Pam

by Druga, Jacqueline

  And what did that bastard tell me? One of the last things he ever said to me was he wanted me to go away and never come back. He never wanted to see me again.

  He wasn’t even choosing Pam, his homely, fucked up, crazy wife; he found someone else.

  Everyone used me for their own gain. I was done.

  Coming out of that memory, I slammed my hand down and jolted when I caught a finger with the point of the scissors. I had been so engrossed in thinking back that I lost track of my task at hand.

  It was a tiny snip, barely noticeable, but it bled. The droplets landed on the note I was carefully creating. Giving it a twisted look.

  The note was my warning to Pam. Now, laced with blood, she would for sure take it seriously.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine – Pam

  They say confession is good for the soul. I felt better about telling Stacy and Justin some of the things I knew. How I confronted the girl Connie and silently stood by while Sharon terrorized her. I told them about Richie’s aunt, as well.

  It made sense to both of them, and they saw my reasoning for suspecting Sharon. I felt so good about it; I skipped a day at the library.

  Dr. Andrews was proud of me, so he said. He seemed different, though, as if he were keeping a secret. He was very professional. When I wanted to speak about the murders, he wanted to speak about my son. What my plans were, what I hoped to accomplish.

  I don’t know what happened to him; maybe he was just having a bad day, or again, maybe it was just my imagination.

  My immediate plans, I told him, were to make dinner for my son.

  He was coming to my home; it was the first meal I had cooked in a long time. I went to the store, bought the items, and even got chocolate milk. He was still a kid at seventeen. What kid didn’t like chocolate milk?

  But I guess I lost my culinary touch. Not paying enough attention, I guess, I ended up burning the meal. I tossed it, opted for Chinese takeout, and kept the chocolate milk.

  I opened the door excitedly when Justin rang the bell. I greeted my son with a wide grin and a hug. “Come in, please.” I stepped back.

  “This was on your door.” He handed me a white envelope.

  “Oh, probably from maintenance.” I put it on the table by the door. “Come in, it’s not much.”

  “It’s cute.” He looked around my small apartment.

  “It works. But if you wanna ever move in with me, we’ll have to get a bigger place.”

  At that instant, Justin gave me a quirky look.

  “I’m sorry. That was too fast and wrong.”

  “No, no. I wasn’t expecting that. I’d like to work toward that goal.”

  I don’t think he realized how happy I was to hear him say that; I hugged him again and brought him to the table. “Where did you tell your aunt you were?”

  “With you.” He sat down. “Ah, Chinese and chocolate milk.”

  “You like it, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I joined him at the table and immediately began serving the food. “So she knows.”

  “She isn’t real happy, but she understands.”

  “Of course.” I nodded.

  “I told her I was going to help you find out who really did the crime.”

  “Did you tell her who I think it was?” I asked.

  Justin nodded his reply. “She said it figured you’d blame it on Sharon.”

  My head hung upon hearing that.

  “Hey, Mom. Come on. We’ll figure this out. And I have an idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You didn’t get anywhere when you went to Willow Brook. What if I went and talked to people?”

  I heaved out a breath. “Justin, that would be awesome. Maybe even find Sharon’s father.”

  “You think he still lives in Willow Brook?”

  “I think so. People generally live in Willow Brook their whole lives. He’ll be easy to find if he’s there. He may be retired, though. He was the chief of police.”

  Immediately, Justin’s head lifted from his meal. “Sharon’s father was the chief of police?”

  “Yes. That’s why I think he covered it up.”

  He paused in his eating.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Just the detective in me thinking.”

  “Good.” I pointed my fork at him. “You keep that mind spinning. I need all the help I can get.”

  “Just know …” He reached across the table. “I’m here to help. I’m always here to help.”

  It was good to hear, and I smiled at him. We enjoyed our dinner and stopped the murder conversation and talk about Sharon. I wanted to know more about him. His school, his friends, what he liked to do.

  Our evening was good but fast. He did have school the next day and a forty minute drive. We said our goodbyes, and I leaned against the door, basking in my time with my son.

  Then I saw the white envelope.

  Truly I believed it was from maintenance until I opened it. It looked like a ransom note from an old movie. The letters were cut out of a magazine, each letter a different size, creating its own word.

  The note wasn’t long; it merely read, Drop this now or you will pay.

  Dried blood appeared to be smeared across the note.

  The entire thing frightened me. Not just the note and the blood, but scariest of it all was the fact that Sharon knew where I lived.

  Chapter Thirty – Desmond Andrews

  It wasn’t a good day. I felt guilty when I faced Pam, as if I had committed an atrocity by visiting her former father-in-law. By not telling her, I was lying. But I feared telling her because I didn’t want to breach our trust.

  I kept the visit professional, probably more professional than I had ever been. Her mood was good, upbeat and excited about dinner with her son.

  That was something else I didn’t want to dampen. I had just made it home and realized I forgot Pam’s ‘murder’ folder at the office. I was stressed; I changed my clothes, grabbed a drink, and that was when I got the call from State.

