Five Uneasy Pieces

by Debbi Mack

  Finally the man walked away from the window, leaving the blind up. Dr. Fein grunted as he rolled over and brushed off his grass-stained khakis. Creeping on hands and knees, he made his way to the window and crouched near it. Then he rose slowly, hugging the brick façade. Cautiously he craned his neck to peek inside the room.

  The three of them were in her bedroom. The tall man, who had his back to the window, must have been doing all the talking because Lila just stood, nodding, her lips parted and her chin quivering. The shorter, stouter man leaned against the wall by the door, a smile plastered on his face and one of those silly-looking phones clipped to his ear—the kind that make you look like a robot. The tall man gestured broadly as Lila kept nodding, her indigo-eyed gaze riveted to the man’s face.

  The robe had slipped further off Lila’s shoulder, revealing one cup of a lacy, black bra. When Lila finally tried to speak, the tall man grabbed the robe and ripped it off her, flinging it aside. Lila stood, shaking, in her bra and matching bikini panties. The man with the ear phone laughed and applauded, as if his friend had performed a magic trick.

  Dr. Fein’s mouth hung agape, allowing a gnat to fly in. He coughed and spit it out, then looked inside to see if anyone had noticed. Apparently no one had. Relief washed over him, but tension took its place as he thought that if anything more happened, he should call the police. Give an anonymous tip. But then they’d have his cell number. And how would he explain his lurking around outside a patient’s house? A female patient, no less. What a field day Sarah would have with that. It was already hard enough to enforce his visitation with the kids. He could picture her painting him as a Peeping Tom. Then there was the licensing board to think about. Jesus. Dr. Fein cursed Lila’s stupidity for getting involved with these men, even as he fretted over what they might do to her.

  Fortunately the tall man merely said a few more things to Lila and abruptly turned and left, followed by his companion. Dr. Fein scuttled around the corner of the house until the two men appeared outside, crossed the yard, and sped away in the Escalade.

  Dr. Fein ventured once again to the window. Lila, who’d apparently forgotten the blind was open, lay on the bed, face down, banging her fist against the mattress. Eventually she rolled onto her side and stretched out, facing the window. Her face was red and eyes puffy. She stared without apparent comprehension.

  Dr. Fein was torn between wanting to comfort her, wanting to help, and wanting to steer clear of the whole business, for his own good. He stood arrested by the sight of her slim, young form in her underwear. Body so firm, skin so creamy. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, and he drank in the image, impressing it in his memory.

  He remembered then that he could take photos on his cell phone—a function he rarely used. He cursed himself for not remembering this before the men had left.

  Lila’s expression changed suddenly, and she scrambled off the bed. Dr. Fein dropped to a squat as she walked to the window, cupped a hand against the glass, and looked out at the street where the Escalade had been. Apparently she didn’t notice Dr. Fein cowering nearby. Then she pulled the blind shut. But not before Dr. Fein had snapped several photos of her.

  As he drove home, the memory of Lila’s body made Dr. Fein’s head reel. He was breathing so hard the windows were fogging as he pulled onto a quiet side street to park and get his bearings. Glancing around and seeing no one, he opened his phone and viewed the series of shots—not great on detail but good enough—of Lila’s lithe, barely clad body. Before he knew it, his pants were unzipped, and he was fondling himself.

  As he clicked through the photos, fogging the windows all the more, he couldn’t help thinking of Sarah’s voice—reprimanding, reproachful, whining—but helpless to stop him. The satisfaction of this knowledge brought him to a climax that left him astonished and gasping.

  *****

  “They say it wasn’t there! And they want all the money back.”

  Dr. Fein had called Lila the next day. After assuring her it wasn’t about payment for the missed appointment (though he normally would have insisted she pay in full), he asked whether she was all right.

  What followed was a lengthy, tearful account. Parts of it he already knew, parts he could guess, but some details came as a complete surprise, including the fact that the suitcase had somehow gotten into the wrong hands and the people who’d hired Lila to make the delivery now wanted back the money they’d paid her.

  “Then pay them.” Dr. Fein tried, without complete success, to keep a note of irritation out of his voice.

