Part 3: Drugs and a Date

A funeral director is forced to go on a date with a decrepit old woman in order to convict his arch nemesis.

Terence was in hell.  He had been charged with the possession of marijuana, placed under probation, and forced into a three month drug rehabilitation program at the St. Louis Hospital. Terence tried telling the police that he was being framed by his arch nemesis, Melvin Bowinkle, but they didn’t buy it. It also didn’t help that a bottle of  antipsychotics, which a psychiatrist named Mr. O’reilly had prescribed for Terence’s so-called ‘paranoid delusions,’was found during the drug bust. The authorities treated everything Terence said as a result of his paranoid condition. Only Ash Wilson could vouch for him. As of late, neither Terence nor Ash could find a defense attorney willing to devote his time to the ravings of a paranoid pothead. Ash was particularly desperate to find Terence a lawyer. After his probation period was over, Terence would have a criminal record. He would be placed in front of the Board of Funeral Services and stripped of his license. He would never be able to practice as a funeral director ever again.

                Now Terence was stationed in a circle filled with teenage delinquents and scrag-haired adults who smelled of sweat and tobacco. The councillor, Lucy Sky, was stick thin; her hair fell in lank curtains around her face. Terence wasn’t surprised to learn that she had once been into the white stuff. The session began with each person sharing their drug story. A seventeen year-old named Frank Porno told tales of poorly selected girlfriends and the pressures associated with a party conducive atmosphere. A couple, more sullen lads, simply shrugged and grunted, “Awunno.” After each drug related recollection, Lucy would nod― her floppy hair swaying back and forth―and say, “right on.” The time eventually came for Terence to share his story.

                “What about you, Ter, what was your experience with drugs?”Lucy leaned forward, gazing seriously in Terence’s direction.

                “A year ago I found out I had Grave’s Disease,” Terence began.

                “That sounds grave!” A snarky lad remarked. Terence shot the man down with his chastising stare.

                “This disease is autoimmune and associated with hyperthyroidism, which is a condition where your thyroid produces too much hormone. The symptoms I was experiencing included, heart palipitations, photophobia, weight loss, shakiness, and sensitivity to heat. I was prescribed an antithyroid drug―”

                “Wow! Wait a minute now!” Frank Porno threw up his hands. “Dude, that’s cheating!” Terence narrowed his eyes at the poorly named boy.

                “I don’t understand your accusation, Mr. Porno. This isn’t a game,” Terence said.

                “Are you stupid!?” Frank cried. “Lucy don’t want us to talk bout none of that prescription s**t! We here to talk about the good stuff.” The other group members nodded in agreement with Frank’s outburst, which Terence noticed was riddled with grammatical inaccuracies.

                “Frank’s got a point, Ter. You’re not here because of a thyroid drug, are you?” Lucy said. Terence could feel his ears going hot. He crossed his arms over his chest and swallowed the ever growing lump in his throat.            

“Fine,” Terence said, slapping his hands against his thighs. “I’m here because I fired an alcoholic named Melvin Bowinkle. He is wicked, deceiving, vengeful, apathetic, and devious as the devil himself! In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were possessed by the hell-angels of Lucifer!” Terence stood as his anger mounted. His uncanny height incurred fear in the other patients. They shriveled in their seats. Even Frank seemed to be regretting his prior interruption. “In an act of spite, Douchewinkle spiked my soy sauce with hash oil―a cannabis product containing THC and cannabinoids in higher concentrations. I got so high, I hallucinated. When confronting Melvin about his pestilent deed, he alluded to a garden of marijuana growing in my backyard―a garden which he himself had planted! He then anonymously contacted the police exposing my ‘drug possession.’” Terence threw himself back in his chair. His animosity ran so deep he had to tense every muscle in his body to stop from shaking. “That, Miss Sky and Mr. Porno, is why I’m here.”

                Part of Terence’s probation deal was that he had to reside in the rehab centre for the three month duration of the program. To discourage him from calling his assumed drug dealers, Terence was forced to surrender his phone to the parole officer. Besides his job as a funeral director, Terence also worked as an artist out of a studio/shop called Truly Terence. The shop would remain closed as long as he was in rehab.  Sitting in his room, which was horribly claustrophobic, Terence wanted desperately to get back to his work, both as an artist and a funeral director. All Terence had for company were his angry thoughts and the obscenities scrawled on the ceiling. He was in the midst of picturing Melvin’s head as a pumpkin ready for carving, when a sour old nurse banged on his door.

