Psycho Therapy

by Alan Spencer

  “You shouldn’t have stayed with him. Not for me, not for him, but for yourself. You should’ve jumped the shark. You should’ve jumped Jaws.”

  “Live and learn. But I’ve lived a good life. I have you. I lost you for a while after Katie. I never got to really console her death with you.” She touched his arm. “I’m so sorry, Craig.”

  He smiled. “Console me with fun now.”

  Craig raised his glass, and they toasted each other.

  He couldn’t resist bringing up another piece of information that could be true or not. “Did you ever cheat on Dad?”

  Tina kept a straight face, but the side of her lip twitched. She contained the lying smile. “No.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She pushed him. “Craig, what kind of a son are you by asking me these questions?”

  “I’m a son after the truth. Hey, I went to those court-appointed psychiatrist visits. Dr. Herbert has introspected me to death. ‘How do you feel?’ ‘What does that mean to you?’ ‘Did that hurt you?’ ‘How are you, emotionally?’ Psycho-babble hokey-pokey bullshit. I’ve always suspected you had a man on the side.” He stared her down. “Am I wrong? You can tell me. I won’t judge you. And I already know who it is.”

  Tina played with her coaster, spinning it back and forth. After fighting herself for thirty long seconds, it burst out of her like a confession, “Parker Stevens, okay? Man, that felt good! I’ve held that in for so long. Not even my sisters know about him.”

  “Do you still talk to him?”

  “I broke it off so long ago,” she confessed. “It felt wrong. Maybe it was revenge for me, and maybe I cared about Parker, but I couldn’t distinguish between the two feelings. It wasn’t fair to him and it wasn’t fair to me.”

  “So you slept with him?”

  A hard elbow to the ribs. “Craig Ryan Horsy, you’re full of questions today—and juicy ones too. That’s between a man and a woman and God.”

  “That’s sounds like something Parker would say. I imagine out of everybody in the history of the world, God has heard every private story and juicy secret. I’d kill to have a drunk conversation with God. I’d hear some stories.” He let the issue dwindle. “What’s Parker up to these days?”

  “You didn’t hear?” She was excited to disclose the nugget of truth. She always enjoyed fresh gossip. It was a prerequisite for any receptionist and part-time manicurist such as herself. “He had a falling out of faith. He renounced the church, and now, he works as a zookeeper in Florida. I think his father forced the church on him from such an early age, he couldn’t decide between personal faith and his family’s faith. I haven’t heard from him in a long time. But I miss him. He helped me through some hard times.”

  “He even tried to bless me without Dad knowing. That was scary.”

  Tina checked her watch, ready to move on from the talk of her philandering. “Are you up for a movie?”

  “We’re stinking drunk.”

  “So?—the theater’s just down the street.”

  “You’re right, why not?” He finished his drink. “Let’s saddle up and hit the road.”

  Tina looked him in the eyes. “I have to ask you something. I really kept that a secret, you know, my affair with Parker.” She came in close. “How did you find out about Parker and me? Seriously?”

  Alice Denny

  Alice Denny was Craig’s final obstacle, post Dr. Krone’s machine. He waited in her apartment complex’s parking lot in limbo. Visit her or leave. He couldn’t remove her from his mind. Months had gone by since his escape, and he couldn’t summon the courage to visit her. She still lived in the same apartment. What had she done since her miscarriage?—and what a way to remember somebody, he scolded himself. The hardest part would be breaking the ice. What would he say to an old friend?

  “Sorry” would be a start.

  He opened the car door. The door was halfway open when he paused. You can do this. You want to do this. If she doesn’t want to see you, she’ll make that clear.

  He brought flowers. Carnations. In high school on Valentine’s Day, students could buy them for one dollar and have them delivered to their sweethearts during class. He sent them to her. She wasn’t the type of girl to catch any boy’s admirations, but he always had a special feeling toward her. He couldn’t describe it. Friendly love or just friends, he couldn’t decide, and at the time, it didn’t matter as long as they stayed friends.

  Craig silently wished himself luck and approached her apartment. “Here goes nothing.”

