by Emma Janson
Another paycheck for the Reeds was Mr. Jenkins. He was funded by a large inheritance that he could have lived quite well with, had he remained a Christian hometown hero and nothing more. His daughter, Gloria, had set up automatic payments that Jill dumped directly into the employee payroll. His alter, Samuel, would have been angry to find out that his host was essentially paying the bills of the head nurse who frequently prevented him from sexual encounters with his girlfriend.
Some other patients at Northern Lights were funded in multiple ways, as was the case of Mr. Cheyez. A portion was paid for by the state, but the majority came through a private research group. Keeping up with all of it would normally have required an accountant, but since some paperwork was under the table, Jill was forced to do it alone. To stay on top of things, Jill tried to review and rotate her way through files on a regular basis. And this week, while going over the long list of patients and their financials, Jill had realized that one client’s time was coming to an unexpected end. Jill reviewed her meticulous notes. After pulling the appropriate file, Mrs. Reed called for a meeting with the patient, in the office, to discuss her tenure.
The patient was noticeably uncomfortable, the minute she walked into Jill’s office. She scrunched down a little into the chair at the opposite side of Mrs. Reed’s desk and sat – just waiting for Jill to speak first.
Jill pulled out a notepad and a very fine pen. “Hi. Let’s begin, shall we? Please state your name so I may document the meeting.” She smiled and glanced at the name on a file next to the notepad.
“Maggie Koontz.”
Mrs. Reed removed the file from her desk and returned it to a drawer. Then she pulled Maggie Koontz’s file out and flipped through some tabbed pages to catch up with her recent history. She glanced behind her desk to a beautiful wooden clock and annotated her name, the date, and the time on the paper. “Hi, Mrs. Koontz. How has your treatment been here with us?” Mrs. Reed forced her own face and posture to appear concerned and attentive as she held her pen ready over the notepad.
Maggie answered, “I love doing God’s work here. Has my husband called?” She pulled her arms in close to her body and rubbed at the hairs on her petite forearm.
Mrs. Reed jotted a note on the paper and then smoothed her white hair back, pushing it to the back of her shoulder. Just as she was about to speak, though, the automatic, wall-mounted deodorizer sprayed a soothing lavender scent into the air – but neither woman could smell it right away. They were inhaling the scent of strawberries from a client who was no longer present. “I regret to tell you that your uncle has…” Jill immediately corrected her words. She glanced at the name on her notepad. “Mrs. Koontz, your time here at Northern Lights has expired.” She watched for a reaction to this news, and then wrote on the notepad to hide her own embarrassment. It was difficult to keep the patients’ files separate especially with her limited interactions. Their stories blurred together, and it was all the same to Jill, but she tried and sometimes she failed.
Maggie disregarded the error and mumbled under her breath, “I’m not cured.” Her gaze cast upward to a heaven she couldn’t see.
Mrs. Reed tried to sound sympathetic as she refrained from smiling at her innocence or dabbing at her sweaty upper lip. “We don’t cure disorders here. We teach you tools to cope with or help you suppress...depending on the issue…”
The antique clock behind her desk chimed at the top of the hour. Jill’s face immediately softened. Realizing that she was already losing her client’s attention, she stopped and restated, “We can’t cure you here, Maggie. We just teach you how to live better. Do you understand? Our goal here is to allow clients to live normal lives.” The lavender scent finally made its way from above the door to her nose. Jill sat back in her leather desk chair and crossed her arms, and then after rethinking her body language, uncrossed her arms and sat forward. The leather made stretching noises as she moved. “I have already made arrangements with another practitioner for your continued care – I mean, your remaining care.” She dabbed at her lip with a finger while avoiding eye contact, and then wrote more notes.
Maggie’s tone was insecure and childlike. She blinked profusely. “God told me to come here,” she begged with more volume in her voice.
Jill remained professional as she ended her written sentence with a period and then looked up from the page.
“I’m not leaving.” Maggie was firm.
