The Headshrinker's Dilemma

Chapter Thirteen

A dimly lit room for a dark deed. Those were the Dale’s first thoughts as he entered into Felicia’s room. Nothing much had changed from earlier. It was a dank, dim, borderline dark, and had a very foul stench – now he would characterize it as death waiting to happen. It wouldn’t have to wait long, he thought. He was more than ready to finish it now. Was that strange? Unlike him? Dale tried hard to remember if it was or not. For some reason, killing, ending Felicia’s life no longer felt wrong to him. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t remember or even recall the reason why it had in the first place. Strange. But Dale knew, deep down, somewhere within the furthest recesses of his identity that it should feel wrong. It just was so much more less now. And in that feeling, that far away, long reaching, cavernous glint of speculative inhibition, Dale finally got to feel what it was like to be a conqueror – because that’s what he had done – he had conquered (dare he say it) everything that had been weak about himself. In the present, he felt emboldened and nothing short of a superman.

Dale sifted through the room. This time, taking it all in, even more so than before. This time, he was seeing with new eyes – not through his own insecurities and expectations from others for himself that he forced himself to leave under. This time was different. He could truly say that he was his own man – finally! This poor woman had lived like this for so long – in squalor. She had suffered by his unknowing hands. If he had known, if the Jamaican girl had been more forthcoming, clearer, in what needed to be done then the time wasted here for Felicia could have very easily avoided. She could have been off in whatever land or world or dimension – whatever the hell it was – that came next. Dale didn’t like that the Jamaican girl had allowed him to leave Felicia like this. It didn’t settle well with him. He blamed her and for some reason felt like she should have known better. After all, she had a responsibility. She had the power and she had set things in motion that could never be undone now, and because of that she needed to responsible. It wasn’t enough for her to just be who she was and mete out judgements. Instead, there needed to be some execution and precision. Dale not being in the know had only caused more problems. If he was indeed her chosen vessel to carry out these killings, then it would have worked better to their advantage and the overall mission if he had been able to into with eyes wide open rather than shut. It had only handicapped him and made a mess of things, including everything at the grocery store. What kind of demon or devil was she? Not to be able to foresee how difficult and messy this kind of handling would lead to, an outcome that could very well have been swift and true.

Dale approached the bed. He could feel her. She wanted to die. He could literally feel that. She also knew who he was. Felicia tried to mouth some words but her shrunken head, the state that she as in, it made Dale sick to his stomach to think that he had done this to her – death would have been better. Nothing about her spoke life, rather, it was like looking at a very bad painting or sculptor. The viewer just wants it all to end, but what is being watched has no recollection of starting less more ending.

“K – Kill me,” the woman said softly and lowly. “P – Pl – Please.”

Death was coming to everyone. There was no way around that. So, for someone to ask for it, it stood out. Even she knew that being away from all this had to better than just existing in it for the sake of someone else or the just for the sake of it itself – you know, principle and belief.

“Are – Are you ready to die?” Dale asked, his voice soft and polite.

Felicia tried to find the words but the deformity of her mouth in conjunction to the shrinking head over a period of time had caused her speech to be incredibly unintelligible. Felicia knowing this, and slightly frustrated, chose to just nod as an answer. That was all Dale needed to know. He took off his gloves and flippantly just tossed them to the floor. He rubbed his hands together in a make-shift way as to prepare for what he was about to do next. He could feel it in his hands, how his hands changed, the texture, the temperature: his hands were hot, red hot, searing, nearing white hot.

“Please…” she said clear as day.

And the moment that Dale put his hands over her, the heat shot out from them in rays, streaming jets, almost visible to the naked eye, but with every other sense, completely measurable. Immediately, Felicia responded: a jerk, a shake, followed by some convulsions. Dale could literally feel the power coursing through. But this time it was different. He felt more in control, almost as if he was harnessing the power for the first time, like he could distribute it if he wanted to. Dale wanted to test out what he was feeling but didn’t want to deviate from the mission. He still didn’t know everything about his strange new power, nor did anyone else, and if the Jamaican girl did, she hadn’t said, but some of the things that he had done, he knew that there was more to him and to what he could do than just meets the eye or what she (the Jamaican girl) wanted from him.

Dale moved his hands to Felicia’s head. A sense of nostalgia rose in him. He remembered this – being near her that day and touching her and how everything happened so fast. He felt confused and full of remorse, all at the same time. He wished then that he had had the answers that he had now. It would have ended so much pain and suffering. And that’s what he focused on now, the ending of this woman’s pain. He didn’t’ know why the Jamaican girl wanted this women dead but they were already in it; this woman had already been affected by whatever course of action the Jamaican girl was taking, so now it was all about minimizing the effects. That’s what Dale told himself.

“Uh…” she could barely speak.

Dale moved his hand to her head. He knew what was coming next, what was about to happen. His hands surged with energy, there was so much force that his hands shook and vibrated. Dale planted them on the head of the woman they called Felicia and immediately he could feel the heat leave his hands, pushing into the flesh of the Felicia. She didn’t move or make a sound. She just laid there as if it she been waiting someone to release her in this way. Dale could feel the transfer of energy or whatever it was that made all of this happen. It was ripe. Potent. It moved into Felicia and her head slowly began to shrink in size even more. A part of Dale wanted to turn away, but the new found strength in him pushed him forward to look and to watch: Felicia’s head shriveled down like a balloon losing hair and as it shrunk pass the size of the base of the neck it rolled off just like the first thug he encountered in the grocery store.

Within a few minutes, a tiny ball sat in Dale’s hand. But it wasn’t an actual ball, but instead a head, a real live head of a woman. Felicia. Just like the first thug he had encountered, once shrunk down to a certain size, Felicia’s head came off of its base, the neck and rolled directly into Dale’s hands. Dale stood over the lifeless and headless body of Felicia. For some reason, the moment felt empty and far too silent for Dale’s liking. Dale shoved the tiny ball of head into his pocket and then made his way back to the bedroom door. He opened up the door to see the Jamaican girl waiting for him, just standing there.

“You did it,” she said.

But Dale didn’t get her tone. She seemed almost surprised. There was a bit of gratefulness in there too. Dale wondered why all of this meant so much to her. He started to ask but chose not to. This was above his paygrade, something celestial or existential, and he honestly didn’t want any parts of it on that level. He had accepted his role but he didn’t have to pretend that he had enjoyed it or that by him doing this – killing – that he was righting wrongs that needed to be punished in such matter.

“Did you expect for me not to,” he answered her.

Jamaican girl looked at him curiously. They were still in the door way. Her eyes were different. Fuller. There was something in them that hadn’t been before – a speck of hazel that was accentuated with a pale brightness. And the allure returned and the attraction. The Jamaican girl moved close to him, pressing up against him. Dale didn’t move. The Jamaican girl began to feel on him; his legs then his thighs, jumping to his arms and shoulders and then back down to his thighs. Dale wondered if this was actually going to happen and if he did he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be under the conditions that they were in. Still, the Jamaican girl had surrendered to her feelings; she rubbed on Dale hard and passionately. Dale could feel her body as it pressed against his, the raw power and the willingness to subdue it, to let it diminish some so that she might enjoy her own desires and the mission for once.

“What – What are we doing?” Dale asked.

But the Jamaican girl pulled him all the way into the hallway and hurriedly undressed him, pulling down his pants and then pulling him out of his boxers. She then in turn undressed. In a matter of moments, they were on each other, in the hallway, bottoms off, naked and undressed, grinding to the rhythm that they had found within each other.