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« on: August 25, 2009, 10:52:15 AM » |
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I re-wrote part of the last post, so I included it here.
Thomas was an invisible observer as he followed Paul to an unrecognizable location. It was a part of New York City that Thomas was unfamiliar with; the street weakly lit by a lone street light, the sickly yellow glow revealing little. Paul slinked quietly down a dark alley like a tomcat stalking it’s prey. Thomas could almost feel Paul’s pulse quicken, or was that his own? The alley opened up into the meager backyard of a small clapboard house. There was a gap… Paul was now standing in the kitchen of the home. The scent of chinese food permeated the air. Flickering blue light came from the next room. Thomas took in the scene as a fly on the ceiling. Paul crept into the room, pulling an object from his pocket as he did so. The thin steel blade ejected from the end of the box cutter with a flick of Paul’s thumb. He stood still, waiting. The young woman on the couch was oblivious of his presence. She slept as the television lulled her, the volume low, so low Thomas could hear her breathing. He could see her long, straight black hair in the flickering glow, her face obscured. With one fierce movement, Paul flung himself over the back of the couch, his right arm slamming across her breast. The air driven from her lungs with a wheeze, her legs thrusting wildly, he forced his left hand over her mouth. He waited - waited until it came. The expression on her face - that there was no hope. Then the box cutter did its work.
********
Paul stepped from the elevator into the long, empty hallway. He could see the nondecript gray door of Dr. Schaffer’s office, far to his left. Sun streamed in through the large window at the end of the hall, dust motes spinning in the air. The hall smelled of mold and dissenfectant. The commercial grade carpeting was worn in spots. How many times had he stepped down this hallway, unaware of it all? Why the hesitation? He really didn’t want to be here today. If it weren’t for his father insisting that he continue the sessions, he would gladly push the down button in retreat. His father hung his inheritance over his head like a sword. That was about the only reason he continued coming; that and the fact that he could tweak Schaffer so easily. As smart as the doctor was, he wasn’t as smart as him. Paul liked how he could make Schaffer sit up and beg for every story he told; some real, some imagined. And then there was Sandra. Sandra, with her tight clothes and high heels. She dressed that way to keep her job, he supposed. To keep the doctor on a short leash. He had to admire that in her. She was relatively nice to Paul, as well. He liked talking to her, even though it was a challenge. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She probably thought she could eat him alive if she so desired. Little did she know. Paul headed for the office, still ten minutes early.
Paul strolled into the office. Sandra was seated behind the desk directly in front of him, busying herself on the computer, she pretended to take no notice. Probably playing Solitaire. He approached her and stood within a foot of the cherry stained desk. He cleared his throat, and she looked up. He saw how her eyes hesitated at his pelvis.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Ingram. You’re a little early…”
He cut her off.
“It’s never too early to see you, Sandra.” He said with a quick easy smile. “you’re looking lovely as ever.”
Paul’s eyes scanned her body like a ten-year-old boy would scan a Playboy centerfold.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Ingram.”
“Call me Paul. How long have we known each other, now? Nearly three months? I always think of you as Sandra, so please call me Paul.”
She leaned towards him as he sat on the edge of her desk, playing with a strand of her long black hair. Her full red lips parted in a coy smile, revealing perfect white teeth. He could read her like an open book. He’d ask her out, get to know her, really know her and she would learn to like him; he was sure of it.
“Mr. Ingram? Mr. Ingram? The doctor will see you now. Mr. Ingram?,” came Sandra’s voice, from a great distance, then much louder.
“What? Oh. Sorry. Guess I was… daydreaming?” Paul stammered, realizing he was sitting in one of the over stuffed leather chairs in the reception room. He could feel his face become flush. Sandra leaned over him, her breasts straining at the satin fabric of her pink blouse, pushing open the gray business jacket. Her hand rested on his shoulder. Was she smirking at him? Yes, she was. Sandra turned and walked back to her desk. He composed himself. Were his pants wet? No. Why would they be? You know why. He stood and walked briskly towards the double oak doors as she buzzed him in.
