The Doctor Is Listening

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

Leaving Dr. Binkenfelter’s office, I was so worked up that I didn’t even notice the leer of the man alone with me in the elevators. Didn’t notice, that is, until it came back with tenfold intensity to haunt me in my dreams that night.

The ferocity felt good, and it had been far more therapeutic than my past, passive sessions. My anger was still beneath the surface, but my adrenaline was pumping and I felt vivacious. Back home, I pooped in a half-hour kickboxing tape, and proceeded to ‘cleanse away the day’s negative energies,’ or so the back of the box claimed.

Soaking the tension away in a hot bath was another of my daily rituals, and I let the mild lilac-laced water drip off my body as I dried my hair. Tugging on a three-quarters length gown, I pulled the silk material tight around my torso, luxuriating at the smoothness against my skin.

Relaxed and exhausted, I dropped into bed. I had found, recently that the only way to really sleep through my nightmares was to go to bed completely worn-out. But tonight it wasn’t working.

I lay there, staring up at the pattern of light reflected by the streetlamp outside. It wasn’t until the green digital numbers began blearing before my eyes that I realized I’d left my journal at the psychiatrist’s office.

Letting out an audible groan, I rolled over halfway, brining my fist down on the solid wood bedside table.

There were more than a few entries in there that I didn’t want him to read. Most were even more explicit, violent, and…provocative…than what he had flipped open to. I had second-guessed myself about ever bring the book with me in the first place, and now I knew I would never get to sleep knowing he was probably devouring it as his bedtime story.

Snapping on the overhead lamp, I rummaged through the information his Assistant had given me. Sure enough, his home number and address were on the back of his card. Thank goodness for dedicated professionals.

Cradling the phone under my chin, I dragged the base onto the pillow next to me. I dialed quickly, before I could second-guess this as well, not even thinking to glance at the clock out of common curtsey.

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

It wasn’t until Mr. Wilson had left following his appointment, that I noticed the leather bound notebook that Miss Kingsley had left behind when she bolted from my office. I was tempted to open and read it on the spot, but since I had already fallen behind in my appointments, there was no time. All day the book sat on the corner of my long dark mahogany desk, staring at me, diverting my attention from my patients, almost as insistent as the author herself. I was sure to slip it into my briefcase before leaving.

Miss Huffmeister was unusually cheerful as she went about my office straightening up while I packed up. For a moment I could have sworn that she paused and smiled strangely at me. Whatever had gotten into everyone today? Seemingly from the moment I had arrived at the office, everything had somersaulted.

My usual evening at The Scarab Club went slowly, as I kept remembering that small black notebook, sitting in the briefcase, in the back seat of my A6 Saloon. Although I was forced to recite my infamous rendition of “Dangerous Dan McGrew” for the amusement of my colleagues, the most insightful could easily tell that I was distracted. And when Portnoy clapped me on the back and asked with a leering nod and wink how my appointment with Miss Kingsley had gone, it created a strange feeling of aversion for him, and a renewed feeling of sympathy for her, this strangely beguiling, intriguing, and befuddling young woman.

And these feelings did not end until late that evening, as I poured a glass of my favorite Merlot and sat down in my study, sinking deeply into the supple leather chair and opened up the little black notebook. Taking a long savoring sip of the precious ruby Merlot, I thumbed through the booklet. Pages were alternately scribbled upon in a wild script, or neat concise handwriting. Some pages had curious figurines sketched upon them. Other pages had only a single frightened or frightening word written with some sort of odd colored ink.

As I began to read from the beginning, I was overcome with the notion that although I was her doctor now, this journal of hers provided a deeper look into her psyche than was normally afforded a therapist. It was at times dark and threatening, dreamy and confused, then evil and destructive.

I had not gotten far at all with it, when the phone rang. It was late, far later than normal for any of my friends to contact me. Perhaps it was that odd Mrs. VonKetter who was suspicious of her domestic help and continually accusing them of theft, and who was always calling at odd hours upon the discovery of a missing precious heirloom ball of tin foil. Whoever it was, I was determined to get rid of them quickly and to immerse myself into the dark puzzling world of Miss Shana Kingsley.

