Snuff
Page 31
“Cynthia, it’s good to meet you. Tell me what brings you here today.” Dr. Hector Manuel sat passively in his home office, waiting for his newest patient to begin speaking. The seventy-two-year-old counselor could tell by looking at her this person was damaged and suffering intense emotional distress.
Phyllis sat quietly, reflecting. She sought therapy from a well-known psychologist in Trinidad, two hundred miles south of Denver. Using an assumed name, she hoped the aging doctor would not realize her identity.
“I have dealt with a tremendous amount of stress over the last several months. I’m a professional, but right now I am at a breaking point.”
“Please tell me more,” he prodded.
“My husband and I have been married more than twenty years. We have three children,” she paused, “well, two really, because our oldest daughter died last year. That has put a tremendous amount of strain on our relationship.”
“How so?” Dr. Manuel would not tell Phyllis he knew who she was. He would let her reveal what she wanted in her own time. In a situation like this, listening, asking questions, and gently probing was most effective.
Phyllis, reverting to form, asked, “You don’t realize losing a child can have such a negative impact on a marriage? I would think you would understand this. It’s pretty basic.”
Remaining placid, he said, “I fully understand and have dealt with this many times in my practice. I find it is most useful to allow the patient to talk this through. Each patient is different. I would like to understand why this has pulled you and your husband apart rather than helped you bond.”
Phyllis began to cry uncontrollably, washing out pain and emotions built up from well before Alisha’s murder. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“It’s only two o’clock, and I booked nothing else for the remainder of the day. Why don’t we go long, you tell me everything you are thinking and feeling, and then we will see where we go from there?”
Dr. Hector Manuel was a kind and generous soul. For the next three days, Phyllis stayed at his home, ate delicious meals prepared by his also-generous wife, and dove deeply into her emotional distress.
“Nick, can I talk to you?” she asked.
He looked up from the newspaper. “Sure,” he said. “What’s up?”
Phyllis was fully dressed and ready to walk out the door. Nick had not seen her like this since before the incident.
She sat down on the coach and faced him. “I’m leaving,” she said simply.
Rather than interrogate her, Nick remained silent. She would provide her own logic.
She waited for a moment, expecting the interrogation, then continued. “I’ve found a job at a small clinic in Maine. They know the situation and want me anyway. They’re going to provide as much or more therapy for me as I will for patients there. I have to go away and heal.”
“What about the kids?”
“What about them?” she asked. “You’re better with them than me. And you and I should not be together. Please raise them and love them, and I’ll see them once I get better.”
“What about the Governor?” He could not help himself.
She smiled easily, “Nick, he’s a Republican. Geez.” Maybe the old Phyllis was finding her way home.
A horn honked only moments later. Nick looked up and saw two small bags by the front door.
“Goodbye Nick,” Phyllis said, kissing him chastely on the cheek.
He jumped up, repeating, “But what do I tell the kids?”
“That I love them and they’ll be fine.” And she was gone.
Nick sat in his lounge chair and pondered the meaning of all of this. “Today is the day to deal with it all, I suppose,” he muttered to himself.
At that he wandered to his study and from the bottom back of a drawer, he pulled out the flash drive. He walked back to the living room and loaded it.
The video was grainy, the quality poor, but no doubt the girl in the video was Alisha. Two men entered, both naked, and began to move toward her. Nick hit ‘stop.’ He pulled the flash drive out, walked to the garage, and smashed the drive to bits with a hammer.
Nick took Nicky and Michelle out to dinner, their favorite Mexican food place.
“Why didn’t mom come?” Nicky asked.
They had already ordered and were waiting on the food.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” Nick said. They both looked at him and waited.
“You know your mom has gone through a tough time lately. I can’t really tell you all about it, but I promise you, it was really bad, as bad as anything I’ve ever seen.” They nodded recognition.
“And I know it’s no secret to either of you that our marriage has not been good for a long time.” More nods.
“Your mom decided she needed to get away, and, as children of the sixties like to say, find herself.” He explained the clinic and the fact they would go up in the summer to visit. They would talk to her on the phone all the time.
“Dad, I think this is best,” Nicky said.
“I do, too, dad,” Michelle agreed.
Nick was shocked. He expected protests and crying and resentment.
“She hasn’t been happy since Alisha died,” Michelle observed. “All she did was work, to escape having to deal with that. We’re all sad Alisha died, but we have to get on with our lives. Maybe mom will be able to now.”
Out of the mouths of babes, mused Nick. He thought he was the one who hadn’t handled Alisha’s death well. Michelle was probably right.
He pulled them close. “I love both of you with all my heart.”
Nicky smiled, “We know you do, dad.”
After dropping off Michelle and Nicky at the house, Nick headed to the Shamrock.
He approached Jenny from behind and listened, letting her finish her latest joke. The group cackled and disbursed. He kissed her on the ear. “Hi there,” he whispered.
She pulled his head over her shoulder and kissed him on the back of the neck.
Nick told Jenny about his day.
“I think I’m getting well,” he said.
She glowed, “I think you are, too.”
She held his left hand with both of hers in her lap.
“You know I love you, don’t you,” he said.
Tears slowly crept down her face.
“I probably know that better than you do,” she said.
They hugged tightly.
“Finish getting well.” She hugged him again. “I’ll be here.”
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I have to thank my wife, Linda. She makes it possible for me to write. She encourages me when I get stuck. She edits with a kind but heavy hand. She tells me when things don’t work or make sense. And she is there every step of the way in this life’s journey. She truly is the best.
Family and friends. I have imposed on too many people in my circle to mention individually. You know who you are. Each of you give this work something a little different. Perspective. Logic. Humor. Thank you for all your observations and feedback.
Dave Pasquantonio made this book happen. He invested heavily in this book and in me. When this book arrived on his desk, it was a fraction of what you are reading today. He made this work much better in so many ways. Dave, thank you for making this book much more readable and me a much better writer.
About the Author
Gene McKenzie lives a quiet life with his wife in Larkspur, Colorado. When he is not writing, he enjoys hiking, fishing, and camping in the majesty that is Colorado.
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