Her Thirties Part 54 Shapeshifter

The sudden appearance of Marilyn’s psychiatrist unnerved me—it seemed creepy as Abe would say.

He reminded me of a patient, noiseless spider.

I glanced around the reception area and it was empty. I hadn’t seen the patient come out who had been in the room before me.

I hesitated both out of propriety and fear, but the doctor gently guided me in.

“Take a chair, Professor Lennox,” he said, pointing to one of two soft leather sofa chairs before his desk—“or, would you prefer the couch?”

“Oh no,” I replied hastily, “the chair will be fine.”

His eyes danced. “I was teasing you, I’m afraid—of course you’d be more comfortable in the chair.”

I glanced around at the rich appointments in the room. All the furniture pieces were high-end antiques from the same period as the house and all matched the dark-oak stain of the wainscoting that ran round the room.

“You like old houses, don’t you?”

“I do,” I replied.

“Do you belong to the York Club?”

All I knew of the Club was that it was an exclusive, if not reclusive, lodge that owned the Gooderham mansion at the corner of St. George and Bloor streets.

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing—no reason really. You looked familiar—I thought perhaps we met there.”

Now that he mentioned it, he also looked familiar—but I couldn’t place him.

Despite his bland demeanor, he seemed slightly agitated or perturbed and I noticed he didn’t immediately sit down—rather he paced restlessly about the room, and then realizing his behavior appeared strange, he leaned one hand on the mantel of the great marble fireplace that dominated the one wall.

He was trying to strike a casual pose and it didn’t work—he looked ridiculously uncomfortable.

I got the distinct impression that he was trying to cover something up, although what it could be, I had no idea

That’s when it happened. Something like a wave of energy passed before his face and his features changed. It was bizarre and looked like the disturbance in the air caused by heat rising off a hot pavement in summer.

His face shimmered—pixilating into bars or sections of facial features similar to what police use in facial identification kits. I saw longish dark hair and a heavy moustache and then, the image resolved into the face of the sandy-haired, clean-shaven, bespectacled man who stood before me.

He noticed the change in my demeanor.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

I don’t know why, but I felt I had to lie.

“No—well actually, I thought you seemed familiar too, but I couldn’t place you.”

He seemed to buy my explanation, or at least it seems to appease and calm him. He finally sat down in the chair opposite me.

I was sweating, and I never perspire. I felt extremely threatened by this man.

It was a totally irrational fear since I just met him, but I sensed a real danger in simply being alone with him.

I resolved to cooperate with him and not oppose or upset him in any way. Once I was out of the office I’d try to reason through why I felt oppressed by him.

To be continued...


© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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