                “Mr. Coon,” she screeched, “You’ve got a visitor.”  His employee, Ash Wilson, gingerly made his way into the room. He had the look of a young boy who had just been smacked for tearing the heads off of his sister’s dolls.

                “How are you holding up?” he inquired.

                “Just peachy,” Terence retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

                “I just want to let you know that Anubis is doing fine. I’ve been feeding her the formula you requested and I’ve been bathing her and cleaning her ears every week.” Ash spoke frantically. In Terence’s absence, he had volunteered to take care of Terence’s sphinx cat. Terence chuckled when he saw the scratches on Ash’s arms. Anubis hated being bathed. Ash exhaled noisily and plopped himself on the bed next to Terence. His eyes were rimmed with purple and his jaw was coated in a layer of stubble. It was not like Wilson to neglect his shaving routine.

“I trust Jaune is being her normal dictatorial self,” Terence said. Ash yawned hugely and nodded. Now that Terence, the owner of Amigone Funeral Home, was held up in a hospital ward, his bossy employee, Jaune, was the new head honcho.

                “I’ve been interviewing directors to take your place in the prep room all week,” Ash groaned. Terence slid his feet into a pair of leather slippers. No way would Wilson find an embalmer as skilled and efficient as Terence. Terence wasn’t about to let his business suffer because of Melvin Bowinkle.

                “We need to find me a lawyer, Wilson,” Terence declared. “Come on. There’s wifi in the cafeteria across from the psych ward. We’ll browse the web on your phone for defense attorneys.” Terence paused before exiting his room. “They also have pie,” he added as a side thought.

-

                The cafeteria was a vast space. Glimmering lamps  dangled from the ceiling and cast a glow that seemed to bounce off of every white surface and shine painfully into Terence’s eyes. He found himself squinting as though he had just walked from a dim room to a sunny winter day.  Terence wished the police would let him have his antithyroid medication back; they had confiscated the pills to confirm the legitimacy of the prescription, but they forced him to take antipsychotics. Terence doubted the antipsychotics were really antipsychotics. For all he knew, the authorities were trying to poison him. If he dropped dead, the mayor wouldn’t have to put up with his complaints regarding the cameras in the street lamps.

“I don’t think your antipsychotics are working,”Ash stated when Terence voiced his suspicions.

“ I’m not taking them,” Terence said. The echoes of their conversation could be heard resonating off of the stark tiled walls of the cafeteria. Terence lowered his voice. “The nurses are airheads. They stand audience to my pill popping, but fail to check if I swallowed.” Ash shook his head. A grunt of disapproval slipped his mouth. He confronted the kitchen lady about two slices of pie before suggesting that Terence actually try taking the medication. Ash turned with the deserts, only to find that Terence had disappeared to a round table in the corner. Perched over his eyes were a pair of sleek sunglasses. The lighting in the cafeteria was obviously too much for him.

                “Where did you get those?” Ash questioned, sliding a slice of pie across the table.

                “I borrowed them from the back of a sleeping man’s head,” Terence responded. He removed the dark visor to inspect the pie. “Why pumpkin?” he questioned, his voice riddled with disappointment.  “Squash bugs like pumpkin, you know.” Stroking the pie with his fork, Terence mashed through the filling in search for insect particulates.

                “A little extra protein never hurt anyone,” Ash declared, shoving a large forkful in his mouth. He then balanced the fork on his plate and folded his hands in front of him. “Give the poor man’s sunglasses back,” Ash commanded.

                “The man’s asleep. He’s hardly going to miss them,” he said. Ash was too tired to argue. He took out his Strawberry deluxe phone―the latest from Fruti Tuti smart phones―and started where he had left off his search for a lawyer. Finding someone who would tolerate Terence was going to be difficult.

                “Try searching the name Penelope Star,” Terence suggested. While Ash had been reading the bios of defense attorneys on www.st.louislawfirm.com, Terence had been formulating the phrase ‘nice try’ with the untouched mush of pie filling on his plate. Ash yawned. His normally handsome face drooped with exhaustion.

                “I’ll get you some coffee,” Terence announced. “Just look up the name. I’ve got nothing more to lose.” Ash shrugged, and obeyed.

