by Mysti Parker
Her cell phone rang from somewhere under the clutter on her desk. Shuffling through the papers she’d been reviewing for the Perkins case, she finally found it and looked at the caller ID: Dr. Kushman. She almost dropped the phone. Just the day before, she had an MRI. Leigh was tempted to let it go to voice mail, but if she did that, Dr. Kushman wouldn’t leave any results. She’d have to call back if she did that. Crappy timing, but it couldn’t be helped. She had to know. At the very last ring before her voice mail kicked in, she hit accept. Her hand trembled as she put the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded more like the scared little girl in the not-so-distant past than a grown-up, confident counselor.
“Hi, is this Leigh?” Dr. Kushman asked with his clipped Indian accent.
“Yes.”
“Great. Just calling to tell you the MRI was clear except for one little area in the left lung.”
“One little area?” Her mouth went bone dry. She’d heard that before. Those “little areas” could quickly become big problems.
“I think it’s only some leftover fluid from your bout with bronchitis in February. We can do a little more bloodwork and a CT scan, but I think it’s safe to say you’re doing fine. How are the headaches?”
“Better. The Treximet seems to be working well.” She’d been leery of taking a prescription migraine medicine, but she needed to keep her head clear so she could do her job.
“That is good. Now try to relax, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Dr. Kushman.” She hit end and slumped against the back of her desk chair.
Relax, he’d said. Right. Yeah, all she needed was some Calgon and a glass of red wine and maybe some Mozart on the radio. She slammed her cell phone down just as Becky pinged her on the speaker phone.
“Your three o’clock is here,” Becky chirped.
“Okay, send him in.”
One little area in the left lung… She had to push the worry away, or she’d never be able to focus.
Normally, Leigh would have stood and come to the door to greet her client, but instead she stood and remained behind her desk as Becky opened the door and ushered Mitch in. Not only was she shaky from Dr. Kushman’s phone call, but she felt safer with some space between her and this client. At first appearance, he seemed like a normal small town farmer with his jeans, cowboy boots, and plaid, long-sleeved work shirt. A closer look revealed holes and bloodstains on the jeans, scuffed boots with a loosened sole, and a wrinkled and threadbare shirt with dark patches of what might have been blood. His clothes hung from his bony body. Sunken cheeks, tanned, leathery skin, and greasy, receding brown hair made him look ten years older than his thirty-five years.
“Hi,” he said after Becky shut the door, his gaze focused on some random spot on the wall.
“Take a seat.” Leigh gestured to the two empty armchairs.
Mitch took a seat in the one nearest the door. Slowly, Leigh approached the other chair and eased herself onto it to avoid sudden movements. He’d never exhibited signs of violent behavior, but the way he twitched and shifted like a prowling cat, waiting to pounce, kept her on the edge of the seat. She glanced at the video camera on the wall. The red light blinked, which meant her boss was probably watching, but it didn't do much to calm her nerves.
“I’m having those dreams again,” he said, crossing his arms and hunching slightly as though he were cold. “You know, the ones where I’m falling.”
Leigh kept her eyes on him while she felt around the side table for her notebook. When she found it, she readied her pen and made a quick note: Recurring dreams of falling.
“Okay, and how often would you say they are happening now?”
“Every night. Almost.” His fingers drummed the armchair. Rust-colored dirt darkened his fingernails. Or was that blood?
Leigh glanced at the camera again and tried to still the shiver in her voice. “Can you tell me what's on your hands?”
Mitch held up both hands and stared at them as though he hadn’t seen them before. Then he dropped his arms limply on his lap. “Butchered some hogs today. Guess I should have cleaned up better first.”
“Oh.” Would Jesse think she was nuts if Leigh asked him to search the farm for dead bodies? “Are you ready to talk about where these dreams are coming from?”
“It’s the aliens.”
She should have known that was coming. If it wasn't aliens, it was ghosts or demons or Bigfoot. But she had to try again to get to the real story. “Could it be more about your parents' neglect?”
“They didn’t protect me.”
Leigh nodded. “Right. They didn’t protect you from whom? From which people?”
“I told you this already.”
“Yes, but it’s important to acknowledge it out loud and continue to work your way through it.”
Mitch’s gaze drifted up to meet hers. Red blood vessels streaked the whites of his eyes. “They didn’t protect me from the aliens.”
No luck.
He cleared his phlegmy throat and reached for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t smoke in here,” Leigh said. “Smoking is a coping mechanism, but it doesn’t solve anything. Talking it out does. The aliens aren't really aliens, are they?”
He dropped his hand onto his lap and shifted in his seat. Sweat and some other rancid, metallic odor emanated from him as he moved. She could only hope it really was pig’s blood.
“You want me to talk it out. Okay, let’s do that. They make me think it's just dreams, but I hear their voices. It's like buzzing in my ear. And I can't move.”
For the rest of the appointment, Mitch proceeded to relate in gruesome detail the probing and injuries he claimed to suffer at the hand of alien abductors. She'd read other studies of alleged abductions. If aliens did exist somewhere, she doubted they had any interest at all in Earth's inhabitants, but she kept an open mind about it. Yet, many studies uncovered repressed memories of sexual abuse. Mitch's account was no exception. Sometimes, he even let a name or two slip. Leigh tried to maintain her composure, but her hand trembled as she took notes. She didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, she felt tremendously sorry for him, and on the other, she feared pushing him to tell the truth would set him off.
