The easy ones, like salmon cake sandwiches with watercress and miso dressing.”
“Yeah that sounds like an easy one,” JoAnn said.
Katy continued as if she hadn’t heard JoAnn. “I offered to sell you my old wheat grinder. But you won't even try.” She turned to Missy, “she won't even try.”
“I know sweetie. I know.”
“So you see, we don't have a choice. We just can't have your kind here. Right next door.”
“Is this a Halloween prank? You guys are kidding me, right? Some kind of welcome to the neighborhood thing.”
“Oh no. This is no prank. We find Halloween is the perfect time to take out the trash, so to speak.”
“Perfect time...you've done this before?”
“Oh yes. Every time an undesirable moves in and refuses to come around. You remember that one guy, Tim?” Katy said.
“Tom.”
“Yes, Tom. He dumped his oil down the drain, used aerosol sprays on his motorcycle,” Katy said with a little shiver.
“How...how do you know that?”
“Because we spy on new people. It's so easy to set up a few cameras during open houses,” Missy said. “Oh, don't give me that look. We have a neighborhood to protect.”
“But, what about the bodies?”
“The Halloween party is such a great opportunity to hide the mess. I wish we could compost them but they would have to be dried first and that just takes too much time. But we figured out a solution, didn’t we?” She smiled.
“Turned out to be win win really,” Missy said.
“Did you know plants get their nutrients from the soil? Of course you do. Even a child knows that. And, with a little research, we discovered all the wonderful nutrients released when a body decomposes. So we just distribute the bodies through out the garden. Really great for the plants.”
“Distribute? What..uh..what does that mean?” JoAnn asked.
“We can’t very well bury a body whole. A big space like that. It would look weird. So, just a little chopping here and there...Have you seen the rest of Missy's knife collection? It's really to die for.”
“Our garden never looked so good.” They both laughed.
“It’s like our secret ingredient,” Katy said. “All natural.”
“You two are crazy.”
“We're not crazy. Crazy people get caught.” They laughed again.
“How many times? How many people?” JoAnn said.
“Oh let's see. You will make five?” Missy said.
“Yes, I believe that's right.”
“OK, that should be enough guys,” JoAnn said.
“Enough what?”
“Enough confession.”
“Confession? What are you talking about,” Missy asked, but her words were drowned out by the six SWAT team members who stormed the room, guns carefully aimed at Missy and Katy.
“What is going on here?” demanded Missy.
“You two are under arrest,” JoAnn said, pulling a badge from her inside pocket. “It's Detective JoAnn Casin. Did you ladies really believe no one would notice four people missing from this neighborhood in five years?”
“But we heard you. You and your husband Jay. All your conversations in your house...”
“Your cameras were easy to plant, yes, but they were also easy to find. This whole thing was for your benefit. I actually hate processed foods. I prefer a nice organic salad with a vinaigrette dressing. And these clothes...I can't wait to get back into my tailored Anne Klein suits and Loibouton heels.”
“Stop it. You're lying!” Katy yelled.
“Am I?” JoAnn smiled.
“Don't say anything Katy,” Missy said as cuffs were put on both their wrists. Jay walked in as Katy and Missy were being read their rights and led out of the room.
“What did you say all that stuff for? You wouldn’t eat a salad if your life depended on it. And heels, are you kidding me? I think the entire precinct would shut down if you walked in with heels on,” Jay, JoAnn's partner said.
“I know,” JoAnn laughed. “That was just for fun.”
“It's a shame though. They make some damn fine pie,” he said, taking a bite before JoAnn could stop him.
“You weren't listening in, were you?”
“No, I was mingling. Making sure you had plenty of time to get them to talk,” he said taking another bite. “Why?”
“No reason,” JoAnn didn't have the heart to tell him what made those pies so delicious.
The End
Did you enjoy this free Halloween short? If so, you may enjoy The Devil's Game by S.L. Pierce and Maren Kaye. A non-horror, non-graphic, psychological thriller! Keep reading for an excerpt.
Synopsis:
Rachel Pendelton is determined to break from her small town past and stake out a new life for herself with a dream job in the big city. But hard work and determination are no match for whoever is working against her. When anonymous gifts show up, she’s flattered. When they appear in her locked apartment, she starts worrying. What can she do when everyone she turns to for help looks suspicious?
What she doesn’t know is that a game has begun. A game with rules as baffling as they are deadly. A game that will pit her against the criminally insane. And only one can finish alive.
The Devil's Game Excerpt:
CHAPTER 1
“I found another one.”
“It’s hardly a surprise that you would find something you spend your days looking for,” Dr. Gloria Pike said, setting down her pen and leaning back in her chair. They had been through this before.
“I don’t.”
