Mr Wicker

by Maria Alexander

  Tentatively, Alicia stepped farther into the chasm, rocks crunching beneath her Mary Janes. She clenched her fists harder. The heat retreated as the blackness of the tunnel embraced her, holding her cheeks with muggy hands as they invited her into the inky depths. Knees stinging.

  Then, a pinprick of light winked at her from the nothingness. This time, she vowed. This time...

  She choked on clouds of dust as the train rumbled forward. A cold beam of light broke across the tracks.

  She stood her ground, eyes closed tightly. One...two...

  The train horn blared, howling as it sped toward her.

  ...three...

  Then, at the last minute, train horn blaring, deafening—Alicia jumped from the track. Sobbing, she hugged the tunnel wall as the train thundered past her. The chaos welled behind her, and she wished desperately that she had allowed it to tear away her bones. Crumpled like a dust rag against the dirty tunnel wall, she would not be noticed by the conductor. She wished so desperately not to be seen.

  To vanish.

  Alicia held her knees to her body as she doubled up on the love seat. The fever-grief snaked into the coils of her belly.

  Dr. Farron folded his hands on his lap and watched her as she fought the outpouring. “It’s rare for children that young to attempt suicide,” he said at last. “Really rare.”

  She rested her cheek on her knees and bit down so no tears would come. “When I was in college, I read a book that really fucked me up, and now I know why.”

  “What was it?”

  “It was called The Last of the Just. At one point, the main character, who’s a seven-year-old boy, runs through the fields smashing insects into his mouth. He was pretending they were the children who bullied him. When he reaches his home, he throws himself from the upstairs bathroom window.”

  “He lived?”

  Alicia nodded.

  He looked beaten again, and her compassion went out to him rather than herself.

  Soon, Arnie arrived and Alicia left with him. Grief gave way to sheer fucking annoyance as her situation grated on her patience. Unused to any amount of restraint, she mentally beat against her bars and shrieked inwardly in defiance. As they stepped into the elevator, Arnie reassured her that lunch was “pretty kickin’” today as he fumbled in his pocket for his security card. “Let’s get this thing moving so we can eat!” He swiped his security card in the slot.

  And then, the realization razed every synapse between her ears. She knew what was missing from Minnie Mouse’s neck.

  Her security card lanyard.

  Chapter 19

  Alicia brushed her hair until it fell in gentle wisps that curled around her chin and over her breasts. With some pain and trouble, she then dabbed on makeup that she had begged Rachelle to bring her from the downstairs pharmacy. Perhaps men don’t notice that sort of thing, she thought, but they appreciate the overall effect. Lashes long and dark, a light pink t-shirt slit down the front worn with snug yoga pants that she folded down around her hips, the lavender sweater draped loosely over her shoulders. She even pulled off a trick with some lip liner and a slightly lighter shade of lipstick to give her those Angelina Jolie lips that Mindy had. It was nearly impossible to avoid both Rachelle and Arnie, but after Rachelle told her she’d not been able to reach her grandmother on the phone, Alicia executed Phase I of her plan: an afternoon of nervous pacing, disappearing into various halls to simulate isolation. An understandable reaction to the news she’d received that morning.

  In Phase II, she skulked outside Dr. Sark’s office after slipping past orderlies to reach the administration hall during one of Jesus’ sermons. (She noted that they did not monitor that door very well in general.) At around three-thirty p.m., the long strides of Dr. Sark echoed in the hallway as he approached the office. He was alone. As she had observed in the evaluation, he seemed perhaps in his early forties and was definitely attractive. There was something predatory about him. This guy’s the one who’s cleaning up around here, not Dr. Farron. She leaned against the wall beside his office door, hands behind her back, thrusting her hips slightly forward. When he rounded the corner, he abruptly broke stride at the sight of her.

  “How did you get back here?”

