The Vigilante (9 page)

Fearful of his reaction, she began, “Doctor, things are happening to me, lately. I have memory lapses. I find new things lying about that I don’t remember buying. I even have spots on my arm—I don’t know how I got them or even what they are.” She looked at him, wondering if he thought her crazy as a loon, but even with this small beginning, she felt her hands loosen their frantic grip on the arms of her chair and her insides began to warm and relax as she let her worries out.

“Humm, of course, as you know, everything has a cause, a reason, if you will, for its occurrence. Perhaps we could go back a few months to begin with and bring the events up to the present. Continue relaxing, you are safe here.” He paused and took a sip of water. “I can plainly see you’ve been under a strain and it will help you a great deal if you tell me as much as you’re comfortable with. Why don’t we see if you can take me back to a time before you began noticing these things?”

Martha made it through that first fateful hour and left the office feeling she had gotten nowhere, with no real answers, though for some reason, she felt a little lighter. Telling her worries to the doctor had relieved her in some way. She hadn’t been able to confide her fears to anyone else. Psychiatry usually took a long time. She knew that, too. In any case, she had nowhere else to go.

“I think it went well,” she told herself. “He was nice, and he made it easy for me to talk. But am I doing the right thing?” She laughed. “Now I’m talking to myself again. Dare I tell him that?” She decided to go to Jeannie’s. “No matter what, I won’t burden her with this latest fiasco. That poor girl is up to her eyeballs with her own worries. All she needs is to find out her mom’s seeing a shrink!”

Barely watching the road in her mental preoccupation, she arrived at her daughter’s home, though this time, she did notice how well all the trees had leafed out and that summer rapidly approached.

“I hate being so preoccupied with all this mental stuff,” she muttered, upset with herself and angry at the turn her life had taken. “The world is so beautiful. The weather’s warming. It’s wonderful outside, but with all that’s happening I scarcely find the time to enjoy it.”

At Jeannie’s, she stood with her daughter in the hall, watching Will. He sat quietly in his small bucket chair. The TV played
Bozo and Friends.
Jeannie whispered, “He sits and watches, but I wonder what he sees, the program, or what? I don’t know what’s going through his mind.” She choked back a sob. “Nothing’s the same with him anymore, Mom.”

Martha put a commiserating arm around her. “I don’t know what to do, Jeannie. I get so furious at the police for letting that man go, it tears me up inside. Don’t these monsters realize how many lives they ruin when they attack just one innocent young child? It’s never just the child, is it? The whole family pays the price.”

Martha stayed for a couple hours, held Will on her lap, and then took her leave. “I’m tired today, Jeannie, had a couple of heavy shifts. Maybe I’ll take a few days off.”

Jeannie stood in the doorway watching as her mother tossed her purse in the car. She’d noted the worry on Martha’s face recently, maybe even more than her own. “Gosh, Mom, are you all right? You haven’t been yourself lately. I’m not so messed up I can’t see that.”

“I’ll be fine, dear. You just take care of Will. I need more sleep, that’s all. Don’t worry about me.” Saying that, hoping to comfort her daughter, Martha stepped into her car and drove home with enough presence of mind to notice she didn’t drive past the running park.

Trying to relax, she showered, had a cup of tea, watched a bit of news, and then slid into bed. Her thoughts swirled with recent events, preventing any hope of sleep. The news report she’d heard on the tube kept haunting her. She imagined those two little girls running and screaming from the nice man who’d offered them goodies with hideous evil intent. “Now we have one more devil running through our streets, another damned pedophile stalking our children! Where are our police?” She put her hand on the phone. “I wish I dared to call Bob Chance. It would be nice just to sit and talk with him—maybe get my mind off things.”

She wouldn’t make that call but knew he’d like it if she did. It would be a forward act to her way of thinking, and not anything she could do. But, remembering how nice and easy things were between them when she’d sat with him at the
La Fiesta,
she felt defeated. “I would meet a nice guy when my life is so screwed up.” She sighed and reached for the sleeping aid she’d taken from the med drawer at work.

