Dark Cognitions

by Kimberlee R. Mendoza

  The elevator seemed stuck on some floor. He decided to take the stairs. Like a kid, he took two at a time. For some reason, he felt lighter this afternoon than he had in a while. He swung open the outside door and breathed deep.

  Purple and orange rays painted the sky. It is barely sunset. Way too early to go home.

  Just down the street, Brian pulled into the lot of a small brick building with black painted windows and a florescent sign that read, Wally’s Watering Hole. He’d gone there once or twice before with an associate from work. He liked the quiet atmosphere and low-priced drinks.

  He opened the rustic wooden door and glanced around the room. A single fluorescent light illuminated the tacky red décor. Rows of bottles lined the mirrored glass behind the bar, and half-a-dozen, mostly-empty tables were scattered about the room.

  Brian walked past an old man in tattered clothes and a dark skinned woman with very little clothing, lots of makeup and big hair. He went to the end of the bar and straddled the stool.

  “Can I get you something?” the bartender asked with a baritone voice.

  Brian nodded to the ape-like man. “Whiskey and soda.”

  The bartender reached for a glass.

  The under-dressed woman slipped off the stool and strolled Brian’s way. “Hi sugar.” She slid her arm next to his on the bar and batted her eyes. “You looking for a date?”

  Brian raised his left hand and fingered his wedding ring so she could see it. “Sorry. I’m married.”

  The woman blew a bubble and shrugged. “Some of my best customers are married.”

  He angled away. “Not interested.”

  The woman put a red manicured fingernail to his chin. “That’s too bad.”

  The bartender returned with his drink, and she sauntered away.

  “Smart move,” the bartender said. “She’s dirty.”

  “She’s what?” Brian lifted the glass to his lips.

  “An undercover cop.”

  Brian peered at the woman over his glass. She stood in front of the bar mirror fluffing her hair. He gulped down the remainder of his drink and motioned for another. “I’m really not interested, anyway. I’m married.”

  “Good to hear.” The bartender grabbed a bottle and squirted the whiskey into a small shot glass, tossed it into a bigger glass filled with soda, and then topped it off with a cherry. “I’m Walter, but everyone calls me Wally.”

  “Brian.”

  Wally stuck out his huge hand and encompassed Brian’s in a shake. “If there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m a good listener.”

  “Yeah?” Brian laughed and pulled the cherry from its stem with his teeth.

  “Seriously. People tell me their problems all the time.”

  Brian held up his hand. “No, I believe you. It’s just, I’m a psychologist.”

  Walter smiled. “So, you’ve probably said that a few times yourself.”

  Brian downed his drink and blinked to clear his watery eyes. “It’s what I do.” His voice cracked.

  “I guess we have that in common,” Wally said. “Only I didn’t have to spend ten years in college to counsel. Two months in a technical school and I am everybody’s therapist.”

  Brian reached for a basket of pretzels. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Would you like another drink?”

  “Yeah. But just whiskey, no soda or ice.”

  Wally poured his drink, and then withdrew a rag under the counter. “So, what brings you here tonight?”

  Brian didn’t want to answer, but alcohol always loosened his tongue. When his inhibitions came down, he seemed to become someone else. Maybe that’s why I drink. There was no love left for the man he’d become. He hated himself. “I’m avoiding the woman at home,” Brian said.

  “Ah. So, the marriage isn’t as happy as you made Tracy believe.”

  “Tracy?”

  Wally made a quick nod to the other end of the bar and smiled a keyboard grin. “The phony prostitute.”

  “Oh.” Brian nodded.

  Tracy glanced their way, and then swayed hip-to-hip out the door.

  “No, my wife is indisposed. Or a better description, she’s comatose. We haven’t talked in months. Maybe years. I’ve lost track.” Brian gestured for another drink. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love her, though. It’s just hard to be around her.”

  Wally snorted and poured more amber liquid in Brian’s glass. “Yeah, well, I wish I could get my ol’ lady to shut up.”

