Hutch Nightmare Men

by L. J. Vickery

  “I just had some great pancakes at a diner on South 7th, and I’m walking to my car. The GPS says it’ll take me eight minutes to get to you.”

  “I’ve never been to that diner,” she answered, inanely, clearly not operating on all cylinders. He must think I’m an idiot.

  “I’ll bring you. Tomorrow.”

  “I work every morning.”

  “No days off?” A car door had opened and closed.

  “When I’m not at Arkie’s, I work at the shelter.”

  “A women’s shelter?”

  She grinned, despite her total confusion. “No. Animal shelter. I love dogs and cats.”

  “Ever had one?” he asked.

  “Growing up. One. A dog.” She didn’t want to think about it.

  He sighed. “I always wanted one, but my parents didn’t let me.”

  “You can get one, now,” she suggested. “You’re a grown up.”

  “I work. And live in the city.” He paused. “Listen, do you want to keep talking, or wait until I get there.”

  “No. Don’t hang up,” she said hurriedly, feeling an inexplicable panic. “If you go away…I might find out I made this up.”

  “Not making it up,” he told her, gruffly. “And I’m not going anywhere, except to see you. Tell me more about the dogs.”

  “I just placed one with a co-worker. His name is Jersey.”

  “The person you work with is named Jersey?”

  “No. The dog, silly. My colleague is Seth.”

  Hearing his laugh—his wonderful laugh—she knew he teased.

  “Smart-ass,” she sent back.

  “That’s something I liked about you, right off the bat. You use profanity like it’s everyday language.”

  Darby blinked. Doesn’t everybody? “Chicago’s not much for swearing?” She could tease, too.

  “My parents weren’t much for swearing,” he chuckled. “One, f-bomb and I’d be grounded for three days.”

  “Harsh,” she replied. Finally relaxing, she realized she still gripped the bat, and put it back in its spot beneath the counter. “My Dad had a potty-mouth, and my mother gave up trying to curb it long before I got to the age where I thought it was cool.”

  “How old are you, anyway?” he asked.

  “Thirty-two. And you?”

  “Thirty-nine.”

  “Ever been married?” Oh, shit! “Are you married?” She bit her lip, waiting for his answer.

  “No. I’ve never been married.”

  She let out her breath in relief. If this was her Hutch, she wanted him to be her Hutch. She’d made him gorgeous… Darby amended that thought, sucking in her lip. She hadn’t made him.

  He interrupted her thoughts. “Any significant others for you?”

  “None,” she answered honestly. “Not for a very long time.”

  “Too bad.” But he sounded pleased.

  “No time.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “You’re almost here, aren’t you?”

  “Three minutes away.”

  “Hutch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if you don’t like me?”

  “Not a chance. What if you don’t like me?”

  She laughed. “Then I’ll send you packing.”

  “Not before we’ve had a chance to talk. There’s something important we need to discuss.”

  “My nightmare?” she asked.

  “For starters.”

  Excitement, disbelief, trepidation, they all congealed into one big ball in her stomach. She was about to meet her very own shrink… The man of her dreams.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hutch parked the car out front and looked up at the sign. He sucked in a breath. It was exactly as he’d seen it. In real-time, it held him immobile. He wanted to leap from the car and meet Darby, but his legs refused to obey.

  “Are you coming in?” Her voice in his ear roused him.

  His laugh was wry. “I can’t seem to move,” he admitted. “Now that I’m here, I’m nervous. It hardly seems real.”

  “Then I’m coming out.”

  “No. Don’t. It’s cold. I’ll come in. I just need a minute.”

  “You have one more, then my head’s going to explode. Got it?”

  He laughed again, his tension easing. “That’s a great motivator. Not possible, but still… You could make it happen in your dreams.”

  “Ewww. Please. I don’t need brain blasts on top of my already fucked up nightmares.”

  “No. You don’t,” he returned seriously. He reached for his door and sucked up his courage. “I’m coming in.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  She didn’t sound nearly as freaked as he felt. The tables had clearly turned. Was she a calm person, despite her recent trauma? He swung his legs out of the car and asked, “Can I hang up, so I have both hands empty?”

  “Why would you need your hands empty?”

  He could almost see her wrinkling her freckled nose.

  “Because I need to hug you.”

  “Oh.” Had she gasped?

  He stood, uncertain, beside his car. “Is that a yes?”

  “Uh, yeah. But I think I should warn you, I already, um, kind of have a crush on you.”

  His smile was spontaneous. “Then we’re on the same page. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Okay.” Click.

  Now or never. He hit the lock on his car, a loud chirp in the darkness, and strode forward, suddenly eager. How would she feel in his arms? What would she smell like? A funny thought, but heavy perfumes turned him off. Thanks, Mom.

  Before he could reach to enter, the door opened, and there she was.

  He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. She was tiny, and way more beautiful than in her dreams.

  “Darby,” he managed.

  She nodded, her eyes wide, then launched herself at him.

  He caught her mid-air, and she wrapped her legs around his middle. His arms flew to her waist, holding her aloft, hugging her tightly as they caressed their way to her back. She clung to his neck, burying her face in the front of his coat. Great wracking sobs shook her body.

