Agoraphobia and Ecstasy Ch. 11-20

How humiliating.

Standing in front of my mirror, I pulled on my briefs, making sure my package was adjusted correctly before slipping into my joggers and T-shirt. My shoulders felt a million times lighter, and my head seemed clearer, though I was perpetually fixated on the idea of inviting Daphne over for "coffee" at some point and even what I had just done hadn't alleviated that. I didn't know if she'd even come, but if I asked, she'd at least know I was interested without me having to spill the beans.

I strolled out of the bedroom across the cold tile floors to my computer chair and plopped into it, powering up the computer while I fished out the flash drive. After my interaction with the bartender I realized I hadn't even thought to check the dark web for any instance of the victims at all, their personal lives, even if they'd been to the club. I had an inkling that they were all connected to the bartender somehow, even Kevin, but I had to prove it, and I had to have proof I could give the authorities, not just assumptions or hearsay.

The computer seemed to be taking a bit longer than normal starting up, so I headed for the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. Unwinding with a nice drink just sounded relaxing, and normally I didn't drink, but tonight was special. I just found alcohol to be repugnant most of the time, but every once in a while a nice Chardonnay hit the spot. With the glass poured, I stood and sipped the wine as I watched out the back door for a moment. Birds tittered here and there eating up seed and pecking at each other. There was no sign of my squirrel friend, though and that was a bit disappointing.

My phone buzzed and I shuffled back to my desk to look at it. It was a text from Gary.

Gary 6:14 PM: K, turn on channel 8 now. imprtnt dvlpmnt Carter got the scoop

My heart instantly sank, and I set the phone down, reaching for the remote and clicking the TV on. I flipped through the channels until it landed on the evening news. Diane Dreysdale was holding her microphone, standing outdoors in a wooded area, talking to the camera. I unmuted the channel and listened to her drone on about something I didn't fully understand until I saw barrels being pulled from the marsh area.

"Miriam Carter phoned authorities earlier this afternoon with the information regarding these barrels believed to be owned by Husted Oil. The state came to investigate the claim of toxic waste being tossed into the marsh only to discover that one of the barrels contained something far more sinister than toxic waste."

The camera panned to the scene where police lights were flashing and a group of detectives stood next to a barrel talking. "The body of Henry Watts, reported missing in July, was found in the barrel opened by EPA investigators this afternoon and the crime scene was then frozen. We've just heard that--"

I muted the television and sat there gawking at the silent screen. The bodies of the missing persons were found in the wildlife preservation marsh north of town and it had been my story to cover, and Carter scooped me. Rage began to boil my blood, and I threw the remote across the room. I had been given the story of a fucking lifetime, and I blew it by focusing on the wrong thing.

Gritting my teeth I stomped back to my desk and picked up my glass of wine, downing its contents before grabbing my phone to send a reply to Gary.

Kenji 6:16 PM: Gary tht is preposterous!!!! Im so pissd. That was my sotry!

I was so angry even my grammar and spelling were horrendous, but I didn't even care. I punched in several more messages, sending them one after the other in rapid succession. Gary's replies came interspersed with my rant.

Kenji 6:16 PM: why did ti ahve to be carter

Gary 6 :16 PM: You were given the story you didn't want

Kenji 6:17 PM: you knwo hwo she pisses me off

Kenji 6:17 PM: That was my stroy!

Gary 6:18 PM: You made your choice

I threw my phone and grabbed the wine glass, already feeling a slight buzz from the wine I'd just downed. Pouring another drink, I spilled on the counter and silently cussed myself for not asking if I would receive updates on the disappearances story from the detective. Then I grabbed a paper towel to mop up my mess, and that only served to remind me about the disgusting rodent who had invaded my kitchen and trashed it.

The thought of the squirrel caused my anger to enflame even more, and I took my full glass of wine across the room to where I could watch the patio out the windows. I tried to look for the positive side, but I just didn't see one. I was so furious with myself for having rejected that story--the story that could have been my story. It should have been. It was, and I gave it away.

