Knowing that he had to do this, because it was right, and because it was what he wanted, Jonah stepped forward. Then he stopped, because it was moving again, and though it felt good, it didn’t feel natural. Jonah was somehow naked at that point, and down low was something else, where his penis used to be. It was green with black diamonds on its back. It stretched up, then stiffened like a pole, reaching the center of his chest. On its triangular head, the snake’s eyes opened, black, beady. It opened its mouth, revealing razor sharp fangs, and hissed at him. Jonah could feel the snake as a part of his body and against his body, as it tried to strike his head, curling up and bolting out several times, falling short but still scaring the hell out of him.
Then there was the struggle. A part of him was horrified by the serpent, but another part wanted to accept it as a part of him. Finally, Jonah took the snake in his hands. He could feel the sensations of its scaled body in his palms, but he could also feel the pressure against the snake, which was his penis now. And it felt good. Jonah caressed it for a little while, feeling the soothing ecstasy, feeling like he would explode, knowing that he had to wait. He took the snake’s head in his hands and held its mouth shut. He bent the snake’s stiff body down. He stepped up to the bent over girl. He gave her the measure.
Chapter Three
Jonah sent his resume to SSI in October. He passed the board examination the next month. In January, he sent the licensing paperwork in signed by both he and David. In February, he received his license in the mail. That same week, he received a phone call from Cushing. He was to start his career as an examiner in April. That night he and Tate celebrated with a couple of bottles of wine and two fat ones.
#
Now that he was fully licensed, supervision was no longer required. It was early March, and Jonah hadn’t seen David in a few weeks. Jonah probably would have declined David’s invitation to a Saturday lunch, Saturday reserved for recovering from Friday’s pot extravaganza and for reading in reports, had there not been a sense of urgency in David’s voice. David had called on Monday, giving Jonah’s mind a few days to torture him. Had Cushing called, saying something was wrong? Had the licensing committee found something wrong with Jonah’s paperwork and called David, Jonah’s supervisor?
Whatever had caused David’s urgency, Jonah had to find out. They met at a steakhouse on Intestate 27, about half way between Stanton and Lansing. Jonah found David waiting for him, early, which was unusual for David, who almost always kept his employees waiting. David was sitting at a two top near the back of the restaurant. He looked up and smiled as Jonah walked over. David, who Jonah had never known to drink, had a pint of dark beer in front of him. Beside that beer were two unwrapped blunt cigars.
Jonah sat down, and the waiter was there immediately. Jonah asked for a coffee.
After the waiter left, David said, “I was hoping we could have a beer together, our work together coming to an end.” David’s voice was much quieter than usual, Jonah thought, and his eyes were not as wide open as they usually were. For the fist time since Jonah had known the man, he thought he could see the effects of age.
“Sorry, David, I had my share of beer last night.” Not to mention a few dubbies.
“Oh. Feeling it today?”
Jonah nodded, though he wasn’t really feeling it, not in the way David was referring to anyway. The pot hangover was different from an alcohol hangover. Rather than a sick feeling, it was more of a zoned out, hazy feeling, not necessarily bad, so long as he didn’t try to concentrate too hard.
“Cuban?” David offered as he pointed to the two cigars.
“Thanks,” Jonah said, his hand going for his lighter.
Jonah had never had a Cuban cigar, and he’d never enjoyed a smoke so much. It didn’t have the grassy taste a cheap cigar had, and it didn’t have the bite of a Camel. Very pure.
Evidently, David knew how to appreciate a fine smoke too. He wasn’t a regular smoker, but the way he smoked the Cuban, he looked like an old pro. He needed it.
They were interrupted by the waiter to take their orders, but otherwise they just sat there and savored the Cubans. Finally, they crushed the ends out and David abruptly said, “I’m not replacing you in Stanton.”
“Oh,” Jonah said, the status of the Stanton office after he left a matter of indifference to him.
Suddenly, David stared off, deep in thought, confused looking. After about a minute, he said, “You know, right now, Steph is basically a secretary at the Stanton office, but I could bring her to Lansing for a few weeks and get her trained on how to manage the office completely.”
Jonah nodded his head to that. Steph had not gone back to school last fall. She had said on a few occasions that she didn’t know what she wanted to do next. Office manager would at least be a step up from what she was doing now. Office manager for David.
It suddenly occurred to Jonah why David might want to bring Steph to Lansing. She’d be closer to the wolf. Jonah didn’t feel bad for her. No, compassion wasn’t an emotion Jonah could really have at this point in his life. It was more a tinge of jealousy that he had. He didn’t really feel for Steph other than a basic lust, but there was still some kind of primitive female-hoarding jealousy there. Steph was in his pack.
David said, “Steph could learn how to deal with SSI, billing and stuff like that. She’d have to have a substantial raise, of course.”
“Oh,” Jonah said. “Is your current office manager leaving?”
David stared at Jonah, confused, for a few seconds. Then his face lit up with realization. He laughed, then said, “I’m not talking about bringing her to Lansing. I want to train her to be an office manager in Stanton.”
