***
Milo watched as Rochelle set the tray on the coffee table. He noticed the slight tremor in her hand, as she poured a cup of coffee for herself. She was cracking. He didn’t say a word, though. Sometimes a suspect would hang herself.
“Have you heard anything about douche nozzle-cunt-spasm—er, Estella?” Ozzie asked.
Rochelle nodded. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”
He glanced at Ozzie, who seemed to take the news rather well. It was almost as though he expected it. Of course, who wouldn’t after hearing what Estella did to herself. There might be nothing behind that resigned sigh but actual resignation.
“I fucked my neighbor this morning,” Nina blurted.
Rochelle sat in her chair, coffee cup carefully balanced on the armrest. “Nina, we talked about him. I thought you were finding a new apartment, far away from that temptation.”
“What’s so bad about the neighbor?” Milo asked.
“Married,” Buggy said. “And ninety.”
“Ew.” He stared at Nina. The woman was pretty, almost beautiful, if one could get over the Chewbacca between her legs. She could find any number of fuck-buddies closer to her age. “Why would you fuck a senior citizen?”
“I was upset about Estella. And he’s eighty-one, Buggy, not ninety.”
“You don’t have any neighbors under the age of sixty?”
“He makes her feel safe,” Rochelle explained. “Nina had a very traumatic childhood. Her nymphomania stems from a need for attention. Her childhood was spent with nannies and old relatives. Her aversion to touching stems from a horrifying series of events I’m not at liberty to share. Let’s just say she was sexually exploited by an uncle for many years. An old man who lived next door was responsible for getting her out of that house and into a loving, safe environment, but the damage was already done. Wasn’t it, Nina?”
Nina nodded. “Joe died last year. My neighbor, Francis, reminds me of him, and I don’t cry when he touches me. That’s good, right? How can that be bad?”
“No,” Rochelle said. “He’s exploiting you just like your uncle did.”
This was getting far too personal for him. Time to change the subject. “Did the cops talk to you about Estella?”
“We’re not discussing this,” Rochelle said.
“Because…?”
“Focusing on the past makes recovery impossible.”
“Um…” He scratched his chin. “Isn’t the past the reason for the illness, thus focusing on it a critical part of recovery?”
She sipped her coffee, but didn’t look at him. “Charlie, how is your penis?”
Seriously? She was just going to ignore him? He didn’t want to talk about Charlie’s dick. Ever.
“Much better,” Charlie said. “This morning, I peed without pain.”
“Marvelous.”
“Bet you can’t wait to find a nice tight hole to stick it in,” Milo taunted. He wouldn’t make it easy for her to ignore him.
“Milo!”
He shrugged. “You keep avoiding what happened, I’ll just poke a bear or two. Your choice. Hey, Buggy, they’ve got broccoli soup on at the pub today. I’ll get you some if you touch Nina’s toes.”
Rochelle sighed. “Fine. What do you want to say, Milo?”
“Why’d you force Estella to kill herself?”
“I did no such thing.”
Buggy cleared his throat.
“Bug-man?” He said. “Got anything to add?”
“No.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Rochelle said. “I did nothing wrong.”
“Why’s he so exceptionally weird today then?”
“He’s been traumatized by what happened yesterday. I’m going to allow you some leeway, here, because I know yesterday was hard on you as well, but if you accuse me one more time—”
“You’ll what? Kill me too? Kick me out of the group? What will you do if I keep demanding the truth?”
Rochelle’s cheeks reddened. “The truth is Estella was a very sick woman. Too sick, in fact. My mistake was in refusing to see she needed more help than I could provide.”
“So it wasn’t the hypnosis?”
Milo smiled when all eyes turned to him.
“Hypnosis is an effective form of therapy,” Rochelle said. “If you’re implying that I did anything—”
“I’m definitely implying that it’s a good way to toss a suicidal thought or two in someone’s head.”
“How dare you?”
