The Obsession Game - Book One

TIME LAPSE

On a normal day, thoughts are the music of my soul, with upbeat, soft pauses, and sultry melodies. But today, they are not under control. Not even a little. Each step I take is faltering when I walk into the shower, toes flinching as they reach the cool ceramic floor. My mind has been in shreds all morning; unable to dismiss this bloody nightmare. I step inside, twisting the gleaming chrome knob, watching as thousands of lukewarm drops begin to stain my hair, cascading down my back. My eyes open and close, each time revealing images like photographs.

In my dream, I'm at a funeral. The sunlight shimmered, and under its flame, the iridescent color of the spring appeared bright and pleasant. As if they designed it to show me how the world would continue without the person I was saying my last farewell to. It shouldn't be this way; everything should be as dismal as my emotions. It should be brisk and damp with muffled air. But the birds whistled, and the flowers bloomed. While I wandered through the sanctuary like a replica of myself. Wanting to be as insubstantial as the shadows. Wishing my insides were not mangled, from the despair on the faces of all those seated. Causing my stomach to cringe. My urge to peek inside the casket to say my last goodbye grew stronger, but it was empty. There is no one there!

This dream has haunted me every night for over the past few months. And I can't make heads or tails why. My thoughts jumble as the water gushes down, dripping along my sides. Forcing my mind to slip into dullness, with every succeeding thought a cloudy illusion. The sensation of the steamy water seems to soothe me. Taking my mind off the dream for the moment.

"Brodie!" a pleasing voice cries out to me. Forcing me back into my present reality.

I'd almost forgotten I had a companion for the evening stay over. She must be awake. "Yes, Hun? I'm in the loo finishing my shower. Are you famished? Should I call down and have MirLandy make us a bit of brunch?" I don't wait for a reply before calling out, "Asiri, page MirLandy." I purchased this system a year ago. Which, to be quite honest, made for one of my better investments. As before this, I'd have to bellow down to Landy and hope that she would hear me. Which, at her age, isn't as easy as it used to be.

The monotone voice of Asiri responds, "Paging MirLandy."

Jill sat waiting as I walked out of the loo and over to the tan chaise placed under the bay window to the right of my bed. No, wait, her name is Jane? ... Jacqueline? I'm not positive that's it either. Does it even start with a 'J'? I'll have to give this some thought for sure. It isn't like me to forget a name so soon. "Good day Luv." She sits snug, as I place a kiss gently on her forehead. Allowing a moment for her to feel the warmth of my lips. A sound startles me.

"Yes, Mr. Brodie, what can I do for you?" MirLandy's gritty voice rings, urging me to swing about, noticing her standing in the doorway. That's odd, I don't remember leaving that door ajar. My attention immediately shifted from Sharon. No, Wendy? ... Alyssa? This is becoming a bit of a charade. I'm drawing a blank. How can I not remember the name of this lush?

"My darling Landy." I smile. "Would you be a dear and prepare breakfast or should I say brunch for myself and this delightful young lady?" Asking in the most charming way that I can, of course, not to encourage any opposition. You see, MirLandy has been with my family since I was an ankle biter. My mum made certain she was nearby in a flat to come to my aid if need be; after I'd gone off to boarding school and the University. This 60-year-old Haitian woman was a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure. Not overly old looking, but her body had aged well past her years. The occasional dark black strand of hair that escaped the lifeless gray mane framing her chestnut-colored face could still be detected. Her forehead creased by many peaks and trenches–induced by years of consistent scowling. With unflattering crowned eyes that harbored the permanent contemptuous glare she carried, shadowing their unique shade of brown. Her entire face always seems drained of any traces of joy and delight. Instead, her frumpy cheeks told a tale of regular displeasure. I'm certain from having to chase me about my entire life. But I loved and respected her and wouldn't exchange her for anyone else in the world. No matter how easily she would chastise me, even at my age. I'd had my run-in with many helpers since I moved to America. To give MirLandy some sort of relief. Believing her disdain was surely from the inability to take a break. But for some odd reason, they never quite worked out.

She spoke, her tone stern and low. "The time for breakfast or brunch, for that matta, is over. You do realize it is 3 pm, don't you, Mr. Brodie?" she huffed. "At 3 o'clock I have already finished my chores, that included meal prep, of which you did not eat. If you want to feed yo guest today, you gone have to do that yoself."

I searched the area for my wristwatch. Locating it on the nightstand beside the bed we'd slept in the night before. Bloody Hell! It is 3 o'clock. "Yes, yes, of course, no trouble at all, Landy. I didn't know it was so late in the day, actually. Of course, I will make alternative arrangements." Before I could utter another word, MirLandy made her retreat down the corridor. It is like she is a phantom most days. She appears and disappears in an instant. I remember as a boy, I'd ask my father if she was a Haitian superhero. I'd never quite met anyone that had that type of skill.

Here I am again getting distracted. "Hurry along and take in a quick shower, Hun. We can grab an early dinner at one of my regular spots in the Financial District. I have a meeting in the area a bit later. I'd nearly forgotten." I watch as she strolls past a bit narky. Evidently cheesed off I'd rushed her, to begin with. How amusing. I chuckle while walking into my closet for something to wear. Why do women feel as if they need to hang around all day after a pleasant night of passion? Don't they have things on their schedule that take precedence over me? This tends to be an ongoing issue I've noticed. I can't say it is the American culture alone, I've been with women of other cultures who feel the same.

Hmm. You know, I've never realized how extensive my closet is. A sumptuous space with a leather-covered center island. Hyde leather countertops in mink add to its sleekness. A few years back, I recall getting the illuminated lights installed to create a space like that of a high-end men's showroom. The slanted shoe shelves with fences and double hanging space are ideal for my wardrobe. Now, I don't claim I'm what one would ring up as too dishy, but I do pride myself on being socially desirable. Often in search of only the best. I suppose I'll opt for classic black slim-fit trousers and a jacket for my meeting with this new doctor today. My eagerness to meet Dr. Chloe Calvin is meager, to say the least. My doctor and I have been seeing one another for nearly a year now. And recently she decided to have a sprog at her age and go on maternity leave. Forcing her patients to fend for themselves. I'm uncertain as to what's worse; the fact that she is a 45-year-old woman having a baby, or that I must start over with a new doctor for bloody knows how long. One benefit, I suppose, is that this doctor is said to be an expert on behavioral health. Had her thesis published in several psychiatric and psychology journals. What did Dr. Montgomery say it was called? Something like... Partial Ambiguity with something about the effect of certain patterns or uncertain attitudes. Something like that. I'll bring that up. It may help me get a clearer understanding of her professional ability. And while I'm at it, I can ask her about my dream. Up until this point, I hadn't mentioned it to my doctor, believing it would simply go away. But here we are, 3 months later and it still haunts me. I'm certain she can help me. That's a good start to our relationship, I believe. Given her reputation, she should be able to decipher what it all means.

When I step back into the bedroom. I notice my companion relaxing in the lounge once more. "All right Hun. Are we ready to go?"

"Did you already make the reservation or are we just showing up?" she finally speaks, rising from the chaise with purse in tow. I don't know that I've heard her voice much all day. Not much of a talker, this one.

"Luv!" I snicker. "It isn't necessary to make a reservation. They will accommodate me when we arrive. Shall we?" I gently grab her elbow, escorting her down the hall and out the door.