 

[captivate]

Miss Ingrid Huffmeister, Executive Assistant

Finally, this odd day is ending. We have seen the last patient and sent him on his way. Himself has finished dictating his notes and handed me the completed tapes to work on tonight. We are now alone in the office, packing up for the night. As I move around the inner sanctum, gathering the last coffee cups and dirty ashtrays, I glance at Konrad. He is looking at me, a bemused expression on his chiseled features. What a day this has been! For the first time, I feel as if I have been noticed and the good doctor even commented on my clothing. Of course, he knows nothing of the gossamer lingerie beneath the austere suit, but I somehow get the feeling he might actually see it someday.

I leave his office and finish straightening the reception room, and the tiny kitchen. Smiling to myself, as I finish, I stop at Konrad's door one more time, to say goodnight. To my disappointment, I find he is already gone. This is not unusual. But in light of today's events, I was hoping for a formal farewell, not just a disappearance.

On the way home, I stop at my favorite deli, picking up a lovely chef's salad and an inexpensive, but delicious, white wine. At home, I carefully remove my expensive suit and place it on the padded hanger in the blue section of my closet. After removing the white silk blouse and hanging it in the blouse section, I stop to look in the full-length mirror beside my bed.

I see me. I am short and small. I have a nicely compact figure, with curves I keep hidden by my well-structured clothing. My naturally white-blonde hair is pulled up tightly in a bun. I reach up and release the pins, feeling the cascades of curls on my bare shoulders. My skin is pale, the periwinkle blue lingerie looking very lovely against it. A few of my blonde curlies have escaped from my panties, and I touch them gently. They are soft and curly, springing from my fingertips. I close my eyes and imagine Konrad touching them, then I immediately blush at the brazen thought.

As I stand there, watching my reflection, my mind runs rampant with thoughts of Konrad and I allow myself to admit, just for a moment, that I love him. I wonder how his evening is going and if he is thinking of me.

Slowly, I dress in my sweats and settle in to transcribe today's dictation, surrounding myself with his voice and thoughts.

 

[darrenfate]

Johnny "Granite" Jones

Johnny "Granite" Jones, late of the US Army, strolled cooly in the night. Medium height, black hair, and non descript face let him blend into any crowd. An ex boxer and intelligence officer, Johnny was one of those military men who upon returning to private life find that they are lost souls. Nothing captured his imagination or made him feel alive like he had in the service. He missed his days of surreptitious sleuthing. Even the prospect of free lancing left him cold. He simply would not brook amateurs.

Johnny had discovered a reason to live. At first he had tracked people purely to keep his skills sharp. He had seen Shana Kingsley on the subway and followed her casually for a few line changes. Her eyes flicked at him, and he saw her fear. Somehow he had been spotted. This had never happened before. He took it as a challenge.

He fished in his pocket for the ever present pack of Camel nonfilters. Lighting it up, he watched Shana disappear into the building. Tracking her from there to a Doctor Binkenfelter’s office was easy. So, Shana you need a shrink do you he mused. He smoked half the pack then impulsively as he waited for her return then got in the elevator and walked up to the office.

The door swung open as a man left, mumbling to himself. There was a blonde in there, elegantly dressed and looking very professional. Business must be good those threads had cost her quite a pretty penny. The good doctor is a woman, eh? Johnny would lay down on her couch anytime. That short skirt openly displayed her fine legs. Johnny ought to be chasing women like that instead of tracking some innocent. Damn she was fine. Inspiration struck, he needed to be a patient! Mmm that is deliciously twisted, perfect. It was settled. Johnny turned and headed to the elevator without ever entering the office.

As the doors started to close, a thin hand held them open.

Shana !

He had stayed too long! Johnny cursed his bad judgement. Turning abruptly she faced away from him as they rode down alone. For the first time Johnny openly admired her body. The red hair, the tapered back, thin waist and round ass made her quite a sex object. His thoughts about her had been simple before, now they turned decidedly darker. He would dream of possessing that ass for weeks. The bell rang, and Shana hurried out on the ground floor. He saw her glance quickly at him over her shoulder as she left.

"I'll be seeing you again, Shana. Real soon ..."

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

Hearing Dr. Binkenfelter‘s voice, my breath caught in my throat. Slamming down the phone, I rocked back on my heels, staring at it guiltily. Gnawing at my lower lips, I climbed off the bed, pulling back on my the white robe.

So he was awake. I knew it! How dare he presume to read my darkest moments; things I wouldn’t even divulge to my own mother…let alone a complete stranger.

Angrily, I threw open the window. Car keys in hand, I climbed out and swung clumsily to the fire escape. The pavement was cool and dry under my bare feet; shoes were an after thought. I kept my car parked in the seldom-used back alley – they would be far more conspicuous if they tried to follow me that way.

