Ms. Scarlet
This is my entry for week 2 of August. Topic: Brilliance.
Ms. Scarlet
Obsession had become a thicket, spreading through the forest of his mind with every news print that fell across his desk. Johnston Bryant had found that sifting through the newspaper was a catalyst at improving the monotony of his job. Being a psychologist for ten years, he had heard it all: the wife cheating on the husband, the husband cheating on the wife, the suicidal ideation, the homicidal ideation, and so on. One chronicle in particular had caught his interest over the last year, and he had taken to clipping out the articles and placing them in an old photo album.
Many names had been given to the murderess, most of them cliché titles like The Black Widow, Madam Murderess, and many others that had long been forgotten. She had murdered fifteen men in little under a year, and every time had left a scarlet letter A carved in a fanciful manner in the chest of the men. According to the news articles, the victims were men who had committed adultery against their wives. She had mostly been deemed “Ms. Scarlet,” and that was how Johnston referred to her as.
The psychologist inside of him was peeked at the choice of prey the woman had chosen. The need to study and analyze was present, wanting to know what had sparked this woman on. He and his wife had spoke of the murders many times, her often expressing disgust that she had not been caught, and he discussing the brilliance of using such a literary masterpiece in a daunting manner.
When his time was idle, he would think about this mysterious woman, wondering if she was seeking out her next victim. He often tried to imagine what she looked like: brown hair with brown eyes, blonde with blue eyes, red hair with green eyes. She had to be alluring in order to gage so many men’s interest. Closing his eyes, Johnston leaned back in the leather chair, ignoring the protests of old age that rang out from the screws holding it together. His mind had begun to wander when a sharp knock interrupted his daytime fantasies.
Sitting up, his breathing was fast and shallow, his heart beating in a guilty fashion. Picking up his glasses off his desk, he shoved them on his nose, trying to pull himself together.
“Come in.” His speech came out controlled and authoritative as he put on his professional side. The door swung open as a middle aged woman poked her head through, an heir of timidity surrounding her every being.
“Dr. Bryant, I know I’m a little early, but…um…I didn’t think you’d mi-“ Stammering, the woman stepped inside, wringing her hands nervously as her teeth bit down on her bottom lip.
“Not at all, Ms. James.” Cutting her off, he waved her in, disappointed that the drudgery of work had interfered with his thoughts. “Have a seat.”
“Ok. I didn’t want to interrupt, but your secretary wasn’t out there.” Stepping to the chair across the desk, she sat down on the edge of the chair. He had been seeing Ms. James for the last six months, and Johnston still did not have a clue as to why she was seeking mental health counseling. She was a timorous woman, hiding her natural beauty behind large, black rimmed glasses and a tight bun.
“Susan went to visit her mother. To be honest, it’s been a little lonely without her.” Smiling, Johnston’s green eyes lit up slightly. His secretary had become his right hand woman, and having to learn to work without her, even for a few days, had been a feat all on its own.
“I can imagine.” Still speaking in her quiet voice, Ms. James sat back in the chair a little.
“So, what can I do you for today?” Picking up his pen, he twisted it between his fingers, his demeanor casual as he turned his probing eyes upon her dark brown eyes. He listened to her as she spoke about feeling such intense anxiety she had problems breathing, and how she always felt that bad things were afoot. After half an hour of hearing the same phrases, he stood up and walked to the other side of the desk and sat on the edge, his left foot hiked up slightly.
“Ms. James, whenever you begin to feel these panic attacks coming on, you need to tell yourself to stop. Even if it means saying it out loud, yell it if need be, tell yourself to stop. Take deep breaths, count to five as you inhale and five as you exhale. Make sure you do things for yourself that help you stay calm. Take a hot shower, go for a walk.” He didn’t know if any of this actually worked, but it was what his schooling had taught him many years ago. Stepping back to the floor, he kneeled down in front of her, taking her hands in his and shaking her arms out gently. “Stay loose.”
Grinning in that boyish manner he had, Johnston stood up, pulling her with him. He was eager for his work hours to be done. Standing only a few inches taller than the woman before him, he started to let go of her hands, but she moved in suddenly, her lips capturing his. He was stunned into not moving as her body melded against his, his mind racing with temptation.
Johnston had experienced the age old stereotype of a client thinking herself to be in love with the psychologist, but he had never had to deal with an action like this. He really had not expected it from somebody like Ms. James, but he had to admit that her lips were soft and sweet against his. He had never kissed any other woman but his wife, and it felt strangely tantalizing. For a moment, he divulged in the kiss, allowing his imagination to run with him. Wrapping his arms around her tiny frame, he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth eagerly.
In one fluid motion, he pushed her away, his breath catching in his throat. Johnston’s chest heaving as he stared at the woman before him, her meek persona now lit up with a fire he had not seen. Shaking his head, he leaned against the desk.
“I need you to leave.” His voice came out between breaths, the adrenaline surging through his body. There had been something almost liberating about playing on the line of danger, but he was a good man at heart. He loved his wife.
Ms. James looked at him for a moment with an unreadable expression. Nodding, she turned and left, walking through the door with a more confident step than when she had first entered. As she stepped out into the hallway and began the walk to her car, an incredulous smirk crossed her face.
As she reached the old black Ford, she opened the door and stepped inside. Reaching behind her, she pulled out a dagger that had been hidden between her pants and back. Her fingers ran along the perfect blade before she sat it down on the passenger’s seat. The engine roared to life with surprising strength and she drove away with no intention of returning.
“Ms. Scarlet, I think you’re losing your touch.” The woman spoke to herself as she reached down to flip on the radio, and the classical sounds of Mozart filled the silence.
