What's a Bullet in Oblivion?

By BILL JONES

WHAT'S A BULLET IN OBLIVION?

BILL JONES

 A fast moving adult biography based on the life of a professional military sniper and Thai White drug addict. A young man who because of a debilitating drug habit that he adopted while serving in the Special Task Forces, brought tumultuous disadvantages into his life. With his gradual slide into the oblivion of the Twilight World he succumbed to his lust for power and financial gain, by turning his renowned reputation as a fearless professional killer, with a skill and phenomenal accuracy at long range shooting.  This proficiency coupled with the beast that was controlling him led to his crippling demise and inability to function within the confines of social interaction. The love-hate relationship between his drug habit and his conscience left him isolated, and alone faltering, many times along the way, eventually suffocating in self-pity as he finally succumbed to the devil that had stalked him for so long.  What started out as a mission to prove to himself and his dysfunctional mind that he could be successful at anything he wanted, culminated, in an unhealthy lust for money and power that he conceived through the telescopic sights of his rifle. He had the power of God as he pulled the trigger as his life had become a two way street, on the one side the most shocking and bizarre people in the world of drugs, and on the other the insurmountable pressure of making big money to accommodate a big habit.  He fought modern day civil wars, facing death on a daily basis. He was at the top of his game when, one day it all went wrong...  

Copyright : BILL JONES 2021

• Language: English
• Publisher: BILL JONES
• Release date: Aug 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201912031

Book preview

‘Now, again and tomorrow

To Everywhere and back...

and a Piece of Heaven.’

...About the author...

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FOR THE LAST TEN YEARS, it has been my pleasure to have worked closely with Bill Jones, as his proof reader and creative designer. I have witnessed his development from ‘embryo to adult’ in each book, with a twinkle in his eye no matter what subject or space he is in. This amazing ability has matured into many diverse situations, which only a person with his dedication and talent would be able to share with his readers.

Bill is a well known published American and South African author, producer and writer of eight screenplays,  having completed seven books, of varied subjects including Feng Shui, biographies and novels.

This latest book, ‘What’s a Bullet in Oblivion?’ has been his ultimate literary challenge. It is written in layers like a diary, with two stories threading their way through to an amazing climax, which is based on a true story

Jenny Barry-Taylor

...Authors personal overviews...

It is not often in one’s life that you come into direct contact with a person that has undergone constant and painful disadvantages for most of his life and is sober, sane and filled with compassion, and still living to tell the tale.

I had the privilege of meeting this man early in 2015; he impressed me immediately with his personal composure and awe-inspiring grace, so much so that I aspired to write about his extraordinary life.

He was a child born into and raised in a dysfunctional family of seven fathers, fueled by anguish and incapacitating mental abuse.

Roché Roberts is the man, who was pushed and stumbled along the path of life, while endeavoring to prove to his mother that he was worthy, he sadly succumbed to designer drugs.

It is a journey of futility and hope in his quest to prove that he could add value to other desperate people’s lives, making it all worth fighting for.

With undaunted belief, he conquered the horrific obstacles that surrounded him, giving him strength and tenacity to ‘beat all the odds.’

Eventually life granted him the experience to motivate and help people, who had ‘reached the edge.’

...Dry throat Ranch... Noventa desert Basin 1963...

...Jimmy Squires...

S

heldon Davis leaned forward menacingly, blowing a cloud of smoke into the bleeding face of Jimmy Squires, who was tied to an old broken kitchen chair.

‘It’s a fact that Australian’s talk really funny...did ya know that?’ Sheldon asked through nicotine stained teeth.

Jimmy mumbled through the blood soaked cloth that covered his face and mouth, he was bouncing around on the rickety chair in a state of anguish, coughing and gagging.

Sheldon observed him wobbling from side to side in morbid fascination, as the back leg of the chair suddenly snapped under his weight, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor.

‘Aaaah! Fucking hell; I’ve broken my goddam back!’ He screamed in agony from behind the bloodied cloth.

