Willard

Willard felt like he had been in this reception area a long time. If you had asked him how long, he couldn’t have told you exactly, he just knew it had been a while. He was also having a hard time remembering why he was in the room. It felt almost like he had walked into the kitchen to grab something to eat, just to open up the refrigerator and forget what he had wanted in the first place. Or maybe it just seemed that way because of how devoid the plum colored reception area was of interesting things. The only items even remotely worth noting sat on a brown wooden table in the middle of the room.

The table itself was terribly ordinary, a description that felt especially relevant when considering just how ordinary tables tend to be in reception areas. The only distinctive thing about the table was a number of brown, circular, stains that, for some reason, Will found himself unable to completely count. He'd get to about thirteen or fourteen, lose his place and have to start over. The addition of two pomegranate-shaped coasters made the presence of the stains even more perplexing. The obvious centerpiece of the table sat on a large golden plate that rested between either coaster. On the plate was a slice of chocolate cake. It looked immaculate, like the model food a company would use in a commercial to get you to buy a blatantly inferior product from their store, too good to be real even. It was layered, each layer a slightly different hue and density than the others. He could tell by the smell that each of the different layers of the cake would taste different from the others, but would, undoubtedly, pair with any, or all, of the other layers that made the cake up. Scents of vanilla, cinnamon, cream, and chocolate rose from the cake before mingling together in his nostrils. Around the outside of the cake was a layer of mocha colored frosting, he could tell by its light mousse-like texture that it was whip cream based.

“Dr. Gehenna will see you now.” He jolted in a brief moment of surprise as the receptionist addressed him warmly.

He began to get up and make his way across the room.

Gehenna? He pondered. Well, they were a doctor, perhaps attempting to understand his inability to grasp his current situation was his objective for being there in the first place? Hopefully the doctor would know.

He walked through the reception area door into a cozy office. There was a large, comfortable looking couch on one end of the room, for patients, he assumed. On the other side of the room sat a desk, as plain as the table in the reception area had been. Willard turned his attention to the only other person in the room, a smaller, more slender person than he was, who was face down writing notes. Their tan, sand-brown, head was devoid of hair but had several tattoos, or maybe one large piece, that created the imagery of a halo around the writer's head. They still hadn’t looked up as Willard stepped into the room and he used the opportunity to try to assess the tattoos a bit more. The tattoos consisted of intricate dashes, swirls, and dots. He thought the symbols looked similar to pictures of arabic he had seen before, but honestly it could’ve been elvish for all he knew.

“Dr. Gehenna?” He implored, hoping that speaking first would allow him to set the tone of the interaction.

Dr. Gehenna looked up and nodded. Willard’s eyes were immediately drawn to the doctor’s brooch, one shaped like a flower on their button up shirt. On the flower was a small bug, a bee perhaps, but an eerily realistic one, he would’ve sworn it could fly away if it wasn’t made of silver and bronze.

“It’s a gadfly.” Dr. Gehenna said, their voice shaking him from his fixation. He felt embarrassed.

He felt an aura of unease in this office, something that should’ve helped him stay alert, but he couldn’t get himself to stay present enough to stop from being surprised.

Everything he could see of the doctor felt very distinct and, simultaneously, incredibly hard to define. They wore a scarf that sat on their shoulders, then swooped low in front of their chest, like a green snake wrapping itself around its own body to sleep. The jacket the doctor wore was a sharp vermilion red, but sheer. The vest underneath the jacket was a dazzling white, so bright it seemed almost ethereal, it also created the effect of making the red jacket look pink at certain angles. With the folds and wrinkles of the jacket and vest creating red waves in different shades, Dr. Gehenna resembled a pulsing, writhing mass of brain tissue. Will also determined that he for sure had never witnessed someone that seemed to personify androgyny the way the person sitting behind that desk did. Their features seemed simultaneously so feminine, soft and expressive, but also discenably masculine, solid and handsome. He wondered if his inability to perceive the gender of the doctor was making him uncomfortable. How Fruedian, he thought to himself, easing his own tension with the joke. Maybe half a joke.

“Please sit down.” Dr. Gehenna instructed him, gesturing towards the couch.

Will took a seat, appreciative of how unbelievably comfortable the cushions were.

“Any questions before we begin?” The Doctor asked.

“Uh, well are you a, uh?” Will didn't understand why he was struggling to speak.

“A, ‘uh,’ what?” Gehenna asked, tilting their head to the side slightly in a way that made Will even more nervous.

“Oh, no, I mean, are you a therapist? Psychiatrist? A bill collector?” He spat out, hoping his stammering didn’t implicate him in any way.

“Ah,” Gehenna Chuckled. “Both and sometimes more. I diagnose, I listen,” They stifled a chuckle, “I check out ledgers.”

