Str8 Laced

By Pheare Alexander

Who do you live your life for?

My name is Dr. Jocelyn Reynolds. I ran a successful practice in child psychiatry until the day I was abducted by a woman suffering from severe psychosis, McClaine Henry.
“Who do you live your life for?”

I lay in a one-room dungeon for eight weeks, trying to find the answer to that question. I felt her eyes lurking in the corner—watching me. Her icy touch seared my skin. The torture, the suffering was nearly intolerable. Until the day I met her, I thought I lived my life for my blossoming family and my passion for helping children. But Once I left my captor, I found that my life may be best spent searching for deeper truths.
I’ve never fully discussed the events that took place in that dungeon with McClaine. For the past nine years, I’ve done everything to keep the nightmare suppressed far inside the deepest recesses of my psyche. For nine years, I’d been successful ... until Karen, my best friend and fellow therapist, was kidnapped too. Her abductor, a seasoned serial killer, reached out to me for help, and he warned that my friend’s life, and countless others, could be spared if I just took a moment to listen to his plight.
To catch a sociopath you must think like one—become one. I’ve met one before. McClaine was rare. And although I’ve spent nine years trying to forget her, working the case of Karen’s abduction has forced me to drudge up past demons and confront the truth. McClaine will always be a part of me ... I realize that now.

Today, I live my life to maintain an ideal daydream.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pheare Alexander
• Release date: Jul 27, 2012

Pheare Alexander

Pheare Alexander is the newest sadistic mind in contemporary psychological and horror fiction. Due to her own mental instability much of her history is unknown. She has said most of her life has been spent reading and thus writing her own tales soon followed. Anyone allowed to speak directly to Pheare has found that she tends to mix her own reality with the fiction she creates. Her writings reveal horrific tales of murder, fantasy, morality and the exploration into the decay of the human mind. Pheare believes one of her own characters, Warden Francine Christian, is holding her hostage in a mental facility she created called the Cather House. Pheare arrived to the facility mute. She has only communicated through her writings in her own blood via a self inflicted wound. The facility is said to be located somewhere just outside of Chicago, Illinois.

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Str8 Laced

A Novel

PHEARE ALEXANDER

STr8 Laced

PHEARE ALEXANDER

Published by Pheare Alexander at Smashwords

STR8 LACED Copyright 2010 by Pheare Alexander

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This work is dedicated to

Writing

You haunt my every moment. You saved me from myself. The passion between us is indescribable. I find peace whenever we’re together. No one understands me until I bring you along to speak for me. A great novelist once said you were a free space … I love you for that. You hold no boundaries, no expectations, and no criticism. And I hope to continue to grow with you until you are done with me.

I will praise thee: for I am FEARfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. Psalm 139:14

Str8 Laced

a novel

Chapter 1

Who do you live your life for, Dr. Reynolds?

The young woman who delivered this question occupied the couch in the dark office of Dr. Jocelyn Reynolds – the couch reserved for her patients. Jocelyn’s guest waited, patiently anticipating the view of the sun’s climb above the horizon, as Jocelyn stood, slightly stunned, in the entryway of her office, her key still in the lock.

Doctor, you seem to have positioned yourself perfectly to witness the magnificent canvas of Chicago’s sunrise.

Jocelyn directed her gaze toward the ornate floor-to-ceiling windows on the east end of her office. Her desk was directly behind the patient couch on which her guest was neatly perched. The spectacular view from the ninth floor, overlooking Downtown Chicago, was what had sold her on renting this particular office space. Yes, it’s why I arrive to work so early, she answered calmly. I hate to miss it.

Jocelyn’s guest tilted her head slightly to the left. I know, Doc. I know. You never miss it, except for last Thursday. Imagine my surprise when you didn’t arrive as I’d expected. I’d anticipated having this conversation last week. Not to worry, I assumed morning sickness must’ve gotten the best of you that day. The stranger nodded toward Jocelyn’s bulging belly, showcasing her eight-month pregnancy.

Jocelyn did not want to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing how disturbed she was that her comings and goings were being monitored so closely. She found herself searching for an appropriate response. I’m not sure we’ve met.

The woman let out an intense sigh, disappointed with Jocelyn’s response. She turned toward the window. Did you know that the sunrise is an optical illusion?