Sheldon listened to the stifled grimace that was directed at him from behind the gag, as he lifted his arm high into the air striking him again and again with a torn and tattered rolled up telephone directory.

‘They call women Sheila’s even if they know their names and if you’re an arsehole you’re a bleedin Tosser Mate...isn’t that a crazy expression?’ Sheldon was totally fucked and very unsteady on his feet as he inhaled the last of the long line of Thai White on the mirror. He passed out from the jolt of the hit and fell forward asleep.

With the sound of tearing material and a few metal buttons bouncing across the room a pair of gloved hands ripped open Jimmy’s shirt revealing a well kept chest and a six pack of stomach muscles, gloved fingers meticulously felt for a spot just under his left breast.

‘What the fuck are ya doing mate? Jimmy mumbled kicking at the air around him trying to find Sheldon.

‘Where are ya? I’ll beat the shit out of you if I can find you,’ he cursed.

Jimmy’s blind-folded eyes widened in disbelief under the cloth, as he felt a cold steel object being placed between his ribs.

‘Jesus Christ just what the fuck are you doing?’ He yelled, realizing something terrible was about to happen.

There’s was a sudden brutal jab as the thin piece of metal was, plunged deep into his heart. Jimmy’s left leg kicked wildly for a second or two, and then stopped.

‘The Aussie one I love most is, have a good DIE mate!’ A woman’s voice whispered.

The hand withdrew the bicycle spoke and wiped it clean on the cloth that she’d removed from Jimmy’s mouth, she then painstakingly cleaned the tiny puncture mark removing all signs of blood.

‘There ya go mate, you’re good and clean now because ya don’t want to get an infection in there, do ya now?’  She said leaning back admiring her work.

‘That’ll heal soon, they’ll never find the entry mark, and they’ll think you had a heart attack out here in the middle of Shitsville.’ She muttered at Jimmy’s lifeless eyes, like a doctor whispering to a corpse.

‘There’s a chance they’ll feed your ass to the buzzards, they ain’t fussy mate, and they’ll eat any fucking thing!’

She checked Sheldon who was still unconscious and left disappearing into the desert haze.

Sheldon came around about two hours later feeling like shit.

Jimmy was asleep with his face still covered by the cloth, he fumbled for one of Jimmy’s Camel’s that he’d found in his jacket pocket and sat amidst the swirling smoke that diffused his view of the heated afternoon desert landscape. It wouldn’t be long before she arrived, he thought to himself as he watched a small herd of feral horses racing across the nervous tumbleweed fidgeting their way over the arid savanna’s of Noventa.

...desert ferals...and sand...

Ablinding flash of lighting lit the overcast desert sky as a young naked Sheldon Davis and Maddy Lou holding hands; while straddling two racing Arabian Feral’s amongst a stampede of proud steeds that charged headlong through the dust storm.

‘I’ll bet you can’t!’

Maddy Lou shouted to be heard over the electrifying inertia of the racing beasts.

‘What? I can’t hear you?’

He replied trying to lip read.

‘I’ll bet that you can’t!’

She shouted again incoherently.

‘I can’t hear shit, shout louder!’

Sheldon yelled.

‘I bet you can’t!’

She shouted again.

‘I still can’t hear shit!

She removed her hand from his grasp and seductively turned onto her back, placing her hands behind her head holding on fast to the Stallion’s mane. With her legs spread astride she blew him a kiss.

Sheldon awoke from his trip with a smile on his face, but feeling like shit. Confused, he glanced around the room when he saw Jimmy Squires lying on the floor.

‘Hey wake up muthafukka!’ He shouted nudging Jimmy with his boot.

‘Get your fucking shit up Dude!’ he said even louder.

After shaking and slapping him around for five minutes, Sheldon tried to find Jimmy’s pulse but there wasn’t one.

He was battling to cope and found himself staggering around the room shouting at Jimmy, and after an hour of panic finally realized that Jimmy Squires was dead.

‘What a great time to have a fucking heart attack!’ He cursed kicking Jimmy’s corpse one more time.

