Welcome to Blissville

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  The plan was simple: Michelle would begin entering and stocking the inventory until she would get interrupted by an emergency call. She would specifically ask Alexander to take over for her since he did such a great job the last time and wouldn’t sign out. We’d record Alexander’s activities in the stockroom, and the undercover cop would arrest him as soon as he made his move. It sounded easy in theory, but when was life ever easy?

  I watched it all unfold in the monitors and had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when Alexander didn’t jump all over the chance to steal the liquor. That should’ve been my first clue that something was off about the entire thing. Michelle kept pleading with him, and he kept refusing to help. Finally, Michelle came into the office looking dejected and a little bit fearful.

  “I’m sorry, Jon. I tried everything I could think of to get him to do the inventory for me again. He just kept refusing.”

  “What was the reason he gave?” I asked.

  “He said he wasn’t doing anything extra around here because it wasn’t appreciated.”

  So it was about me and the lack of attention I showed him. “This asshole is something else, or he thinks his asshole is something else,” I amended. I regretted my words when Michelle blushed either from embarrassment or discomfort. I should’ve quit while I was ahead, but I was on a roll. I blamed Emory for my sleepless nights, sexual frustration, and bone-deep wounds I worried might never heal. “He steals from me then has the nerve to get pissed when I don’t fuck him.” Something wasn’t adding up.

  “What do you want me to do?” Michelle nervously asked.

  “I want you to play along and leave like you planned to do.” I handed her my credit card. “Go get a manicure and pedicure on my dime and time. You deserve it. I’ll take care of the rest. Just leave your employee number logged in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  If Alexander was my thief, he should’ve jumped at the opportunity to steal from me again, if for no other reason than to get even with me. So why didn’t he? There was only one way to find out.

  I waited for Michelle to leave as planned and headed into the club area where Alexander was working behind the bar. He looked up when I walked up to him but didn’t say anything.

  “Michelle had to leave for a little bit, and I have an offsite meeting in thirty minutes that I can’t miss. Can you step up and help out?”

  “Step up and help out?” Alexander repeated incredulously then laughed. “I do plenty around here, but you never notice. Well, you used to notice.” The last part was said suggestively and loud enough for everyone around us to hear since the music wasn’t thumping yet.

  “There are other clubs for you to work as a bartender if you’re unhappy working for me, Alexander. Finish stocking the shelves as Michelle asked you to do, or you can start applying for those jobs in person today.” I felt the tension build around us, but I wouldn’t back down to the manipulative little shit. Somebody wasn’t getting his ass plowed and wanted to take his misery out on everyone around him.

  Alexander threw down his towel on the bar and walked away. I wasn’t sure what the answer was until I returned to my office. I was fine with whatever choice he made because I was the winner in either scenario. Apparently, Alexander liked his job more than he let on, or I had pushed him enough to risk stealing from me again.

  I watched on the monitor in my office as Alexander pulled his phone out of his pocket and made a call. I could tell he was angry, but my hidden camera was video only. He only spoke to the person for a few minutes before he hung up and began logging boxes of liquor before setting them on the shelf. He didn’t start acting funny until he got to the boxes with the good stuff. He stocked some of the bottles on the shelves while the rest of the expensive liquor was put in a box he set off to the side.

  I watched in shock as he moved the metal rack that had the bar napkins, plastic cups, straws, and other miscellaneous bar items away from the wall to reveal a hidden door that I didn’t know existed. The building wasn’t old enough to be used during prohibition, so I had no idea why it was there, but I knew where Alexander had stashed the booze until he could cart it out of there.

  “Well, now you know for sure,” Grant, the undercover cop, said. He’d followed me to my office once Alexander stomped off. “We just need to catch him taking it out of the building. Who knows how long that will be.”

  “He’s expecting me to leave for a while, so I bet he makes his move then.” I held up my cell phone and wiggled it a bit. “I’ll watch him remotely through my phone app. Can you stick around?”