  Brian chortled and the room swayed. “I think I’d better go.” He downed the rest of his drink, pulled a few bills from his wallet and slapped them on the counter. “Thanks, Wally.”

  “Anytime.”

  Brian staggered toward the door.

  “Hey man, you need a cab?” Wally asked.

  “Nah, I’ve got it covered. Thanks.” Brian pushed on the door. The damp night air nipped at his face. He stepped forward and the ground seemed to shift below his feet. He pulled his keys from his pocket and noticed Tracy watching him from a nearby streetlight. He popped his trunk and pulled out his cell phone.

  Brian held up the phone so she could see it and dialed information. “San Diego. Cab company, please.” Brian heard a few clicking noises and then the operator came on. “Yes, I need a cab sent to Wally’s Watering Hole on Fifth and Palm. Thank you.” Brian bent down to grab his briefcase from the trunk

  A woman’s voice spoke behind him. “Going somewhere?”

  “Look, Ms. Tracy, I know you’re a cop, and I’ve ordered a cab—” Brian turned and stopped.

  Krissy Stephens.

  “Hi.” Brian cleared his throat.

  Krissy raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Ms. Tracy?”

  “She’s a prostitute, who’s really a cop.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up. “Hmm. I see.”

  “Don’t ask.” He batted at the air. “So, what are you doing here?”

  “I live over there in that condo.” She pointed to a lone yellow door facing the street.

  Brian glanced back at her. She looked more beautiful than before. Her smooth skin glowed in the amber streetlight. He knew he should send her away, but something—probably the many shots of alcohol in his system—kept him from dismissing her. His body swayed a bit.

  She reached for his arm. “Do you need a ride?”

  He looked down at her hand. “I have a cab coming.”

  “So you told Tracy.” She smiled, and then slowly withdrew her hand. “How far do you live from here?”

  Brian didn’t answer.

  “I understand. Client/therapist relationship.” Krissy inched close enough for Brian to feel her warm breath on the side of his face. “What if I don’t come back for therapy? Could we go out, then?”

  Brian sighed. “I’m married.”

  “I figured that out. You’ve got that look,” she said, pointing to his wedding ring.

  A taxi pulled up to the curb and honked.

  Brian allowed himself to meet her gaze. “Well, my ride’s here.”

  “I guess so.” She grazed his cheek with hers, and the slight hint of vanilla filled his nostrils. “I made an appointment for next Thursday. I’ll see you then.”

  Brian slammed the trunk of his car and stumbled to the yellow car.

  Tracy had vanished from her spot.

  Brian stepped inside the cab and glanced back to where Krissy stood.

  “401 St. Augustine in Scripps Ranch,” he said as he shut the door. They pulled away and Brian laid his head against the seat. His emotions struggled to find reason. His head pounded. All reality was submerged in whiskey.

  ****

  Ray pushed open the front door with his foot and awkwardly maneuvered two grocery sacks and a twelve-pack of soda onto the kitchen counter. The air in the room felt thick and warm. He shut the front door to his apartment, and then crossed to the balcony window. He slid it open and inhaled deep.

  The sounds of cars rushed by below and lights lined the city. Why he ever
wanted to live Downtown was a mystery.

  His mother tried to talk him into getting a condo by the golf course. She said it would be a great excuse to relax. But he knew better. She wanted a reason to move back in with her boy.

  He was lonely. Maybe it was time to give in.

  But then images of her nagging him returned. He shook his head and pulled out a box of pre-made nugget strips.

  The doorbell rang.

  He dropped the box back in the bag and started for the door. “Who is it?”

  “Me,” came a familiar woman’s voice. “We need to talk.”

  5

  Brian quietly opened the door to his home. The house was dark, except for the stove light in the kitchen. He dropped his keys and wallet on the table by the door and felt for the lamp. All was quiet. He knew Rhonda would be asleep, but his guilt for coming home drunk made him pause. He’d be happier if she’d just wake up and react to his ghastly behavior. Maybe if she’d slap his face raw, then he would feel alive again. A heated argument would be welcome to this emotional famine any day.

