The Grey Door

by Danna Wilberg

  “Sorry, doc. I’m in a hurry.” Jess hopped off the table landing on one foot.

  “It will take just a minute.”

  “Can’t. Have a big court case today. Don’t want to show up late. Got enough egg on my face for one day.” Jess yanked the bottom of his shirttail to straighten the wrinkles. “You understand.” “See you back in one week,” the doctor reminded him.

  “Right.” Jess wiggled into black trousers, wincing. He didn’t expect the pain to be so bad. Fuckin’ dog. He hoped he killed the mutha. Grace will just have to deal with another loss.

  ***

  “Coffee?” Paul waved the cup under Grace’s nose.

  “What time is it?” she asked, removing Paul’s jacket from her chest.

  “Nine-twenty-two. I was just in with the doctor on call—Sam. Sneaky seems to be doing fine. She has a concussion. He managed to save her tooth, but he won’t know the extent of the muscle damage until he can run tests. How are you feeling?”

  “Relieved. Can I see her?”

  “She’s heavily sedated.”

  “I don’t care. I want to see her.”

  Tears welled in Grace’s eyes when she saw Sneaky’s still body lying on the cold, metal table. Tubes taped to the dog’s leg connected to an IV nearby. Grace felt compelled to stroke the lackluster fur. Her eyes pleaded with the veterinarian as she placed her hand above the dog’s still flank. “May I?”

  “She’s going to be fine,” Sam said. “We have her on anti-seizure meds and fluids. It will take a few days to assess the long-term damage. From the size of the burns, it looks like a high-voltage stun gun was used in two different places, an indication that either Sneaky didn’t go down right away or the person using the device didn’t know what the heck they were doing,” said the doctor, moving aside so Grace could get a closer look. “That may be in your dog’s favor. This burn seems more severe.” He separated the fur near the dog’s throat. “She must’ve lunged. We can do an EMG in a couple of days. Right now, my concern is the head trauma. I hope you report this, Miss Simms.”

  “Yes,” she stammered. “I will.”

  Within an hour, Grace concluded there was nothing more she could do for Sneaky. The dog was in good hands. It was time to go home.

  Daylight-piercing her eyes didn’t dispel the fear lurking in her mind. She lost her reserve. “Damn it!” she yelled. “I am tired of being scared! I can’t take it, Paul,” she cried. “Who in bloody hell would do something like this?” Her body shook with anger. “Why? Why would someone hurt my dog?” Grace listened to her intuition. Jess. He disliked her dog. He had issues with her dating other men. Was he capable of tormenting her? No. She would have seen signs. Your thinking is skewed.

  “Grace? Are you okay? Paul asked. Do you want to go back inside?”

  Grace began to ramble, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I see things. I smell things.” She started to pace. “I keep thinking I’ve closed the bathroom window, but then it’s open. I don’t remember opening it, so I’m never sure. I thought I put the chain on the door. Now I don’t know. Did I? Or did I imagine I did? It’s maddening.” She clutched the top of her head. “I feel like I’m going crazy!”

  Paul gathered her into his arms. Speaking softly and sensibly, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

  Grace went from accepting Paul’s comforting gesture to pushing him away. “We? Where did the we come from? I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you are not going to take control of my problems! Take me home.”

  He opened the car door without saying a word. They rode in silence. Paul stared straight ahead. When they arrived at Grace’s house, he got out and opened the passenger door. Grace raised herself from the seat and stood her ground.

  Paul looked her in the eye and said, “I’m not your knight in shining armor. I am not your dream come true or any of that other bullshit. I’m a guy. Just a guy. I love animals, good food, good wine, a shot of tequila now and then, long drives, the beach, and star gazing. I sleep on my own side of the bed. I keep my things neat. I don’t have a girlfriend because of this, right here. I won’t be pushed away every time things don’t go your way. I am not a boomerang. I am a man. I have feelings. I cry when I need to, and I laugh whenever possible. I don’t butt into other people’s business, and I don’t crowd anyone’s space. If you don’t like me, say so. We’ll end it right here. If you do, then stop treating me like I’m your enemy, because that I will not tolerate! Are we clear?”

