The Doctor's Casebook Pt. 05 Ch. 02

I nodded. "Room 412. See you there."

It was a dingy apartment building in a poor neighborhood. The truth of it was, I had no real idea where we were. I knew that we were in New Jersey somewhere, and I guessed it was someplace southwest of Newark. There was no elevator, of course, and the stairwell was dark and sort of rank smelling. As I had supposed, the room I'd been directed to faced where I had parked the pickup in the dark hours of the morning ... as well as the house beyond that I'd been watching. There were four guys in the room, one sitting at a tripod-mounted set of binoculars. The man who I had talked to previously was sitting at a small, round Formica table drinking coffee with another burly character. The man who had admitted me joined them.

"This is quite a party," I commented. "The doc must have quite a budget for security."

"Three of us are volunteers," my window-knocker explained. I got the impression he was the guy in charge. "The asshole that snatched your nurse shot one of our own. Good man. Good friend. Dr. Herringwick saved his life ... though there's still a chance he might lose his leg. Anyway, we all want in on the pinch ... before L.E. gets involved. Because of the shooting, everybody's in on it now: cops, highway patrol, the FBI. Little doubt he's going to face justice, once they find him. We just want to make sure he gets a little pre-justice justice, if you know what I mean."

I nodded. "I should call the doc. Have you seen your bad guy since you got here?"

"Naw. We just set up. Like I said, we had no idea where you were until an hour ago. The asshole's been driving all night. I imagine he's asleep. Maybe you should get a little yourself. There's a couch over there. We've promised the doctor we wouldn't go in until he gets here. We're picking him up at Teterboro at ten. We'll wake you up when he gets here."

I nodded at that. That couch was battered and stained and looked absolutely wonderful. I used the bathroom first, but when I stretched out on its surface, I was out like a light in half a minute. My intention was to snooze for about an hour, but it was eleven thirty when the increased activity in the room woke me up. I got up and stretched, then shook hands with the doc, who had obviously just arrived.

"Rory," he said, smiling warmly, "I can't begin to apologize enough for ignoring your calls. If it wasn't for your persistence, these men tell me that the odds of ever seeing Loretta again was slim, at best. Thank you. Thank you, so much."

"We gotta' stick together, doc. You and Loretta made me feel like part of the family, so when I spotted her in the parking lot of a big hardware store, I had to figure out what was going on. He was moving her from one vehicle to another; from the back seat of a big black touring car to a white SUV. I mean, it's hard not to recognize your nurse. She has certain ... um ... physical characteristics that sort of make her stick out from the crowd, pardon the pun. Plus, they were out on the edge of the parking area ... way in the back, and that only made it look more suspicious, in my eyes. Loretta was moving almost in slow motion. She wasn't resisting the creep at all. I mean, it was almost as if she WANTED to do what he was telling her. But it was such a weird thing that I felt as if I really needed to follow them and make sure she was okay. Believe me, I questioned myself more than once as the night wore on."

"Well, once again, thank you."

I was still sort of getting my bearings after my power-nap, and I finally noticed that the only guy from the detective agency still in the room was the leader. "Where is everybody?"

"We're about to make our move," the guy told me. "Everybody's in position."

"You're not thinking of leaving me out of this, are you?" I asked sternly.

The guy grinned. "I wouldn't think of it. However, you and the doc are going to stay out of the way until we do our thing. Agreed?"

The doc seemed more distressed by this announcement than I was, but it was obvious that the pros were insisting on staying in charge until any danger had passed. He made the detective promise ... more than once ... to keep the dude alive. That sort of surprised me. I mean, there couldn't have been any love lost for this psycho in the doc's eyes. But ... I didn't question his insistence. We were led downstairs and outside to a waiting van. It was painted brown, and it just LOOKED like a package delivery vehicle. There were benches inside, and the doc and I sat opposite each other in the back during the two-minute ride. Once again, the operative told us to keep completely out of sight until we'd been given the all-clear, and then he picked up a cardboard box and got out, seemingly talking to himself as he did so; but, of course, he was communicating with his men through some sort of radio setup.

