The Analyst's Couch

Chapter OneJerome Mahoney pulled into the parking lot of the office building and chose a spot near the back. He would reread his grandfather’s journal one more time to make sure he understood what he needed to do. My boys didn’t enjoy driving on Route 33, especially when they had to go through the little towns with one or two traffic lights. I chose each of those drivers for the five trucks specifically for this run. They had experience. Each was a leader of a specific Ohio Gang. They had learned they couldn’t allow their foot to slip from the brake or press the accelerator past a certain point. There were no headlights even in the gray light of the Ohio night; they only had the filtered moonlight to see the unexpected stop or unremembered curve. I was in the lead truck. We were about a half-mile away from the dock. I had ordered a forty-four-foot tug; there would be no crew; Theo and I were the ones. I was controlling everything. I had placed a gun in the Glove Box; I reached in a pulled the gun out. I sprang the magazine, checked the ammunition, and cracked the heavy steel back into the chamber. I played here as a boy. I swam in the lake, ran through the fields, and dried off in the pastures. The trucks pulled into the warehouse, about 200 feet from the loading area. Each driver pulled up to the dock, locked his door, and set the special alarms they all had on their vehicles. The former gang bosses then grabbed a two-wheel dolly and started unloading their trucks onto the tug. When finished, they all climbed on board the boat. The white shaft of the moon shone on the tug and barge. I told my brother to pull up to the red buoy; the moonlight would be enough for them to see. I had posted lookouts on each road, in or out. I am not worried; all traces will disappear in an hour. We began our slow path over the water. I told them where to stop each time and recorded the Lat/Long location on the back page so you would find it. I paid off all the police, so they stayed away. I called all the drivers, and they gathered in a semicircle facing me. They had each received a million dollars. I answered their questions. As I had planned, the oldest and most respected of the drivers asked the two best questions. “Boss, what can I say? You have made us wealthy beyond our dreams. But how do we stay safe, and what about income tax?” I told them these were the last two questions I would answer. Question two first: when you return home, you will find a letter from my corporation. Attached to that letter will be an Employee Withholding form showing you made one million dollars as commission and paid the correct taxes, based on your family. As to your first question, I raised the gun and shot myself in the head. My brother Theo told them to leave immediately by separate routes. He would bring their directions to them when they got in their trucks. Theo came by, handed each of them the envelope, and while he climbed down from the cab, he flipped a switch on the back of the driver’s side, starting a 30-minute timer. It connected the timer to explosives located underneath the cab and the gas tank. He told them not to stop but to get home to their families, so they had an alibi. I assume they did as they were told, and the trucks blew up 30 minutes from when they left. When they had gone, I stood up and wiped the pig’s blood off my face and neck. Theo and I cleaned up the tug of any evidence and pushed the barge into the storage area. I am finishing writing this so I can give it to my lawyer waiting on the dock. I will shoot Theo and myself. There will be no witnesses. Whoever you are, you are my descendent, and you have inherited a fortune. The Law Firm has given you the journal and the map with the coordinates. All you have to do is recover the welded boxes, and the large welded container. I don’t know how much it will be worth, but there are ninety, one-hundred-pound-boxes, plus the chest which weighs over three hundred pounds. That’s all I have to say. This caper is payback for all the cops did to me. Raise Hell! I lay alone in my empty bed, sheltering the memories that joined me there. Five years ago, my life changed. I became my destiny without understanding it was happening. Now my future was mine alone to manifest. Five years later, I just want to lie here to recall and remember our journey, my love. Five years ago. The air was fresher with the flowers he had provided. The wine and champagne tasted like the best because he bought them. I’m referring to Peter. Yes, he was a man and distinctively so. He didn’t need the trappings that go with other successful Doctors. I see them in their Porsche and their Ferraris. Someone sexually manifested their demand, with cars inviting s****l conquest. Peter drove a Jeep. OK, I’m silly. I was excited, though. Today, Saturday, January second, 2015, I am starting a new practice with my boss, Dr. Peter Miles. I am twenty-four-year-old Vanessa Brown. I have worked for and with him for the last eighteen months. He hired me right after I completed my Associate Degree program in Psychology. I never expected to be hired. I had worked at a diner through school, not some high-class Research Center. I had met two of the other candidates, both with Master’s degrees. So, when he offered me the job, I asked him why he had chosen me over more qualified candidates? He reminded me he was deciding based on intangible qualities, not just scholarly accomplishments. A confusing answer, I thought; but I would not press my luck. I had the job. It was in my field. He appeared not to care about my looks, and the pay was good. Besides, if he wanted s*x, I assume he could at least get it vicariously from his patients. Yes, I am paranoid. I can look in the mirror and impartially judge my appearance. I am substantially above average. I have a splendid figure, work out, and I don’t have to buy expensive clothes to look good. I