“Let’s not pretend. Aren’t we past this?”
Patient X didn’t answer, and Dr. Pike knew there would be no more talking until she apologized.
“Sorry, please continue.”
“It was a man and woman. Too old to be students. Maybe training. Maybe working on a project. Anyway, it was clear she was the boss, and he was in love with her.”
“What made you think that?”
“It was so obvious. The way he kept looking at her. Hanging on every word. His eyes all over her face. Desperate and waiting for something, some sign. Even when he was laughing, moving closer, it was there. He wanted her so much.” The patient paused, staring out the window. “His eyes were blue. So blue.”
“And her? In love with him?”
“No. Definitely no. It was like a sad little dance. He would move in; she would move away. She never touched him. Even when he gave her many openings.”
“How did you feel, watching them?”
The patient paused as if the answer required thought. “Excited.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Yes, I do. Do you?”
No answer.
“What did you do?” Dr. Pike asked.
“What I always do. I followed them.”
CHAPTER 2
“And the Academy Award for the best animated short film produced by a hungry grad student goes to…” Rachel could hear her heart rushing through her ears. This was it; it had to be. She was the only hungry grad student nominated this year. This was her best film. All her hard work was about to pay off in spades. But why was it taking so long to open the envelope? Wait, why is Gwyneth Paltrow making out with Billy Crystal? Open the envelope! Open the damn envelope!
The sound of Billy and Gwyneth giggling into the microphone was slowly replaced by the low hum of an alarm clock. Rachel swore several profanities as her hand slapped at the snooze button in an attempt to put an end to the irritating sound.
“Coffee,” she said out loud to her empty room. She decided to bypass her usual morning routine of fresh fruit and yoga in light of her heartbreaking loss. Especially since it was probably the only award nomination she would ever get, awake or asleep.
As she sat at her desk/art space/kitchen table savoring her heavenly cup-of-joe, her day slowly began to jell inside her brain. Today was Tuesday, which meant video production and calculus. One she loved, the other she loathed. It was heaven and hell in the span of four hours. This was her third attempt at advanced calculus, and without it, there was little hope of getting a full-time position at Mad Media Animation Studio. She was determined to get a “real job” before she turned twenty five, if for no other reason then to hold her head a little higher when her dad asked her if she needed a little extra cash, you know, to help pay for those two “artsy-type” degrees she got.
If it weren’t for Justin, there would be no hope at all. He had come to her rescue in the second week of the class, sensing her utter panic. He was incredibly gifted at translating calculus. He was also incredibly gifted at annoying her. It was so strange the way he stumbled over every word when he was talking about nothing. But open up a math book and he transformed into a loquacious chatter-box.
“Speak of the devil,” she said when she heard Sonny and Cher sing out “I got you babe” from her cell phone. Justin’s ringtone was her private joke. It referred to the movie Groundhog Day and Bill Murray’s reaction at hearing it every morning at the same time. Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and punched the little green button.
“Hey, Justin, you’re up early.” She could hear his thick nasal breathing on the other end.
“I just wanted…um.. Hi Rachel,” he said in his usual disjointed manner.
“Hi, Justin,” she said. “You wanted to ask me something?” she prompted when he didn’t respond.
“Yeah, I…how are you…I mean are you ready for the test?”
Rachel knew she was dipping her toe in dangerous waters with Justin. He was obviously not tutoring her for the fifteen dollars she made him take each time. And he wasn’t the type to come right out and ask her for a date so that she could politely refuse him and they could move past it. Oh, no. He just kept the possibility of it dangling out there like a smelly gym sock she was constantly having to politely side-step.
I’ve been completely honest! she told herself over and over. But deep down she knew it was going to end badly. It was going to end badly because as annoying as he was, he had a heart of pure gold. He loved kids and dogs. He was finishing some kind of new teaching program designed for inner-city school kids. He was funny sometimes, though not usually on purpose. And under all that God-awful geekines, he was actually kind of cute.
Don’t go there, Rachel, she told herself.
“Yep, I’m good, Justin. But thanks for calling,” she said in an I’m going to hang up now kind of way.
“Do you eat? I mean have you…or are you going to eat breakfast…do you want to meet… for coffee?” By the time he had gotten that all out, Rachel had finished her cup and was working on a second.
“Is something on your mind, Justin?” Be direct, be honest.
“Yeah… well…I mean no…not really.”
“Well, I’m glad everything’s okay. I’ve got to get going; tons stuff I’m way behind on. But I’ll see you later at class, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” he stammered.
