The Devil's Game

by

S.L. Pierce

and

Maren Kaye

Copyright 2011 Pierce/Kaye Books

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please

purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not

purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your

own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the

product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

CHAPTER 1

“I found another one.”

“It’s hardly a surprise that you would find something you spend your days looking for,”

Dr. Gloria Pike said, setting down her pen and leaning back in her chair. They had been

through this before.

“I don’t.”

“Let’s not pretend. Aren’t we past this?”

Patient X didn’t answer, and Dr. Pike knew there would be no more talking until she

apologized.

“Sorry, please continue.”

“It was a man and woman. Too old to be students. Maybe training. Maybe working on

a project. Anyway, it was clear she was the boss, and he was in love with her.”

“What made you think that?”

“It was so obvious. The way he kept looking at her. Hanging on every word. His eyes

all over her face. Desperate and waiting for something, some sign. Even when he was

laughing, moving closer, it was there. He wanted her so much.” The patient paused, staring

out the window. “His eyes were blue. So blue.”

“And her? In love with him?”

“No. Definitely no. It was like a sad little dance. He would move in; she would move

away. She never touched him. Even when he gave her many openings.”

“How did you feel, watching them?”

The patient paused as if the answer required thought. “Excited.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Yes, I do. Do you?”

No answer.

“What did you do?” Dr. Pike asked.

“What I always do. I followed them.”

CHAPTER 2

“And the Academy Award for the best animated short film produced by a hungry grad

student goes to…” Rachel could hear her heart rushing through her ears. This was it; it had to

be. She was the only hungry grad student nominated this year. This was her best film. All her

hard work was about to pay off in spades. But why was it taking so long to open the

envelope? Wait, why is Gwyneth Paltrow making out with Billy Crystal? Open the envelope!

Open the damn envelope!

The sound of Billy and Gwyneth giggling into the microphone was slowly replaced by

the low hum of an alarm clock. Rachel swore several profanities as her hand slapped at the

snooze button in an attempt to put an end to the irritating sound.

“Coffee,” she said out loud to her empty room. She decided to bypass her usual

morning routine of fresh fruit and yoga in light of her heartbreaking loss. Especially since it

was probably the only award nomination she would ever get, awake or asleep.

As she sat at her desk/art space/kitchen table savoring her heavenly cup-of-joe, her

day slowly began to jell inside her brain. Today was Tuesday, which meant video production

and calculus. One she loved, the other she loathed. It was heaven and hell in the span of four

hours. This was her third attempt at advanced calculus, and without it, there was little hope of

getting a full-time position at Mad Media Animation Studio. She was determined to get a “real

job” before she turned twenty five, if for no other reason then to hold her head a little higher

when her dad asked her if she needed a little extra cash, you know, to help pay for those two

“artsy-type” degrees she got.

If it weren’t for Justin, there would be no hope at all. He had come to her rescue in the

second week of the class, sensing her utter panic. He was incredibly gifted at translating

calculus. He was also incredibly gifted at annoying her. It was so strange the way he stumbled

over every word when he was talking about nothing. But open up a math book and he

transformed into a loquacious chatter-box.

“Speak of the devil,” she said when she heard Sonny and Cher sing out “I got you

babe” from her cell phone. Justin’s ringtone was her private joke. It referred to the movie

Groundhog Day and Bill Murray’s reaction at hearing it every morning at the same time.

Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and punched the little green button.

“Hey, Justin, you’re up early.” She could hear his thick nasal breathing on the other

end.

“I just wanted…um.. Hi Rachel,” he said in his usual disjointed manner.

“Hi, Justin,” she said. “You wanted to ask me something?” she prompted when he

didn’t respond.

“Yeah, I…how are you…I mean are you ready for the test?”

Rachel knew she was dipping her toe in dangerous waters with Justin. He was

obviously not tutoring her for the fifteen dollars she made him take each time. And he wasn’t

the type to come right out and ask her for a date so that she could politely refuse him and

they could move past it. Oh, no. He just kept the possibility of it dangling out there like a

smelly gym sock she was constantly having to politely side-step.

I’ve been completely honest! she told herself over and over. But deep down she knew

it was going to end badly. It was going to end badly because as annoying as he was, he had a

heart of pure gold. He loved kids and dogs. He was finishing some kind of new teaching

program designed for inner-city school kids. He was funny sometimes, though not usually on

purpose. And under all that God-awful geekines, he was actually kind of cute.

Don’t go there, Rachel, she told herself.

“Yep, I’m good, Justin. But thanks for calling,” she said in an I’m going to hang up now

kind of way.

