The car banked around the curve in perfect alignment with the road.  The driver felt himself instinctively guide the vehicle along the edge of the pavement as it cut back into the contour of the mountain.  He eased off the gas and allowed the downward momentum take over.

He glanced for a moment to the valley below.  The rapidly veering curves of the mountain road had coaxed him into a sort of trance, convincing him into thinking that he wasn’t actually in control.  Looking down at the shifting landscape brought him back to awareness.

He took a quick inventory:  hands at ten and two, cell phone affixed to the center of the dashboard.  The passenger and back seats were vacant.  But he didn’t remember choosing this road and wasn’t certain where it was heading.  

The next curve came too fast and the driver realized the car was accelerating.  He gently applied the brakes as the road straightened.  The thought of pulling over floated through his brain as a turn-off area rushed by.  With only inches of gravel separating the road from the rocky side of the mountain, stopping now would be far too dangerous.  He would watch carefully for the next turn-off area to arrive.

He found a button on the steering for initiating a hands-free call, ironically indicated by the image of an old land-line phone.  He pushed the button, waited for a familiar chime, then spoke without thinking.

“Call Dr. Dave.”

He heard the phone dial over the car’s speakers. One ring, then voicemail.

Sorry I’ve missed your call.  Please leave a message

The driver continued.  “Hi Doctor, this is Jamie Harris.  Um, I know I’m not supposed to call you like this, but–”

His voice caught in his throat.  His mouth was dry.

“I think I’m in trouble,” he said.  I don’t really know why, I just…”

He steered the car into a tight curve, the wheels squealing weakly.

“I just know I’ve done something wrong.  Call me back.  Please.”

He pressed the button on the steering wheel a second time, ending the call.

The chaise lounges were lined along the side of the pool, separated from the mountain view by a row of artfully arranged bungalows.  When the call was received, the phone rattled the small glass table situated between the couple.

Behind her sunglasses, the woman observed her partner without turning.  He picked up the phone, twisted his wrist to see the screen, then lowered the device without answering.  He looked back at the mountains.

“I didn’t answer it,” he said.

“I didn’t say anything,” she said.

She pulled up the hem of her bathing suit top and combed her fingers down through her shoulder-length hair.

“You could turn it off, Dave,” she said.

“And you could keep your judgments to yourself,” he said.

She began twitching the toes of her right foot.

“You know that owning a successful practice comes with responsibilities,” he said.  

“I don’t need the lecture,” she said.

He turned onto his side to look at her.  He didn’t bother to straighten his undersized button-up polo shirt.  “I think maybe you do, Julia,” he said.

The phone vibrated for an isolated moment.  He held his gaze, proving that only he determined when the device required his attention.

“Is there something we need to talk about?” he asked.  

She turned her head in his direction and stared. After a moment, she sat up and swung her legs off the chair.  She stood up and awkwardly adjusted her bathing suit.

“I’m getting a drink,” she announced, grabbing her cover-up off the back of the chaise.

He watched her walk away.

When Jamie Harris first began treatment with Dr. David Hansen, he noticed how uncomfortable the chairs in his waiting room were.  And how little give the cushions of his office sofa provided.  But now that he had been visiting for several weeks, he paid no attention to those details.

He sat on the far end of the sofa, elbow on the arm rest, and faced Hansen across his large wooden desk.  Hansen had situated an open laptop to one side, the screen hidden from his patient, but kept his hands crossed before him.

“I appreciate your insight,” said Dr. Dave.

“I just thought, you know, it might help,” said Jamie.

“Sure, I get that.  And I understand you wanting to get better,” said Dr. Dave.  “But it’s just not that simple.”

Jamie watched Dr. Dave closely.  His face betrayed no emotion.

Your desire to get better just isn’t going to be enough, Jamie.

Jamie noticed anew the firmness of the sofa cushion below him.  He realized how little he had moved since he said down forty minutes earlier.  He shifted the position of his arm and felt the smoothed patch of the sofa against his skin.

We said at the very beginning, when we first met, that this would be a long process.  

Jamie felt his body stand at the end of the session.  He moved through the office, retrieved his jacket from the coat rack, and stepped through the exit.

We said that there would be no quick fixes.

HIs thoughts unfocused, Jamie glided down the hallway, flanked by plain, beige doors on either side.

We still have a lot of work to do.  Together.

Looking down the corridor, Jamie saw the elevator open and an attractive woman step out.  She was dressed in casual slacks and a light sweater and combed her fingers through her shoulder-length hair.

It’s going to take time.

Jamie kept his eyes forward as he passed the woman in the hallway, resisting the temptation to watch her walk by.  When he reached the elevator, he looked back the way he came and saw Julia open the door to Dr. Dave’s reception area.

It was soon after the elevation marker at 6000 feet that Jamie finally found a space to turn off the road.  He took the cell phone from the holder in the center console and stepped outside.  Gravel shifted below his feet as he searched his cell phone for the correct contact information.  The wind whistled in his ear when he raised the phone to his head.

“Hello, Dr. Dave.  It’s Jamie Harris again.”

He gazed along the jagged rocks on the side of the mountain, the wild growth shooting up from between.

“I don’t understand why you won’t take my calls, Doctor,” he said.  “I really need to talk to you.  

“Please call me back.”  

He ended the call and stepped back towards the car.  Reaching for the driver’s side door, he looked to his phone and reconsidered.  He dialed again.

“I, I, I feel like I have no control, Doctor,” he said, tears starting to form in his eyes. 

“I feel this compulsion.  I feel like I need to do something.”

