“That you’re crazy and should never have left the hospital. He’s so nice. And attractive, too.” She brought her finger to her lips. “Did he mention that he and I have been having sex?”
Her words could have been a physical object. They attacked me. “No. He wouldn’t.”
“He did. Lots and in many ways. I’ve been in his office, Pam. In fact, when we fucked last night, we broke that little green lamp he has on his desk. Bent me right …”
“No!” I screamed. “No!”
“Don’t believe me? Ask to see his phone. He has all kinds of naughty pictures of me on there. I think I’ll keep fucking him even after you go away. And you are going away ...” She leaned to me. “There’s this mechanic who turned you in for Marion Blake’s murder. Saw you walking into her apartment.”
“That was you. He saw you. If he turned anyone in, it was you.”
She smirked. “How would he know what I look like?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe... he got a hold of those pictures Dr. Andrews has.” I was just being facetious, but I struck a chord. Her expression dropped, and she spun on her heels and took off.
When she did that, I realized she was scared. Was there truth to the pictures on Dr. Andrews’ phone? I felt sick to my stomach; my head spun. I trusted him; he couldn’t have betrayed my trust.
I pulled out my phone and called him, trying to be calm. Not to sound insane in case she played mind tricks on me.
“Hello.”
The mere sound of his voice sent a jolt of shock through me. “Dr. Andrews.”
“Pam? Pam, you sound upset. What’s wrong?”
“Did you … did you sleep with Sharon?” I asked calmly.
“Pam, listen to me …”
I lost it, screaming my loudest into the phone. “Did you!”
A pause. It told me more than any words.
“I’m sorry, I …”
“How could you do this to me! How! I trusted you. I trusted you! How!” My name was being called over and over, but I didn’t want to hear it. Not only did my husband betray me with Sharon, but my doctor as well. “Never contact me again!” I ended the call and shut off my phone.
Immediately, I burst into tears. I didn’t know what to do, where to turn, or who to call. I just ran to my car. I had to get away and think.
Chapter Thirty-Five – Desmond Andrews
Several things occurred in the moments after Sharon left my car in that alley. I realized several things.
It was time to give up the case. Honestly, that was my first thought. I crossed the line, no matter how I looked at it or justified it. I was unethical.
Sharon, the very thought of her was a drug to me. A quick addiction. Even as I knew I would stop myself from seeing her again, I craved her.
Returning to my office, I received a call from the police. They needed to speak to me and wanted me to come to the station first thing in the morning. I agreed. I knew it was over. Sharon would be done for and Pam could put closure to everything.
In my office, the late hours settling in, I gathered up all the charts from State on Pam and gathered my own folder. I added to that folder the picture of Sharon. I took it from my phone, printed it and placed it in there.
I called James Hathaway and asked him to pick up the case files as soon as possible. He said he’d stop by after his card game, and I told him I would wait.
More than I projected, I needed to talk to him.
The brief and frantic call from Pam wracked me with guilt, and I didn’t know what to do.
After I called James, I slowly deleted the other Sharon pictures from my phone. It actually made me sad. I found myself using my finger and tracing the contour of her nude body.
Sick. I needed help.
Delete.
The door opened. There wasn’t a knock. Nothing.
I smelled her perfume before I even looked up. “Sharon, this isn’t a good idea.”
She shut the door. “I need to talk to you.”
She had been crying. I could see that. I stood and walked around my desk. “You need to leave.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Any problems that I caused you,” She moved toward me.
I inched back. “It’s quite alright.”
“The news said my name is blasted all over.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Did you turn me in?” She squeaked out her words.
“I … I gave your name, yes.”
A single sob and her head fell forward. I felt bad, I felt really bad for her.
“Sharon,” I inched back to her. “It’s going to be all right.”
“I know. I just have no one. And I know it’s wrong, but …” Her head fell into my chest. “I got so close to you so fast. I loved last night. I loved today. Tell me you don’t regret it.”
“It was wrong ... but I enjoyed it too.”
I thought I was comforting her. And then I felt her hand move from my side to my stomach and downward.
“Sharon, no.” I grabbed her hand.
She pressed against me, tip toeing up and speaking close to my ear. “Just one more time. Just once more. I won’t tell.” She pulled her hand from me and ran it down my crotch, cupping me gently. “I won’t tell. I need you.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed. I could have stopped her, I had every intention. My mind swarmed as her hand undid my belt.
“Just think of today. How good it was. I was bad. You punished me.”
My pants unzipped and she lowered them some.
I shook my head. “This can’t happen.”
“Let me pleasure you …” She whispered. “One more time.”
It didn’t take any effort for her to release me from my pants; my aroused state did that all on its own.
She trailed her lips down my neck and to my chest. I felt the tip of her hair brush against my chin; I had a momentary thought of James Hathaway walking in the door, busting us.
That made matters worse. I grew more excited.