“Oh, I dare. You put a suggestion in her head, and into Bug-Man’s. I don’t know if you hoped they’d kill me or what, but you meant for someone to die in that shit hole. In your defense, though, I don’t think it was supposed to be Estella.”
“She wouldn’t do that fuckery,” Ozzie said. “Rochelle wants us to get—ass-in-my-cock—ugh. She wants us to get better.”
“I believe you meant to say “cock in my ass,” Oz,” Milo said. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m paranoid as well as crazy, but Estella was just fine until Rochelle called. So was Buggy. In fact, it wasn’t until Estella told him to relax that Buggy took his glasses off. Why would you take them off, Bug-man?”
Buggy sat on the chair next to the sofa. He shrugged, eyes on his hands. “Dunno. I can’t remember much. I want to take my glasses off. I can’t, can I?”
“Handy.” Milo smiled at Rochelle. “Sorry. I’ll relax. I’m having a rough week. Let’s get on with the therapy or whatever this is so we can just fucking relax.”
Rochelle eyed him for a moment, but then turned to Buggy. “Leave your glasses on, Buggy. Everything is normal and you’re okay.”
Buggy nodded. “Normal.”
“Now.” Rochelle turned to Charlie. “We’re going on an outing tomorrow, Charlie. Would you like that?”
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“I need to cover the pipe in the kitchen. I think it’d be good for you to help me, so we’ll go to the hardware store and then you’ll come back here with me and we’ll finally cap that pipe.”
“There are a lot of holes in a hardware store,” Charlie said. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“Sure, nothing could go wrong with the good doctor at your side,” Milo said. “Just as long as you don’t relax.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what.”
He shrugged.
“We’ll have a private session before we go. You’ll be fine.” Rochelle ignored Milo’s smug grin, but he saw the tick in her jaw. “Nina, let’s talk about your setback, and then we’ll finish the night with a moment of silence for Estella.”
He listened to Nina’s retelling of dirty old man sex. It was not riveting at all. He particularly hated when she explained how he could only become erect if she sucked on his dick real hard while squeezing his saggy, wrinkly—also hairless—balls. Milo He nauseous. He watched the others as she shared every juicy detail.
Old neighbor man preferred anal. He could’ve done without that visual.
Buggy seemed totally uninterested. Had his last tether to sanity finally snapped?
He looked at Charlie, who practically salivated over Nina’s words. Milo was further nauseated when Charlie slipped a hand into the waistband of his pants. God, they were sitting only inches apart. Never in his wildest nightmares did he imagine he’d have to sit next to a man while said man masturbated.
He turned to Ozzie, who met his gaze straight on.
“We need to talk, fuck-balls,” Ozzie mouthed.
Or maybe he said “moth balls.” It was hard to tell. He nodded anyway. “Later.” He mouthed back, “Call me.”
Milo turned back to Rochelle. She glared back at him. He nodded.
Game on, lunatic.
***
As he set his bag on its hook in the hallway, Milo’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket to retrieve it. He didn’t recognize the number, but assu
med it was Ozzie. He pressed the screen and then touched the microphone.
“Milo here.”
“Something is—whore-fucker—wrong.” Ozzie said.
“You’ve just noticed?” He set the phone on the counter. He shrugged his coat off and then walked toward the closet. Something smelled strange. He sniffed the air, but couldn’t identify it. Was it… ammonia?
“Ffff—no. She wouldn’t have hurt us,” Ozzie reasoned. “Rochelle is—cock-blasting cunt-fluffer—she loves us.”
“Yeah, funny story about love. I had a case once, where this mother drowned her three children, all of whom were under the age of five.”
“Dick-sniffing-hell. How is that about love?”
“She killed them because she loved them.”
“What?”
He slid his coat over a plastic hanger. He smoothed the lapel, and then closed the closet door. Were the lights different? Something felt wrong.
“Milo?”