“Excuse me?” Jill’s eyebrows scrunched together as her chin tucked into her neck.
While a nagging heat burned her ears, Maggie’s posture changed into a stance that wasn’t typical of her character. “I don’t think you’d get to keep your license if someone knew there was a gun floating around this place, or that an employee was having sex with a mental patient.”
Jill’s eyes widened as far as they would go initially, and then retracted to a squinted position, visually calling her bullshit statement a bluff. Part of her had to wonder if Maggie Koontz was making this stuff up in an attempt to stay institutionalized, but she certainly didn’t need to do that. Jill was calm as she spoke, but there was an obvious undertone of sarcasm that poor Maggie didn’t pick up on. “That’s a safety issue, Mrs. Koontz. If you know who has a gun, you should let someone know.” Her mascara-heavy lashes flicked open and closed with false concern. She picked up the pen and added more sentences to the growing list of notes, ending it with several exclamation points.
The insecure, frail woman who everyone knew so well resumed speaking. “I know, and I feel guilty about that, but I need to stay here.” She produced a bullet that she’d saved before turning the rest of them over to Samuel. She knew it had been him in the vineyard and not her Christian friend because Mr. Jenkins would never, ever in a million years have been comfortable handling a gun in any capacity. She had difficulties learning, but she was not stupid.
Jill watched the bullet being rolled back and forth in Maggie’s hand, and then sat forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the top of her desk and folding her hands under her chin. “Are you telling me that someone has a weapon in my facility?”
“Yes. And I am telling you that your prized staff member is sleeping with a patient.” Maggie was confident now, and yet, awkwardly...not.
“Have you witnessed this?”
“Well, no, but Belinda told…”
“Belinda Beckler? Are you kidd…” Jill giggled, cleared her throat, and then wrote more notes. When she finished, she said, “Listen, I don’t follow rumors.” She caressed her white hair around her ear even though there was no good reason to do so, and then she held out her hand to suggest that Maggie relinquish the bullet.
Maggie didn’t move; rather, she said, “Lives are at stake. Can you live with that?”
“If you don’t tell me who has this hearsay weapon, I could have you arrested for obstruction of justice if one is found via random search.” Her hand was still extended to receive the bullet.
Maggie could tell she should be offended or scared. “I’m not sure what that means, but you are probably right, and that’s why I’ve been taking paperwork out of this office and mailing it to my husband I don’t know what the German government has to do with this place or why it’s full of German doctors and hidden cameras, but I believe it’s a reason to shut you down. Jesus told me where to look.”
Jill caught herself from choking on her own tongue by swallowing as hard as she could without showing discomfort or concern. There were many things she could have said to get herself out of this, if she’d been sure that what Maggie said wasn’t true, but Maggie knew too many details! She wondered how Maggie had gotten into the office, when she’d done it, and what she’d originally been there for...and how the hell had she opened the lock box with the Schmidt twins’ file in it? There was a feeling of violation and vulnerability that swept over Jill as she stared at the woman before her. Jill accidently looked back at the clock twice then. The lavender deodorizer automatically sprayed into the
air again. The sound of it, like someone was opening a fresh bottle of Coke, hissed suddenly through the silence.
Jill’s face burned red with anger. She was getting physically hot with the tension this whole situation was creating and just wanted to snap into a full-blown, red-headed temper tantrum. She was tired of navigating around difficult personalities and faking her way through conversations. All she’d ever wanted was to run a successful business with Jack – not this. Not to run a mansion full of insane characters. She looked behind her again. The clock was still in place; it was comforting and sad at the same time. Jill was the first to speak and look away as she tapped at her white hair and then tugged at the bottom of her jacket. “Well, I’m sure we can work something out.” Jill bit at her lip to keep it from quivering.
Maggie swallowed the bullet.
Unable to remain professional after the bullet disappeared down Maggie’s throat, Jill lifted the filter on her words. Her heart hurt, and the pain in her soul re-animated. “I gave birth to this place! You will not destroy it.”