The minutes dragged until her cell phone timer went off, signaling the end of their session.
Leigh tossed her notepad and pencil on the side table and quickly stood. “We’re done for today.” With other clients, she would usually recommend a time for the next appointment. Not this guy. She didn’t want to see him again and hoped he’d take the hint.
Mitch stood as well, but slowly, with his gaze latched onto hers. She hurried for the door and opened it, standing with it halfway shielding her as he approached.
He briefly stopped at the threshold, scratching his neck with those bloody fingernails, and gave her a sidelong glance. “See ya.”
She stood at the door until he exited the building; then she went to the window in the lobby and peeked outside. He got in a rusted-out Ford pickup truck and drove away. She should have been relieved, but her skin crawled.
Someone touched her on the shoulder. She jumped.
Dr. Gadbury frowned and took a sip from his ever-present coffee mug. “That wasn't your best session, Leigh. You exhibited entirely too much anxiety.”
Well, at least the jerk had been watching, if only to criticize her. She tried to reason with him again. “Mitch Perkins has deeper issues than I’m equipped to handle. He needs a psychiatrist and medication.”
“Has he become violent?”
“No.”
“Has he threatened you?”
“No.” Leigh glanced at Becky, who sat stone still and wide-eyed at the reception desk.
Becky quickly lowered her eyes and stuck her earbuds back in.
He took another sip, eyeing her over the cup. “Mm-hmm. You need the challenge. To be a certified counselor, you can’t just pass clients off to someone else.”
> “But he claims aliens are abducting him.”
“So what? He's relying on a plausible narrative to better interpret his childhood abuse. You know, I’d hate for you to lose all these hours you’ve worked and end up with a bad recommendation.”
Without a word, she returned to her office and retrieved her purse. That jackass would actually fire her. He’d done it before with a fellow counselor-in-training for looking at Match.com between sessions. So maybe work wasn’t the place to look for an online date, but it wasn’t a lose-your-job kind of offense. She had looked on the site later at home and found Dr. Gadbury's profile there, complete with a photoshopped bodybuilder physique. Of course, she couldn't prove that was his motive for firing her predecessor, but she'd loathed the sleazy man ever since.
Thankfully, that was her last session of the day. She walked out, ignoring Becky’s “Toodle-doo!” and got in her car. She sat there for a while, not feeling like going home all keyed up like this. Her head needed some serious clearing before she faced her overprotective parents. Avery would still be at the bridal shop, but Leigh didn’t want to interrupt her. She had a big wedding party to handle today, and the bridezilla would be all Avery could handle.
Leigh could think of only one place that might fit the bill for a calm retreat.
Even though her counselor brain sent warning signals to the common sense part of her mind, she kept driving down the winding rural highway. She put the car in park and sat there for a moment, staring at Jesse's trailer. This was a bad idea. She didn’t want to compromise her job any more than she already had with Creepy Mitch. If Dr. Gadbury found out, he’d fire her for sure. But then again, Jesse’s house was out in the country, out of view of prying neighbors and gossips. Who would know if she stayed for a little while? If anyone made trouble, she could claim it was a house call.
“An unwind-my-mind house call.” She chuckled as she shut off the car, removed the keys from the ignition, and got out. “Yeah, I’ve lost my bloody mind.”
No cars were in the driveway and no one sat on the porch. She checked her phone. It was only four fifteen. Jesse must have still been at work. His grandfather could have been there, but she didn't want to bother him. But what if Jesse came back and found her there? Would he think she was throwing herself at him? Tell her to quit trespassing if she wouldn’t put out? Then she squashed those thoughts—they weren’t in high school. Not that she was an expert about it. All her knowledge of teen angst had been filtered through Avery, who steadfastly clung to the lifelong title of drama queen.
She strolled around the side of the house and took off her blazer. The afternoon sun warmed her bare shoulders. Thick, green grass cushioned her walk. Jesse must have put a lot of time into tending the yard. Hardly a dandelion anywhere. She paused and took off her pumps, too, smiling as the soft grass caressed her feet, and continued down to the pond and onto the small dock. Sitting on the edge, she cautiously dipped a toe in the water. What if there were snapping turtles waiting for a toe treat?
“Eh, you only live once." Leigh dangled both legs over, letting her toes skim the sun-warmed water.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed and listened to nature all around her. Cicadas serenaded each other in the tall grass at the edge of the yard with their loud buzzing songs. Birds added to the chorus with trills, peeps, chirps, and cackles. Fish splashed softly as they caught water bugs floating on the pond's surface. Wind rustled the water birch leaves. She could sit there forever and forget troubled clients, a jerk boss, and the constant shadow of death. There in the warm sun with her toes gliding through the water, she pushed those worries away, if only for a little while.
A man's voice disrupted the tranquility. “Taking me up on that fishing invitation after all?”