She ended the call not waiting for his reply. She took a deep breath as she felt the caffeine pumping through her veins, accelerating her heartbeat. She walked over to the huge living room window and looked out onto the busy metropolitan street she lived on. It was a gorgeous spring day, perfect for a jog. She knew that her calculus class always went better when she’d had a good workout before hand. It helped keep her calm and focused. Not to mention the fact that she’d wimped out on her yoga this morning. If only she could muster up some motivation. Maybe a jog to the Steam Punk Café for some iced Chai. Yes, that would do it. There had to be a reward in there somewhere or she’d never make it out the door.
“Oh crap!” she said out loud. Justin. He loved the Steam Punk. As a matter of fact, he was the one who dragged her in there for her very first cup of iced Chai.
“I don’t drink weed water,” she had politely explained under her breath as they stood in line.
“Just trust me,” he had said to her with an ear-to-ear grin. Since there wasn’t much else on the menu that was fit for human consumption, she let him order – and pay.
“Here, try this,” he said, his puppy-dog face bright with anticipation. God, he could be so annoying!
The taste was unlike anything she had experienced. The exotic spices were smooth, sweet, and spicy all at the same time. And after a four-mile jog, there was nothing more refreshing. She gave a heavy sigh as she imagined the sweet luscious taste.
“Screw Justin!” she said. “I have every right to do whatever the hell I want!” And, of course she could always pretend she was happy to see him.
She began her usual pulling of dirty clothes from the hamper in search of some decent sweat pants and matching gym socks. As she was rummaging, she noticed a pungent order coming from something in her hand. It was a pair of underwear and a bra that smelled bitter and musty, but strangely familiar. She tried to remember the last time she had been out bar hopping. It had to have been at least three weeks. Note to self, she thought, tomorrow is laundry day.
As she was closing the door on her way out, she felt hot breath on her neck right before a strong hand grabbed her shoulder.
CHAPTER 3
Dr. Pike flicked her pen against the desk repeatedly, letting her frustration show.
“How many times do we have to do this?” she asked.
“Until I get what I need.”
“And what is it that you need?”
The patient just looked out the window. Dr. Pike put down the pen, leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked.
“I don’t have a choice now, do I?”
“You’re here to get better.”
Patient X didn’t answer.
“They’re going to ask about your progress.”
“And you’ll tell them what they want to hear. Won’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
Dr. Pike just stared at her patient.
“Don’t worry, Doc,” the patient said, all smiles and charm now. “This one is different. This one is ‘The One’. The one I’ve been waiting for.”
“You mean the one that will give you what you want?”
“I’m afraid you just wouldn’t understand Doc. It’s complicated.”
“I think we are done for today,” Dr. Pike said, her frustration finally overwhelming her training. This game of cat and mouse was getting old, especially when both players thought they were the cat.
Patient X continued smiling, staring out the window.
CHAPTER 4
Rachel shrieked and dropped her keys. Whirling around in terror she found herself looking up at Carl, the building manager.
“Sorry about that,” he said picking up her keys. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” she said catching her breath. “I didn’t see you.” She looked around the hallway for a moment trying to figure out how he could have appeared so suddenly without being seen or heard. “Is there a problem?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Ms. Pendleton. Do you have overnight guests?”
“Excuse me?” she asked, again finding herself trying to regain her equilibrium.
She had first met Carl when he showed her the apartment she now occupied. He was wearing his trademark Levis and sleeveless undershirt. He had grease smudges here and there and an angry-looking woodpecker tattoo on his arm. He also had the look of someone who had just woken up and wasn’t quite put together yet. But under all of that, he was actually quite striking. She had thought at the time that he reminded her a little of Bruce Willis. He was lean and muscular with a strong jaw, handsome face, and intense eyes that said, Don’t mess with me, I’ve had a bad day.
“Eight women got raped today, Ms. Pendleton,” he stated plainly as if he were commenting on the weather. “Every day eight women get raped in this fair city of ours.”
Great, she thought, just what I needed today. His hands were covered in glazing putty, the smell of which was starting to make her nauseous. It was Carl’s job to replace all the broken window panes that were recently blown out from a nasty wind storm and from the look and smell of it, he had been very busy.
“Really,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I’m so glad I’m up-to-date on my self-defense training. Is there anything else?”
“I just don’t want you to be one of ‘em. I thought I saw someone leaving your apartment at three in the morning,” he said with one eyebrow arched up.
“I think I would have noticed if there was someone in my apartment last night.” Like it’s any of your business, she thought walking toward the stairway. “But thanks for looking out for me. I’ll be extra careful, Carl,” she added with a hint of sarcasm as she dashed down the stairs. Why were all the men in her life orbiting planet freak zone?
As she hit the city sidewalk, she drank in the sweet air, which inspired an extra bounce in her stride. The streets were buzzing with morning activities: the hum of trash removal, the hosing down of the sidewalk from the previous night’s revelry, and the homeless being “encouraged” to move away from store fronts. She could feel her body filling with endorphins as she hit the two mile mark and entered her zone.
