Hutch Nightmare Men

by L. J. Vickery

  “Go on.”

  “They said yes! I would be trainable. They noticed I had good people skills, and said with firm guidance I’d do an adequate job talking to small-town boards and stuff, convincing them a store in their area would benefit everybody.”

  “And how did you take that?”

  “I couldn’t believe it, but I wanted to prove myself.” Paxton brought his head up, became passionate. “Because look what they did for me. A guy with no skills, no higher education. They were giving me a life. Making me somebody.” His amazement was apparent. “God, I love my company.”

  Hutch saw it all. A young man, denigrated by his mother, a girlfriend who reinforced his intelligence insecurities. A company, benevolent in a corporate kind of way, seeing a raw recruit, a rough-cut diamond whom they could hone…for probably far less than they had to offer a college grad. A textbook, golden-handcuffs scenario for someone not used to playing with the big-boys. How to unravel that in one session… Hutch shook his head.

  Paxton kept talking. “So, like I told you before, even though Seleda liked my raise, she didn’t like the travel because I wasn’t around to pay attention to her. So while I was gone, she started banging one of my roommates.”

  “And how did you respond?”

  “I left.”

  “Left her, or left your apartment?”

  “Both.”

  “And the two friends who didn’t sleep with her?”

  “We’re still buddies. They’re good guys. Which is awesome because I haven’t had time, lately, to make new friends.”

  Hutch indicated the nice shoes Paxton had put aside the first day he arrived. “And obviously you’ve done well for yourself.”

  Paxton’s shoulders relaxed for the first time since he’d begun talking. “I do okay. I’m careful with my money. I have a really nice apartment in a good part of the city. I learned to cook so I don’t waste money on takeout, and I don’t have any girlfriends to bleed my dry. Occasionally I splurge.” He grinned. “I like shoes.”

  “Not unusual for someone who’s grown up poor,” Hutch revealed, returning his smile.

  “Oh yeah? That’s interesting.” He furrowed his brow. “Now, tell me what else you figured out.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Here’s where things would get tricky. In real life, Hutch would never hand a patient his diagnosis in one session. But he only had a few more hours until day’s end, and tomorrow he’d be gone.

  “I don’t like this,” he revealed. “If you’d come to my office, it would take a lot of sessions to bring us to where we are now.”

  “Or a bunch of drugs,” Paxton quipped, then colored up. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

  Hutch chuckled. “Don’t be sorry. I like it. I’m going to need somebody to keep me on the straight and narrow from now on. I’d hate to slip up.”

  “Does that mean you want to see me once we’re out of here?”

  “Yeah. I’d like that.” Hutch realized he meant it. He reached down and grabbed the pen and yellow pad, writing, then tearing off the sheet. “My address and phone number. But you should memorize it. Who knows what we’ll, uh, be able to bring back with us to the real world?”

  Paxton looked incredulous…and pleased. “Cool. Can I give you mine?”

  Hutch passed over the paper. “I’d feel bad if you didn’t.”

  He received Paxton’s info, immediately committing it to memory while the younger man’s demeanor grew serious. Paxton speared him with a solemn gaze.

  “Good. Now that we’re ‘besties’, tell me what’s wrong in my head.”

  Hutch wasn’t excited about this. How could he put things so he didn’t sound judgmental or clinical? He started slowly. “Your biggest issue, as far as I can tell, is self-esteem. You’re a smart guy, Paxton—”

  “No. I’m not.” He shook his head.

  “You are,” Hutch said pointedly, “but your attitude, like stopping me when I’m about to compliment you, holds you back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hutch needed to make himself very clear. “When you’re not thinking about your inadequacies, you’re very engaging, offering a lot of insight, as you did when I was puzzling over Darby.”

  “That’s all you. It’s because—”

  “It’s not me. I didn’t lead you to anything. Your perceptiveness and comprehension while I worked things out were extremely helpful.”

  His eyes grew large. “They were?”