The back window of the van was tinted, and I felt safe looking out of it at a steep angle toward the house. I spotted one of the men who had been sitting at that little table earlier, but now he was in work clothes and using a loud piece of lawn-trimming equipment by the front sidewalk. I thought that was stretching things a little. I mean, it was pretty warm for that time of year, but it WAS February in New Jersey! I lost sight of our "delivery man" as he approached the front door, but only seconds later, the "lawn guy" dropped his edger, which was still running, and he sprinted out of sight, drawing a gun as he went.

"They're moving," I told the doc, who was still sitting on the bench and looking forlornly at the floor between his feet. He grunted and nodded. I craned my neck against the window, but I could see nothing; then I looked around the area in vain for the other two good guys. The doc's phone rang and I must have jumped a foot, bumping my head against the door frame. Herringwick held the phone to his ear and finally got up. "They've got him," he told me. "Let's go."

"Geez," I said. "It's only been sixty seconds!"

He was not amused by my lack of movement. He pushed roughly past me, opening the rear door and getting out. I jumped down and followed him to the front door and inside. It was just a house. A small house. The front porch had been painted recently. So had the door, which opened into a wide foyer with a hardwood floor, in the middle of which was the sprawled body of a man. There were also four guns on the floor, but on closer examination, they were not real guns ... they were stun guns, and there must have been a hundred feet of thin wire all over the place. All four of the detectives were present, though two of them were coming in from a hallway to our right. They were all holding real bang-bang style guns in their hands now.

"CRAP!" the doc screamed at them. He dropped to his knees beside the man and dug two fingers into the side of his thick neck. "I told you and told you! I wanted him alive! How many times did you hit him?"

"He looked like he was thinking of getting up again," the biggest detective muttered.

"Looked that way to me, too," another one said.

"Shut up!" the doc screamed. Using both hands, he ripped the guys shirt wide open, then he pressed his ear to the man's bare chest. No one said anything for long, long seconds. Mumbling an oath I didn't understand, as well as the single word "arrhythmia," the doc rocked back on his knees, balled his right hand into a fist, raised it high over his head, and brought it down hard to the center of the bare chest. Real hard. Easily hard enough to break ribs, though I didn't hear anything crack. Then he put his ear back to the chest and listened, once again for a painfully long time.

Finally, he rose and turned to the main detective. "I ... want ... him ... alive," he hissed loudly, almost evilly. "Understand?"

The dude looked like he wanted to argue, but he finally lowered his eyes and nodded. "Yes, sir. I understand."

"Where is Loretta?"

"In the office. First door on the right down that hall." He pointed. "And there's another one."

The doc was already moving. "Another what?"

"Another girl. In the bedroom at the end. She wouldn't talk to us. Screamed at the men to get out. And your nurse is ..." His voice trailed away into silence, since the doc had already entered the other room and was obviously ignoring him. I hustled around the prone figure, past the others and followed him.

It was a pretty large room, and it was obviously a well set up doctor's office. Loretta was sitting on a padded examining table and staring at us. "Hello, doctor," she said slowly, purposefully. She didn't actually slur her words, but they were sluggish and unnaturally careful, like a drunk that's trying his best to sound sober. She was also totally ... and rather magnificently ... naked.

Okay, it's time to pause in this diatribe and discuss my little problem. I think it's already been mentioned that I'm on "The List." Now, this is the point where I'm supposed to moan about injustice and unfairness, and how I ought to be an exception to the rules that apply to everybody else, and all that other bullshit. Well, fuck that. What I AM going to bend your ear about a little is what it's like. The truth of the matter is, I'm a whipped pup. I gave up a long time ago. And life is much easier when you give up. That might sound a bit harsh; but sadly, it's true. I can't fight this. All I can do is say yes sir and no sir, and go where they tell me to go, and do what they tell me to do. I don't question. I don't comment. And I keep my nose clean.

The biggest problem, of course, is sex. That is: no sex. I'm scared shitless about it. I don't talk about it. I don't look at it on a computer for fear that somebody might ACCUSE me of looking at it. I try not to even think about it. But let me tell you one thing for certain: you can't look at Loretta nude without thinking about sex, and that's a fact! I was immediately awash in guilt. On the other hand, I couldn't make myself look away. And so, I watched while the doc walked up to her, spread he legs apart so he could take one more step closer, and he took her into his arms.

And she said: "I don't love you anymore, doctor."

Holy shit, that was weird! I mean, if you knew her ... if you knew THEM ... you'd understand. But what was weirder still was that he said: "Yes, I know, Loretta."

