Twisted Therapy

The tropical storm outside was no match for the tempest in Allie’s mind and the fury exploding in her chest. She ran to the window where a bit of gray daylight filtered in. Palm branches whipped and snapped apart in the gale force winds, the spectacle blurred by torrents of rain beating against the pane. When the glass shattered, she cried out as a sharp fragment imbedded itself in her neck. She ignored the yelp of concern behind her and angrily slapped away the hand that tried to pull her from the window.

The red warmth cascading down her neck registered in the back of her mind as problematic, but she would rather die than be touched by that wretched old man! The shock and blood loss took its toll. A few heartbeats later, she felt her body buzzing, weakening, and lurching toward the floor in slow motion. One last thought drifted through her darkening mind along with an image of her mother’s face: Is this how SHE felt?

* * *

Raymond leapt forward as soon as Allie passed out, ripping off his sweater vest and pressing it firmly against her neck. The power had gone out, making it difficult to see the extent of the damage. It looked like the shard had lodged near her jugular. Fool girl could die if he didn’t get the bleeding under control.

He checked her skull quickly with his other hand for signs of a concussion while watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest, his instincts taking over despite his distress. He’d sworn that he would never do this again. His body was shaking with repressed memories, screaming past his defenses and exploding into his mind.

Another woman. Another time. Icy asphalt covered in blood. His desperate hands pumping her chest. His cries of anguish interrupted only by the breaths he exhaled into her cold mouth.

The memories seared his psyche like hot coals, but he shook his head and refocused his attention on the current crisis. He couldn’t remove the shard until he found something to help keep the wound closed. He had to keep applying pressure, so he couldn’t afford to go looking around. While waiting for his unwilling patient to regain consciousness, he ignored the howling winds outside and tried to make sense of the events leading up this nightmare.

He’d received an anonymous, hand-written note in the mail a week prior, inviting him to indulge in an all-expense-paid trip to a tropical paradise. Airline tickets and proof of accommodations were enclosed. The note made reference to “escaping the pain of life and finding peace.” He hadn’t thought much about who had sent it. His short-lived but brilliant medical career had once made him a hero to many suffering and grateful families.

His flight had been delayed several times due to ominous weather forecasts, so he wasn’t surprised by the island’s overcast skies and pelting rain. Rhythmic waves roared in the background as he lugged his worn suitcase up the wet cobblestone walkway leading to the bungalow. He looked forward to a few days of rest. His wife had died two years ago, leaving him alone to face his demons, and he was weary of the struggle.

The electronic code he’d been given unlocked the heavy wooden door, which swung open automatically. As soon as he stepped inside, it swung shut behind him and the lock re-engaged. He turned, a chill running through his body when he realized there wasn’t a door knob or any obvious way to open it again. He banged on the door and shouted, which was pointless. He hadn’t seen another person anywhere near his location.

A quick but thorough search of the main room, the small bathroom with a medicine cabinet, and the rudimentary kitchen led him to conclude that he was oddly trapped. There were no other doors, and the sealed windows were reinforced inside with iron bars, making an escape through the glass impossible. A quick check of his cell phone confirmed that he had no service.

Someone had obviously gone to some trouble to make sure his stay was comfortable, barring the fact that he was a prisoner. Snacks, a few bottles of water, and some out-of-date magazines had been placed on the kitchen counter. The television was on, but no matter what channel he tried with the remote, a snowy screen was the result. On the coffee table was a fresh bunch of white hibiscus, carefully cut and placed in a vase. The note attached to the arrangement said, “Speak freely. Find the common thread.”

Trying not to panic, Raymond wondered who on earth he was supposed to talk to. Just then, the front door swung open and a young woman with intense blue eyes and drenched blonde hair stepped inside, dragging a large suitcase.

“Hold the door!” he shouted as the door swung shut again. The stranger shrieked. Apparently she hadn’t been expecting him any more than he’d been expecting her.

“Who are you?” he snapped, exasperated that the door was, once again, locked.

“Who are YOU?” she retorted, fear flashing in her eyes.

“Do you know why we’re locked in here?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Raymond took a deep breath and introduced himself. She did the same. Her name was Allie Reed. He then explained their predicament and verified that she’d received an invitation similar to his. To his surprise, she quickly settled into problem-solving mode, pointing out the unobtrusive cameras and microphones installed in each room. They decided together not to disable them until they knew more about what was going on.

