Psycho Therapy

by Alan Spencer

  Craig’s view was obscured, and all he could watch was a gloved hand—a hand that was caked in blood well above the wrist up to the elbow—touch and caress and poke at the row of buckets that each harbored wet slithery brains.

  The man whispered, “Just a few more is all we need…only a few more, son, and the machine will be ready.”

  Edith Miller

  Craig’s shoulder continued to ache. He hadn’t dislocated it, but he couldn’t be certain. He was no doctor. He wasn’t cold anymore, the snow that had buried him missing. The air was dry and stale. There was little ventilation. Katie’s blood had dried on his face, and hands, and shirt. What had he just witnessed? A man’s brain was removed. It had to be Dr. Krone’s work. The bastard was up to more than Craig could ever imagine, and this was the beginning of finding out.

  Was it on purpose he witnessed the snippet of a memory, or was he somehow connected to Dr. Krone’s mind? The scene itself was disturbing. Stacks of bodies. Buckets of freshly removed brains. And did the man call out to his son? Craig was confused and realized it was best he cover his ass instead of evaluating a vision he didn’t understand.

  He stopped walking.

  He had no memory of this place.

  Craig roamed the halls of a mausoleum. Green marble walls, gray marble floors, he eyed the brass plates without recognition. The names were unfamiliar. How he wound up here, Dr. Krone would only know.

  He scratched at his face. The blood was drying and itching him. He was exhausted and wanted to close his eyes, and sleep, and quit being the victim for a change. But there were so many corners that anything could pop out and attack, no moment was safe. The place was turn after long hall, turn after long hall.

  Craig listened after catching a muffled startle ahead. Footsteps scuffed the tiles and then suddenly stopped, alerted by something. “Is that you, Dr. Krone? I can hear you. Show yourself. Just me and you this time, okay? No more tricks. Let’s talk man to man.”

  Silence.

  He refused to break down. He wouldn’t grovel to Dr. Krone like he did on the ice. This was a fight to escape his mind, and only Dr. Krone could provide the way out.

  “I heard someone down there. Step out and show me your face.”

  His patience was depleted, so he bounded forward and rounded the next corner, catching another person anticipating his arrival. She charged the opposite way from him. The person was unfamiliar. The mausoleum wasn’t triggering any memories either. This was his adult body. He didn’t revert back to a child or a teenager.

  He pursued the stranger. “Hey—stop!”

  The woman yipped at the command, startled that what she’d seen was real. She was five feet tall. Dirty blonde hair in strings and matted strands about her head. She harbored a black eye and a long gash across her cheek, perhaps inflicted by a claw. She wore a pair of torn-up jeans and a gray sweater. The stranger was stained in blood, especially at the shoulder area. The woman was worn down, the kind that’d seen a lot of eighty-hour work weeks.

  “I won’t hurt you.” Craig softened his tone and slowed his advances. “Who are you?—did Dr. Krone do this to you?”

  She stopped and sneered at him. The woman confronted him, taking fast strides, suddenly struck by a surge of courage. It was Craig’s turn to be startled. The woman clutched his shirt and drew him close. Her breath stank of cottonmouth and cigarettes. “He’s after you too, isn’t he?”

  He sucked in a thick breath to steady his words. “Did he hook you up to that dreadful machine?”

  “What do you know about it?—tell me who you are.”

  She looked even older at a closer view. Late forties, early fifties. Her black eye made it difficult to maintain eye contact.

  “I’m Craig Horsy,” he explained nervously. “I-I don’t know much about Dr. Krone. I was supposed to visit a psychiatrist, and I ended up here. They injected me with drugs, and I wake up hooked up to a machine. Needles punctured my eyes and skull, and there’s so much of that bright fucking light, it scorched my retinas. And then I’m reliving my memories. Dr. Krone said it’s supposed to be therapeutic. But he’s insane. He somehow made it so my dead wife attacked me. That’s why I’m covered in blood. He won’t let me out of my mind.”

  “That’s where we are,” she said. “But it’s all of our minds. We’re hooked into the same machine.”

  “Then how come I’m here with you? Do I know you?”

  “Does the name Edith Miller sound familiar?”