                Terence strolled around the perimeter of the cafeteria to a side table containing a stack of coffee cups. He avoided cutting through the centre of the room to minimize the number of stares he would get.  Being seven foot tall and grotesquely slender, Terence attracted too much attention. The addition of the dark sunglasses only added to the oddness of his appearance. He selected a ceramic mug from the top of a precariously stacked pyramid and filled it from the coffee urn. The spoon tinkled against the rim of the mug as Terence blended the multiple creamers and sugar cubes he’d put into the coffee. The same tinkling sounded beside him.

                “Mr. Coon!” a shrill voice gasped. Terence froze. It was the voice of Miss Sunshine.

                “Oh Lord,” Terence swallowed. Miss Sunshine had been the grade four teacher who had murdered her students’ gerbil just to call Terence for a pet funeral. Terence had discovered the cruel deed when he noticed traces of radon―a brand of rat posion― in the gerbil’s cage.  Miss Sunshine was a senile withered dinosaur of a woman, and she was infatuated with Terence.

                “Let me guess, you’re a patient here at the psych ward,” Terence said. He could feel his heart beating erratically. He wasn’t sure if it was a result of his current fear or lack of antithyroid medication.

                “No, silly! I’m a teacher here at the Hanes Elementary,” she laughed. It was a horrible sound―like the cackle of a howler monkey during mating season. The woman truly was delusional.

                “Right,” his baritone voice suddenly seemed much higher in his ears. He cleared his throat. “I should be on my―”

                “Not so fast, mister.” Miss Sunshine slammed her heavily creased hand over his. Terence swallowed again. The foggy holes that were Miss Sunshine’s eyes burned maliciously through his sunglasses.

                “I know people,” she whispered in his ear, “bad people. Your cute friend Melvin bumped into me one day after visiting his grandmother here. We got talking and he made me a deal. I could have you all to myself if I did him a favor.” Terence cringed as the woman removed his sunglasses. “That good-looking lad in the corner seems to be searching the web for a lawyer. Even if he finds one and you take Melvin to court, you won’t win the case without my help,” she hinted.

                “Forget it!” Terence hissed, snatching the sunglasses from Miss Sunshine.

                “Just one date,” Miss Sunshine insisted. “One night together and I’ll tell you everything you need to know to prove your innocence.” She winked; her lined eye lids were overdone in a repulsive shade of blue. “Think about it,” she said before leaving. When Terence looked down, he found that she had scribbled her number on a napkin. He walked slowly back to the table and placed the steaming mug of coffee in front of Ash.

                “Good news!” Ash cried ecstatically. “You were right about Penelope Star. It turns out she’s a member of the St. Louis Law Firm and is a fan of your artwork. You must have met her during one of your gallery showings. I just got off the phone with her. She’s willing to hear us out. We have a meeting with her tomorrow at 2:00 pm. Isn’t that great!?” Terence placed his shaking hand into his pocket and fingered the napkin.

                “Wonderful,” he answered quietly.

-

                The office of Penelope Star in the St. Louis Lawfirm was located in the heart of St. Louis du HA! HA!. Terence was permitted to attend the meeting with Ash on one condition: his parole officer, Brutus Bigman, had to tag along. The three of them sat awkwardly in a taxi. The parole officer sat between Ash and Terence.  Brutus was so widely built he was practically sitting on Terence’s lap.  No one spoke for the duration of the ride. This was fine with Terence, as he preferred the quiet to be alone with his thoughts. He also found the scenery of St. Louis du HA! HA! more enjoyable in the silence.

                Stone walls lined either side of the road. Beyond them was a green spread of grass that stretched in between old stone churches and houses. The pointed steeples of the churches and semi-circle windows appealed to Terence greatly. He had spent hours studying the buildings from afar, and capturing their beauty in delicate brush strokes. Sometimes he used the statues that hid under the archways of the architecture as inspiration for his sculptures. If there was one thing he loved as much as his job and his cat, it was his town―even if the majority of its people thought him to be mad. People may not have always seen things the way he did, but that certainly didn’t make him crazy―or did it?  Sure, Terence saw hidden agendas in every innocent bystander; sure, he heard whisperings that the common ear couldn’t detect, but he also saw beauty where few could. So what if he was paranoid? Terence saw the world through clear eyes. He wasn’t about to take a pill that would cloud his vision, forcing him into blindness like the rest of the population.