Will smiled slightly, finally feeling some semblance of ease.

“So, whenever you’re ready, I’d like for you to answer a few questions for me.” Dr. Gehenna said calmly, their expression now significantly more monotone, disarmingly so.

Will was taken aback, feeling the transition was extremely abrupt, but assumed the Doctor was probably interested in conserving time.

“I, um, I guess go ahead.” He had spoken attempting to sound confident in light of his discomfort.

“Did you love him? Your son I mean?” Dr Gehenna asked, interrupting him.

“Excuse me?” Will asked, so shocked by the question he was sure he must’ve misheard.

The Doctor's expression never changed, “Did you love your son?” They repeated.

“What kind of question is that?! Of course I loved him, why would you ask me that?!” He spat out. He hadn’t been so offended in… Maybe never?

Gehenna raised one hand calmly, like one might do when placing a bid at an auction. “I assure you,” They began, “I didn't mean to offend, but based on your reaction there must be something noteworthy there. So, I’ll continue, why did you trade him?”

You audacious bitch. Will thought. Trade him? My son?! Will tried to calm down, not even entirely sure why he was letting himself get so offended. He loved his son, he knew he did, without a doubt. A glimmer of clarity dawned on him, but I hadn’t loved him more than I had loved liquor. The thought reverberated through his brain like a scream. He felt like his brain might split in half as a wave of cognitive dissonance caused him to cringe with the realization that he had, just briefly, forgotten about the accident.

“Is this an intervention?” He asked, timidly.

“Oh, it’s a bit past that.” Gehenna responded casually.

“I didn’t ‘trade’ him for anything.” He said, his voice quivering, the bravado he had earlier quickly dissipating as his anger turned to shame. He couldn’t afford to solely blame himself though. His father before him had been an abusive alcoholic and he himself had started drinking before he even hit double digits. His mother had died when he was 17, struck by a beer bottle his father had thrown, the altercation had resulted in his father being sentenced to life in prison, a sentence he had gotten out of early when he was murdered in his cell the same day he received his 30 day sobriety pin. The conditions of his son’s birth hadn’t been much better. His child had been born to a woman, a wealthy one, he hadn't even learned the name of, the result of a one night stand. He wouldn't have even known he had a son had she not died during childbirth, resulting in her lawyers tracking him down to give him his child, an offer he probably would’ve rejected had they also not come with a very large check.

“Seems like a trade to me. Here you are, rich beyond your wildest dreams, widely successful, and he’s?-” The Doctor's voice trailed, seeming to want to lead Will to the point, “-Dead,” They said coldly, letting the words settle.

Will was livid but his shame overwhelmed him, preventing him from coming up with a rebuttal. He got up to leave the room. Ignoring the smirking doctor as they watched him struggle with the door’s handle. He thought about the night of the accident. He had tried to be a good father, wanted to be better than his own father. However, he had been drinking for 2 decades before he even met his son, and duration was definitely a factor in attachment right? It didn’t matter though, he lost both of his loves that night. His son had died instantly in the accident, a collision with a semi-truck, that he may have seen if not for the celebratory drinks he had on account of his son turning 7 that day. When the cops arrived he used his son’s condition to avoid taking a breathalyzer and the semi driver was imprisoned for 44 years. He hadn’t drank a drop of alcohol, not a shot, mixed drink, nothing, he hadn't even let wine sit in his mouth at a tasting, since. After the accident he proceeded to take the money remaining from his son’s mother and invested it into a seashell refinery company, a venture that had made him a millionaire.

“But the thing about trades,” Gehenna cackled behind him. “Is that they must be upheld Willard!”

He opened the door to storm out the office. He didn’t need to take this. He had just had one sip of Jack to celebrate his company's 20th year of doubling their net worth.

“And I won't be coming back!” Will screamed before stepping back into the reception area. His eyes were instantly drawn to the cake on the table. What was once a delicious looking dessert now resembled dirt, worms crawled through it and mold had eaten away at it. It looked like it had been out for weeks.

“But-?” Will questioned, just for an instant, then everything went black.

When the emergency services arrived at the scene Will’s car had already sunk more than 40 meters into the river. The only immediate evidence that there was a car accident was the busted railing of the bridge Willard swerved off of. A cop on the scene shone her flashlight on the still water and nudged her partner.

“You see that Carasco?” The Officer squirted trying to make out something floating on the water.

“The bottle? Yeah there’s a few of them, the guy had so many drinks with him they’re floating up.” Carasco plainly stated.

“No, not the bottles, that.” She said with emphasis, extending her arms toward the object she was attempting to point out.

On the water’s surface a styrofoam container floated among the bottle, the top had partially been ripped off but the buoyant container had managed to float up still. Inside the container was a piece of layered chocolate cake.