am a virgin. How that is relevant is beyond me, but no one believes me. No, I am not a prude; in fact, I dated a football player throughout high school. I was naked in his car frequently, and he made me flaunt my nudity for truckers driving beside us or his friends. He never f****d me; in fact, he never even touched my p***y. I think he may have been gay and was afraid to tell people. Can you imagine riding in a car and having people see you naked? I was so horny; most of the time, my panties stayed soaked. After high school, I got a job at the diner in Columbus and started at the local city college. Now, after eighteen months in the multi-discipline practice, I was starting his new solo practice with him. Peter initially worked for a group of doctors, all practicing various disciplines. As an MD, his medical training offers him the opportunity to choose his area of specialization. He emphasizes s****l Psychiatry covering all s****l disorders and s****l problems. The practice can be uncomfortable for some people, especially those who share office space. Peter had been looking for an excuse to vacate his lease; so, he suggested to the Practice Manager he would market aggressively to secure new patients. The manager said the other tenants would not look favorably on additional “perverts” occupying the building. Peter established an independent practice. I would have bet my bottom dollar; Peter would be very successful. I was familiar with most of his patients, and when he asked me to come with him, I didn’t think twice, even though the multiple practice manager asked me to stay for more money. I liked Dr. Miles or Peter as he asked me to call him. Even though he ordered me around, and he treated only people with severe s****l dysfunction. It was exciting to work in a field that was newly discovered with very little competition. Sexual dysfunction includes desire, arousal, orgasmic, and s****l pain disorders. Emotional conditions, which create physical manifestations, cause them. My boss is an expert in the field and has new patients coming in every week. I have an Associate Degree in Psychology, and Peter has told me I’m smart enough to continue my education. Get my BS/MS and take some of the load off him in time. That’s exciting for me, and I think I may start taking a course or two online. Today is our open house. We invited select patients, friends and former colleagues. The guests arrived and kept arriving. I had seen some of them in the Society pages; but, I did not know who that older man was, but he was a celebrity. I heard them say he was the best golfer ever. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice disturbing my reverie. “Vanessa Brown, you never call.” “Mom!’, I said dumbfounded, ,”What are you doing here?” “Vanessa, aren’t you going to introduce me to your Mother?” Peter asked. “I apologize to you both,” I stuttered. “Mom, this is Dr. Peter Miles, my boss, and the owner of this practice. Dr. Miles, please meet my Mother, Victoria Brown, who I wasn’t expecting.” I give it to Peter; he is the master of manipulation. Peter smiled that, you please me smile, and told her it was a genuine and great pleasure to meet the person who raised the next eminent doctor in the world. He was, as was often the case, a Silver-tongued Devil. My mother was slack-jawed as she looked at Peter, and Peter continued to enthrall her by asking her if she would like to sit down? Saying it was a long drive from Louisville. My mother finally got her act together and thanked him, acknowledging the drive tired her. He invited her to follow him by extending his arm for her to take. To my amazement, he took her to the chair beside the golfer. My mother was rarely tongue-tied, but Peter introduced her, and she was once again slack-jawed. I heard him tell this guest of honor; she was the mother of his Clinical Assistant, and he put his hand on each of their shoulders and encouraged them to get acquainted. How did she see who he was, and I didn’t? Then I remembered. She took golf lessons and played twice a week at a club in Louisville. I looked again, and she and the golfer were talking away. Peter returned and assured me the two of them would entertain each other for the rest of the evening. Besides, he told me, she deserved to meet the most famous person here. He flattered me and told him, “You are one delightful man.” He countered my flattery, stating, “It’s the least I can do for keeping her daughter in Columbus.” He walked off, chuckling. I blushed, turned away, and stopped short; what was Jerome Mahoney doing here? I said to myself. “Hey, hot stuff, I need to see the Doc.” He proclaimed loudly “Mr. Mahoney, as you can see, this is a private party, and you are not on the list of Invitees,” I informed him. “Also, as you were told, Doctor Miles sees patients by appointment only.” He yelled at me, saying, “I don’t care if the President of the United States is here; get me to the Doc!” I addressed him professionally as Mr. Mahoney and repeated that Dr. Miles only saw patients by appointment. Mahoney addressed me profanely as you, cunt. And told me he had work to do, and my asshole boss was stopping him from doing it. I motioned for security, and the guard was immediately at my side. I asked him to please show Mr. Mahoney out; he is not on the guest list. Mahoney shouted again, calling me a b***h, and told me I would pay for this. Another security person appeared from nowhere, and they each took an arm and escorted Jerome Mahoney from the room. The first security guard came back and informed me he would escort me home tonight, and I heard Peter speak over my shoulder, thanking Brian, the Security Guard, and would he please call in additional guards for the parking lot and guests. He also asked for Private Security for the Guest of Honor and a car to follow Peter, my mom, and me to Peter’s home. I smiled up at him gratefully and told him thank you.