A drop of water broke against the window. Its sudden plop roused Terence from his thoughts. Soon the inside of the taxi was dancing with the white reflections of the rain hammering its exterior. Through the distortion of his rain washed window, Terence could see the silhouette of a plain brown structure. They had arrived. Both Ash and Brutus made a beeline for the building. Terence took his time in the rain. He filled his lungs with its fresh scent, and gazed up at the drops as they fell from the rumbling clouds.

“Hurry up, Terence!” Ash yelled, “You’re going to get struck by lightening!” Terence walked swiftly under the doorway of the building, where Ash and Brutus stood waiting. A wide open space greeted them when they entered. Coming from the cramped interior of the taxi, the place was a haven for Terence. The floors were polished and a green tangle of plants grew from a wall at the end of the room. Terence was about to go over to inspect greenery, when he heard his name called. A tall woman with a dark curly bob clacked her way over to him; she was wearing a pair of six inch florescent pink heels. Terence’s memory of her became clear as she approached him. Penelope Star: the collector. She had recently added a number of Terence’s artworks to one of her many collections. Her most infamous assemblage was composed of shoes. More specifically, dangerously high heels. Her hand clutched Terence’s, Ash’s and then Brutus’. When the introductions were over, she lead them up a flight of stairs to her office. Given her footwear, Terence was impressed with the way that Penelope managed to climb the stairs so elegantly. Ash and Brutus also looked impressed. Although, Terence noted that their gazes were fixed on an entirely different part of her body.

“So I understand you have some serious charges against this man, Melvin Bowinkle,” Penelope said. She kicked her stilettos off and took a seat in an oversized leather chair. Her office was quite the spectacle. The walls looked as though they had been painted in red wine, a shade which matched the colour of her lipstick. Terence released a hum of fascination after running his hand over a zebra patterned sofa angled across from Penelope’s desk. He was pleased to see one of his famous cat statues posing in the corner.

“Your friend Ash told me Melvin spiked your soy sauce with marijuana, and planted it in your garden. All in an attempt to spite you,” Penelope continued. Now seated comfortably on the sofa, Terence nodded.

“That is correct,” he said.

“Do you have proof of this?”

Ash piped up immediately, “I heard him! We confronted Melvin. He practically admitted to planting the marijuana when he said ‘something interesting was growing back there.’” Penelope loosed her beautiful eyes on Ash, who blushed under her gaze.

“Unfortunately, that’s not a confession.” She opened a black folder on her desk, scrutinizing its contents. “I did some digging on Melvin and found that you, Mr. Coon, dismissed him about a year ago for coming to work under the influence of alcohol.”

“Yes, I told you that yesterday,” Ash interceded.

“Forgive me, I had to be sure.”  Penelope tucked a stray black curl behind her ear before continuing. “Am I right in assuming you got nowhere with a statement of allegations?”

“It didn’t even go to a prosecutor,” Terence said, glaring at his parole officer. “In fact, I wonder if the police even investigated the charges.”  Brutus’ face was dark and unfeeling.

“Mr. Coon has a history of paranoia,” he stated simply. “An investigation would have been futile.” Penelope raised her thin eyebrows at this response.

“I disagree,” she said. “An investigation is never futile.” Her red lips parted in a smile that would have proved frightening if she hadn’t been gorgeous. Terence could tell, this woman was cutthroat clever. She was just the sort of person he needed to take down Melvin.

Turning her attention back to Terence, she said, “I am very persuasive and am on good terms with the prosecutor. I can have Melvin convicted. But if you don’t have any evidence I can use against him, I’ll have you know I charge extra for lies and feats of deception.” Brutus sprung from the sofa like a startled cat.

“How dare you propose a bribe!” he scowled. Both Penelope and Terence laughed in harmony.

“I’m only joking, Officer,” she assured him, winking at Terence, who averted his eyes to the shaggy carpet. A sudden melancholy had fallen over him. The only way he could bring Melvin to justice was to accept Miss Sunshine’s deal: a date in exchange for information. But how far would this romantic evening have to go? Terence felt sick with dread at the thought of waking up next to a face folded with age and tobacco stains. Nonetheless, he pulled the napkin from his pocket. Though it was damp from the rain, Miss Sunshine’s number was still clear. Terence retold his encounters with Miss Sunshine. When he was done, both Ash and Brutus were shaking their heads; their eyes lidded with cynicism. Penelope, on the other hand, appeared intrigued.

“This woman could be your ticket out, Mr. Coon,” she said. “If you attend this date, I could arrange for a voice recorder to be attached to your person.  A recorded confession of her conspiring with Melvin would be just the sort of leverage we need.” Ash was in aversion to this plan.

