Phobias

by Ryan Horvath

  The two men stared each other down for about thirty seconds before the doctor said, “You must excuse me now. I have work to do. As do you, I suspect.” He turned, opened the door and stepped inside.

  “I’ll be back when I have more questions,” Terry said assertively.

  The doctor paused in the doorway and, without turning to face Terry, said, “I’m counting on it.”

  ~*~0~0~*~

  “You’ve been strangely quiet, Walt,” Holly said when they were back by the car.

  “I was studying your old boyfriend,” Walt said.

  “Uck! Please don’t call him that,” Holly directed.

  “Sorry,” Walt said. He was visibly agitated about something.

  “What is it?” Holly asked.

  “The doctor… Well… I still can’t be sure cuz the video isn’t the best but, while I was looking at him, I was trying to size him up. Something we football players do. Anyway, I realized I recognized the size,” Walt said.

  “Recognized from where?” Chad asked.

  “The rape video. The doctor there looked about the same size as the guy who had the gun in Calvin’s mouth.” He hesitated. “But again… I can’t be sure.”

  ~~19~~

  “That… didn’t go as I expected,” Terry said. He leaned against the side of the car and thrust his hands into his pockets. A pouty look crossed his face and he looked back at the shrink’s house.

  “If he’s connected, or even our guy, he would have planned a confrontation with you or all of us at some point,” Chad said. He also looked back at the house but wore an expression of longing. He tried willing the glass of bourbon his doctor had been drinking to come magically to him.

  “When did you and your wife start seeing him?” Terry asked. Walt and Holly got back into the car and the two men were, they thought, alone together.

  “Marcia, a few years. Me, a little less,” Chad replied.

  “He a good doctor?” Terry said.

  “I didn’t mind talking to him. He made me feel better, so yeah, he’s alright in my book. And, in spite of her issues, Marcia was a smart woman with a good decision-making ability and good ideas. If she didn’t like him, she wouldn’t have stuck with him,” Chad returned.

  “How ‘bout now?” Terry asked. “What do you think of him seeing him outside of the office?”

  “I guess… I don’t know. He seemed a little like he was goading us. All of us except Walt at least. I almost thought he was taunting me with his drink…,” Chad said. As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. Terry didn’t need to know about his fondness for all things with a proof to them.

  “One of your demons?” Terry asked, making air quotation marks when he said demons. He saw embarrassment come onto Chad’s face. “How long have you been hitting the sauce?”

  Chad sighed and put a hand on the back of his head. “Too long,” he said. “Or maybe not long enough.”

  “Was he helping you get clean?” Terry asked and nodded toward Andrews’s house.

  “No,” Chad responded after a beat. “I wasn’t trying to get clean.”

  “Every drunk I’ve ever known is always trying to get clean,” Terry countered.

  “Why did I need to quit drinking?” Chad said. “I work. I’m decent at my job and have steady income and retirement. My marriage was sound. I didn’t hit my wife with my fists or my words. I drink at home so I’m not out driving the streets half shit-faced. And I don’t drink until after the proverbial 5:00 happy hour.” He ticked these points off on his fingers as if he’d done this speech a hundred times. When he was finished, he realized he hadn’t refuted Terry. “And I’m not a drunk.”

  Terry opened his mouth to say more but they both heard a branch snap in a nearby cluster of trees. He squinted in the darkness and then drew his flashlight out of his pocket.

  “Just some guy watching us. Probably a nosy neighbor,” Chad said.

  But Terry switched on his light at the right second and got a full look of the man in the trees. The man looked like a convict caught in the searchlight during a prison break. A second later he bolted out of the light.

  “Shit!” Terry fired getting quickly up off the car. “Not just some guy. That was Tim Rock!”