In between the odd warm beer, Sheldon had transported Jimmy’s corpse down the length of the short landing strip to the hyper-active windsock that flapped out of control; chattering in the wind defiantly objecting to every wind current that changed its direction.

There were no scheduled flights to Jimmy’s farm, only the sporadic visits from air folk that had miscalculated the size of the unfriendly terrain and the incredibly long and deceptive distances to cover, all of which needed fuel and sustenance.

In short, there was shit available at ‘Dry Throat’ and every seasoned traveler knew that. The nearest town by road was Rowan Creek which was 400 kilometers to the East by road, and by road was using the term loosely; it was rather a one lane rock ridge strip that few were brave enough to navigate.

In a nutshell, there was almost no road traffic to Jimmy’s farm apart from the occasional courtesy call from the flying doctor Claire Hopkins, who would pop in to refuel and have a cup of Twinning’s Tea, a beverage that Jimmy made sure was always on call.

It took a while to boot up his 1943 two-door Starlight Studebaker, and after depositing Jimmy Squires body in the small Shell fuel depot down the end of the runway, he returned to the farmhouse to clean up and restore some order and cleanliness to ‘Dry Throat;’ before proceeding with a thorough search of the house and surrounding outbuildings. He was searching for his share in a million dollar deal that Jimmy had overlooked and quite absent mindedly, of course, had also forgotten to pay him his cut.

‘It’s got to be here somewhere the sonofabitch! He screamed.

Night had fallen as Sheldon collapsed in an exhausted heap on the threadbare couch, after a two hour search of the four small pokey rooms of the ranch house.

In the darkened lounge with shadows from a hundred flickering pirouettes dancing across his face and surrounding walls, he placed the oil lamp on the recliner so he could see a batch of photographs that he’d retrieved from a box under Jimmy’s bed.

Dry Throat at night was eerie even though Sheldon never feared dying; he just didn’t want to be there when it happened.

The howl of a sudden wind raced down the passage causing the panic stricken oil lamp to distort his sight, he was battling to focus in the failing light when he saw a picture of Jimmy with a brown Staffordshire terrier puppy that was playfully ripping off his shoe laces.

The hot desert wind had become more intense as a door somewhere in the house kept banging intermittently, the sign of a dust storm brewing he thought. One of the photographs was Jimmy playing with a little puppy; he read a hand scrawled note on the back.

‘Luca six months old,’ he read aloud.

He was however becoming even more agitated as the hours passed; even though he had a lot of time to kill he wanted to get out of there as soon as he could.

It was around 2.00 am when he swallowed his last mouthful of Bourbon that he’d rescued from a cupboard in the kitchen, and that’s about all he could recall because he succumbed to a void of deep sleep....forgetting to close the front door.

...Jessyton Hospital...Noventa Desert 1973...

...Monique Harding...

At the far end of the half lit corridor the night staff of Jessyton Hospital, caught up in an underlying sense of urgency, moved uneasily in small groups inaudibly whispering to each other. The occasional stooped patient, hanging from surgical drips on wheels, denied the pleasure of sleep, sporadically crossed the passageway, in a hurry, not to be late for an imaginary meeting.

A lone heavy breathing handyman at the top of a tall ladder tugged and cursed at a fused neon light that was resisting being replaced. There was little movement in the corridor at that late hour.

The distant murmur of thunder tip toed across the silence as Dr Julio Mendes the night duty doctor, emerged through the double doors from the casualty section with an attractive auburn haired Monique Harding, who even at that hour was stylishly dressed and wide awake, fussing over her bandaged eleven year old brother, Ralph.

‘Hey Mister!’

A good looking Dr Julio Mendes said addressing the young boy.

‘I do believe you’ve figured it out for yourself, concrete and steel banisters are a shitload tougher than you and your skateboard will ever be?’ The Doctor said, placing his arms around both of them.

‘He’s in awe of his older cousin Doctor, who is driven by the devil and demons and stuff, and who is getting himself in real deep with these clandestine midnight meetings and devil worship crap, that’s happening on the streets nowadays.’

‘Whatever happened to reading a book? These kids wouldn’t get into such trouble Doc.’