Now was the time to put her day in order. Everything felt clearer in the sunshine. She would review her calculus notes on the train, no problem. She was feeling ready for anything, able to leap tall equations in a single bound, when from out of nowhere a wave of terror rose instantaneously from her gut, heaving its way through her chest and lodging itself in her throat. She came to an immediate stop gripping the roof of a tan Volvo to help steady herself as a vile thought burst into her brain. The smell of her bra and underwear from the hamper was identical to the smell of Carl’s glazing putty.
CHAPTER 5
Dr. Pike sighed and removed a digital recorder from her wall safe. For the rest of her patients, the recorder in the drawer was fine, but not this one. Not Patient X. These notes were not for her secretary to transcribe and put in a folder. These were strictly for her own use. Technically, Dr. Pike hadn’t done anything illegal. Morally, though, that was open to interpretation. However, if everything went according to plan, this could be the biggest breakthrough since lithium. But it would be tricky. There was no halfway; it was all or nothing. And if it went wrong, it could mean the end of her career.
No, it just wouldn’t do for any one else to hear this, yet.
“Patient X,” she began dictating, “has begun stalking a fourth couple. Same initial trigger, a man seemingly obsessed with a woman. Patient X follows the couple, but doesn’t know why. Or won’t explain why. Just says ‘I need answers’ but won’t discuss what the questions are. Each time patient refuses to acknowledge being the stalker, calling self ‘an observer’. Patient obviously suffers from classic transference caused by early childhood trauma, but still seems trapped in the delusion of being an innocent bystander.”
Gloria paused to take a drink of her now cold coffee.
“Previous stalkings stopped when patient realized the man was not obsessed with the woman, followed by patient falling into a deep depression. Each one worse than the last.
Though it’s been nearly a year with little to no progress, I still feel this is the right patient for my test case. A sociopath, or what is now classified as ‘antisocial personality disorder,’ with violent tendencies. The patient is highly intelligent with definite unresolved issues, despite eight years of commitment to state hospital. But patient refuses to move forward. So it is time to push the issue. Best trigger would obviously be incident with mother. Incident patient has refused to acknowledge since release from psychiatric hospital.”
The doctor stopped, lost in thought.
This had better work out, she thought to herself, after all the trouble I went through to get the damn case. Yes, in the next session she would just have to take the lead. No matter how uncomfortable it made the patient. She just couldn’t afford to wait any longer. When the tiniest bit of doubt crept into Gloria’s mind, she refused to acknowledge it.
This had to be THE patient. Her instincts were never wrong, and as soon as she read the file, the idea had blossomed from a little seedling to a full blown rose. This was the right patient! It had to be.
The phone rang disrupting her train of thought. As late as it was, it could only be one person calling.
“Hi, Dad,” she answered.
“Gloria, sweetie. How are you? I’m not interrupting, am I?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did. “I just wanted to let you know your mother and I are going to California next week.”
God she hated when he did this. “California? What for?” Let me guess...
“I’ve been asked to give a lecture for the Psychology Department at Stanford.”
There were so many responses to this statement squeezing at her chest, dying to get out. The familiar wave of panic flooded her veins, her heart racing as she struggled to choke out words so contrary to the truth. “Wow, Dad that’s great. Your book is still doing well then?” Of course it was.
“Yes, yes. It’s doing well. So, just wanted you to know we’d be gone.”
“Thanks Dad. Have fun.”
“Bye sweetie,” he said not waiting for her reply before hanging up.
Gloria sat in silence with her eyes closed, still holding the phone in her hand while she practiced her controlled breathing. Her fingers felt like ice, and she was having a little trouble getting the air out of her lungs so she could breath properly.
“Relax,” she told herself. “He’s not worth it...he’s just suffering from narcissistic personality disorder...it’s not about me,” she repeated to herself. “It’s not about me...”
As she regained her equilibrium, the panic slowly began to morph into rage. It’s never been about me, she thought gritting her teeth. As an adorable, bright little girl, she had been her father’s favorite over her younger siblings. He was a handsome, charming professor who loved toting her along to lectures and friendly academic social functions while her mother was at home with her twin baby brothers. He had taught her to recite the first four lines of Ode on a Grecian Urn which she happily and dutifully did when asked. His praise was so warm and nourishing to her soul, it was all she could remember wanting.
But something happened between childhood and adulthood. Her sweet devoted innocence was replaced with eager ambition. Following in her father’s footsteps was a natural reflection of her adoration for him. But somehow, the more she achieved, the more dismissive he became of her. She could still see the look on his face the day she handed him her beautifully framed certificate proclaiming her doctorate in psychology.
