“Screw you.”
“No thank you. I don’t do vaginas.”
Darrell finally grabbed his suitcase. Mike told him to take his too, and put them as far back in the cave as he could. “If you want your cut.”
“Why don’t we each take one?”
“Because one of us should stay out here and keep an eye on that helicopter.”
“Well, it looks pretty dark in there. If we both go in …”
“We could get lost. At least you can follow my voice. I’ll be right here. Come on, we don’t have all night.”
Darrell groaned, but did as Mike ordered and picked up his suitcase. “I can’t carry both of them,” he said.
“Make two trips.”
Darrell disappeared in the cave’s darkness. Mike sat on his suitcase and watched as the police helicopter circled the desert a few hundred yards away. After several minutes passed, he began to wonder if Darrell had decided to take a break.
Mike took one step into the cave. “Darrell, hurry up. The helicopter’s getting closer.”
There was no response, so he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Darrell, can you hear me?”
Again no answer. Mike picked up his suitcase and headed down the dark tunnel, using his free hand to feel the wall alongside him. After a few seconds, he sensed the tunnel widening into a cavern. He called Darrell’s name once more. A prolonged hiss echoed through the cave. Slowly, Mike set the suitcase down and pulled the gun out of his coat. When he turned in a circle to pinpoint the noise, he looked out the tunnel and noticed the helicopter’s searchlight was closer.
No longer caring where Darrell was, Mike picked up his suitcase and headed for the closest wall. He tripped over something solid and slammed face first onto the cave’s hard floor. The hissing grew louder and seemed to be coming from multiple directions. Ignoring his bleeding chin and scraped hand, Mike leaped off the floor before the snakes could strike. He reached for his pistol, but it wasn’t there. He got to his knees and felt the floor. When his hand struck plastic, he realized he’d tripped over Darrell’s suitcase.
“What the hell’s wrong with you? I could’ve knocked myself out.”
Darrell didn’t answer, but even if he had, Mike wasn’t sure if he would have heard him over the now deafening hisses. He prayed it was the cave’s echoes, but it sounded as if he were surrounded.
Mike reached for Darrell’s suitcase and felt Darrell’s arm draped over it. He squeezed Darrell’s hand. “Get up, man.” He shook the arm harder and almost retched when it pulled away from the suitcase and fell onto his lap. The arm had been severed at the elbow. Mike reached out but couldn’t feel Darrell’s body anywhere.
Mike threw the arm into the darkness and heard a grunt when it bounced off something. He scrambled on all fours toward the entrance. The searchlight illuminated the cave’s mouth. A sinewy hand wrapped around his neck, cutting off his scream. Mike clawed at the scaly fingers. Deafened by the hissing, unable to move, he stared straight ahead. The entrance was gone. He couldn’t see outside, but he knew that the cops were out there. Getting caught meant ten years locked in a nine-by-nine cell. But that decade was gone.
Group Session
“You sure you don’t want me to stay, Dr. Hammond? I really don’t mind. My mom can watch the kids til eight.”
Larry stopped rummaging through the file cabinet just long enough to make eye contact with his overly sensitive blonde receptionist. “I appreciate that, Lisa, but Wagner refuses to come in if anyone else is in the building. You know how some people feel about us.”
“So they’d rather live an unhealthy life instead of risking embarrassment?”
He was tempted to say something mean and condescending, but ruled against it. Barton and Richter, the doctors he shared the practice with and who were both already on their way home, wouldn’t like him abusing their precious little beauty. Larry had been pulling for a brunette, who actually had real experience, but Barton said that wasn’t necessary in this line of work. Barton had the nerve to suggest that maybe after Larry had a few more years under his belt he’d understand.
So instead of saying something Lisa would take the wrong way, Larry resumed his search through the cabinet and said, “At least this guy’s coming. For every one of him there must be a hundred others that couldn’t be dragged in here by wild horses.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that. It just seems like such an inconvenience for you. Wouldn’t you rather go home on time and have dinner with your wife?”
Larry pulled out a folder and set it on top of the other two resting on the cabinet. Not knowing why he was telling her of all people, he said, “Actually, that’s the last thing I want. We’re separating.”
There was that predictable look of surprise, accompanied by the gasping of air and her trademark, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Before she could utter another word, Larry looked at the clock in the deserted waiting room. “It’s five-fifty and they’ll be here any minute. You really should get going before they show up.”
She gathered her belongings. “I thought it was just Wagner.”
“I talked him and two others into doing a group session. Should be interesting.”
“Do I know the other two?”
“Maybe, but you really need to hurry.”
Lisa looked hurt, but Larry didn’t care. He’d be able to make a name for himself if tonight’s session was a success. There would be papers, talk shows, maybe even a book. If some pretty girl’s feelings got hurt along the way, then so be it.
Larry’s first client entered the office just moments after Lisa slipped out the back door. “How are you doing, Mr. Petrowski?” Larry held the inner office door open for the little man. “Come on back.”
