The Headshrinker's Dilemma

Chapter Nineteen

Dale couldn’t believe his eyes. Greta’s father and him had just walked in from, for Dale anyway, and excruciatingly long walk up the driveway, not just because of Dale’s injuries, but also the awkward silence and the ambivalence of “meeting the parents” for the first time. But all of that was dismissed and thrown away when they walked through the front door of one of the most amazing houses Dale had ever seen.

It wasn’t just the house that shocked him. But what was going on in it: in the middle of what Dale would call the living room or the area that was obviously for show – where your best and finest sofas were that no one could ever sit on along with top notch decorum such as stands and art, all in which matched or somehow corroborated with the other pieces. The feeling of the house was aristocratic, maybe even other worldly. After what Dale walked in on – other worldly and maybe even existentialism fit best.

Greta was hung in mid-air in some kind of apparatus. It was like aerial yoga. Even in the weirdest of things, she was still beautiful. And graceful. Below her, waving her palm back and forth in front of Greta was a woman. She had silver hair as well and from behind her body was extremely curvy and fit. She chanted in some language that Dale didn’t know or understand. When she turned to the side, Dale could see that this was Greta’s mother. They too looked a like, maybe even more so than the father.

“Come,” the father said, ushering him in further. Dale followed.

The silver-haired man approached the silver-haired woman, rounding on her. He wrapped his arms around her as she continued to wave her hand. He then kissed her on the top of her head and peered up at Greta in admiration, like a proud father and husband.

Dale stood behind them, watching, taking it all in. He had to admit to himself that there was some jealousy – seeing Greta’s family. That they were together. That she could come back home and slide right back into the fold. Dale didn’t have that, never did.

“Hey,” the father glanced over his shoulder back at Dale. “Watch this son.”

The father turned back around and peered back up at Greta. The mother lifted both hands. Now both hands were waving in front of Greta. The motion became harder and faster. Her chant was different as well; pointed it felt and her voice had a different kind of cadence. Suddenly, Greta whimpered, her face twitched, her head moved to the side to look at her hurt shoulder. Dale’s eyes followed Greta’s. Something was happening. There was a pithy wind that seemed to wrap around Greta’s arm, then body, her hair seemed to be caught in the same fray. The wind that had Greta was specific to her, no one else felt it or was affected by it. Dale marveled how Greta looked – it was like she was outside on a windy day, her hair blew, face peeled back, eyes flickering as the wind beat against her entire body. And then it all stopped. Just like that. The wind was gone.

The mother leaned against the father. Her body seemed different. Still curvy and phenomenal, but tired and drain. There was a languidness about it as she put her head against the father’s shoulder.

“I haven’t worked that kind of elemental force is years, Billick,” Dale heard the woman say.

Billick. That was Greta’s father’s name. Different for sure. But since his arrival everything had been a little bit different. The father, Billick, kissed the woman on top of her head and again and then eased away. He moved over to the side where the apparatus was tied to a several rings in the wall. He began to undo them. Greta was lowered down.

On her landing, she appeared different – spry, lively, her face and body looked refreshed and completely rejuvenated. She approached her mom and hugged her. Her father finished wrapping up the apparatus and then came over to them. They hugged. It was a warm family embrace. Again, Dale felt he pangs of jealousy. He tried to turn away when Greta called out to him.

“Babe… Dale – come here.”

Dale hesitated. It didn’t seem right. He really liked Greta and they had been through so much together but what she was offering now, it wasn’t right, although Dale realized that he desperately wanted it to be right. This was her family, not his. He really didn’t have one and he didn’t see how he could just be added to one – just like that – with such ease. Also, he didn’t deserve them. Twice he had thought about killing Greta. Twice he had come close and almost gone through with it. A person like him, didn’t deserve the goodness that he felt was being offered to him

Billick turned to him. Then the mother. They were all still in the embrace, a very televisioned-like fictional family group hug. It was kind of comical to see, that a family actually did such thing.

“Come on, son…” Billick said. “You’re a part of this now.”

Dale really didn’t understand what Billick meant by that. But all eyes were now on him – Billick’s, the mother’s, and Greta’s. They were all kind eyes, nothing in them that was foreboding or wanton. Rather, they were inviting. Dale felt himself moving towards them, there was no more thought about it. They all opened their arms and Dale found his place in the embrace next to Greta. And then Billick kissed the mother, a deep and passionate dive. Dale wondered for a second but then Greta turned to him and pulled him in, her lips met his and she kissed him, passionately, harder and deeper than he had ever been kissed before.

