Chapter 1: A Woman Compelled

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENTS 187 & 188 - PRELUDE

Before I get started on this segment of my chronicles, I must pause to address the interconnectedness of all things (with apologies to Dirk Gently). As I’ve stated before, these tales are designed to be “stand alone” pieces; you shouldn’t have to flip back and forth to figure out what’s happened in past episodes. But, of course, they DO overlap; that’s just the nature of time and events.

It was the winter of the first year together for Loretta and me. She denied me almost nothing in life that I asked of her, but there were two standout exceptions. Firstly, she refused to call me by my true name ... my real, actual name, that is ... the name I had adopted while on the run from the law. I had no intention of changing that name back, even though I was no longer a wanted man. It had been too much of a hassle the first time ... getting used to being called something other than the moniker I had grown accustomed to for three decades. Anyway, I was a different person now ... in more ways than one. And secondly, Loretta refused to agree to marry me. She wouldn’t tell me why ... she simply said no. At first, I had taken her rejection badly, and I pouted a bit ... until she laughed at me for doing so. She has a wonderful laugh. It prompted me to increase my efforts, and I started popping the question more and more often ... like when we were in bed together, and I had my face buried between her creamy thighs, telling her that I’d be happy to keep going and tip her over the precipice into the loving arms of her orgasm, if only she would consent to be my wife. But she’d only laugh again, melting my heart, so I was always emotionally forced into granting her release into ecstasy.

We had just spent a week in Seattle, where she had given sworn testimony into the crimes of her former husband in the Federal Building downtown. (That was the topic of one of those past episodes I mentioned above. Interconnectedness, and all that. And, while we quickly got on with our lives and engaged in the pursuit of other adventures, the results of that particular quest would be with us for a long, long time. The wheels of justice turn slowly.)

This is the point in all of my other diatribes that I jump right in and tell you about my latest patient, and how I engaged in a little Mad Evil Doctoring to bend the course of personal history. However, before I do that in this case, I have to introduce you to another character, since he would be instrumental not only in this case, but in Loretta’s and my future, as well. It was a Wednesday, the day between my two college courses, and I had just finished with my first patient of the day: a young housewife who was too introverted to tell her husband that she wanted him to be a bit more forceful in the bedroom. I had guided her through an hour’s worth of hypnotherapy and then instructed her where she could buy a pair of handcuffs to give her hubby that evening over a romantic dinner, so that he could use them in an attempt to better explore her submissive proclivities.

The intercom on my desk buzzed gently. “Mr. Johnson is here, doctor,” my nurse’s voice informed me.

I keyed the lever on the device. “Will you marry me, Loretta?” I asked.

“No, doctor.”

“Well, send him in, then.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Rory Johnson was a man of about twenty-two, sandy-haired and muscular. At first glance, I thought him exceedingly introverted, but I changed my mind about that. “Introspective” might have been a more appropriate word; though in this case, it was mixed with an overabundance of caution. I’ve learned through hard experience that before you diagnose a persecution complex, you should first rule out actual persecution. I mean, it does happen. He shook my hand with a firm-but-hesitant grip, as if his greatest fear in life was any possibility of harming others. He seemed incapable of meeting my gaze, but I sensed that the reason for this was fear that strength on his part might be misinterpreted as aggression. He handed me several sheets of paper, and I took them and studied them carefully.

“I need to tell you something before we go too far,” he said with practiced firmness as soon as he was seated.

I held up my hand to silence him. “Let’s get to that in a moment,” I told him.

“You know?” he asked, shocked.

I glanced up at him, trying to be completely noncommittal. “I know that SOME perceived act in your past is uppermost on your mind,” I said firmly. “We’ll discuss that perception later.”

It didn’t take me long to find it, though. No wonder the guy had jumped at the chance for a job. Any job. He was on the sex offender list. It was in his resume; and I wondered if that was some sort of government regulation or something. It took a concerted effort not to sigh. I REALLY needed a good carpenter and caretaker for my building.

Alright, since this is just an introduction, and this portion of my saga isn’t actually relevant to our storyline, I’ll forgo the narration and summarize. I liked Rory, and I (like everyone, I suppose) consider myself a pretty good judge of character. I guess we all have our opinions about people on lists, and we tend to try to resist categorizing. But this particular list evokes pretty strong feelings in almost all Americans. If I tried to argued otherwise, I’m sure I’d be branded a pinko commie liberal by much of the population. The truth of the matter is I’m pretty conservative, and I heartily agree that this particular list is necessary for the safety of the general population. However (you knew there was going to be a “however,” didn’t you?), when members of any group are taken case by case, exceptions tend to arise.