  Grace was at a loss for words. All she could say was, “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re scared. You have a right to be. Do you want my help? I would love to help you not because you’re incapable, but because I care about you…and your dog.” Grace melted into his arms.

  “What am I going to do?” she sobbed.

  “First, let’s get that police report filed,” he said, stroking her hair. “We can take it from there.”

  ***

  Jess spied the happy couple from where he was parked in his rental car. Once they were out of sight, he did a U-turn and drove home.

  “Jenna!” he screamed, slamming the door. Jenna didn’t answer, fueling his anger.

  When bright light flooded the room, Jenna stirred. Her pale form was emaciated and frail. Her moan wasn’t worth the effort. Her lips moved without sound. Her vacant eyes had stopped searching for God long ago. She didn’t beg. There were no tears. Only the sound of a plastic sheet rustling beneath her as the weight of Jess’s body settled near.

  “Grace is pregnant! The fucking whore is pregnant! Can you believe it? And look at this!” He dropped his pants. Jenna flinched. “Look what her fucking dog did to my knee?” he cried, bringing his knee to Jenna’s face. “See!” Jenna’s eyes continued to stare at the wall.

  “What good are you?” He rose from the bed disgusted. “Not worth a fiddler’s fuck.” He stormed out of the room.

  He pulled boxes from the cupboard and began preparing instant mashed potatoes and Stove Top stuffing. When his comfort food was ready, he sat in front of the TV and flipped through channels with the remote. “I hate you, Grace Simms,” he seethed. “I hate what you’re doing to me.”

  ***

  Cool water felt good on Grace’s face. Her reflection reported a serious need for sleep. She changed into salmon-colored slacks and a pale-yellow tank-top. She grabbed a matching cardigan off a hanger and ran downstairs.

  “Ready?” Paul smiled reassuringly.

  “No.”

  “Everything is going to be fine,” he said, smoothing a stray hair next to her face. “Be positive. The police will find the person responsible. Sneaky will come home, and this nightmare will be behind you before you know it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “All we have is hope. C’mon. Let’s go; it’s getting late.”

  CHAPTER 18

  TWENTY-SECOND PRECINCT

  G race felt the eyes follow her through the Twenty-second Precinct. She glanced over at the office where Garret Weston had resided. Her heart began to ache. Can’t do this. Too hard. Her breathing started to quicken. She felt Paul grip her arm to prevent her from teetering.

  “Breathe,” he whispered. “Just breathe.” Grace obeyed, and soon her dizziness passed.

  Two wooden chairs sat side by side. Grace and Paul sat down and began relating the sequence of events to the desk sergeant.

  “I thought it seemed peculiar that the chain wasn’t latched when I came home, Grace reported. “I could’ve sworn I hooked it before I left.”

  “Any grievances with neighbors?” he asked, his Texas drawl pitchy and annoying. “Your dog defecate on someone’s lawn? Any written complaints? Your dog bark when you’re away?

  “No.”

  “I see here that you are a psychotherapist. Got any clients not happy with your advice?”

  Grace’s mind retraced the past year. The question had been posed to her before. At that time she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her. Now a li
st formed in her mind. “I don’t know anymore.”

  “Well, Miss Simms, it’s not much to go on. Have the vet forward his medical findings. We’ll put your information in our database and see what we come up with. That’s about all we can do.” “That’s it?” Paul’s tone remained sharp. “Someone broke into her house!”

  “Miss Simms said there was no sign of forced entry.” The sergeant pushed his belly away from the desk and positioned himself to rise.

  “Her dog didn’t rip a tooth out of its mouth or shoot itself with a stun gun.”

  The sergeant’s blue eyes crept over the rim of his glasses, pinning Paul with his stare. His face began to flush.