“Do you eat? I mean have you…or are you going to eat breakfast…do you want to

meet… for coffee?” By the time he had gotten that all out, Rachel had finished her cup and

was working on a second.

“Is something on your mind, Justin?” Be direct, be honest.

“Yeah… well…I mean no…not really.”

“Well, I’m glad everything’s okay. I’ve got to get going; tons stuff I’m way behind on.

But I’ll see you later at class, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he stammered.

She ended the call not waiting for his reply. She took a deep breath as she felt the

caffeine pumping through her veins, accelerating her heartbeat. She walked over to the huge

living room window and looked out onto the busy metropolitan street she lived on. It was a

gorgeous spring day, perfect for a jog. She knew that her calculus class always went better

when she’d had a good workout before hand. It helped keep her calm and focused. Not to

mention the fact that she’d wimped out on her yoga this morning. If only she could muster up

some motivation. Maybe a jog to the Steam Punk Café for some iced Chai. Yes, that would do

it. There had to be a reward in there somewhere or she’d never make it out the door.

“Oh crap!” she said out loud. Justin. He loved the Steam Punk. As a matter of fact, he

was the one who dragged her in there for her very first cup of iced Chai.

“I don’t drink weed water,” she had politely explained under her breath as they stood in

line.

“Just trust me,” he had said to her with an ear-to-ear grin. Since there wasn’t much

else on the menu that was fit for human consumption, she let him order – and pay.

“Here, try this,” he said, his puppy-dog face bright with anticipation. God, he could be

so annoying!

The taste was unlike anything she had experienced. The exotic spices were smooth,

sweet, and spicy all at the same time. And after a four-mile jog, there was nothing more

refreshing. She gave a heavy sigh as she imagined the sweet luscious taste.

“Screw Justin!” she said. “I have every right to do whatever the hell I want!” And, of

course she could always pretend she was happy to see him.

She began her usual pulling of dirty clothes from the hamper in search of some decent

sweat pants and matching gym socks. As she was rummaging, she noticed a pungent order

coming from something in her hand. It was a pair of underwear and a bra that smelled bitter

and musty, but strangely familiar. She tried to remember the last time she had been out bar

hopping. It had to have been at least three weeks. Note to self, she thought, tomorrow is

laundry day.

As she was closing the door on her way out, she felt hot breath on her neck right

before a strong hand grabbed her shoulder.

CHAPTER 3

Dr. Pike flicked her pen against the desk repeatedly, letting her frustration show.

“How many times do we have to do this?” she asked.

“Until I get what I need.”

“And what is it that you need?”

The patient just looked out the window. Dr. Pike put down the pen, leaned back in her

chair and sighed.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked.

“I don’t have a choice now, do I?”

“You’re here to get better.”

Patient X didn’t answer.

“They’re going to ask about your progress.”

“And you’ll tell them what they want to hear. Won’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Dr. Pike just stared at her patient.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” the patient said, all smiles and charm now. “This one is different.

This one is ‘The One’. The one I’ve been waiting for.”

“You mean the one that will give you what you want?”

“I’m afraid you just wouldn’t understand Doc. It’s complicated.”

“I think we are done for today,” Dr. Pike said, her frustration finally overwhelming her

training. This game of cat and mouse was getting old, especially when both players thought

they were the cat.

Patient X continued smiling, staring out the window.

CHAPTER 4

Rachel shrieked and dropped her keys. Whirling around in terror she found herself

looking up at Carl, the building manager.

“Sorry about that,” he said picking up her keys. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she said catching her breath. “I didn’t see you.” She looked around

the hallway for a moment trying to figure out how he could have appeared so suddenly

without being seen or heard. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Ms. Pendleton. Do you have overnight guests?”

“Excuse me?” she asked, again finding herself trying to regain her equilibrium.

She had first met Carl when he showed her the apartment she now occupied. He was

wearing his trademark Levis and sleeveless undershirt. He had grease smudges here and

there and an angry-looking woodpecker tattoo on his arm. He also had the look of someone

who had just woken up and wasn’t quite put together yet. But under all of that, he was actually

quite striking. She had thought at the time that he reminded her a little of Bruce Willis. He

was lean and muscular with a strong jaw, handsome face, and intense eyes that said, Don’t

mess with me, I’ve had a bad day.

“Eight women got raped today, Ms. Pendleton,” he stated plainly as if he were

commenting on the weather. “Every day eight women get raped in this fair city of ours.”