Her mother commented, “This is a lovely frame, dear. I hope it wasn’t too expensive.”
“Mother, I just became a doctor! It was an enormous amount of work!”
“Now, now Gloria,” her father said handing the certificate back, “There’s no need to get excited. Anyone can get a PhD these days. It’s amazing how watered down academia has become.”
The chill she had just been battling had now been replaced by a sudden flash of heat. “Bastard,” she said out loud. Moving quickly she pulled the flask out of the bottom drawer and took a drink. “Why does he do this to me?” She took another long swig of the overpriced whiskey she could barely stand the taste of.
Why does he do this? she thought. Always rubbing his success in my face. Acting like I don’t see his book on the New York Times Bestseller List every goddamned week.
She could still remember the recorded message he left on her iPhone the day he made the NYT’s top 10 in non-fiction. “I don’t know why you’re having so much trouble with your book, Gloria. This isn’t even my best work. I wrote most of it when your mother dragged me on that awful Alaskan Cruise. It was a product of boredom more than anything else,” he had chuckled, as if it was really nothing. As if everyday bestsellers just fell from the sky and landed in his Kiton suited lap.
“Enough,” she said dropping the flask back into the still open drawer, not bothering to hide it under the files the way she usually did. “My book is going to bury you, Daddy-kins. But I won’t even notice. I’ll be too busy.”
CHAPTER 6
“Iced Chai twist of lemon!” shouted a young, skinny, black-haired barista with silver adorned tongue, eyelid, nose and lip. He wore a black shirt that had Don’t Judge Me! [you air-sucking carbon-based waste of matter] printed on the front in plain white letters. “Iced Chai, anyone?” he asked again, looking directly at Rachel holding up the plastic cup.
“Oh, sorry,” she said as she gave up rummaging through her bag in search of a pen to sign the receipt from her debit card.
“You want this?” he asked holding up the cup. He had such a serious, nonchalant look on his face that she was at a total loss for how to respond.
“Ye...yes?” she asked slowly with an awkward smile. As she reached out for it he pulled it away.
“Not so fast,” he said, leering at her. He held up a pen with a silk daisy attached to it. He slowly waived the daisy end back and forth in her face. “You like daisies?” he asked.
She grabbed the pen and signed the receipt without looking at him and turned her head quickly before the expression that said, “Oh my God, what a weirdo!” forced its way into her eyes. She then sped her way to the only table that was unoccupied.
A morning that had started out so brilliantly had been abruptly turned into one of those off-kilter days where things moved in a slightly different dimension. The idea that Carl might be rummaging through her dirty laundry was a startling thought, but she knew that was impossible. The deadbolt could only be unlocked from the inside, so he would have to be a magician to get in. But still, it was hard to shake the imagery of that man anywhere near her laundry basket. She was sure there was some stupid explanation. And besides, she had actual issues in her life that did merit worry, and they had nothing to do with imaginary break-ins. She had a test today that would mean the difference between passing or flunking out and facing another semester of calculus hell. She could just see the look on the professor’s face when she showed up again at the start of the next semester, a look that said, “So, we’re taking another stab at it, are we? You know not every tree is meant to be a mighty oak.”
She took a long deep breath that turned into a sigh. Maybe her mom was right when she told her that math wasn’t a “girl thing.” What she had really meant was that it wasn’t a “pretty” girl thing. “Have you ever seen those girls in the math club?” she had asked through Rachel’s tears the last time she flunked the class. She knew her mom was only trying to make her feel better. And had she not been feeling like a complete failure at that moment, an argument would have ensued. It was just too difficult for Rachel to climb up on her soap box when there was so little she could offer in her own defense.
Her train of thought was broken suddenly by the raised voice of the severely pierced barista behind the counter. He was arguing with a young woman about adding a scone to her order. There was a pile of change on the counter, and she was digging in her bag for more. She was small, with short dark hair, somewhat disheveled, but cute. Rachel guessed she was about her age but a bit more worldly, based on the extravagantly laced tattoo that curled around her neck and back.
“Give me a break, lady,” the barista said with an annoyed tone. “I’m not as stupid as I look.” Rachel had to stifle a chuckle at that comment. “I’ve never even seen you before,” he went on.
“That’s because I just moved into the Craimer building a few days ago,” she pleaded, “and I was just on my way home when I saw this place, which everyone is always talking about, and I said to myself, ‘Oh my God!! I’ve just got to have an Espresso Lungo harmless with wings...right now!’”
He stared at her for a few moments while his brain caught up to her words. “You didn’t order a ‘harmless’,” he said crossing his arms with an air of superiority.
“I know,” she said tossing him a salacious smile that would have made Hugh Hefner blush.
