by S. R. Rashad
"Good thing, you never know is what I always say. You'll like it. There's a nice tub, not those silly shower stall things, a lovely sitting room with a bay window and a queen size bed, and a huge vanity with a makeup seating area, just what the doctor ordered."
Interesting choices of words, just what the doctor ordered, hmm bizarrely eery, maybe not.
I hope to get a shower in before heading back to that prison. That's if the doc calls. Oh, and I’ll have to let Jim know where I'm staying.
"Follow me. Your suite is just at the top of these stairs. Oh, I forgot to mention, you have a great view of the lake from your room…oh, and Nancy is making a pot roast for dinner at 6pm."
"Sounds delicious."
"Yup, Nancy is a great cook, for sure."
“Thanks, so much.”
As I enter the suite, I'm thoroughly surprised. This is a nice suite. Decent sized flatscreen as well...more cable channels than anyone would need. Good thing, I'm not anyone. I love to stay informed and with all these news channels, I'm sure I will and a little background news chatter while I ready myself, is always comforting.
She walks into the bathroom... wow, now that’s a nice tub. To hell with a shower, a luxurious bath, Laura? …why yes, Laura …sounds great! You know me so well,”
She says, looking at herself in the mirror, she primps her hair and laughs.
She looks through the cabinets and shelves, so many great choices of shampoos, bath products and toiletries. Once again Nancy, you continue to bring it, you doll...
She finds the perfect bubbles, pours it into the tub and runs a warm bath. She charges her phone, iPad and laptop at the vanity. Goes back into the bathroom. mixes a little mud pack, rubbing some on her face, she can't help but think, girl, you deserve this, and lays back, sinking into a lovely soothing, warm bath and within minutes, she's out like a light.
"Shit! ...she awakes from what must have been at least an hour, maybe closer to two hour slumber. And she starts to remember she does this every time. That's why showers, not baths, Laura.
"Fuck!...the doctor?!...Where's my phone?"
Damn, two missed calls. One voicemail...
“Hello attorney Danger, are you on your way to New York? I was hoping to see you...I hope you're in town...Now where could my attorney be? This relationship is not off to a good start, now is it?"
"Shit, shit, shit!" ...damn, fuck...fuck me!...okay, get it together, Laura. It's fine.
You're gonna just get dressed and head over to the jail. It's fine, just fine.
She dresses in lightning speed, grabs her notes, her recorder, scurries down the stairs and out to her jeep. "What! What the hell!" ...Laura is filled with dread, staring at the keys still in the ignition and the doors and windows locked. "No, can't be!"...she throws her hands up in the air, yelling and laughing nervously. "Nice Laura, nice. How the hell did you do that, shit!” Okay. You need help. There's bound to be someone here who can help. Just then, she sees a striking figure approaching her, a country bumpkin version of a fifty-ish or so, Audrey Hepburn.
"Howdy!" She says cheerfully..."What seems to be the matter?"
"You want the long version or the short?"
"Whichever you think will be most helpful at the moment."
"Umm well, my keys..." Pointing at the ignition.."they're there, and I have an important meeting to get to pronto, in short."
So this is Nancy, the fun whimsical and homey innkeeper. She is every bit what I expected, except for her urban sophistication and her aging movie star looks. Well, at least she tries to down play it, with her down home country appeal; wrangler denims and flannel top, but that Chanel scarf, those Gucci riding boots and that go-getter attitude, is all big city, for sure.
My girl Nancy is a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll...I'll take it.
We get into her monster of a truck, big bad diesel beast, as she has offered to take me to the prison, after hearing my sob story and me trying to turn her offer down, profusely. Telling her, it's just too generous. But no, she wouldn't take no for an answer.
I told her I'd just take a taxi or something. After she explained to me how idiotic an idea like this is in the country, "a taxi up here, my dear, that's a near impossible wait. Besides, You're a guest at my inn. And, even if you wanted to call for a cab, Roy is the only cabbie at this hour, and being happy hour at Myrtle’s, he won't be easily persuaded to take a city girl anywhere, now." ...so, the Nancy and Laura road show is happening.
"Thanks so much for doing this. This is an important case and well, I'm just so grateful..."
"No problem, sweetie, we help each other out up here. That's what's so appealing about country living. We try not to let each other do things on their own, and while you're in my home, you're family."
"But I don't know how long I'll be at the prison and I don't want you to have to wait."
"I'll tell you what, I'll stay as long as I can, and if I have to leave, I'll send somebody to come get you, ok?"
"Again, thank you. Oh, and thanks for having such an awesome inn. It's just great. I love everything about it.” ...Mostly.
“I'm glad you are having a pleasant stay. That's the main focus, a home away from home. We like everyone to feel like family, after all. Now, what's going on at the prison that's so important?”
“Well, I have my most Important client to date and I think it might not be going so well.”
“Can't be. You seem like a very capable, determined and focused young lady and I'm very seldom wrong about people's character. And, it's been my experience that these are the kinda qualities that take you where you need to go. I don't know much about being a lawyer, but I do know I would want my lawyer to have these characteristics. Now, you get your mind right, dear, and give em hell. I'll have Chuck get those keys out from your car and when you're done with your business at the jail, someone will be here to bring you back to the inn and your jeep. So don't you worry about that, now.”