He focused on telling Ozzie the story. “She was convinced someone else would harm them and if that happened they’d die scared and feeling alone, without their mother’s love. So she decided why prolong the inevitable and she poisoned them. Then she ate a bullet, because she no longer had any reason to live. That’s what love gets you, Oz. Three dead kids and brain on the wall.”
“Fuck me,” Ozzie said. “But Rochelle—gerbil-fucking-cunt-swisher—is a doctor.”
He sighed. He sat on the stool in front of the counter and stared at the phone. “This other woman was a mother, who had a much stronger bond with her victims than Rochelle has with you. My point is, Rochelle isn’t any saner than the rest of you. In fact, I think she might be the most unstable of all, and the most dangerous. Sociopaths always are.”
“This is just hard,” Ozzie said. “Can’t—ass-butt—wrap my head around it.”
“But you know, man.” He stood again. He walked to the desk where he’d left his notebook. The desktop was empty. “Something isn’t right, and that’s why you called.”
Something definitely wasn’t right. He kept active journals on his desk, next to the pen he used to write in them. Both pen and notebook was gone.
“The hypnosis thing,” Ozzie said. “Cum-bubbling-fart-whore. Mmm…sorry. I mean, it’s not the first time—fuckwit—strange things happen after Rochelle does a private session. Christ, this is bad.”
“I know.” He looked under the desk. No notebook. Maybe he left it in the bedroom? He glanced at the bookshelf and his gut felt suddenly very empty. “Oz?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I call you back?”
“Shit in my face,” Ozzie muttered. “Okay. Anything wrong?”
“Very,” he said. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
Whatever Ozzie said next didn’t register in his brain. He felt dizzy and sick. The bookshelf, once so orderly and perfect, was smashed to shit. His books, all of his fucking books, were tossed everywhere. Some were torn to bits, some soaking wet with… he sniffed… urine.
“Fucking cunt.” Milo realized he was crying. He’d kill her. He’d kill them all.
His phone chirped.
He backed away from the desk. He felt around the counter for his phone. Finding it, he picked it up and touched the screen. “If you’re calling to gloat, you lunatic fucking whore, just know I can kill you and dispose of the body so that no one ever finds it or any traces of my part in it.”
“Milo?” Joy’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he choked. “They’re all ruined.”
“What’s ruined?”
“That fucking bitch,” he whispered. “I’ll rip the skin from her body while she’s alive so she has to watch, and then I’ll feed it to her fucking cats. And then, if she’s still breathing, I’m going to roll her in dirty cat litter.”
“Milo?” Joy said. “Just don’t do anything yet. I’m coming over.”
“I’ll strangle the life from her with my bare hands. I don’t even care if I get blood on them.”
“Milo! Do you hear me?”
His vision blurred. “Yes.”
“Promise me you’ll stay put until I get there.”
“She crossed a fucking line, Joy.”
“She did, and I’m going to help you make it right.”
“You will?” He couldn’t think straight. All of his work, his thoughts, all of his cases… ruined.
“Yes. Just don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m going to ruin her.”
“Good,” Joy said. “Stay on the phone with me, okay?”
“Yeah.” He set the phone on the counter again. Best to salvage what he could, and then he’d rewrite all of them. He could remember every word, after all. Rochelle hadn’t beat him. He’d just go to the store. Buy new books. He’d rip up the carpet, because piss is impossible to get out, and then he’d fix it. When he was done, and his world was right again, he’d find—
“You still there?” Joy’s voice made him pause.
“Yes.” Milo opened the top drawer of his desk. He picked up a pair of gloves and then slid them on his hands. “I’m okay, Joy. No killing tonight. I’ve gotta fix this first.”
“I’m ten minutes away.”
“Ten isn’t good. Always one left. Three three’s, and one left. No, it’s fine. Don’t come. Ten minutes isn’t going to work.”
“Milo, it’s not fine and you’re not fine. I’m… six minutes away.”
“Going to fix it.”