“But you just said . . .” Jonah stopped, as he was able to put it together. If David wasn’t replacing him and still needed an office manager, that meant he didn’t intend for Jonah to leave. But the SSI job was too perfect. Jonah said, “David, I really think I’d be foolish not to take the SSI job.”
“You’ll make way more money in Stanton,” David replied.
For a few seconds, Jonah just sat there uncomfortable. He’d done the math already, and he really didn’t want to have this discussion with David. David was a business tycoon and was just trying to sell Jonah something Jonah didn’t need.
“David,” Jonah said. “I’ve done the math. Overall, if you count the benefits, SSI is a way better deal than working in the Stanton office.”
Again, David smiled, this time looking like a salesman with a sure-shot pitch. Jonah expected he was about to make him a better offer, fifty-five, maybe sixty percent. He had no idea David was about to offer it all.
David finally said, “I’m not asking you to work for me.” He paused, retaining the salesman smile, then said, “I’m offering to give you the Stanton office.”
After a few seconds of quiet astonishment, Jonah began to hope for something to make this simple. He didn’t want David to offer him something this good. There had to be a catch, some hitch that made this deal not in Jonah’s best interest. Then he could turn it down and go on with his life as it had been planned before this lunch.
But David didn’t make anything simple. He said, “I won’t charge you anything. You just have to take over the overhead. That’s basically just paying for Steph, the rent, the supplies, and the utilities. You could net six figures in your first year, and that’s if you just do the SSI assessments. There are not a lot of shrinks up that way, at least not shrinks who can do the testing you can. You’ll get plenty of other referrals.”
Thinking he might have an out, Jonah said, “But I’ve already committed with SSI. If I don’t go, they’ll be pissed and not send the assessments my way.”
David shook his head. “I’ve already talked to Don Cushing. He was thrilled with the idea. They don’t have a lot of people doing assessments up north. And they don’t have anyone as good as you anywhere. Working as a part of SSI, or doing business with SSI, either way, it makes his life easier. If anything, they may
ask you to pick up another day. And on top of that, because you’re fully licensed and proven in the work, they’re going to give you $100 an hour instead of the usual $90.”
Jonah did the math. It would be six figures, easy. It was a gold mine. He hated this. There was no out that would be acceptable down the line. If he didn’t take this, years from now, he would be kicking the hell out of himself.
“By SSI’s regulations, you won’t be able to sign off on other peoples’ reports right away. But after a couple of years, you’ll be able to bring in a few masters level supervisees, maybe expand a little bit.”
And then I’ll be just like David.
Jonah was silent for a little while, then got up. “Excuse me,” he said, then went to the restroom. There, he stood alone and stared into the mirror. Tate was in his head. Tate wasn’t even there, and Tate was in his head.
“It’s just like Tate said it would be,” Jonah said out loud. David would have his reasons, Jonah was sure. David would be able to justify it to Jonah and in his own mind. But, despite that, David had still given Jonah something that wasn’t in David’s best interest to give, and Jonah would be out of David’s life. Just like Tate had said it would be. On another night, he and Tate had talked about therapy. Dance was the metaphor Tate had used.
“Are you dancing with me, Tate?” Jonah asked out loud.
#
For Jonah, the relationship with Tate was something best taken in doses. If the two of them had dinner or went to see a movie together one night, Jonah generally avoided Tate the next day or two. Then there was Saturday. Saturday, the day after they got high, was completely off limits. So, after coming home from lunch with David that Saturday afternoon, Jonah had no intention of stopping off at Tate’s apartment before going to his own. During the course of the drive home, Jonah had told himself over and over again that he wouldn’t.
Jonah got out of his car and walked to his apartment. He stopped outside the door. This would have to go by Tate. Even if Jonah didn’t bring it up, Tate would find it, and, in many ways, Tate was like a second conscience.
Yeah, Tate’s in your head. He’s half of that voice that asks why the fuck you do the things you do.
It would have to go by Tate, and if Jonah waited until next Friday, or even until tomorrow, obsessing about it would freeze him up, making him useless. It couldn’t wait. He went to Tate’s door and knocked. It took about a minute for Tate to come to the door. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a white undershirt. At first glance, Jonah thought Tate might have been sleeping. But then, as he focused in on Tate’s face, he realized that Tate wasn’t even tired. Tate was just relaxed.
“Come on in,” Tate said, as if he had been expecting Jonah.
Jonah moved to the couch, then watched as Tate came over. Tate’s movements were slow but fluid. The look on his face and his breath were as if he were savoring something. Tate sat down.
Before he had come inside, in his mind, Jonah had heard Tate asking what Jonah was doing here on a Saturday. Tate would have had to have noticed the inconsistency, nothing getting past him. But Tate didn’t ask. Instead, he said, “How’d lunch with David go?”
Jonah had been taught in his psychological training that mental states could be infectious. In groups, rage could spread fast, quickly becoming a riot. In a clinical situation, emotional chaos could be soothed by the therapist’s calm demeanor. But now, Tate’s calm was not infecting Jonah. It actually made him more anxious. Tate could change mental states on the drop of a hat, and Jonah expected any time for Tate to open up on him.