  “Excuse me, sir.” The officer interrupted the sergeant’s need for intimidation. Grace turned toward the familiar voice.

  “What is it, Spidarelli?” the sergeant demanded.

  The officer handed him a file and acknowledged Grace with a nod. The sergeant glanced over the contents and looked sternly at Grace. He settled back in his chair. “You neglected to tell me you were stalked once before.”

  “The stalker is dead. Candy Lewis shot herself. I saw it happen. She did not break into my house and hurt my dog.”

  “I remember you now…from Garret Weston’s funeral.”

  Tiny shivers traveled up and down Grace’s spine. Hair prickled at the back of her neck. A high-pitched ringing overpowered the noise in the room. Lights flickered in her peripheral vision. Acid churned. Her stomach threatened to pitch its meager contents from the night before.

  Paul noticed the color drain from Grace’s face. He placed his hand on her shoulder and turned to address the desk sergeant. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  The sergeant grinned. “It means, I think we better start from the beginning.”

  Thirty minutes later, Paul and Grace rose from their wooden chairs. The desk sergeant stapled copies of the report and added them to her current file.

  “We’ll do everything we can, Miss Simms. Weston was a good man.” The sergeant walked them toward the door and patted Paul on the back. “Take care of this woman,” he said, his eyes looking up toward the heavens. “She has friends in high places.”

  “I’ll need divine intervention if I don’t get to the office,” Grace said with little emotion. “Sal is expecting me.”

  “Let me drop you at work,” Paul offered. “I’ll pick you up later. We can go visit Sneaky.”

  “Fine,” she replied. Too many things were whirling in her brain to argue. Everything and yet nothing made sense.

  ***

  When Grace entered her office, Sal jumped up from her seat.

  “I was worried about you! Why didn’t you answer your phone?” “Long story.”

  Sal’s furrowed brow relaxed, She wiggled an eyebrow. “You were stranded in the shower with that Frenchman,” she whispered, “weren’t you?”

  “Is Lenny here?

  “Yep.” Sal continued grinning while handing Grace Lenny’s file. “He’s not happy you’re late.”

  Grace didn’t comment. She took the file and headed toward the waiting room. “Lenny? Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we?” She led him to her office and closed the door.

  “What’s going on today? What would you like to talk about?” Grace eased into her chair. Lenny sat on the edge of the sofa. His scowl spoke volumes.

  “Why is it you professionals think it’s all right to waste my time? If I were late, you would blow me off. If you’re late, you mumbled an apology, and all is supposed to be forgiven. What kind of shit is that, I want to know?”

  “You have every right to be angry with me for being late. And I do apologize. I was at the animal hospital with my dog all night.”

  “I don’t give a shit where you been, answer my goddamn question. Who the hell do you people think you are?”

  “Lenny, some things cannot be changed. This situation is one of them. I was late. What would you have me do?”

  “What if I was late? Would you say, ‘Hey, that’s okay Lenny. No problem. No, you would charge me fifty bucks as a no-show and have me to make another goddamn appointment. Where do you get off doing that to people?”

  “We set up guidelines for our clients. It has to be that way. Otherwise, we would have a domino effect. If you’re twenty minutes late, Martha has to wait twenty minutes; George has to wait twenty minutes and so on. It’s not about us. It’s about keeping the schedule running efficiently for all. Sometimes it doesn’t happen that way. Sessions run over; people are late. But we still need rules. Without order, there is chaos. Does that satisfy your question?”

  “Don’t blow smoke up my ass. My time is just as valuable as yours.” Lenny’s piercing eyes relented. He sat back in the chair and slung one leg over the other.

  “I agree. Now, what’s going on? What would you like to talk about?” Grace gripped the arm of her chair. She could feel the tremor in her hand. She wanted to lunge at Lenny and choke him. The last thing she needed this morning was this asshole giving her “what for.” “Breathe, just breathe.” The memory of Paul’s voice kept her planted in the chair. She took a deep breath and released it, exhaling her hostility.