  Brian opened the bedroom door and pulled off his shoes. The cadence of his wife’s breathing filled the air. He placed his shoes in the closet and undressed down to boxers. He stretched out next to Rhonda. The movement of the bed synchronized with the rhythm of her breathing. In and out. In and out.

  For a moment, her breathing stopped. He turned to face her, and she resumed. In. Out. In. Out. He lay back, and stared at the ceiling. The more she breathed, the more he gasped for air. Her every breath seemed to suck the air from his chest. In. Out. His heart accelerated. The pulse in his neck quickened. He shot up, hyperventilating.

  I’m having a heart attack. He grabbed at his chest. No, just an anxiety attack. Remain calm. But the words in his head did little to soothe him. He snatched his robe from the door and rushed into the kitchen.

  Flinging on the faucet, he plunged his face into the running water. “What is wrong with me?” he said aloud.

  “I can answer that,” a voice said from behind him.

  Brian spun around, dripping wet. His daughter sat on a stool at the breakfast counter, smiling ear to ear.

  “Lara?” Hiding behind the black terrycloth robe in his hand, he seized a paper towel to wipe his face. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough.”

  He pulled on the robe and tied the sash. “You startled me.”

  “Then we’re even.” She smiled. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m just a little shaken, that’s all.” He tossed the towel in the trash under the sink.

  “How come?”

  Brian opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat on the stool next to her. “I think your Mom’s condition is starting to wear on me.”

  “Have you talked to her yet?”

  “Yes, and she doesn’t talk back. Have you noticed that she’s a zombie?”

  Lara pursed her lips into a pout. It was how he remembered her as a small girl. “Maybe she’s a zombie because you see her that way.”

  “What?”

  She took a sip from his water bottle. “She seems fine to me, but you think she’s crazy.”

  “Really? If she’s so fine, tell me the last time she talked to you?”

  Lara thought about that for a second. “I guess, before the accident.”

  “Precisely.” He took back his water and took a drink. “That was a long time ago. Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

  “No.”

  “How can you say that? She’s your mother. A mother who refuses to take care of you. The doctors say she’s fine and she could talk if she wanted to. She chooses to sleep all the time.”

  Lara shook her head. “You know, Dad, for a shrink, you sure don’t have many answers.”

  Brian stared at her. “And for someone your age, you’re a bit of a smart aleck.”

  “Hey, it’s in the genes.”

  He smiled and squeezed her around the shoulders. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”

  They both laughed.

  “Well, I’m going to bed. See you in the morning, Daddy.” She kissed his cheek, stood up and walked down the hall.

  Brian called after her. “You didn’t tell me why you don’t think mom’s behavior is odd.”

  “Oh, Daddy, you’re not ready.” And she disappeared up the stairs.

  ****

  Danielle sat up at the sound of her phone ringing and croaked into the phone, “Hello?”

  “Hi.”

  She didn’t recognize the male voice. The clock read one in the morning. “Who is this?”

  “Brian Manifold.”

  Adrenaline coursed through her body. Everything froze. What did she do? Reason said to hang up. Why was he calling her?

  “Are you still there?” he asked.

  “Yeah, um, why are you calling me? It’s one in the morning.”

  He let out a long chuckle. “I just needed to talk to someone. You’re someone I can talk to, right?”

  “No, not really.”

  He blew through his lips. “Yeah, I noticed you were a little cold today. Who put the burr under your saddle?”

  The man was clearly drunk. Anger rose up her back. “Dr. Manifold…”

  “Brian, please.”

  “Doctor, you’re married. The only thing you should be doing right now is climbing in bed with your wife and going to sleep.”

  A long silence held the line.

  She moved to hang up—

  “I can’t. But thank you.”