Monique said covering her cleavage which had not gone unnoticed.

‘Give the boy a break, he’s only eleven Miss Harding, now I don’t want to hear any of this devil talk, as far as I’m concerned he’s an A typical FFOS a frantic, frenetic, over-active skateboarder. Just make sure you get those pills down his throat, it’ll reduce the swelling and he’ll be fine in a couple of days.’

There was a loud crash of lightening followed by an ominous rumbling of thunder, as the heavens opened; leaving the doctor hanging onto the front door in the howling wind seeing them on their way.

‘You’d better move your butt; it’s a hailstorm, get your sister home safely.’ He said hi-fiving Ralph in the process.

He stood cursing himself for becoming a doctor as he watched the shapely ass and legs that rolled delicately under the minute mini skirted Monique Harding.

After another violent crash of thunder the sky dumped a deluge of hail carried by thick pockets of dense fog making visibility across the car park and hospital entrance virtually impossible. It descended on Monique and Ralph as they crossed the emergency lane heading to their car.

Without warning, from out of the insane blizzard in a blaze of light Monique saw an emergency vehicle with bright red and blue flashing lights; suddenly appear out of the fog coming straight at them.

‘Ralph...lookout!  They haven’t seen us. Oh my God. Get down!’ Monique screamed trying to pull Ralph out of the path of the huge illuminated monster.

With wipers flapping trying to disperse the deluge from the heaven’s off the windscreen, the vehicle was upon them before they could do much about it.

A horrified Monique, frantically pulling Ralph out of its path by his shirtfront, suddenly slipped on her high heel shoes twisting her ankle and falling to her knees in front of the rushing vehicle.

The driver through the torrential rain seeing her for the first time only meters away, slammed on brakes causing the giant rig to lock its wheels and slide towards them, he closed his eyes in horror knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stop in time.

‘Oh God No!’ He shouted bracing himself for impact.

With little visibility Ralph in a split second rolled out of the path of the truck, its wheels missing him by centimeters, as it passed over Monique, who was lying face down between the two front wheels.

All hell broke loose as paramedics and the night duty skeleton crew of doctors and hospital staff; hit the ground running to rescue the woman and her young brother that were almost run over by the emergency vehicle.

Within minutes officials managed to reverse the giant vehicle from over Monique, assisted by soaking wet casualty staff holding large tattered beach umbrella’s, protecting the bruised and bleeding Monique.

Doctor Mendes, with Ralph helping, managed to turn her onto her back trying to prevent the rain and hail from harming her face. She opened her eyes slowly, one at a time, whilst raising a less than impressive smile for her rescuers.

‘Am I in heaven?’ she enquired shielding her eyes.

‘No you’re not, but you gave it your best shot to get there!’

The Doctor replied wiping pieces of mud and grime from her face.

‘It’s Easter Weekend in any case, so if you were in heaven you’d have to queue, they’re busy, busy busy, up there Ma’am!’ He said covering her with a waterproof hospital throw.

...galactic factory...

Trillions of frantic Sperm Balls in a state of constant motion were moving back and forth from one testicle to another, serving an immense supply chain of human sperm to the entire galactic system. It was business as usual in their overcrowded containers, some were transparent and still not even visible or in a solid form, while others in business class floated in weightlessness waiting to be summonsed, by the laws of Karma.

‘I’m Roche Roberts, a sperm ball in my father’s testicles, content and at peace, happily chilling, swimming around with brothers and sisters in an uncomfortably overcrowded environment with a lot of pushing and shoving going on. One particular morning when we least expected it, there was thunderous jolt and ejaculation and along with my other 250 million siblings we were on the way to fertilize our mother.

I was praying that I would not be the chosen one.

...Joanna Lowry...earlier...

‘I n 1965 Joanna Lowry was a young intelligent and exceptionally attractive blonde student who was living out her lifelong dream of becoming a professional teacher, at Jessyton University.

Bob and Greta Lowry, Joanna’s parents were more than wealthy farmers and business entrepreneurs and spoilt their only daughter by dazzling her with garish opulence and expensive gifts since she was a child, basically catering to her every whim.