“It’s just a
Tylenol
with
Dramamine,
not like it’s a narc or anything,” she muttered in justification. She wasn’t an abuser, but she needed something at the moment. “Why am I so tired anyway?” She flipped on the radio at her bedside, but turned it so low, she could barely hear it. Sleep came at last.

***

Martha kept her next appointment with Dr. Carton. “What do you think Doctor, am I going crazy?” She feared his answer.

“It’s not that Martha, but time lapses are quite out of the ordinary, and there are definite causes for aberrant behaviors such as these. I have a few ideas, but it will take time to find out. We’ll need to go as far back as you have memories, perhaps a period somewhere in your childhood.”

“What are you looking for?” Something in his queries made her feel uneasy. A deep feeling of dread suddenly filled her mind. Without conscious thought, she clutched the arms of the comfortable leather chair.

Her action was not lost on the doctor. Firming his jaw, he continued. “Was there anyone you remember from your childhood who didn’t behave correctly with you when you were a little girl, a male relative, or female for that matter, an uncle or brother?” Dr. Carton kept his inquiries gentle and non-threatening. Knowing he had to proceed very carefully to reach the root of her time lapses. If what he suspected lay at the heart of Martha’s problems—the very thought of it made his heart race unexpectedly.

Doctor Carton’s strong face, but sincere mien, aided Martha’s relaxation. She tried to see in him a danger to herself, but couldn’t. Relaxed, she let her memories come forth. “I grew up on a farm, Doctor.” She hesitated and then went on. “We had this hired man, Pete Sykes, his name was. I’ll never forget that horrible man—or his name.” She shivered. “He frightened me and when I told my dad about the time Sykes tried to touch me down there, my father wouldn’t believe me.”

Martha indicated her pubic region and felt her face tighten. Tears began to form, “My dad said I just imagined it. Sykes was a good worker, the war had started, and dad needed him. After that, I knew I couldn’t say anything else against Pete.” Martha felt tears well up and she couldn’t stop them. “He punched me in the chest one time and it hurt. I was too small to have breasts then, though.”

“You’re crying, Martha. Do you remember this man, Sykes, as being so bad, that after so long, the memory of him brings you to tears?”

“I don’t remember for sure.” Martha wrung her hands and twisted in her chair. “I want to leave. I have to leave now—now! I don’t feel well at all!”

She’d become restless, uncomfortable, and close to panic. “Well, our time is up for this session, Doctor Carton gently replied. “We’ll re-introduce this subject the next time. Trying to remember things that are painful is very upsetting.” He helped Martha up. “It will be extremely helpful if you can remember even the smallest, seemingly insignificant event.” He ushered her out, his hand at her elbow, and noticed how she shrank away from his touch.

Alone in his office, Dr. Carton pressed a button on the intercom. “Jennie, get me Dr. Schoenfeld, will you?” He waited, his hands tented before him, whistling through his teeth.

The phone buzzed. “Carton here,” he answered, then, asked, “Herman, could you step in here for a moment? I think I’ve got something very unusual. I’d like to consult with you.” He waited with an impatience that made him pace the floor. He only had a few spare moments before his next patient.

The door opened, admitting a small, slim, gray-haired man with thick glasses. “”He adjusted his glasses and patted his thinning hair. His bright, dark eyes brimmed with curiosity. “What you got, Mike?”

Carton noted his impeccably-fitting gray suit, thinking how well it suited the man. “It’s too early to be sure, but I think I may have a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder going.”

“My God—you know how
rare
those cases are, Mike?” Herman shook his head and blew on his knuckles. “Take your time, be extremely cautious. You know how fragile these patients can be.”

Carton detailed some of the aspects of the case.

After considering the findings Carton had imparted to him, Herman smiled and shook his head slowly. “You may be correct in your diagnosis, it certainly could be.” He turned to leave. “How about we meet later for lunch?”

“Sure thing, I’d like that.” Carton waved Herman away and admitted his next patient. Containing his excitement took real control.

***

Back in the familiar confines of her home, Martha paced restlessly about, feeling at loose ends. She almost wished she’d taken another shift so she’d be too busy to worry. “Am I losing it completely?”

She tried to remember her lost hours, where she bought that damned purse, or when. When had she spilled the Gram’s stain on her wrists? If that was what the stuff was. She had no memory of that, either.