  Terry sped off in pursuit.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  Shit! Shit! Shit! Tim said in his head as he took off. The blind spots in his eyes from the detective’s flashlight partially obscured his vision. Tim knew his odds of outrunning the detective were not good. Sure, Tim was young and in great shape but he’d been running for a while already and adrenaline had been assisting him. He could already feel that effect dwindling. Plus the detective would probably call for backup if he hadn’t already. But Tim had a head start to work with and he meant to take as much advantage of that as he could. He ran as hard as he could and listened to the approaching clack of the detective’s shoes and his shouts for Tim to stop where he was. After about a block and a half, Tim spied a house he knew was abandoned. He’d seen all the postings on the door. He ran for the front door and listened to his heart thunder in his ribcage. He reached the door and crashed through it as if it was made of simple paper and nothing more. He scurried into the darkness and looked for a good position. He found a half-wall separating the kitchen from what was probably once a dining room, and he crouched down behind it just as he heard the detective clamber through the front door.

  Tim waited, willing his breath to cease and praying his heart wouldn’t give away his position.

  The detective was pleading with Tim, asking him to show himself and saying he didn’t want any trouble or anyone to get hurt. But by the searching beam of his flashlight, Tim could see the detective was hunting for him.

  Fortunately for Tim, the flashlight also gave away the detective’s position. Tim’s muscles went turgid in anticipation.

  And just like when he had been six years old and played hide and seek with his two brothers, Tim felt a desperate need to empty his bladder while he hid.

  In one second, he saw the leading edge of the flashlight.

  The detective’s service pistol was clutched next to it.

  An instant later, the detective stepped into view. He turned his head and saw Tim.

  In a flash, Tim bared his teeth and with the last of his energy, he struck.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  Terry saw Tim crouched behind the half-wall, but the coach was already in motion before Terry had a chance to swing his gun over. He knew what was going to happen and thoroughly reprimanded himself in his mind for not immediately calling for backup when he first saw Tim Rock hiding in the trees.

  A millisecond later, he saw the man bare his teeth and then spring into action. Terry felt Tim, who outweighed him with thirty extra pounds of muscle, slam into him with the force of his namesake. Terry felt the wind knocked from him and Tim used his momentum to carry the two of them into the kitchen. Terry’s gun and flashlight went flying from his hands. The light cast a strobe effect around the dark space as it clattered to the floor and rolled away.

  An instant later, Terry felt his lower back collide with the edge of something and reasoned that it must have been the kitchen counter. It was old and deteriorating but it still bit into his flesh and he felt blood start to soak into his shirt.

  But Tim didn’t stop with that. He grabbed Terry by the shoulders and drove his knee into Terry’s gut. Terry wanted to vomit, heave, and breath all at once but all three activities seemed beyond his reach as he fell to the floor. He was down; and he wasn’t getting back up anytime soon. But he got the feeling that Tim had held back some of the force he could have used. Even now that Terry was vulnerable and down, Tim could have continued to assault him. Instead, the young man crouched next to Terry. A look of sadness was on his face. And because it was pretty much at Terry’s eye level, he noticed Tim was wearing boxer shorts and, through the partially open leg, Terry could see that at some point in his life, Tim Rock had sustained some kind of trauma to his penis. Terry groaned, tried to s
peak, and tried to reach for his handcuffs. He expected a verbal barrage from Tim. Instead, he heard the man softly speak.

  “I need you to listen to me, detective…,” Tim said.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  “I need you to listen to me, detective…,” Tim said. He was hot and cold at the same time but glad he could stop running for the moment. The detective wasn’t getting up. Tim could see the cop trying for his cuffs and Tim pushed his hand away from them. He reached inside the detective’s coat and found his badge and ID. “Terry,” he added. “I didn’t do any of it. Someone has set me up.”

  “That’s… what… they… all… say…,” Terry managed with a wheeze and a lot of effort.

  “I didn’t do anything to that girl. I swear. Or the football player,” Tim said.

  “Evidence… says… other… wise,” Terry strained. “Girl… was… in… in your house.”

  Tim nodded and, if it was possible, he looked even sadder. “Yes. Yes she was. I can’t deny that. But she was always there of her own free will.”

  “Sure she… was…,” Terry said. “That’s what… all… all… you fucking perverts say.”

  “We were in love!” Tim flashed. “And she was at the age of consent.” A pair of tears pushed from his eyes. “I still love her,” he softly supplemented.