That didn't seem to faze her. "He's going to make me a whore again," she told him slowly.

He took a breath and wiped a tear from his left eye. "No, Loretta, he's not."

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter whether I'm a whore or not. Nothing matters anymore." She finally looked him in the face. "He doesn't matter. Neither do you. I have a hole in my soul, doctor. I don't love. I don't hate. I'm not afraid ... or happy ... or angry ... or anything. I don't care about you. I don't care about anything at all." She stared imploringly at him. "I'm ... empty."

"I'm going to fix that, my darling," he said, stepping back and holding out both hands to her. She took them automatically, and he helped her off the table; then he took off his coat and draped it over her naked shoulders. "Do you know what he gave you, nurse?"

She nodded. "Thorazine. I've read about it. It causes permanent brain damage."

He turned her toward him and used a fingertip to elevate her eyes to his. "No. Those studies were done with mental patients who had undergone long-term treatment. This is different. I'll fix this, Loretta. I'll fix YOU." He turned his face toward me. "Call Freeman," he ordered.

I blinked. It was the first time I realized that I hadn't introduced myself to any of them, and I didn't know their names; but, with a few words, I summoned the chief operative to the room. "You ready to get the cops involved?" the man asked.

"No," the doc said authoritatively. "Take Loretta out to your vehicle. Then bring the good Dr. Prokonov in here, please. Put him in that chair." He pointed.

Freeman shuffled his feet. "Doctor ... we can't call the feds into a case after having moved the dude AND the victim! We have to maintain the chain of evidence. Leave the perp where he is! How about I call an ambulance for Loretta, instead?"

"I don't give a rat's ass about the chain of evidence!" the doc bellowed. "You were willing to kill the man! What difference does it make to YOU!? Get him in here!"

"Doc," the man pleaded, "dead would have been dead. We could have argued self defense; and our friend, Jasper, would have been avenged for what the asshole did with that shotgun. But now, the suspect is alive! If we don't do this right, Prokonov could walk!"

Herringwick's expression never changed. "Look," he said evenly. "I trusted you to do your job. Now, it's your turn to trust me. That man will never walk again outside of custody. Your friend Jasper will, indeed be avenged for his injuries. So ... please do as I say. Get Loretta out of here. Get our perpetrator in here ... in THAT chair. And then leave me alone for five minutes. Do it now." Still looking uncertain, the man backed out of the room, leading Loretta by one hand. The doc turned his attention to me. "Go get the other girl. I need to see her."

"Uh ... sure, doc." I walked out of the room, down the short hallway, opened the last door, and walked in. And I froze on the spot.

The girl was standing on the bed, which was in the far corner of the room, and she was apparently trying to push herself away from me, farther into the place where the two walls met. She seemed crazed with fear, but I couldn't quite figure out what she was afraid OF. Her hair was brown, but streaked with blonde, as if she spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun, and it hung well past her shoulders in a wave of gentle curls. And OF COURSE she was naked! I mean, sure. Why not? But, oh man! This girl was absolutely perfect! Her face, her complexion, her waist, her ass, and (oh, God!) her breasts ... perfect. Supermodel perfect. No, I caught myself in that thought. No ... supermodels were skinny, and this girl was definitely not that. It took me a long second to come up with the right word in my mind. Athletic. She was fit ... healthy. She had curves, but they were the product of muscles, not softer tissues.

She stopped trying to meld with the walls long enough to ask: "Are you my master?"

I blinked. "What?"

That was enough for her. "You're NOT my master! Get out!" I stood there for two seconds, which apparently was one too many. "GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" And she continued her attempt to escape through the knotty pine tongue-and-groove paneling. Okay, I'm a coward. I got out.

I walked back into the office just in time to watch as Freeman, the detective, held the unconscious man sitting upright in the chair while the doc wrapped a roll of duct tape around and around his torso and the chair's back. The chair had no sides, and the man's arms were now held straight down against his body as the doc kept circling his prey. He seemed intent on using the whole roll.

"The girl won't come with me," I reported. "She says that she's waiting for her master."

He stopped playing maypole. "Does she know who her master is?"

"Uh ... well ... no. Actually, she doesn't."

The doc shrugged. "So ... tell her you are her master."