Yes, something about the atmosphere.

Not a fan of details are you, Dr. Reynolds? The woman shook her head disapprovingly at Jocelyn’s answer. Due to changes in the atmosphere, the sun can appear to have risen when it is still actually hiding from us below the horizon. I, too, find great pleasure in watching the sun make a magnificent spectacle of itself. However, after observing you for quite some time, I find it odd, that in your profession, you would rather graze the surface of things as opposed to digging deeper. Oddly enough, you are very accepting of appearances. As a fellow scientist, I find it impossible not to delve deeper for answers to the simplest phenomena. However, you, you’ve lost your tenacity. Does pregnancy suck all the ambition out of you? It’s the main reason I’ve steered clear of having any little crumb snatchers of my own.

Jocelyn’s patience for the intruder was growing increasingly thin. The audacity of this woman, to break into her office flinging insults! Her guest smiled, exposing the pleasure rumbling inside her from getting the best of Jocelyn. Aren’t you at all concerned with how your patients are affected by your carelessness on the job? Could that be why little Rashawn was found with his wrists gaping open in his mother’s bathroom this past Tuesday night?

Jocelyn took a few steps into her office, surveying the shadowy room as she entered. Her normally locked and organized cabinets filled with numerous business documents and patients’ files had been jimmied open, exposing all her paperwork, which was obviously rifled through prior to her arrival. Jocelyn attempted futilely to hide her uneasiness.

Your patient files seem to be the only thing you’ve tended to. The intruder focused intently on the Chicago skyline with a lucid gaze.

The office was dismal, and Jocelyn longed for an ounce of light that could illuminate this woman’s face. It was 6:30 a.m. during Chicago’s winter; the sun didn’t rise until just before 7:00 a.m. Jocelyn liked to arrive at her office early, before her administrative assistant Elsa, to prepare her agenda for the day. Jocelyn liked to have a general outline prepared for Elsa once she arrived at the office. Elsa, who had been Jocelyn’s assistant for more than three years, was used to her boss’s idiosyncrasy. In addition to her early arrivals, Jocelyn never allowed Elsa to schedule patients before 10:00 a.m., allowing the doctor time to complete unfinished paperwork from the previous day. Elsa would never be so careless as to defy Jocelyn’s strictly imposed rule, so the mere presence of this woman in Jocelyn’s office, uninvited, made her feel unsettled. Jocelyn suddenly felt very alone with this woman, and she knew her vulnerability was beginning to show against her will.

Jocelyn learned quickly in her fledgling practice that once a psychiatrist’s patient sensed any weakness, the patient would do all he or she could to expose it. Most therapists believed the patient did this to distract the therapist from the patient’s problems. The therapist must remain in control of the session, no matter what the patient throws at her, without reacting to any of the patient’s antics.

Jocelyn had chosen to focus her practice on children. They were able to break through barriers more easily than adults were, although some of her patients had proven to be quite a challenge. Jocelyn would place these children in her observation room with a parent. The room contained many objects for the children to react to, which allowed Jocelyn to take behavioral notes from the other side of a two-way mirror. This time in the observation room allowed the children to regroup from their outbursts, offering a prime opportunity for Jocelyn to observe the children’s behavior with the parents. In order to feel safe and secure, the children needed to believe the adult was in control. Jocelyn found that adults needed the same security with their doctors, to know that the person to whom they’ve entrusted their care to was in control. Although this mysterious woman, clearly in need of help, was an unscheduled non-patient, any fumble on Jocelyn’s part would cause the woman not to trust her. Jocelyn kept all of her initial assessments of the woman in mind as she hit the light switch on the wall adjacent to her office doorway. The room remained just as dreary as before with the only light shining in from the breaking dawn.

I’ve always liked how the absence of light captures a certain ambiance; forgive me for setting the mood to my standards. McClaine lifted her hand gesturing toward the seat directly across from her. Jocelyn crossed the room and took her seat across from the patient. She placed her bags on the floor next to her chair, maintaining the appearance of a scheduled appointment.

So, Doctor, what would be the answer to my question? The woman’s words were slow and incisive.