Driving to the home address listed on the back of his card, I peered out at the high-class residential neighborhood. A redwood two-story house with white trim peered out from a cluster of broad-limbed firs. It’s tidy yard and neatly trimmed walkway was almost clinically sterile. Definitely a doctor’s house.

Standing on the front lawn, I narrowed my eyes in the dark. The house was black except for a single desk lamp that shone through a first floor window. Feeling uncomfortable standing out in the open, I blinked at a flicker of movement to my left. Raking my fingers through my hair, I turned my back on that direction, hissing in a stage whisper. Go away….Leave me alone…..

 

[captivate]

Miss Ingrid Huffmeister, Executive Assistant

As I sit listening to his dictation, I wonder if I can find a reason to call Himself. I have never, in all our years together, called his home. But that was in normal times, and today has been anything but normal. Even sitting here, in my baggy sweats and fuzzy slippers, I can feel his gaze on me, seeing me and considering me. Before I can change my mind, I dial his number, which I know as well as my own. Damn! The line is busy. It is late and I wonder who Konrad might be speaking with, knowing in my heart that it is Shana. There is just something about her, something that made Konrad behave differently.

I will try his number one more time, then go to bed. It is ringing! Konrad answers it, sounding irritated. I identify myself and hear his voice soften somewhat. He says he is having an odd evening, with the phone ringing and then the caller hanging up. He suspects Mr. Bolanger, our patient who is convinced that everyone he knows parties together without inviting him. He often checks on the location of his friends and associates. As we talk and share some clinical observations, I sense that Konrad is distracted. A few minutes later, he excuses himself, saying he thinks someone is on the front lawn, watching his house.

I tell him to be careful, I warn him....oh, dear, he has disconnected our call. Slowly, I cradle the receiver and move to my bed, worrying about Himself and what is happening at his home.

I slowly remove my sweats and slip between the cool cotton sheets in my blue undies, feeling the incredible smoothness of the expensive sheets on my bare skin. My nipples harden with the contact and I think again of Konrad and pray that everything is all right with him.

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

And just when the evening had seemed to return to normal, my quiet home was turned into the same disorderly, disorganized mess that the day had become. First, there was an anonymous phone call from an unrecognized caller, who took a single desperate breath then hung up. Perhaps it was Mr. Bolanger, who needed to be reassured that the entire world was not throwing a party and forgetting to invite him (which, knowing him, it probably would). But he was not one to be shy and simply hang up. Then my assistant, Miss Huffmeister, calls unexpectedly, which is quite unlike her. Even as we discuss some of the events of the day, she seems quite chatty this evening, as if she thought we were more than professional associates. But then there is something in the tone of her voice that catches me up a few times. Is she perhaps coming on to me? And why am I not completely unreceptive?

Then while I am talking with her, I notice something outside the window of my study and get up to look. Accidentally, I hang up the receiver, but then I was uncomfortable with the direction of my conversation with Miss Huffmeister. I pull the drapes open enough to look outside, and see a shadow walking across the front lawn. In the glow of the lights that line the walk I can see that it is Miss Kingsley. There is no mistaking her slender frame, her pale face framed by her red hair, barefoot and dressed in a what appeared to be nightclothes, her tender body reacting to the chill of the late evening air, a strangely appealing and erotic sight even to my professional eyes.

Had she remembered leaving her journal behind and was coming to reclaim it? Could I feign ignorance of having started to read these most private thoughts of hers? I let the drapes fall back and hurried to the door, else she have second thoughts. For some reason, I felt this strange, strong compunction to see her, to hear her voice, to help her however I could.

“Miss Kingsley!” I called out as I threw open the door.

She froze in her tracks as the light from my foyer split the darkness suddenly. She was turned partway around as if talking to someone. When she turned back around there was a look of fear and disgust and disbelief in her eyes. That part of me, deep inside, was riled up again as it had been earlier in the day. A thousand heretofore-unknown thoughts and emotions welled up. I looked behind her. Was she haunted by another delusion, or was she being followed by her ex-husband? There was a hint of a shadow out toward the street, so I called out loudly, “Miss Kingsley, please come in!”

She approached the doorway hesitantly, her face defiant and proud and disturbed, her cheeks flushed, her green eyes irritated and wild. As I tried to welcome her inside and close the door, I took another look out toward the street. Were the shadows moving or was it simply my agitated state of mind? I put my arm around her shoulders and drew her toward the warmth of my house. Perhaps once inside she would be able to relax and feel free of the demons that seemed to be haunting her.