Frank Petrowski, a forty-eight-year-old who looked closer to sixty thanks to his face, which resembled a piece of rawhide that’d seen too many seasons, made his way past Larry and headed for the room. Although this was his fifth session with Frank, it was difficult holding back a smile. Standing four-eleven, it was hard to take the man seriously.
Larry told Frank to make himself comfortable, wasn’t surprised to see him sit in the corner chair, avoiding the couch that would make him appear even smaller. When he heard the front door close, Larry excused himself to greet the so-called Honorable Alexander Steele. Always business, Steele brushed by him and said, “I hope they’re here. I’ve got things to do.”
“I’m sure you do.” Larry followed the bald, pot-bellied judge into the room, anxious to see how he would react to someone in his chair. Obviously perturbed, Steele grunted at Frank and huffed his way over to the couch. “Just one more, gentlemen. He should be here shortly,” Larry said before heading back to the receptionist’s counter to gather their folders.
The next few minutes were torturously slow. It wasn’t quite six yet, but Wagner usually showed up early, as long as he was convinced the building was empty. Hopefully the thought of talking to others hadn’t scared him off. Without him, the session would be a bust. Three people composed a small group; only two created an awkwardly confrontational setting. Especially the two in the room now.
And it wasn’t just the number of people present that necessitated Wagner’s presence. There was something about the man that set him apart from other patients. He was dealing with the same issues as Steele and Petrowski, but he was more willing to accept responsibility for his actions. Without him there would be no group, no published paper, no TV show.
Just as Larry was about to lose hope, the front door swung open. “Evening, Mr. Wagner. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
The muscular thirty-year-old looked about the empty waiting room and peeked into the receptionist’s area. “Everyone’s gone?”
“Yep. Just me and the other two men I told you about.” Wagner seemed unusually tense, so Larry asked, “You okay?”
Wagner said he was fine, but Larry didn’t buy it. He locked the front door hoping to take awa
y some of the man’s anxiety.
“You mind if we take care of the payment up front?” Wagner pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. “I got some stuff to handle after this.”
Larry waved away Wagner’s money. “This one’s on the house. I expect the session to be very productive, but until we’ve tried it out once or twice, I wouldn’t feel comfortable charging for it. The only thing I ask is that I be permitted to use any material in future papers and books. Of course, I would change all names to protect identities.”
Wagner shrugged his shoulders and slipped the thick roll back into his tan pants. “Whatever.”
It seemed like some type of thanks was in order, considering he had just saved the man a hundred dollars, but Larry let it slide. As he led the way down the hallway, he asked, “Have you had a chance to look into any insurance yet? I wouldn’t want the cost of treatment to prevent you from coming.”
“Money’s not an issue.”
“Good,” Larry said as they entered the office, reminding himself to jot down a question for next week’s private session with Wagner: How is money not an issue for an unemployed ex-cop, three years off the force?
Wagner took a seat on the couch next to Steele while Larry rolled his chair out from behind his desk, positioning it so Wagner was in front of him, Frank off to his left. He noticed Steele checking his watch and apologized to the group for the delay, even though it was only four minutes past six.
“I’ve brought the three of you together because you’re dealing with similar issues and there are no support groups out there for you. I’m trained, just as most psychologists and therapists are, to help give you insight into some of your problems, but this is a subject the medical community has not studied sufficiently. That’s why it might be helpful to talk with peers who are going through the same thing.” Larry hoped the others hadn’t noticed the judge rolling his eyes behind his glasses at the mention of peers. “This is going to be a very informal discussion where each of you will get a chance to tell the group about yourself and ask questions of each other. I’ll facilitate as needed, but this will be your time. Why don’t we start with our names?”
With everyone acting as if they were at a seventh-grade dance, Larry pointed at Frank and said, “How about we start over here?”
Frank shot him an unpleasant glance but predictably obeyed orders. “I’m Officer Petrowski.”
Larry followed Wagner’s eyes to Petrowski’s waist, where they were probably searching for a badge or gun that verified the diminutive man’s claim. Frank seemed to sense the doubt and clarified, “CO, over at Sussex 1 State Prison in Waverly.”
“I think this might be smoother if we are a little less formal,” Larry told him.
“I guess you guys can call me Frank. I’m used to using last names. I don’t think I could name three coworkers by their first names.”
“I know the feeling,” Wagner chipped in, his earlier tension visibly reduced. “I was a cop in Richmond for four years. The name’s Charles Wagner. Charlie’s fine.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” Larry turned to the oldest of the group. “And last but not least …”
“Judge Steele.” Before Larry could ask for his first name, the judge grudgingly said, “Alexander. Not Alex, but Alexander.”
“So we’ve got Frank, Charlie, and Alexander. Please call me Larry. What do you say we get started?”
Larry took the group’s silence as a green light. “Everyone here has been having a difficult time dealing with their role in death. That said, let’s get into specifics. Tell us why you’re here, why you’ve sought treatment. Alexander, will you please start?”
“I came here because my wife said I should.”
Larry realized the man wasn’t going to say anything more if not prompted. “And why did she suggest you come in?”
Alexander glared at Larry. “We’ve been over this.”