“Okay Nancy, thanks for the pep talk. I'm sure I'll be fine.”
Again, that Nancy is something.
We arrive at the prison. My nerves kick into hyperdrive. Seeing those monstrous vine covered cold gray stones that make up the thick foreboding walls of the prison, and its dense field of leafless branchy maples that surround it, practically engulfing the entire landscape, quite eerie indeed, giving this whole thing the feel of some medieval fortress in the middle of some enchanted forest, and the good doctor is some evil warlock, I suppose. And what does that make me…
How is it that the creepy stories of one’s childhood colors every weirdness, making it even that much weirder.
And as I attempt to open the door, a huge stray gust of wind kicks up, pushing against the door. Shit, this is becoming quite ominous. The rushing wind howls and bellows as trees bend and buckle and sway in its wake. Just as I'm able to force the door open, leafs and twigs rush in my direction. Still, I manage to climb out from Nancy’s beast of a truck. Then a blast of dirt and dust swirls typhoon like all around me, covering me, obscuring my vision. I cover my face with my coat and make a beeline for the prison gate. There is a part of me that wants to believe this is a sign. But I don't believe in those things do I? I’m not prone to superstition, but hell…
"These random and unpredictable wind blasts still scare the bejesus out of me,” yells the guard at the gate, as I approach him, his words barely audible through the gusting storm.“It's the lake and the fact that we’re in a valley between these mountains that make for the freaky weather,” he says.
As I spit dust and twigs out of my mouth, “oh, I see, crazy stuff, that…Mother Nature.” “Yup…you’re here for the doc…right?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Ok…we’ll get you inside and processed quickly, ok.”
“Okay.”
We get inside and the thick doors and walls shut out any sound or sign of a windstorm.
I'm being led back through the maze, the dark dungeons that house the freakiest of th
e freaks.
I think you have to pass a special Rorschach test to end up here…
What does this ink blot look like to you, mister crazy?
“Oh, that looks like me killing my mother.”
I see, and this one?
“Oh me killing puppies.”
Oh, and this one.
“Dead bunnies I hung in a tree.”
Lovely, very interesting.
“So when do you think they'll let me out.”
Oh well, it's Tuesday... so…hmmm…never. Yes, you get out never, mister whacko.
“But my attorney says it looks like we have a good chance...”
Oh her, she lied.
Here I am at the cell again. I enter a little frazzled, hair and outfit still a little disheveled from the freak weather, plopping myself on the chair facing him as I let out a loud sigh, and I immediately take an apologetic stance, as my face reddens with embarrassment.
I'm feeling tired and a bit out of sorts, and definitely out of my element. This is not a case I need to be taking on. And this guy is not the ideal client. Well, he is rich. So maybe he is.
He eyes me curiously. My flushed skin and nervous lips, seem to bring him joy.
I think he is taking delight in my state, being flustered and all, as his eyes begin to gleam.
These intensely hot overhead lights don't help the situation. I'm nervous and super hot.
I can feel sweat forming on my forehead, just at my hairline. I search my pocket for wipes and feel extremely uncomfortable while the doctor watches the sweat on my forehead as it slowly builds into a single drip, and I feel it starting to run. He sits there and says nothing, but his eyes say everything, and with a predatory intensity, they follow the drip on my forehead, as it works its way down the side of my face.
He desirously rubs his lips...focused on the moisture and the redness in her skin. Then he speaks.
"You look a bit flushed and flustered, dear counselor...and the matter is?"
He asks the question but doesn't seem to be listening at all.
There are powerful thoughts and emotions beginning to overwhelm him,
flooding his being with dark desires of a most perverse and hideous nature.
"Doctor, it's just that... I don't know where to begin..."
The doc smiles with an air of delight, condescension and desire.
Then i remember, I'm not some naive coed. I'm no prey.
I'm his attorney. I'm a professional and I'm in charge. Regaining my composure,
I find my tissues and I wipe the sweat and the nervousness away in one single swipe.
I sit back in my chair and say assertively and firmly...
"No, Doctor, it's not about me or the day I've been having. I'm here to help you."
"Is that so, counselor,” he smiles..."I'm sure you'll be very helpful."
I wonder what he means by that. Does he believe I can get him off.
Is there something else going on here? Is he toying with me...
All my old insecurities and inadequacies begin to rise up in me.
I hate feeling this way but i know how to work past it.
I've been working past it most my life and doubly so in my career.
"Before I turn on this recorder, I want you to know, any and all information you give me, is to help me establish your guilt or innocence."
I would like to believe he is innocent, but that would be far from the truth.
"My guilt or innocence?" He says.
"Yes, that's primarily what we need to establish here."
"Establish guilt or innocence..." saying it again, as though he were baffled.