  “Shhh, shhh,” he soothed, moving them both out of the cold and into the store. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  Still holding her aloft with one arm under her buttocks, he stroked her hair. Long. Soft. His nose came down on the top of her head. Cherry blossoms. His body responded to her with a deep tremor. He could hold her forever.

  “Everything’s fine,” he crooned. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Minutes passed before she calmed, sobs turning to sniffles, then sniffles to giggles.

  “What?” he asked. God, she amused him.

  “I attacked you, now you’re covered in snot.”

  “My favorite new effluent,” he quipped. Any other time, with anyone else, he would have been irritated, but with her he liked it. A lot.

  “Umm, you can let me down now,” she suggested timidly.

  He smiled into her hair. “Do I have to?”

  She smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “Yes. I need to get a look at you.”

  He continued to tease. “I’m not at my best right now. I’m covered in mucus.”

  Her body shook with laughter. “Hutch?”

  He loved her voice. “Yes, Darby?”

  “I think I’m really going to like you.”

  “Good.” He let her slide down his body and took a reluctant step back. His eyes met hers, wet lashes framing a verdant green. “Because I’m already there.”

  She dropped her gaze. “You’re really good looking.”

  “In your dream, you called me handsome.”

  He could see a blush move up her face. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. And I’m going to hold you to it.”

  “Okay.” She looked up, twisting her hands together, nervously. “Would you, uh, like a cup of coffee?”

  “I had ten or twelve at the diner, but another one would be okay.” What he really neede
d was a piss. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

  She gave him a crooked, watery smile. “Through the back. Where I rinse the pots.”

  “I know the way.”

  Now that he found her, he didn’t want to leave her for a minute, but that was crazy. Though danger was imminent, it wasn’t going to jump out in the few minutes it took to relieve himself.

  He walked to the back and found a small, cramped bathroom, stark but clean, where he took care of business. He chuckled. Not consciously urinating for weeks had made him appreciate the action.

  By the time he came back into the main store, Darby had retreated around the counter to ring out a customer. He took time to peruse the aisles. Typical fare. Milk, eggs, snacks, beer and scratch tickets. The smell of stale pastry and bitter coffee, overlaid with faded traces of industrial floor cleaner.

  The buyer of pipe tobacco left, and the bells over the door rang. He liked it. A throwback to the electronic chimes used in higher-end establishments. He came out from between rows.

  “Your coffee.” She pushed the cup toward him, then pointed to the far end of the counter where he saw a stool.

  “I made you a spot to sit. I’m not allowed to have you behind here, with me.”

  “This is fine.” Although he didn’t like the distance between them, he sat and smiled. She’d put packets of sugar and a bunch of creamers on top of the covered cup.

  “Where do you want to start?” Darby chewed her bottom lip.

  He thought to put her at ease. “I’ll go first.”

  She nodded, moving closer, resting her hip on the surface opposite him.

  “You already know I’m a psychiatrist. I live and practice in Chicago, having grown up there. I’m an only child. My parents are both living, and attempt to interfere in my life almost daily. Not—”

  “You’re lucky,” she interrupted.

  He raised a brow. “How so?”

  “You still have your parents. Mine are both gone.”

  He sent her a real, not clinically feigned, look of commiseration, waiting for her to say more.

  She didn’t.

  He’d think of a different way to get her to talk. “And as I told you before, no dogs growing up. Lots of sports, though. I played football, baseball…”

  Her breath caught. He knew that would be a trigger. Her dreams had included a baseball, and him in a uniform rounding bases.

  “You like baseball?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Once.”

  “Too bad it’s winter. I’d take you to a Twins game.”

  The lines around her mouth hardened. A definite sore spot.

  “Anyway, back to me…”

  “What do you do for fun?” she interjected.

  “Fun?” He had to think. “I run, and kickbox. I love that. I have a trainer who comes every morning to work me out.”

  She tipped her head. “A trainer? Who comes to you?”

  He needed to tread lightly, aware she didn’t have much.

  “He’s more like a friend, but yes, he comes to my place.”

  “You have a big apartment?”

  The windows, alone, overlooking the Chicago skyline, were twice as long as the entire convenience store.

  “Big enough,” he hedged.

  “Anything else?”

  “Anything else, what?” He’d lost track of the thread, measuring his disclosures.

  “For fun. You know, skiing, traveling, reading…”

  “I read,” he told her, “probably too much. But I don’t ski, and I don’t vacation, unless my parents pressure me to join them. It’s no fun traveling alone.”

  “Right. You said no girlfriend. But what about friends?”

  He shrugged. “I’m thirty-nine. All my friends are married with kids. As honorary Uncle Hutch, I come around occasionally, but I don’t make a pest of myself.”

  She nodded as if she understood.

  “So that’s me, in a nutshell. Now, what about you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Darby really didn’t want to talk about herself. Next to Hutch, she was a loser. She’d glimpsed the car he drove, a sporty, streamlined ride that probably cost more than she’d made her whole time at Arkie’s.