  Once inside and up the stairs to her floor, he knocked on her door once. There was a shuffle from within, and the door was unbolted and thrown open. There she was, Alice Denny. Her face was blank. Unreadable. She wasn’t mad, or excited, or angry. They stared at each other. She noticed the carnations. Her eyes teared up, and she finally smiled. Alice hugged him so hard he had to take three steps to absorb the impact.

  He hugged her back. “I’m sorry, so sorry for what happened…”

  She wept and clutched onto him, refusing to let go of him. “You can’t leave. I’m not letting you leave again.”

  “No, I won’t. I promise.”

  “I scared you off, didn’t I? I’m sure that night overwhelmed you. How couldn’t it?”

  “You needed me.” He kissed her forehead. “I care about you so much. You were overwhelmed. You needed me.”

  “I love you.”

  And that’s when she kissed him on the mouth. It happened so fast, he was taken aback, but he wanted it. It was a sweet kiss. Craig kissed her back. “This…this is good.”

  After a moment, she let him in. “What brought you back?”

  He couldn’t give her an honest answer. Not the truth. He sighed, unable to commit to one explanation. “I have a lot of regrets I’m trying to address.”

  “You mean ever since your ordeal? I heard about that in the news. Are you okay?” Alice traced her hands along his eyelids and the indentions of his skull. “A paper said a doctor was experimenting on his patients at the mental asylums. What did he do to you?”

  “Wow, people are finding so much out about this. I thought it was kept quiet. Boy, I was wrong. The police swore there was a media blackout on this thing. Information seeps through the cracks, I guess. I can’t say exactly what he did to me,” he lied. “I was hooked to a machine. Poked and prodded. Why and for what purpose, its beats me. Investigators are still piecing it all together from the burned remains of his home. Hundreds of bodies were found there. I’m lucky to be alive.”

  “Your eyelids, they’re scarred from…”

  “Needles. I was going to visit Dr. Herbert, a psychologist, and undergo sessions for some issues I’m addressing. But I was kidnapped by this Dr. Krone asshole. He had access to my file information, and this doctor misled me into thinking I was undergoing a session, and then the rest is, well, a blur.”

  She petted his hair and kissed his eyes and the scars. Then they sat together on her couch. “I’m so glad you’re back. I thought I’d never see you again. I believed I’d catch you in public, or something, but that never happened. And here you are. Is your visit just because of your near-death experience?”

  “Yes and no,” he admitted. “Yes, because I’m trying to change my life, no, because I’ve always regretted the way things turned out between us. It’s about time I made a change. Losing Katie and my child marked a decline for me—and more so than the normal person, because I was already dealing with deep-down psychological shit and avoiding it. Katie’s death unraveled my coping mechanisms and I had nothing left but anger. My near-death experience was actually beneficial in some ways, though Dr. Krone wasn’t the right person to help me through my ordeal. Definitely not him.”

  He smiled, digging deeper into the memories to share with her. “I should’ve followed you to your house that Halloween night and gotten drunk with you and become your blood brother.”

  Alice’s face slackened. “Huh?—your blood brother?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah, you remember that Halloween back in high school. You invited me back to your house, but I turned you down.”

  “How did you know I wanted you to be my blood brother?”

  Craig clammed up, then said, “I—uh—um, well…you told me about it once.”

  “Gosh, that was forever ago,” she whistled. “I got really drunk that night. And high. Yeah, you missed out, buddy.”

  She let it go, too happy to see him to be caught up in the details of high school. Instead, she clasped his hands into hers. “I’ve loved you for the longest time. You didn’t know it, though.”

  “I didn’t,” he admitted. “I was a fool. But whatever we do, let’s take it slow.”

  Alice kissed his cheek. She was still trying to catch up for lost time. “I’m so sorry about your father. I wanted to go to the funeral, but I wasn’t sure if seeing me would hurt you, or confuse you, or scare you, or what. Believe me, I wanted to be there for you. I know you and your dad weren’t the closest, but still, it’s hard for anybody to lose a father.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he reassured her. “It’s an awkward thing. I was going through some bad shit. It’s probably for the best I was left alone. I was drinking hardcore, hating my job, hating everything.”

