Pam (19 page)

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Sharon?”

“Yes. Where are
you?
I’m where you told me. I
thought
we were having a
drive by
. If you
’re
not gonna show, I need to know, I have
things
to do.”

“No. No. I’m on my way. B
e
there very, very shortly.”

“Good. Because the working girls on this block are giving me dirty looks. I don’t want
to be
jumped.”

“I think uh … you’re tougher than that.”

She laughed and hung up.

I stared at the phone before setting it down and pulling from the parking lot of the shop.

I made plans to meet Sharon to create another fantasy. It wasn’t right, not at all
,
but I justified it as my way of helping Sharon, and it was going to end soon. Sooner than I thought. It made me sad. As twisted as it was, I connected with her. I
still
had the ‘wave’ come over me, but in all the years of having my illness, never has it only been about one
person.

Before when the wave hit, if a patient
returned
me on, caused a fantasy to stir,
as soon as they left, and the next patient came in, the
fantasy
would then
involve
them.

But Sharon remained on my mind. Perhaps there would be a way to still see her after it all came to an end for her.

No. No.
N
o. what the hell was I thinking?

I turned the corner and saw her on Ninth and Thomas Street. I stopped the car. She looked at me and turned quickly.

“Miss Wilson
,
” I called out. “You can’t run, I see you.”

She stopped and
with
slumped shoulders turned around. “Hey, Doc.” She approached the car window.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s not what you think
,
”
s
he said,
playing
along well, too well with my
fantasy
.

“You said you gave this up. Get in.”

“But I …”

“Get in.”

Pouting, she walked to the passenger’s side and got inside.

“I
thought
we got
beyond
this
,
” I
told her
.

“A lady has to make a living.”

“This is not a living to you and you know it.” I drove down the road. “This is a
sickness
we have been working on. You have a wonderful house,
a
husband who adores you.”

“I know.”

Two blocks down the road, I pulled into an alley. It was a dead
end,
and the final block was behind a
Chinese
takeout
restaurant.

I parked the car behind the dumpster. There was a smell of
garbage
meets egg
rolls
in the air.

The workers at the place knew I went there
, and
I suspected
they watched
many times. I was never there long. My visits there were quick and sweet. A release.

They never called the
police
and
never
said anything to me when I went in and bought food afterwards. Food that was
surprisingly
read
y
for me.

Then again, there was always a very
healthy
tip
that I left
.
I suppose when they saw my car, they figured they’d better get the Egg Foo Y
o
ung ready.

I put the car in park.

“Why did we stop?” she asked.

“You’re my patient,” I said. “You aren’t following my advice.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You need to be punished. In fact, you need a special kind of therapy.”

“Whatever you say. Whatever you want.” She pleaded
,
“Please,
just help
me.”

I smiled. She was amazing at
this role-play, s
o much so
that
I forgot it was all an act.

Opening my car door, I stepped out and got into the back seat.

Doctor Desmond Andrews was a freak. He was a total fucking freak
,
and I didn’t know whether to like him or hate him.

Our little role
-
play experience
gave me
nothing on the informational front,
but he pissed me off enough to
move forward
quickly
with my plan
.

Our encounter
was
strictly
role playing. I was to be a patient he had been treating for
sexual
addiction
,
and he was to bust me
for
being a prostitute. His punishment
slash
therapy
was a sexual experience that would thwart me, the so
-
called sex addict patient, from wanting to go out and seek dangerous sex again.

He parked behind this Chinese
takeout
place, got in the back of the car. Sat in the middle and opened his briefcase.

After squirting a large amount of lube in my hand, he proceeded to tell me to straddle the gear shift and touch myself until he was ready.

Straddling a gear shift is not an easy task. It didn’t feel good and he didn’t want me to act like it felt good. He wanted me to beg him to make me stop.

“Move a little more. Not too much. Don’t put the car in gear.”

“Please … please let me stop.”

Then he gave me permission to dismount and ordered me into the back of the car. I wondered how much seeing my face killed his fantasies because he al
ways had to take me from behind, and
he never looked at me.

Awkward
and uncomfortable, I found a way to get on my
knees
with him behind me. He called me a slut and told me I was
spread
out f
ro
m having too many men inside of me. No f
u
cking kidding, I
was
spread out. I had a gear shift between my legs.

After a round of verbal abuse, he defined the
o
ld saying, ‘slam bam thank you ma’am’ and was done before I felt his hips slam into my ass.

For as quick as he
exploded that was also how quick his personality changed.

“This was great, thank you.” He did his pants.

Hmmm.

“This is my favorite fantasy.”

“I’m sorry? You’ve done this one before.”

“Oh, yeah, all the time,” he said
nonchalantly
, the
quickly
looked up. I saw it on his face, he realized his e
rror
.

“You know, I did this because I thought we had an instant chemistry. I’m not one of your whores you buy off the street … I thought I was giving you something you had never had.”

“This was … the best one?” He said as a question.

I shook my head and produced a look of disgust. It did piss me off. “Now you
gotta
give me something.”

“
Like what? Money?”

“No!” I blasted.
S
itting back, I thought about it. “Something about you. Tell me something about you.
Something
personal.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You know about me.
No,
wait. You don’t know me. You only know what Pam tells you.”

“You let on about yourself more than you think.” He fastened
h
is
pants
and belt as he spoke. “Pam doesn’t say much about you
,
e
xcept
what
she suspects.”

“That I’m a killer.”

He
stopped
talking.

“I’m not. Or do you think I am
?
”

He
huffed out
,
“I think there’s more to this whole story.
Which I’ll find out.
”

“
Is that what this is about?” I asked. “You wanna know the story? Unreal.”