He stepped away from the car, angling across the pavement towards the other side of the road.

“But I don’t even know where I’m going.  I don’t know if I’m running towards something, or if I’m running away.”

The phone beeped, and the call was disconnected.  He lowered his hand and looked down into the valley below.

At the end of his session with Jamie, Dr. Dave turned to his laptop and changed the tone of his speech.

“Before you go, I wanted to let you know that I need to reschedule our appointment next week.”

“Okay,” said Jamie.

“I’m going out of town for the weekend and won’t be back until Monday afternoon,” said Dr. Dave.

Okay.

Jamie rode the elevator down to the building’s lobby, crossed over to the elevators that led to the parking garage, then descended further.  He walked quickly to his truck parked in a remote corner of the garage and drove it to an empty space adjacent to the elevator bay.  He backed into the space so that he faced the elevators and turned off the engine.

Sitting behind the wheel, he positioned his parking ticket in the well of the truck’s speedometer.  He had entered the garage at 10:02 a.m., some fifty-three minutes earlier.  Dr. Dave’s receptionist validated him for 60 minutes.  It was a well-oiled machine that Dr. Dave operated.  Never a minute unaccounted for.

Jamie stared at the elevator bay for another sixty-two minutes.  The woman he had seen in the hallway emerged from the elevator, reaching into her purse as she walked.  Jamie watched her stroll down the row of cars then disappear between two vehicles, her heels echoing behind.  Moments later, he heard an engine turn over.  Wheels squeaked on the smooth pavement and a late model sedan passed by in front of Jamie’s truck.

He started up his own engine and followed Julia to the garage exit.

Julia dangled her feet into the water, sitting on the edge of the pool furthest away from her partner.  Dr. Dave Hansen sat at a table, under an umbrella, talking on his cellphone.

“I appreciate your insight,” Hansen said, his eyes absentmindedly glancing around the pool.

Julia watched him slouching to one side in the patio chair, his polo shirt gaping open between the buttons.  His legs were so hairy, his shorts were so khaki.

“And I appreciate your desire to get better,” he continued, “but that’s just not going to be enough.”

Julia looked down at her own legs, moving absently through the water.

We have a lot of work to do.  Together.

When they walked back to their bungalow, Julia moved quickly, leaving Hansen two steps behind.  She carried the keycard loosely between two fingers and opened the door with ease, tossing aside the card when she entered.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced to the room as Hansen caught the bungalow door from closing behind her.

She stepped into the bedroom, shedding her cover-up as she entered.  Hansen stepped into the kitchen area, plugging his phone into a charger next to the sink.

“Do you want to have a drink before dinner?” he called into the other room.

“No, I’m fine,” she said. 

Julia stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.  She stripped off her bathing suit and tossed it in the sink.

Looking in the mirror for a moment, she noticed that the frosted glass window behind her was ajar.

In the kitchen, Hansen opened the cabinet and removed two tumblers, then turned to the refrigerator.  Catching something out of the corner of his eye, he paused and looked into the living room.  The sheer drapes hanging by the patio door billowed in the breeze.  

“Honey, did you leave the backdoor open?” he said

Jamie had parked his trunk two houses down on the opposite side of the road.  His side mirror was twisted to reveal the front door of the house and the stone pathway that led to the road.

I’m not going to keep calling you, Doctor.  I know I’m nearing my end.

Focused on the mirror, he didn’t initially notice the sedan driving towards him.  It passed by him and parked in front of the house he was watching.

I just want to understand.  I want to know why.

Moments later, the front door opened and the woman with shoulder-length hair stepped outside, pulling a small wheeled suitcase behind her.

I don’t expect you to fix me, Doctor.  I really don’t.

The trunk lid for the car opened and Dr. David Hansen emerged from behind the wheel.  Jamie watched in the mirror as the couple met at the open trunk and kissed.

I just want to know why it was always going to end this way.

With the suitcase stowed in the trunk, the couple climbed into the front seats and drove away.  Jamie pulled a u-turn in his truck and followed close behind.

Jamie shivered on the side of the mountain road, holding the phone to the side of his head.  A sad chime rang in his ear.  He pulled the phone away and looked at the screen.  The battery had finally run out.  He smiled wryly to himself.

He opened the car door and thought he heard a phone ring.  He looked again to his hand and confirmed that his phone was dead.  The sound came from inside the car.

He closed the car door and stepped cautiously around the perimeter of the sedan.  Looking into the backseat as he passed.  Nothing there.

When he reached the trunk, he heard the sound again.  A muffled ringtone.

He reached under the ledge of the lid, searching for a button to release the latch.  The car’s design was unfamiliar.  

Jamie opened the trunk, letting the lid rise up slowly.

The ringtone rang again, this time clearly.

Inside the trunk, Jamie found a still body resting on its side, curled up and facing away from him.  A thick-bodied man wearing a button-up polo shirt and khaki shorts.  

Jamie shuffled his feet, his brain flooding with conflicting instincts.  His face burned hot as all the blood in his body rushed immediately to his head.

Jamie leaned into the trunk and reached into the front pocket of the man’s shorts.  He pulled out a cell phone as it rang once again.  He numbly muted the call.

His ears rang loudly, driving him to slam the trunk closed.  He noticed for the first time that the vanity license plate read DRDVE PHD.  A splatter of blood clung to the chrome trim.

Turning from the sedan to re-orient himself, he looked down the road, then out over the side of the mountain’s edge.  

He then turned his attention back to the new phone in his hand, using his thumb to activate the screen and find the right icon.  He raised the device to his mouth and spoke.

“Call Dr. Dave.”