Her eyes popped open. She turned to find Jesse standing there, still in his uniform. The sun cast him in silhouette, accentuating his wide chest and muscled arms.
“Maybe.” Leigh smiled, though her heart raced. Would he think she was trespassing?
“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” Jesse walked over to the gazebo and opened a storage bin built into the bench. He retrieved an insulated foam box then took two fishing rods from where they hung on the gazebo rafters and returned to the dock.
He sat beside her, tossing her a smile before he took on a serious demeanor. “Here’s your rod. Know how to cast it?”
She took it from him. The weight and feel of the rubberized handle brought back memories. “Dad taught me. We practiced in the yard. He promised to take me fishing someday.”
“But he didn’t?”
Leigh shook her head and couldn’t bring herself to tell Jesse why Roscoe hadn’t taken her fishing as a kid. She hadn’t pressured him about it. He’d had enough on his mind as she grew up, and she didn’t want to add guilt to his burdens.
“That’s a shame.” Jesse opened the box and pulled out a long, slimy night crawler. “Can you bait a hook?”
“Do I have to?”
He grinned. “No, but it’s a good thing to learn. If you sneak out to my pond to fish by yourself, I won’t be here to do it.”
She laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Suit yourself.” He reached over and unfastened the hook and line from where it was secured on her pole. Then he took the night crawler, stabbed the hook through it, wrapped it around and stabbed it through again to hold it tight.
Leigh grimaced. “Why not use artificial bait?”
“Where’s the fun in that? Gotta live a little.”
She shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Okay, enough stalling. Show me what you can do.”
“Um…” How did those lessons go again? She studied the rod and remembered she’d pushed a button somewhere on it. Ah, there it was, right above the handle. She pushed it. Hook and bait dropped with the unraveling of the line, plopping into the water directly below her.
“Uh, yeah, that’s... Let me show you how I do it. Stand up.”
Leigh did as he asked.
He came around behind her. “Do you mind?”
“No.” Her heart sped up again, sending heat to her cheeks.
Jesse took her right hand and put it on the reel handle. “First of all, reel in your line.”
“Okay.” She turned the handle. The fishing line went lax with big, loose coils, and the bobber kept bobbing happily on the water.
He laughed. “No, turn it the other way. Like this.” Then he wrapped both arms around her, taking both her hands in his. His fingers enveloped hers. His movements were steady and sure, his hands warm and callused like she’d expect on a hard-working man.
She could smell his cologne, diluted with the mild sweat of a workday. All that solidness, right there at her back. She fought the temptation to lean into him.
“Now, you pull the rod back like this…” He drew her arm back then stepped aside. “Watch me. You’ll push the button on the reel with your thumb at the end of your cast.”
He cast his line out in one smooth movement, dropping the baited hook way out in the middle of the pond. For a man his size, the rod looked like a twig.
Leigh chewed her lip. What did he say? She should have paid closer attention. But her skin still tingled from his touch. She wanted more of that. Bad Leigh! Focus! She did her best to imitate his cast. Her baited hook didn’t go quite as far as his, but it traveled a respectable distance for a beginner.
“Not bad,” Jesse said. “Now you just wait… Holy fish bait, Batman, you’ve already caught one!”
Sure enough, her bobber sank, then popped up briefly and sank again. She felt a tug on her line and watched the reel spin as the fish claimed its prize. Her palms grew sweaty, so she held the rod in a death grip. “What do I do now?”
“Reel it in!”
His wide, happy smile looked really good on him. It erased the stress from his forehead and the sleeplessness from his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment too long. Something—a strange, yet enticing energy—pa
ssed between them. The fish tugged on her line again, jerking her back to reality.
“Okay, I got this,” she said and started reeling.
“Steady, not too fast.” Jesse set his pole in a holder at the end of the dock. He stood at the edge while Leigh reeled in her catch.
Sun glinted off the fish’s scales as it emerged from the water, flopping its tail in an effort to escape.
“Okay, back up a bit,” Jesse said, reaching for her line. “You want to take it off the hook?”
“Not really. Maybe next time.”
He grinned at her as though he hadn’t expected her to plan for a next time. Finally, he got hold of the line and hauled the fish over, grabbing it in a firm grip behind its head before working the hook out of its mouth.
“What kind of fish is that?” she asked, stepping closer.
“A young smallmouth bass.”
“Oh. I think Dad has a largemouth mounted over the fireplace in the den.”
“Probably.”
She watched the fish’s mouth open and close as it struggled to breathe. “You’re not going to eat him, are you?”
“No, not yet, anyway. He’s too little right now. But hey, you caught your first fish! I’m proud of you.”
He squatted and gently plopped the fish back into the water, then took a wet wipe from his tackle box and cleaned his hands. His uniform shirt strained against his wide, muscled back. She could easily imagine herself relieving him from the constraints of his clothing. If she stayed a minute more, her fantasy could quickly become reality.
Bad Leigh.
“I better get going,” she said, bending to place her rod in the holder like he had done. But a sudden wave of dizziness made the world wobble. She tried to stand, but swayed, falling toward the water.
In a split second, Jesse captured her in his arms and helped her to stand upright. He held her against his chest until her head stopped spinning. She pulled back and looked up at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.