My head spun a little as the first glass of wine began to lower my inhibitions. I felt heat in my cheeks, probably also an effect of the wine, but I brought the glass to my lips and sipped again, this time tasting the tartness of the fruit on my tongue and swirling it between my teeth for a moment. Again, not a wine drinker but this wasn't half bad, especially for being wine I ordered off Amazon.

That's when I saw him--my archenemy. The damn squirrel was back, creeping across my fence, twitching his furry tail, closing in on my trap. I'd been sure to stock it with lots of his favorite nuts, at least what I thought were his favorite based upon his breaking and entering of my kitchen. The cashews had been the one's missing from the nuts container he'd raided, so I figured if he liked them in my home he'd like them in a cage. I stood with my glass in hand, silently urging the squirrel on in the name of the gods he served, praying he took the bait and weaseled his way into the trap for a bit of alone time with the delicious, aromatic, salty snack I'd left out for him.

Then the moment happened. I stood at the precipice of Yakamuran history, a squirrel defeated, and a score settled. The mangy critter entreated upon the cage's door and snuck inside, his tail still dangling out the little square box, nervously shimmying back and forth. There was no fanfare, no pomp or circumstance, just a little monstrosity being cornered before he absconded with more of my dignity. I nearly jumped out of my skin in excitement as I downed the second glass of wine and set it on my desk before dashing down the hallway to check the trap.

Drink made me lightheaded, but it was no time to delay. I swayed as I moved, ramming my shoulder into the doorframe as I thrust the door open and fell to my knees expecting to see my evil foe vanquished only to catch a glimpse of a bushy tail as it flicked high over the fence and disappeared.

All the wrath of Zeus could not describe what I felt in that moment.

My story stolen.

My enemy escaped.

My dignity smeared all over the ground in the form of nut shells and wine dribbles.

I slammed my fist into the concrete and thrust myself off the ground, using the doorhandle to pull myself to a standing position, and standing there for one minute longer, glaring into the evening air, I uttered silent curses to the rodent and his gods.

I deadbolted the door before trudging back up the hall to my office, frustrated to say the least. While the day had seemed to be turning things in my favor, the evening had soured my earlier high, sucking me into the frustrated loop that had become my daily routine.

Squirrel -- 2

Kenji -- 0

I sank into my chair and fidgeted with my computer, pulling up the TOR browser and beginning my quest for deeper hidden facts about the victims. I decided to start with Henry Watts. I knew his body had been found, and now the police weren't looking for an abductor, they were looking for a murderer. I also knew the information I was sitting on may or may not be information the detectives already had, and if they knew I had it and hadn't shared it with them, I would be looking at obstruction or tampering with evidence or myriad other charges. Of course, if I told them I had this evidence they'd wonder where I got it and my little flash drive would get me sentenced for other non-specific charges. What did they do to people who used the dark web anyway?

I typed away, digging and searching. Found dozens more tidbits about Henry and his former life, his child, ex-wife, and I wondered what on earth could make him leave his family in California and move to Utica of all places. I mean why give up the coast, the palm trees, the sunshine and move to a land of perpetual boredom and sorrow?

Then I turned my attention to one of the female victims, a one Celia Brown. I clicked away at the keyboard, furiously sorting through file after file in search of any information on her when something outside caught my eye, the damn little piece of shit rodent was back. While focused on the backyard an image flashed on the window--a reflection of what was on my television, which I'd forgotten to shut off. An image of Celia Brown

I reeled around to see the news reporting her body had been found in a barrel like that of Henry Watts, and when turned back to my computer, what I saw as the image loaded was even more shocking. Celia stood inside of a club--the very same club where Daphne frequented, where the sketchy bartender worked, where Henry had been last seen, and where I suspected the killer may hide out. The information pressed on my mind for a few minutes as I sat there staring, wondering how a coincidence like that could even exist in a case like this without it meaning something.

It only took a moment for me to wonder if the other two victims had been at the club, and my fingers started tapping the keys again, quickly pulling up photo after photo. William Butts and Taylor Merck had both been seen at the club, which wasn't a guarantee that the club was definitely involved, but it was very suspicious. I mean, there was only one real club in Utica, so young twenty- and thirty-somethings had very limited places to hang out and even the police would know that much, but something in my gut told me the bartender was hiding something and I had to find out what it was.

