by Kelly Holm
What the hell…, Mila’s thoughts were racing.
“Are you on any medications I don’t know about or illegal drugs?”
“No, but if you could suggest something that would stop
these thoughts… it would probably be a good idea. …b-e-a-g-o-o-d-i-d-e-a.”
“Why do you say that, do you find yourself wanting to act on these thoughts?”
“Of course, I do, but I don’t… well not usually… n-o-t-u-s-u-a-l-l-y.”
Now we’re getting somewhere… Mila thought.
“Is it difficult for you to control yourself, and not act on the thoughts?”
“Sometimes, but I’ve been doing really well. It’s just that I can’t always get the images out of my head. …i-m-a-g-e-s-o-u-t-o-f-m-y-h-e-a-d.”
There’s definitely more to the story then she’s telling me. I have to get her to spill her truth, Mila thought.
“Mercedes, would you like a glass of water?”
“Sure, sounds delicious. …s-o-u-n-d-s-d-e-l-i-c-i-o-u-s.”
Mila poured Mercedes a glass of the special water and handed it to her. She drank it all, and then put the glass on the side table.
“That water was delicious; I like the hint of lemon in it. …l-e-m-o-n-i-n-i-t.”
“I’m glad you like it; now, let’s talk about your husband.”
“Ok, what about my husband? …m-y-h-u-s-b-a-n-d.”
“You said earlier that your husband was gone, what did you mean by that?”
“Oh, he died, and now I have all the money to myself …m-o-n-e-y-t-o-m-y-s-e-l-f.” Mercedes closed her eyes for a moment as she spelled; like she was relishing the thought.
“He died? Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Is she messing me? Mila wondered.
“I don’t know, maybe you didn’t ask the right question. …a-s-k-t-h-e-r-i-g-h-t-q-u-e-s-t-i-o-n.”
“You also said you still talk to him now and then, what did you mean by that?”
“He haunts me. …h-a-u-n-t-s-m-e.”
“He haunts you?” Oh, this just keeps getting better and better, Mila thought.
“He haunts me, night and day. I see him everywhere, and not just at the house. He haunts me at the nail salon, while I’m in the car, and when I’m getting my weekly massage at the spa...a-t-t-h-e-s-p-a.”
“How did your husband die Mercedes?” Come on, girl, make it good, Mila thought.
“I slit his throat… with a steak knife…” she stopped but didn’t start spelling. It was almost like she was reliving the event in her mind before she began to spell out her sentence.
“Mercedes, are you ok?”
“Ya, I was just remembering… j-u-s-t-r-e-m-e-m-b-e-r-i-n-g,” she said, as she sat back in her chair with a massive grin on her face.
“You were remembering slitting your husband’s throat?” You sick bitch, Mila thought.
“Oh, yes, it was something to see; you would have loved it. …w-o-u-l-d-h-a-v-e-l-o-v-e-d-i-t…”
“Mercedes, do you realize what you’ve done?”
“I guess, but it wasn’t my fault. …w-a-s-n-t-m-y-f-a-u-l-t.”
“How was it not your fault?” This ought to be good, Mila thought.
“He was standing in the kitchen while I was trying to make a sandwich for him. I don’t cook, the woman who does took the day off, so I had no choice; anyway, he interrupted me while I was trying to spell. …t-r-y-i-n-g-t-o-s-p-e-l-l.”
“Did you explain to him that you would appreciate it if he didn’t interrupt you when you spell before you hurt him?”
“There wasn’t time …w-a-s-n-t-t-i-m-e.”
How the hell wasn’t there time, you were the one holding the knife! Mila thought.
“What do you mean, there wasn’t time?”
“It was too late, I watched the knife jump into my hand, oh, it felt so good …f-e-l-t-s-o-g-o-o-d. Then I put the knife up to my husband's throat, and I could feel it as it pierced his skin …p-i-e-r-c-e-d-h-i-s-s-k-i-n. It went through the first set of wrinkles and then a second, and then before I knew it, I had slit his entire wrinkly old throat! …w-r-i-n-k-l-y-o-l-d-t-h-r-o-a-t.”
