[ This is not our routine office session. Today I have been asked...no...summoned by The General. He lives 20 minutes upstate from the VA Hospital in a home that could, without overstatement, be referred to a small mansion. What appears to be a groundsman and a housekeeper actually live on the property in separate quarters. The surrounding gardens and lawns are manicured. When I pull into the circular driveway the man himself strides rapidly toward me. The look on his face is anything but pleased, however.]
"Damn it. Have you heard from Mark?"
[I answer him indicating that I have not...but he doesn't seem to be paying attention. He just jumps directly to the heart of the problem.]
"I thought you said you were going to prevent her from going to see Mark. When I called this morning she was there. With both the kids. Now he seems to believe that they can pull their marriage back together. Reunite."
[The last word is spat. He is furious. With me.]
"We...have...to...fix...this."
[He enunciates this slowly. Full pregnant pause between each word. Then more pointedly]
"You have to fix this." he booms.
[Cords are standing out on either side of his neck and his face is an angry red. A blue vein distended pulses at his temple. I measure my words carefully when I remind him that I am only Mark's psychiatrist.]
"Do not FUCK with me."
He replies this in a low syllable by syllable monotone, even worse than his previous outburst, elevating his voice only slightly on the expletive. I find the skin crawling on the back of my neck. For, what will not be the last time, I stand wondering just what the hell I have gotten myself into.]
"Can you FIX this?" he presses.
[ And regardless of the truthfulness of my statement I answer him with a resounding "YES, sir. I will handle it." Jesus, now I am addressing him as SIR. His demeanour changes so quickly it is hard to believe this is the same person who was before me minutes ago.]
"Hell, why didn't ya say so." He smiles disarmingly. And the storm is over. His anger defused like it never transpired.
"Follow me. Are you hungry? Patty likes to feed people. Humor her."
[ I assume that Patty is his housekeeper/cook. When we walk through the massive front door I have a distinct "fly caught in a web" feeling. The General is my grinning spider. It is unsettling. The house is tastefully and expensively decorated. Heavy hand-carved furnishings of dark mahogany wood. Much of the artwork and sculptures appear to be originals. Some of the names I recognize. The scent of baking emanates from a room I assume is the kitchen. The General motions for me to sit and I realize I am still standing taking it all in. I can only imagine my mouth is agape like a child.]
"Relax. It's just stuff. Accumulated over a lifetime. Nice stuff, but still just stuff."
[ Patty brings us a tray with thick cut smoked ham on biscuits with melted cheese, and black coffee. I try one, and it is delicious.]
"I have been working with the Shel-Team and pullled some strings up at the Brig in Ft. Lost-In-The-Woods."
[ He notices my blank stare and corrects himself with a laugh]
"Ft. Leonardwood...where they are keeping Mark's buddy, David."
"Ohio"
"In less than two months the game plan is to get David trained to help with Mark's day to day care living semi-independently with the Exo-Shel. He will have a home here with Mark and I and the kids. They owe me a favor or two there. I'm springing him. So, you can see how Tray doesn't really fit into this equation. Right?"
[ The smile has once again disappeared and I can see now. Not a spider. A shark, jaws open, mouthful of shiny teeth, swimming just beneath the oily surface. The General smacks his hand hard down on the carved coffee table and I jump involuntarily. It takes a great deal to unnerve me these days. I am completely unnerved.]
"I know you can take care of this, Doc. I trust you. "
"You TRUST me, right?"
[ And it is at that moment I KNOW that the son-of-a-bitch knows. And that he knows, that I KNOW. I don't know how the hell he possibly could, but he does. He gives me a sly wink and I notice for the first time since my wife's death that the hand holding my coffee is shaking involuntarily. I set the cup on the tray, but not before The General notices and gives me the most bone-chilling smile I will ever see in my life.]
"I'll fix this." I say
[The words coming out more strident, shrill, than I intended. A child asking for forgiveness, a second chance.]
"I know you will." He says reassuringly, though his tone suggests a thinly veiled threat.
[And like that, I am dismissed. He walks me to the door and the food sits in my stomach like I have eaten wads of clay. In my vehicle I realize the tremors in my hand spilled hot coffee on my tweed dress slacks. I hadn't even noticed. For the second time in an hour, I find myself wondering what the hell I have gotten myself into this time.]