“All right,” Jonah said in a delayed response to Tate’s question.
For the next two minutes, neither of them spoke, and, in that time, Jonah’s mind went back to the dilemma he had been focused on in the car. How could he not take advantage of the opportunity? Sure, it would make him out on his own, no boss to help him when things got ugly, no boss to make decisions for him and to take the blame when things got ugly, but he could handle it. He was smart, wasn’t he? He was resourceful, wasn’t he? But the SSI job would be so comfortable. He wouldn’t be rich, but he’d be better off than most people, and the government was footing the bill. If the building burnt down, Uncle Sam had it. If he were sued, it wouldn’t matter, because he would be a part of city hall, and as the saying went, you couldn’t fight that. It was comfortable. If something happened to him physically and he could no longer work, then he would have benefits. Sick pay. Vacations. Somebody else’s property. No direct client contact. No one to pay. He’d never be as challenged as he could be. But he’d be comfortable.
Out of nowhere, Tate said, “So what if you lose?”
“What?” Jonah asked, flying from his thoughts.
Calmly, Tate said, “For a minute, stop thinking about how you could lose if you take advantage of this opportunity, and ask yourself, ‘What if I lose?’”
At first, Jonah couldn’t do it. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the question, but he couldn’t do it. Then, little by little, it changed.
What if I lose?
What if it didn’t work out? What if owning his own business overwhelmed him? What if he couldn’t take care of the odds and ends? Then what?
Jonah opened his eyes.
His hands in a downward motion, his voice soft, Tate said, “Close your eyes, and stay with it. What if you lose?”
Jonah shut his eyes. What if I lose? If his private practice, his business, failed, where did that leave him? It left him without a business, but it didn’t leave him without a Ph.D. He would still be able to get a good job somewhere. Maybe he would still be able to get the SSI job.
Suddenly, Jonah wasn’t so anxious. He opened his eyes, planning to tell Tate this. But, just as he had done before, Tate sent Jonah back inside his head.
What if I lose? What if some client sued him and won? Well, he had insurance. But losing a lawsuit would cost him more in reputation than anything. There go the SSI clients. There go any referrals from the area. But if his reputation did go out the window, was he stuck here? No, he could pack his things and get the hell out of the Dodge that was Stanton.
Jonah opened his eyes, and Tate sent him back inside his head, and it went on that way for a while, until Jonah’s anxiety was gone.
Jonah said, “If I lose, I will survive anyway.”
Tate’s expression was still calm, but he was smiling. He said, “You, brother, just made your mind think what you wanted it to. You controlled it, instead of it controlling you.”
Jonah nodded. He had never liked Tate as much as he did in that moment.
“So what did David offer you?” Tate asked.
Jonah laughed in response to the question. “I had assumed you knew.”
“I’m not psychic, brother.”
Are you sure? Jonah thought. Then he said, “He gave me the Stanton office.”
Tate didn’t say, “I told you so,” nor did he inquire into David’s reasoning, both things Jonah would have predicted he would do. Tate just nodded, then said, “Don’t let what your mind gives you cause you to fuck yourself. You know what you have to do. Now get out of my house.”
Jonah got up, nodding his goodbye, and walked out. He felt a sense of invigoration as he stepped outside. Maybe he could use what Tate had just taught him in other aspects of his life. Maybe, in ways, he could get better.
Yes, Jonah felt good.
But then something scared the hell out of him.
The loud noise caused him to jolt, right there on Tate’s porch. Jonah looked and saw the orange-stripped cat a few feet in front of him, its back arched and its teeth bared. It stayed like that for a few seconds, as if any movement by Jonah and it would attack. Then it slowly backed up a few steps, before running away.
His heart beating a million miles a second, the pleasant feeling he’d had a million miles away, Jonah reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cigarettes.
Chapter Four
The routine of Jonah’s mise
ry had changed since he took over the Stanton office. SSI had given him an extra day, so now he was scheduled for about 48 hours of assessment a week. With no shows and cancellations, that was usually about forty hours split between four days. So now he spent Monday through Thursday with SSI clients and Friday through Sunday obsessing over reports. He was making a ton of money, and he was utterly miserable. His routine with Tate had changed too. Now they got stoned on Saturday nights, if, with Jonah’s hectic life, they got stoned at all, and now, after his last client Thursday night, he and Tate met at Denny’s for a quick dinner. This was Jonah’s routine for a while. Then, on a Thursday night in early May, Tate made the recommendation that would set off a chain of events that would change Jonah’s routine drastically. Inhumanly.
#
Jonah hated that they couldn’t just sit in the smoking section. That would have saved him the trouble of leaving every time he needed to smoke. But Tate refused to eat in the stench of tobacco and secondhand smoke. So tonight, Jonah ordered his food and went outside. A few minutes later, he came back to a smiling Tate. Jonah wasn’t in the mood for games. Aside from when they got high, he rarely got anywhere close to that mood anymore. He was engulfed by his work, and that made him resentful, as though it was everyone else’s fault.
Scribner Horror Bundle: Four Horror Novels by Joshua Scribner Page 6