Pam by Jacqueline Druga Page A

the good C atholic boy that I was, I confessed to a priest. He actually understood it and didn’t condemn me. He found me help.
    I was medicated for years and went on to live normally u ntil I felt I could stop the medication.
    When I did, it barreled back , and I found my trigger lay with the forbidden.
    I’m talking odd forbidden , n ot illegal. Odd. Like sleeping woman, sad wom en, any woman and sometimes men that I found helpless or dangerous. The fouler a prostitute the harder the e rection.
    Unfortunately , in my field, I ran across many of these people.
    I never had sex with a patient, nor would I. Not in a conventional way. But in my fantasies they invited me to their homes, welcomed me into their bed s or performed f ella tio on me before they left my office after a session.
    Whenever the waves hit me and became frequent, I’ d go back on medication, wea n off , and be good for while.
    It had been a while since a ‘wave’ had hit me. James congratulated me on that.
    Over that coffee, I told him about the new patient and how I felt a sadness for her, a connection to her and wanted to hear more of her story.
    “You have an obsessive personality. You remember how you got over that Perkins case.”
    I nodded. I also didn’t tell him I ended up with that case, because I was certain he would try to convince me to give it to someone else.
    “So I don’t understand why you needed to see me,” he said. “Is it just that you fe e l compulsive about this patient ? ”
    “I think about her case all the time. It’s not interfering in my other cases.”
    “Not yet?”
    “I hope not.”
    “Just call me. I think you’re good. Maybe it’s just an interesting patient.”
    “That she is.” I smiled.
    James asked a lot of questions, all the right ones. I felt better after I met with him and less guilty for my obsession. I felt like a flood gate open ed and I could freely schedule to see her more.
    She needed it and , oddly enough, so did I.

Chapter Fifteen – Sharon
     
    Hartford was north of Willow Creek , and my current home was south of my old town. But I felt compelled to drive to Hartford.
    My intention was to stop at the Willow Creek nursing home and visit my father, sneak in and out of town before Pam arrived in her well media noted quest for the truth. But I passed the exit and kept going.
    My rash of memories of Marion Blake was the catapult for my visit.
    I remembered very well where that a uto b ody shop was , and I found it with ease. It was no longer a car shop, but a Vito Electronic store. Televisions graced the windows , and the exterior of the apartment upstairs had received a facelift of new siding. On the window of the apartment was a for rent sign. I thought about going up there and looking at the apartment , but I didn’t know if I could handle it.
    It was like visiting the scene of a crime. A crime I didn’t commit.
    I knew Pam had a dark side, but that side of her only came out to protect what was hers. That’s was one of the reasons I had a hard time believing before the trial that she would hurt her children.
    They were hers.
    But what it boiled down to wasn’ t the kids ; they were pawns and tools in her keeping Richie.
    In reflection, everything was in protection of Richie. It was a fatal attraction. She did whatever she could to hold on to him as tight ly as she could . Having one child after another . … that was probably why Richie was so wayward. Her grip was so tight that he reached for freedom.
    No, that couldn’t have been all of it. Richie was wayward even in school.
    He started school late so he matured earlier than most. When a lot of girls dismissed him for his awkwardness, Pam didn’t. She got him.
    But then he crav ed attention and ran with it.
    He loved attention, which was also one of the reasons I thought Richie had killed his kids.
    He was tired of being tied down, he wanted to move on, Pam was having another child.
    It made perfect sense . No one even looked at him