“Interesting,” McCall responded thoughtfully, pointing as they approached his ball. “So the great and powerful doctor doesn’t have control of his patients.”
“It doesn’t seem so. He a brilliant man but, faced with someone half-ass smart with balls, I think he cracks. This guy can be easily manipulated. I haven’t known him long and I’ve already done it.”
“It’s strange to hear that,” commented Dave as he selected an appropriate iron. “The times I met him, he came across as the most head-strong, patronizing bastard I’d ever seen.”
“Well, with you, yeah,” Chris solemnly replied. “I said he was intimidated by intelligent people.”
* * * *
“You goddamn, stupid assholes,” roared Samuel Bowman, ferociously pacing the length of his office back and forth. “Your buddy, Chris, is best of friends with the cops. Not just any cop. Captain Dave McCall. I really don’t know why I even bother with you fucks. I try to solve your problems, keep you out of trouble and you go on with this fucking chat-line behind my back without even knowing who the fuck you’re talking to.”
“OK, that’s it,” Randi stepped in. “I’ve had it with this shit. You’ve been ripping at us for fifteen minutes like it’s all our fucking fault. Well, listen very carefully, you goddamn, psychiatric moron. Chris is your fucking patient. Not ours. You suggested this goddamn chat-line. Not us. Why the fuck didn’t you investigate your fucking patient before involving him with us? Explain that, Sammy.”
“Th-the chat-line was supposed to be a controlled therapy process,” Bowman replied weakly, the aggressive tone gone. “I was supposed to be there to make sure nothing wrong was said.”
“Then why the fuck did you leave on Wednesday night?” Randi demanded. “Because he asked you to? No, Sammy. Because he told you to. Because I told you to. You have no balls, Doctor. Admit it. That’s why we fascinate you so.”
“Fuck you, Randi,” Bowman wearily replied before leaving. “You guys do whatever you want. I don’t give a shit anymore. Die, for all I care.”
A moment of silence went by before Bobby timidly spoke up. “What do we do now?”
“How the fuck should I know?” spat Randi angrily, still too flustered to think.
“Don’t take this out on Bobby,” Michael quietly said. “We’ve got a problem to fix and I’m sure we can do it together.”
“And what do you suggest we do, Michael?” Randi shot back in a snotty tone.
“We get rid of Chris,” Michael calmly responded.
“Get rid of him how?” asked Bobby.
“We kill him,” Michael easily replied. “Won’t be like it’s the first time we ever killed anyone.”
“I agree with Mike,” commented Alex. “We kill the son of a bitch.”
“He’s probably talked to his cop friend, McCall,” suggested Randi, his interest in the conversation rapidly growing. “We should kill him too.”
“Whoa! I don’t know about that,” Michael objected. “You want to kill a cop?”
“Those bastards have just as much right to die as anybody else,” Randi grinned. “They’re people too, ya know. Seriously, if Chris told him anything about us, McCall has to go also.”
“Randi’s right,” Alex agreed. “We gotta kill the cop.”
“OK. How do we get to him?” challenged Michael.
“We could get Bowman to invite him over,” Randi pensively suggested.
“Oh, come on,” Michael argued. “Do you really think Sammy’s gonna play along with something like this?”
“Sam’s in shit up to his eyeballs just like us,” Randi confidently replied. “I’ll convince him to play along.”
“What about Chris?” Bobby piped up. “How are we going to get him?”
“Same way, I guess,” offered Alex, “Through Bowman. He knows Chris.”
“Why not,” nodded Randi. “For once, Doctor Bowman will actually get to do something useful for us.”
* * * *
Chris strolled into the kitchen and headed for the bulletin board to see if Sandy had left a note which, in fact, she had.
My darling husband,
Since you went running off to play with your little friend, Dave, his wife and I felt it was only fitting that we have fun too. We have therefore gone to spend some of your hard earned money to spoil ourselves. I’ll be back for dinner.