“The woman’s insane, Terence. How do you know she’ll keep her word? How do you know she won’t murder you like she murdered her students’ gerbil?!” Ash’s face was flushed with concern.

Brutus, who had been practically invisible for the majority of the meeting, crossed his thick arms and said, “ I would like to take this opportunity to remind Mr. Coon that he cannot leave the hospital premise without my accompaniment.” Terence was about to object, but stopped. Brutus was a hulk of a man. If Miss Sunshine did get the sudden psychotic urge to murder Terence, Brutus could take down the woman no problem. In this situation, his parole officer would be acting as more of a bodyguard. Ash also voiced no argument.

“So it’s settled then.” Penelope clapped her dainty hands together, slipped into her podiatrist’s nightmare, and strutted across the room to where Terence was situated. “You, Mr. Coon, are officially my client.” She pumped his hand to seal the deal and then suggested that Ash have the tainted soy sauce tested for marijuana. “If you can get me some documents to prove the presence of marijuana in the soy sauce, I can have Melvin charged with drug conspiracy and assault.” Ash nodded his head; his curly hair cascaded in agreement.  Before treading back into the tumultuous storm, Penelope gave Terence a mini voice recorder to bring with him on the date.

“Good luck,” she said.

 

-

                As promised, Terence got a hold of Miss Sunshine. Ash surrendered his phone over to Terence for the time being. Terence had just barely finished punching the number into the screen before Miss Sunshine’s voice erupted over the speaker.

                “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my offer,” she squealed. Terence felt as though there were ants crawling through his intestinal track.

                “Meet me tomorrow in La Café de Crèpe at 6pm,” he instructed. “I’ve made reservations.” Miss Sunshine responded with an oh-la-la, followed by a seductive laugh that had Terence tasting his lunch all over again.

                “Be sure to wear one of those sexy suits,” she sang before hanging up. Terence shivered in repulsion, tossing Ash’s phone onto the bed as though it were a sprig of poison ivy. He had already made Brutus aware of the plan. The restaurant was a walk down the block.  Brutus would trail behind Terence, keeping his distance at a separate table in the café. Terence didn’t trust Brutus, but he also didn’t trust Miss Sunshine. He didn’t even trust La Café de Crèpe, or any sort of eatery for that matter. He went to bed; his head laden with worry.

                It was 7am when Terence was roused by the sound of Ash’s phone buzzing. His awakening relieved him as his sleep had been plagued by nightmares; all of which included two constants: Miss Sunshine, and a leather whip.

                “Good morning, Terence,” Ash greeted.

                “No, it’s not.”

                “What?”

                “It’s not a good morning.” Terence groaned. He still had to attend another torturous session of drug rehab later in the afternoon. “Whatever you have to tell me, make it quick. A nurse will be up shortly to watch me pretend to take my pill.”

                “I took the soy sauce to your psychiatrist, Mr. O’reilly, to get tested,” Ash declared, proudly.

                “And?”

                “I got a rush on it and it came back positive for marijuana. We can use the results as proof against Melvin.”

                “How did you get a rush?” Terence questioned. There was a moment of silence on Ash’s end. “You found Mr. O’reilly’s hair, didn’t you?” Terence had once believed Mr. O’reilly to have forged the results of his drug test. Stealing the man’s toupee had been an act of compensation.

                “Yes,” Ash admitted. “I returned his toupee in exchange for a rush on the test.” He didn’t sound particularly sorry. After discovering Mr. O’reilly’s innocence, Terence had thought about returning the hair, but had then decided that it would make a lovely component to one of his sculptures.

                “Very well,” Terence responded. There would always be other annoying men with ugly hair pieces. “Thanks for your help, Wilson.” Ash wished Terence good luck on the date before bidding him adieu.  The mentioning of the date made Terence’s palms sweat. His anxiety only increased as the day went on. He ate little on account of the knots in his stomach, and found himself unable to sit still during the group therapy session. When the time came for him to put on one of his ‘sexy’ suits, he struggled knotting his tie; his hands were like those of a Parkinson’s patient. Outside, the lights of the street lamps and passing cars added to his agitation. The air was damp, and Terence couldn’t decide if he was hot or cold. Brutus walked several paces behind him. Terence could almost feel the man’s eyes on his back. His phantom-like presence gave Terence the sensation of being hunted. The sooner this rendezvous was over, the better.