I’m sure you didn’t come to my office to pry into my boring life, Jocelyn responded, still pretending not to be unnerved by this woman’s eerie presence. Her guest’s clothing was dirty and tattered. The tank top, once white, was now a dingy gray, matching her worn gray velour sweat pants. The woman reeked of must, solidifying Jocelyn’s theory that she was homeless. However, both the sweats and the shirt boasted the designer label Bebe, leading the doctor to also conclude that the woman had only recently become poor or homeless. The patient’s jet-black hair fell sloppily out of a ponytail, framing a brown face that glistened with sweat. A bookshelf blocking the slowly rising sun created a shadow across the woman’s face, but Jocelyn had a feeling that the woman was very attractive, despite her current circumstances.

The new patient must have caught on to Jocelyn’s attempt to assess her face; she turned her head abruptly. Jocelyn jumped back in her seat and grabbed her stomach. The visitor’s eyes traveled to the spot Jocelyn had grabbed.

Is it safe to assume that your heart continues to pulsate for your unborn child, Doctor? Would that be your answer?

I would say that there are a number of things that I live my life for Jocelyn replied, regaining her composure. But I’m not the important one here right now, as I’ve said before. The question I think we should begin this session with is: what brings you here? Jocelyn tried again to get a clearer view of the blank face before her as she unfastened her pink blazer, revealing a pink maternity sweater and matching skirt.

Session? The woman seemed taken aback by the term. Did I accept your treeatt meent, Doc-tor?

Jocelyn hated the way the woman over-enunciated and clung to her words. I would like to be upfront and apologize for any misunderstanding, but to get straight to the point, I’m a child psychiatrist. If I could get a clear understanding of your needs, I would be happy to recommend you to one of my colleagues. I’ve found that therapy is not like going to see your general practitioner for the flu or a chronic nosebleed. When one seeks a therapist, it’s because she or someone around her recognizes the need for a professional ear. Maybe the reason you’re here will take some time to unfold. A better question to start with might be: what is your name?

McClaine Ethel Henry.

Nice to meet you, McClaine.

Likewise, Doctor.

I wasn’t expecting ‘Ethel’ after ‘McClaine.’

McClaine seemed offended by the doctor’s reference to her middle name. She leaned forward toward her knees, anticipating the moment that Jocelyn would further piss her off. Why would you say that? This was the first moment since Jocelyn had walked into her office that she’d gotten a good look at McClaine’s face. Jocelyn felt a sense of validation, confirming that McClaine was indeed attractive.

Jocelyn remained stationary. Well, the name Ethel is from a time period long before the both of us; wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps, you were bestowed that name in honor of an elder in your family?

Great observation, Doc, and good save, by the way. That one almost cost you, McClaine sneered, making it clear that Jocelyn should avoid any further careless comments.

Cost me what? Jocelyn asked sternly, treading lightly with her tone and impending attitude.

More than you know, Doctor, McClaine responded, marking the end of that line of questioning. Jocelyn knew not to pursue the conversation any further. Ticktock, Doctor. Ticktock, McClaine sang, noting that the rise of the sun would denote the end of their session.

Are you in some sort of hurry? Jocelyn was becoming increasingly aggravated; however, she tried to remain calm. McClaine remained still and silent. The two women had clearly entered into some sort of unspoken sparring match. Is there anything in your life that we could tackle today? Jocelyn continued in her most uncompromising tone.

Well, I have to admit, I have been sad lately.

Why?

I just left my husband of six years.

Wow. That’s understandable. Was he abusive?

"Why does everyone just assume it was abuse? Or that he was the one being abusive?" McClaine tilted her head slightly to punctuate the question.

I apologize. Jocelyn continued, Why did you leave him then?

He found out about my affairs. I’ve been taking trips with my lovers. I lied to him. I said they were business trips. He found my souvenirs … let’s just say he wasn’t happy. But I think that will be enough about me, Doc.

Jocelyn pushed, Well, would you like to talk about something else?

I’ve told you several times, I’m not the reason I’m here today, McClaine snapped.

Surely, I couldn’t be the reason.

Actually, Doc, you are precisely the reason for my visit today. McClaine tilted her head to her left again. I have another question I’ve been dying to have you answer since I laid eyes on you.

Jocelyn shifted in her seat with an uneasy hesitation. What question would that be, McClaine?

Is pregnant pussy wetter? I’m a hands-on type of person, so I was wondering if you would be so kind as to let me taste test yours. You know, strictly to squash the myth, if you will.