Great, she thought, just what I needed today. His hands were covered in glazing putty,

the smell of which was starting to make her nauseous. It was Carl’s job to replace all the

broken window panes that were recently blown out from a nasty wind storm and from the look

and smell of it, he had been very busy.

“Really,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I’m so glad I’m up-to-date on my self-defense

training. Is there anything else?”

“I just don’t want you to be one of ‘em. I thought I saw someone leaving your apartment

at three in the morning,” he said with one eyebrow arched up.

“I think I would have noticed if there was someone in my apartment last night.” Like it’s

any of your business, she thought walking toward the stairway. “But thanks for looking out for

me. I’ll be extra careful, Carl,” she added with a hint of sarcasm as she dashed down the

stairs. Why were all the men in her life orbiting planet freak zone?

As she hit the city sidewalk, she drank in the sweet air, which inspired an extra bounce

in her stride. The streets were buzzing with morning activities: the hum of trash removal, the

hosing down of the sidewalk from the previous night’s revelry, and the homeless being

“encouraged” to move away from store fronts. She could feel her body filling with endorphins

as she hit the two mile mark and entered her zone.

Now was the time to put her day in order. Everything felt clearer in the sunshine. She

would review her calculus notes on the train, no problem. She was feeling ready for anything,

able to leap tall equations in a single bound, when from out of nowhere a wave of terror rose

instantaneously from her gut, heaving its way through her chest and lodging itself in her

throat. She came to an immediate stop gripping the roof of a tan Volvo to help steady herself

as a vile thought burst into her brain. The smell of her bra and underwear from the hamper

was identical to the smell of Carl’s glazing putty.

CHAPTER 5

Dr. Pike sighed and removed a digital recorder from her wall safe. For the rest of her

patients, the recorder in the drawer was fine, but not this one. Not Patient X. These notes

were not for her secretary to transcribe and put in a folder. These were strictly for her own

use. Technically, Dr. Pike hadn’t done anything illegal. Morally, though, that was open to

interpretation. However, if everything went according to plan, this could be the biggest

breakthrough since lithium. But it would be tricky. There was no halfway; it was all or nothing.

And if it went wrong, it could mean the end of her career.

No, it just wouldn’t do for any one else to hear this, yet.

“Patient X,” she began dictating, “has begun stalking a fourth couple. Same initial

trigger, a man seemingly obsessed with a woman. Patient X follows the couple, but doesn’t

know why. Or won’t explain why. Just says ‘I need answers’ but won’t discuss what the

questions are. Each time patient refuses to acknowledge being the stalker, calling self ‘an

observer’. Patient obviously suffers from classic transference caused by early childhood

trauma, but still seems trapped in the delusion of being an innocent bystander.”

Gloria paused to take a drink of her now cold coffee.

“Previous stalkings stopped when patient realized the man was not obsessed with the

woman, followed by patient falling into a deep depression. Each one worse than the last.

Though it’s been nearly a year with little to no progress, I still feel this is the right

patient for my test case. A sociopath, or what is now classified as ‘antisocial personality

disorder,’ with violent tendencies. The patient is highly intelligent with definite unresolved

issues, despite eight years of commitment to state hospital. But patient refuses to move

forward. So it is time to push the issue. Best trigger would obviously be incident with mother.

Incident patient has refused to acknowledge since release from psychiatric hospital.”

The doctor stopped, lost in thought.

This had better work out, she thought to herself, after all the trouble I went through to

get the damn case. Yes, in the next session she would just have to take the lead. No matter

how uncomfortable it made the patient. She just couldn’t afford to wait any longer. When the

tiniest bit of doubt crept into Gloria’s mind, she refused to acknowledge it.

This had to be THE patient. Her instincts were never wrong, and as soon as she read

the file, the idea had blossomed from a little seedling to a full blown rose. This was the right

patient! It had to be.

The phone rang disrupting her train of thought. As late as it was, it could only be one

person calling.

“Hi, Dad,” she answered.

“Gloria, sweetie. How are you? I’m not interrupting, am I?” He didn’t wait for an

answer. He never did. “I just wanted to let you know your mother and I are going to

California next week.”

God she hated when he did this. “California? What for?” Let me guess...

“I’ve been asked to give a lecture for the Psychology Department at Stanford.”

There were so many responses to this statement squeezing at her chest, dying to get

out. The familiar wave of panic flooded her veins, her heart racing as she struggled to choke

out words so contrary to the truth. “Wow, Dad that’s great. Your book is still doing well then?”

Of course it was.

“Yes, yes. It’s doing well. So, just wanted you to know we’d be gone.”

“Thanks Dad. Have fun.”

