Rusty Nail

CHAPTER 4

MY FATHER WOULD… do things. To himself. To us.”

“What kind of things, Alex?”

Alex shifts on the shrink’s couch, stares at a small water stain on the ceiling. The office is too bright for Alex to get comfortable. It’s like being scrutinized under a microscope.

“Father’s a very religious man. A member of Los Hermanos Penitentes. Are you familiar with the group?”

“Flagellants. They lash themselves to atone for their sins.”

“They’re a Christian sect dating back to the sixteenth century, extremely strict, focusing on redemption through pain. They kneel on tacks. Rub salt and vinegar into their wounds. Mutilate themselves to absolve their sins. They also whip their children. Or make their children whip them.”

“Your father would whip you?”

Alex’s eyes close, memories flooding in. “Among other things.”

“How often did this occur?”

“Sometimes a few times a month. Sometimes every day.”

“And where was your mother during all of this?”

“Dead. When I was just a kid.”

Alex wonders if revealing the next part is wise. But what good is therapy without a little disclosure?

“My mother died of cancer, after I was born. Father took up with different women after that. Bad women. I remember one of them who wasn’t so bad. Father killed her. He beat her to death and buried her in the basement.”

Alex turns to assess Dr. Morton’s reaction. The good doctor remains composed, sitting in his high-back leather chair. Probably fancies himself Sigmund Freud.

“Were the police ever involved?”

“No. Father claimed she ran away, and ordered us never to speak about her.”

Dr. Morton leans forward. “Sometimes, when something traumatic happens to small children, they create events to help them deal with the trauma.”

“You mean maybe I imagined her death, and blamed my father for it? Because he abused me and she was missing?”

Dr. Morton makes a noncommittal gesture.

Alex considers. “That’s interesting. But not true in my case. I watched Father murder her. He tied her to a beam and flayed all of the skin off her body with a cat-o’-nine-tails.”

“And you saw this?”

“Father made me help.”

Dr. Morton jots something down on his notepad.

Alex smiles. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe this is what you believe, Alex. In our last session, you mentioned your father is still alive.”

Alex thinks of Father. “Yes. He is. If you can call it living.”

“It’s difficult to believe he was never arrested.”

“Isn’t it? I wonder about that sometimes. How different I’d be if someone had stopped him. How many cats would be alive.”

Dr. Morton’s pen stops on the paper. “Cats?”

Alex yawns. It’s been a long week. Not much sleep.

“I kill cats. I get them from animal shelters, and drown them in a bucket of water.”

“Why do you do this, Alex?”

“It makes me feel better.”

“How often?”

“When the need arises. Does that shock you, Doctor?”

Alex meets Dr. Morton’s gaze. The man doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“No. I don’t judge, Alex. I listen, and try to help. When was the last time you killed a cat?”

“A few days ago.”

“Do you think that hurting animals is a way to release some of the pain you endured as a child?”

“Yes. Plus…”

“Plus?”

Alex grins. “It’s funny to watch them struggle.”

Dr. Morton stands up, walks to the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re in control of your own fate, Alex, not a victim to it. At an early age, we all create unique ways to deal with life. With determination and effort, we can change. I don’t think you believe that killing cats is therapeutic, or beneficial, and the pleasure you gain from the act isn’t substantive.” The doctor turns around, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve talked about setting goals before.”

Alex knows where this is headed.

“You think I should quit killing cats?”

“What do you think?”

“Yeah. I could probably do that.”

Dr. Morton nods, playing the mentor role to the hilt.

“How are your other goals? You seem more at ease since last we spoke.”

“I’m getting all of my ducks lined up,” Alex says.

“Any ducks in particular?”

“Tying up loose ends from my past. Working to get over it. Taking small steps, instead of large ones, like you said.”

“Glad to hear it. How about that person you’ve fallen in love with?”

Dr. Morton flips through his notebook, but Alex mentions the name and saves him the trouble.

“Everything is going perfectly. Exactly according to plan.”

“And this love – it’s reciprocated, right?”

Alex wonders about this often.

“That’s an interesting question, Doctor. Can you ever truly know if love is being returned? You wear a wedding ring, so I assume you’re married, and I assume you love your wife. But even if she says she loves you, you can’t crawl around in her head and feel it for yourself. You can’t ever truly know.”

“I feel loved, and that’s reassurance enough. Do you feel loved, Alex?”

Alex thinks, really thinks hard.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I do.”

A gentle beeping sound comes from Dr. Morton’s desk. The doctor walks over and presses a button on the alarm, silencing it.

“That’s our time today, Alex. See you tomorrow.”

Alex stands up, stretches. “Absolutely. This is really helping me a lot. I appreciate you fitting me in.”

“That’s good to hear. And remember your goal.”

“Don’t kill any cats. Got it.”

They shake hands, and Dr. Morton shows Alex to the door.

Outside the office, Alex smiles big. Leaving cats alone for a week will not be a problem. Not at all.

The next thing Alex plans on killing isn’t a cat.