Love,
Sandy
Chuckling, he headed for the refrigerator for something to eat, pausing only to start up the answering machine for messages. As he rummaged through the fridge in quest for food, the morning’s messages started playing back. The first was from his stockbroker, recommending that he sell his shares in a gold mining company. Rumours were starting to circulate that the size of a deposit recently discovered in Malaysia might have been overestimated. Next was a recorded sales pitch from some telemarketing company which drew a smile to his lips; their machine talking to his machine. Then came the third message.
“Hello, Chris. This Doctor Bowman. I need to see you as soon as possible. It’s very important. Please call me at my office as soon as you can.”
“What’s that all about?” Chris wondered aloud as he went for the phone.
Bowman’s voice sounded strained on the tape. He dialled the doctor’s now familiar number and was surprised to hear someone pick up almost instantly.
“Hi, Doctor Bowman?”
“Yes. Is this Chris?”
“Yes Doctor. What’s up?”
“Chris, I really need to see you this afternoon. It’s very important.”
“What’s this about, Doctor?”
“I don’t want to say too much over the phone,” Bowman replied, lowering his voice. “It has to do with the chat-line and the others, Chris. I really must speak to you in private.”
“All right, Doc,” Chris curiously agreed. “What time?”
“How about, I’m sorry, Chris. Can you hold the line for a minute? I’ve got another call.”
“Yeah, sure,” Chris replied as the Muzak started.
A moment went by before an apologetic Bowman came back on the line.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Chris. Would three-thirty be all right with you?”
“It’s two now,” answered Chris as he glanced at his watch. “Yeah, three-thirty’s OK. At your office, I presume?”
“Yes, Chris. At my office.”
“Are you OK, Doc?” Chris enquired. “You seem stressed.”
“I’m fine, Chris. Don’t worry about me,” Bowman hurriedly reassured him. “I’ll explain at three-thirty. I’ve got to go. I have someone on the other line.”
“Sure thing Doc. See you then.”
* * * *
“Come on. I don’t have all day,” Dave muttered impatiently as he listened to the annoying Muzak over the phone.
“Captain McCall. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem, Doctor,” Dave politely replied. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak to you about the case, Captain.”
“Which is why you were asking if I was available at three?” Dave guessed.
“Yes, Captain. It’s extremely important. I have some information that I must discuss with you.”
“I’ll be there,” Dave replied, growing excited.
“Good, Captain,” Bowman sighed with relief. “And, Captain, what I wish to share with you is somewhat confidential. I’d appreciate if we could keep our meeting just between ourselves for now. I have a career to think about.”
“No problem, Doctor. I’ll be there at three.”
* * * *
“There. You happy now?” Bowman demanded in frustration.
“I’ll be happier when we’ve taken care of those two motherfuckers,” Randi calmly replied. “But, yeah, I’m happy you’ve finally accepted to take on your responsibilities. Maybe we’ll make a man of you yet, Sammy.”
“Leave him alone, Randi,” Bobby dared to speak out.
“Listen, you little faggot
,” Randi raised his tone.
“Christ, Randi. Calm down,” Michael ordered in frustration. “You’re always trying to piss everybody off. Sam’s done the best he could for us and Bobby ain’t done nothing to you. So shut up and concentrate on this afternoon. We don’t want to fuck this up.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” muttered Randi, a slight grin on his lips. “Who’s telling who to calm down. Don’t worry about this afternoon. We’re old pros at this game.”
* * * *
Dave pulled into a conveniently vacant parking spot in front of the building which housed Doctor Bowman’s office. Hurriedly, he entered through the main entrance and, not bothering with the elevator, bounded up the three flights of stairs to the psychiatrist’s place of business.
On the third floor, he headed to the far end of the dimly lit corridor towards Bowman’s waiting room. Pushing the door open, he was surprised to find the windowless reception area inside dark. Puzzled, he checked the time; 2:57; he was a couple of minutes early. Maybe Bowman had stepped out for a quick errand.