  “Your ordeal really turned you around. It’s amazing how much you’ve changed. Have you been in contact with your mom?”

  “We’re drinking buddies now. Did you know she cheated on my dad?”

  “I don’t blame her for one second. Everybody in the neighborhood knew your dad was philandering. A new girl every other month is what I heard. No offense.”

  “It’s true, and none taken. She’s a strong woman. And she deserved better, though my dad had his winning qualities despite his less-desirable traits. Did you know who her fling was?”

  “I have no clue.”

  He paused for dramatic effect and then said, “Parker Stevens.”

  She playfully slapped his arm. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! Parker Stevens, the priest? Seriously? Wow, that’s amazing. I remember when she tried to get you baptized when Brandon was at work. People gossiped like crazy about that. Your poor mother. What he put her through, I’m sure she’s living it up now being single.”

  “God rest his soul, that man was an asshole. I had a strange childhood. I keep remembering more and more about it. My memories are pretty strange.”

  “Then let’s give you some new memories.”

  She kissed him full on the lips, their tongues meeting for the first time. He wrapped his arms around her, and they folded onto the couch, Alice on top. Their bodies grew naturally closer, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the warmth of a woman. “You’re such a good kisser.”

  “It’d say practice makes perfect, but it’s been a while.”

  “Me too. But that’s okay. Two tenderfoots make a chief.”

  “What does that mean?” Craig laughed. “No seriously, explain it to me.”

  Alice nibbled his ear. “I don’t have a clue. It makes no sense.”

  “This does,” he said, kissing her nose. “I’m such an idiot. How come I didn’t come to my senses sooner? I’m so stubborn.”

  “It’s in the past now. You’re here. It’s me and you and that’s all that matters. We have so much to catch up on.”

  “We have all the time in the world,” Craig said, holding her in his arms. “Like you said, two tenderfoots make a chief.”

  About the Author

  Alan Spencer spends an inordinate amount of time watching horror movies, writing film reviews for Cinesploitation, columns for Morpheus Tales magazine, and editing his upcoming novels. Psycho Therapy is his third novel released by Samhain Publishing, alongside B-Movie Reels and B-Movie Attack. The author loves e-mails, so please e-mail him at alanspencer26@hotmail.com, or visit his blog at horroralan.blogspot.com.

  Look for these titles by Alan Spencer

  Now Available:

  B-Movie Reels

  B-Movie Attack

  Off of the screen and out for blood!

  B-Movie Reels

  © 2012 Alan Spencer

  Andy Ryerson, a film school graduate, has been hired to write commentary on two dozen cheap, b-horror movies. It seems harmless enough, and he might even enjoy it. But the people in the town around him won’t enjoy it at all when one by one, the films he watches come to life. Andy chose the wrong projector to screen his movies. This one is out for blood. While Andy grumbles about low budgets and poor production values, a hungry butcher, a plague of rotting zombies, demonic vampires, a mallet-toting killer, flesh-eating locusts, and many other terrors descend on the unsuspecting innocent. By the time he realizes what he’s done, the town is teeming with evil, and it’s up to Andy and the few survivors left to stop the celluloid horror he’s unleashed.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for B-Movie Reels:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Gideon, your guide to grand illusion! Tonight, you will be shocked and awed. I won’t patronize you with gags from kid’s books. This is a real stage. What you see is what it is. No tricks of light, no aversion tactics, I won’t pull rabbits out of hats, juggle fire, tear newspapers and reconstruct them, and I won’t saw anyone in half because that’s been done to death. But we do have a showgirl!”

  Matthew Bard, a security guard at “The Comedy Tavern,” watched the show on amateur talent night with limited enthusiasm, as did the audience. He recognized Bunny Anderson on stage; she was the blonde adorned in a purple sequined outfit that revealed her long silky legs. She smiled and waved to the crowd of regulars, pretending to live up to a higher standard of showmanship. Gideon paid her thirty dollars to take the night off of her barmaid gig to be his helper. “Stand up there and look good,” he’d overheard Gideon instruct Bunny at rehearsal. “When I call the audience up to the stage, usher them right to where I point. Easiest thirty bucks you’ll ever earn, darling.”

