FicWad

Standing alone in the elevator, Bob sighed as he watched the floor numbers illuminate one after another. He hadn’t really wanted to do this. Finding another therapist was something he knew he had to do. But want? That was something else entirely. At least Lisa knew him; he had to be okay, right?

Bob’s thoughts came to a halt along with the elevator. Drawing his lips into a thin, uncertain frown, he stepped into the corridor as the doors parted.

“You must be Bob.”

Bob’s head turned sharply to his left as he heard the unexpected voice. Standing at a desk only a few feet away was a tall middle-aged man with brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses holding a file. Bob stared blankly. He knew it could only be Simmons, but he hadn’t been prepared to meet him so soon.

“Bob?” he asked again.
“Er… yeah, Bob Bryar.”

Simmons smiled kindly.

“Don’t be nervous. Come into my office.” Turning back to the receptionist, Simmons spoke quietly. “Sarah, you’ll let me know when my next appointment is here?”
“Yes, Doctor,” she replied with a brief nod.

Following Doctor Simmons into his office, Bob could feel his pulse racing and a sensation of light-headness washed over him. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, even at his first appointment with Lisa, he hadn’t felt this bad.

“Please, Bob, take a seat.” Simmons suggested as he rounded his desk.

Bob settled himself opposite Simmons. Allowing his gaze to wander, he took in the room. The office was large, certainly a lot larger than Lisa’s office had been, and dominated by the large antique desk. Near the window stood a table and four chairs. Clearly they were modern, but the design attempted to give the impression of another era. All of the contemporary furniture had been purchased with the desk in mind suggesting an older and perhaps a more peaceful time.

“Bob?” Simmons began.
Returning from his daydream, Bob glanced over towards Simmons and offered a half smile.
“Lisa’s told me a lot about you, Bob.”
“Well, that puts me at a disadvantage, I don’t know what she’s told you, so I don’t know what to say.”
Simmons smiled. “It means you don’t have to tell me everything from the beginning, you can start where you left off with Lisa. What was the last thing you discussed?”

Bob frowned at the memory of her last question to him as his therapist. Normally he wouldn’t remember the details so clearly, but this one had really jarred with him and he was simply not ready.

“She asked me what I would say to him if he were sitting in the office with me.”
“Him?”
“Yeah, him.”
“You mean, Gerard?”
“Yeah.”
“You won’t say his name?”
“The last time I said his name, outside of court, was when I found out he was trying to murder me.”
“And you don’t want to say his name again?”
“No, I don’t! I don’t want to use his name, I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to even think about him!”
“Is that what you told Lisa?”
“I told her I wasn’t ready, I can’t even begin to think about how I’d feel or what I’d say.”
“Why is that, do you think?”

Bob sighed and looked down at his hands; he didn’t even want to think about why he wanted to avoid the subject.

“I think it’s a safety mechanism.”
“Safety? You think he’d attack you?” Simmons pushed.
“I didn’t mean that kind of safety, but yeah, I think he’d attack me!”
“Why would you think that?”
“He tried to kill me! Isn’t that reason enough?”
“What if he’s sorry?” Simmons asked.
“He’s not.” Bob replied bluntly. “I visited him in prison, he swore he’d kill me.”
“Do you think that was bravado?”
“No, he meant it. He would have killed me then and there if he could.”
“What did you mean by ‘not that kind of safety mechanism’?”

Bob sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It means I don’t let myself think about it.”
“Don’t you think you should?” Simmons pressed again.
“No,” Bob replied firmly. “It’s too soon!”

Simmons sat back in his chair and interlaced his fingers.

“I can see this is upsetting you, let me ask you something else.”

Bob sighed with relief and sagged slightly in the chair. His style of questioning was much more aggressive than Lisa’s and he wasn’t prepared for it. If it hadn’t been for Lisa’s recommendation, he honestly believed he would have got up and left by now. Rather than put him at ease, Simmons had managed only to make him feel even more agitated than he had on arrival. Bob desperately hoped his next question would be less confrontational.

“Do you miss your friends? Do you feel responsible for their deaths?”

Bob turned a disbelieving gaze towards Simmons. Studying him for a few moments, Bob drew the conclusion that he had asked the question in absolute seriousness.

“How can you ask that!” Bob gasped at the insensitivity of the question. “How can you even think that’s a valid question?”
“Lisa said you felt guilty.”
“Survivor’s Guilt,” Bob corrected. “She called it Survivor’s Guilt and she said it was common. And no, I don’t feel responsible! That psychotic bastard killed my friends and tried to kill me too! I don’t feel responsible, I feel angry!”

A light flashed on Simmons desk and he pressed the adjacent button, switching it off.

