A Wicked Beginning Read online

  James paused for a moment before continuing. “You have to move through it, Cameron. I’m sorry, but that’s the process of healing. It’s like a musical note trying to come out. The note wants to be expressed, wants to find its way to the musical phrase, wants to be expressed as a piece of music, and then, only then, can it and you be released.”

  “This is hardly music, James,” Cam said, his face furrowed with grief and rage. “If it were, it would sound like chain saws and hammering metal.”

  “That’s a good image, Cameron.”

  “Huh,” was all that Cam replied. The wave of rage was starting to subside. “So now what? Do I get a gold star or something?” James remained quiet. Cam sat with his lips in a tight line. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. Then, he saw his dad in his mind again, pumping away at his mother. For fuck sake, why did his mother just take it? Why didn’t she stand up for herself? Goddamn it. Cam started to get mad all over again, the rage was building in him like a thunder cloud. He felt it pushing at his skin from the inside out…felt his blood start to boil…felt like he was going to blow apart and shoot blood and bones all over the room. In a weird detached way, he wondered how hard it would be for James to clean up the room if that happened. He hoped he would not leave any stains. Then, a tiny tear formed in the corner of his eye. Shit. He sure didn’t want to cry right now. He clasped the chair even harder.

  “You’re safe here Cameron,” James uttered softly.

  Safe, huh? Cam thought. He sure didn’t feel safe, not with all this rage pressing against his skin and that damn tear trying to get out. He was clutching the chair so hard he thought he was going to crush the wood. His teeth were clenched so tightly his jaw ached.

  “You’re safe,” James repeated.

  And then, Cam just stopped fighting. He released the chair, released his breath, and stopped trying to control what was happening. If he was on the river right now…if he was on the rapids and he clenched like that, he’d be dead. As he let go, the tear leaked from his eye and traced down his cheek. And then another one came out…and then another. And then soon a stream of silent tears was coursing down his cheeks. “I just wanted to protect my mother,” he stated. “I mean, she was my mom…she cooked for me, took care of me the best she could…” His voice trailed off and he looked at the wall. “She was my mom,” he said again. “And I couldn’t do anything to help her.”

  “It wasn’t your job,” James softly replied.

  “Well, no one else was doing the job,” Cam growled, angry again. “She sure as hell wasn’t. And that bastard of a father?” Now the tears started flooding out, pushed with the force of his rage. The floodgates opened and tears and anger competed for his attention. Cam felt just like an erupting volcano in a thunderstorm, all fire and rain. He leaned forward in his chair and put his head in his hands. “I don’t want any woman to experience what my mom experienced.”

  “Nor should any man experience what you experienced, Cameron…”

  “Huh,” uttered Cam, looking upwards, his eyes wet with tears. He couldn’t stop crying. Tears were flowing and flowing and flowing, flowing like a waterfall. Another weird thought came to him: I always liked waterfalls. He remembered climbing one once, slipping and sliding on the wet rocks, the cold spray soaking his face, his body. But when he’d made it to the top the feeling was sweet. He’d looked down over the edge and felt like he’d really accomplished something. Shit happens, he thought. It’s not what happens to you; it’s how you deal with it that matters. That thought made him feel a little better about what was happening right now. Maybe James was right. Maybe he needed to get this shit out. He wiped his tear streaked face with his hand. “Got any Kleenex?” he asked.

  “Right here,” James said, extending the tissue box to Cam.

  Cam wiped his face, blew his nose, and reached for another. After he’d dried himself, he crumpled up the tissues and pitched them into the waste bin next to the chair. He always wondered why a waste bin was next to the chair. Now he knew. He looked up at James. “Okay.”

  “Okay, Cameron. I’m sure that was painful.”

  “Huh, I’ll say.” He thought a minute. “I do feel a little bit lighter, though.” Not like having sex with Chérie lighter, but lighter still the same.

  “That’s great to hear. I think you are doing well.”