The two of them settled awkwardly onto the couch to discuss their situation further.

“Clearly, we’ve both been targeted for this crazy scenario, and for whatever reason, we’re supposed to talk to each other and find out what we have in common,” Allie offered, referencing the strange note. She eyed him intently, as if his face held the answers she needed.

He nodded. “Agreed. What should I know about you?”

She leaned forward and stroked the white hibiscus petals, her shaking fingers betraying her calm demeanor. “Well, to start with, these were my mother’s favorite flower. Who would know that?” She shivered. “Creepy.”

Raymond tried to quell his growing alarm. He didn't want to upset her further. “Let’s just start with the obvious facts.”

They spent the next couple of hours comparing notes on the mundane details of their lives. She was a 25-year-old real estate agent from San Diego, an only child who’d inherited a fortune when her eccentric mother had passed away. She enjoyed poodles, sushi, and frequenting shooting ranges. His life wasn’t nearly as colorful. She stifled several yawns as he described growing up in Portland, his medical career in Phoenix, and his short-lived marriage.

Besides the fact that she’d been born in Phoenix, they seemingly had nothing in common. Certainly nothing to warrant this nightmarish vacation. They were getting nowhere.

An intense crack of thunder interrupted their conversation, and the sound of rain on the roof intensified. The lights flickered off briefly, then came back on. That’s when they noticed a message crawling across the television screen.

Bare your pain.

They glanced at each other. Not only were they being watched, someone was interacting with them in real time.

Raymond did his best to make Allie feel at ease. Clearly, they weren’t getting out of there until they identified their strange commonality, and he wanted her to stay focused on the task at hand. “Try to ignore the fact that I’m an old man you just met,” he teased. “Tell me, what’s the worst thing that ever happened to you?”

Allie took a steadying breath. Raymond could sense her struggle. “When my mom died…” she paused, fighting to maintain her composure, “she was only 38. She was run down on the street outside our home by a drunk driver and died the next day. She was the only family I had.”

All the blood drained from Raymond’s face and his heart started pounding. What were the odds? He rose slowly from the couch and fought the urge to vomit.

“What is it?” Allie pressed. “Did you lose someone that way, too?”

Raymond shook his head. This was something he’d never told anyone. Not even his wife, God rest her soul. It would have killed her. He shuddered, glancing at the locked door. It had to be done.

“No. I didn’t lose someone. I killed someone.” He turned away from her, unable to bear the judgment he knew was on her face. “It’s not what you think. I had worked a long shift at the hospital, and I lost a young surgical patient to cancer. I blamed myself, and stopped at the bar on my way home to take the edge off my guilt. I figured that I was impaired, but I drove anyway.”

He paused, willing himself to continue. “A young woman ran out into the street. I couldn’t stop in time.” A sob choked his throat and his voice cracked. “I tried to save her. I got her breathing again, but she was so broken.” He sank to the floor, sobbing.

Allie’s voice shook with barely controlled rage. “People like you deserve to suffer. I hope you burn in hell.”

Her words were a knife in his chest. As the seconds slowly passed and the silence between them grew, the knife turned.

Raymond felt helpless. There was nothing he could do to quiet his screaming conscience or ease Allie's pain, and the rawness of their admissions had accomplished nothing in their attempt to escape. The door hadn’t swung open. No rescuer had come. He glanced at the TV screen and his blood curdled when he saw a new message.

Go deeper.

How much deeper could they go? He’d revealed the darkest secret he possessed.

Allie’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Wait, what’s your last name?” Her tone was hard, but contained a note of hysteria. She must have seen the new message as well.

“Hollis. Raymond Hollis.”

Allie’s face was a mask of horror. “It was you. You killed my mother.”

A blinding flash of lighting illuminated the room, and as thunder shook the house, they were plunged into darkness.

* * *

Allie’s eye flickered open, and she felt confused. Why was she lying on the floor? Who was the gray-haired man hovering over her? The lights flickered back on, illuminating his face. Everything came flooding back. The strange invitation. Her trip to the island. The man who killed her mother.

She jerked away from his touch, trying to sit up. Her head throbbed. “Get away from me!” Warmth began to spread down her neck and drip onto her blouse.

Her companion growled in frustration. “Allie, stop! We need to keep pressure on your wound!”