“Bye sweetie,” he said not waiting for her reply before hanging up.

Gloria sat in silence with her eyes closed, still holding the phone in her hand while she

practiced her controlled breathing. Her fingers felt like ice, and she was having a little trouble

getting the air out of her lungs so she could breath properly.

“Relax,” she told herself. “He’s not worth it...he’s just suffering from narcissistic

personality disorder...it’s not about me,” she repeated to herself. “It’s not about me...”

As she regained her equilibrium, the panic slowly began to morph into rage. It’s never

been about me, she thought gritting her teeth. As an adorable, bright little girl, she had been

her father’s favorite over her younger siblings. He was a handsome, charming professor who

loved toting her along to lectures and friendly academic social functions while her mother was

at home with her twin baby brothers. He had taught her to recite the first four lines of Ode on

a Grecian Urn which she happily and dutifully did when asked. His praise was so warm and

nourishing to her soul, it was all she could remember wanting.

But something happened between childhood and adulthood. Her sweet devoted

innocence was replaced with eager ambition. Following in her father’s footsteps was a natural

reflection of her adoration for him. But somehow, the more she achieved, the more dismissive

he became of her. She could still see the look on his face the day she handed him her

beautifully framed certificate proclaiming her doctorate in psychology.

Her mother commented, “This is a lovely frame, dear. I hope it wasn’t too expensive.”

“Mother, I just became a doctor! It was an enormous amount of work!”

“Now, now Gloria,” her father said handing the certificate back, “There’s no need to get

excited. Anyone can get a PhD these days. It’s amazing how watered down academia has

become.”

The chill she had just been battling had now been replaced by a sudden flash of heat.

“Bastard,” she said out loud. Moving quickly she pulled the flask out of the bottom drawer and

took a drink. “Why does he do this to me?” She took another long swig of the overpriced

whiskey she could barely stand the taste of.

Why does he do this? she thought. Always rubbing his success in my face. Acting like

I don’t see his book on the New York Times Bestseller List every goddamned week.

She could still remember the recorded message he left on her iPhone the day he made

the NYT’s top 10 in non-fiction. “I don’t know why you’re having so much trouble with your

book, Gloria. This isn’t even my best work. I wrote most of it when your mother dragged me

on that awful Alaskan Cruise. It was a product of boredom more than anything else,” he had

chuckled, as if it was really nothing. As if everyday bestsellers just fell from the sky and

landed in his Kiton suited lap.

“Enough,” she said dropping the flask back into the still open drawer, not bothering to

hide it under the files the way she usually did. “My book is going to bury you, Daddy-kins. But

I won’t even notice. I’ll be too busy.”

CHAPTER 6

“Iced Chai twist of lemon!” shouted a young, skinny, black-haired barista with silver

adorned tongue, eyelid, nose and lip. He wore a black shirt that had Don’t Judge Me! [you air-

sucking carbon-based waste of matter] printed on the front in plain white letters. “Iced Chai,

anyone?” he asked again, looking directly at Rachel holding up the plastic cup.

“Oh, sorry,” she said as she gave up rummaging through her bag in search of a pen to

sign the receipt from her debit card.

“You want this?” he asked holding up the cup. He had such a serious, nonchalant look

on his face that she was at a total loss for how to respond.

“Ye...yes?” she asked slowly with an awkward smile. As she reached out for it he pulled

it away.

“Not so fast,” he said, leering at her. He held up a pen with a silk daisy attached to it.

He slowly waived the daisy end back and forth in her face. “You like daisies?” he asked.

She grabbed the pen and signed the receipt without looking at him and turned her

head quickly before the expression that said, “Oh my God, what a weirdo!” forced its way into

her eyes. She then sped her way to the only table that was unoccupied.

A morning that had started out so brilliantly had been abruptly turned into one of those

off-kilter days where things moved in a slightly different dimension. The idea that Carl might

be rummaging through her dirty laundry was a startling thought, but she knew that was

impossible. The deadbolt could only be unlocked from the inside, so he would have to be a

magician to get in. But still, it was hard to shake the imagery of that man anywhere near her

laundry basket. She was sure there was some stupid explanation. And besides, she had

actual issues in her life that did merit worry, and they had nothing to do with imaginary break-

ins. She had a test today that would mean the difference between passing or flunking out and

facing another semester of calculus hell. She could just see the look on the professor’s face

when she showed up again at the start of the next semester, a look that said, “So, we’re

taking another stab at it, are we? You know not every tree is meant to be a mighty oak.”