  Well, it wasn’t like excelling in the natural world, but what the hell, Cam thought. “You know what?” he asked, leaning forward again.

  “What?” James responded.

  “I never said goodbye to my mom. Never saw her again after I left. She died, you know.”

  “Yes, I remember you told me that.”

  “I think she’s buried in a cemetery south of here…in Renton.” He let out a guffaw. “Think I’ll go pay my mom a visit. I hope to God my dad is nowhere in the vicinity, or I’ll rent a jack hammer and do some damage to his grave.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea, Cameron. The first part, I mean - the part about visiting your mom. I think the visit could do you some good.”

  “Yeah, James, me too.” Cam reached back and rubbed his neck. “Thanks, James. I don’t always like this, but it’s doing me some good, I can see that now.”

  “You are truly welcome, Cameron. I believe in you.”

  Believe in me, huh? Cam thought dryly. That statement made him feel strange. He had never had a man, especially a man whose reputation he admired, believe in him. Lately he’d been having powerful experiences with men of integrity, who seemed to see something in him. Thinking about this made his stomach churn and caused a weird shivery feeling to snake into his heart. “Well, thanks, James,” he repeated.

  “You don’t believe there’s anything of substance in you to believe in, do you Cameron?”

  “Not really, no.” Cam clasped his hands together and leaned forward on his knees. He looked at the grain of wood in the door.

  “Thinking of making a quick exit?” James asked.

  Cam released his hands and sat back up. “Not really…I was just looking at the wood grain.”

  James regarded Cam with compassion. “You’ve got to start believing in yourself, Cameron. You are a fine, fine man with a lot to offer. It seems to me that you are blind to your own accomplishments.”

  Cam frowned. “What are you talking about? I know I’m good at a lot of things – rock climbing, kayaking, stuff like that.”

  “Yes, but those are all things that you do, not who you are. Do you have any idea of the true strength that lies within you? Just being in here, dealing with your past, and facing yourself – that’s big. The star dreamling is another matter altogether…”

  “If you say so, Doc.” Cam really wanted to leave. He looked over at the clock. Hadn’t he already gone through enough in here? He’d raged, cried, felt lighter, now he just wanted out of here. His foot started its merry wiggle again while his fingers drummed the arms of the chair.

  “Cameron, come back for a moment.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “You’re looking at the door, looking at the clock, your foot is shaking…I hardly think that qualifies as ‘here’.”

  Cam took a deep breath, sat forward in his chair again, and looked James in the eye. “Alright…here I am.”

  “Thank you, Cameron.” James gazed at him with soft eyes. “Now just listen to me, just for a second. I want your full attention here.”

  “Okay, got it,” Cam replied.

  “You are a good man. You are a man of remarkable strength and integrity. I want you to take what I am saying and add it to whatever thoughts and feelings you have tucked into the cat’s eye. When you find that you need to use the cat’s eye, remember that who you are is a man of integrity. Sure you make mistakes, but you learn from your mistakes. You’re finding your way. Remember this and tuck it right into the cat’s eye. Can you do that, Cameron?”

  This was really hard to hear, but Cam held James’ gaze. He clasped and unclasped his hands. He noticed his foot start
ing to shake. His jaw was clenched. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Alright, James, alright. I’m a man of integrity.” The words felt strange coming out of his mouth, like it was someone else talking through him. He didn’t really believe what he was saying; he was merely parroting the words.

  “Yes, you are. I’m proud of you.”