Almost a year before, Rory had been at the end of the first semester of his senior year at MIT, nearing completion on an undergraduate degree in architecture. He and a bunch of friends had just finished a particularly rough exam cycle, and they’d gone out to celebrate in a couple Cambridge bars and blow off a little steam. On the way home, they’d wandered through University Park Commons a little after midnight, when one stalwart individual decided to stop at some bushes near a particularly large tree to relieve himself in a spot he had assumed no one could see. Then, another one did the same; and another. Rory was the last to do so, and he was the only one in the group that was spotted by a passing patrol car. Now, I’m guessing that there was a little more to it than that ... that perhaps he had argued or tried to make light of the situation, or something else that pissed off the arresting officer (if you’ll pardon the pun). I don’t know. I’ve seen the arrest record, and there’s no mention of anything other than the charge of public urination. In Massachusetts, that is a sexual offense, and violators earn the title of registered sex offender. It’s that way in about a dozen states.

Rory dropped out of school and returned home to Rhode Island. Public urination is only a misdemeanor in this state, and not considered sexual in nature. However, “The List” is one of those things that’s shared by all states; and if you’re on it in one, you’re on it in all of them, whether the particular crime involved is recognized as a basis for inclusion by your state or not. What’s weird about this case (I discovered later) is that Rory had had a sum total of zero experience with sex. I mean, not only had he been a twenty-one year old virgin, but he had never gotten beyond a couple light make-out sessions during the course of high school and college dates. Since the incident, he hadn’t dated at all for obvious reasons; what girl would want to chance a evening with someone on “the list?” And, by law, he was required to tell a woman that he’s a registered sex offender before making plans to be alone with her. He’d mostly lived like a hermit in his parents’ basement for the past year.

But holy cow, he was a good carpenter! On faith, I took him on the grand tour of the building, including places I’d never even explored before myself. Many of what I had envisioned the worst structural problems turned out to be (according to him) simple architectural blemishes, easily fixed; while the opposite was apparently the case with other things. He spoke in great detail about “bringing things up to code” first and foremost, and only then beginning work on my “vision” for the place ... meaning the way I wanted the individual apartments set up and furnished. I showed him the work I had already done in one basement suite (I had cleaned up and made one apartment into a couple “exercise rooms”), and he very diplomatically tried to point out my flaws and give me estimates on how much it would take to correct my errors. The other downstairs apartment was to be his living quarters as the building’s superintendent. He tried to take this news deadpan, but I could see the excitement in his eyes and demeanor. Finally, I told him that I could not, in good faith, accept him without Loretta’s approval.

She didn’t hesitate. I unabashedly discussed the news of his inclusion on the sex offender list, but she simply shrugged and said that she knew we could rely on this man. Loretta is like that. It’s something that’s sort of hard to explain to someone who hasn’t met her. It’s not that she’s overly trusting ... it’s just that she believes in her ability to recognize trustworthiness when she sees it. And I’ve never known her to be wrong.

Rory moved in the next day. I gave him thirty days to fix up his own living quarters first, along with a $20,000 budget for furnishings, appliances, etcetera, and a $40,000 budget for tools, hardware and supplies that would be used in the building’s repairs and his eventual superintendent duties. And, I bought a used pickup truck so he could get all the new supplies back home. I was hoping that he would be able to stick to a schedule of completing one apartment every thirty days. (He would far exceed that expectation.) He not only became an excellent employee and workman, but a good friend.

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENTS 187 & 188 - DAY ONE

A former client of mine, Bryon Russo, had contacted me and requested that I meet with “a friend of his” that could use the services of a mad evil doctor. There were two reasons that I didn’t refuse this professional introduction. First, I’m the only mad evil doctor I know (or that anyone else knows, for that matter); and, while I actually accept a relatively few number of the cases that come my way, there HAVE been incidences where my services proved to be dramatically necessary interventions. And secondly, Mr. Russo is connected with an especially powerful crime syndicate on the East Coast, and it would be ... prudent ... to consider his wishes. Also, I have been extremely well compensated for my work in the past, and I could always use a little more funding toward my building’s renovations.

I had made it a point to include Loretta in my “extracurricular enterprises,” just as I had made her a part of every other aspect of my life. To say that I was surprised with her acquiescence to this request would be a little bit of an understatement, but her help had since proven to be invaluable; so I didn’t look this beautiful gift horse in the mouth. On the morning of February 13th, we had cuddled in the chill morning beneath the blankets for ten minutes after our alarm sounded (which had become an increasingly common occurrence), and I told her that I wanted her to attend today’s appointment. Then I had to explain that I felt compelled to give whatever assistance I could in this case ... and I told her why. She absorbed the knowledge without reaction, finally guessing aloud that there was a sexual element to the story that I wasn’t sharing. And so, I also told her the story of Russo’s wife and her enticing twin sister. She absorbed that knowledge without comment, as well. But then, she insisted on absorbing a part of me physically, and it wound up being almost an hour after that alarm went off before we dragged our sweaty bodies out of bed and into a shower.

