“So, Vernon—“

“Vern, please.”

“Very well,” the psychologist said.

Vern said nothing. He had little patience for shrinks. The most accurate description of psychologists came from a book he read once; they liked having their own little religion in which they got to be God.

She cleared her throat, tucked back a strand of ash (but for a psychologist, it was dirty, Vern thought to himself sarcastically) blonde hair behind her ear, fiddled with her bifocals, and then settled her clipboard on her knees and continued with her previously interrupted statement. “So, Vern, what brings you to my office?”

“I, ah, I’ve been having problems with hallucinations,” Vern said bluntly.

Scribbling on the clipboard. “What types of hallucinations?” she asked pointedly. Vern winced…this felt something like walking into the office with a miniskirt on in lieu of pants: embarrassing and totally unnecessary. And she had only asked two questions.

“Most of them center around my wife harming my son.”

Scribbling. “And how old is he.”

“Four.”

“I’m assuming he is not adopted?”

“You assume correctly,” Vern said icily.

A pause. “Were there, by chance, any complications during or after the pregnancy? Did her amniotic sac burst? Or did she have a case of postpartum depression to some degree?”

“She had some postpartum depression, yes,” Vern acknowledged. He hurried on when he saw the shrink open her mouth. “But it was never a tremendously serious thing…she was just sad a lot. There were no cases of her trying to hurt Frankie, or God forbid, kill him.”

“But were you ever afraid that she would harm or murder your boy?”

“A little bit, yes,” he admitted, knowing that he had just shot himself in the foot as far as this counseling session was going. “But it was just normal fear, I mean…”

Lots of scribbling. “That’s probably all it is, Vern,” she said, trying to be consoling and kind. It fell short. About a thousand feet short.

“But Frankie is four now,” he said “This shouldn’t be affecting me.”

“Well,” she said arrogantly. “It is my professional opinion that you are simply suffering from over-anxiety and…” The words faded as Vern’s ears pricked up. It was the sound of yelling.

But it wasn’t Gretchen and Frankie…it was him.

He ripped off his shirt and whipped the screeching shrink with it. She ran from him, while he bellowed “YOU SLUT LET ME OUT DON’T LOCK ME UP IN HERE GOD DAMN IT LET ME GO THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!” She refused to yield.

He moved her desk over and used it like a battering ram on the door. The shrink jumped on to his back saying, “No, you can’t leave yet; I haven’t cured you!” And out of nowhere, it seemed, she pulled out a huge knife, a brutal blade that could eviscerate him with ease. She raised the blade high in the air and brought it down in his upper back.

With a bestial roar of pain, he took the knife from his neck and fell backwards onto the floor, temporarily stunning the psychologist. He rolled over quickly, ignoring the blood gushing from his neck. Holding the dagger tight, he pinned the psychologist with one strong hand and brought it down into her eye.

And she too shrieked a terrible cry of pain. But he did not stop. He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until she ceased struggling.

He rose up from the floor triumphant, but standing was a chore…he could not focus his eyes, the blood was flowing too fast…and he passed out on the floor in a dead faint…

And then he woke up when he felt the frigid water splash his face.

“Vern?” asked the psychologist…she had not died, it had been another hallucination. Oh shit.

“How about you just lie down…and I can call your wife at home and tell her you’re not feeling well. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“And I’ll tell her to bring a dry shirt…I am sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “I’ll be…fine…”

And as he lay motionless on the couch while the psychologist bustled about, he knew that the hallucinations were not about Gretchen’s postpartum depression. Way to blow all that money on a shrink appointment, he told himself ruefully.