Leaving the door ajar behind him to allow what little light the hallway offered in, he stepped forward slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“Hello?” he called out loudly enough. “Doctor Bowman? Are you here?”
Receiving no response, he moved carefully towards the door leading to Bowman’s office. He reached it and knocked, but again, was not acknowledged.
“Where the hell is he?” Dave muttered before calling out again, “Doctor Bowman. Are you in there?”
Turning the doorknob, he pushed on the door and peered inside, only to find the main office empty as well.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked aloud, just before something heavy crashed into the back of his skull, knocking him to the floor, unconscious.
* * * *
Chris pulled into the parking lot next to Bowman’s tan BMW and hurried around to the building’s main entrance. As he climbed the concrete steps, he noticed an emerald Ford Explorer, much like Dave’s, parked immediately in front of the building. Normally, he might not have noticed it; McCall’s vehicle was far from unique. However, that very morning, he had kidded his friend about washing the 4x4 once in a while.
He hesitated then stopped as he examined the truck from a dozen feet away. Sure enough, he recognized the thick heavy mud streaks behind the wheels. Casually, he strolled over and peered into the vehicle, immediately recognizing Dave’s golf bag inside.
Not understanding why Dave would be here also, he wondered why each would have been summoned without the other knowing it. He suddenly realized that if this was, for whatever reason, what Bowman wanted, it was best that he keep the doctor in believing he had succeeded. Looking up towards the windows of the psychiatrist’s office, he was relieved to note that neither he, nor Dave’s truck, was visible from this angle.
Curious and apprehensive, he entered the building and carefully made his way to the third floor, using the stairs rather than the elevator.
* * * *
“Stop struggling, McCall. You’re getting on my nerves,” barked Bowman, glaring at the cop who was tightly bound to a chair before him. “I taped you up good so there’s no way you can get loose.”
Dave stared back angrily at the man, disappointed for letting himself end up in this position. He was a cop, after all, an experienced one at that, supposedly attuned to danger. Now he found himself securely strapped to a chair while Bowman, armed with Dave’s service revolver, was pacing around freely.
Something was wrong with the psychiatrist, different. He had obviously gone overboard, probably due to the pressures of dealing with murderous patients. Now, his eyes were wild, his composure gone. Even his language had changed. Gone was the proper, sophisticated verbiage, to be replaced by common slang and regular blasphemies.
“Sorry about the tape on the mouth there, Captain,” Bowman mentioned with a grin. “It’s just that we’re waiting for another friend of ours and I don’t want you tipping the bastard off.”
Glancing at his watch, he added, “He should be here any minute now. I’ll go greet him.”
With that, he hurried off into the waiting room, closing the office door behind him.
* * * *
Chris moved silently down the corridor towards Bowman’s offices. As he approached, he noticed the door leading into the waiting room was ajar and light came from beyond. Stopping by the doorway, he slowly peered inside and was surprised to find Dr. Bowman seated comfortably in one of the chairs, flipping through a magazine.
“Ah, Chris. There you are,” Bowman exclaimed, rising to his feet and revealing the revolver which he pointed at his guest’s head. “Won’t you come in? Shut the door behind you.”
“Would you mind filling me in on what’s going on?” Chris enquired as he complied with Bowman’s request.
“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Bowman, turning uncharacteristically nasty. “Turn around and lean against the wall.”
“We have one of your friends in the other room,” Bowman announced as he proceeded to search Chris for a weapon but finding only his cellular phone. “We don’t like being taken for fools, Chris.”
‘We?’ thought Chris as the psychiatrist pulled him from the wall and motioned towards his office.
“Get,” ordered Bowman. “It’s time we’ve all had a chat. Captain McCall should be quite interested in learning who you really are, Chris.”
“And who might that be?” Chris asked, heading for the doctor’s chambers.