She took a long deep breath that turned into a sigh. Maybe her mom was right when

she told her that math wasn’t a “girl thing.” What she had really meant was that it wasn’t a

“pretty” girl thing. “Have you ever seen those girls in the math club?” she had asked through

Rachel’s tears the last time she flunked the class. She knew her mom was only trying to make

her feel better. And had she not been feeling like a complete failure at that moment, an

argument would have ensued. It was just too difficult for Rachel to climb up on her soap box

when there was so little she could offer in her own defense.

Her train of thought was broken suddenly by the raised voice of the severely pierced

barista behind the counter. He was arguing with a young woman about adding a scone to her

order. There was a pile of change on the counter, and she was digging in her bag for more.

She was small, with short dark hair, somewhat disheveled, but cute. Rachel guessed she was

about her age but a bit more worldly, based on the extravagantly laced tattoo that curled

around her neck and back.

“Give me a break, lady,” the barista said with an annoyed tone. “I’m not as stupid as I

look.” Rachel had to stifle a chuckle at that comment. “I’ve never even seen you before,” he

went on.

“That’s because I just moved into the Craimer building a few days ago,” she pleaded,

“and I was just on my way home when I saw this place, which everyone is always talking

about, and I said to myself, ‘Oh my God!! I’ve just got to have an Espresso Lungo harmless

with wings...right now!’”

He stared at her for a few moments while his brain caught up to her words. “You didn’t

order a ‘harmless’,” he said crossing his arms with an air of superiority.

“I know,” she said tossing him a salacious smile that would have made Hugh Hefner

blush.

“Whatever, man, just take it,” he said with a wave of his long skinny fingers as he

turned around to reorganize the Torani syrup bottles while his face regained its natural pasty

hue.

The woman picked up her coffee and scone and began scanning for a place to sit, but

there were no tables available. Rachel, who had been watching the drama unfold from a table

a few feet away said, “Did you say you just moved into the Craimer building?” The woman

stopped and turned back to see who had just spoken to her. “I’m Rachel, I live in 204. Do you

want to sit here?” she pointed to the chartreuse and black polka-dotted seat across from her.

“I’m Melissa,” she said, carefully putting her paper cup on the table and taking a bite

from her raspberry scone while she sat. “You’re in 204? I just rented the dungeon apartment

two floors below you...from Igor, I think.”

Rachel laughed, “Oh yeah, I think I saw your moving van. What’s that basement

apartment like?” she asked, “I’ve always wondered.”

“Besides cheap, which is absolutely mandatory for one who spends every waking

moment obsessed with photography and refusing to sell out to Olan Mills or Walgreens

‘creative memories’ department, the light is absolutely amazing,” she said matter-of-factly

taking another bite of scone. “Totally blew me away.”

“Really?” Rachel asked in disbelief.

“Well,” Melissa said with a smile, “it will be when I get my two-thousand dollar studio

light setup. One has to make choices in life: decent apartment or food on the table. So what

do you do when you’re not sipping Chai?”

“I’m a production artist, or I will be if I ever graduate. Until then I’m just a starving

nobody...”

“Hey, just because you’re not being kept by some corporate overlord doesn’t mean you

don’t have an identity,” Melissa said with a sense of pride in her voice. Rachel laughed and

felt at once like she had met a comrade in arms. “Here’s to a fellow artist,” Melissa added

raising her paper cup.

“It’s very nice to meet you Melissa,” Rachel reciprocated with her ceramic mug.

“You can call me Mel.”

CHAPTER 7

“So, last time we had to stop early,” Dr. Pike said.

“No, you made us stop early.”

“Today I would like to-”

“She has a stalker,” the patient watched the doctor for a reaction but there was none.

Dr. Pike had heard this all before.

“Uh huh. She has a stalker.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You say this every time.”

“No, this time it’s really true,” Patient X pleaded.

What was this? Dr. Pike thought. Usually the patient was smug and condescending.

Dismissive of Dr. Pike’s disbelief. But this time there was an almost desperate look. Like a

child who always lies caught in a situation only the truth can fix and just begging to be

believed. But Dr. Pike was no parent, and Patient X was definitely no child. Was this a

change in behavior? Maybe the patient had picked up on Gloria’s frustration last time and

decided to cooperate.

“Okay, what makes this time different?”

“I went back to her apartment. And he was there, outside.”

“Who was outside?”

“Her stalker,” Patient X whispered, smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary.

“What makes you think this person is stalking her?”

“He was waiting. He was watching.”

The therapist nodded, knowing it was the best way to keep the patient talking.