Then he pauses, looks at his cuffed hands for a second, first his left, then his right, then looks up at the ceiling. Clasping his hands as if to pray, he then folds them and rests his elbows on the table and rests his chin on the backs of his folded hands, looking directly at me. He begins a serious and chilling delivery "A spider spins a web. A fly flies into this web. The fly is caught and devoured by the spider. What happened here, counselor? Does this incident contain a guilt or innocence...as you would put it? No, I think not. Some are predators. Some are prey. There is no guilt or innocence. This guilt or innocence you speak of, is a man made construct, set in place for children and the naïve. No! This is simply the natural order of things, a most natural course of events."
"Well, are you saying you're a spider? Cause I'm not here to defend a spider, doctor. I'm here to defend a man; a man accused of mass killings. The state believes you are a serial killer, a victimizer of the highest order. They are calling you a monster. Do you know the seriousness of these charges brought against you? Are you aware these charges carry the death penalty? The state wants you tried, convicted and sentenced to death."
"I'm aware, counselor."
"Good…so, let's begin."
"Yes counselor, let's"
"I'm going to start the recorder, doctor.”
He looks oddly at my hands, paying close attention to my left, smiling as I press record.
"So, on the night you were arrested and taken into custody..."
He interrupts.
"So counselor, you are not married, and being that there isn’t even a shadow-line on your ring finger, i surmise you have also never been married?"
"This is correct, doctor...but doctor, we aren't here for my nuptial history or lack thereof. I'm here to talk about you and the charges and crimes that got you here."
"Not being married at your age, counselor. Now, most cultures would say that's a crime. Don't you think?” He gives a little chuckle and perverse smile, amusing himself.
"Doctor are you going to help me, here?"
"I'm trying, counselor, I'm trying.” he smiles.
"No, with your case? And from my records doctor, you were never married either."
"From your records? No...my dear counselor, 'your records' as you put it, are mistaken. I was married to a most wonderful woman."
He believes he was married. Is this a delusion or is this factual. There are no court records or marriage licenses filed in his name anywhere. I'll have to look into this.
“Doctor, firstly, did you say anything to the police when they arrested you?"
"No, attorney Danger, I have not spoken to the arresting officers...wait...there was an exchange."
"Well, If you can remember to the best of your ability what was said by you and the officer that would be most helpful, doctor.”
"Yes, counselor. I do have perfect recall. Sgt. Roberts said 'do you know your rights?'...and I said, “I was exercising them when you caught me."
"And you were doing what..." As I look to my notes.
"No need to look there, counselor. I was draining Joan Stallman of that life giving fluid."
"But doctor, she was already dead when the officers arrived?"
"Yes...counselor, she was most certainly dead."
“So no one saw you or anyone kill her?”
“I believe this is correct, counselor.”
"Now, doctor there is a thing called attorney-client privilege, so as your attorney, I can't use what you say against you in the courts."
"Indeed, counselor."
"I'm going to ask you if you know how Ms. Stallman came to be dead?"
"Well, her state of deceased-ness was induced by these very hands you see chained before you."
"By induced, you mean..."
"Now now, attorney Danger, you know very well what I mean here. I claimed her life. It was mine to take, as was the number before her. I know my role. I know who and what I am."
"Are you saying you are a killer?"
"Evolutionarily speaking, yes. I am a killer. I have evolved and..." He pauses and smirks. "Well…l am still evolving."
Just then, a guard taps on the door, then enters, "You'll have to continue another time, counselor. We are putting the detention center on lockdown. All visitors have to leave and prisoners returned to their cells. There is an attempted escape."
I'm rushed from the room.
Chapter 2
You always remember your first
I would imagine he had a beginning like any of us; a place for him where it all started.
–– Laura's thoughts on trying to understand the monster.
He enters the crowded rush hour train and he sees it, at the far end of the car, a light, a bright light, a bright pulsating aura. This isn't the first time he's seen it either. He remembers as an adolescent seeing this same light through the second story bedroom window of his neighbor Sophie's house (as young boys are always spying through young women's bedroom windows in hopes of seeing something, but not this, not glowing lights.) But now, this is the first time he feels compelled...drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. What is this light? He needs to know. With fixed eyes and a maddening determination, he pushes his way past the densely packed, sardine like crowd. He is completely oblivious to the yells and icy stares from men and women as he bulldozes his way through. "Hey buddy, watch it!" one man yells as he shoves his way past him. "Excuse, you!" shouts the woman he plows into, nearly knocking her to the ground. Still, his pace grows more rapid, as he walks hurriedly through the mass of bodies that obstruct him. He is transfixed. It's as if he were alone in the train car. He is on a singular mission, advancing toward the light. It's just him, this bewitching light and his compulsion, as he feels it, call to him, pulling him forward.
After elbowing, shouldering and clumsily working his way through most of the frustrated and annoyed crowd, having gone from one end of the car to the other, he is finally there, face to face with the source of his passion. Here, in the farthest corner of the car, sits a curly haired doe eyed unassuming young professional; a woman in her late twenties, engrossed in her book. She is neatly dressed in a "power"grey pant suit, with her make up tastefully applied, as if, to tell the world, I know I'm pretty but I'm no vain slut who prides herself more on her appearance than her talents, and I'll get to the top of my profession by my wits, not my tits, is what her look says.