“Holy shit!” Mila couldn’t help herself, it sounded like she was listening to a horror story, but this one was true.
“I watched the blood squirt out of my husband’s neck as he fell helplessly to the floor. …f-e-l-l-h-e-l-p-l-e-s-s-l-y-t-o-t-h-e-f-l-o-o-r,” she said with glee, as she jumped up and down in her chair while clapping her hands.
This woman is a bat-shit crazy lunatic, and definitely a menace to society, Mila told herself.
“Did you try and help him?” Mila could hardly believe what she was hearing. How could someone be that cold and heartless? She tried her best to remind herself that this woman was mentally ill, but it was a challenge.
“No, I was too busy watching the blood come out …b-l-o-o-d-c-o-m-e-o-u-t… It was incredible; I’ve never seen anything like it …a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g-l-i-k-e-i-t… I wish I would have filmed it. I couldn’t believe how far the blood squirted …b-l-o-o-d-s-q-u-i-r-t-e-d… There was so much blood …s-o-m-u-c-h-b-l-o-o-d… Don’t worry, though, nobody knows about it. …n-o-o-n-e-k-n-o-w-s-a-b-o-u-t-i-t.”
“How can you be sure nobody knows about it?”
“I took precautions …t-o-o-k-p-r-e-c-a-u-t-i-o-n-s.”
“What kind of precautions?”
“After, I carefully cleaned everything up using bleach, I repainted the kitchen in a lovely shade of yellow, and then I buried his body in the back yard. When I was just about done, I planted a couple of hibiscus bushes over him. …h-i-b-i-s-c-u-s-b-u-s-h-e-s-o-v-e-r-h-i-m.”
Mila was shocked because it appeared that Mercedes enjoyed the act very much. She was smiling, and the tone of her
voice was almost like she was bragging about getting away with it.
“You never reported this to the authorities? What about his friends and family, didn’t they ask any questions?”
“Hell no, I didn’t report it, why would I, I got rid of all the evidence, there’s really nothing to report. As far as his family, well, they are all dead or just don’t give a shit. …d-o-n-t-g-i-v-e-a-s-h-i-t.”
“I see.” Isn’t that convenient, Mila thought.
“I was surprised how easy it was too. I thought at least someone would come out of the woodwork looking for him, but that was over a month ago; Apparently, no one cares …n-o-o-n-e-c-a-r-e-s.”
Mila looked at the clock; she had to quit asking questions, Mercedes would be coming off the effects of the drug soon. She would be a perfect candidate for Dr. Blackmore.
“Mercedes, are you ok?” Mila asked when Mercedes sat silent for a moment.
“I’m fine; I just can’t remember what we were talking about. …t-a-l-k-i-n-g-a-b-o-u-t.”
“You were telling me that you would be open to trying a new medication that would take away the dark thoughts.”
“I was? Hmmm, ok, whatever, so this medication really works? …r-e-a-l-l-y-w-o-r-k-s.”
“We’ve had great success with others who have tried it.”
“Ok, I’m in, when can I try it? …t-r-y-i-t.”
“I can set up the appointment now. You’ll have to go to a different location for this one; since the drug is in the testing mode, we have to be very careful. The office is only a few miles from here. How does Friday sound?”
Mila gave Mercedes the address to Dr. Blackmore’s office and walked her out. Once she left, Mila quickly sent a text to Dr. Blackmore telling him about the appointment. Mila was physically sickened by what some of her patients told her, but at the same time very excited, because the more sick patients she had, the more her bank account grew… and it was growing faster than she could have ever imagined.
A few minutes later, the buzzer in her waiting room buzzed. Her next appointment had arrived. Mr. Rylie Whittaker was seeking her help quitting smoking. He had tried several other therapists and never had any luck. This would be their first visit.
“Rylie Whittaker?�
�
“Yep, that’s me.”