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

I stood on the lawn a moment, hesitant. Here in the shadows or there in the light…with him? Which was the lesser of the two evils?

Confidence, girl, confidence.

Picking my way up the front steps, I waltzed onto the porch and through the doors. Ignoring the doctor with his gleaming toothpaste commercial smile, I picked up his hand and dropped it off my shoulder with a look of disdain.

Not bothering to wipe my feet on the welcome mat, I left dainty footprints over his front foyer’s oriental carpet. The kitchen was right in front of me; I could tell from the faint gleam of the oven hood light.

Flipping on the light switch and walking in as if I owned the place, I found the coffee pot right away. Filling it with tap water, I added four scoops from the freshly ground Jamaican blend sitting in a plain white bag on the counter.

“You should really keep your coffee in the freezer…it lasts a lot longer and retains more of the flavor,” I commented idly to Dr. Binkenfelter, whose shadow was framed in the doorway.

Rummaging through drawers and pulling open his cabinets, I found one with all sorts of novelty mugs…obviously a popular gift from the patients. Snickering, I picked one, turning it over in my hands, just to make sure I had read it right.

You’re just jealous because the voices don’t talk to YOU

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

“Of course, I normally keep it refrigerated,” I replied, feeling somewhat chastened by her pointed comment. I took a quick look outside and seeing nothing closed the front door. “But I have been distracted this entire day and it must have slipped my mind.”

Nighttime visits from patients were not uncommon in my practice, though there was something entirely provocative about this young woman. I followed her into the kitchen and watched as she started to brew a pot of strong coffee for which there may very well be a need given her look and demeanor. There was no need to ask her to make herself comfortable, for she acted so casually, as if she had been here a hundred times, as if she actually belonged here in my private space.

Of course she would have to pick out the cup that dear Miss Dumont, the retired film star, had given me years ago in appreciation for my help with her own demons and delusions. But those of the late Miss Dumont now seemed so benign compared to what was haunting this young woman.

As the pot began to gurgle, she posed for a moment, leaning back against the marble countertop, her arms spread out, her fingertips tapping the counter, confidently, defiantly, and stridently, her vivid red hair disheveled, her green eyes sparkling with an evil mischief, and her pale trim body barely concealed by the thin fabric of her silken robe and gown. Was this an act or was she simply so brazenly confident?

“I can only imagine that you are here to retrieve the journal that you left behind this morning,” I said, pausing just inside the doorway. I tried not to let the coffee grounds spilled on the counter bother me. “I want to reassure you that any secrets you have recorded there will remain so. I believe that the confidentiality of the patient-doctor relationship is sacrosanct. However, your journal may be a touchstone from which we can begin to understand what is happening in your life.”

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

Pouring the coffee, I yanked open the refrigerator door. Yellow light pooled in an eerie, unnatural color over the kitchen floor, sending the shadows scurrying. Adding the whipped cream I found there to the already overflowing mug, I sipped it warily, letting his words sink in.

“So you read it. Very…manly…of you to admit. Most others would have claimed false integrity. Smart move on your part, Doc. Little by little, weaseling your way into my trust,” I finished sarcastically, walking into the study where I had seen the light on earlier.

On top of a broad armchair’s leather back I alighted, crossing my legs and resting my feet on the cushion where most would have opted to sit. Glancing around the room, I noted the subtle floral patterns and pastel hues.

“A woman’s touch. Is there a Mrs. Binkenfelter…? Girlfriend…?”

I looked at him slyly for a moment before picking up a pink feather duster on the end table. Running it down the side of his face and over his shoulder lightly, I raised one eyebrow cockily.

“…French maid…?”

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

“She is a Czech actually,” I smiled, “A delightful young woman. She speaks little English and has no say in the décor.”

Miss Kingsley’s flirtatious demeanor surely would have tempted some of my weaker colleagues, and though there was some small part of me attracted to this provocative young woman, my overriding convictions as a professional formed the strength of my relationship with all of my patients. Yet, I let her tease me if only to demonstrate my receptive nature, and in doing so felt a strange feeling sweep over me, a sense that this was not just enjoyable in the clinical, theoretical sense, but it was … fun.