  This was just too much to hear. Cam felt his eyes tear up again. It was like James had pulled out a match, held it to Cam’s heart and it turned into a blow torch, searing a hole through his chest. Shit. Enough was enough. Hadn’t he gone through enough in here? Then he remembered that little pool, that precious pool of warmth in his heart he had discovered while in the sweat lodge. Maybe that was the place James was talking about. He recalled how he had wanted to protect that place inside of him, keep it safe. What was that place? Was it some essential truth about him that he had protected from harm all his life, even with all the bullshit of his family trying to wrench it out of his safe-keeping? He liked that thought. He liked imagining that even though he experienced more than enough crap and heartache in his life he’d manage to hold on to something precious. Even though he’d acted out and raged through life like a storm trooper, he had always managed to keep some small shred of himself safe and sane over the years. He sat up tall in his chair, again looked directly at James, and smiled. James returned the smile. And for one brilliant moment, the two men sat, acknowledging the seemingly small, but immensely huge, breakthrough that Cam had just made. “I am a man of integrity,” Cam repeated. This time he meant it.

  “Yes, Cameron, yes, you are.”

  Chapter 28 – Angela

  While Angela waited for Joe Dallas to arrive, she smoked, paced around the office, and smoked some more. How ridiculous to have set her skirt on fire! She was angry at what she’d done. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she fumed. That skirt had cost a fair bit of change, and it was one of her favorites. Bother!

  Completely irritated, she decided to redirect her fuming thoughts and research the Goddess Bast some more. She’d already begun her research on the Goddess, but she liked to be thorough. There was always something new to learn. She pulled her laptop out of her drawer, flipped open the top, and started it up. She gave the desktop screen – with a giant picture of him taken from afar when she had been stalking him – a loving caress before proceeding.

  She typed “Egyptian Goddess Bast” in the search field of her browser. Pulling up a listing that she hadn’t already perused, she studiously read the screen. Bast rode through the sky by day with her father Ra, yes, yes, she already knew that. At night she transformed into a cat…Angela shivered at that thought. She imagined doing this, becoming a cat who stalked him in his dreams. She continued reading…here was a fact she had missed – Bast was known by the name Pasht, from which the word passion was derived. She tapped the desk with a long, sharp pink fingernail. Wasn’t that interesting? Bast had many cats and even had a cat cemetery where her little friends could be entombed so they could join Bast in the spirit world. Angela wondered if she should get a cat too. She continued reading. Here was an interesting fact: Bast was a fertility goddess, associated with childbirth. Oh, she’d loved to have a child with him. She’d love to have four or five. She pictured a contented life in which she made all the money, and he stayed home, taking care of the kids. She’d come home, send the kids out in the yard, and demand that he screw her before dinner…which he’d make of course. She’d be willing to go down on him to get things started, of course. Oh, it was going to be a good life.

  She had just clicked the back button to return to the previous screen when she heard a soft tap, tap, tap at the door. It must be that man, Joe Dallas. She opened the door a crack and peeked out to see Joe grasping a bag with his pudgy hands. “Get in here,” she hissed.

  The man shuffled in, holding a shopping bag full of fabric. He was the strangest man she had ever met. An extremely heavy man, he had thinning grayish-brown hair, stained teeth, and his pock-marked face was so greasy it looked like it was dipped in Crisco. Maybe he used shortening as a moisturizer. And God did he stink. He always smelled like stale sweat, old beer, and a touch of something like a garbage dump. Once, when she was a child, her dad had taken her and her brother to the dump. When they’d climbed out of the car, she had thrown up from the stench of rotting garbage. This image always came to mind when she was around Joe. It was like he never washed. She stood back from him and put her hand over her nose as he held the proffered bag. “Just set it over there…on the desk,” she said.

  He set it on the desk and stood there, leering at her.

  “Thank you, Joe. That’s it. I can take care of things from here.”

  He had a huge smile plastered on his wrinkled face and he nodded, his gaze fixed on her breasts.

  “You can go now,” she said, waving a hand at the door.

  Again he nodded, staring at her hips. He clasped his hands in front of him and rubbed them over and over. God, he gave her the creeps. She wondered what Jill Primcott saw in the man. But then Mrs. Primcott was no beauty queen either. She was terribly fat and confided in Angela that she had gained even more weight recently. “The door is over there,” she said.