“Whatever, man, just take it,” he said with a wave of his long skinny fingers as he turned around to reorganize the Torani syrup bottles while his face regained its natural pasty hue.
The woman picked up her coffee and scone and began scanning for a place to sit, but there were no tables available. Rachel, who had been watching the drama unfold from a table a few feet away said, “Did you say you just moved into the Craimer building?” The woman stopped and turned back to see who had just spoken to her. “I’m Rachel, I live in 204. Do you want to sit here?” she pointed to the chartreuse and black polka-dotted seat across from her.
“I’m Melissa,” she said, carefully putting her paper cup on the table and taking a bite from her raspberry scone while she sat. “You’re in 204? I just rented the dungeon apartment two floors below you...from Igor, I think.”
Rachel laughed, “Oh yeah, I think I saw your moving van. What’s that basement apartment like?” she asked, “I’ve always wondered.”
“Besides cheap, which is absolutely mandatory for one who spends every waking moment obsessed with photography and refusing to sell out to Olan Mills or Walgreens ‘creative memories’ department, the light is absolutely amazing,” she said matter-of-factly taking another bite of scone. “Totally blew me away.”
“Really?” Rachel asked in disbelief.
“Well,” Melissa said with a smile, “it will be when I get my two-thousand dollar studio light setup. One has to make choices in life: decent apartment or food on the table. So what do you do when you’re not sipping Chai?”
“I’m a production artist, or I will be if I ever graduate. Until then I’m just a starving nobody...”
“Hey, just because you’re not being kept by some corporate overlord doesn’t mean you don’t have an identity,” Melissa said with a sense of pride in her voice. Rachel laughed and felt at once like she had met a comrade in arms. “Here’s to a fellow artist,” Melissa added raising her paper cup.
“It’s very nice to meet you Melissa,” Rachel reciprocated with her ceramic mug.
“You can call me Mel.”
CHAPTER 7
“So, last time we had to stop early,” Dr. Pike said.
“No, you made us stop early.”
“Today I would like to-”
“She has a stalker,” the patient watched the doctor for a reaction but there was none. Dr. Pike had heard this all before.
“Uh huh. She has a stalker.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You say this every time.”
“No, this time it’s really true,” Patient X pleaded.
What was this? Dr. Pike thought. Usually the patient was smug and condescending. Dismissive of Dr. Pike’s disbelief. But this time there was an almost desperate look. Like a child who always lies caught in a situation only the truth can fix and just begging to be believed. But Dr. Pike was no parent, and Patient X was definitely no child. Was this a change in behavior? Maybe the patient had picked up on Gloria’s frustration last time and decided to cooperate.
“Okay, what makes this time different?”
“I went back to her apartment. And he was there, outside.”
“Who was outside?”
“Her stalker,” Patient X whispered, smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary.
“What makes you think this person is stalking her?”
“He was waiting. He was watching.”
The therapist nodded, knowing it was the best way to keep the patient talking.
“When she left, he followed her all the way to the grocery store. Once he sees her start shopping, he goes back to her apartment. And invites himself in.”
Wait, thought Dr. Pike. This was definitely different than previous episodes. Did Patient X break into this woman’s house? Patient X had always been an observer of people. Was this a breakthrough? And, if so, in what direction? Dr. Pike decided to see where this went.
“Did you consider stopping him?”
The patients eyebrows furrowed, “Why?”
“To spare someone else some of what you’ve experienced.”
The patient suddenly leaned back, eyes flat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Very well.” A nod of the head indicating the patient should continue.
“Besides, haven’t you ever watched a nature show? You observe. You don’t interfere with the natural order of things.”
“This is the natural order?”
“Isn’t it? I didn’t start this. I’m simply an observer.”
Again with the observer, thought Gloria. “You really believe you’re just an observer?”
“It’s what I know.”
“You have no responsibility here whatsoever?”
Silence.
“All right,” the doctor said, breaking the silence, “what happened?”
“So he’s in there half an hour, and I’m curious about what he’s doing. Smelling her clothes, gathering hair from her brush for whatever voodoo doll he has of her at home.”
“Voodoo doll?”
“Whatever,” the patient said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “So I go in after he leaves.”
Now this was definitely a change. The patient actually seemed to be separating from the stalking. Inventing a third person. Dr. Pike kept her face neutral, but deep inside a flicker of excitement was lit.
“How did you get in?”
“I just did.”
“What if she had come back?”
“Who says she didn’t?” Patient X said smiling.
Gloria could feel frustration boil up into her jaws and despite herself she snapped, “Could we forgo the theatrics for just one day?”
The patient was taken aback a bit by the doctor’s candor and for a moment seemed confused by the statement.