The beautiful antique door that Jill had purchased a few years earlier was heavy with iron handles and intricate iron designs affixed on either side. It was so heavy that it took a while for the door to completely close on its own, leaving Jill alone in the office. After hearing the metallic click of the locking mechanism, she allowed tears to pour all over the exclamation points on the notepad. In anger, she swiped the file with Maggie’s name on it off her desk to the floor.
TWO SIDES OF BEING
“We can’t keep doing this, Buck. It’s wrong on so many levels,” Ignacio said as he looked into Buck’s beautiful brown eyes while lying on his twin bed in a tender embrace.
Buck’s voice was deep and smooth, but his southern accent was accompanied by a sing-song feminine sweetness that exposed his orientation no matter how professional he tried to be. “Are you telling me or asking me to stop?” He gently traced his finger down the bridge of Ignacio’s nose.
“I mean it. We’re going to make a mistake and get caught. I don’t want you to lose your job. You know? And every time you leave, I feel this horrible guilt about what we are doing...like it’s wrong.” Ignacio wished Buck would just admit that he knew the struggle and understood, because they had talked about it so many times before. But Buck simply sighed as if this conversation wasn’t important enough to bother over, and it hurt Ignacio’s feelings.
Buck felt his disappointment, of course, but there wasn’t much more to say. They’d had this conversation a million times before, and yet it didn’t matter how he expressed himself; they would still have the same conversation again and again because Ignacio was scared of his new-found sexuality and seriously confused. Buck knew it was something he would have to work out on his own, just as every other gay person had had to do before him. He wished he could help Ignacio through it, but the fact was that understanding one’s sexuality had to come from within. “What do you want me to do about it? I can’t help who I fall in love with.”
“Well, once I get out of here, we can start a relationship – a real one, without you risking your job.” Ignacio was hopeful, and truly meant it.
“Yep.”
“Yep? Pendejo, that’s it?” Ignacio was hurt by the distant and quick response, and pushed the other man’s chest away with the palms of both his hands.
“Whatever you say.” Buck smiled lovingly.
Ignacio pushed at Buck’s chest again in a passive-aggressive tease. No matter how comfortable he felt being with him or how much loved the experienced, there was always an uneasy, sickening sensation that infiltrated moments like this. At times, when they kissed, he wanted to turn away, shameful about feeling a positive bodily reaction – even if it was a sensation as wonderful as butterflies in his stomach. He felt like loving Buck was a constant battle. “I’m not gay, man.” Ignacio flicked his toes up and down on Buck’s shins then, gently tickling his skin with subconscious motions. His eyes disconnected from Buck’s and looked down into the space between them; a black hole that was created by the blanket covering both their nude bodies.
“So you have said.” Buck pushed back the hair around Ignacio’s forehead and gently kissed it. “You will figure it all out and, when you do, I’ll be here for you.”
“You are patient, and so good to me. I love you.”
“I love you,” Buck replied. “But I have to get my black ass up and do some work.” He flipped open the covers, exposing their naked bodies to the room temperature as he giggled.
Ignacio tensed as a chill caught him off-guard, pulling his testicles closer to his body. “Pendejo!” He grabbed the extra pillow and threw it at Buck’s back while he bent over to pull up his pants. Buck giggled again when it puffed against his cheeks and crumpled to the floor.
After saying their goodbyes and kissing at the door like they were sending each other off to war, Buck whisked himself out of the room like it was an old habit. Ignacio was once again left to wallow in his own silence as he put on the shorts that were still scented with foreplay from the true love of his life. A smile smoothed over his face, pushing out his cheeks and dimples. The smell of sex lingered in the air, as did the smell of sweat under his armpits. He grabbed his towel from a mounted rack, slipped his feet into cheap flip-flops provided by Northern Lights, and walked down to the community shower room at three in the morning to wash away the tangible guilt of sleeping with a man.
