Crap. What’s happening to me? The cheese wasn’t even real.
I found myself heading for the center, desperately needing to see Mr. Room Twenty-Five one more time.
~~~
My black BMW came to a screeching halt in my parking space. I turned off the engine, jumped out, and rushed inside, doing a crazy-speed walk toward the residents’ wing. Somewhere inside the mental chaos, I heard the weekend staff greeting me as I walked the long corridor, but I could only focus on one thing: him.
When I got to his door and stared at the small rectangular window absent of light, a cold shiver swept through my body.
Ohmygod. I couldn’t believe it, but I felt genuinely frightened.
Doesn’t matter. I need to see him. I twisted the handle and pushed. My breath immediately caught as I spotted my mystery man sitting in the corner, facing the doorway as if expecting me.
“Hello,” I said, my voice full of pathetic and unfamiliar quivers. “Do you remember me from yesterday?”
He didn’t reply, nor did that seductively muscular silhouette flinch an inch.
“I’m going to assu-u-umme that you do,” I stuttered, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “This will sound crazy—and the fact that a psychologist is saying that is humorous, I get that—but I need to know who you are.”
“Why?” he said in a jarringly deep voice that filled the room.
I stepped back but stopped myself from running out the door as I had yesterday. Instead, I focused on his question. I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to share with someone what had happened to me. And somewhere in the back of my discombobulated head, I believed him to be the only person on the planet who might comprehend. Nevertheless, telling a patient that they’ve triggered a possible psychotic break in their doctor wasn’t wise. (A) It would not instill confidence. (B) It might make them feel guilt over something they truly weren’t responsible for. (C) They were not here to help me; it was the other way around.
I straightened my back. “Well, I ru-run this facility, and it’s my job to know who we’re treating. I have to ensure you’re getting the right help.” I balled my hands into tight fists, hoping he wouldn’t notice them shaking.
A long moment passed, and I watched the shadows of his menacingly thick arms rise up as he laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the chair.
I was getting the impression that this man wasn’t sick and that something else was going on.
Either way, he hadn’t answered my question. Either way, I needed to know. Either way, it felt like my life depended on the answer.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked again, my voice filled with false bravado.
A stiff-drink-worthy moment passed, and I felt his blue, blue eyes burning into me, though I couldn’t see them.
“My name is Mack.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Mack. His name was Mack. But the way he’d said it, it could’ve been Satan or Dark Angel or the name of some mythological creature born from temptation where one’s sinful fantasies were fulfilled.
“Mack,” I repeated, drinking it in.
“Yes. And you should leave here before it’s too late.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked, trying my best to sound serious versus condescending and skeptical. These new emotions were like crazy little fuckers shooting off firecrackers in my head.
“You might die.”
Okay. Not encouraging. “Meaning, you intend to kill me?” I tried moving toward the emergency call-button to the side of the door—every room had one—but the novel sensation of a hot messy panic had my feet stuck to the floor.
Another long, tense moment passed, and I felt genuinely torn between jumping right into treating this disturbed man and helping myself. Of course, I wasn’t sure how to do either. Not enough information. And then there were all of the things going on inside my body. Every frantic heartbeat, every shallow breath made me feel alive for the first time. The only way to describe it was like that scene in the Wizard of Oz. Black and white shifting to Technicolor. So even if I wanted to walk away, I couldn’t. The brilliant colors were what had always been missing from my life.
“I would never harm you. Intentionally, anyway. But the threat I refer to is my curse,” he said, with a bleak seriousness that had me believing him for one sad mental-moment. However, this man was delusional. Plain and simple.
“So this curse will cause you to kill me,” I concluded.
“Let’s just say that it makes me a hazard.”
“So then why are you here?” I asked, probing for any possible insights into his mind. “Why not just run off and live in the mountains so you don’t risk hurting anyone?”
“Because I’ve come here to die,” he stated coldly.
All right. I had not been expecting that answer. Of course, logic would say there were a million other places to die.
My conclusion?