  “Dr. Sark?” Just as he looked as if he would object, she coyly bit her bottom lip. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Dr. Sark’s cheeks reddened as she stroked his ego. “What do you want? You should be talking to your psychiatrist.” He unlocked his office door. “Dr. Farron, isn’t it?”

  “Well, that’s what I want to discuss with you,” she said. “For a moment.” Her tongue softly flickered over her lips as she fixed him with a hungry look.

  After gauging her for a moment, he pushed open the door and held out his hand, inviting her to enter before him.

  His pristine office menaced its visitors from every direction: a print of Degas’ dejected absinthe drinkers hung on the far wall, while on another Goya’s crazed Saturn devoured the bloody body of his son. Fuseli’s haunting image of The Nightmare hung just above his uncluttered desk on the wall behind him. The cold, bald eyes of the stallion surveyed the imp crouching on the chest of the tormented female sleeper.

  Somewhere in the background a stereo softly played a Vivaldi concerto, passionate violin strains warming the room. He crossed the room to the CD player tucked in a bookcase. As his back briefly turned, Alicia’s eyes searched the spotless floor. Did Mindy already retrieve the lost security card? Or did it lie on the floor behind his desk, at the rolling feet of the massive black leather chair, where she most likely performed her “rounds?”

  He switched off the music.

  “No, please. I love Vivaldi,” she said. “That’s his L’Estro Armonico, isn’t it?”

  Dr. Sark blinked with surprise. “As you wish.” He turned to the bookcase and switched the music back on. When he did so, Alicia slipped behind his desk and sat in his chair. She took a long, steady look at the floor as she leaned back.

  The security card lanyard snaked from under the rollers.

  “I love your artwork,” she said, a sultry grin on her lips. “No one else here seems to have much imagination.” She tipped the chair back slightly to survey the painting above her. “I saw that Fuseli at the British Museum. Sark’s an English name. Do you have family there?”

  “I must ask you to vacate my desk, Ms. Baum,” Dr. Sark stated, voice wavering. “And I would be happy to hear your complaint.” Clearly something about her both unnerved and intrigued him. Perhaps he was still weak in the knees from his early morning encounter? The fact that he let her in his office was highly unprofessional and dangerous—that much she guessed.

  “Oh, it’s no complaint,” Alicia said. She bit the skin of her thumb and, with just her eyes, she stripped him to his boxers. She decided he was definitely a boxers kind of guy.

  Transfixed by her, he took a step back and crossed his arms. “Then—then what is it?” he stammered.

  Alicia enjoyed that slip of composure immensely. She stood up, keeping her eyes locked with his, smoke and burn. “I just want to know one thing.”

  She let the sweater slip from her shoulders onto the floor by the chair over the security card, pushed the chair back as she stood to release the lanyard from the wheels, and then circled around the desk as she moved toward him. Biting her lip coyly again, she halted just beside him. His cologne a rummy ghost in her nostrils, she whispered in his ear. “Who...do I have...to blow...to get out of here?”

  He stared at her, terror and temptation flapping in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it just as quickly. Vivaldi spoke for him with firm downward strokes that ended in trembling, tenebrous chords. Clearly he was accustomed to being the one in control, and this situation threatened to unravel his dignity. He inhaled deeply, and then closed his eyes for a beat as he exhaled. When his eyes flickered open, she noted that he caught her cleavage, which she’d strategically placed beneath his vantage point.


  A storm of adrenaline rained on her sternum as he took her by the shoulders, his large hands cosseting her. Alicia wondered for a moment if she would actually have to go through with this. She thought she would shake him up and maybe get herself booted into extra therapy, at the very worst. At best, she would find the security card and pray that it had not yet been switched off. But she then remembered that this man held an inordinate amount of power over her well being at the moment. Stupid fucking girl. It’s not worth it.

  The ice of Dr. Sark’s eyes trickled under the swelling heat of his undisguised lusts. He raised his arm like a wing, inviting her inside, and put his arm around her shoulders—a fatherly gesture except for the way his strong fingers gripped her skin. “Ms. Baum, wherefore would you wish to leave our lovely ward? Is it not comfortable? Is it devoid of some...pleasure...necessary to your healing?”