Whatever she could envisage her parents made sure that she got it, to the point of being chauffeur driven to university every day. There was no ‘wish list’ in her early years, simply a ‘realty list’ because all her dreams were immediately realized.

She met my father Juan Roberts and fell madly in love and were starry eyed and inseparable, the toast of the campus and it wasn’t long after, as was the trend in those days, they adhered to the old romantic routine of becoming engaged in their last year of studies and marrying during the following year.’

...Joanna Lowry...graduation party...

Joanna Lowry with a twinkle in her eyes was holding two bright red balloons in front of her chest while mimicking a pair of large breasts. All in good clean fun she was surrounded by a crowd of raucous students popping cold champagne, at the same time fondling her while pouring bubbly over her red rubber balloons One of the drunken male students quietly moved himself behind her and proceeded to slip his hands under her top grabbing both her breasts.

Juan Roberts a fellow student and soon to be husband was not amused as he sat glaring at Joanna.

...Jessyton Central...doctor’s Rooms...

...Doctor Alan White...that Morning...

The bronze sign on the door read DOCTOR ALAN WHITE –Psychiatrist, as it swung open pausing long enough to establish a sepia reflection of the waiting room packed with hopeful psychiatric patients.

Becky Bernstein the doctors trusted nurse and confidante stood in the doorway blocking the view from of his patients as he completed snorting the last line of finely cut Thai White.

‘Mrs. Wellington, Mr Turnbull and a new patient are here and waiting Doctor White.’

Becky said politely as she watched him slump momentarily back into his chair from the power of the hit.

Becky Bernstein watched in sadness for what was a rare sight of this incredibly bright and talented doctor, had become a daily occurrence, and it pained her as she had got to know him as a clever and intelligent scholar with a great future ahead of him.

Holding back a tear she asked.

‘What should I tell them Doctor?’ she enquired politely.

‘Tell them to go fuck themselves!’ He blurted incoherently.

‘With my normal enthusiasm I guess.’ She said closing the door behind her.

Becky showed Julia Wellington an attractive well kept and sophisticated middle aged lady into the comfortable consulting room, beckoning her towards the exquisite over upholstered leather couch under a giant oil painting of The Lizard Lounge the most desolate place in Noventa.

‘He’ll be with you in a minute.’ Becky said sweetly as she left.

Alan White took a while to compose himself, his vision had blurred; he was perspiring badly and could hardly feel his legs from the impact of the Thai White. He checked his appearance in the mirror; and approved of what he saw, then shakily entered the interviewing room.

Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it momentarily to steady his quivering body, he glanced up to see Julia Wellington sitting naked on the couch in the lotus position with her hands cupping her breasts, she was smiling seductively while massaging and tweaking her nipples.

‘What the fuck are you doing Mrs. Wellington?’ he stuttered incoherently not believing what he was seeing.

She whispered sensually. ‘Take a good look Al aren’t they beautiful...I’m the best you’ve got and you know it, let me sit on top of you Al, come on! She said licking her lips.’

‘Put your clothes back on, for God’s sake Julia.’ He shouted in a high pitched whisper. He turned on his heels and left the room, cascading rivulets of sweat running down his face and neck.

He paused outside his consulting room for a couple of seconds with head in his hands, not believing what he’d just experienced, he kept on blinking both eyes trying to get them to focus. A couple of seconds later he cautiously went back into the room. Julia was sitting fully dressed on the couch with her hands resting neatly on her knees in a demure and ladylike manner, smiling broadly as he made his way   unsteadily to his chair that was opposite her.

‘Are you okay Doctor?’ she enquired smilingly with her head slightly tilted.

‘Err yes, I’m fine, more importantly, how are you Julia?’

There was a short interlude of general chatter before he enquired.

‘Have you managed to address your emotional impasse with your sister Stephanie?’ he asked quietly tapping the hour glass timer that stood between them.