Ms. Scarlet
Obsession had become a thicket, spreading through the forest of his mind with every news print that fell across his desk. Johnston Bryant had found that sifting through the newspaper was a catalyst at improving the monotony of his job. Being a psychologist for ten years, he had heard it all: the wife cheating on the husband, the husband cheating on the wife, the suicidal ideation, the homicidal ideation, and so on. One chronicle in particular had caught his interest over the last year, and he had taken to clipping out the articles and placing them in an old photo album.
Many names had been given to the murderess, most of them cliché titles like The Black Widow, Madam Murderess, and many others that had long been forgotten. She had murdered fifteen men in little under a year, and every time had left a scarlet letter A carved in a fanciful manner in the chest of the men. According to the news articles, the victims were men who had committed adultery against their wives. She had mostly been deemed “Ms. Scarlet,” and that was how Johnston referred to her as.
The psychologist inside of him was peeked at the choice of prey the woman had chosen. The need to study and analyze was present, wanting to know what had sparked this woman on. He and his wife had spoke of the murders many times, her often expressing disgust that she had not been caught, and he discussing the brilliance of using such a literary masterpiece in a daunting manner.
When his time was idle, he would think about this mysterious woman, wondering if she was seeking out her next victim. He often tried to imagine what she looked like: brown hair with brown eyes, blonde with blue eyes, red hair with green eyes. She had to be alluring in order to gage so many men’s interest. Closing his eyes, Johnston leaned back in the leather chair, ignoring the protests of old age that rang out from the screws holding it together. His mind had begun to wander when a sharp knock interrupted his daytime fantasies.
Sitting up, his breathing was fast and shallow, his heart beating in a guilty fashion. Picking up his glasses off his desk, he shoved them on his nose, trying to pull himself together.
“Come in.” His speech came out controlled and authoritative as he put on his professional side. The door swung open as a middle aged woman poked her head through, an heir of timidity surrounding her every being.
“Dr. Bryant, I know I’m a little early, but…um…I didn’t think you’d mi-“ Stammering, the woman stepped inside, wringing her hands nervously as her teeth bit down on her bottom lip.
“Not at all, Ms. James.” Cutting her off, he waved her in, disappointed that the drudgery of work had interfered with his thoughts. “Have a seat.”
“Ok. I didn’t want to interrupt, but your secretary wasn’t out there.” Stepping to the chair across the desk, she sat down on the edge of the chair. He had been seeing Ms. James for the last six months, and Johnston still did not have a clue as to why she was seeking mental health counseling. She was a timorous woman, hiding her natural beauty behind large, black rimmed glasses and a tight bun.
“Susan went to visit her mother. To be honest, it’s been a little lonely without her.” Smiling, Johnston’s green eyes lit up slightly. His secretary had become his right hand woman, and having to learn to work without her, even for a few days, had been a feat all on its own.
“I can imagine.” Still speaking in her quiet voice, Ms. James sat back in the chair a little.
“So, what can I do you for today?” Picking up his pen, he twisted it between his fingers, his demeanor casual as he turned his probing eyes upon her dark brown eyes. He listened to her as she spoke about feeling such intense anxiety she had problems breathing, and how she always felt that bad things were afoot. After half an hour of hearing the same phrases, he stood up and walked to the other side of the desk and sat on the edge, his left foot hiked up slightly.
“Ms. James, whenever you begin to feel these panic attacks coming on, you need to tell yourself to stop. Even if it means saying it out loud, yell it if need be, tell yourself to stop. Take deep breaths, count to five as you inhale and five as you exhale. Make sure you do things for yourself that help you stay calm. Take a hot shower, go for a walk.” He didn’t know if any of this actually worked, but it was what his schooling had taught him many years ago. Stepping back to the floor, he kneeled down in front of her, taking her hands in his and shaking her arms out gently. “Stay loose.”
Grinning in that boyish manner he had, Johnston stood up, pulling her with him. He was eager for his work hours to be done. Standing only a few inches taller than the woman before him, he started to let go of her hands, but she moved in suddenly, her lips capturing his. He was stunned into not moving as her body melded against his, his mind racing with temptation.
Johnston had experienced the age old stereotype of a client thinking herself to be in love with the psychologist, but he had never had to deal with an action like this. He really had not expected it from somebody like Ms. James, but he had to admit that her lips were soft and sweet against his. He had never kissed any other woman but his wife, and it felt strangely tantalizing. For a moment, he divulged in the kiss, allowing his imagination to run with him. Wrapping his arms around her tiny frame, he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth eagerly.
In one fluid motion, he pushed her away, his breath catching in his throat. Johnston’s chest heaving as he stared at the woman before him, her meek persona now lit up with a fire he had not seen. Shaking his head, he leaned against the desk.
“I need you to leave.” His voice came out between breaths, the adrenaline surging through his body. There had been something almost liberating about playing on the line of danger, but he was a good man at heart. He loved his wife.
Ms. James looked at him for a moment with an unreadable expression. Nodding, she turned and left, walking through the door with a more confident step than when she had first entered. As she stepped out into the hallway and began the walk to her car, an incredulous smirk crossed her face.
As she reached the old black Ford, she opened the door and stepped inside. Reaching behind her, she pulled out a dagger that had been hidden between her pants and back. Her fingers ran along the perfect blade before she sat it down on the passenger’s seat. The engine roared to life with surprising strength and she drove away with no intention of returning.
“Ms. Scarlet, I think you’re losing your touch.” The woman spoke to herself as she reached down to flip on the radio, and the classical sounds of Mozart filled the silence.