Beautiful Force (3 page)

Allison’s excitement to heal the world waned, and her job no longer felt rewarding. Her patients drained the positive energy that she once embraced. They clung to her like leaches, sucking her life away.
 

Then one day it was as if a light bulb shattered in her psyche, and she lost all the reasons that drove her to thrive. Going out of her way for clients who were not dedicated to their own healing process infuriated her.

Most patients wanted a quick fix, prescription drugs or instant answers. She faced the grim reality that we live in an instantaneous world with everything at our fingertips, and no one wanted to spend long arduous hours in therapy. Needless to say, they didn’t want to pay the prices she charged, either.

At the slow rate of Allison’s success, she would’ve been bankrupted emotionally, spiritually and financially before she reached thirty. Not to mention, the physical danger she risked by spending so much time alone with an almost all male clientele.
 She never knew when one of her clients might go off the deep end; a few close colleagues warned her that it was bound to happen at some point. Something had to change. 

There were countless times she drove, during the darkest hours
of the night to bail a patient from jail, or rescue one from an abusive spouse, or to prevent a
pro-bono nut-job from committing a crime. The list went on and on. 

Her last act of goodwill shifted
her world upside down and in a way that she would’ve never expected.

Chapter three

The distraught call came into her answering service after midnight. It was from a patient that she had been treating for several years. He was eager to seek counseling when his sixteen-year marriage went south, accompanied by his ability to get
his manhood up.  Allison was very familiar with helping men through their mid-life crises. 

More times than not, she would write a prescription for the little blue pill and entertain the clients with flattering conversation, in order to build their confidence once again. Honestly, this was really the extent of her treatment plan and it seemed to work.
 

Most of her male patients seemed thrilled with her counseling techniques. Allison’s bubbly disposition added a rainbow of hope to her client
s’ complex and grey worlds. Her big toothsome smile and over-the-top compliments went a long way with men fifty years of age and older. 

For whatever reason, this particular patient crashed into the conclusion of suicide
. It was beyond Allison’s comprehension.

Prior to the incident, and from the outside looking in, Mr. Patterson appeared to be on his was to recovery. According to his grandiose claims, coupled with a dose of his happy blue pill his manly equipment had the power of a V-8 engine and could shift lanes with his eyes closed. Surely, this alone gave him a good reason to live out his life.
 

In the absence of Allison having any experience in a life-or-death situation, her knee-jerk instinct was to go to his rescue when she received his distraught phone call.

Allison arrived at Mr. Patterson’s home with no regard to what she may be facing behind closed doors. Before she involved the authorities, it was her intention to triage the severity of his condition. She had a propensity to protect her patients in case of a false alarm.

She turned the wheel of her car hard into the driveway, slammed her car into park, jumped out and raced blindly towards his front door and knocked frantically.
 

When Mr. Patterson answered the door, her eyes quickly appraised him up and down, searching for self-inflicted wounds. There was no such evidence, at least nothing visible that she could see. However, she noted that the whites of his eyes were blazing red. The room behind him was dark, save for a dim slice of light illuminating from a cracked opened door at the end of a long hallway.
 

“Allison, thank you for coming. Minutes before you got here I was going to—,” he said, choking on his words. An onset of tears poured from his eyes.
 

It broke Allison’s heart to see a grown man crying. She felt terribly responsible for all her patients.

“Oh no. You have been doing so well. What happened tonight?” Allison asked, catching her breath. “Let me drive you to the hospital...they’re better equipped to help you, Mr. Patterson.” He moved back into the room.

“Okay, let me get my things. Please come inside,” he implored.

Allison hesitated for a moment, glancing over her shoulder. She was in such a hurry to get to him that she had left the car running. The car would be fine idling for a few moments while she assessed the situation. 

“Okay,” she replied and stepped into the dark room. A whiff of stale beer and sweat filled her nostrils.

Mr. Patterson closed the door and locked it. There was something dark in his hand that she had not noticed seconds ago. Perhaps she missed it because she was too zealous with concern for him. A pang of anxiety raced through Allison’s veins, and her heartbeat accelerated.

“Mr. Patterson, I don’t feel comfortable with you locking the door. Please, get your wallet and keys so we can go. Anything you may need. And I will lock up for you,” she said firmly. A look of nervousness spread across her face.
 

“I don’t like locked doors either,” he shouted loudly. His words pierced Allison’s eardrums. He had her full-on attention.
 

“Yes, I can understand that.” Her voice trembled. “So, let’s get out of here...you and I will work this out together.”
 

“No, I don’t want to go. I need you. You’re the only one that understands me. They will lock me away like they did before.”
 

“Before?” She paused. “Who locked you away?”

“My fucking family—my wife and the fucking doctors. I won’t go back there, damn it.” Mr. Patterson fisted one hand through his hair and out again, causing it to stand straight up. This made him a ghastly sight. 

Allison gaped. “Mr. Patterson, you never told me this,” she said, surprisingly
 keeping her calm. “What is that in your hand?” Her question lingered in the suffocating air. 

“Stop calling me Mister. Call me Frank,” he retorted angrily and moved in closer to her. “It’s the gun,” Mr. Patterson said without any emotion. He looked at it dumbfounded and gingerly pointed it toward his face. It was obvious to Allison that he had no idea how to handle the thing.

Allison gasped. “Okay, please...please, I’m begging you to just put the gun down.”