It wouldn’t take long, I knew it. Again, my mind justified that this would be it. No more, it couldn’t happen anymore, Sharon was going away. Before long her lips had encompassed me and I didn’t have a choice.
I gave in.
The thrill, the danger of it made the sensation feel like heaven. I grabbed hold of her head, physically encouraging her to take me all in.
Her lips. Her tongue.
I was on the edge.
My head flew back and my hips bucked forward as I held her tight against me in the final moments of my explosive pleasure.
My legs were weak and the wave of pleasure consumed me. I swore it was longer than I ever felt, an ecstasy taking over every square inch of my body. I embraced every single millisecond of the feeling.
The pleasure.
The enormous pleasure.
The pain.
My eyes widened when I felt the searing sharp stab to my gut. I looked down, she still held me in her mouth, while her hand clasped a small knife that she held firmly into my stomach.
Instinctively and protectively, I pulled her from me, and she wrenched that knife harder into me, twisting it.
I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. I felt the blood pour from my gut as I stumbled back and dropped to the floor.
My eyes blinked rapidly in confusion, trying to focus, and using her foot, she turned me from my side to my back. She stood above me with a smile, and then slowly crouched down.
I didn’t know what she was going to do. My lips quivered, trying to say something, but when I did, she opened her mouth and spat in my face the liquid remnants of my lust.
She leaned even closer. “Fuck you for turning me in.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. With an emotionless, cold look, she turned and walked away.
I knew she was gone. I tried to calm myself; each beat of my heart was going to cause me to bleed worse. She left
the knife in me, and I was thankful for that. I could see the sleeve of my suit jacket, dangling from my desk. It took so much of my strength to inch back and grab that sleeve.
I pulled the jacket and my phone clunked to the floor.
“Thank God. Thank God.” I wiped the jacket quickly over my face, then pressed it to my stomach. Just hold it there, hold it, the blood will clot. Help will get here.
Just about to dial 911, thinking of how I did this to myself, I realized that Sharon was going out in a blaze of glory. It scared me. I was responsible. Before I got help for myself, I had to help someone else.
I dialed the phone; my vision was blurry.
“Justin?” I stuttered.
“Dr. Andrews, I went to see my grandfather and … Sharon showed up.”
“Justin, listen to me …” I spoke breathily. “Listen. You have to be careful. You …”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“I can’t talk. I’m worried about my mother.”
I cried out his name, but he hung up. After a single moan of pain and sadness, I called for help. I laid there worried, was I responsible? Had I pushed it inadvertently to reach a climax when I strived only to reach one for myself?
As I felt a floating feeling, I passed out on that floor.
I came to with not only the police in the room, but James, as well.
“Dr. Andrews, can you hear me?” A paramedic leaned over me. “You’re gonna be just fine. Can you understand me?”
I tried to moisten my lips. “Yes.”
The paramedic turned his head. “He’s awake and alert.”
A police officer came over; I came to his midsection. They had me on a cart. “Dr. Andrews. Do you know what happened?”
Just about to answer, I saw James. “James.” I reached out my hand for him.
James rushed over. “Desmond, they need to know who did this. Do you know?”
I nodded and pulled at James. “Sharon. Sharon did this. She’s on a rage.”
“Sharon who?” The police officer asked.
I ignored him and focused on James. It was hard to talk and to breathe. “My case. I gave you. I went too far. You have to help my patient. Help her. Danger.”
“Desmond, we’ll send the police to her.”
“No. You have to get there first. Her son is on his way. Please.”
“Desmond. I don’t know this case. I don’t.”
“You do. Boxes on floor. Top folder.” I winced in pain. “It was originally your case. You know what to do.”
Instantly, James hurried from me. I focused as best as I could as he walked to the boxes and lifted the folder that lay on top.
The police officer asked. “Is your patient Sharon?”
“It’s Pam,” I answered watching James.
I saw it. He knew. The instant James opened that folder he knew.
His eyes widened in horror and he looked at me. “Oh my God.”
I sighed out in relief when he closed that folder and, with it in hand, ran from my office.
He needed to get to Pam’s house first. He had to be the one to confront Sharon. He had to be there for Justin. I just prayed he wasn’t too late.
Chapter Thirty-Six – Pam
The very first time I found out that Richie had been unfaithful, I was crushed. My heart felt as if it were ripped out of my chest. I’m not talking teenage cheating; I’m talking when we were married. I thought with everything I was, having the baby, getting married, would somehow settle him down.
It didn’t.
With each sequential affair, yeah, I hurt, but I grew accustomed to the pain. It enraged me more than it hurt. Until I found out about him and Sharon.
I trusted them both. I trusted her. No matter how much trouble she got me in, I still trusted her, I never would have thought she’d betray me like that.
But she did and she did it again.
She and Dr. Andrews.
The more I thought about it, the more I regretted my outburst on the phone. I was raging and out of control, and he was my psychiatrist. If he were on Sharon’s side, I played into their hands.