“Good, perhaps now you’re ready to say what you really think about him?”
“I don’t see how it would help,” Bob growled, irritated by Simmons’ technique.
“Well, shall we see?” Simmons asked.

Bob sighed with annoyance as the door opened behind him.

“Bryar?”

Bob turned at the sound of the familiar voice; his eyes wide with shock as he saw Gerard standing in the doorway, flanked by two guards. Noticing his right arm in a sling, Bob wondered what could have happened to him to have caused such an injury, but would have preferred to see him chained as he had done in the prison. Being so close to the man who had tried to murder him and being tricked into it made him furious.

“What the hell is this!” Bob turned back to Simmons.
“It’s obvious, Bryar, we’re seeing the same shrink,” Gerard laughed. “Didn’t you know?”
“Did Lisa know?” Bob paled at the thought.
“No, I didn’t tell her,” Simmons confirmed.
“Lisa, eh? Well, well, Bryar got himself laid? Who’d have you?”
“Shut up!”
“Sit down, Gerard,” Simmons encouraged, as the door was closed once more.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, Simmons, but I’m not staying in the same room as him!”
“You’re still afraid of me? That’s sweet.”
“I’m not afraid of you, I just don’t want to be anywhere near you!”
“Of course you’re afraid of me,” Gerard grinned as he walked towards the vacant chair. “And you know what? You should be!”

In the blink of an eye, Gerard had unhitched the sling from around his neck. Swinging the loop of cloth with deadly aim, it was over Bob’s head and pulled tight around his throat before he even had time to register what had happened. Grasping at the folds of cloth and gasping for breath, Bob tilted his head back in an attempt to open up his air passage.

“I told you you should be scared of me, Bryar!” Lowering his head, Gerard whispered into Bob’s ear. “This won’t be quick, but trust me, you will die.”
“B… but… your arm?” Simmons stammered as Gerard stood up straight again and pulled the cloth a little tighter around the drummer’s neck.
“It was dislocated, that’s all. It still hurts, but not so much that I can’t finish this. Oh! You mean the agony I was in this morning? Yeah, I faked it. If figured if I could maybe get this around your neck, I’d get out of here. But this? It’s not even my birthday!”
“Gerard,” Simmons rose to his feet and held out a hand in a calming gesture. “Why don’t you let him go?”
“Why don’t you go to Hell?” Gerard countered. “I told him I’d kill him and you just gave me the perfect opportunity.”
“Gerard, you…” Simmons began.
“Stop struggling!” Gerard interrupted, pulling back on the cloth, tightening it further before turning cold eyes towards Simmons. “You! Get that cable from the phone and tie his hands with one end and his feet with the other. I want him to know how it feels when you can barely move, like I was when he visited me.”
“Gerard…”
“Do you want me to kill him in front of you?” Gerard asked almost casually. “Do you?”
“No, I don’t want you to kill him at all.”
“Just do what I told you to do and get out.”
“Gerard, I can’t let you kill him,” Simmons said with a stern a voice as he could muster.
“Really?” the former singer laughed. “Well, what are you going to do about it? Look, you set him up so you’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you care and well, you’ll excuse me if I don’t care either. Now tie him up and get out!”

“Gerard! Don’t do it!”

Turning his gaze to the other side of the room, Gerard smiled cruelly as he saw the look of horror on Frank’s face.

“I wondered when you’d show up.”

Pulling the telephone cable from the wall, Simmons briefly stared in the direction that Gerard was looking. It seemed surprising to him to find that Gerard’s hallucinations were very real to him and not an invention to prove insanity. Even though he had long since drawn the conclusion that Gerard was truly psychotic, the finer points of his condition still surprised him.

“Who are you seeing, Gerard?” he asked as he approached with the cable in his hands.
“Just tie him up. Are you deliberately stalling?”

Virtually unconscious, Bob offered no resistance as Simmons drew his hands together and wrapped on end of the cable around them.

“Tighter than that!” Gerard ordered.
“Who did you see?” Simmons asked as he pulled the coils tighter around Bob’s wrists.
“Gerard, please!” Frank begged, now at his side.
“You’re a ghost, you can’t stop me. For all your tricks, you can’t physically stop me and if I’m going back to Death Row, it might as well be for the crime I originally intended.”

Simmons rose once more, having secured Bob’s ankles with the cable. Gerard turned a cold expression towards him.

“Get out!”

As Simmons backed away, he spared a guilty glance towards Bob, his eyes closed and his head lolling backwards. The doctor almost sighed with relief as he noticed that Bob’s chest still rose and fell.

“Get out!” Gerard growled again. “This is between me and him now.”