I was grading papers at my desk when I was startled by a knock on my office door. Loretta always announces patients, but it was still twenty minutes before my appointment, so I rose and went to the door to investigate. Margaret Tooey was a woman in her early thirties who held herself erect in a manner of self-assured confidence mixed with a sort of good-natured affability. Tall and lanky in an athletic sort of way, she moved with a grace that was almost poetic. Her smile was warm, and while not really condescending, it conveyed the fact that the sparkling intelligence behind her riveting eyes was not only real, it was also not to be taken for granted. I returned the smile with one of my own, hoping to let her know that friendship was preferable to some game of dominant personalities. She laughed and offered me her hand, introducing herself. The hand was warm, the grip firm and genuine. She let go when she heard a noise behind her, and she turned as my nurse walked into the reception room.

“Loretta, this is Ms. Tooey. Margaret ... May I call you Margaret? ... I have asked my nurse to sit in on our session. She has become my partner in these additional cases I undertake. I can guarantee her, as well as my own, utmost discretion. I am sure you will come to recognize her as an invaluable part in correcting whatever problem you might have.”

Loretta had extended her hand as I made that introduction. “I was just ... um ... making some fresh ... um ... coffee,” she stuttered. “Would you ... uh... ?” and she finally stopped struggling and simply stood there. The woman refused to let go of her hand, and after a single brief, halfhearted tug, Loretta seemed to relinquish all semblance of authority, allowing Margaret to examine her with unabashed curiosity, from head to toe, taking a little extra time with her more-than-generous bust. My nurse blushed furiously, and her breathing deepened, only accentuating her abundant breasts.

“You’ve been with dominant women before,” the woman said definitively.

Loretta moved her head slightly in my direction, but seemed to find it impossible to break eye contact with her accuser. “Yes. I was a prostitute in Seattle when the doctor rescued ... um ... when he brought me ... uh ... when he...”

“When he decided to make you his slave,” the slender older woman finished. She let go of the nurse’s hand.

“Yes,” Loretta said simply, dropping her arm to her side. She finally appeared capable of breaking contact with the woman’s gaze, but instead of looking at me, she dropped her eyes to the floor and stood meekly, swaying slightly, her cheeks still flush.

Ms. Tooey spun on her heel and walked past me into my office, hesitating for only a moment while I hurried and held the chair before my desk. She settled her lithe frame into it. “You enjoy playing these little games,” I stated.

“I enjoy excelling at them,” she remarked flippantly. “I met my match only once ... a man remarkable like you, doctor. I married him. Lasted about a week before I realized I didn’t want to drive us both insane. I love him still, though.” While this was being said, I had taken my place behind my desk. Loretta, still blushing, started to sit in a chair by the door, but she obviously realized she shouldn’t take a place behind our guest, and she chose the couch instead. I didn’t respond to Margaret’s comment, and only smiled until she decided to continue. “My maiden name is Russo,” she said after the moment’s silence. “Bryon is my brother.”

My smile didn’t change. “Yes,” I said simply. “As a member of your family, you have implemented several changes that I applaud. It’s why I agreed to see you. I respect you immensely.”

She caught herself registering surprise and struggled to change her countenance to one of lighthearted exasperation instead. “Oh, God! You are JUST like my former husband! How infuriating!” She turned toward Loretta. “Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, girl?”

Finally, my nurse allowed a smile to grace her luscious lips. “Oh, yes,” she responded softly.

Margaret settled herself back into the chair and gave me her entire attention. “One of my efforts for family ... change, as you call it ... was to get out of human trafficking. It proved to be a difficult business decision. It was very lucrative; but, as you can imagine, fraught with risk. My own motivation was strictly humanitarian in nature, but I couldn’t approach it like that without stressing my ... feminine side. Crime, like all business, is male-dominated. It wasn’t hard for me to be dominant. I am naturally so. And ... I am much more attracted sexually to my own kind, so I used that to my advantage. With the possible exception of chewing on a cigar, I can match any man, toe to toe, in an argument; and most often, I come out on top. So ... I used business acumen and logic to convince my father to abandon that particular source of revenue.

“Bryon helped. He’s always supported me in my efforts for reform ... not because he’s a weaker personality than most, but because he’s simply more ... human. I love my brother a lot.” She paused and took a breath. “But, of course, when one corporation discontinues a product, there are always competitors ready and willing to fill the void. The Russians, the Armenians, the Japanese, the gangs ... they will all increase their ... uh ... share of production ... as we abandon the market.”

She took another deep breath, steadying herself. “One of our ... um ... assets in that particular business was a man named Doctor Sergey Prokonov. I don’t know if that’s his real name, and I don’t know if he was ever a real doctor. I also don’t know what his ... um ... technique is; but whatever he does to women ... and at least a few men ... leaves them forever changed. He charges a fortune; but his subjects can demand exorbitantly high prices on the illegal market. They are docile, obedient, and openly willing sex slaves. You, a psychiatrist, might argue that this may have been their original character all along, but I have seen evidence to the contrary. In some cases, the reason for employing Doctor Prokonov in the first place was to change a dominant person into a sexual submissive, and I can attest to the fact that they STAY that way. In one case in particular, a woman who was openly domineering and rebellious two years ago is now the sweet, submissive young wife of a state senator twice her age, and she’s quite happy to remain so.”