  “Not much to tell.” She picked up a rag and started wiping the counter. “My surname is Peltor. I grew up in the suburbs of Minneapolis. When my parents died, I kept the house for a while, then sold it and moved to the city five years ago. I work Monday through Thursday, seven hours every day, and on Friday, two. Then I go to the shelter. They pay me for eight hours on Friday, and my work over the weekend is volunteer.”

  She stole a glance at his face. Impassive. Just what she expected. He was a freaking therapist, after all. Darby sighed and continued.

  “Four months ago the store got robbed.” She noted a flinch. “I got beat up as collateral damage, and started having nightmares. End of story.”

  He didn’t meet her eyes. “Did you consider therapy?”

  She snorted. “Yeah. I did. It was a public option with the shitty insurance I have. They gave me pills and said I’d be fine.”

  Now, it was more than a flinch. It was an uncomfortable shifting.

  “That’s not what they should have done.” His voice became gruff. “They should have given you counseling.”

  “Well, you get what you can afford. But enough about that.” She stopped puttering. “Tell me how you came to my dreams, and why you’re here.”

  He ran a hand over his face which sported a thick, dark scruff. She remembered him as clean-shaven in her dreams. That he’d chosen her tonight over good grooming showed promise.

  “This is going to get uncomfortable for me.” His deep brown eyes held a question.

  “You don’t want to tell me. Why?”

  “Because I’m afraid you’ll think less of me. In your dreams, you had me pegged as a superhero. The reality is, I’m far less.”

  She leaned toward him. “You came all the way here, so I know you’ve already considered what you’ll tell me. Why hesitate now?”

  He put a hand over hers, dwarfing it. “You’re more than I expected. In your dreams I felt an attraction, a protective thing. Here, now, the attraction is real and I’m experiencing a visceral…connection. I’m afraid when I reveal myself, you’ll tell me to leave.”

  She narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, impatiently. “Have you murdered anybody?”

  “Of course not!” he exclaimed.

  “Rape?”

  “No.” The thought was clearly appalling.

  “Steal money from little old ladies?”

  He blinked and hesitated.

  “What? You’re kidding!” She backed up a step.

  “No, no. Not like that.” He implored her. “Promise you’ll listen to my whole story before you judge. If you want me to leave after that, I will.”

  She couldn’t have read him that incorrectly. The “old ladies” thing had been a joke. “Okay. Tell me.”

  “Ten years ago, I’d just completed my residency and opened my own practice. My first patient…”

  When he finished, he absently rubbed the scar on his forehead. Her fingers went to hers, identical, hidden by her hair.

  He had his damage. She had hers. Physical and psychological. She’d had to suck it up and go back to her shitty job. He’d had the money and credentials to reopen his office…but had also sucked it up.

  Instead of being bitter, she chose to focus on the positive.

  “Why do your clients continue to see you?” she asked.

  He looked confused at her abrupt change of subject. “What do you mean?”

  “If you’re not helping them, why do they continue?”

  “I don’t know.” He clearly hadn’t asked himself that question. “Perhaps sub-par insurance?” He threw her words back at her. “Because I’m their only choice?”

  She scoffed. “In the city of Chicago? I can’t imagine you’re the only viable psychiatris
t.”

  “Umm, no. But you know how people are. After a session or two, it’s easier to stick it out than to change doctors.”

  “Bullshit. I went to the health center twice. They didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, so I never went back. The pills they prescribed are sitting in the bottom drawer of my night-stand. That’s how most people react.”

  “What are you getting at, Darby?”

  “They must see something in you, you don’t see in yourself. They’re waiting. Willing you to step up so they can give you a second chance.”

  “A second chance…” His eyes took on a far-away look. “I used those words earlier tonight… but I don’t think you’re correct.” It was his turn to change the subject. “Anyway, I need to tell you the rest of the story.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I was in a parking garage a few weeks ago, headed to my office. One minute I was walking toward the elevator, the next, complete darkness.”

  This seemed difficult for him.

  “I woke up in this…place. There was nothing but blackness, and sand under my feet. I was terrified. I yelled until I was hoarse, then I ran. Eventually I saw a pinprick of light in the distance and headed for it. As I came closer, I saw it was a fire.”

  “Like a building on fire?” she asked.

  “No.” He shook his head. “A giant campfire. Except there was no one around. No one to tend it. And once I got close, I found the flames gave off no heat.”

  “That must have been awful.” As bad as her nightmares were, she couldn’t imagine being in the void he described.

  “I spent the next couple days railing against my situation.” He shrugged. “Then out of boredom I started exercising; running, kickboxing, just to keep my endorphins up. I also started writing. Notes in the sand about past clients. It kept my brain stimulated, and I must have done something right, because that night, I visited your dreams for the first time.”

  “I don’t know if it was the first time, but I remember when I saw you.” Darby smiled. “You were a handsome shadow on the other side of a bubble. No matter what I dreamed, I noticed you.”

  “I didn’t know what I was seeing, but when I got to your nightmare, I had an inkling of why I’d been put there.”