“There is no Mrs., nor is there a girlfriend,” I admitted, noting the response in her expression. “As I’ve discovered in my practice, one shouldn’t make assumptions based on the surface appearance. I’ve decorated the house entirely myself. I’ve chosen to keep light and airy whereas the private areas you might find more masculine.”

A sly expression crossed her face, one that told me more about her than even her little black journal, and which showed me another side of her that was completely unexpected.

“But then,” I went on, “You surely didn’t come over here in the dead of night to critique my adeptness in the decorative arts, did you?”

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

“I should have guessed. A man of many talents.” I eyed the room with a sweeping view, not missing my journal lying open in an inexcusable way.

“And what if I did really just come here to shoot the breeze about my own artistic preferences?” I parried,” Would you really be that surprised? I’m sure mine is one of your more mundane midnight visits.”

Looking at him over the rim of the mug, I twirled a lock of hair around my finger, trying to read the handsome, yet void of expression, face. He had the luxuriously textured eyes that made it so easy for him to lie. I had to admit, I envied him. I had to struggle with every emotion to keep it from tainting my features.

“But, as I know you like getting to the heart of the matter, I’ll cut to the chase. No frills, lace, or pink bows…”

Setting the mug on the end table, I slid down until I was lying in the chair, one leg stretched languidly over the arm.

“I want my book back. I know it’s a therapist’s treasure chest; but letting you distinguish fact from myth may be dangerous to your own mental health. Not all my writing is fiction, mind you.”

I held out my hand, palm flat to the ceiling, silently demanding.

“Now if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like back what’s rightfully mine.”

 

[captivate]

Ingrid Huffmeister, Executive Assistant

I settled in the bed, my pillows nested under my head and shoulders, the quilt pulled up to my chin. I tried to sleep, tossing and turning, never really comfortable, completely unable to drift off. This just added to the strangeness of the day. Usually, I slept like an innocent baby, no worries or concerns. I feel confident that I do my job well, please Himself, and help the clients relax and feel safe. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I find myself reliving the entire day, and wondering what it all means. Why does Shana seem so different from our regular patients? Why did her appearance turn the entire routine askew? Why did Konrad pick today to appear to see me, notice me? And tonight, how did I get the courage to call him and converse with him, only to be disconnected at a crucial point in our talk? That was it, I was worried about Konrad.

Finally, I could not stop myself. I climbed from my warm bed, slipped into my sweats and slippers and went to my car. I drove to His house. Again, I had never officially been there, but my mind and heart knew the way without hesitation. I was alert for some problem, something that would have caused Konrad to disconnect our call so suddenly. I approached his block slowly, not entirely sure what to expect. I suppose flashing police lights would not have startled me. Instead, I drove through a very respectable neighborhood, the homes tastefully landscaped with lighting everywhere.

At this hour, most homes were dark. Except Konrad's. I could see light spilling from the lower front window onto the lawn. I slowly drove closer, peering at his home. Suddenly, I was aware that I was holding my breath. Through the sheer draperies, I could plainly see my Konrad, my precious doctor, talking with someone. As my car moved past, I was clearly able to see his guest. There, stretched out on the chair in his den, in her very feminine sleepwear, was Shana!

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

Of course she wanted her handwritten journal, the little black leather volume into which she had been pouring her poetic and dangerously personal thoughts for at least a couple of years. Yet, draped so languidly on the supple leather chair, her slender arm and slim hand extended out, her leg dangling so appealingly over the chair arm, her robe slightly parted, her gown tugged up just enough that the seductive shadows could flirt with my imagination, perhaps there was something else she wanted, and if so it wasn’t to make an ordinary mundane late night visit: she wanted to play. The thought crossed my mind that it might be interesting to use a different approach in working with her, an experimental form of therapy. I decided to take my time retrieving her journal from where I had set it down.

“Of course, you want your little black book back now don’t you?” I said, easing over toward the table. “This is a remarkable little document.”

I picked it up from the table and held it with great fondness like a rare first edition treasure of which there several on the bookcases that lined the walls of the study. I flipped through a few of the pages as if looking for a favorite passage, though they were all interesting.

“I’m sure that there are many people in this world who would commit all sorts of crimes to have this fall into their hands,” I remarked coolly. I moved about the room, almost as if circling this fragile young woman whose striking green eyes followed my meandering path. “Your ex-husband, your lawyer, your last several employers, your ex-father-in-law, and of course, Howard, whoever he really is.”