“But not with them. You don’t have to go into detail, just an overview.”
Alexander thought about it for a second. “I’m a judge. I’ve condemned people to die. Sometimes it … bothers me,” he mumbled.
It was a start. Larry nodded his head and motioned for Charlie to go next.
“I’ve been forced to take lives. More than one. But the guilt I feel about one in particular has been a little too much, I suppose.”
“Good. We’ll go into that death later.” Larry jotted a note in Charlie’s folder. “Frank, your turn.”
“Like I said before, I’m a CO over at Sussex 1. I’m on the execution squad. Sometimes it’s too much, like Charlie said.”
Speaking to no one in particular, Larry said, “Just so you all know, each of you has confided in me the amount of stress these deaths have caused you. I ask that no one diminishes their experiences now that the others are present. Be assured, you are all men and have dealt with your positions and responsibilities remarkably well. You have some of society’s most demanding jobs, and you are forced to deal with psychological and moral issues. Feeling guilty or ashamed of things you have done is natural. Not being affected would lead me to believe there was something wrong. Tonight, you need to give these feelings voice. No one will laugh or think less of you. This is a healing process and with that comes pain. Welcome it; don’t avoid it.” Larry gave his speech a moment to set in before asking, “Frank, can you tell us some more about your problem?”
“Like what?”
Larry checked his watch. At this rate, they’d be here until daybreak. “Why don’t you start by telling us about your job? What exactly do you do on this team?”
“I’m on strap-down. The duties are a little different depending on whether we’re burning or sticking.”
“What’s that?” Larry asked.
“Strap-down?”
“No, the burning or sticking.”
“Electric chair or lethal injection. They get a choice.”
“How nice,” Charlie said. “That’s one hell of a decision to make.”
“At least they only got to make it once,” Frank said. “But anyway, like I was saying, I’m on strap-down, so I walk the guy in and strap him down to the table or chair and watch. Kinda like in The Green Mile or that one with that colored girl and that retarded guy from Slingblade.”
Hoping to avoid any racial discussions, Larry said, “Monster’s Ball.”
“That doesn’t sound like it. Something else. This one had that girl, the one that’s not so bad looking for, you know, being dark and all.”
“Halle Berry. Yes, Monster’s Ball, trust me.”
Even though the discussion had gotten sidetracked, Charlie seemed intrigued. “You stay til the guy’s dead?”
Frank nodded. “Even after. We get the pleasure of unstrapping ’em and rolling ’em out.”
The judge surprised them all by speaking. “How long have you been doing this?”
“I’ve been a CO for twenty-nine years, on the execution squad twenty-eight of them.”
Alexander asked, “Did you volunteer for this position?”
“The warden handpicks the team. Of course, you can withdraw or decline any time.”
Larry saw where this was headed, but the judge had already started his question. “So why do it? If you ask me, you only have yourself to blame. If putting murderers to death bothers you so much, then maybe you need a new line of work.”
Frank was defending himself before Larry could come to his aid. “I can handle it, and I do handle it, but it is hard. I’ve helped kill fifty-one people in the last six years, and I’ve got another thirty-five waiting for their turn after getting condemned in court.”
“So now it’s my fault?”
“Someone’s sending these guys to me. I don’t go out and find them on the street.”
Alexander shook his head. “Judges don’t sentence people to death.”
“I understand that,” Frank said, “but I also understand that a judge has a great deal of influence over the jury. We’re second in the nation, only behind Texas, an
d they’ll kill you over there for jaywalking.” Frank cracked his knuckles. “So if you’re such a fair and just judge, then why are you here? You said you’ve condemned people to die.”
“Only in a manner of speaking.”
Larry held up his hand to halt the discussion. “We’re not here to pass judgment on each other. We’re not here to attack. We’re here to listen. Alexander, tell them what you told me before. It’s okay.”
Alexander pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He sighed. “I do encourage the death penalty when I believe it’s warranted, and I guess I can influence juries.”
Frank nodded. “But believing a man should die doesn’t make putting him to death any easier to accept, right?”
“I can’t sleep some nights. I wonder if I made the right decision, if I should be playing God. I wonder if we’ve failed as a society when a decision like that rests in the hands of so few.”
After a small lull, Larry stepped in. “So, Charlie, why don’t you tell them about some of the things you’re going through? You don’t have to give specifics. Focus on your feelings. How it’s affected you.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Sometimes I have difficulty sleeping, too. Almost every night since my revelation.” Charlie rubbed his thighs and began to rock. “It’s not because of the lives I’ve taken, though. This was just a one-time thing, but once was more than enough. I helped kill a man that didn’t deserve to die.”
“When was this?” Frank asked.
“Over ten years ago. I was only nineteen.”
Frank said, “You have to be twenty-one to be a cop.”
“I wasn’t a cop yet.”
Larry reminded Charlie that doctor-patient privileges only went so far, but this guy had been a cop and knew that.
Alexander asked the question: “You murdered a man?”
Charlie’s rocking became more pronounced. “I might as well have.”
Twisted Reunion Page 9