  “You look pretty,” Joe muttered. “In your panties and all…”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, “but the door’s right there.”

  “I could make you feel real good,” he said, flicking his tongue out of his mouth.

  Angela pulled back her head in revulsion. “Ugh, what a repulsive thought.” She watched him recoil slightly at her statement. “Now, please leave.”

  “I could give you a ride,” he offered.

  “No, thank you. Do I have to call the police to get you out of my office?”

  “No. I just like looking at you. That’s all I get to do anymore.” He sighed.

  “Not my problem,” Angela stated. “Please leave.”

  “You’re a therapist…maybe you could listen to me…hear my story…I can pay.” He pulled a large bundle of dollar bills out of his pocket.

  “I can refer you to someone who can help you. Now, please leave.”

  “I need help…really.”

  “I can see that. I’ll be happy to refer you to a qualified therapist.” She was going to have to fumigate her office when he left, she thought darkly. She was also going to have to push Joe Dallas out of here. Ignoring him, she plucked the bag off the desk and pulled out yards of crinkly blue polyester. Good lord, was this Jill’s skirt? The woman was immense, but she could get five skirts out of this much material. Angela wrapped the fabric around and around her waist, tucking the end into the wrapped material to hold it in place.

  “I’m impotent,” Joe exclaimed. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his brow. Then he shoved the moist square back in his pocket.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered, not sparing him a glance.

  “She did this to me…the girlfriend of the man you are trying to get to love you,” he cried.

  This caught Angela’s attention. She turned to face the foul man. “What did you say?”

  “I said she did this to me. Her name’s Chérie.”

  Angela’s face frosted over hearing the name. “I know what her name is. How did she do that?”

  “She’s got some kind of magic.” Joe wrung his hands over and over. “She’s like a witch or something. Jill tried to rid herself of Chérie last year, only the girl had some magic inside of her that we didn’t know about. We weren’t prepared.” His hands continued to move over and over and over one another in a nervous fret. “That’s why Jill is helping you. She wants to get to her through him. She knows he still cares for her.”

  Angela’s features became rigid. This was new and useful information. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

  “We hope so. Jill hates her. Hates her. Wants her gone. Gone. If you getting that man can hurt and distract Chérie, Jill intends to rid herself of Chérie for once and for all.”

>   “Does she now?” Angela said coolly. Oh, this was good news indeed. She picked up her purse off the desk, closed her computer and gave one last look at her office. Frowning at the overflowing ashtray on the patio table, she hesitated before leaving. She really should go clean that mess up. But this new information…it gave her a more fervent need to prepare for the big ritual. Her menses was coming soon…any day now…maybe even tomorrow. She took a deep breath. No, she could let that mess go and focus on the task at hand – ridding everyone of Chérie Manhattan and getting the man that she loved by her side, for once and for all.

  “Out, Joe, out,” she held the door open to the man and followed him out into the parking lot with new enthusiasm and purpose. This was going to work. This was going to work in her favor. She didn’t even bother saying goodbye to Joe as she hopped in her car and sped off towards her home, intent on practicing the steps of her love-charm spell to perfection.

  Chapter 29 – Cam

  After they’d said their goodbyes, Cam left James and headed out towards his car with purpose. He was feeling really good right about now. He believed a major shift had taken place in James’ office. He got in the Land Rover, fired it up, and headed towards the Greenland Memorial Park in Renton. Usually he hated cemeteries. He avoided them like the plague. But today…well, today he just wanted to see where his mom was buried. He’d never been to the funeral, never bothered to visit before. He figured what was the point? Today, there was a point. He did not know exactly what the point was, but it was in here somewhere.

  When he arrived in at the cemetery, he pulled through the gate and parked outside of a small well-kept building that appeared to be an office of sorts. Pausing before he got out of the car…shit, cemeteries gave him the creeps…he took a deep breath and stepped out, striding up to the office. The door was open so he walked in.