I had finally reached a spot mere inches away from her outstretched hand. Gazing down at Miss Kingsley, reclining so casually upon the leather chair, so appealing and so vulnerable, I held out her journal just beyond her reach, my face relaxed and expressionless.

“I can only imagine what you might be willing to do to get it back.”

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

“Let me remind you, doctor, that you are not talking to ‘just another woman.’ I, sir, do not take kindly to idle threats. Of course, if you were Howard, then you would know that.”

My eyes darted to his face when he started to ramble on about who he could blackmail me with, using only my journal. Was he bluffing? I couldn’t tell. But it seemed a little odd to me that he had such a deep streak of viciousness in his personality. Of course, I wasn’t the best judge of people. Just look at my ex-husband for the tactile proof.

“Your ex-husband, your lawyer, your last several employers, your ex-father-in-law, and of course, Howard, whoever he really is.”

I snorted quietly at the Dr’s reference to Howard…oh if he only knew the whole of it. I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or intimidated by his blatant display of control. Standing in a fluid movement, I stood in front of him, unwavering. It seemed almost laughable; his face was warm and open, one that you would expect encouragement from rather than his dark implications.

Letting myself utter a high-pitched demonic laugh just to suit my current image of mentally deranged, I turned my back on him to scrutinize the diplomas and certificates peppering the walls.

“Oh, I’m almost positive they’d all be utterly fascinated with my inane musings about them. But what about the American Psychiatric Association…the National Association of Psychiatric Health Systems…the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology…and the American Association of Community Psychiatrists? Don’t you think they’d be ever so interested in their own certified Doctor’s threats of blackmail to his obviously unstable patient? Oh and we can’t forget the media; this is just the kind of thing they love to sink their teeth into.”

 

[captivate]

Miss Ingrid Huffmeister, sad Executive Assistant

After seeing Shana in His den, I can't quite think what to do. It is improper for her to be there, it is quite improper considering her state of dress. But so strong is my faith in Konrad, that I have to think that if she is there, somehow it is all right.

I pass through the quiet neighborhood, driving back to my tiny cottage. My heart is heavy. Konrad is so unlike this, he is so pure and good. Yet, he is entertaining Shana in his home, late at night, looking quite comfortable and relaxed.

I have a funny feeling in my chest. I had just allowed myself to admit to feelings for Him, and now I see I don't have a chance. Silly me, thinking a plain woman, such as I, could catch his discerning eye. The looks he was giving me were probably pity, having met the lovely Shana and seeing me in comparison.

I park my car and walk slowly inside, locking the door behind me. My bed beckons me and I drop my clothes on the floor and crawl into the warmth. Hugging my pillow, I feel the tears begin to flow down my cheeks. Oh, Konrad!

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

“My dear Miss Kingsley,” I began, amused and not the least bit surprised by her outburst, or by the way she turned her back, her arms crossed and wrapped tightly across her breasts.

I watched as her eyes darted from diploma to diploma, from one award certificate to the next. Was she trying to get a bearing on my motives, and me or was there something else?

“Blackmail is far from my mind, and I would think far from yours,” I added calmly, fingering the soft supple leather binding. “This journal, this little black book, is your property, and it is my intention to return it to you.”

I had come to stand directly alongside her, watching her nervousness as it wound her up and kept her bound to the demons that haunted her. She turned and glanced at me with the strangest look in her eye. I could see a thousand questions in her eyes—a thousand emotions filtering through, and then that soft vulnerability beneath an intense strident hostility.

“My comment was intended as a playful little ploy to test how important this is to you. You see this is my space that you have entered tonight and I set the rules here. And my rules call for you to throw off the games and pretensions and begin to trust me as a professional, and as your doctor. Unlike the other men, professional and lay who have trampled their way through your life, this is not for my desires, and me but for you and yours. Now do you want your journal back or not?”

 

[darrenfate]

Johnny

Johnny had learned to be prepared, it was his hallmark trait. He knew that he needed to know everthing about Shana Kingsley and the people she met before he introduced himself onto the scene. He packed for survellance carefully. He took his i Series Thinkpad equipped with a cellular modem into the black four door Impala. In his normal bag there was a Nikon F -100 with its special lenses it had run him about two grand. Just in case, there was also a simple Walther PPK hand gun. One couldn't be too careful.