He ignored her plea. “I was going to blow my head off with it,” he said and then raised his hand into the slice of light emanating from the outside house light, revealing a small 9.millimeter pistol. He continued, “But you got here just in the nick of time.”

“Fuck me,” she whispered, softly and barely discernible.

Allison’s pulse quickened. There wasn’t much time to think. She inched her feet through the debris on the floor, backing further into the room and then abruptly hit the side of the sofa. Her eyes closed only for a moment. She needed to clear her thoughts. She felt cornered.
No, she did not feel cornered, but she was cornered.
This was a deadly combination. Between her and the exit of the room stood Frank, a madman with a gun. The dumfounded expression on his face turned blank. Perhaps, this was her opportunity to run for it. 

“Okay Frank, let’s just stay calm. You’re scaring me,” she said, hoping her honesty would disarm him. “Please, set the gun down. I came here to help you.”

Her eyes darted between him and the window. The thought of jumping through it was not really a better option, but it may be her only way out. 

She could see her car through the bay window, so close but yet so far. The angle of the headlights shone slightly into the room, helping her vision to adjust to the gray pitchy surroundings. Her eyes scanned the living room. An array of beer bottles and crusty old pizza boxes were scattered over the furniture and floor.
 

“I don’t mean to scare you. Allison, I adore you. You’re the only one I can trust.”
 

“Yes of course, you can trust me. Please set the gun down so we can talk,” she implored.
 

“Allison, I don’t want to talk,” he cried. “We have been talking for years.”
 

His body coiled over as he leaned against the sturdy sideboard. Mr. Patterson studied the gun for what seemed to have been hours to Allison. It felt like an eternity. She held her breath and didn’t say a word, in fear of causing a double shooting.
 

 
They both were motionless and an air of uncertainty filled the silence between them. He held his hand over a large fish aquarium that sat on the sideboard. What was he thinking?

He flashed at Allison then hit his head purposely against the wall and released the gun into the water.

Allison let out a long sigh and collapsed, sinking onto the arm of the sofa. She watched the pistol drop like lead to the bottom of the fish tank. It was then that she noticed the dead fish floating on the top of the water. A bad omen. She felt like puking, but she held her composure. 

“Thank you, Frank. You really terrified me,” Allison’s voice cracked. She wanted to barrel through him and run like hell, but she did not and, instead, sat there vigilantly.
 

“Allison, you are so beautiful and precious to me. I wanted to be alone with you outside of your office. I know you want this too. I could see the way you’ve been looking at me. Your eyes undressing me, wondering—.” The longer he vented, the more it became apparent to her that he never wanted to kill himself. In fact, it was a ploy to get her there. He was so delusional about their relationship.

“Mr. Patterson, please. Let’s go, we can go get a coffee and talk about your feelings.”

“No Allison, we can talk here. I promise I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry. I know you’re in need.”

Where the hell did this come from? Allison knew she had to handle him with care. It was unbelievable that he was making a pass at her. “What...? No, please, Mr. Patterson, I’m okay taking care of myself.”

“No you’re not!” he raised his voice demandingly. “I have watched you from the street of your office. You’re there working late almost every night. That’s not healthy.”

Allison shuddered inwardly. She felt the need to convince him and calmly that she was fine. “I like being alone. Things aren’t the way they may appear to you.”

“Yes, it is. Stop denying your true feelings. I’ve seen you there late every night, alone because you don’t have anyone to go home to, just like me. What a beautiful waste of time. I love you so much, Allison. We belong together.” There he said it, confessing his love.

Alarms went off in Allison’s head. Ever since she was a young girl, she made every effort to downplay her gorgeous features. How did she get herself into this unwarranted situation? She always conducted herself in a professional manner with all her clientele. What went wrong? Her attire was extremely modest. She wore dark suits with her long waves pinned up tightly. There were times she made silly, clever and sassy comments, but never had she said anything sexual or misleading. When patients cried, she gave them a tissue to blow their nose, or she would offer a friendly hug to the females. Never had she given anyone the impression that she was promiscuous, or in Frank’s case, interested in an affair.

“What? Frank. No. I’m your therapist. It’s my job to stay late—I have a boyfriend,” she lied then added, “I like you too, but not—”
 

He interrupted her. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t live without you. I think about you constantly. You are my angel. Kiss me, Allison.” He begged.
 

His dark haggard figure lunged forward, knocking her into the seat of the sofa. She rolled into the folds of the cushions and out quickly, trying to gain her equilibrium.
 

“No! Stay back,” she shouted, hustling to her feet.  She slid on a pile of newspapers and landed flat on her face. “Now look what you’ve done. Stay away from me,” she wailed, latching on to the arm of the sofa to stand, preparing to face him head on if she had to. “I am leaving,” Allison stammered.
 

“No. You can’t,” he screamed, his tone threatening.

“This is totally insane! Frank, you need to step aside and let me by. Now!” she ordered loudly. 

In that moment, he went berserk, accusing her of being the cause of his inability to get his manhood up for any other woman. How could he blame her? She had cured him of this penile dysfunction so his tirade didn’t make any sense to her.
 

Then, everything clicked into place after Frank confessed that he had been overusing the little blue pills that she prescribed. Every night he masturbated twice, or more, in front of her profile picture on her website which, in fact, was a very professional picture.

Allison’s mind reeled when he told her it was time for them to experience the “real” deal. He informed her that if she would not give herself willingly, he would be forced to take what he wanted. Chills ran down the length of her spine; the kind of chills that warn you that it’s time to fight or flight.