  “Absolutely. I didn’t tell you at the time, because you would have overthought your responses and shut down.”

  Paxton looked dazed, but nodded.

  “And you haven’t heard it enough. You’re bright. Your mother, your ex-girlfriend, even your company are full of crap. They made…make you feel less than you are.”

  “My dad used to tell me I was smart,” Paxton muttered to himself, then scowled, obviously processing Hutch’s words. “My company? No. You’ve got that wrong.” He shook his head. “They’ve given me everything.”

  He’d go at this diplomatically. “Of course they have. They’ve taken good care of you. But the words they used, the ones you remember, the ones you repeated to me about when you were elevated to your new position, they spoke of you being ‘trainable’. That with ‘firm guidance you could do an adequate job’. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. But knowing you and your history, they approached it from that angle. I’m going out on a limb here, but my guess would be they retained you for far less than if they’d hired an outsider with a degree.”

  Paxton listened carefully.

  “The people skills they mentioned—which I also noticed once I got past your bluster—make you a perfect fit for their position. And you’ve already proven your loyalty to them, something worth a lot in today’s disposable job society.”

  Paxton sat very still, absorbing.

  This was why Hutch didn’t like the hurriedness of his intervention. These revelations should have come to Paxton slowly, realizing them on his own.

  “What else,” he finally asked gruffly.

  “You’re shutting yourself off from forming relationships.” Right. And I should talk.

  “I have friends,” he insisted.

  “Old friends, but no new ones. I noticed you didn’t mention going out for drinks with colleagues, or trolling for new girlfriends.”

  “I’m too busy.”

  “Bullshit.” In his practice, he never used profanity, but it felt necessary—and right— here. “When you first met me, you were…cold, nearly monosyllabic. I wasn’t someone you needed to charm for your job, so I wasn’t worth your effort.”

  “But I—”

  Hutch held up a hand. “I know. You began engaging fairly rapidly, but it’s because you were stuck with me.” He offered a crooked smile.

  “You could be right,” he huffed.

  “And why would you not want friends?” Hutch would let him ponder that, since it was his second biggest issue.

  “Because they’re too much trouble?” he offered rapidly. Too rapidly.

  Hutch stared him down.

  “Fine.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t trust anybody.”

  “You’ve got it.” Hutch approved. “Betrayed by your mother, your girlfriend, one of your good buddies. It doesn’t take much to extrapolate your need to keep those kinds of relationships out of your life.”

  “Isn’t it better, though?” he puzzled. “Why would I want people in my life who will screw me over?”

  “Not ‘will’, ‘might’. There’s a big difference. Folks you let in might take advantage of your trust, but not all will. Look at the two friends you have. They’ve been great. Wouldn’t you want more like them? If you don’t let down your barriers, there’s slim chance you’ll meet more good ones. Females included.”

  He grunted. “You make me sound like a loser.”

  Hutch shook his head. “Listen to your words. Self-denigration again. You use it a lot to fight back. Are you a loser, Paxton, or
someone zealously guarding a comfortable place you’ve carved out for yourself?”

  “I…I…” A look of pain crossed his face. “Geezus, Doc. You sure know how to pack a punch.” He blew out a breath. “Let’s say I agree. How do I fix it?”

  “That’s not for me to decide. That’s where the work goes back to you. I’ve pointed out some issues that are holding you back. You have to decide whether they’re important and need to be dealt with, or if you think I’m up my ass.”

  Paxton laughed, a painful sound. “You’re not up your ass, Doc. But I’m not sure…” He groaned and came to his feet. “If I can’t fix it, if I can’t fix whatever this Beletseri chick has brought me here to do, will I go to Hell?”

  If Hutch read the situation correctly, then yes. Should he be honest with Paxton? He pondered the pros and cons, ready to deliver the bad news, but apparently, he’d been quiet too long.