  “I’m yours for the day,” he said then blushed. “Well, not like that…”

  “I knew what you meant,” I assured him. “I’ll be in touch if I see something.”

  I drove a few blocks and parked my car in a coffee shop parking lot. I wanted to be out of sight, but not so far that I would miss the takedown.

  I had a feeling that Alexander would wait until the club started to fill up so that he could sneak out the hooch during his break with a smaller risk of getting caught since most of the staff was preoccupied. On my phone, I had a split screen showing hidden cameras in the stockroom and the one hidden in the awning over the back door so that I had a clear view of the employee parking lot behind the building, but the camera remained hidden.

  Sure enough, Alexander entered the stockroom about an hour after the club opened. He checked his phone then quickly accessed the hiding spot and pulled out the hooch. He peeked around the door of the stockroom to make sure the coast was clear then disappeared off camera until he stepped out the back door. I watched in shock as a familiar silver car pulled up behind the club.

  The trunk of the car popped up, and Alexander lowered the box of stolen liquor into the car then approached the driver’s door. Alexander smiled down at the driver then leaned in for a kiss before he said something and stepped back. Grant came out the door with his gun before the car could drive off and I grinned to myself when I realized I had killed two birds with one stone.

  Grant told the driver to park the car then escorted both of them to my office where they waited until I showed up. “Hello again, Marlon.”

  The man nervously twitched when he heard the dead calm in my voice. “I can explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear your explanation, Marlon. Save it for court.” Marlon was a wealthy guy, so it made no sense that he would steal from me, unless it was to get even because I refused to take my brother’s place in his bed.

  “Court?” He sounded astounded that I would consider such a thing. “Surely, you’ll just let me pay you—”

  “Oh, this is payback for the way you treated my brother, Marlon.”

  “I…”

  “Not another word from you,” I warned him. I didn’t so much as look at Alexander. I knew I’d acted foolishly when it came to him. I was just grateful I hadn’t tipped Marlon off by asking him for an attorney referral. Sure, Alexander could still make allegations about me or go to the press with his sordid story, but people weren’t as likely to believe him once they saw the evidence of his thievery. They’d assume he was trying to get even with me. Still, I’d be ready for whatever he threw my way. “You can take them away.”

  “Let’s go, boys,” Grant said. “There should be a squad car waiting for you out front.”

  “Out front?” Marlon asked. “Please, don’t do this to me. My family—”

  “Probably already knows you like to suck cock.”

  He gasped and sputtered, but I ignored both of them and returned my attention back to my work. For the most part, ignoring emotions was easy for me. The only chink in my armor was Emory. I tried my hardest not to think about him, but memories of our night together kept popping up in my head until I thought I was losing my fucking mind. I had the strongest urge to get drunk, but that wouldn’t solve anything.

  As much as I just wanted to go home, I knew the staff would have too many questions about what happ
ened. Yeah, it was a dick move to have them hauled out through the crowd and out the front door, but I was feeling exceptionally dickish lately.

  I waited until the club closed and had an impromptu staff meeting where I laid everything out for them. My staff was shocked and disappointed about what happened, and I was grateful that not a single one of them appeared to be an Alexander sympathizer. If so, I’d weed them out and send them packing.

  I went straight home after the meeting and went right up to bed. I was too fucking old for that three o’clock in the morning bullshit anymore. I had just closed my eyes and drifted to sleep when my ringing phone woke me. I don’t know why, but I thought it was Emory calling me.

  “Em, are you okay?” I sleepily asked.

  “Soooo, he’s nothing to you, buuuut you expect his phone call in the early morning h-h-hours.” I hadn’t heard Beau sound so drunk since we lost half of our platoon early in the war with Iraq.

  I sat up fast; my drowsiness immediately disappeared. “Beau, what’s wrong?”

  “Emmmmory,” he slurred.

  “Emory? Is he hurt? I don’t understand.”

  “Heeee had another v-vision.”

  I closed my eyes as understanding dawned. “Were you able to recover Kent’s body?” I softly asked.