  Gideon was dressed the part. The magician wore a loose purple silk shirt and black leather pants. A ridiculous Abraham Lincoln top hat rested on his head. His cheeks were poked with acne scars, and around the eyes, dark saucers lent the performer a strung out sheen. The gray hair on his chin was shaved into an upside down triangle. The overall attempt was ill-realized but good enough for amateur night.

  Playing up the crowd, Gideon waved his nine-inch wand, gesturing as he spoke, “This is real magic, ladies and gentlemen. I am an oracle.” He cupped his ear, acting like he hadn’t heard his own question. “What is an oracle, you might be asking? It’s what the Romans called those who could speak to the gods. But I am not an alchemist; I cannot cure diseases and save lives. I use the gods to entertain and delight. I have access between the living and dead worlds, you see, ladies and gentlemen. They’ve taught me magic beyond any illusionist’s ability. I am a medium between the spirits and living world.” Extending his arms as if to give the crowd a hug, he announced with startling vigor, “I am Gideon.”

  “So do something, Gideon!”

  “Yeah, it’s been five minutes—what the hell?”

  "This is a magic show, right?"

  Matthew smiled at the ribbing; the man was being heckled before he’d even started.

  “I see you’re ready to be amazed!” He shuffled to the left side of Bunny and then pointed his finger in the direction of the crowd. “I’m going to call out twenty people from the audience to sit in these chairs behind me. Any brave volunteers?”

  Matthew watched the chairs, curious as to their function. He’d helped place them hours ago for ten bucks. He recalled the cool touch of Gideon’s handshake through his silk gloves—like a piano man’s—and the soft treble in his voice, the purr of a male lion. “Ten bucks says you can help me set up my stage. What do you say, my good man?”

  Gideon selected twenty volunteers from the audience, and Bunny escorted them to their places. It was three minutes later the audience participants were seated and ready for the trick to unfold.

  The performer dragged two
metal poles on stage, one from which a purple curtain was unrolled, and he clipped that curtain to the other pole by two hooks. He reappeared behind the veil, the audience members hidden by a layer of fabric. “I will make these twenty people disappear. They are not paid or have ever seen me before. We are all strangers under this roof. I will invite you to walk on stage and double-check my claims.” Hamming up his act, he boasted the promise, “I, Gideon, will make them vanish and then reappear!”

  The crowd’s interest heated up. They begged to be entertained. Hands clapped, while those at the bar walked in closer for a better view. There were about one-hundred and thirty people in “The Comedy Tavern,” including the ones on stage, each with faces ready to be dazzled.

  “I will count to three, and with the wave of my wand, I will make them vanish.”

  The club’s floors shook with the stomping of feet. Whistles pierced the air. Drinks were refilled and cigarettes lit. Gideon absorbed the skeptical comments before continuing the show.

  “I’d like to see the asshole pull it off.”

  “This bar’s too small for disappearing acts.”

  “Amateur hack is going to embarrass himself.”

  “Dork sure looks like he believes in magic.”

  The performer closed his eyes and extended his arms up to the ceiling, prepared to disprove their doubts. “I ask you to count to three, audience.”

  The audience responded with a boisterous shout: “ONE!”

  “I call upon you,” he whispered to himself, channeling a greater force. “I call upon the gods, make them disappear.”

  “TWO!”

  The shuffle of many chairs at once, Gideon peeled back the curtain the split-second he knew the gods had acquiesced upon his wishes.

  “THREE!”

  The stage revealed, the chairs were emptied as many of the legs rattled the floor and then momentarily settled. The audience clapped, but then abruptly stopped their accolades when they noticed certain members in the crowd had disappeared as well. The bartender went missing in a blink; the shot glass and bottle of scotch in his hands shattered against the floor, dropped. The audience was less than half of what they were before the show began. A mix of worry and concern sent nervous chatter throughout the club. Matthew wasn’t sure how to react himself, standing rigid and unconfident; his beefy size couldn’t fight tonight’s problem. He surveyed the people in their seats again, remembering those who’d been sitting one moment, and the next there was nothing, only the sharp scuffle of chairs.