Confabulation (The Department)

by Ronald Thomas

  The short, but still elegant receptionist stepped around her desk and looked down the hall. "Sure, Henry. She’s in her office. I don’t think she has anyone in there right now, so go on back."

  "Thanks." He started to walk away. "Is that a new hair color, Grace?"

  "Why, yes it is."

  "Looks good on you."

  "Thanks."

  He walked down the long hall to the corner office his wife occupied. He knocked on the door before stepping in. "Hello?"

  "Henry. What are you doing here?"

  He walked into the office and noticed a man standing near the bookcase to his right. He judged the man instantly based on how much harm he could cause Kelly. At first he wanted to let the young man know that there would be repercussions if anything happened, but the public environment of the office, as well as the presence of people Henry had known for years mitigated his suspicion. Henry turned away from the man and hugged Kelly.

  Kelly looked up at Henry and then at the man. "Oh, sorry. Henry, this is Roger, he’s one of the new clerks here."

  "Nice to meet you, Roger." Henry shook his hand, taking notice of the weak grip and grinning. He looked back to Kelly. "Anyway, I was in the neighborhood visiting the ad agency and just wanted to say hi."

  "Okay. Thanks for dropping by. I should be home on time tonight."

  "Great. See you then." He kissed her and turned to leave the room. "Nice to meet you, Roger."

  "You too," the nasal voice replied.

  He suppressed a laugh and made his way back to the elevator. "Bye, Grace. Love the hair."

  "Bye, Henry. Thanks."

  He climbed back in his car, and headed toward Dr. Davy’s office. His appointment wasn’t until three, but he needed to play it safe around Kelly, and he didn’t feel like going back to work. An annoying humming that had bugged him for a few days made a repeat appearance as well, and continued to grow as he drove.

  As he walked to the door, the humming grew so loud that he had to stop and collect himself before he could step through. He apologized to the two men he bumped into as he entered the office. Once inside, the humming was gone.

  His appointment was typical, and his responses as deceptive as ever. He relayed his minor jealousies and concerns while Dr. Davy scribbled notes on a pad and seemed to expect the responses. The voice remained silent throughout the appointment, and Henry found himself drifting off to enjoy the sound of his own thoughts often.

  When questioned by Dr. Davy he found a way to frame the response around some work or home related issue that he couldn’t release. After his hour was over he made a follow-up appointment.

  After a lovely half-hour drive, he pulled into his garage and parked next to Kelly's SUV. "Hmm, I wonder what she's doing home early." He shut off his car and unlocked the door to his house.

  "Hey. I'm home," he said as he stepped into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.

  "Hey, honey." Kelly greeted him with a hug.

  As she pulled away, Henry noticed a discoloration around her eye. Henry gently touched the side of Kelly’s face. "What happened?"

  "I ran into a door while I was reading some briefs."

  "Sure," he thought. Henry imagined the several scenarios that could result in that bruise, and though running into a door was a possibility, so was being hit and being too embarrassed now to admit it. Anyone could have done it, he thought. It could have been that jerk Roger. If he was careful, he could have opened a door right into her face, just to watch her cry. Henry thought about what kind of coward would do such a thing, and he recalled Roger’s nasal voice and weak handshake. He had no proof, but proof wasn’t what his mind was searching for. "A door? How did that happen?"

  "Huh? Oh, someone was having a private meeting and opened the door as I was walking past. They were talking and I wasn’t looking."

  "Oh. So, you’re sure that’s what happened? That it was just an accident."

  "Of course I’m sure, Henry. Why wouldn’t I be sure? What are you talking about?

  "I don’t know. I’m just checking."

  She pulled away and stepped back. "Just checking what, Henry? I thought we discussed this."

  Henry’s heart raced when he realized that Kelly felt he was trying to control her again, and that her anger was returning. He thought that he was careful with his words, but he could see that his care was far from sufficient. Henry’s chest tightened, and he started to apologize.