‘I have indeed Doctor,’ she said pausing for a moment. ‘Well at least I now have a more lucid and focused way of seeing things, what I mean is, it is not my fault that her husband put a bullet through his brain while he was on the toilet, that was pure coincidence I feel and it is not my fault...is it Doc?

Alan nodded in approval.

It is not my fault that when the first bullet entered his brain his body tensed up and with the normal bodily reflex, which I personally have researched he physically shat himself, and with the relief, discharged a second bullet that went deep into his cerebral ...err...what’s  that grey stuff again...the stuff in your brain? You always see it on television trickling down the wall...what’s it called again?’

‘It doesn’t’ matter.’ Alan interrupted waving her on.

‘That’s it Doc, that’s it, the cerebral matter in his head,’ she paused spluttering slightly with her attention being drawn to her cuticles that she’d begun tearing and chewing ferociously.

Alan White by now could feel his complexion changing to a ‘graveside grey’ and he wondered how he was going to get through the consultation, he was feeling nauseous and was sweating uncontrollably but was gallantly maintaining his decorum.

‘It’s not my fault that they could only remove one of the bullets, the other had to remain lodged in his head and to this day, when he sits quietly on his ass in a darkened room staring at his feet, is that my fault?’

‘No ways, as a matter of fact it’s not my fucking problem either Doc, and guess what, every time the bullet moved in his head his mood would swing and suddenly he’d start masturbating all day, after which he’d take a bath, wipe his ass, put on a double breasted suit, after shave and he’d hit the town as Mr Cool, where he’d try to buy an Al’s Cafe or a bakery, he once bought a brothel and gave twenty hookers board positions, he called it, it was actually bending over positions on boardroom tables which they were well familiar with. How can that be my fault? Is it my fault that he didn’t have a dime to his name? He was so fucking poor he couldn’t even pay attention!’

Anyway that’s what you’ve taught me Doc and its working. What do you think?’ She asked with her best enquiring look.

There was a loud rumbling from Alan stomach as he vomited twice in quick succession, down the front of his shirt and passed out in the chair from an overdose of Thai White.

Julia Wellington stared in amazement at lumps of undigested food abseiling down his shirtfront.

‘I know it makes you sick doesn’t it Doc?’ Julia mumbled as the buzzer announced the end of her session.

...Jessyton Medical Suites...

...Alan White...the Next day...

Becky Bernstein was Alan White’s confidante and office manager going on for ten years; she had travelled the road at his side through two tumultuous and expensive divorces caused by his escalating and almost uncontrollable per chant for heroin.

Becky, a placid and philosophical ‘adopted’ mother to Alan took everything in her stride as she observed the sad but inevitable collapse of an enormously clever man, who honestly believed he didn’t have a problem.

It was an extremely established and respected practice snuggled away in a leafy T-junction off Prince Drive, Becky was front of office executive as well as girl Friday with part of her weekly routine being  consistently ‘juggling the balls’ to protect him, his integrity and self-esteem, on numerous occasions Becky would have to lie to waiting patients saying that;

‘I’m so sorry ladies and gentlemen, Doctor White has just stepped out to attend to an unexpected emergency, and I will contact you to reschedule your appointment on his return.’

Doctor Alan White’s chronic addiction and drug abuse was the best kept secret in Jessyton, but Becky feared the worst!

...The Cup and Cradle Coffee house...

...Alan White...Early the Next morning...

Dr Alan White skimmed the pages of the Noventa Desert Gazette over an espresso and croissant as the Cup and Cradle Coffee Shop started filling with breakfast revelers, in search of that espresso lift to face the impending day.

He took a dozen or so ‘Good Morning Dr White’s’ in his stride then out of total disinterest settled his mind on an article written by Walter Baillie the editor of the Gazette, who he personally rated as a dickhead of note.

The article was entitled The Impending Civil War of the Noventa Desert Region, which in a nutshell dealt with Baillie’s predictions about the short and long term threats of civil war in the region.

Baillie maintained that the ruling government headed up by the current and unpopular President Percival Hyssop and his regime, were falling foul to a rag-tag but cunning invasion by passive armies of war mongers who are surreptitiously infiltrating the Noventa Desert Region.