“Something’s wrong with me,” she said over and over. “And I hope that doc finds an answer real soon.” But she didn’t want to re-visit her childhood. For some reason, those thoughts had become very painful.

Startled by the jangling of the phone, she stopped her aimless pacing and picked it up without checking the caller ID. “Hello.”

“Martha, it’s Bob.”

A smile crossed her tensed lips. “Bob, how’d you know my number?”

“Trade secret. How about we get together and see a movie this afternoon?”

She listened to his warm voice, her hands plucking nervously at a magazine carelessly tossed on the coffee table. “Oh, sure, I’d like that. What time?”

“An hour?”

“Perfect.”

Martha hung up, shaking her head. “Like a bolt out of the blue, he calls me, just as I’m about to fall apart. He’ll never know how much I needed to hear from someone. He’s the best person to be with right now. I wish I could tell him everything, but I can’t tell him anything!” She grimaced. “And that would be if I actually knew what was happening.”

She headed for the shower. He’d come by in about one hour. “A movie, huh? I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen one. God bless that man.”
She was going on a date
!

He was quiet and smooth, as he ushered her to his truck, and said little other than okaying the movie choice with her. In the darkened theater, he supplied pop-corn and a soda. Martha felt like a teenager again. She even giggled a few times.

“So what is this about?” she asked.

“Oh, just a bit of fluff actually, but maybe we both need a little nothingness to lighten our loads.” He nudged her shoulder and smiled, helping himself to a large fistful of popcorn. “Takes you back, doesn’t it?”

Martha wanted to cry at his gentle masculinity. Her husband had been a good man, and she continued to suffer from that loss, but here was someone who made the memory of Chet fade away without even trying.

She smiled at him. “Thanks Bob. It’s wonderful being here, the pop-corn, and the company.” Her smile spread wider across her cheeks as she gazed at him.

He said nothing more. The sound blared as the coming attractions exploded across the screen. A time or two, he reached over and took her hand. The feelings his touch aroused were like nothing she’d ever known. It frightened her, but thrilled her far more, and best of all, she forgot everything else.

Later, they had a light supper at a small hide-away called
Nickie’s
, a nicely decorated spot with a French theme. It had French scenes on the walls, dark wood, and finely wrought, iron filigreed chairs. He ordered a huge burger and she a French dip. She hadn’t taken time for dinner and was hungry. More than that, she enjoyed his company and actually felt like floating when he looked into her eyes. Everything he did brought new sensations, things she’d never felt with her husband or any man she’d ever known.

Chet had been a good husband. She’d loved him dearly and mourned his loss terribly, but he’d never touched her the way Bob did without conscious effort.
But what would he think if he
knew he was keeping company with a nut case
?

At her door, Bob took her in his arms and kissed her long and fully. He didn’t try for more, but said, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, Martha. I like you, everything about you, and I had a great time tonight.” Still holding her, he gazed into her eyes.

She knew he didn’t want to say good night. His big body felt hard and strong against her smaller frame, and as much as she wanted to stay in that safe, warm place so much longer, she knew better. Reluctantly, she moved away. “I had a wonderful time, too, felt like a kid again, and forgot all my troubles. I like you, Bob, I really do.” She reached out and hugged him. “Thanks for tonight, I enjoyed it and appreciate it.”

“Well, my dear, goodnight then. We’ll have to do this again.”

Martha smiled into his eyes before he left her. “I’d love it.” She lingered against her door, watching him walk to his truck, enjoying the masculine look of him as he moved. A longing sigh escape her lips.

Once inside, she wondered if she should have invited him in, but with so much uncertainty facing her, she couldn’t handle another complication in her life. “What’ll I do if he becomes serious?”

She undressed and slipped into bed, her mind swirling with the wonderful evening, His solid, masculine strength, gentle yet sturdy—all the wonderful qualities she valued and would ever want in a man. Laying there, feeling the glow from Bob’s strong, searching kiss, Martha forgot her worries for once as she basked in the lovely feel of femininity he’d aroused inside her tension-filled body. It felt so good—he felt so good!