In the meantime, I knew I was on to something. Something that I couldn't--no, shouldn't--email Gary about. This needed to be a face-to-face conversation. I snatched my phone off the desk and speed dialed my boss, though it rang through nearly a half-dozen times before he finally picked up and when he did he sounded less than thrilled. Call it my urgency to relay this information, or maybe it was the wine, but calling Gary was really out of the norm for me.

"What is it, Kenji? You never call me. After what you pulled losing our department that scoop and letting Barbra have the win, then avoiding my calls and texts, you have some explaining to do."

I didn't even give his words the time of day. This was too important. "You need to come over now."

"What? Why?"

"It's the story. I can't say anymore on the phone, but you need to come over now."

Adrenaline was pumping through my body at the discovery, and though my phone was squeezed between my shoulder and my ear and Gary was there listening, I kept clicking away with my mouse, searching image after image. The evidence was mounting against the bartender, and my once suspicions about the drug dealer were waning.

"Fine, it will be twenty minutes or so. I have to pay for dinner... This better be important. My wife will have my head."

"Oh, it's important. You won't regret it."

Thoughts of Daphne pricked at my heart and my fears for her began to pile up. The more I searched the more I feared not only was she connected--she could be next. If the bartender had already gotten close enough to take out someone Daphne had been with, only moments after she'd been with him, then he could be targeting her, though that didn't explain why he hadn't just taken advantage of the alone time they'd had on that dinner date. Still, perhaps his motive wasn't to harm Daphne but to harm those close to Daphne.

Without thinking, I pulled out my phone and dialed the pre-programmed, after-hours emergency number for Dr. Fox--the number she said to use only in case of very urgent matters. It wasn't her cell phone number, but it would ring through to her cell phone. After the machine asked me my name and reason for calling, I sat patiently and listened to the phone ringing, hoping she wasn't angry when she heard my voice. The tone of her sweet words when she answered relieved the anxiety I felt sitting there waiting.

"Kenji, what's wrong? What is it?"

"Daph--I mean, Dr. Fox. You... I..." I didn't exactly know why I'd called her, other than fear that she was being murdered at that very second, probably a very stupid reaction, and probably because the wine had now really gripped my body and slowed my logical thought processes.

"Are you okay, Kenji? Do you need me to call 9-1-1?"

"No!" I swallowed hard, embarrassed to say the least. "Uh... I know I'm not supposed to call this number unless it's an emergency..." I had to think of a way to say what I believed to be true without scaring her, but I was coming up empty. In fact, hearing her soft melodic voice made my body tense and my groin tingle just thinking about what I'd done only a few hours before with her in mind. I choked up and began to panic, sweat dampening my palms and halting my words.

"It's alright, Kenji. I am here. Tell me what's bothering you."

I tried to think of something to say but the alcohol clouded my reasoning ability and the only thing I could come up with was: "Come over for coffee?" I wasn't sure why I said it. I wasn't much of a coffee person really. I didn't have a coffee maker, and didn't live anywhere near a coffee shop, though DoorDash might bring fresh coffee this time of night. I grimaced, glad she couldn't see my face and kicked myself for being so foolish.

"Kenji, you are my patient, and I can't...do that with a patient. I'm--"

"No!" I blurted. Fuck! Coffee--code for sex, like Netflix and chill. How could I be so stupid? "No... I mean... No."

I stumbled over my words for several minutes trying to come up with something--anything, to dig myself out of the damn hole I fell into, and she sat there in silence the whole time. I wished she'd just hang up.

"Kenji?" she asked, when I got very quiet, embarrassment turning to full-fledged triggering trauma.

"It's for the case. I mean the story. I have information on the story, and I think you're in danger, and I want you to come to my house, and I can show you. I can't send this over the web, okay?"

For a long minute the line was eerily quiet, like the moment in a horror story where you are screaming at the screen "Don't open the fucking door!" yet the victim always opens the fucking door and gets eaten or sawed in half. I was waiting for the mask-covered, chainsaw-laden, maniacal psychopath to show his face when she answered.