***

They all sat around the living room talking. Greta was sitting very close to Dale, almost in his lap, and her parents were the same with each other. Dale could have sworn once or twice he had caught Greta’s mom (her name was Gorga) reach in between her Billick’s legs. He wasn’t sure because one, he couldn’t believe adults, especially parents, would do that kind of thing in front of their child less more their child’s significant other/boyfriend; two, her hand movements, every movement really, seemed so fast, swift, almost a blur. Dale decided to just believe that it was something close to that that happened but not quite.

“So, I am sure that you have some questions, Dale,” Billick said.

Oh boy did he! Dale thought. But it was hard to focus completely or to give himself entirely to the conversation. His leg and arm was killing him. His back also. The blood had pretty much dried up and if he didn’t know any better he would have sworn that his wounds were getting better. Still, it was odd to be sitting in the living room of his girlfriend’s parents’ house with bloody clothes on and having been shot and they not really care.

“I do,” Dale finally said. But after that he went silent. He wondered if they were expecting him to just begin asking them.

After a few moments of awkward silence (Dale was really beginning to hate the silent thing, he and Greta had spent far too much time in silence while being in the taxi), Billick spoke again.

“Do you believe in magic, Dale?”

Dale’s eyes flashed. His heart pounded. He didn’t know how to answer that because he wanted to say, from instinct, that he didn’t. But he knew better. It was a strange contradiction that existed inside of him: he didn’t want to believe in magic but at the same time, he himself had powers that for the lack of any other way to explain it, better or not, were magical. On top of that, he had seen actual magic performed from a voodoo priestess, Jamaican Girl. Not to mention that he was also purported by her to have been cursed. So, over all, yes he did believe in magic but he didn’t want to.

Finally, he answered. “Yes.”

Billick nodded. But there was something wayward about his nod, as if it wasn’t good enough, that Dale’s answer wasn’t quite right.

“But you don’t love it. It’s not deep down inside of you – something intrinsic that you know exist and is the foundation of all reality,” the mother, Gorga, added.

The foundation of all reality? Dale didn’t know what to make of that. He had never thought of magic as being anything close to that. Up until recently, he didn’t even believe magic existed. He was more of a rational, logical person, science and all that. For him, reality was simply what was put in front of you, it could be proven and experimented on to show that it was exactly what people saw rather than what they thought or believed. He had to admit to himself that that way of thinking had been challenged. He still wanted to hang on to it, given what he had seen and even done himself, and he couldn’t forfeit his understanding of the world all together, it’s the only thread of fabric that still made sense to him about the world.

“I – I can’t – I don’t think I can say that, not all the way,” he stuttered out to Gorga. He didn’t want to disappoint his girlfriend’s mother.

But she didn’t show any signs up being upset or disappointed. Rather, she smiled, and then turned to Billick. He then scooted forward, as if on cue and it was now his turn to broach something sublime.

“Dale, you see my daughter there?” he smiled. It was a scary smile, filled with wild and maniacal delight.

Dale nodded.

“Look! Look at her arm,” he demanded, his voice shrieking feverishly high. He was excited.

Dale did as he was told. Greta put her arm out, pulling her hospital gown down from her shoulder for him to see. His eyes caught a glimpse of her breasts as she did. He wondered if her parents had seen him. He didn’t look at them though to check.

“See that?” her father continued.

The gunshot wound was completely gone. Dale blinked his eyes. The wind, he thought. But how? He turned back to face Billick. The smile was a deep and devilish grin now. Dale’s heart sunk. His suspicion rose. Who was he dealing with now? Actual devils? Demons? No, devil and demon worshippers? He didn’t know what to expect anymore.

“Do you believe, Dale?”

Dale didn’t know what to say. Believe what? he wondered. He looked back at Greta’s arm. It was as if she had never been shot. He peered up at her. Greta’s eyes met his. He loved how those pearls sparkled.

“We are Mages, Dale. Of the highest kind,” he said proudly. “Descendants of one of the oldest Mage families. There’s old blood in us – old magical blood.”

Dale sat back. He tried to wrap his mind around all of this. It shouldn’t have been hard for him, but it was. He tried to figure out why. Maybe it was just all too much. He was already a Headshrinker, cursed with some voodoo power. That was enough for him. This. This meant more – that there was a world out there, another world, that he didn’t know about and that he couldn’t explain. It was too much, he decided. Dale stood up.

“I can’t…” he said, the words rolled out of his mouth.

“Oh but you can. And you will…” Billick said, his eyes bright and beaming at him as if he knew something about Dale that he didn’t.

Dale waited. But no else said anything. Dale sat back down.

Billick leaned forward, this time closer than before. Greta had pulled her hospital gown back up. Dale could feel her eyes on him. Gorga stared at him as well.

“Dale,” the father started. “Don’t you want to know your role in all of this?”