Damage control. I had to do some damage control. I was still furious over it all, but I couldn’t freak out like that. I thought of what I would say to him. How I would apologize for my outburst and remain calm, no matter how much I screamed inside.
I drove through the parking lot of the medical building, spotted his car. But as I parked, I saw Sharon walk in the door.
I lost all desire to go in there. I should have. I should have followed her and confronted her. But like every other time, I was intimidated by her, frightened of what she would do.
She manipulated me more than I realized. She manipulated every situation.
Like with the séance. I didn’t want to do it, it wasn’t a ‘real’ séance, but she made me feel as if it was. I gave in. I told everyone that she and I had a séance and they looked at me like I was nuts. When I decided to make up a story and ‘tease’ people with my joke, just to get Sharon, I unknowingly played into her hands and portrayed myself as no less than insane.
A séance? Spirit of a murderous man?
I was ridiculous. My whole life was ridiculous. She led the way, and sheep-like I followed her.
I wasn’t going to follow her into Dr. Andrews' office. The last thing I wanted to do was bust them in a tryst or overhear them laughing at my expense.
I left and drove around. I stopped for a drink, one drink, and thought of my life. The only bright spot was the news story about how the police were looking for Sharon.
It took everything I had not to call the police and tell them where she was. But as angry as I was with Dr. Andrews, I didn’t want him to get into trouble.
Suicide came to mind.
In reflecting on my life, I realized how pathetic and shallow it was. The only thing I had were my children and they were gone. She took them. She took Richie. Could she get Justin, as well?
I even went as far as driving to where I would do it. Jump from a building, drive into a wall. Then it dawned on me, what if I lived? It would be my luck to botch a suicide attempt and then I’d end up right back in the mental institution.
It wasn’t what I wanted.
I didn’t know what I wanted. It just needed to stop. The madness needed to stop.
How long I drove around and thought about taking my life is a mystery. I lost track of time and decided to just go home. Maybe call Justin and talk to him.
As I pulled into the old motel-style apartments, I could see mine, and I pulled to the spot in front.
That was when I noticed the door was ajar.
My lights were on and the door was open. My stomach twitched and knotted. I saw a shadow of someone moving about. It could only be one person. Only one person would be in there, coming for me.
Sharon. She knew where I lived, she left that note. How many times had she followed me?
I quietly got out of my car and slowly stepped to my apartment door. I peeked in and my breath shivered. My apartment was set up so that you walked into my living room; it was connected to the small kitchen, and straight off the back of the kitchen was a hall that led to the bedroom.
Sharon was going through my kitchen drawers. She shut one and walked down the hall toward my bedroom.
This was it. This was our final showdown, and she wasn’t going to win.
Not this time.
Hurriedly, I made my way in and to the kitchen. I grabbed a knife from the butcher’s block and stood with my back against the fridge, waiting until she emerged from the hall.
I waited. She didn’t see me; the second she passed me, I plunged the knife into her shoulder and lunged on her back, trying to take her down.
She screamed when I removed the knife and shoved backwards, knocking me into the fridge. I dropped to the floor, still holding the knife, and hurried to my feet.
“What are you doing?”
“This ends here,” I
yelled, and lunged for her.
She tried to hold me back, arms intertwined, and during the skirmish, she lost her footing, stumbled back, and fell into the living room.
I was tangled in her hold, but freed myself, drew to my knees, and lifted the knife.
“Pam! Stop!” He yelled.
I did, my arm still raised high.
“Please, don’t move. Give me the knife.” He stepped toward me.
I shook my head. “I can’t. I can’t let her get away. She was here to kill me, I know it.”
“Who?” he asked.
“Sharon.”
He looked down to her and asked her, “Are you okay?”
“I’m not hurt bad. Just get her off of me. Please. I’m afraid she’s going to kill me.”
I spat my words down to her. “Shut up. Who cares? You never cared who you hurt.”
“I never hurt anyone.”
“Bullshit.”
“Pam.” The man stepped closer. “Do you remember me?”
I looked at the older gentleman. “No.”
“Think, Pam. Who am I?” he asked.
Again, I didn’t know him. I shook my head and held the knife in a more threatening manner when he reached for it. Him and his passive ways. He probably was waiting outside for Sharon.
But I had her, she was pinned beneath me. She was at my mercy. “I don’t know you. This is a trick.”
“Pam, we have known each other for a while. I know you very well. You know me. I’m Doctor Hathaway. Remember?”
I felt a sudden rush of blood to my ears. It was like someone took my picture with a bright flash. I blinked and heard his voice, could see him in my mind. His words echoed, his image distorted. We were in a treatment room and I was on a cart.
“Just relax, Pam. I’m not here to hurt you.” He approached me with a needle back then. “This is going to relax you and help you remember.”
I fought him, shaking my head when he injected my arm.
“Count backwards, what do you remember?”
Breathing heavily I shook my head.
I remembered once more seeing him in a treatment room.
“This is for your own good,” he said.
Pam Page 14