  She gulped loudly enough to be audible through the line. “It’s not that simple. Most of the money ... well, it’s gone.”

  “How much money is that?”

  “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  “How could you possibly—?” Dr. Fein cut himself off. The note of irritation threatened to flare into anger, disgust and disbelief.

  “There were old debts. Plus ...”

  The line went quiet. Dr. Fein counted slowly to ten, then kept going, instead of screaming “What!?” as he might have done otherwise.

  A deep, shuddering breath came from the other end. Wait for it, he thought.

  “I gambled a lot of it,” she said. “A whole lot of it ...”

  Dr. Fein fell back in his chair, and his eyes rolled skyward as Lila told him about her visits to the Laurel racetrack, where she couldn’t resist playing the ponies. She’d win a small, safe bet and gain the courage to try something bigger, riskier—only to see her money slip away. She kept going back, tried several times to recoup her losses by placing more bets. Of course she lost more than she won. In the end, the money that didn’t go toward her debts was frittered away at the track.

  Dr. Fein despised gambling. Lila might as well have flushed her money down the toilet.

  “I’m scared, Dr. Fein.” Lila’s voice quavered over the line. “If I don’t pay them back, they’ll ... they’ll kill me. Or worse.” Her voice broke upon uttering the last two words.

  Dr. Fein could feel pain run like a thread being pulled between his temples. He massaged his forehead and tried to think.

  “What am I going to do, Dr. Fein? I don’t know what to do.” Lila moaned. “I don’t have their twenty thousand dollars. I have nothing of that value to sell. No one will lend me the money. I rent my house, I have no collateral, and these people ... well, they don’t exactly take credit cards, do they? I just don’t know—”

  “Lila,” Dr. Fein interrupted, in a soft, but firm voice. He continued to knead his forehead. “Hold on for a moment while I think.”

  “But I’m scared. What am I supposed to do?” Lila’s voice took on a whiny edge. Then she started babbling. “I could run away, but I don’t know where to go that they won’t find me. I have to do something. Maybe I should buy a gun. I can’t afford a bodyguard, and I have to protect myself. But I ... I just don’t know. Could I really shoot someone if I had to? Maybe, maybe not. I’m just—oh, God! I just could kick myself for letting this happen. I just could—”

  “Lila!” Dr. Fein barked as a surge in the pain seared through his forehead. His imperative tone had the desired effect this time. “Lila,” he continued, more quietly. “Please just let me think for a moment.”

  After half a minute of silence, Lila said in a halting voice, “Dr. Fein? Are you still there?”

  “I’m still here, Lila.” Dr. Fein could feel the pain subside. “Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

  “Oh—okay.” Lila sounded hurt, like she didn’t believe him.

  He started to put the receiver down but heard her faint, childlike voice—like a toddler’s whimper—calling his name before it hit the cradle.

  Bringing it up to his ear again, he said, “Yes, Lila?”

  “Just ten minutes, right?”

  *****

  Dr. Fein started his ten minutes thinking of Lila’s body, recalling the powerful urges he’d had the night before in his car. Her voice—like her body, so helpless, so fragile—only deep
ened the intensity of his desire for her. He had promised to call her in ten minutes. Dr. Fein wanted to think about how he could help Lila—but it was impossible with images of her, half-naked, giggling, pleading, sighing with pleasure, images that appeared one after another, rolling around in his head like a kaleidoscope. He finally gave in and, with a nervous glance at the clock, he locked his office door, grabbed a box of tissues, and indulged himself in the fastest self-gratification session he could recall having since puberty.

  When finished, he sat spent for a moment, feeling himself growing limp on his sticky palm. He absently fingered himself as he considered his proposal. Yes, he could get the money—after making the proper arrangements. He could have her sign something for his files—to cover his ass, because Lord knows, her mind and story could shift like the wind. He’d refer her to another therapist. And after that he’d be free to help her in any way possible. He would be free even to see her—if she wanted that. And if she were grateful enough, it was quite conceivable that she would agree to see him. Perhaps even welcome the chance to do so.