  A patient there had been admitted for violent behavior; her family swore she was possessed by a demon. I was there as a consult, there was another psychiatrist in the room, a medical doctor, and a priest. Just to evaluate.

  I believed in science; I knew how powerful the mind could be. I myself had ruled out the possibility of possession before I walked in the door. Admittedly, had I not been a man of science I would have wondered.

  The woman of thirty was pale, her face pasty white with scratch marks across her cheeks. She had dark rings under eyes and her hair was tangled. They had her restrained when I arrived. She thrashed quite a bit.

  Thorazine had been administered, but she hadn’t calmed down.

  She screamed and gurgled; her neck arched as she cried out in anger. Every time she twisted, turned and thrashed, her hospital gown rose a little more over her nude body.

  Doctor Adams, the medical professional on hand, calmly stated that with such a behavioral switch, it was possible that she had a tumor.

  Then he said, “What do you think?”

  What did I think?

  He didn’t want to know what I thought. I observed the woman, her arms tied to the railing, her legs to the bottom of the bed. She squirmed, her left breast exposed, and her gown pushed up to her waist exposing her Amazonian private parts.

  I’d fuck that demon right out of her, is what I thought.

  It was perverted, but within the realm of my own illness. While they consulted each other, tossing out ideas of what could be the problem, my mind conjured up the most bizarre fantasy. If I were giving an award for the most outlandish fantasy, it would go to me.

  “What do you suggest?” One of them asked, I don’t know who. I was slipping; the ‘wave’ had come. It crept up on me when I first saw her and was in full force hours later.

  “I have an idea,” I said. “It may be extreme. But it will work.”

  “Good God, ma
n, do what needs to be done.”

  I nodded and instructed everyone but the priest to leave the room.

  I told him, “Father, just pray. We’re dealing with a demon. Ignore what you hear and see.”

  He made the sign of the cross and pulled out his Bible and holy water.

  When the others had left the room, the girl thrashed.

  “Fucking pig!” she blasted. “You know you want this body!” Her voice was deep with gurgling.

  “That’s part of the plan.” I nodded at the priest. “Father. Begin the prayer.” I reached down and ripped the hospital gown from her. Her body was nude, beautiful. She moved left to right, bound to that bed, and I crawled up between her legs. “Demon, you will leave this girl.” I undid my pants and shuffled them to my knees. Physically, I was armed and ready.

  Despite her thrashing, I grabbed a hold of her waist and was able to mount and enter her.

  She growled out loud. But I wasn’t giving up. My command of “Leave this girl’s body!” matched the rhythm of each hard thrust I delivered. Word for thrust, rather. I continued in my plight, determined to see it through. The priest prayed loudly in his ritualistic chants, and I felt the sprinkle of holy water hit against my bare ass.

  We were close to accomplishment. Almost there.

  “Dr. Andrews?” Doctor Adams snapped my from my fantasy. “Plan? You said you had a idea?”

  “Yes.” I nodded and cleared my throat. “Not really my idea. Yours. Agreement. Up her medication and do the CT scan.”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. I am. I have to go. I’m not feeling well.” I reached for the door. “Keep me updated.”

  I think they said they would, I wasn’t sure. My head was rushing with blood and my body was aroused to the point my thought process was disturbed.

  Taking myself out of the situation was the best solution. Leave. Don’t give in. Go home and take medication. I was in the mindset, in control, almost at my car, promising myself that I wouldn’t take a ride down Ninth Avenue, when my phone rang.

  “Desmond Andrews.” Her voice was whispering and seductive.

  I froze in my tracks. “Sharon.”

  “I need to see you now,” she said. “Where can we meet?”

  “It’s late. It’s almost ten. Can this wait until morning?”

  “No. You wanted me to call you and to talk to you. Now or never. Your choice.”

  Perfect diversion to my perversion … or so I thought. I sighed out in relief. “My office, I can meet you there in twenty minutes. The front doors will be locked, but I’ll meet you out front.”

  “I’ll be there.” She hung up.

  My mind, I believed, had found the detour it needed. Meeting Sharon, talking with her some more about Pam. Getting answers. Quickly, I got into my car and headed to my office, pushing the demon girl fantasy further to the back of my mind.

  I should have known the way she was standing there that I was in trouble. Sharon leaned against the wall next to the double glass doors. In one hand was a cigarette, in the other a brown paper bag. Her leg was up, and it extended from the short black coat that she wore.

  I stopped. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea.

  “I’m waiting. It’s cold,” she said. “Are you just going to stand there?”

  I jingled my keys and pulled out my card that would open the door. “Sorry, just was having a weird night.”

  “Maybe I can help. I brought the party …” She lifted the bag.

  After punching in my code, I entered the building. There was supposed to be a security guard on duty, but he probably was on break somewhere.

  “Not talking much?” she asked as we waited for the elevator.

  It opened, and we stepped inside. Her perfume was sweet yet not overwhelming. I glanced at her as she watched the floor lights, her lips shiny and colorful.

  “This way,” I said.

  “I know where your office is,” she giggled and waited as I opened the door.

  We walked through the reception area and into my office. I switched on the lights.

  “Do you have any glasses?” She held up the bottle.