  “Give yourself up, coach,” Terry said. He was getting more of his wind back. “Let me take you in and we can talk about this.”

  Tim shook his head. “No way. Not a chance. That happens and I get lost in the paperwork and the system. I need to find out who framed me. And I’ve got to get Heather out of this.”

  “You… have something to do… with her getting in this mess?” Terry asked. “If you did, that makes you an accomplice.”

  Tim knew Terry was right and he was in fact an accomplice even though he felt like more of a dupe or a patsy. He thought it better not to say anything to Terry about that.

  “What are you gonna do… now, Coach?” Terry said.

  Tim looked pensive. He knew he had to get moving. Terry wasn’t going to stay down forever, though Tim knew he could certainly put the detective down again if he needed to. “I’ve got to clear my name. I was hoping the four of you could help me with that but you’ve already established my guilt,” he answered.

  “Maybe… Maybe not. The kid doesn’t think it’s you in the video… With the gun in his best friend’s mouth,” Terry said.

  “Fuck! You all saw that video too,” Tim said in a statement rather than a question. “I never meant for any of that to happen to Heather.” He found that easy to say now even though what happened to her was almost exactly what he had wanted to happen at one time. Incredible guilt washed over him for corroborating with that phobia-obsessed psychopath, and for a brief second, he was tempted to reach back for Terry’s cuffs and slap them on his own wrists. But he knew he couldn’t do that. “I have to go now, detective… Terry.” Tim could hear Chad Dean outside calling Terry’s name. “I’m going to do what I can to make this right. And don’t always believe the evidence. A master puppeteer can pull so many strings at once and put on a dazzling show, and that’s what’s happening here.” He paused and put a hand on Terry’s shoulder. “I’ll come find you when I find the puppeteer. In the meantime, watch your backs. Marcia Dean’s already dead. And that friend of yours. He won’t stop there. I suspect all of us are his targets now.” He stood up from his crouch and moved toward the back door away from where Chad was approaching. He would see the broken door soon enough.

  “You… You… You’re under… arrest…,” Terry stammered.

  Tim shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He moved to the door and took the handle then paused and turned back. “I’m really sorry I hit you, Terry. Make sure to get your back looked at. There’s quite a bit of blood.”

  Tim opened the back door and slipped away quietly into the darkness.

  ~~20~~

  Terry hissed as the tiny needle slid through his skin. He sat on the edge of the gurney the EMTs brought with them while red, white, and blue lights from the ambulance and police squad cars flashed around the nearby houses. Several of the residents came outside with the arrival of the emergency vehicles. People never miss a chance for violence and drama Terry said in his mind as he spat out another angry hiss from the needle piercing him.

  Though Terry couldn’t get a good look at it, the cut on his lower back was bad. About an inch long but it looked like, from the bloodstain left over on the jagged counter edge, that Terry had probably been shallowly stabbed in the meat of his lower back. Holly said he needed a couple stitches, so Chad called the EMTs. But Terry refused to be taken to the hospital only to lose precious time on this case. So he ordered one of the EMTs to splash some Iodine on his back, give him the stitches here, pump him full on antibiotics, and send him on his way. They were reluctant but agreed.

  While the EMTs worked on him, Terry thought about things. Something about this case was bothering him. Actually, a lot of things about this case were bothering him. Tim Rock could have killed Terry in that house. Even though Terry’s gun had been knocked away, the coach was a big guy and he easily could have bashed Terry’s skull in or throttled him to death with his strong arms or maybe with a heavy foot to the neck. Instead, Tim talked to him. Tim fed Terry almost every guilty man’s clichéd response that was out there. And Tim claimed he’d been set up. Terry had yet to work a true frame-up case in his career so maybe that was why shit didn’t seem in line.

  But the coach knew stuff Terry said in his head. He had to be in on it in some way. Is the other perp the doctor? Justin Andrews was definitely a brilliant man and brilliant men always seemed suspicious to Terry, even when they weren’t up to anything.

  Terry nibbled his lower lip while he thought about things and got the last of his stitches put in.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  Heather hung.