He knelt on the floor and picked up the books that weren’t torn. He didn’t hear Joy’s voice anymore. However, he did imagine Rochelle cut up into pieces small enough for a freezer bag. Then he pictured her thrashing around in pain, as a fire burned her flesh from her body, and a snake slithered up her ass.
Oh, would she ever pay.
CHAPTER 18
Rochelle expected Milo to call the second he got home. She’d gone to his apartment while he was at the police station giving an official statement. While the last thing she wanted was a group session, she’d invited everyone to her home so she could delay his discovery of what she’d done. Rochelle wanted a little time to enjoy being a step ahead of him, and of knowing something he didn’t.
Once he saw his apartment, he’d know what she’d done. Milo was smart. Too smart. However, he also had an extremely tenuous hold on his emotions. It took very little to push him into a rage.
So why hadn’t he called? Rochelle stared at her phone, which she’d placed next to her chair on the small side table, and willed it to ring.
“Hey, Rochelle?” Charlie’s voice reminded Rochelle she wasn’t alone. “Remember that time we—”
“We agreed not to talk about that, Charlie.” Rochelle struggled to keep the irritation out of her voice. Charlie wasn’t to blame for her mood. He’d always been a good man, apart from the lying and the humping any hole that got in his way. He always listened to her—well mostly—and he was the only one in the group who cared about her feelings and her wellbeing. True, a lot of his concern stemmed from the desire to fuck her, but Rochelle sensed some of it was genuine.
“I know, but it made you feel better last time. I don’t like it when you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset.” Rochelle would have to remove that from his memory during their next session. She meant to before, but Charlie wasn’t as suggestive as the average person. He’d follow orders, but for some reason, he refused to forget things. Hypnotizing him was extremely difficult, and the results were hit and miss.
She felt Charlie’s hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t lie to a compulsive liar,” he said. “We can sense these things.”
Rochelle laughed. “I’m just sad about Estella and Andy.”
“And Shamus, and Sally and—”
“Shut up.”
Charlie sighed, massaging her shoulders with his wonderful hands. “I could take the sadness away for a while.”
“It’s inappropriate.”
“I promise this is th
e last time I’ll bring it up.”
“Liar.”
Charlie laughed. “Probably.”
Rochelle put her hand over his and then looked up. “This is just between us.”
“Always,” Charlie said.
Rochelle knew he was lying. He’d told Pete about their secret affair. Rochelle had been able to laugh it off, since Charlie did have an issue with lying. But if he kept insisting it happened, the others might wonder if there’s some truth to it. Milo would definitely wonder.
“So? We going to get it on or what?” Charlie slid his hand down the front of her sweater, and then cupped her breast.
“Your stitches have barely healed.” Rochelle shouldn’t. She knew better.
“Condoms are wonderful things, and it barely hurts anymore.”
“You’re lying again.”
He sighed. “I have to stick it in something. Besides, pain is kind of sexy.”
She closed her eyes as Charlie squeezed her nipple. He was really good at sticking his dick in things, and he was considerate as a lover. Rochelle had experienced far worse. “Just this once. No oral, though.”
“You liked it last time.”
“Respect my boundaries.”
He sighed. “Fine. No oral.”
“And no anal.”
“I make no promises there. I have this condition....”
She should say no. “You have to leave right after.”
“I know. Are we doing it right here or…?” Charlie nodded toward the stairs.
“No. Shower.”
“Again?”
Rochelle stood and then took Charlie’s hand in hers. “You want to stick your cock in me or not?”
Charlie grinned. “Shower it is.”
***
By the time Joy arrived at his apartment, Milo had managed to separate the ruined notebooks from the salvageable ones. He’d also found thirteen pens, which the cunt had snapped in half, causing the ink to blossom across his once pristine grey carpet. She could’ve stopped at twelve, which would’ve been bad enough, but she broke one more, because that meant one was left over.
He scratched his arm.
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