  “Y-yes.” That time his voice broke from emotion instead of booze. “He was j-j-just a kid, Jon. Had his whole life ahead of h-h-him. Why?”

  “I don’t know, Beau, but I know you’ll find those answers.” I cleared my throat to dislodge the emotional lump lodged there. “Are you ready to tell me who Kent was to you?”

  “C-c-can’t. I might’ve located his b-body, but I don’t know who put h-h-him there. I c-can’t risk the truth getting out.”

  I wanted to know so badly but understood his reasoning. If people realized Beau had a personal connection they might clam up even more. Innocent people or witnesses could fear he wouldn’t give them a fair shake. He was handling it the right way, but I hated to see my friend go through such a difficult time while I was so far away and couldn’t help him.

  “I’ll fly out in the morning,” I offered.

  “Nooooo,” Beau slurred. “I’ll be f-fine, Jon. I just needed to talk to someone. It’s been crazy ever since I talked to Emory this morning.”

  Hearing Emory’s name cut me to the bone and made me want to rip my hair out. Perhaps I needed to start saying it in the privacy of my own home so that it was easier to take when others sprung it on me.

  “Are you one hundred percent certain the body was Kent’s?” He’d been missing for ten years so there wouldn’t be anything left but bones and clothes.

  “There was a personalized g-g-gold bracelet on the l-left wrist of the body we f-f-found. Van is going to compare the d-d-dental records in the morning, but I know it’s h-him, Jon.” I’d heard Beau speak fondly of the county coroner slash medical examiner. His last name was something odd for a doctor, but I… Carver! Donovan Carver.

  “At least you’ll get the confirmation soon and can hopefully solve the case. Beau, I will seriously come out…”

  “No! P-patch things up w-with Emory.”

  “I’ve tried, Beau. It’s no use.”

  “It’s not l-like you to give up on s-s-something—or someone—important to you,” Beau softly said.

  “You can’t force things.”

  “He m-misses you. I can t-t-tell. Don’t w-wait until it’s t-t-too late.”

  He sounded like he was talking from experience but, to the best of my knowledge, Beau had never been in love. “You better get some sleep, buddy. You’re going to need to be at your best to catch a killer. I have faith in you.”

  “Thank y-you. Talk soon.”

  Beau sounded exhausted. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he crashed hard. I wished I could say the same about myself. I lay away for another hour thinking about what Beau said about Emory missing me and wondering if it was true. Hell, just thinking his name nearly killed me.

  “Emory. Emory. Emory.” I repeated his name out loud hoping it got easier to say and hear. It didn’t. “Damn it, Emory. What am I going to do about you?”

  “Mr. Whelan?”

  “Hmmm?” My head snapped up, and I looked into Dr. Caitlyn Rosenau’s intelligent brown eyes. I had liked her from the moment we met, even though I wished it was under better circumstances.

  “I asked if you needed me to repeat any of the information.” She smiled softly. “I know it’s a lot to process and I want to answer your questions.” She tapped the folder on her desk that held my MRI results, my official diagnosis, and the care plan she designed for me. “Everything I’ve told you is also in this folder, but I’m sure you have questions.

  “Mr. Whelan, your MRI results show a tumor in the dura fold that runs between the left and right sides of your brain. It has the characteristics of a meningioma. These usually start in the membrane layers called meninges beneath the skull. They grow inward and push on the brain; the symptoms depend on the part of the brain they appear. Your tumor is called a parasagittal meningioma, and the symptoms include headaches, personality changes, vision problems, and arm or leg weakness.”

  I’d heard the words tumor and brain in the same sentence and started to zone out. I still caught bits and pieces of what Dr. Rosenau said, but I couldn’t string them all together to form coherent thoughts right then.

  “Slow-growing tumor…”

  “Most likely benign…”

  “Surgically remove the tumor to relieve the pressure on your brain and perform a biopsy to make sure it’s benign. You can see the tumor has smooth, well-defined edges, which normally indicates that cancer is not present.”

  “How long do you think I’ve had this tumor?” I asked her, snapping out of my trance.