  I looked at her standing there in that coat. I would have bet anything she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing underneath.

  “Yeah, I’ll get them.” I stepped back and gulped when she slid the coat from her. She wasn’t naked; I had guessed wrong. But she was wearing the tightest and shortest black dress I had seen on a woman outside of Ninth Street.

  I walked into the washroom, turned on the light, and grabbed two glasses. When I emerged into my office, she had turned off the overhead lights.

  “Better,” she whispered. “Softer lighting is better.”

  I stopped before my desk and she walked to me, reaching out for the glasses. She was getting close and I inched back, but I hit the front of my desk.

  “Drink?”

  I nodded and watched her pour one for each of us. She brought her glass to mine. “To a nice night?” She clinked her glass against mine then brought it to her lips, taking a sip.

  My entire thought process of Sharon taking my mind off my perversion was out the window when the whiskey crossed her darkened lips and she used her tongue to slowly clear the residue.

  At least I wasn’t thinking of having sex with a possessed girl anymore.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You know why.” She inched toward me. “Desmond, I felt it the other day. The way you looked at me. Stared. You are intrigued by me and rightfully so. I’m intrigued by you.” She set down her glass and pressed directly against me.

  “Sharon, I don’t feel that this is …”

  “What?” She smiled. “A good idea?” She took my glass and grabbed my hands. Bringing them behind her, she placed my hands on her ass and guided me to a slow massage. “What do you feel now?”

  I closed my eyes and turned my head away. A lump formed in my throat. The wave. The wave. The bad girl, the dangerous situation, the forbidden. But this wasn’t just a fantasy; it was a fantasy playing out.

  I actually wondered when I felt her lips on my neck, if it was my mind, perhaps Sharon was standing there talking away, and I was imagining it.

  It wouldn’t be the first time I was swept away.

  “I can tell you what I feel.” She pressed tighter against me.

  I tried not to move my hands, work into her manipulation, but her moist lips moved up my neck.

  Let me snap out of this fantasy. Snap out.

  But I didn’t. I wasn’t in a good frame of mind when I arrived, and she made matters worse.

  It wasn’t all Sharon; it was me. She was being herself, and Sharon was exactly what clicked in me.

  I pulled back my hands and lifted them. “This isn’t right. You need to leave.”

  “Stop it.” She smiled, reached around me, and grabbed her drink. She downed it. “You want it.”

  “This situation right here is highly unethical.”

  “I’m not your patient.” She shook her head. “I’m a woman highly attracted to you. And I guess …” Her other hand moved up my leg and cupped my crotch. If I wasn’t hard before, I was at that second … instantly. “It’s what you want.”

  I moistened my lips as her hand moved around the outside of my pants. She set down the glass, and then she reached for my belt and undid it.

  “You want me. I want you. Any way …” she whispered in my ear. “Any … way.”

  Pants undone, her hand slid into my pants and touched me. She smiled. I had to stop it. I had to. And then I heard Rich Perkins’ voice in my head.

  “And I let it get the best of me. I justified it. If that makes sense.”

  It did. The justification. Sharon wasn’t my patient.

  With those thoughts, that justification, I removed her hand from me. Stared at her for a moment and gently shoved her back to the chair not two feet from her.

  She bounced down, laughing out, “Great aim.”

  I wasn’t laughing
, I was dead serious. It was no longer a situation of who was before me, but what. What was there along with my driven needs.

  Her leg lifted as she tried to adjust in the chair, and I grabbed her leg and dropped to my knees. Reaching under her dress, I grabbed hold of her flimsy undergarment and ripped it with ease.

  She groaned. It was a like a shockingly strong medication to me. Lifting both her legs to the arms of the chair, I pushed them back tight against her body exposing her completely, and I buried my head between her legs.

  At that second, that moment, I didn’t know who it was, and I didn’t care. My mouth hungrily worked her to the point that she pushed against me, grabbed hold of my hair, and using her legs held me to her.

  I swore I couldn’t breathe, but it was a euphoric suffocation. It fed the overwhelming sexual desire that grew in my groin. I was ready to burst. When she ached out the long moan of achievement, I pulled back with a gasp.

  But I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want to lose that ache I felt myself, that need to finish. That need to have that bitter result. My head was down as she stood and, grabbing my hair, she led me to stand. I wasn’t on my feet long before she had my pants down.

  She was perfect. Her lips were perfect. They glided against me with the right amount of tease and not for very long.

  I stood there saluting, throbbing with every beat of my heart when she lifted to her feet, brought her lips to my ear, and in a wet whisper said, “Fuck me.”

  It took one sweep of my arm, and I sent a lot of items from my desk onto the floor.

  I didn’t care.

  Again, not wanting to see her, I spun her face first to the empty desk, bent her over, lifted her skirt, and without hesitation, and with raging urgency, I entered her.

  One hand to her head, the other to her hip, each motion of my body against hers was charged with the building tension and desire of the day, the moment.

  I swore that at any given second, I would open my eyes, find a horrified Sharon as I feverishly and unknowingly masturbated in the dementia of a full-on fantasy.

  But that wasn’t the case.