I was forced to consider that. Finally, armed with this epiphany, I wandered back down the hall, only to find that she was still engaged in the same strange endeavor. "I am your master!" I announced to the entire room, as if she wasn't the only one there.

She stopped. We stared at each other for ten long seconds. "Master?" she asked in a pleading whimper.

"Uh ... yes," I answered, just a wee bit less sure of myself.

She held out her arms toward me and took three strides in my direction. Unfortunately, the bed was only two strides wide; and, missing the third step completely, she pitched forward like an Olympic swimmer from a starting platform. Completely flustered, I sprang toward her, as well, in an attempt to catch her before she seriously injured herself. We met somewhere near the center of the room and collapsed into a tangled heap of arms and legs. And, of course, my right hand found itself filled with her left breast. Oh shit. Oh shit oh fuck oh crap oh dear! What the hell was I going to do now? I had actually touched a girl's breast once ... although she was still fully clothed as we groped around in the back seat of my dad's car. To say that I had never felt anything like this before in my life would be a grotesque understatement. Immediately, my cock stiffened to the point of confined pain. What was I going to say? Should I apologize first for my clutching hand (which I still hadn't moved)? Or for my obvious boner (I mean, it was so obvious to me that it HAD to be obvious to her, too!)? Or for my clumsiness? Or for ...?

But, in a totally unrelated action (I mean, how much weirder could this thing GET!?), her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to shake. I (finally) let go of her breast, and I clutched both of her shoulders with my hands, pulling her toward me, holding her. What had I done now? Had my ineptness offended her so much that she'd gone into some sort of seizure?

I had just about reached the decision that I had to leave her and run to get the doc, when she suddenly stopped her unconscious shivering, and her eyes refocused on my face. She was breathing deeply, and it took ALL of my willpower to keep my eyes on her own and not let them fall to her chest. "Master!" she said again softly. And then she sprang forward, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her naked form into my body, squirming against me, as if she was trying to press every square inch of her flesh as close to me as physically possible.

I pushed against her gently, and she backed off a little, gazing up into my eyes. HER eyes were hazel, and the small flecks of brown almost made a pattern in the green-blue orbs. They were beautiful eyes. "Are ... Are you alright?" I asked softly.

She laughed aloud and hugged me again. "I'm wonderful, now that you're here, Master."

"Uh ... You've been expecting me?"

She laughed again. "Yes and no. He told me that you'd come today. But he warned me that you'd be much older than I am. And that I might consider you overweight and ... um ... not very attractive. However, he promised me that I'd love you, anyway. He programmed me that way. So, anyway, I felt okay with the idea that I'd love you. Love is blind, and all that. But ... But ..." She drew back and looked me up and down. "But you're NOT old and fat and ugly! You're MY age! And, quite frankly, Master, you're really sort of gorgeous and kind of a hunk!" She studied my eyes so deeply that it was all I could do not to break eye contact. "And OMG, Master! I realize now that I've never even BEEN in love! Not until now!" Tears sprang into her perfect eyes and spilled onto her perfect cheeks. "I love you SO much, Master! Now and for always and forever! My heart feels so full, it's about to burst! Oh, Master, can we fuck?"

"WHAT?"

She blinked up at me. "You don't want to?" she almost pleaded. "I can just give you a blow job, if you'd rather." I struggled to my feet, and she was forced to stand with me, clutching almost frantically at my arms. The tears continued, but they changed dramatically. "I've ... I've offended you! You don't want me!" With a massive sob, she flung her arms around me in a desperate bear hug. Instinctively, my hands went to her bare back, then I drew them quickly away, as if I'd touched a hot stove. I grabbed her shoulders and tried to push, but it was too late. She looked up questioningly through liquid eyes. "But ... but you DO want me!" She cried, and she let go of me with one hand, then slid it between us and grasped my steel-hard erection through the material of my pants.

I barked a loud, incoherently meaningless noise and jumped back away from her. "Not yet!" I shouted too loudly. I tried to get my breathing back to normal while she stared at me questioningly. "Not here!" I pleaded, thinking rapidly. I considered telling her that I was NOT the master she had been waiting for, but I thought that her frantic thought processes wouldn't be able to cope with that. "We ... um ... have to leave here. I want to take you somewhere else first. Okay?"