  Craig thought hard. “No. And why am I here in a mausoleum? I’ve actually never stepped foot into one before.”

  “Have you seen any of the doctor’s memories yet?” She picked at the scab on her cheek, lessening her defenses. “That’s why we’re here. Sometimes we happen upon the doctor’s memories on accident. This is why we’re here. This is his father’s resting place.”

  She pointed at the wall, specifically at the bronze marker that read—

  Bruce Denning

  1899-1985

  He was confused. “Who’s Bruce Denning?”

  “Nobody important, but Bruce isn’t alone in there. Dr. Krone’s memory showed me what this place means. I saw Dr. Krone opening the slot and placing his father’s corpse with Bruce’s. He’s kept his father’s body in hiding. They’re criminals. The name on the plate isn’t accurate. There’s two bodies sharing one slot.”

  “They’re worse than criminals,” Craig said. “They’re lunatics with the means to break into our minds.”

  “He won’t come here,” Edith reassured him. “He doesn’t want anything to do with the mausoleum. It’s too painful to revisit for him. He stays outside, though. He knocks on the door sometimes and tries to talk me into coming out. Forget that idea.” She shouted toward the east hall. “Fuck you, Dr. Krone!”

  He traced his finger down Bruce Denning’s marker. “I feel sorry for Bruce having to share a grave with the likes of a Krone.”

  “Do you know anything about Dr. Krone’s father?”

  He shook his head.

  “He’s the one who invented the machine. I keep seeing the number of bodies he’s dissected and tested to create the device. The memories I see are quick flashes. It’s like Dr. Krone lets his guard down and I see into him. I was lucky to learn of this place. I don’t want to go back out there. It’s not safe. It’s never going to be safe.”

  Craig did catch a memory of Dr. Krone’s, he realized. But it could’ve been his father he was watching turn that gigantic corkscrew device into that poor man’s skull. The victim was in a straightjacket. Was the man taking subjects from sanitariums to complete his project? He didn’t want to bring it up to Edith. She was visibly distraught.

  “How long have you been in here hiding?”

  Edith shrugged her shoulders. “A long time, I can’t say exactly. It’s all in the mind. It could be hours, days, weeks…”

  They were both in the dark about many things. “I’m glad I found somebody who isn’t from my past. But still, how did I get in here with you?”

  “You resisted him. You refused to play into his game. It’s all in the mind. You can fight back to an extent. What you did was probably involuntary.”

  “What do you mean by fight back?”

  “Picture yourself somewhere, and you’ll go there. You need a weapon, imagine it in your hand. When I saw Dr. Krone’s memory of this place, and how he fled the scene once his father’s body was buried in there, I decided to return. He seemed afraid of the mausoleum. He can’t make me do anything if I resist. But it hurts. My head is a fucking migraine constantly. And I wasn’t good at it at first. Dr. Krone kept winning.”

  Edith’s eyebrows were always furrowed. She didn’t blink either. She was focusing. However she did it, it was taking a toll on her. Her eyes were bloodshot red. Sweat glazed her features. Her skin was sheet white, her overall look malnourished.

  “You can’t go on like this,” he insisted. “We can’t hide from him. You’re forgetting we’re hooked up to a machine. He
has us where he wants us.”

  “Then I’ll die in here. I don’t care. I’ve seen people and experienced shit that belongs in the past, and it should stay there. Dr. Krone’s a deviant. My pain, it’s his masturbation material. You do what you want, and I’ll do as I want, and the world will move on with or without me. I don’t care if he has us where he wants us. I never want to see him again. Bastard.”

  Thunck-thunck-thunck.

  Knocking.

  Then words were shouted, muffled by walls, “I know you’re in there!”

  The knocks against stone reverberated down the narrow hallway. Edith gasped. “That lunatic won’t give up. I’m not coming out, so fuck off!”

  “I can wait forever, how about you? And you, Craig, would you like to make the mausoleum your new home?”

  Craig’s tongue locked. He wanted to shout his defiance, but there wasn’t any defiance left in him, only fatigue. He trembled, terrified of what the man was capable of accomplishing. He resurrected his wife only for her to attempt to drown him in his dead child’s blood. What would come next?—what other memories could the doctor use against him?