Dr. Schaffer sat studying a file as Paul quickly took his usual seat. The doctor was surprised that Paul hadn’t made his usual grand entrance. Paul sat sullenly, watching the doctor as he layed the file aside and removed his reading glasses.
“How have you been, Paul?”
“Just f’ing great, doc.”
“You seem a little, should I dare say, flustered.”
“Say what you like. If you were anybody else, I’d take your head off,” Paul retorted, looking out the window as if fascinated by the cloudless sky.
“I need a cup of coffee. How about you, Paul?”
Paul sat bolt upright.
“Forget the coffee. We’re on my dime, remember?”
“As you wish,” Said Dr. Schaffer.
The last thing Paul wanted right now was for Sandra to come waltzing in, filling the doctor’s request, smirk and all. Probably all the bitch was good for anyways.
“Please let me know if there is anything in particular you would care to discuss. Anything that may be bothering you. Just think of me as a bartender.”
“Yeah. A very expensive bartender, who serves coffee. So you want to hear what’s been pissing me off? Well, as you know, I’ve got all sorts of free time.”
Paul took a breath, cosidering wether he wanted to continue.
“ I’ve made it a habit to hangout at this particular internet café about a dozen blocks from my apartment. You know, surf a little, do a little people watching. I like people watching. It’s ok as long as they keep their distance. I’m pretty good at it. I can tell which ones to avoid, you know, and which ones that look easy.”
“Which ones that look easy?” The doctor leaned forward, his twead jacketed elbows resting on his knees.
“Yeah. You should know. Look easy. Weak. The ones I could handle. There are more weak ones than strong ones. There is this one in particular.” Paul continued to gaze out the window, oblivious to the effect he was having on the psychiatrist.
“And which one would that be?” prodded the doctor.
“Her name is Kim. Kim Ho. I overheard her tell another jap,” Paul’s rascist remark made without a thought. Japs were japs. To him it was merely a fact, nothing more.
“What else do you know about her?” Schaffer tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“I know she’s a class “A” bitch. She talks to every douche in the place. I asked if she’d like to come over to my place, and she looks at me like I was crazy. She wouldn’t even say no. I haven’t seen her in there since. I know where she lives, though.”
Dr. Schaffer knew he should take this opportunity to delve into Paul’s hatred of women, but he didn’t. He suddenly realized he couldn’t have cared less. His mind raced. This is what he’d been waiting for all these years of practice. He needed this. No way would he screw up his opportunity to pursue his goal, a goal that twenty minutes ago he would refuse to admit – even to himself.
“And where would that be?”
“You trying to move in on my action, doc?” laughed Paul.
The spell was broken.
“So, has anything else in particular been bothering you?”
“My dad’s been putting the pressure on me. Nothing new about that,” said Paul, now trying to stare down the doctor.
Dr. Schaffer broke eye contact with him, pretending to adjust his jacket. Paul congratulated himself on his little triumph.
“Pressure? What about?” he asked, picking up his pad and reaching for his prized Montbloc pen, clipped safely in his breast pocket.
“Since Judith died, he’s decided to concentrate on saving me.”
“Your mother.”
“Yeah. Judith. I stopped calling her anything else a long time ago,” said Paul, lifting his chin and grinning in defiance.
“Tell me a little about her. Was she an attractive woman?”
“You could say that. In a stick up the ass nose in the air kind of way. Long, straight black hair, high cheek bones, full lips, too much make up, too tan, too thin.”
Paul was watching the doctor carefully.
“She had quite the rack for being so skinny. Hey doc, I think you’re drooling!”
Paul burst out with a short guffaw, bringing himself back under control in the wink of an eye. Dr. Schaffer blushed red. There was no helping it. Paul had one upped him again. The doctor crossed and uncrossed his legs as Paul stared intently.
“Well then. Do you still have feelings for your mother, um, Judith?”
“The only feeling I have is that I wish I could’ve ended her life instead of the sclerosis of the liver. But I hear it’s a pretty slow and painful death.”
Again, Paul watched the doctor’s face closely. He didn’t see discomfort there anymore. Paul knew the expression of discomfort better than anyone. He saw – pleasure?
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