  “Where shall we begin?”

  “Almost lost my job!” he said, patting the smokes in his shirt pocket. “That ol’ lady, the one that calls me Leroy? I got in her face the other day. She just pissed me off to no end. I wanted to punch her pruney face in. If you ask me, people like that should be euthanized. They just cause other folks constant misery.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were at the library. We take folks there twice a month. Nice little outing for some. Well, she just keeps flappin’ her jaws. You’re supposed to be quiet in the library, everyone knows that. Not his lady. She thinks rules don’t apply to her.” He glared at Grace.

  She touched her face to make certain her skin was still intact. She wasn’t sure if it was Lenny’s volatile vibrations or the lack of sleep that gave her the feeling that ants were crawling beneath her soft tissue. Once assured her face was fine, she continued, “Is there something wrong with the woman? Does she have dementia?”

  “Why you sticking up for her?”

  Grace ignored his implication. “Why don’t you finish telling me what happened.”

  “She just kept yappin’. The library lady was giving me dirty looks like it was my fault she wouldn’t shut up. Finally, I had enough.”

  “And?” Grace took another deep breath. Breathe.

  “I yelled at her. I told her if she didn’t shut the hell up I was gonna tape her mouth shut and stick her on the bus all by herself.”

  “And?”

  “The librarian gets up and comes over. She tells me she’s gonna report me for elder abuse. I couldn’t believe it! One minute she wants me to shut this ol’ bat up, and then when I take action, she’s gonna report me? I gave her the “what for,” too. Women! You all drive me nuts!

  “What was your mother like, Lenny?”

  “Oh, so now we’re gonna dig deep. What was my mama like? Did she hug me enough? Did I get pulled from the tit too soon? Don’t need to get in touch with my inner child. That old bat at the home doesn’t deserve to live!”

  “That’s a pretty harsh statement, Lenny. If a person gets to you that badly, I’m inclined to ask why?”

  “I told you, she disrespects me all the time.”

  “She’s old. It doesn’t seem to me that she is very rational. Talking in the library, calling you Leroy—that kind of behavior is typical in early stages of dementia. People get confused.”

  “Well, I think she’s an ornery ol’ witch that shoulda been burnt at the stake.”

  Grace didn’t respond. Her eyes traveled over her client’s tight calf muscles to his balled fist and on up to his clenched jaw. The wild look in his eyes clearly indicated he had women issues. Grace tried to piece together previous conversations. Her mind tried to sort through the muddle, but she couldn’t. She felt blocked. Her mind would not allow
her to sort out the details needed to help her client. Something flickered in her brain. Her mind went blank.

  Breathe.

  “Aren’t you suppose to say somethin’?”

  Grace struggled to keep it together. After a moment she replied. “I would like to know where this hatred is coming from,” she added, “I can’t help you if you don’t open up to me. This woman is only a vehicle for the anger that has been building up inside of you…long before you started your job at the senior care home. I need your help to find out when it began. The best place to start is at the beginning. Tell me what you remember about your mother.”

  “Well now, that’s gonna be a little difficult.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know who she is.”

  ***

  Arlene had pulled all of the contents out of her purse while waiting for her turn to see Grace. She placed each item in her lap and then reinserted them one by one. Grace stood out of sight, watching. When she was sure that Arlene’s lap was clutter free, she called her into the office.

  “How are you doing today, Arlene?” The cloying smell of Arlene’s perfume made Grace want to wretch. She knew Arlene had been drinking. When Arlene drank, she bathed herself in perfume and became obsessive about getting things in order. If she wasn’t removing lint from her clothes, she was cleaning out her purse or organizing Grace’s magazines in the waiting room. This fixation with having things in order had increased in the last month. Grace had racked her brain trying to figure out what had changed in Arlene’s life to trigger the breakthroughs. Last week, she cried for the first time since Grace had been treating her. Something was up.

  “I didn’t let the boys in.”

  “When?”

  “When Daddy told me not to.”