  Edith glanced at him. “Ignore him. He’ll go away eventually. He gets bored quick.”

  “Your bodies will starve. I’ll let you die if you don’t come out soon. This is the final warning. Come out or starve to death. Your treatment is far from over for the both of you!”

  Dr. Krone’s steps echoed against the marble steps outside, and he was gone. Edith rubbed at her eyes and blinked twice. She was weary. Ragged.

  When he was convinced the doctor was gone, he asked her, “Hey, tell me how you got here?—I mean how you came to be in Dr. Krone’s office.”

  She frowned. “I was simply walking down the street, but it was late. I wanted a pack of cigarettes, so I was heading to a 7-11. It was a Friday night, so I was going to get piss-and-shit drunk. There’s a stretch of lone road, trees at both sides of you, secluded, perfect for kidnapping. Dr. Krone came at me in the shadows, and I wake up hooked to the machine. He claimed he was a doctor cutting out my brain cancer, but I knew it was a lie. I have no health insurance. I’m broke. No doctor would go out of his way to save my ass. And the machine itself terrified me so much I knew he wasn’t a real doctor.”

  This time Edith asked a question. “Do you have any kids?”

  The question was a common one, and it always reminded him of Katie. “I was supposed to. My wife died in childbirth. We were stranded on the highway during a winter storm, we panicked, and help didn’t arrive until she bled too much.” He paused, taking in the horrible facts. “I lost them both.”

  Sympathy played out on her face. “That’s awful.”

  “Dr. Krone brought her back a few times. Dead and alive.”

  “Some things we’re not meant to experience again.”

  Edith squeezed her eyes hard. The action was so violent, her face flushed. Crow’s feet formed deep trenches around the sockets. She squeezed her eyes harder. Her fists were clenched and trembling at her sides. She was grunting under her breath. Her face turned bright cherry red. She was growling when a pack of cigarettes popped into her hands. She removed a lighter from her pocket and lit a smoke. Edith offered him one, and he accepted it, taking in a luxurious puff.

  “That’s amazing how you did that.”

  “But now my head’s on fire. It feels like razors are in my brains. And you can only do it so many times within a certain period of time, or else you’ll faint. I’ve exhausted myself. I’ve produced guns, keys to escape rooms, you name it, and I’m still fighting for my sanity.”

  “Then talk about something pleasant.” He thought hard. “Do you have kids?”

  “I gave birth to three children. They’re all two years apart with two different husbands. They’re both bastards. Men are all shit, no offense. I can sure pick ’em, huh?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s why I gave birth to all girls: Patricia, Claire, and Fiona. I miss them so much. The oldest will hit puberty soon. I’ll be paying out as much for cigarettes as I do for tampons. And sex, oh God, I’ll simply tell them the truth about men, and I’m sure it’ll set them straight. They’ll be lesbians by the time I’m through giving them their talks.

  “I’ve survived with my sister. She has a little girl too. It’s a Miller trait, I think. We’re trying to rid the world of men, so we keep pumping out girls.” She laughed softly. “Did I tell you both of my exes are in jail for evading child support? I’ve worked so many Merry Maid jobs and car washes and waitress gigs, I pray my kids can help me retire.”

  “We should fight our way out of here,” Craig challenged her, once learning her motivation. “Do it for your girls. Dr. Krone wants us to be scared. You said it. He gets off on this shit. We’re playing into his games.”

  “He wiped out my children in front of me.” She stubbed out the cigarette and the cruelty of the statement played out on her face. “My sister, she’s the one who did it. She drowned them in the bathtub one after the other, and I was helpless to watch.”

  “But they’re not really dead.”

  She wept, picturing it happening again in her mind. “I know, but it was so real.”

  “My dead wife tried to drown me, how do you think I feel? I was scared. Terrified out of my mind. You have to be strong, and hiding isn’t doing the trick.”

  “You’re a typical man trying to take charge.” Her steely eyes met his, and he backed down. “Leave me alone awhile. Back off, okay? Heart-to-heart talk is over.”