  “It’s hard to say for sure, but I’m going to say at least five years for it to have reached this size.” The tumor on the screen behind her didn’t look that big, but it still scared the fuck out of me.

  “Five years is how long I’ve been having visions,” I said absently, more to myself than anything.

  “Visions?”

  Here’s the part where she decides I’m crazy. “Five years ago, I woke up from a coma after a nasty accident that claimed my husband’s life. I had a mild brain injury that took a while to heal. When it did, I began having psychic visions. At first they came to me in my sleep, and I thought they were dreams, but my abilities have grown since then.”

  Dr. Rosenau placed her elbow on her desk and tilted her head to the side. I was relieved to see curiosity in her eyes, not disbelief or derision. “Go on.”

  And I did. I told the doctor about my work with law enforcement agencies over the years, including most recently assisting Jon’s friend, Beau. Jon. God, how I missed him. It felt like years—not months—since I left Jon sleeping in his bed. “You think I’m crazy, right?”

  “Absolutely not,” Dr. Rosenau said, surprising me. “There’s been a lot of scientific studies about psychic phenomenon and where it comes from.”

  “There has?”

  Dr. Rosenau nodded and continued. “Psychic ability is associated with changes in function in the frontal and right temporal lobes. One increases and the other decreases. Synesthesia, which is like cross-wiring in the brain, is a legitimate neurological condition. People who refer to themselves as psychic often have synesthesia. They see and hear the world differently. Some people with this condition suffer serious psychiatric breakdowns while others learn to manage their newfound abilities.”

  “Wow, I could’ve used you in my life when my mother wanted to have me committed,” I said then laughed dryly. “Do you think my head trauma caused both the synesthesia and this tumor?”

  “It’s entirely possible that your head trauma triggered the cross-wiring in your brain, but your tumor is in the lining of the brain and most likely isn’t related at all.” Dr. Rosenau folded her hands on her desk. “The brain is a very complicated organ, Mr. Whelan, and there’s a lot we don’t
know about it,” she explained, “but I can tell you that your tumor is operable, most likely benign, and I’m confident that you’ll live a long, healthy life.”

  “Brain surgery sounds terrifying,” I said honestly. “Can you tell me what it entails?”

  “Absolutely.” Dr. Rosenau then patiently explained what I could expect if I agreed to surgery.

  If? I’d been miserable the last month with unimaginable pain. I couldn’t fathom living the rest of my life in that kind of agony. Every day was an endless headache that no over-the-counter medicine could touch. My vision had started to blur and I became dizzy more frequently. I went to the local doctor in Blissville once the tingling started in my arms and legs. I knew that something was really wrong with me. The doctor ordered a series of tests that uncovered my tumor.

  “I’ll perform a keyhole parietal craniotomy and remove the tumor. My neuropathologist will evaluate the tissue under a microscope to determine if it’s benign or malignant so we know what additional treatments you will need. After surgery, we’ll prescribe medications to keep the swelling and inflammation down. If I’m unable to remove the entire tumor, we may use radiation to eradicate what remains.”

  As much as I didn’t want to live in pain, the thought of her cutting open my skull and digging things out of my brain was terrifying. “How soon?”

  “If it’s benign like I suspect, it’s a matter of what you can tolerate. The headaches can become debilitating and the tingling you feel in your left arm and leg could worsen or weaken and cause you to collapse.”

  “I’m going to have the procedure, but there are a few things I’d like to do first.”

  “Are you talking about days, weeks, or months?” she asked me.

  “Weeks.” I wanted to spend time with Memphis and my grandfather. I hoped to see Josh and Gabe’s babies when they brought them home. I needed to look into Jon’s eyes once more and see love and desire instead of resentment and sadness. He’d been absent from Josh and Gabe’s since their wedding, except for their surprise baby shower at Kyle and Chaz’s house two weeks before Christmas. We spent a few hours in the same house and didn’t speak to one another. I had something I needed to tell Jon, just in case things didn’t go so well for me.