  A riot of emotions—mostly about Dr. Farron—burned and looted every ounce of her resolve to continue with her plan. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m in a hurry to leave, and for what?” Flashing him a knowing grin, she turned her face to his and felt a faint rush of excitement at the idea of doing something so incredibly dangerous. However, the rush faded as his cheeks glowed again, this time with victory.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything you need is right here.” He clutched her shoulder to emphasize the last word. Here. In this office. With me. He then bent his neck to whisper into her ear. His breath was sour. Sulphuric. “Whatever it is, you just...have...to ask. And maybe, just maybe, your stay will go quicker.”

  The Lake of Hell lapped at Alicia’s cheeks. “I’d best be back before they miss me.”

  Disappointment waved a hand over his face, and the intensity dissipated. His long fingers unwrapped from her upper arm, releasing her from his predatory embrace.

  Alicia moved toward the desk.

  “Ms. Baum!”

  Alicia deftly gathered up the sweater over the security card, tucking the lanyard into the folds of lavender knitting. “I will—” she said, standing abruptly as Dr. Sark rounded the desk. The massive chair bumped the back of her knees and Dr. Sark loomed over her from the other side, his entire body radiating against hers. She clutched the sweater to her chest with one hand and, with the other, she pressed a finger to his bottom lip. “Ask, that is.” That fingertip held back The Beast for a moment as he contemplated her touch. Terror and temptation. He then stepped aside, gesturing gallantly for her to pass.

  Dr. Farron booted up his laptop and signed into Outlook. He already had an answer from Connie at Emergency Services for Alameda County:

  hiya james!

  how you doing? haven’t heard from you in some time. no problemo with getting your patient’s call. :) easy to find. really weird tho. you’ll see what i mean.

  lets have lunch next week and catchup. just name a time.

  connie

  He checked the attachment. No ACI printout. The file had a .mov extension. Probably a sound file.

  really weird tho. you’ll see what i mean.

  Ah, Christ. Yes, okay. He loosened his tie. As he downloaded the file, the drawing of Mr. Wicker skulked against the wall, deriding him for not uncovering the mysteries lingering in his eyes. Dr. Farron could do nothing but clench his fists and pace the office until the progress bar indicated a full download.

  When the longest two minutes of his life ended, he clicked “Open File” and watched Quicktime open a sound bar. He clicked the Play arrow.

  Hissssssssssss

  The female operator’s voice crackled. “9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

  Then, a voice dropped octaves into Dr. Farron’s soul. Ancient. Inhuman.

  “It’s not my emergency. It’s Alicia Baum’s.”

  “What is the emergency for Ms. Baum, sir?”

  “She has committed suicide.”

  “Where are you located sir?”

  “Between the worlds.”

  “Could you repeat that?”

  “No.”

  “Is she conscious? What’s her disposition?”

  “In the bath. Surrounded by blood.”

  “Sir, I want you to hold the line for a few seconds while we—”

  Click.

  “What the hell?”

  Then, another voice. A male dispatcher.

  “Shit, I couldn’t copy any of that! What was his address?”

  “No address on the API.”

  “Hang on...Alicia Baum. There’s one in Alameda County. Five-two-two-five Pala Avenue.”

  “Ambulance is on its way.”

  Between the worlds.

  The muscles in Dr. Farron’s legs fought every impulse to bolt to the elevator. After sitting stunned for ten minutes, he dialed Rachelle’s nurses’ station.

  “Rachelle! Hi—can I see Alicia again? It’s urgent. Can Arnie bring her? Okay, I’ll wait.”

  The time it took for Alicia to get there was the second eternity of the afternoon.