The sneaky fast car was unobtrusive as he pulled away at dusk to watch Shana's place. The bug in her phone he had set himself, he could listen in on her conversations. More important, he could trace her calls. So it was that he heard every word between Shana and the good doctor. He was a man after all, that woman he had spotted in the office must have been a colleague. That, Johnny mused could have been a huge mistake. It pays to prepare. Finding the doctors address had been easy, addresses were widely available free on the net once you had the number. What a country! He pulled away, just as Shana emerged. He needn't follow her, since he knew where she was going.

He was safely in place when she entered the house. His long range lens allowed him to snap pictures. These could be useful. Johnny saw a car moving slowly down the street, too slowly. All his senses alert now, he saw a flash of the driver's face as she passed under a streetlight. The unknown female from the office! He ran her plates. Ingrid Huffmeister. The nameless beauty anonymous no more. This was getting interesting. She sped off, but Johnny stayed. One never knew what would happen next. Camera in hand, he patiently waited in the dark ...

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

I was mad at myself for falling so embarrassingly easy for his obvious trap. Mentally kicking myself, I gave the doctor a withering look.

“ My comment was intended as a playful little ploy to test how important this is to you.”

“Test was it? As was mine. You passed with flying colors, Doctor, now did I?”

With a thin lipped smile, I glanced out the front window. I knew I wasn’t making perfect sense, but I had to defend myself somehow. I didn’t deal well with smug grins.

Headlights washed blandly over the walls, blinding me momentarily. Suspiciously, I stood and moved to the side of the window where I couldn’t be seen from the road. All the windows in my apartment had both heavy drapes and were nailed shut. The vast expanse of open glass made me feel vulnerable.

His dark eyes followed me, taking note of every action and reaction. I pulled the robe tighter over my body under this close scrutiny, shifting my weight uneasily. Raking my hair back angrily, I turned to him. I stomped my foot childishly at his impudent question. He could play with fire all he damned well pleased, as far as I was concerned…perhaps I'd give him the fireworks he’d been looking for.

“Give me my fuckin’ journal! I did not give you my permission to read it and just ‘cause you’re Mr. Big, Bad therapist gives you absolutely no right. Taunting me will only distance your further from myself and my world which, hate to tell ya, you know nothing about.”

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

“Miss Kingsley,” I said calmly, coming to stand close to her at the window. “It is for that very reason that I started to read your journal. Your world is one that only you know anything about. From what little I have read, there is much that I obviously do not know, fears, suspicions, hatreds that must all be explored fully before you can be set free from them … provided that you want to be set free. I cannot help you if I know nothing of this world, if you will not share it with me.”

Her body was shaking, trembling, but certainly not from fear. Perhaps it was from the fierce emotions and inner images that were so real for her that it must have seemed strange to her that others could not see or feel them. I looked deeply into her eyes trying to understand what it was that she saw, trying to sense the fear, the dread, whatever it was that she would not—nay could not tell me. I could feel the heat from her body as she stood before me, tapping her foot rapidly, her breath coming fast and hard washing over my face. I held the journal up in front of her, holding onto it firmly.

“This is your property and I would think that you’d want to take more care of it,” I spoke calmly, despite the flurry of emotions swirling inside me. “Unless, there is some reason that you left it behind intentionally, some purpose for which even you don’t understand.”

Looking into her dark green eyes, her pale face now flushed, I could see in a moment the complete contradiction that was the patient, this beautiful young Miss Shana Kingsley. She was strident and vulnerable, strong and fiercely afraid; sexual and open, yet devoid of feeling and closed off emotionally; full of humor and wit, yet filled with an evil spirit that mocked every fulfilling promise that life could offer.

“I can only offer my help, in whatever form you want, however you wish to pursue it. This call is entirely up to you.”

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

I looked at the psychiatrist cynically, ”I tend never to play by the rules, Doctor. But if you insist upon the necessity of your game, then the least I can do is try.

Sliding along the wall, I pressed my shoulder blades into the corner, crossing my arms.

“Trust me. I didn’t leave my journal here on purpose…subconsciously or other wise. I don’t care if you understand me; in fact, I’d prefer ignorance to the thought of having you up here.”

I tapped my temple for affect, pushing my strawberry hair back from my forehead.

Feeling a sudden, uncharacteristic rush of embarrassment at my former outburst and rude behavior, I rested a hang against his chest. For one, it was to stop him from moving any closer than he already way. But it was also the most sincere of apologies I could muster, letting him know I did trust him…to some extent.

Lowering my voice to a civilized level, I took a deep breath, my eyes losing their animalistic ferocity. I was too tired to keep up my argument with enough anger and passion to make it somewhat plausible. Resignedly, I sighed.