  Paxton let out an angry bellow, then turned anguished eyes to Hutch. “It’s pretty clear, isn’t it? I need to figure myself out or I’m screwed.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Darby couldn’t contain herself. She’d been thinking about Hutch all day. She lay down in bed and noted her anticipation, the excitement completely opposite from the norm of her last few months. Her dream-man had dulled the edges of her attack, made it palatable when he was with her, hence saving her from what she perceived as an inevitable mental breakdown.

  She anticipated, giddily, that within a few nights, he’d turn her nightmare on its ear and expunge it from her sleep-state altogether.

  “Hutch.” She said his name as she drifted off to sleep.

  Cars whipped past her at high speed. She stood frozen in the middle of a multi-lane highway, the raised sidewalks an insurmountable goal. She looked up.

  Hutch?

  He wasn’t there. She closed her eyes and bade his presence.

  Still nothing.

  But…she swallowed, if he were here he’d tell her it was her dream and she was in charge. She focused intently on the cars and…wow, changed them to turtles. Exultant, she lightly pranced across their backs until she reached safety.

  There. Easy.

  She skipped down the sidewalk, suddenly full of people, searching every face. Surely, he was here, somewhere.

  Grass grew from people’s heads and she couldn’t see farther than a few feet. Her hands became machetes, and careful of their craniums, she hacked away, climbing onto shoulders as she carved out a path.

  Hutch, she called.

  A ghost of him appeared, but it was fake. False. Her Hutch, real Hutch, appeared physical and spoke, he didn’t waft. Go away, she shook her fists and yelled at the imposter. What have you done with him?

  The ghost grabbed her hands and pulled her free of the crowd, immersing her in a vat of strawberry jam.

  You can’t leave me! She yelled as he flitted and flickered above her, turning into a small bug to be immediately devoured by a passing bird.

  Her tongue grew long and dipped into the red confection. Mmm, sweet. She licked more, and a tickling, popping sensation bloomed in her mouth. She laughed. Pop-rocks. She remembered them. They exploded into colors that became fireworks, making her giggle.

  Where is Hutch? He’d like this. He should be with me.

  She grabbed a tangible bolt of light from the raucous display, and still laughing, rode it down a street. A familiar street. Happiness flooded her chest. Mom, Dad, I’m home.

  The house loomed darkly in the shadows of a setting sun. Are they asleep? she wondered, drawing nearer.

  She reared back. The clapboards were decaying, the front step had crumbled, and the roof was rotting. Horrified, she called out. Mom! Dad!

  A huge pile of sand appeared in the house’s place. She fell from above, landing on her knees and dug frantically. Hutch, help me! she cried. But he didn’t appear. Had she lost him like she’d lost her parents?

  The ground collapsed beneath her and she fell into a hole, grabbing fistfuls of sand on her way to…

  The grocery store? Not Arkie’s, but a big, wide-aisled, well-lit supermarket. She wheeled two carriages and scooped food from the shelves into both. One quickly filled, but the other remained empty no matter how much she threw in.

  No, she told the cereal box on top of the full load. Don’t you move, too. She reached for a wiggling bag of coffee and shoved it into the vacant cart, holding it down with both hands. When it stopped fighting, she let it go and it laid there, flat, empty.

  Well, dammit. She complained, looking down. Now I have to go.

  With a resigned huff, she shoved both carriages away. They flew the length of the store, and satisfied, she lay back, floating.

  The vortex.

  Why couldn’t she avoid it? It began to tug. She looked around, hopeful she’d see Hutch, but he still wasn’t there.

  This time, she fought the pull. She dug her sneakers into the street and grabbed for a light pole, wrapping her arms and legs around it. An enormous wind rose, adding to the wrench toward Arkie’s, yet still she battled.

  I won’t, she yelled. It’s over.

  But the thief who always came to her in the store, walked through the squall as if it didn’t exist, heading straight for her.

  She screamed. You can’t get me! I’m not in there.