  After all, twenty grand could buy a whole lot of gratitude.

  *****

  Dr. Fein proposed his solution. Lila was wary of taking his money but ultimately agreed. He e-mailed her the termination letter, which she signed and returned to him.

  They arranged to meet at a small park, about a forty-minute drive from his office. He would bring the cash in an old briefcase. Dr. Fein had it wired to him from an account he kept in Paraguay—an account he’d managed to keep secret from Sarah and her grasping lawyer.

  Dr. Fein picked up the cash at a Western Union office. He carried the briefcase to his Lexus and set it on the passenger’s seat. He smiled and started the car. With the money he gave her, she’d be free again. Or, to be more precise, in debt to him, not those ruthless thugs. Her debt to him would be one of gratitude. And he would never hold that over her, use it to hurt her.

  He wondered if she would be free for dinner that night. Maybe Saturday.

  *****

  As he drove to the park, Dr. Fein listened to an oldies station on the radio. He loved oldies. Sarah always called him “an old fart” and couldn’t understand why he refused to listen to more contemporary music. But the old music reminded Dr. Fein of better times. A time when the world seemed nicer. The rules about everything were clearer, better defined then. Today the rules had been thrown out, and no one knew how to act, what to do. He knew that from listening to his patients.

  Sarah’s taunting words came back to him as he hummed along to the Lovin’ Spoonful. How can you listen to this all the time? Could we please change the station just this once? He could almost picture her beside him, whining and pouting—except that the briefcase was there, which made him think of Lila. Lila, smiling, perhaps even hugging him with joy after he gave it to her.

  The thought of her breasts pressed against his body made Dr. Fein grin from ear to ear.

  Dr. Fein parked the silver Lexus, grabbed the briefcase, and walked over a grassy knoll toward a bench near a stand of trees by a lake. It was early afternoon, and the park looked deserted. Dr. Fein hiked down the gentle slope. The day wasn’t overly warm, but he could feel sweat collect under his arms, dampening his shirt. Dr. Fein wasn’t in bad shape for a man in his early fifties, but his breath came hard and fast, as if he’d been running a sprint instead of strolling down a hill. He was surprised at how winded he felt by the time he’d reached the bench. He’d seen only one car in the lot—an old Toyota that he assumed was Lila’s. But Lila wasn’t waiting for him.

  The bench was empty. Dr. Fein wiped his brow and took a seat, placing the briefcase on his lap.

  Glancing around him, Dr. Fein wondered if anyone he knew would see him. Not likely, he thought, but not impossible, either. He hoped Lila would get there soon.

  Dr. Fein watched a pair of ducks paddling across the lake. He’d heard mallards mated for life. He couldn’t imagine such a thing. Spending the rest of his life with Sarah would have been unbearable.

  Lila, on the other hand ... Dr. Fein drifted into a reverie, imagining Lila cuddling naked beside him in bed. Her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hair and whispered, “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  The ducks had just reached the shore when the back of his skull exploded with pain and everything went black.

  *****

  The first thing Dr. Fein noticed when he opened his eyes were trees. He was seated on a bare patch of dirt surrounded by trees, with his legs slightly parted and extended before him. Pain radiated in waves from the back of his head. Blinking, he tried to get his bearings.

  The terrain was hilly. He was on a slope facing uphill. His hands were tied behind him, digging into his back. And something propped him up from behind. As he twisted to glance over his shoulder, his hands scraped against a hard surface—a boulder, as it turned out. A boulder the size of a VW bug. Dr. Fein didn’t think he was in the park anymore.

  He froze at the sound of footsteps.

  Someone trudged up the slope behind him. More than one person. Dr. Fein’s heart raced. In vain he tried to free his hands from whatever was restraining them. His head pounded as he persisted in his fruitless efforts. He finally stopped, gasping for breath.

  A man chuckled.

  Dr. Fein looked toward the sound and, several feet to his right, saw the two men who’d been to see Lila. Both of them were smiling, but neither looked friendly.

  Dr. Fein tried to ignore the pain screaming through his skull. He licked his dry lips, cleared his throat, and said, “What’s going on here?” with all the authority he could muster.