“Please, doctor, just give me back my book and maybe I’ll bring it…of my own volition…to our next session.”

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

I held her journal up between us. Her eyes darted between the little black leather book and my face. Though we were standing close together, she had placed her hand up against my chest, almost as if to ward me off. Yet there was something in her light touch that made me think of this gesture as not protective, but rather some form of communication.

“Of course you may have your book back,” I said softly.

As she reached for it and pulled it away from me, her fingers brushed mine and I felt a slight crackle from her touch, not some ordinary static discharge, but something else, something that was very much like this puzzling young woman, something that I didn’t understand and deeply yearned to know.

“And I do hope you will bring it with you again,” I said with a soft smile. “Perhaps you may wish to read some of your entries aloud to me. We may find your reading as dramatic as it is therapeutic.”

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Shana Kingsley

Taking the book, I lowered my eyes, sliding past him and striding quickly to the door.

“Thank you for the coffee,” I said simply, still not meeting his eyes. Tugging open the front door, I trotted down the walk, fully aware of the chill in the air now.

My eyes lingered on the shadowy patches of the immaculately landscaped lawn. Under my feet, the pavement was cool and dry, although the night smelled like rain.

Cicadas and crickets echoed each other’s unchoreographed symphonies, the ricocheting sounds lying heavily on the air.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I locked my door before reaching behind me to lock all the back ones as well. Leaning over the stick shift, I pushed down the passenger side lock before settling back.

Leaning into the leather enveloping me, I took a deep breath. Glancing at the house, I saw the Doctor wave before shutting the door. A few seconds later, the light in his study went out as well.

I sat there for awhile, enjoying the dark night, eyes closed, limbs limp, completely relaxed. Feeling about as with it as I had all night, I set my book on the seat next to me. Fumbling around on the sun visor, I retrieved the ignition key. When I turned it, however, the engine responded with a rebellious screech.

Pulling it out, I tried again, a hollow click filling the interior, and the whispery rush of metal grinding against metal.

I cursed under my breath, bringing my hand down on the dashboard.

Perfect ending to a perfect day.

 

[Miltone]

Dr. Binkenfelter, Ph. D.

I watched Miss Kingsley walk down the drive and climb into her car. Sure enough that she was safe, I waved and closed the door. This impromptu visit had been quite interesting and I replayed it in my mind as I turned out the lights and headed up to bed. I would definitely have to be careful should I decide to use my "play" therapy idea again, for she seemed to be unaware of the difference.

As I entered my bedroom I remembered that I had been talking with Miss Huffmeister. Perhaps I should call her back and report on what had been a most revealing meeting. As I dialed her number I glanced out the window and saw that Miss Kingsley's car was still parked outside. Odd, for she surely had sufficient time to drive off. Doubly odd too, for there seemed to be no answer at my assistant's house. This had been a strange day and the evening even more unusual.

 

[darrenfate]

Johnny

Johnny had gotten an eyeful watching the drama unfold, or as it turned out he thought ruefully, the lack of drama. The good Doctor was living dangerously, treading that thin line between personal desires and professional malpractice. The physical tension between he and Shana was palpable even from 50 meters away. He shot much of the film, despite the fact that he could see that it wouldn't be of any use since nothing had happened. Yet.

Johnny pondered why Ingrid Huffmeister would drive past the Doctor's house. Of course. She was an erstwhile lover. And when she saw Shana inside, she didn't stop. Johnny plainly remembered the anguish on her face. Hmmm. The plot thickens.

After a while Shana came out of the house. She looked furtively around as if paranoid that she was being watched - as she was. Johnny smiled as he saw her lock all the car doors. Johnny spoke quietly to himself -

They won't protect you from me Shana. If I wanted to I could take you wherever and whenever I choose. Your apartment locks were no deterrent. I think its time I taught you a lesson ...

Johnny silently slid out of his car, he had long ago learned to disable the interior lights when he did so. He walked up behind Shana's car, and bending low, crept up to her driver's side window. He peeked up, and she had her head in the dashboard, shaking it slowly and sadly back and forth. He stood and pressed his face close to the glass.

Suddenly Shana spun about and saw him. Johnny laughed in her face as she contorted in fear. With his empty right hand, he took his thumb and forefinger and made a mock gun. Pressing his thumb down on the imaginary finger he said -

Bang Bang Shana. Your're dead

Then Johnny whirled and vanished behind her in the dark ...