“Don’t fuck with me, Chris,” Bowman screamed. “If you don’t tell McCall, I will.”
Chris opened the door and entered the office, expecting to find Randi and company inside with Dave. To his surprise, McCall was alone, efficiently taped to a chair.
“Hey, Dave. What’s up?” he asked to which his friend shrugged. “Doctor, is the tape on his mouth really necessary?”
“I can remove it now,” Bowman quietly, almost shyly replied before gently peeling the tape of McCall’s face. “There you go.”
“Thanks,” Dave replied, staring at the psychiatrist, bewildered and amazed by the man’s mood swings.
“You sit there,” Bowman ordered Chris, pointing to an armchair nearby. “Now, why don’t you tell your cop friend here who you really are.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Chris responded in puzzlement.
“Listen, motherfucker,” Bowman screamed. “Don’t play with my head. Talk.”
Chris gazed at the man for a moment and suddenly, everything became perfectly clear.
“I don’t want to speak to you right now,” he quietly said to Bowman. “I want to speak to Bobby. Where’s Bobby?”
“I’m here, Chris,” Bowman gently replied. “You better do what he says. Otherwise he’s gonna hurt you.”
“Who’s gonna hurt me, Bobby?” Chris prodded as Dave looked on, dumbfounded.
“Randi,” Bowman whispered before suddenly raising his tone. “Shut up, you little cocksucker.”
“Randi, is that you?” Chris asked.
“Who the fuck do you think it is?” Bowman roared. “Now, talk. I know all about you. I read Doctor Sammy’s notes.”
“Whatever you read in his notes, which isn’t much, is fantasy,” Chris flatly responded. “I made it up. I wanted to meet you guys so I had to convince Bowman that I was like you.”
“I beg to differ, Chris,” the psychiatrist replied indignantly. “I know who you are. You did what you said you had.”
“Who the hell am I talking to now?” Chris impatiently asked.
“Doctor Samuel Bowman,” their captor firmly responded. “The others will keep quiet now. I will speak to you. After all, I am in charge.”
Both Dave and Chris gazed in awe at the complex being standing before them. Sure enough, they had heard of and read about multiple personalities but to actually meet a victim of such a disorder was nothing short of a phenomenal experience.
“Can we ask you t
o state who you are before you speak?” suggested Dave. “Otherwise, it’s confusing as hell.”
“I am in charge,” Bowman repeated stiffly. “I will do the talking. Now, Chris, why don’t you tell the captain about your past?”
“What didn’t you understand?” Chris replied evenly. “I made it up.”
“I don’t believe that, Chris,” insisted Bowman. “Tell the captain about the Vigilante, Chris. Who was the Vigilante?”
“What the hell are you looking for?” interrupted Dave. “The Vigilante case was solved. The Vigilante committed suicide.”
“And this was supported by your precious little concrete evidence, Captain?” stated Bowman, shaking his head. “You poor, naive man. Apparently, you will never learn that things are often not as they seem. Truly sad when we consider a man in your position....”
As the psychiatrist droned on, almost in a trance, Dave saw a stranger with gun in hand appear in the open doorway behind Bowman. He quickly motioned the two prisoners to remain quiet as he silently moved towards the doctor.
“.... it’s a wonder that you occasionally do solve some of these murder cases you work on, Captain,” Bowman continued his speech. “So naive, so narrow-minded.”
“Let the gun drop to the floor, real gentle,” Jonathan softly ordered as he pressed the silenced barrel of his .22 Beretta Minx to the back of Bowman’s skull.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” whimpered Bowman, his face turning ashen and his knees slightly buckling.
“Bobby,” Chris whispered to Dave as both stared at the lunatic before them.
“Come on, Doctor. Let go of the gun,” Jonathan commanded sternly. “I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
“Fuck you, you goddamn maggot,” hissed Bowman angrily. “We ain’t done here. Not until Chris admits what he’s done.”
Mind Games Page 19