Rylie Whittaker was a tall man with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. His features were chiseled, and he looked like he may have been a model at one time, but now he had a bit of a pouch on the front of his stomach; probably from his favorite guilty pleasure which was drinking beer and watching sports on television. His hair was perfectly combed back and held in place with a little styling gel, and he dressed like he had money; after all, he was the CFO of a multimillion-dollar company.
“Please come in. You said on the phone that you are looking for help to quit smoking, is that correct?”
“Ya, my doctor thinks it’s killing me, and I need to quit,” he said nonchalantly.
“You don’t sound like you agree with him.”
“I don’t personally believe that smoking is bad, I think society has just decided that it is, and everyone is just going along
with it.”
“That’s an interesting take on the issue. Are you married?”
“Naw, I divorced that lying bitch years ago. She just couldn’t keep her big mouth shut, always bitching about something; and if she wasn’t bitching at me, she was out spending all my money.”
“So, you’re divorced. Do you have a girlfriend now, or are you single?”
“I’m single. I’m done with anything more than one-night stands. Women are such trash these days, only good for one thing, you know…ummmm, no offense Doc,” he said, as he noticed the disgusted look on Mila’s face.
“None taken.”
Mila was getting a creepy vibe from him. She couldn’t figure out what exactly was bothering her, if it was just his flippant attitude towards women, or if it was something else. She decided to try the special water on him right away to find out.
“Would you like a glass of water?”
“Is it flavored?”
“It has lemons in it.”
“Sure, what the heck,” he said, as Mila poured him a glass of the special water. He immediately took a sip and then drank the rest.
“This is delicious water; it must be the lemon that makes it so tasty. Maybe you should think about bottling it, I bet you would make a fortune.”
Oh, trust me, I’m making a fortune from it, Mila thought as she watched him drink it.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said.
She waited a moment while the drug took effect then asked,
“Do you like women?”
“Hell ya, I like women, I’m not into guys. Do I look like a back-door bandit or bumhole engineer to you? I’m a man, and I like sex with women. I just want the sex without the rest of the crap; that’s why I love the whores at the bars,” he said passionately.
“Are you talking about prostitutes?”
“Hell no, those skanks are dirtier than the sluts at the bars. You won’t catch me with a hooker!”
“So, who are you referring to when you say whores at the bar?”
“The women at the bars; you know what I mean, those sluts that wear revealing clothes and flirt, but then won’t give you the goods, if you know what I mean.”
“So, you wish these women would sleep with you and not tease?”
“Oh, they sleep with me, but I usually have to give them a ruffie or la rocha or something to get them into the mood.”
“You use date rape drugs on the women to get them to sleep with you?”
“Ya, I don’t like to do it, but some things just need to be done.”
“Why do you think you need to drug these women?”
“Because otherwise I could end up talking to someone all night and get nothing for it. Wasted time is what I say.”
“So, you drug them to ensure that you will have sex?”
You’re disgusting. I wonder what you’re hiding… Mila thought.
“Yep.”
“What do you do once they are drugged? Do you take them to your apartment or house?”
“Hell no, that’s how people get caught. I’m much smarter than that. I pick them up at the bar, and take them to a dumpy motel on the bad side of town, you know what I mean, the side of town you don’t even want to drive through in broad daylight.” Mila noticed that he was getting excited; just talking about it seemed to get him aroused.
“What happens next, when you get them to the seedy motel on the bad side of town?”
“First, I always pay in cash; dude at the counter won’t look twice if you do. Second, I prepare the room. I place plastic over the bed, chairs, and carpeting. Third, I bath the girl. I need them to be clean when I mount them, no funny lotions or perfumes. I put them in the bathtub, and I wash them with castile soap. When I’m done, I dry them, and place them gently on the large sheet of plastic I’ve put over the bed.”
“This sounds like a ritual; do you do the same thing for each girl?”
“Usually; once they are clean and on the plastic, I take off my pants, put on a condom and place a thin piece of plastic with a hole only large enough for my penis to go through on the girl. I don’t want any part of me to touch her actual body. When I’m done, I clean up the bodily fluid, remove all the plastic from the room, take the girls clothes and burn them in the tub, and then leave the girl passed out in the bathtub with her burnt clothes.”