Dr. Pike regained her composure. She knew the patient had just a small grasp of human emotion. Like a child watching a parent for the proper reaction. It was up to her to guide the feeling of the sessions.
“What I meant to say was, wouldn’t that have proved to be a bit awkward? If she found you in her apartment?”
“Why are you angry?” The patent's question was direct and emotionless. As if the patient knew the question should be asked but didn’t really care about the answer.
“I’m not angry,” she replied with a cool smile. “I’m just curious. Please, tell me what happened next.”
The patient looked out the window for a moment and then continued, “So I go in, check things out and what do you think I discovered? He’s bugged the apartment. Not just sound, but video also.” Patient X was watching Dr. Pike carefully, again waiting to see her reaction. “God bless the digital age.”
Dr. Pike still remained neutral. The patient’s goal seemed to be to get a reaction out of Gloria, and she refused to give in.
“How’d you find the bugs?”
“I’m getting annoyed at your doubts concerning my abilities.”
“Forgive me. So you…”
But again Patient X just smiled.
CHAPTER 8
Rachel punched in and grabbed a pile of folders from the shelf. When she had taken this job last year, she thought it would be a great way to learn about all the software used in 3D rendering. 3D Ambition represented itself as a full 3D modeling studio; however, as far as Rachel could discern, they had only ever rendered industrial parts for one specific company. It was a factory in Utah which built equipment and weapons for the Department of Defense. The jobs consisted of reading sketches and interpreting math equations in order to create 3D renderings of ugly little machines parts, not exactly the glamorous job she had hoped for.
And, to top things off, early on it was clear that she had been hired as little more than a glorified secretary. Maybe not even that. Her job was to walk around the dingy little warehouse space where nine twenty-something male nerds had set up cubicles and computers, where she would pass out, collect, and file the paperwork that came through the building. Even though all the work and communication was electronic, they still had to keep accurate paper documentation of every single thing that transpired. It was a mandatory part of the government contract between the DOD and the Utah plant. Efficiency at its finest.
Tony, her boss, had promised she would be trained on the software, thereby giving her valuable experience in rendering animation, some of it really specialized stuff, but so far that hadn’t happened. Of course, it wasn’t really Tony’s fault. Rachel was just part-time and hadn’t been able to come in as much as she wanted, especially with all the time she had been putting in getting everything ready for her Mad Media application.
“Hey, Rach,” Terry yelled from across the warehouse as he ran over to her.
“Hey, Terry,” Rachel said.
“You almost done?”
“Where have you been,” Rachel laughed. “I just started.” She had a huge pile of manila folders stacked up in front of a row of gray filing cabinets. Each drawer was labeled with only a set of numbers, and there were forty-four drawers, the first beginning with the number one and the last ending with a number that had eight digits.
“Oh, I’ve been buried in the back. Some of the files were damaged in that power outage the other day.”
Rachel shook her head.
“The back-up generator has been broken for months, the new one’s on back order. Now we have to sort through every individual hard drive and try to figure out which meaningless job number goes to which job.”
“Tell me about it,” she said holding up a file with nothing but the number 300342. “Why can’t we use words, like normal people?”
“What, and allow something to stimulate the right side of your brain?” he mocked. “Besides, none of us are supposed to know what any of this means. What if you were kidnapped and tortured for information?”
“Yeah, I think I’d rather have some valuable information to give them in that scenario,” she said laughing.
“Me too,” he said with a smile. “But we are just the cogs in the great machinery of human existence. We have no say.”
“How true,” she sighed and went back to her filing.
“So where’s your gift for Tony?” Terry asked.
“What? Oh crap! Today’s not his birthday? Tell me it’s not,” she pleaded. She’d completely forgotten about her boss’s birthday.
“Party’s in twenty minutes,” he answered.
She looked up at the old industrial clock. Her shift wasn’t over for another hour. She was stuck. “Can’t I just contribute to someone else’s gift? What did you get him?”
“You interns are all alike,” he said shaking his head. “Remember when I told you how it works. First, you’re supposed to find something that represents the digital anagram equivalent of your name and or address. Then, you assign it a word that represents the opposite of what the gift actually is. Then we all take turns....” Rachel tuned out the rest of his mind-numbing explanation as she continued with her filing. If there was a place in hell for people who hated math, this company had to be it.
“Here,” Luke said, holding a wrapped box. “You can give him this.”
“Oh, hi, Luke,” Rachel said taking the box. “I didn’t see you. Wow, thanks! You’re a real life saver!” Rachel was surprised he was talking to her again. He had been friendly when she started, always teasing her and bringing her coffees. But when she had said no to dating, he had withdrawn. Once in a while she caught him watching her when he thought she wouldn’t see. She would smile, but he always looked away quickly.