Alan White had been doing a lot of drugs in the last couple of weeks; he was desperately in need of a long undisturbed sleep and over his first espresso as he was reading Baillie’s address the ambience of the crowded coffee shop gradually disappeared until he was amidst a blaze of cameras, microphones and loud paparazzi with Walter Baillie speaking directly to him.

‘Their modus operandi is such; by shipping in hordes of young unemployed and to a large degree uneducated males from Europe, under the pretense of transferring skills to our people, coast to coast across the massive desert region.’

With the drone of Baillie’s voice in the background Alan was observing one of the dozens of reporters who had an extremely large nose that sported a big yellow blackhead that was ready for harvesting, and with every camera flash kept lighting up increasing its enormity.

Baillie continued wallowing in the attention.

‘They will be brought in as workers and technicians as a front, but in reality they will be trained mercenaries and once they are ensconced and have merged with our economy and financial systems, they will present an army of extremely able young computer literate men who will disrupt the Hyssop regime, while they wait for their arms and ammunition to arrive on our shorelines, from where they will be distributed across our vast country to create havoc and civil war, with their sights set on controlling all our oil and diamond resources, and strictly off the record.’

Suddenly Alan White was blinded by a flash and an incredibly loud crash of china and metal as his Eggs Benedict on a brightly colored plate landed in front of him.

He looked up into the smiling eyes of the Waitron who was mouthing the last of Baillie’s speech to him.

‘The infiltration has started already and even if it takes twenty years to manifest itself...it undoubtedly will eventually happen!’

‘What a load of fucking bollocks!’

Alan White mumbled looking from her to his meal.

‘It’s actually quite tasty Sir!

The young Waitron commented wryly.

He paid and then made his way into the stairwell of the building where he boarded the elevator to his floor.

‘Your first patient is waiting Doctor.’ Becky Bernstein said greeting him with a nervous smile.

‘My first patient is in two hours?’ he said in surprise checking his watch.

‘She’s already in and weeping.’ Becky smiled again.

Dr White entered his consulting room to be greeted by a tearful Joanna Roberts.

‘A very good morning to you... Joanna. What a surprise and absolute pleasure to be in counsel with such an astoundingly beautiful woman, especially at this hour.’  He said with a bold smile, his subtle sarcasm going unnoticed.

‘I want an abortion Doctor!’ she blurted across the room breaking into a cascade of tears.

‘What this minute?’ Alan asked in horror.

‘Not right now but very soon.’

‘Woohaaa! Hold the phone, just slow down, I didn’t even know you were pregnant! Just in case you’ve forgotten I’m a Psychiatrist, I don’t mess with women’s plumbing department, I only handle the section that fits under your hat, nothing below the belt, now if you don’t mind starting again, I will try to grasp what you’re telling me.’ He said tapping the timer and leaning back into his chair.

‘Okay, firstly, tell me why you want an abortion?’

‘I am so terribly depressed Doctor I just want to kill myself, and I can’t stop crying, I’m avoiding my friends, I don’t have fun anymore, I have one son who hates me and is always hiding from me and now I’m expecting another child of Juan’s and I don’t want it. Doctor, I’m telling you categorically I am not having this child because there’s no point to anything in my life anymore, if you can’t help me I will do it myself...that I promise you!’ she sobbed her entire body gyrating uncontrollably.

‘Hey! Take it easy; slow down on yourself a bit.’

There’s no point to anything anymore.’

‘Okay, without making your depression appear trivial in any way I must tell you that you are severely depressed, which is quite normal while traversing the daunting stages of any pregnancy, but all of this can be addressed by talking your way through it, along with the correct medication.’ He replied, not expecting her to take cognizance of anything he was saying.

They were both silent for at least a minute, then tears started rolling down her cheeks for a second time.

‘My life is very important to me Doctor and I know that they will try to ruin it for me.’

‘By that I take it you mean your first born and your new anticipated arrival? He asked watching her nod while blowing into a tissue.

‘They will do anything they can to end my relationship with my