On his way down the hall, though, he heard a noise from the door to the female bathroom. His eyes immediately scanned the door as he passed, but he saw nothing and continued onward. He wouldn’t have given it another thought, had Belinda stayed hidden for just a few seconds longer. Instead, though, she cracked the door open again, exposing blonde hair and one bright blue eye peering out from within. Ignacio, in mid-step forward, stopped and took steps backward to see deeper inside.
“You stalking me? I told you that we are not having sex again…”
“Fuck you, Ignacio, I don’t stalk people. I was masturbating.”
“Now that, I believe.” His smile pushed his dimples to the surfaces of his cheeks.
She whispered, “What were you doing?” She opened the door enough for Ignacio to see that she had on a tight white t-shirt with screen printed words that were fading and peeling from too many washes, and that she wore no underwear. The pubic hair couldn’t hide the skin beneath it, which was red from recent rubbing. Her masturbation story was most likely true. There was something vulgar and sexy about that. His head and body battled with the conflict of being in love with a man when he wasn’t gay and finding Belinda’s raw skin a disgusting turn-on.
“You and Buck just had sex, didn’t you?” She already smelled their shared orgasm on his body and honestly didn’t need him to verify it with words. “Come in the bathroom. I won’t beg you for sex, I promise – just let me smell it,” she tried to whisper.
On a subconscious level, Ignacio pinched at the towel that was wrapped around his waist. He wanted to be straight again, but Buck had flipped his world upside down and made it difficult for him to ever be the same. Maybe falling in love with a man had fulfilled something he had never experienced before with women. Even his feelings for Lydia were clearly not worthy of the label he had given them and by now he was beginning to suspect her story of a pregnancy was a lie. Buck would never lie to him. It took time to discover his inevitable physical attraction to the man which had manifested but it was real, and he knew it. The moment he’d found himself looking at Buck in a sexual way, however, he’ realized that it was already too late...he was in love. This three-month battle with homosexuality has raged inside of him ever since because admitting this was too difficult. It was easier to be straight.
However, Belinda had a sick sense for the desires of others and, by asking her strange question, she’d made it seem like she was reading his thoughts. Her validation was his eyes that fixated on her pubic hair. There was a comfort and a familiarity in her body, so h
e aspired to have it again despite his emotional connection with Buck. It was a sign of a sad, repressed longing inside him as he stared at her, which changed the expression on his face from being satisfied on into a worried desire. It wasn’t about Buck and Belinda, per se – it was confusion over whether he wanted men or women.
Belinda picked up on the unwavering perplexity running through his head. “Step in and let me help you figure things out. I just want to smell it, for fuck’s sake. No harm, no foul.”
For some reason, he stared still at her nude bottom half. “Did you...ya know?” Ignacio couldn’t take his eyes off it for some reason, and was embarrassed that he’d even asked the question.
“Yes; all over, when he left your room. I’ve been watching your door for weeks.”
Ignacio pushed himself into the women’s bathroom after assuring himself that the cameras were aimed in the opposite direction. He wasn’t necessarily surprised that Belinda had been voyeuristic. Once the door closed behind him, he thought nothing of dropping his towel, exposing himself to Belinda. There was a strange respect for each other’s inner turmoil as they swayed together, she breathing him in with her arms wrapped around his thighs while he stroked her beautiful blonde hair with closed eyes. Together, they inhaled and exhaled with long and deep breaths that were calming in their simplicity.
It was as if he wasn’t himself at all because he was so involved in his current actions that he almost forgot about the person he loved. The familiar feel of a woman’s body was comforting. They eventually walked together into the shower area, where he helped her lay on the cold tiled floor, away from the drain cover.
Once she was as comfortable as could be, he knelt next to her and rolled himself onto the floor, gracefully scooting his body next to hers. Ignacio nestled his face close to her body. He moved back and forth through the hair to release more of her scent. As promised, she didn’t beg him for sex. Belinda whispered to him, but it seemed loud in the acoustics of the shower room. “Tell me you are gay. I want you to say it.”