  Chapter 20

  Alicia feared that she’d been spotted coming out of Dr. Sark’s office when she was soon thereafter summoned to Dr. Farron’s office. She’d stashed the lanyard and ID card under the cushions of the couch in the activities room and slid the security card into her slipper. By the accumulation of detritus under the cushions, she surmised that no one would find it for some time.

  Arnie deposited her just inside the threshold where she stood quivering as a disheveled Dr. Farron paced the room. If there had ever been any doubt, she now understood that something had taken root for this man. He stared at her a moment as if seeing her for the first time. He noticed she had cleaned up, as it were.

  “You look great! I mean, you must be feeling better, right?”

  Alicia nodded.

  “Why don’t you have a seat? I have something to play for you.”

  He pulled a swivel office chair right up next to his, tilting the laptop so that she could hear. She sat beside him behind the desk. And listened...

  The voice—his voice—twisted her up so badly inside that she doubled over and held herself, yet she resisted any other reaction. She turned her gaze from the infernal drawing that still hung on the wall back to the Quicktime screen, biting her bottom lip until her mouth stung.

  “Do you know who that was?” Dr. Farron asked her when it finished.

  Alicia shook her head. She wanted to tell him—badly.

  Dr. Farron studied her for a moment. “He doesn’t sound like he’s on a cell phone. His voice is really clear and there’s no background noise. Except—well, I don’t know. I think maybe he has a pet bird.”

  A raven. Or twenty.

  “Is there any possibility someone got into the house?”

  “Not really. The street below is too steep for random foot traffic.”

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That wasn’t a neighbor, then?”

  “None that I know.”

  He replayed it, stopping it at one point. “Between the worlds? Have any idea what that means?”

  Alicia had always been a convincing liar when she cared to deceive and usually was guilty of giving Too Much Information. She honestly did not wish to deceive Dr. Farron, but she could see no alternative. She would not alienate this man any more than she had; she wanted to be closer to him, not further away. And insisting on Mr. Wicker’s existence caused arguments not agreements. Any more such discussions would distract from what she wanted to accomplish, which was to retrieve her lost memory. She reasoned further that, if she could somehow keep the peace and give him some evidence of her recovery, then perhaps they would let her go. But she couldn’t count on that. The security card burned in her slipper against her sole. She was dying to be free.

  “Does my grandma know I’m still here? I need to talk to her. She’ll know who Lillian is.”

  Dr. Farron fiddled with the mouse, clicking and dragging things on the screen. “She’s made no inquiries that I’m aware of.”

  “That’s odd. She usually becomes overly involved in m
y life given half a chance.”

  He closed the screen to the laptop and looked at her. That “whoosh!” of attraction soared through her like a 1962 Riviera speeding over the Golden Gate Bridge. She gripped her chair seat, pressing her fingers into the fabric-covered cardboard stapled to the underbelly. The whole cushion seemed to widen and turn hot beneath her. The peppery stew of starch, sandalwood cologne, and salt sweat washed down her throat as she inhaled him.

  He smiled. “I should take you back. I have to report to ER in a few.”

  Alicia couldn’t stand it any longer. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his Transformer tie.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, an alarm clanging so loudly in his eyes she thought he’d drop-and-cover.

  She suppressed a giggle. She wanted to pull him toward her and drink him like a chocolate shake, but instead she tightened his tie and tugged it straight. Digging a finger under his curled collar, she pulled it out and patted it flat around his neck.

  “I’m just making you more presentable, Doctor.”

  He took her back to her ward and deposited her at her room. From then until the lights winked out in every room but hers, she masterminded her escape.

  Chapter 21

  Jay? Where’d you put the tape?

  In the junk drawer!

  In your junk drawer? Or mine?

  His hand hovered over the open drawer as Gina’s words lingered between his ears. When silence at last settled, he plunged his hand into the drawer and burrowed until he found the DVD connector that he’d put off replacing. He’d been living alone now for three years, so he could let things go like the bedroom DVD; the greasy mechanical detritus in the garage; and the dust swarming over the shelves of medical books. He shambled upstairs to the bedroom.