“When she left, he followed her all the way to the grocery store. Once he sees her

start shopping, he goes back to her apartment. And invites himself in.”

Wait, thought Dr. Pike. This was definitely different than previous episodes. Did

Patient X break into this woman’s house? Patient X had always been an observer of people.

Was this a breakthrough? And, if so, in what direction? Dr. Pike decided to see where this

went.

“Did you consider stopping him?”

The patients eyebrows furrowed, “Why?”

“To spare someone else some of what you’ve experienced.”

The patient suddenly leaned back, eyes flat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Very well.” A nod of the head indicating the patient should continue.

“Besides, haven’t you ever watched a nature show? You observe. You don’t interfere

with the natural order of things.”

“This is the natural order?”

“Isn’t it? I didn’t start this. I’m simply an observer.”

Again with the observer, thought Gloria. “You really believe you’re just an observer?”

“It’s what I know.”

“You have no responsibility here whatsoever?”

Silence.

“All right,” the doctor said, breaking the silence, “what happened?”

“So he’s in there half an hour, and I’m curious about what he’s doing. Smelling her

clothes, gathering hair from her brush for whatever voodoo doll he has of her at home.”

“Voodoo doll?”

“Whatever,” the patient said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “So I go in after he

leaves.”

Now this was definitely a change. The patient actually seemed to be separating from

the stalking. Inventing a third person. Dr. Pike kept her face neutral, but deep inside a flicker

of excitement was lit.

“How did you get in?”

“I just did.”

“What if she had come back?”

“Who says she didn’t?” Patient X said smiling.

Gloria could feel frustration boil up into her jaws and despite herself she snapped,

“Could we forgo the theatrics for just one day?”

The patient was taken aback a bit by the doctor’s candor and for a moment seemed

confused by the statement.

Dr. Pike regained her composure. She knew the patient had just a small grasp of

human emotion. Like a child watching a parent for the proper reaction. It was up to her to

guide the feeling of the sessions.

“What I meant to say was, wouldn’t that have proved to be a bit awkward? If she found

you in her apartment?”

“Why are you angry?” The patent's question was direct and emotionless. As if the

patient knew the question should be asked but didn’t really care about the answer.

“I’m not angry,” she replied with a cool smile. “I’m just curious. Please, tell me what

happened next.”

The patient looked out the window for a moment and then continued, “So I go in, check

things out and what do you think I discovered? He’s bugged the apartment. Not just sound,

but video also.” Patient X was watching Dr. Pike carefully, again waiting to see her reaction.

“God bless the digital age.”

Dr. Pike still remained neutral. The patient’s goal seemed to be to get a reaction out of

Gloria, and she refused to give in.

“How’d you find the bugs?”

“I’m getting annoyed at your doubts concerning my abilities.”

“Forgive me. So you…”

But again Patient X just smiled.

CHAPTER 8

Rachel punched in and grabbed a pile of folders from the shelf. When she had taken

this job last year, she thought it would be a great way to learn about all the software used in

3D rendering. 3D Ambition represented itself as a full 3D modeling studio; however, as far as

Rachel could discern, they had only ever rendered industrial parts for one specific company. It

was a factory in Utah which built equipment and weapons for the Department of Defense. The

jobs consisted of reading sketches and interpreting math equations in order to create 3D

renderings of ugly little machines parts, not exactly the glamorous job she had hoped for.

And, to top things off, early on it was clear that she had been hired as little more than a

glorified secretary. Maybe not even that. Her job was to walk around the dingy little

warehouse space where nine twenty-something male nerds had set up cubicles and

computers, where she would pass out, collect, and file the paperwork that came through the

building. Even though all the work and communication was electronic, they still had to keep

accurate paper documentation of every single thing that transpired. It was a mandatory part of

the government contract between the DOD and the Utah plant. Efficiency at its finest.

Tony, her boss, had promised she would be trained on the software, thereby giving her

valuable experience in rendering animation, some of it really specialized stuff, but so far that

hadn’t happened. Of course, it wasn’t really Tony’s fault. Rachel was just part-time and

hadn’t been able to come in as much as she wanted, especially with all the time she had been

putting in getting everything ready for her Mad Media application.

“Hey, Rach,” Terry yelled from across the warehouse as he ran over to her.

“Hey, Terry,” Rachel said.

“You almost done?”

“Where have you been,” Rachel laughed. “I just started.” She had a huge pile of

manila folders stacked up in front of a row of gray filing cabinets. Each drawer was labeled

with only a set of numbers, and there were forty-four drawers, the first beginning with the

number one and the last ending with a number that had eight digits.