  "Henry, are you listening to me?"

  He shook his head and focused again on Kelly. "What? No. I mean, I didn’t mean it like that." Seeing the bruise shocked him again, as if he hadn’t seen it when she came in. He reached for her face, but she pulled away. "I just hate to see you get hurt, that’s all."

  "Well accidents happen, Henry. And this was one of them." Kelly turned away and began to walk off.

  Henry stepped forward and yelled. "Okay." He saw Kelly’s expression and lowered his voice. "Okay. I get it. Sorry."

  "I’m not a child, Henry. You used to know that."

  "I know, I know. I’m sorry." He reached out and gave her a hug, but he could feel the anger in her embrace. "So, how do you feel about enchiladas for dinner?"

  "That sounds fine."

  "Okay, I’ll get started." He kissed her before she walked away.

  "I need to take care of a few things."

  "Sure. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready." He went to the cupboard and retrieved the ingredients he needed. He started to chop the pepper and onions. His mind conjured images of stabbing the jerk behind Kelly’s injury. He thought of catching the demented mind and cutting him while enjoying the screams. A smile worked its way across his face before he looked down and saw blood oozing from his thumb. "Crap!" He squeezed his thumb and held it under the running water.

  CHAPTER 5

  "What do you mean, you couldn’t find anything?" Simon sat across from the doctor and stared at the ground shaking his head.

  "Mr. Klein, we saw no signs of abnormalities in brain structure. There were no aneurisms or tumors. There was simply nothing out of the ordinary. Your brain structure and functioning appear to be normal. Whatever is hindering your vision does not have a physiological cause."

  Simon continued to sway his head. He had counted on the radiologist being able to find something. Some tumor, or bleeding, or anything that would explain what was happening. He was no longer afraid of what the consequences might be; he just wanted someone to tell him what was happening, and what he could do.

  He’d spent the past week wondering how he could continue his life knowing that his vision would just go out from time to time. He spent his life on the road. Traveling to car dealerships to sell them on his companies financing. He had to keep moving. Going blind behind the wheel didn’t fit into that.

  Simon knew he’d been having this problem for a few months. He couldn’t remember the last time it happened, but he knew it was sometime in the past week. He tried to place the exact occurrence, but couldn’t grab onto the information. Still, he needed to know what was happening. Needed to know how to fix it.

  This news removed that hope and left him lost again, clueless about the source of his dilemma. "What do I do now?"

  "Well, Mr. Klein, there could be a psychological reason for what’s happening."

  Simon raised he head to meet the doctor’s eyes. "Psychological?"

  "Yes. The mind can cause a wide range of ailments when it needs to express things that the conscious mind can’t deal with. I have no idea if that is the case with your situation, but it bears consideration when weighed against the lack of discovery that we’ve experienced."

  "Do you recommend anyone?"

  "Yes, there is a psychologist named Ginger Coakley who is well regarded. I’ll make an appointment for you to see her. Maybe she’ll be able to make some headway."

  Simon shook the doctor’s hand and headed back to the bus stop outside the hospital. Though he felt a little strange standing at the bus stop wearing his typi
cal summer attire of a linen suit and hat, he was convinced him that he couldn’t predict the episodes, and he had given up driving altogether. On his way out, he felt the heavy hand of his fear pressing on his neck. He had pinned all of his hope on discovering his problem via the CAT scan.

  Now, with that hope dashed, he could only hope that he was crazy enough to be making the fog himself. It wasn’t a pleasant thought for Simon, but he needed any hope for a cure he could scrape up, so he clung to it.

  Simon called a taxi from his cell-phone and waited on a bench outside the doctor's office. He glanced down the bench and nodded at the man and woman who sat at the other end. They looked away without returning the gesture.

  Sitting there with the sun bearing down on him, his despair continued to grow. He couldn’t grasp the series of events that left him hoping for a diagnosis of mental illness. Simon was a strong man, and hoping that something was wrong with him so he could be medicated gnawed at all he was.