  He turned his back, disappointed, and feeling guilty and frustrated. She wouldn’t fight back. Perhaps she’d been in here too long to conceive of another battle plan. Or she was exhausted. She’d been in here far longer than he’d been.

  He continued down the opposite hall and stared at the walls, and soon, claustrophobia sank in. Craig couldn’t stand it here. He paced, uncomfortable, restless, antsy, and without the answers to his questions. Then he sat down. Stood up. Sat down again. He walked more halls, but they were all the same drab marble and equally boring. Couldn’t they give the dead a livelier place to sleep for eternity?

  The doors were locked. He tried every set. Then, he eyed the front door. Through the cracks, a thin arc of light shined through, and he caught the outline of two feet.

  Dr. Krone was waiting.

  A whisper snuck through the door. “Mr. Horsy, you’re restless in there. And I’m restless out here. Why not meet up?”

  “I want off of that machine,” he demanded, punching the door. “And I want you out of my mind. You don’t belong there.”

  “There’s so much malady deep inside you.” His words were pinched. “And I want to bleed it from you. Only then can you be healed. To draw out the malady, you must create malady.” Through gritted teeth he said, “I’m the professional, you’re the patient.”

  “I’m a healthy, sane person!” He pounded the door harder. “You’re the one with the malady. You’re full of shit. You turned my wife into a monster. You’re watching my every move. I don’t want to be here anymore. This is against my will.”

  Dr. Krone stifled his amusement, although poorly, his chuckles and snickers as childish as they were demeaning. “Your mind turned your wife into a monster. The subconscious does strange things when untreated. It’s not me.”

  “Your machine, your manipulations—it’s you, you son of a bitch!”

  “Oh, how can you be so sure I’m the bad guy?”

  “Poor Edith, you haven’t cured her. She knows about you, and so do I. And I’ve seen into your mind too, and it’s not a pretty sight. You were removing the brains from mental patients. Is that treating your subconscious?—who’s the monster, really? Maybe you should undergo your own treatment? What would your father say to that, or should I ask his corpse you’ve stashed in somebody else’s grave?—may he not rest in peace.”

  This time Dr. Krone struck the door with his fist. “You know nothing about me! I’m the doctor, you’re the patient. Know—your—place!”


  “This machine you’ve created, do you really understand it? This treatment is bullshit. It isn’t for me, it isn’t for Edith. It’s to fulfill your sick fantasies. My place, since you ask, is way the hell away from you.” He said this knowing he was helpless. “But you won’t let me.”

  “I’m the doctor,” Dr. Krone repeated, flustered and out of breath, “and you’re the patient.”

  Craig couldn’t take any more conversation with the lunatic. He stormed down the hall and checked in on Edith. On his way there, Dr. Krone issued one final warning. “Come out, or I’m coming in after you.”

  Awake in the Mausoleum

  Edith had fallen asleep. Was she really resting, he wondered. Could she in her own mind? He envied her if she was really asleep, the way she looked, so peaceful.

  “You poor thing.”

  He listened. The silence was reassuring. He stared at his hands. The blood crusted on his skin was now like orange rust. This was his baby’s blood. Katie’s blood. They were both gone. That would never change. Only here in this horrible place could they exist, and even then, it was tainted. It would be a beautiful thing if it was used for good. It started off that way, he recalled, with his moment in bed with Katie. He made love to Susan. He retaliated against his father who belittled his mother. He showed Janna and her friends in the parking lot what revenge was all about. He visited Alice, though she was still viable to him in real life. She could be reached again if he could escape his mind.

  He could start fresh.

  Craig was then attacked by a pain of self-loathing so strong he forced every thought from his mind to escape the reality of his regrets.

  Edith’s talk of fighting back interested him more. He tried to focus on Katie and home. He pictured taking a warm bath with her, perhaps a bottle of White Zinfandel to drink as they soaked. The idea was so pleasurable, but it wasn’t possible. He held his eyes shut and thought hard. He strained so much he coughed and forced himself to breathe normally again. Maybe Edith did something else to accomplish the feat. Again, he tried. A sharp stab shot throughout his skull as he held his breath, focused, strained, clenched his fists, imagined it, and he still came up empty.