“Oh, I’ve been buried in the back. Some of the files were damaged in that power

outage the other day.”

Rachel shook her head.

“The back-up generator has been broken for months, the new one’s on back order.

Now we have to sort through every individual hard drive and try to figure out which

meaningless job number goes to which job.”

“Tell me about it,” she said holding up a file with nothing but the number 300342. “Why

can’t we use words, like normal people?”

“What, and allow something to stimulate the right side of your brain?” he mocked.

“Besides, none of us are supposed to know what any of this means. What if you were

kidnapped and tortured for information?”

“Yeah, I think I’d rather have some valuable information to give them in that scenario,”

she said laughing.

“Me too,” he said with a smile. “But we are just the cogs in the great machinery of

human existence. We have no say.”

“How true,” she sighed and went back to her filing.

“So where’s your gift for Tony?” Terry asked.

“What? Oh crap! Today’s not his birthday? Tell me it’s not,” she pleaded. She’d

completely forgotten about her boss’s birthday.

“Party’s in twenty minutes,” he answered.

She looked up at the old industrial clock. Her shift wasn’t over for another hour. She

was stuck. “Can’t I just contribute to someone else’s gift? What did you get him?”

“You interns are all alike,” he said shaking his head. “Remember when I told you how it

works. First, you’re supposed to find something that represents the digital anagram equivalent

of your name and or address. Then, you assign it a word that represents the opposite of what

the gift actually is. Then we all take turns....” Rachel tuned out the rest of his mind-numbing

explanation as she continued with her filing. If there was a place in hell for people who hated

math, this company had to be it.

“Here,” Luke said, holding a wrapped box. “You can give him this.”

“Oh, hi, Luke,” Rachel said taking the box. “I didn’t see you. Wow, thanks! You’re a real

life saver!” Rachel was surprised he was talking to her again. He had been friendly when she

started, always teasing her and bringing her coffees. But when she had said no to dating, he

had withdrawn. Once in a while she caught him watching her when he thought she wouldn’t

see. She would smile, but he always looked away quickly.

“What’s in it?” she asked.

“A slide rule,” he answered, smiling at her.

“It’s been done,” Terry said rolling his eyes.

“I don’t care if it’s been done,” she snapped at Terry. “This is really great. Thanks so

much, Luke, let me write you a check...”

“NO!” His shout startled Rachel. “I mean, you don’t need to. This one’s on me,” he

added, regaining his composure.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he smiled back and left as quick as he had come.

“Luke’s a ‘cash only’ kind of guy,” Terry murmured to her. “You know what I mean?”

“No, not really,” Rachel answered, but he was already walking away.

CHAPTER 9

“I am convinced this new scenario is a breakthrough for Patient X,” Gloria Pike said

into her recorder. “The introduction of another stalker. What does it mean though? Is patient

trying to separate self from situation so won’t have to feel responsible for the outcome?

Doesn’t really make sense because patient already lacks any empathy, doesn’t really care

about the outcome. No, patient only cares that outcome satisfies own needs. What are those

needs? Patient won’t say, yet. Regardless, this is a step forward. I am going to push the

mother issue in our next session. In the end, confronting what happened is the only way to

really move forward in any permanent way. ”

Gloria stopped the recorder and poured the last glass from a bottle of wine she had

opened only an hour ago. “Oh Christ,” she said under her breath as she let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ve got to slow down. I’ve got so much to do tonight.” She slid the wine glass to the other

side of the coffee table, as if that might somehow keep it from being consumed.

She had avoided taking a good look at her increased alcohol dependence over the

past year because she felt strongly that this was only a temporary state. She was in the

process of giving birth to ground-breaking work. It was revolutionary, but at the same time,

such an obvious next step in the study of psychopathology. Of course, neuroscientists and

psychiatrists alike had spent decades poking and prodding at the problem as though it were

sitting in a petri dish. But to get inside the mind while the pathology was taking place! The

idea was thrilling.

She reached across the table for her glass of wine. Picking it up, she gave a toast to a

framed quote she had above her desk that read “Dreams are often most profound when they

seem the most crazy”--Sigmund Freud. She took a sip from the glass and continued on with

her work.

CHAPTER 10

Rachel almost kicked over the small vase that sat outside her front door. She was

balancing a box of laundry soap atop a very full basket of dirty clothes while simultaneously

juggling her keys. She looked down and saw that the vase was filled with a bunch of white

daisies. And there was a card attached. She immediately thought of her mother but couldn't

think of an occasion that would have prompted the gift.

