Chartan spotted Minerva in his side view mirror approaching the rear of the limo, her gait slow, her head bowed. He took a last gulp of his 72-bean coffee, blinked and carefully placed the cup in its holder before flinging open the driver’s door.
He crossed over to the passenger rear side of the black Bentley and grabbed the door handle. His hand had been warmed by the coffee mug, but now it turned cold under the grip of cold steel. Why am I thinking about this? Ah, I’m slightly upset that my peace in the front seat has been interrupted. She’s early. The sessions usually last an hour—it’s only been 30 minutes.
“Chartan, I’m not ready to leave.”
He promptly closed the limo door.
“I want you to come with me.”
She spoke as if he were under her command and, in a sense she was—she paid for her power over him. Without questioning her, he followed a few steps behind. He knew the way to Dr. Kodor’s office–Minerva had paid for his sessions with the renowned therapist after he had been wounded by a bullet fired by the car window bandit. Chartan shivered slightly, realizing he had forgotten what they had discussed six months ago, including whether or not the therapy time had helped. But he remembered the wood paneling in the office and the wall of documents showing that Kodor was an honored scholar. I’m married now, months removed from those strange times with Elisa. Gina had been my turn in the road, that bright light ahead that gives me a purpose in life.
But as Chartan entered the office, he worried that his world was more fragile than he was willing to admit, that it could come all undone so easily, perhaps, from the first words from Dr. Kodor.
The bespectacled gray-haired man stood up from behind the giant desk, exposing his short stature.
“My dear, Chartan, I had hoped to hear from you again.”
Why did I stop seeing him? What did I say in this room? I don’t remember anything?
To be continued next Sunday…