“So, you’re still hog wrestling with academia ?”
Nate leans back and puts up his feet—puts his soft leather cowboy boots right up on his five thousand dollar oak desk. I cringe a bit, but try to ignore it.
I’m half-in and half-out—I stretched my ideals out of shape, but am still innocent somehow...and vulnerable.
.
And that’s why I’m here, talking to Nate Granger who looks like he’d be happier heading up the cattleman’s association than posing as a high-priced shrink in a penthouse office.
“Why do you bother shelling out cash for this ridiculously ostentatious office?” I growl in frustration.
“I like the view,” he smiles.
There it is, I muse —that engaging Jimmy Dean, ‘aw shucks’ grin that disarms you even when you don’t want to be disarmed.
“Damn it, Nate—can you take your feet off the furniture?”
He unclumps his boots from the oak desk.
“I will oblige you, Gray—as they say, Salus aegroti suprema lex.”
I have to smile in spite of myself. Only Nate can come across as a country hick and then quote from The Principles of Biomedical Ethics—in Latin—the patient’s wellbeing is the most important law.
“So you see,” Nate drawls on, “I’m concerned about putting you at ease so you’ll be reassured and tell me what’s bothering you, but I can guess it’s either a woman or a demon—and in your case, probably both.”
How does he do that?. He goes right to he heart of the matter, which in this case is Victoria Mercer, a grad student who's literally haunting my life.
“Do you really want to hear this Nate, or are you just going to rely on your own brand of discerning of spirits?”
“I’m sitting at your feet, Professor—proceed.”
It’s off-putting the way he uncannily puts his finger on my pulse while feigning disinterest. He knows my history and he probably has discerned my demons.
"I have a grad student who seems to be. exerting some kind of power over me."
"Really?" he smirks, "Why am I not surprised--and no doubt she's beautiful as well."
I sighed, "It's a familiar pattern I know, but somehow this is different. I actually think the girl is evil."
"What makes you say that?"
"It's more a case of how she makes me feel. Her stare is unsettling. At first, I admit, I found it mesmerizing, but now I believe by succumbing to her charm I allowed her to stare into my soul and defile me."
My last remark actually caused Nate to get up from his chair and pace back and forth before the window, obviously deeply concerned and agitated.
After what seemed an interminable pause, he swivelled to face me.
"How did her stare defile you?"
"It's hard to put into words, Nate. As she stared at me there was this subdued hissing sound I supposed was crickets or insects outside but I discovered was in my head and it seemed to trigger a series of flashbacks and images of women I’ve known over the years.”
“Known—how—in the Biblical sense?”
I nodded morosely. “Some unfortunately, I slept with—but most were temptresses for me."
Nate sat back down at his desk, his nonchalance gone, replaced with a calm sobriety.
“So, I take it that this oppression is ongoing. Is it limited to flashbacks and mental images—obsessive thoughts?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why aren’t you sure?”
“I suppose the images run together into obsessions—and even when I’d be preparing lectures I'd find it impossible to focus. I realized I was being seduced through women.”
“Women in general, or one woman in particular?”
"To tell you the truth, it's now just Victoria. This isn’t something I made up, Nate—these images are real, and it is warfare.”
Nate nodded his assent. "You're right—this is serious. Mere mental images don’t haunt and torment—or make you desolate.”
“No,” I whispered, “we do that to ourselves.”