Allie touched her neck and withdrew bloody fingers. She felt queasy. The man she hated was helping her? Why? He reached out slowly and reapplied pressure, helping her lay back down. “I need to look for some medical supplies. Keep holding this vest to your neck firmly.” She begrudgingly complied.

He returned a few minutes later with a needle, thread, gauze, and tweezers. He doused the punctured area with whiskey from a flask he carried and then swiftly removed the glass from Allie’s neck. She pressed her lips together tightly, refusing to whimper as he stitched her up. Her mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. His gentle touch made her anger feel more like sorrow.

“Why did you do it?" she cried. "I needed her. I needed my mom!”

Raymond tied a knot in the string, clipped the excess thread, and quickly bandaged the wound. “You should be okay now, but you’ll need to take it easy.” He set his supplies on the floor and turned to face her, exhaling slowly. “You hate me. I get it.” Grief contorted his features. “I hated myself so much after what I did to your mom that I quit my practice. I felt too much like a hypocrite trying to save lives after taking one.”

His grief made Allie feel off-balance. “What do you mean you quit? Didn’t you go to jail?”

Raymond shook his head. “I should have. After doing CPR on your mom, I called 911. The police booked me, but since my blood alcohol levels were right under the legal limit, they ruled it an accident. When your mom died the next day, I was charged with involuntary manslaughter. Because I had good lawyers and a clean record, I got off with community service.”

Allie’s anger surged. “So you killed my mom and then basically walked away. Unbelievable!”

“I know.” Raymond had trouble meeting her eye. “The cops told me the victim had a daughter. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was for what I took from you. But they refused to give me any contact information.”

“I wouldn’t have talked to you anyway,” Allie muttered.

She and Raymond both jolted as a third voice interrupted their conversation. “So now you know the truth!” The television screen sprang to life, and a wrinkled, male face filled the screen. “The real question, Allie, is what are you going to do about it?”

Allie’s heart was pounding. So this was their captor. She struggled to sit up and then crawled over to the couch to get a better view. Raymond followed her, hesitantly.

The man’s black eyes narrowed as he spoke. “Allie, it’s a pleasure. I’m Dr. Vale. How do you like the hibiscus? I thought you’d appreciate that touch.”

Allie fought to maintain her composure, refusing to let him see her fear. “How do you know me? Why are you doing this?”

“What, no gratitude?” Dr. Vale seemed genuinely miffed. “I’m your late mother’s psychologist. She spoke of you often. I was treating her for schizophrenia when she died, and I happened to love her very much.” He pointed his gnarled finger at the screen and raised his voice. “That man killed her, and I’m giving you the opportunity to make things right!”

Allie shook her head in disbelief. Her mother had a psychologist? “Why would you bring me here? Why didn’t you just write me a letter for God’s sake!”

“You needed to see for yourself what a monster he was, Allie. I apologize for trapping you in such a remote location, but I needed to make sure he wouldn’t escape, and that there wouldn’t be a lot of people around to question your actions. I’ve provided you with the perfect way to exact your revenge. Our revenge!”

Her anger reignited. The man was clearly crazy, but part of her was listening. Her mother deserved justice!

A drawer in the coffee table sprang open, and inside was a black pistol which Allie quickly grabbed. Raymond’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“I know a thing or two about human behavior, Allie,” Dr. Vale droned. “I know you want to make him pay. I’ve gone to great lengths to make sure you can set things right without any interference from law enforcement or your own conscience.” He proceeded to list instructions calmly, coldly.

“Put a bullet through this man’s temple and then place the gun in his right hand to make it look like a suicide. The storm outside will cover the sound of the shot. Once the storm ends, I’ve made arrangements to take you back to the local airport. I rented this bungalow and bought your tickets under a false name over a year ago. I have contacts who have wiped the system of all traces of your trip. No one knows you are here, and no one ever will. Wipe all surfaces free of your prints, including the gun, before leaving. No one will report him missing until you’re safely home. Your mother’s death will be avenged, and I can finally put her memory to rest.”

Allie shuddered at the callous, yet perfect, set-up. It was tempting. She suddenly remembered what it felt like when her mother hugged her goodnight. She really could do this…and she wanted to. She raised the gun and pointed it at Raymond. She squeezed the trigger gently, feeling the resistance.

Raymond raised his hands slowly and closed his eyes. “It’s okay, Allie,” he whispered. “Do it.”