Jocelyn popped up from her seat. Excuse me! You are extremely out of line! And I would like you to lea— Suddenly, Jocelyn felt the presence of someone behind her. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

McClaine diverted her attention to the new guest. I was wondering when you would step in. A towel suddenly covered Jocelyn’s mouth. Her vision blurred, but she could still vaguely see McClaine’s distorted silhouette. A few seconds passed, and all went black.

Chapter 2

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The rapture of the police officer’s fist against the Reynolds’ front door startled Sean as he scrolled through the address book on his BlackBerry. Sean quickened his pace to answer the door, acknowledging that the person knocking was growing increasingly impatient and more persistent.

Can I help you? Sean’s tone was sharp as he eased the door open a crack.

We are looking for Sean Reynolds. One of the police officers spoke to Sean without making eye contact. It was obvious that he was trying to peek inside the house. Sean’s six-foot frame blocked most of the view into the home.

I’m Dr. Sean Reynolds. What seems to be the problem, Officer?

Doctor?

I’m a surgeon. Officer, can you tell me what this is about?

Excuse me, Dr. Reynolds. Have you heard from or seen your wife today?

Yes, when she left for work this morning. Has something happened to Jocelyn? She’s eight months pregnant … please don’t tell me something has happened to my wife. Sean opened the door further and stepped onto the porch with the officers.

The officer who had knocked on the door continued to speak. Dr. Reynolds, your wife’s secretary arrived at her office at about seven forty-five a.m., her normal time. She found your wife’s purse and briefcase in her office. There seems to have been some sort of struggle; however, there is no sign of your wife having ever left the building. Have you heard from her since she left for work this morning?

Sean was becoming lightheaded. No. He grabbed the door frame for support.

Dr. Reynolds, it looks like you may need to take a seat, the officer said, noticing that Sean’s knees were threatening to buckle under his weight.

Sean tried to sort his thoughts as he stepped backward inside the house, slowly making his way to the nearest couch in the living room. He shuffled through his phone to the call log and dialed his wife’s cell phone number. The police officers figured Sean’s movement from the doorway was their cue to invite themselves in. They took the opportunity to scan the home. Sean was not paying them any attention as he listened to his wife’s cell phone ring, praying for the sound of her voice on the other end. Someone answered, but there was no greeting from his wife. There was no noise in the background or anything that sounded like his Jocelyn—just breathing.

Joce? Jocelyn? Sean’s voice was nervous yet stern. The person on the other end hung up the phone before he could continue to probe. Sean called Jocelyn’s phone back five more times; each subsequent call went straight to voicemail. Frustrated, Sean threw his phone across the kitchen, knowing that whatever was happening to his wife was out of his hands.

***

The next morning, Sean stood just outside his home, staring at his shoes. He was surrounded by the Flossmoor police department, Jocelyn’s mother, the couple’s closest friends Karen and her husband Byron, other family, friends, and news reporters. Helplessness draped him like a thin blanket. His first thought was to turn around and run back into the house as he felt the bitter taste of regurgitation rising in the back of his throat. However, the thought of this moment, the possibility of reaching the captor of his wife and unborn children, kept Sean’s feet planted firmly on his front lawn. The breath passed over his vocal cords and slowly hit the surface of his tongue. The movement of air was so gradual that once he opened his mouth, no sound passed through his lips. Sean cleared his throat after the first failed attempt to speak.

My name is Sean Reynolds. My wife, Jocelyn Reynolds, went missing yesterday … He clenched his lips tightly, attempting to repress the impulse to cry. Jocelyn’s mother grabbed his shoulder and gripped it firmly. Sean gathered himself, swallowing thick, salty mucus with his next deep inhale. Jocelyn was abducted from her office at six-seven-six North Saint Claire, Downtown Chicago. She is eight months pregnant. We’re just beginning our new family together, and they are all I have in this world. Please, whoever you are, show some mercy and let them go. I beg you … Sean could no longer restrain his tears. I’m setting a one hundred thousand dollar reward for Jocelyn’s safe return. Please be smart … return her and our unborn children unharmed and claim the reward. They are my only family, and I need them. Joce, if you are hearing this, wherever you are, baby, I love you so much. The tears