  The taxi arrived, and Simon's trip home was a blur of forgotten images and half conversations with the driver. When he reached his house, he tossed some money at the driver and assumed it was enough when the man didn’t argue. Inside his house he knew he had one more item to take care of. He picked up the phone and dialed his manager's office. A few sullen words and halfhearted thanks passed between the men.

  Simon hung up the phone and stared at the receiver in his hand. He hated quitting; he always had. Even as a child, barely over five feet tall, he refused to quit. When he started high school, most people laughed when he said he was joining the basketball team. He used their doubt as fuel, and he practiced his skills and his speed and jumping ability whenever time allowed. By his junior year, though he had only grown six inches, he was a starter on the state championship team, and his frequent dunks always brought huge fan reaction.

  That attitude made his decision to take a leave of absence from his job a personal hell. He felt like he was abandoning his entire way of life, and failing completely by admitting that a condition with no cause could keep him from completing his job. It was even worse considering that he felt his job was easy, and he seldom had to put forth much effort to bring in the highest sales volume in the company.

  Now it all seemed to teeter on the edge. Linger over an abyss. All because his eyes refused to work. He didn’t know how it could all be in his head, but he needed to find out what was going on. He thought back. He knew that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. He was booking visits and making sales.

  But that was wrong. He was sure he’d been having this problem much longer. He tried to remember the first time it happened. Months ago, it must have been. But then why did he plan trips only weeks ago. He ran through his thoughts, trying to piece it all together. Couldn’t make the puzzle fit.

  Maybe it was all in his head.

  CHAPTER 6

  "Well, Carolyn, you’re eyes look fine. Have you been having any headaches lately?"

  "There’s been like a buzzing that I can feel in my head. It hurts, but it’s more a feeling that my head is vibrating, or something in it." Carolyn rubbed her hand on the back of her head.

  "Hmm. Well, like I said, there isn’t anything wrong with your eyes. You say it only happened the one time?" Dr. Aaronson stood and moved toward the door,

  "That’s right, just once." Carolyn followed the doctor out of the room.

  "Well, if it happens again, we’ll pursue some other avenues. For now, I think you should get some more rest. Do you need a sleep aid?"

  "No. I’ve been sleeping fine. I’m okay."

  "Good. Well, like I said, let me know immediately if it happens again."

  "Thanks, Doc." Carolyn left the office and climbed back into her car. She adjusted her mirror and stared at her eyes. "Nothing wrong with you guys, eh? That’s good. I was probably just tired." She adjusted the mirror to see behind her again, and she pulled out and headed toward her house.

  Carolyn drove with top down in her Audi convertible on the sunny day, and decided to take a more scenic route home than usual. Driving always relaxed her. Gave her time to her own thoughts, but still have something to do.

  She found herself traveling some familiar roads. On her right, she passed the Bandai Corporation headquarters where she had taken her first job after graduation. She’s started low on the ladder in public relations, but progressed to management soon. Her career was going well, but something gnawed at the back of her mind during her time there.

  She believed in the company and the environmentally friendly products they produced, but she kept thinking that her skills could be put to better use. After speaking with a former roommate over lunch one day, she found herself fascinated with Debbie’s work with the disabled. After that, she volunteered a great deal of her time to local charities.

  She wrote press releases, updated web pages, and helped organize fund-raisers when she had time. Spent more time on that work than her day job. When she was offered the opportunity to work full time, she couldn’t resist. Sure, it’d be less money, significantly less, but she looked at her finances and knew she could do it.

  That’s what led to her interest in investing. She had saved a good deal of money in her brief time at Bandai, but letting it grow on its own wasn’t going to get her to early retirement. That 403(b) contribution just wasn’t cutting it.

  At first, she invested in aggressive mutual funds, while watching the stock market. Watched it dive a few years back. That hurt. One day, she was watching market news, and she could swear she remembered a story about a stock that was a good bet. She couldn’t place it thought. Next day, the stock jumped. Next time she heard a good tip, she jumped on it. It worked.