  He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, tearing her away from the pole to throw her toward the store. And…

  …the coffee pot. She had it in her hand. What was she to do? Her feet moved toward the back room. Right. She had to clean and fill it. But something was going to happen. The papers. They wouldn’t be there. The man… Something she needed to accomplish…

  I know!

  She smashed the pot against the side of the sink, gripping the handle which now had jagged shards of glass attached. Sinking to the floor, holding her home-made weapon, she crawled to the door, peeking out the crack.

  When the bad men came, she’d be ready. She wished Hutch was with her, but he’d approve.

  She was in charge of this nightmare now.

  Darby bolted upright. Awake. Sweat soaked her pajamas, and her heart pounded loudly. She glanced at the clock. Two forty-six a.m.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. She forced herself to breathe.

  Holy shit! She beat the dream.

  Just as Hutch said. She’d taken control and changed things. She’d woken up before the inevitable beating. Her heart slowed.

  But where was he? She’d made him up, populated her dreams with him, but he’d gone away? Why hadn’t she been able to call him?

  She lay back on her pillow.

  Had her mind conjured him to help her defeat the nightmare, and once she’d acquired power over it, her brain jettisoned him? It sounded reasonable, but a pout settled on her lips.

  She didn’t care if she was fixed. She wanted him. Him. Not the help he’d provided, but the man, himself.

  She’d imagined kissing him this time, and hadn’t been given the opportunity. Which sucked. She never allowed herself to be attracted to anyone. Not in a long time, anyway. But she’d let loose with Hutch…because he was made up. Dammit. Fictional.

  There was an hour left to sleep. She settled in under the blankets and closed her eyes. I’ll make him come to me.

  Her alarm rang. Groggily she reached over and hit the button before the thought slapped her. She’d dreamed. Something about puppies and spoons, but there’d been no Hutch. She growled. Would he stay absent now that she had a handle on her nightmare?

  No time to ponder, she leaped from the bed and went through her morning routine, hitting the street forty minutes later, heading to work.

  It was cold. Quiet. An occasional dog barked, and a few stragglers and early morning commuters in cars broke the silence. For the first time in months, she didn’t clutch the pepper spray in her pocket. Head held high, yet still alert, the suffocating fear of morning had disappeared.

  “Thank you, Hutch,” she whispered, the words a visible cloud of
vapor. If she never conjured him again, at least she had this. Peace. She hoped it lasted.

  “Morning, Arkie,” she pushed into the warmth of the store, removed her mittens, and grabbed the pots, going directly to the back to clean and fill them.

  “Morning, Darby,” Arkie said when she got back. He’d placed a chair behind the register and had been sitting down. He lifted his considerable girth from the seat.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Gout’s acting up,” he grunted.

  “You need me to work more hours?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “Cy’s gonna take over my shift. I need to take some time off.”

  Darby bit back a groan. “Nice of him to help out.” It sounded sarcastic, but… Yeah. It was.

  “I’ve warned him not to mess with you,” Arkie told her, buzzing himself out. “And he doesn’t know yet, nobody does,” he warned, scowling, “but I had one of those surveillance cameras put in over the weekend. If he steals from me or gives you a hard time, I’ll see it.”

  The camera had been a long time coming, and something she’d argued for. “Why now, Arkie?”

  He shrugged. “Getting old. Thinking I might cut down on my overnights, you know? But I’m not dead. I still want to keep an eye on things.”

  “That’s good,” she agreed, as he bundled up. “You got it hooked into some central, monitoring company?”

  “Hell, no. Nobody’s business but mine. It’s recording to a computer. The guy who installed it is gonna come back and show me how to use it.”

  Aaand, don’t hold your breath, Darby. She knew Arkie. He was old school. He wouldn’t learn how the thing worked, and wouldn’t look at it unless something drastic happened.

  Still, it was better than nothing.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hutch woke up to the fire, the darkness, and his two companions. He hadn’t dreamed. Nothing had changed. He figured he might come to in the parking garage, or his condo. Guess that hadn’t happened. He sat up and stretched.