  Her sense of time was so far gone that she had no semblance of how long she’d been here now.

  She felt her phobias pushed to their limits and wondered how much more she could take before they killed her. Could they even kill me? she wondered. She thought they could. The expression “scared to death” had to come from somewhere.

  The man in this space with her was in his own distress. He’d been near ceaseless with his groaning, whimpering, and crying out, and each time he made a sound it rang like thunder in Heather’s ears. She could tell he was sleeping, or sedated, and she prayed that he wouldn’t wake up and find her there. She had no way to know if he was the one who had raped her and she couldn’t bear the thought of being subjected to the degradation again.

  Heather tried, once again, to move her arms. It was futile. She wanted nothing more than to stretch her arms as far from her body as she could. And she remembered how blissful it felt to have solid ground beneath her feet. She longed to be in the peaceful and serene backyard of her house with only the summer crickets and frogs to be heard.

  Will I ever get to go back to any of that? Heather wondered. Will I ever get out of here?

  The man in the room let out a bone-chilling howl that echoed off the walls and reverberated into Heather’s ears. Whatever was happening to him, he was in his own personal hell. What has he done to end up in here? she speculated.

  Heather shook in her suspended state. All she could hear was the clanking of chains mixing with the sound of the man’s waning bay.

  The man’s groan sounded soul-rending.

  And if I ever do get out of here… Damn! Oddly, she began to chuckle and though she didn’t like the sound of her laughter, she couldn’t easily stop it. But she didn’t need to stop laughing for her mind to keep talking. If I do ever make it out of here… raped once and impregnated by the bastard… baby aborted… kidnapped and brought here and subjected to every fucking thing in the world I abhor… raped AGAIN… She paused and opened her eyes behind the blindfold. “What kind of soul will I have left?” she said aloud to the unresponsive company in the room.

  ~*~0
~0~*~

  Holly didn’t much care for seeing Justin again. He looked the same. Handsome as ever, downright attractive actually. But there was still that same look… a glint perhaps, in his eye that she recognized on the night she caught him sniffing her panties.

  Additionally, the sound of his voice still slid across her flesh like a cold black oil.

  But there was something Holly couldn’t figure out.

  She and Chad were phobia sufferers too. Holly didn’t like to consider herself a high level of anxiety phobic, but she had her share of fears. Chad was probably worse. And Justin knew both of them and about their fears. If he wanted to target people with phobias, why hadn’t she and Chad been taken when Chad’s wife, the missing girl, and Walt’s friend were? Chad was even at home sleeping a few yards away when his wife was abducted.

  This made Holly wonder, and she glanced over to where Chad stood. He had his arms crossed over his chest and wore a stony look on his face. Chad had been everyone’s initial suspect when they first brought his wife’s road-mangled body into her morgue.

  Did anyone ever really clear him as a suspect? she thought. But then she remembered Terry’s friend, the one who turned up dead shortly after Terry contacted him for assistance. Chad was with Terry when that murder occurred. So maybe the coach killed him? While Chad was right where he wanted to be… in the center of things… the proverbial puppeteer.

  Holly remembered earlier that Walt said she should feel like a target. She thought maybe that wasn’t the case. She eyed Chad and wondered if she might actually be a tool.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  Tim was glad he had the chance to talk to the detective. Even if the flatfoot didn’t listen much to what he said, at least Tim planted some seeds that he hoped would sprout into plants of doubt when the time was right. He was going to need all the help he could get in the coming hours. After his encounter with the detective, Tim ran as fast and far as he could until he had no more breath. Surly, Terry wouldn’t pull out any stops this time and he would have half the Minneapolis Police Department looking for Tim in the vicinity. He managed to make it well into Robbinsdale, a suburb to the northwest, before he had to stop running. As he walked, he came up an alley with an unfenced back yard. The owner of this house had left laundry out on a clothesline and Tim took a moment to browse the attire for something he might be able to wear that would be a little less conspicuous than what he had on now. It only took him a moment to realize, that unless he was going to turn into a fourteen year old girl, he was stuck wearing what he had on for now.