  She watched lots of market news. It became a hobby. She took in so much, sometimes she couldn’t even place where she’d heard the tip. She invested mainly in construction companies. Found that her information was most reliable with them.

  When she got back home. she pulled carefully into her garage that was littered with half-finished home improvement projects. She meant to finish them, but work always got busy and the projects got dropped. She set her keys on the kitchen bar after keying in her alarm code, and then made her way to the front door to pick up her mail.

  She leafed through the stack of small envelopes, and decided to deal with them later. The drive had done wonders for her mind, but the feelings in her shoulders and back told her that her body needed some of the therapy that her mind had received.

  She undressed and stepped into the shaded sunroom on the back of the house and started the hot tub. She walked back to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, and picked up a Nora Roberts novel she had purchased recently, but not had the time to read. She never seemed to take the time to read anymore.

  After a few minutes, she slid into the warm bubbles and let the tension slide away. As she settled in and reached for the book, her mind quickly reviewed the recent events. "I’m sure it was nothing. A couple of days from now, this will just be a relaxing day that I wish I could relive."

  CHAPTER 7

  Henry ended the call and ordered a blueberry muffin from the waitress. Dennis was understanding as usual when Henry told him he’d be out of a work again today. He’d been worried his lame excuse about a headache would meet some resistance. But, he kept the call short and didn’t discuss it much. He wouldn’t have gone to work anyway.

  He’d chosen to spend the morning at the café on the ground floor of Kelly’s building. The food was plain, dry and lacking flavor and the coffee was a blend of oil and acid. But, the right booth gave him a view of the external elevator that the lawyers used, and shielded him from sight. He sipped his coffee and stared out the window. Added a packet of sugar to cut the taste.

  "Here ya go. Anything else?"

  Henry looked at the enormous muffin. Wondered how they made something so bad look so good and laughed. "Not right now. Thanks."

  The waitress smiled and walked away. Henry watched the elevator door. Waiting to see her come o
ut, or see if someone suspicious went in. Not that he knew what a killer would look like, but he hoped he’d know it when he saw it. The morning dragged on. Henry chugged coffee and ordered more food just to make the waitress stop asking him.

  He watched different people pass in and out. Watched their faces, examined their clothes, noted the color of their shoes. Time crawled, but he kept watching, struggling to keep his mind focused by watching details. After lingering over a man with a tight suit, and shoes in a color between pink and purple, he took another sip from his coffee and looked at his watch. "Eleven-thirty! Crap."

  Henry picked up his bag and placed ten dollars on the table. He got up and walked to the door of the café, waving to the table and his money when the waitress looked at him. He turned left out of the building and heard a familiar voice of one of the partners calling his name. He didn’t stop. Didn’t want Kelly to know he’d been there.

  He walked across the street and around the corner to his car. The voice stropped calling. Henry looked back. He wasn’t followed. He slipped into his car and took deep breaths. He sat there for a couple of hours, checking his messages at work and at home while he waited for the lunch rush to end. He knew he might miss something while he waited, but he had to keep his monitoring secret.

  At one-thirty he began circling the block, checking to see if anyone was still in the café. First pass it was still pretty crowded. Fifteen minutes later, it had cleared out. He parked his car a street away, made his way back to the booth, moved the dirty dished to the next table and ordered a piece of pie.

  "Sure thing. You know, someone was asking about you earlier."

  "Yeah? What did they want?"

  "I don’t know. I told ‘em I hadn’t seen you. I figured, if you wanted someone to know you was here you would’ve told him yourself."

  "Thanks,” he checked the nametag, “Lonnie."

  "No problem. I’ll get you that pie."

  The pie was surprising. Nothing great, but the crust didn’t break his teeth. He waited in the café until four-thirty and then headed home. "One day down, however many I need to go."