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“A slide rule,” he answered, smiling at her.
“It’s been done,” Terry said rolling his eyes.
“I don’t care if it’s been done,” she snapped at Terry. “This is really great. Thanks so much, Luke, let me write you a check...”
“NO!” His shout startled Rachel. “I mean, you don’t need to. This one’s on me,” he added, regaining his composure.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he smiled back and left as quick as he had come.
“Luke’s a ‘cash only’ kind of guy,” Terry murmured to her. “You know what I mean?”
“No, not really,” Rachel answered, but he was already walking away.
CHAPTER 9
“I am convinced this new scenario is a breakthrough for Patient X,” Gloria Pike said into her recorder. “The introduction of another stalker. What does it mean though? Is patient trying to separate self from situation so won’t have to feel responsible for the outcome? Doesn’t really make sense because patient already lacks any empathy, doesn’t really care about the outcome. No, patient only cares that outcome satisfies own needs. What are those needs? Patient won’t say, yet. Regardless, this is a step forward. I am going to push the mother issue in our next session. In the end, confronting what happened is the only way to really move forward in any permanent way. ”
Gloria stopped the recorder and poured the last glass from a bottle of wine she had opened only an hour ago. “Oh Christ,” she said under her breath as she let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve got to slow down. I’ve got so much to do tonight.” She slid the wine glass to the other side of the coffee table, as if that might somehow keep it from being consumed.
She had avoided taking a good look at her increased alcohol dependence over the past year because she felt strongly that this was only a temporary state. She was in the process of giving birth to ground-breaking work. It was revolutionary, but at the same time, such an obvious next step in the study of psychopathology. Of course, neuroscientists and psychiatrists alike had spent decades poking and prodding at the problem as though it were sitting in a petri dish. But to get inside the mind while the pathology was taking place! The idea was thrilling.
She reached across the table for her glass of wine. Picking it up, she gave a toast to a framed quote she had above her desk that read “Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy”--Sigmund Freud. She took a sip from the glass and continued on with her work.
CHAPTER 10
Rachel almost kicked over the small vase that sat outside her front door. She was balancing a box of laundry soap atop a very full basket of dirty clothes while simultaneously juggling her keys. She looked down and saw that the vase was filled with a bunch of white daisies. And there was a card attached. She immediately thought of her mother but couldn't think of an occasion that would have prompted the gift.
Reluctantly, she set the overflowing laundry basket on the floor as the box of Tide slipped off and spilled out part of its contents. “Damn it!” she said, picking up the box and trying to return as much of the white powder as was possible back in through the opening. This better be worth it, she thought picking up the white plastic daisy-filled vase. She pulled out the little card from the small envelope and read: “Don’t let anyone drive you crazy when you know it’s within walking distance.” She chuckled and turned the card over to see who it was from. It was blank. That’s funny, she thought, especially for Justin.
The bouquet was beautiful, the daisies big and bursting with that weedy smell that makes one think of a vacant lot on a hot summer day. She set them inside the door carefully before continuing on with her journey to the laundry room. She had a smile on her face as she imagined Justin standing in a flower shop, trying to navigate his way through all the choices there were, and then somehow managing to pick her favorite flowers from all the bouquets in the cooler.
As she finagled the laundry down the stairs, she remembered her new found friend who had recently moved into the basement apartment. The laundry room was adjacent to Mel’s, and she wondered if she should stop by and say hello. Since they had met last week, they had spent a lot of time hanging out at each other’s apartments. In addition to the strong and immediate bond she felt when they met, their weird schedules coincided great. There were advantages to not having a nine to five job.
“So, you’re doing your laundry,” a familiar voice spoke out of the dark. As she managed to flick on the lights, Carl was already moving toward her, coming from who knows where when he grabbed her laundry basket and said, “I can get this.”
“Um, thanks, Carl,” she said opening the door which lead to three washing machines, two dryers, and a thick layer of dust and lint.
Rachel took the laundry basket from Carl and began her ritual of separating the wimpy fabrics from the tough, trying to act like it was perfectly normal to be doing her laundry, even though it was, in fact, perfectly normal to be doing her laundry. Carl stood at the door as though waiting for some further instructions. She tried not to glance his way, but couldn’t help noticing his self-conscious stance. He was so odd. She couldn’t quite figure him out. He was so abrupt and unfriendly, yet sometimes he seemed like he was trying to reach out to her, trying to get her approval... or something. After several minutes he said, “So, it looks like you have a secret admirer.”
Rachel froze when he spoke. Did he actually read the card? Was he spying on her? Or were they from him? The idea made her chest tense up. But she simply shrugged and continued, not looking at him directly.
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