  The line buzzed in her ear. What should she make of that? Should she tell someone? Would he get in trouble? No. She needed to just let him be. Obviously, he’d had a bit too much to drink. Maybe he’d sleep it off and totally forget he’d ever called her.

  ****

  Brian sat on the cream-colored couch with the phone in his hand afraid to attempt sleep again. The conversation with Lara kept replaying in his mind. He’d called Danielle to block it out, but she didn’t really want to talk to him.

  How could a mother ignore her child? It didn’t make sense. Especially if anyone knew the Rhonda he’d married. She was a strong woman, with a heart of gold. Ray was right. She used to be Brian’s world.

  Thoughts of the way things used to be filtered through his mind. Every night she made him a fantastic meal, usually from scratch. Her beef stroganoff was his favorite. Then she’d make hot soda with lemon, and they’d curl up in front of the fireplace and talk about their days.

  His heart ached. How he missed her. The woman who slept in his bed was not his wife. The snoring zombie was an imposter. A thief who had stolen his heart and murdered his love.

  The light reflected off the glass in his hand. He focused on the water for a moment until his vision blurred. He felt like crying. Instead, he finished off his water and sighed. He really wanted a drink with kick, but he knew better than to bring alcohol into the house. He could remember the many threats his wife had made about him drinking. And even though he knew she’d probably never know, he felt like he’d betray her if he did.

  Maybe he’d sleep out here tonight. Brian grabbed a decorative pillow from the end of the couch and stretched out. He closed his eyes, but couldn’t relax. His mind whirled unsettled, his body restless. He rolled onto his side in an attempt to get comfortable, but his six-foot-three frame hung over both ends of the lumpy sofa.

  “Useless,” he said aloud. He turned over and stared at the blank TV screen. He needed to sleep, but he wasn’t about to go back into his bedroom. He turned over a few more times, before he decided to forgo any slumber. He glanced around the room as if the furniture had answers to his insomnia. His high-back chair sat empty to his left. A walled bookshelf stood to his right.

  The décor was simple. Black and white photos of Rhonda and him framed the room, and a wedding picture sat over the fireplace to the right of the TV in front of him. Before the accident, his wife was stunning.

  Stop! He ran a hand over his face and
sat up. It was stupid to dwell on better days. Where was the remote? He switched on the television and channel surfed through the stations.

  Sports, cheesy old movies, and sitcom reruns. Nothing worth watching. He snapped it off, flipped on his back, and stared at the vaulted ceiling. He figured he’d stay awake all night, but alone with his thoughts, he soon drifted into a deep sleep.

  6

  Ray made his way down the corridor toward the cafeteria, head down, secretly chastising himself for agreeing to eat lunch with Danielle Tyler. Not his smartest move. Gossip and innuendo would certainly follow. People would assume the worst, as they always did. He cringed at the thought. No way was he this comfortable with the idea. So why did he keep walking? After all, he’d had enough controversy over the past few months. Was he really ready for another?

  No he wasn’t. He stopped a few feet from the cafeteria door and shook his head. This was stupid. He needed to remember why he accepted this “date” in the first place. It wasn’t for the reasons most would think. True, she was a knock-out blonde with the most amazing blue eyes, but this lunch had purpose—to talk about his good friend, Brian. Was there any truth to the rumors that his married colleague had gone out with Danielle?

  Ray continued forward and entered the room.

  The pretty blonde smiled at him with her apple-red lips. Everyone kept their distance because of the office buzz that surrounded her. But what if the gossip about Danielle and Brian wasn’t true?

  Would Ray feel free to date her? He squeezed his eyes closed and faced the refrigerated display case. Date her? He didn’t date anyone. This entire thing made him super nervous. Not that she’d know that. Ray had perfected the façade of confidence. Most people thought he was a ladies’ man, but they were wrong.

  He reached for plastic bowl filled with melon balls and sighed. He wasn’t ready.

  ****

  Danielle toyed with the plastic wrap on her salad, waiting for Ray to join her.

  His shoulders were erect, making him appear confident, assured of who he was.