“What’s that’s
supposed
to mean.”

“You’re using me to get more inside information about your client.”

“And you’re not using me. Trust
me;
women don’t come on to me.”

I
chuckled out
a laugh of disbelief and reached for the car door. “You won’t
hear
from me again.”

“Stop. Don’t go like this.”

“Good
bye.” As I scooted to leave, the door partially open, he made the fatal
mistake
as he
grabbed
hold of my arm to pull me back.

In the midst of
telling
me to stop and he didn’t mean it, he called me Pam.

I spun around, pulling the door closed, revved back my hand
,
but
he stopped me before I could slap him. “Why would you call me that!” I blasted. “
Are you
thinking
of her while you fuck me!”

“No! No!” He defended. “It slipped out. It slipped. We
were
talking about her, I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you know how many times I had to hear Richie call me her name by
accident?
I hate it. I hate it.” I freaked out. “I thought he loved me. He’d be inside of me and call out her fucking name!”

“Sharon
,
stop!” he shouted. “People make mistakes. It was a mistake. I said I was sorry. Just drop it. Forget it.”

I calmed down some, nodding.

Until he said. “Go home. We’re finished for today.”

My insides
screamed
,
‘What
?
’,
I raged with anger and emotions, and before I exploded or even burst into tears, I got out of that car and slammed the door.

It pissed me off even more to realize I was in the middle of an alley.

I looked back one to see him toss back his head, possibly in frustration or self
-
doubt
,
and I walked off
,
e
ach step fueling me.

He was using me more than I was using him. But he only got laid
;
I got information from him.

I hated the fact that yet another man was using me for Pam. Using me when precious fucking Pam wouldn’t deliver.

I was done with her.

She had to go
,
one
way or another. She had controlled my life long enough, who I hung out with, hated
,
and loved. I was fine while she was gone, but she was back and again in control whether I realized it at first or not.

Desmond had to be stopped as well. If he treated me like he did, taking sexual leeway with me, how many other patients had he compromised? Sure, I could go to the
B
oard of Psychiatrics
,
but was our sexual encounter proof
that he acted in an
unethical
manner?
I really wasn’t a patient.

Pam was.

He had been talking to people about her. That …. I knew was unethical.

I could stop them both by retracing his steps. Steps he marked clearly in a ‘Pam’ folder on his desk.

I don’t know why I was so worried about getting to Willow Brook before sundown. My quick visit with Desmond really didn’t take long. We argued more than we screwed.

After cleaning up and
freshening
my face, I drove like a bat out of hell. I felt out of control and used.

The tables had been turned. Pam was winning. I still couldn’t figure out what Desmond had to gain
b
y having sex with me. Perhaps the same motives as me, weaken, gain my trust, pillow
talk
and bedroom secrets made in confidence.

Neither of
us
got to that point.

I had one purpose in Willow Brook and that was to see Rich. Knowing that Desmond had his address, I didn’t know whether or not he had called or spoken to Rich. I
had to warn him that I divulge
d
our affair to
Desmond
and Pam was on a warpath to peg me for crimes I did not commit.
How
far Pam was into her little set
up, I didn’t know.

With the help of Desmond and a son who now trusted her, she could easily turn her
crimes
into mine.

I wasn’t
thinking
clearly
.
I’d be the first t
o
admit that.

Enraged
,
scorn
ed
woman was more like it. How many times had I felt like that?
All the
times
Richie and I had insane sex
,
and he’d end the night telling me he wanted to curl up next to Pam.

Rich Senior, saying he like
d
Pam, she was sweet. He lusted for me. I was bad.

What was wrong with me?

Why
couldn’t
anyone want me for
me
?

She got the men, she got the perfect life, the house, the kids,
and the
baby with a man that
wanted the
child
,
and
after
she destroyed it all … she got that son back.

Life was not fair.

Why did she have to come
back?

Why did that DNA evidence even
matter?

I pulled
up
to Rich
Senior’s
house;
there was a car out
front
. I didn’t think much about it. I should have
.
The front door was open. I was nervous, but I had a missi
on. I didn’t even get to knock
when Rich appeared at the screen
ed
porch door.

I exhaled.

“Look who just showed up
,
” Rich said with a hard tone. “The doctor said you were back. Can’t say I’m glad to
see you
,
and I’d appreciate it
if you
left my property now.”

“Why are you being like this to me?” I asked. “Why? What did I do
to you
?”

He
burst into
maniacal
laughter. “You can’t be serious, can you? You killed my grandchildren. You took my son
away
from me. Because
of you
he didn’t speak to me. I missed all the years of watching my only grandchild grow up.
You took everything I ever loved away from me, everyone that was dear and precious.
Everyone. Why? Because you didn’t want anyone else to have Richie.”

“
No
.” I shook my head. “No.
Y
ou’re
wrong
. I didn’t
do
it. I didn’t
kill
them!” I screamed. “
You believe
the lies of a doctor. Pam was the one. Pam!”

“Pam?”
H
e laughed again. “Pam
? Maybe she is to blame because she let you take over and have control.”

“
No,
she
had control.”

“Who is here now? Huh? You. Now …”

“Pap? I have
to go now. I
…” The
voice
called f
ro
m in
side
the house
,
and
the young man
steppe
d to
the door.
He
froze.

Rich sniffed. “Justin, this is Sharon, the one I was telling you about. She’s here to proclaim her innocence and blame it on … Pam.”

Justin shook his head. “
I didn’t believe it.
The chief of police even said …”

“No!” I silenced him. “Don’t listen to my father. He’s nuts. He’s crazy.”

Rich fluttered his lips. “Your own father said you killed
those
kids. Your own father.”