"It's really unprofessional. What if someone knows you're my patient and I show up at your house?"

"What if this fucking maniac shows up at your house? I assume you've seen the news? They're dead, Daphne. All four of them are dead...and they're all connected."

Silence crackled the line again. Then heavy breathing. Then: "I'll be over by eight."

20

I knew I should have asked.

I stood there on Kenji's front porch waiting for him to answer the door, scolding myself for not just asking him about the story at our last session. What I thought had been my better judgment at the time turned out to be worse judgement than originally thought. A quick glance over my shoulder assured me that I hadn't been followed, by whom I don't know, but I was always paranoid when I broke what was considered to be the standard of ethics for practitioners. Doctors were not to fraternize with patients, and while this could hardly be considered fraternization, it wasn't exactly business either.

I heard the sound of metal clinking from the other side of the door, probably several dead bolts being disengaged, and then the knob squeaked. Kenji's concerned look made my own emotions heighten, and as his eyes scanned the block, mine did the same, wondering what could be unnerving him so much. He grabbed my elbow and yanked me into the house, slamming the door behind me and locking the dead bolts--three of them.

"What has you so upset?"

"Daphne, I hope you don't mind that I call you that." He walked as he talked, strolling across one large room that morphed from a sitting area into a kitchen area and then to an office. It appeared to be one long wide hallway of a space, with a door to the left, and a short hall to the right, which I assumed led to the patio I could see through the striking picture window his desk faced. "Anyway, you need to see this.'

Kenji marched to his desk and plopped into his chair, his fingers making fast work of the keyboard. I padded up beside him slowly, observing how neat and clean his apartment was, not at all how I expected a bachelor to live, though Kenji was no normal bachelor. My eyes caught a glimpse of Henry Watts, the man whose name I'd come to memorize, having seen it on the news several nights in a row now. He was pictured on Kenji's computer beside several other photos of a few other people. I recognized one of them as another victim of the abductions, now known to be murders. Then my eyes fell on someone very familiar. Tricia--my date to the charity bazaar, but the name attached to the picture said Celia Brown.

"What is this?" My brain was already on overload after Mira's visit and trying to shake my crazy episode of blacking out, but this was too much.

"This is the research I needed you to see." He scrolled through photo after photo of the victims and each picture had something in common. Each one of them was in the club. That alone was unnerving, but when he showed me several more, all with Siphon staring with his jealous eyes at a woman whom I knew to be myself, I started to feel like the walls were closing in. My hands started sweating, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Heat shot up from my chest into my face, and I thought I might pass out. A wave of dizziness made me wobble on my feet, and I braced myself on the desk.

"Are you okay?" Kenji asked, rising to his feet quickly. As if knowing exactly what I needed, he pushed me down the hallway toward a large metal door and opened it, ushering me outside, though he stood in the doorframe. "Sit down there. Maybe you need some fresh air."

I collapsed onto a small metal patio chair and the wave of dizziness subsided, but the shock hadn't yet worn off.

"What were those pictures? Where did you get them?"

"I access the dark web when I research sensitive matters. These photos are stills stolen from the club's security cameras, Daphne. I know that woman is you. And listen, because you're not going to like what I have to say. I know you went on a date with that Siphon guy, and I know you're friends with him--I did some digging." He chewed on his lower lip for a second, his face screwed up. "I think he's involved somehow. And I think you're in danger."

"What? No." I shook my head. Siphon would never do anything like that. Would he? "He is my friend. I think I'd know if he was dangerous." I calmed my racing mind, assuring myself that Kenji was wrong. Besides if the police had an inkling that anyone at the bar was involved, they'd have been questioned by now and there would be talk around town at the very least.

"I'm just saying, I've done my research. I think something fishy is going on, and I really believe he is involved."

I bent forward, bracing my elbows on my knees and letting my purse dangle. Then I felt something strange, as if a creature had climbed onto my back. I shrieked and tried sitting up but before I knew it, Kenji was screaming obscenities and tackling me to the ground. We both went sprawling to the concrete patio, the chair tipping over, and the small table beside the chair also taking a spill. Kenji lay completely across me, still shouting, and I was infuriated.