Sweat beaded her forehead. Her hands were shaking. Her mind was pulling her toward the past, and shadowy memories began to surface. Hospital monitors beeping. A nurse holding her hand. Police talking in the hallway. Her mother lying still and cold on the bed.

The memories jumbled and refocused at a point years later when her aunt took her horseback riding at the family’s estate. “It’s all yours now, Allie,” she’d said, reigning in her mount so they could chat. “When you turn 18, you’ll oversee it all. God knows you’ll do a better job than my sister ever did!”

Later, she’d overheard her aunt talking to one of the maids about her mother’s death. She only caught a few phrases and struggled to make sense of them. “Thorasine levels were so high…..I don’t know….maybe she thought she was being chased….that poor man….she was as crazy as a loon!” While those statements made little sense at the time, they were starting to now.

Allie glanced sideways at the foreboding man on the screen, anticipating her actions. She remembered how gentle Raymond was in treating her injuries. His voice echoed through her mind, “My blood alcohol levels were right under the legal limit, so they ruled it an accident.”

Maybe…

Allie lowered the gun slowly.

“Wait!” Dr. Vale shouted. “What are you---”

The power went out again, cutting him off mid-sentence. Allie nodded toward the door. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get out of here.” She stood quickly, checking the magazine of the gun. One bullet.

Raymond blinked. “So, you’re not killing me?”

Allie paused, choosing her words carefully. “Look Raymond. Doctor Stalker over there said my mom was mentally ill, and I think he was right. There’s a good chance her own delusions sent her running out into the street that night. You aren’t a monster. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Raymond’s shoulders slumped in relief. Years of self-hatred fell away. Tears filled his eyes.

“We don’t have time to get all sentimental,” Allie chided, choking back her own tears. “As long as the power is out, he can’t see or hear us. There’s a good chance that he’s holed up somewhere nearby since he remote-triggered that drawer with the gun inside. We need to get out of here before the power comes back on.”

She walked over to the front door and started tapping on the wooden surface where the doorknob would usually be. Please, let this work, she thought. Please.

“What are you doing?” Raymond asked.

“If I can pinpoint the locking mechanism and blow it to smithereens, we should be able to get out of here. That area will be denser since it’s made of metal, so it will sound less hollow than the wood around it.” She located that section of the door, stepped back a few feet, and aimed the gun carefully. Raymond put his hands over his ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she fired.

Raymond grabbed the edge of the resulting hole in the door and yanked hard. The door swung inward. Allie yelped excitedly, and they dashed outside. The wind had slowed enough to allow them to seek help from an emergency vehicle after walking through sheets of rain for only ten minutes.

Within the hour, they were sitting, soaking wet and relieved, in a police station telling their story. On-site paramedics checked and cleaned Allie’s neck wound, remarking about how well it had been stitched. While they were there, officers received a call, stating that Dr. Vale had been apprehended in a nearby office building. They were able to trace back the signal he used to communicate remotely through the television.

Feeling relieved, the two unlikely friends parked themselves on a bench in the waiting room and sipped on vending machine sodas. Allie turned to the man she had spent a lifetime hating. His face seemed softer now, almost fatherly. “We’ve been carrying a very heavy weight around, you and I,” she stated thoughtfully.

Raymond nodded. “Dr. Vale was right…we did need to escape our pain and find some peace. Thankfully, that didn’t involve you putting a bullet through my head!”

"I really am sorry for that," she said softly.

"I understand,"

Allie snorted. “Just think, it only took one psychopath and a small brush with death to help us resolve things." She tightened her grip on her soda can. “I wish I had known the whole story a lot sooner. I wasted so much of my life hating you.”

“Don’t feel bad. I spent twenty years hating myself for something that wasn’t entirely my fault.” Raymond shrugged awkwardly. “So where do we go from here?”

“You could consider re-opening your medical practice,” Allie suggested. “I mean, you did a decent job on my neck.”

“I guess if I’m officially not a killer, being a hero again might be an option.” Raymond dug around in his suitcase and pulled out his airline ticket. “Our good friend, Doctor Psycho, bought us both round trip tickets, and the return flight isn’t for another couple of days. We might as well capitalize on his craziness. Would you like to stay with me and enjoy paradise?”

Allie grinned. “Sure, if by paradise you mean an island covered in sea weed and wet sand.” She tipped her soda can toward Raymond to invite a toast. He readily tapped his can against hers.

“To us. To surviving. To finally living.”