Wow, definitely a candidate, how do these nut-jobs keep finding me? Mila thought.
“Why do you burn their clothes?”
“I do it so that when they come to and realize what happened, they can’t just get dressed and leave, and go about their lives. I want them to feel the shame of what they’ve done when they have to call someone to come and pick them up. They are all trash and need to be treated that way.”
“Aren’t you worried that one of them will report you to the police?”
“Hell no, I always wear a disguise. There’s no way I’ll get caught.”
Famous last words, Mila thought.
Mila had heard enough. She waited a couple of minutes until the drug wore off and then asked him about the therapy.
“That’s weird; I can’t remember what we were talking about. Ha-ha, brain fart.”
“We were discussing a new medication to help you quit smoking, that one of my colleagues is testing. I was telling you that he has had a lot of success with it.”
“What do I have to do?”
“You go to my colleague’s office once; he will run some tests and then give you the medication. Then the next time we meet, you tell me how it’s working for you. You’ll take the medication for about a month, and then you’re done.”
“That sounds doable, when can we start?”
“Let me check the schedule, how about next Tuesday?”
“Tuesday works for me.”
Mila gave him the directions to Dr. Blackmore’s office and then walked him out. As he was leaving, Laura Stedman was entering the waiting room and started ringing the buzzer over and over. When Mila opened the door to greet her, Laura Stedman was livid.
Laura Stedman was a middle-aged woman with short dark brown hair which was cut into a lob. She originally came to Mila a few months ago because she couldn’t stop cutting herself. After just a few sips of the magical water, Laura admitted, with glee,
that she suffocated her infant son; holding his nose closed with her fingers, and covering his mouth while he struggled for air. She watched and waited until his tiny body became lifeless.
Laura told Mila that she enjoyed watching him struggle and gasp for air, and was relieved that he died because she never wanted him to begin with. She covered up his death by telling her family that she decided to give the father, who lives on the east coast, full custody of the baby. Mila knew right away that she was a great candidate and immediately sent her over for treatment.
“Something is really wrong. I haven’t felt normal since you sent me to see that Dr. Blackmore last week. What did you do to me?”
“Tell me how you feel different.”
“It feels like something is living in my head, I can feel it moving arou
nd. I get numbness in my arm and then it goes away, I’m confused a lot, my vision goes in and out, my balance is off, and I’ve been getting these severe headaches.”
“Have you changed your diet or lifestyle in any way since you started the medication?”
“No, all of this started happening a few days after I started taking the medication.”
“These all sound like side effects of the medication and should wear off soon. How long does your arm stay numb?”
“Usually just a few minutes and then I feel better, all of them only last a few minutes; except the headaches, they last longer.”
“How long do the headaches last?”
“Sometimes, I have them all day, but usually I take something, and it goes away.”
“Well, I’m sure after a couple of weeks you will feel completely normal again. Remember this is a clinical trial; we
haven’t gotten all the bugs out yet. These side effects were all listed in the pamphlet we gave you before you left.”
“What am I supposed to do until I feel better?”
“You’ll just need to be patient. Are you still struggling
with the urge to cut yourself since you started the medication?”
“That’s the other thing, I haven’t thought about doing it, but I’m still doing it.”
“What do you mean you are still doing it, I thought you said you aren’t thinking about it.”
“I haven’t thought about it; I must be doing it subconsciously.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because of these cuts on my arm, they’re new, and I don’t know where they came from. I always remember cutting myself, sometimes it’s the next day, but I always remember,” she said, as she pulled her sleeve up to expose small razor cuts up and down her arm.
“You have no memory of it at all?”
“That’s my point, I always remember, sometimes it’s not until the next day, but I always remember.”
“I see.”
“If I’m still cutting myself, does that mean it isn’t working, and I should quit taking it?”
“Absolutely not, it always takes a while for a medication to start working. You’ve only been using it a week, I say give it until the end of the month, and I bet you start noticing that you aren’t cutting yourself anymore, and the physical side effects subside too.”