Reluctantly, she set the overflowing laundry basket on the floor as the box of Tide

slipped off and spilled out part of its contents. “Damn it!” she said, picking up the box and

trying to return as much of the white powder as was possible back in through the opening.

This better be worth it, she thought picking up the white plastic daisy-filled vase. She pulled

out the little card from the small envelope and read: “Don’t let anyone drive you crazy when

you know it’s within walking distance.” She chuckled and turned the card over to see who it

was from. It was blank. That’s funny, she thought, especially for Justin.

The bouquet was beautiful, the daisies big and bursting with that weedy smell that

makes one think of a vacant lot on a hot summer day. She set them inside the door carefully

before continuing on with her journey to the laundry room. She had a smile on her face as she

imagined Justin standing in a flower shop, trying to navigate his way through all the choices

there were, and then somehow managing to pick her favorite flowers from all the bouquets in

the cooler.

As she finagled the laundry down the stairs, she remembered her new found friend

who had recently moved into the basement apartment. The laundry room was adjacent to

Mel’s, and she wondered if she should stop by and say hello. Since they had met last week,

they had spent a lot of time hanging out at each other’s apartments. In addition to the strong

and immediate bond she felt when they met, their weird schedules coincided great. There

were advantages to not having a nine to five job.

“So, you’re doing your laundry,” a familiar voice spoke out of the dark. As she managed

to flick on the lights, Carl was already moving toward her, coming from who knows where

when he grabbed her laundry basket and said, “I can get this.”

“Um, thanks, Carl,” she said opening the door which lead to three washing machines,

two dryers, and a thick layer of dust and lint.

Rachel took the laundry basket from Carl and began her ritual of separating the wimpy

fabrics from the tough, trying to act like it was perfectly normal to be doing her laundry, even

though it was, in fact, perfectly normal to be doing her laundry. Carl stood at the door as

though waiting for some further instructions. She tried not to glance his way, but couldn’t help

noticing his self-conscious stance. He was so odd. She couldn’t quite figure him out. He was

so abrupt and unfriendly, yet sometimes he seemed like he was trying to reach out to her,

trying to get her approval... or something. After several minutes he said, “So, it looks like you

have a secret admirer.”

Rachel froze when he spoke. Did he actually read the card? Was he spying on her?

Or were they from him? The idea made her chest tense up. But she simply shrugged and

continued, not looking at him directly.

He suddenly picked up a sledge hammer and began banging on a thick metal pipe that

was hanging from the ceiling. The crashing sound caused Rachel to drop her laundry basket,

sending her clothes tumbling onto the unsavory floor. “Damn it, Carl,” she snapped. But the

hammering drowned her comment from Carl’s ears as he gained momentum. The pipe was

beginning to pull away from where it was attached, and it was obvious this was pleasing him

to no end. Rachel cursed under her breath as she shook grimy lint from her favorite shirt. I’d

like to take that hammer to his head, she thought.

“Yeah!” Carl shouted as the pipe dropped to the ground. “I’ve been needing to get that

thing out of here for ages.” His grin was infuriating.

“Impressive,” she spat out with acrid sarcasm.

“Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he grinned. This only added to her irritation.

As she finished her chore, she moved toward the door. “Excuse me,” she said with her

head slightly bent down, vowing to ram him if he didn’t cooperate.

“You want me to move out of the way?” he asked with an almost child-like confusion.

“Yes, Carl,” she answered trying to keep her temper in check.

“Rachel,” he said softly, suddenly changing his tone “I was just thinking that maybe you

might consider...” Rachel could feel her heart begin to race, but she acted as if he were just

another annoying overly hormonal male. “I’ve been teaching myself how to cook,” he finally

said. “I have an amazing recipe I inherited from my aunt Lidia...Sausage, cheese, lots of

garlic...”

“I’m allergic to cheese,” she said, pushing his chest with her finger tips and slipping

past him.

“Oh well...actually,” he called after her as she flew up the stairs and through the

basement door. She could hear him continue right on talking as if she were still in the

basement.

“Shit,” she said under her breath. What was wrong with that man? But she really didn’t

have time to deal with Carl today. She had fifteen minutes before Justin was scheduled to

arrive for their tutoring session, and he was never late. So she ran as fast as she could

through the hall before Carl had a chance to catch up to her.

She wondered if she should ask Justin about the flowers. Maybe she should just wait

and see what he said. After all, he didn’t sign the card. Of course, knowing him, he was

probably too shy. She unlocked the door and slipped into her apartment being careful not to

knock over the vase sitting just inside.

But the vase was gone.