  He realized as he said it how preposterous the question must sound. A demand for an explanation of what was happening would sound ludicrous, he thought, coming from a man sitting in the dirt with his hands bound behind his back. Apparently the two men agreed, for their smiles broadened, and they started laughing. And their laughter was no friendlier than their smiles.

  Dr. Fein felt an icy ball of fear congeal in his stomach. Had the men followed Lila to the park? “Where’s Lila?” he demanded. “What have you done to her?”

  His questions only made the men laugh harder. One of them wiped tears from his eyes, he was laughing so hard.

  Dr. Fein fought pain and confusion to make sense of the insane situation. They must have followed Lila. How else would they have found him?

  “You have your money,” Dr. Fein said. “What more do you want? And where’s Lila?”

  The men stopped laughing and merely looked at him. The short, stout one frowned. In fact, he started to look angry. The taller man just stared at him with faint disgust, as one might at a maggot.

  No one spoke. Dr. Fein’s chest heaved with the effort of breathing. He tried to scramble to his feet, but it was difficult facing uphill and with his hands tied. Dr. Fein braced himself against the boulder and tried to inch his way up, only to have the tall man saunter over and, with a sideways kick, sweep his feet out from under him, letting him land on his ass with a jarring thump.

  Dr. Fein could feel his face redden with rage and frustration. His breathing was labored now, his head felt ready to explode. He sat gasping in the dirt, the tall man towering over him. Looking up, Dr. Fein wailed in anguish, “What is it? What the hell do you want?”

  A moment of nothing but Dr. Fein’s breathing followed. Then the shorter man said, “It’s not what we want.”

  More footsteps. Dr. Fein’s guts twisted with anxiety. The briefcase hit the ground a few feet from him. He turned to see who had thrown it and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  It was Jenny Mahoney.

  Dr. Fein shook his head, as if to clear his vision. He was hallucinating. That crack on the head must have done it. Or maybe the men had drugged him. But he looked again, and there was no denying it. She looked a little thinner, but the wavy, blonde hair, the green eyes, even a peasant blouse he recognized. Jenny Mahoney was standing right there, her arms crossed, her lips curved in a sli
ght, triumphant smile.

  “Jenny?” Dr. Fein croaked. “I thought you were dead.”

  In response she walked up and kicked him squarely in the groin.

  The pain was so intense, it took Dr. Fein’s breath away. He doubled over choking, then threw up the remains of his lunch.

  As he tried to recover his wind, Jenny crouched beside him, placing her lips to his ear so they brushed against it as she whispered, “You goddamned bastard. You killed me. You made me feel worthless. You killed me.”

  Dr. Fein spat bile from his mouth. “What are you talking about?” He stared at Jenny. “Where’s Lila?”

  Jenny rose and looked down at him with scorn. “Don’t worry. We’ve taken care of her.”

  “What do you mean? Where is she? What do you want?”

  “An apology,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “I want to hear you apologize for killing me.”

  This is insane, he thought. “How can I apologize for killing you when you’re clearly not dead?”

  “Would you believe that I’ve come back from the dead to haunt you?” Jenny threw her head back and laughed.

  “How stupid can you be, old man?” The tall fellow spoke. “Obviously she’s not Jenny.”

  “Ohhhhh.” Jenny—or the woman who claimed to be Jenny—shot him a look to match her protracted moan. “And I was having so much fun, fucking with his head.” She put a hand on her hip and looked at Dr. Fein. “No, I’m not Jenny. I’m her sister. And I was in the SUV that night you were peeping into your own patient’s bedroom.”

  “We followed you there that night,” the shorter man said. “We’d been following you for a while. And our girl here was in the SUV, telling us what you were up to, lurking outside the window like a perv. Naughty, naughty, doctor.”

  My God, Dr. Fein thought. Jenny had mentioned a sister, close to her age. He could see now that, though similar in appearance, the girl was definitely thinner, her features slightly different. The eyebrows a bit darker—she must have highlighted her hair to match Jenny’s. In any case, he finally had a rational explanation. And an enraged relative to placate.