                “Yoo hoo, Mr. Coon!” A spotted hand swung through the air with the swiftness of a metronome.  Miss Sunshine stood as Terence weaved his way through the maze of crowded tables. The restaurant had a rustic interior filled with the buzz of dinner conversation. Terence did not at all find Miss Sunshine’s apparel flattering. Her polka-dot blouse was low cut, revealing the sagging nature of her bosom. Her skirt was so tight it looked as though someone had bundled her legs together with plastic wrap. It was also short, proudly displaying the distended spider veins in her legs.

                “Hello,” Terence said, his voice strained.  As he took a seat he pretended to scratch his chest; he was, in fact, really ensuring the security of the recorder to his sternum. Terence had reserved a booth in hopes that he would have a sufficient amount of leg room beneath the table. He, of course, did not.

                “You’re looking very smart this evening,” Miss Sunshine purred. In the corner of his eye, Terence could see Brutus’ prowling gaze, peeping up from behind a menu.

                He swallowed, “thanks.” Terence flinched as he felt her hand stroke his inner thigh.

                “Please don’t do that!” he cried. Miss Sunshine pouted, her painted lips curling like a slug under salt. Terence sighed. If he upset Miss Sunshine he was certain to get no information. “I have a muscle cramp in my leg,” he lied. Miss Sunshine’s face brightened.

                “I know just the massage technique to fix that.” Her grip on his leg tightened.

                “Waiter!” Terence shrieked. Miss Sunshine withdrew her hand, again wearing her displeasure on her face.  A frail man with a beak-like nose scuttled to their booth almost instantaneously. He bowed and flourished the pencil and pad of paper in his hands. A tiny pair of circular spectacles perched on the centre of his nose. His name, Pascal, was indicated on a gold plate which he wore pinned to his shirt.

“Bonjour Madame et Monsieur. Je suis Pascal et bienvenue au Café de Crèpe.”  The man produced a pair of menus, which he gracefully placed in front of Terence and Miss Sunshine. “Voudriez-vous des boissons?”

Terence responded, “Une verre de vin si vous plaît.”  Miss Sunshine had a puzzled expression plastered to her face; evidently, she didn’t speak a lick of French.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” she said.

“La même pour elle,” Terence translated. The waiter nodded and spun away, twirling through the bustling restaurant like a ballerina.

“Mr. Coon!” Miss Sunshine exclaimed. “I had no idea you spoke French.” Her cheeks flushed red. “You’re just full of surprises!” Terence could feel his own face turning red as Miss Sunshine bobbed her eyebrows―which were no more than crudely penciled lines―up and down. “What did you order us?”

Terence swallowed, “Wine.”

“I didn’t know you drank!” Miss Sunshine gasped.

“Neither did I,” Terence responded weakly.

“Mr. Coon, you’re shaking!” Terence slowly lowered his menu. He had been using it as more of a shield from Miss Sunshine and had in fact made no attempt to read the dinner options. Pascal emerged, two glasses neatly tucked between his fingers.

“ Here comes the wine.” Miss Sunshine patted one of Terence’s siezuring hands. “A little alcohol will settle those nerves of yours,”she assured him, batting a crusty eyelash. 

“Est-ce-que vous avez prêt commander?" Pascal asked, filling the wine glasses to the brim with a deep red solution that smelt, to Terence, like fermented pineapple. He also noted its resemblance to blood.

“What are you ordering?” Terence demanded.

Miss Sunshine was already halfway through her glass of wine when she answered, “La crèpe d’amour: The crèpe of love.” She giggled flirtatiously and twirled a strand of thin, tightly-permed gray hair between her fingers. Did this woman think she was sixteen?! Pascal commended her on her choice and turned to Terence expectantly. Terence asked for the special, not knowing what the special was or even if there was a special. Apparently there was, as Pascal nodded, scribbled something on his pad, and danced away.

“Mr. Coon, you have not touched your drink,” Miss Sunshine observed. Terence glared at the suspicious red serum rippling in his glass. He dipped his finger in the liquid.

“There, I touched it.” Miss Sunshine was not amused by this display.

“I won’t start digging up dirt on Melvin until you drink that wine,” she threatened. Before pressing the glass to his lips, Terence demanded that Miss Sunshine take a sip first. He couldn’t rule out the possibility of his drink being poisoned. She readily took a gulp and then passed the cup over to Terence, unharmed. He took a deep breath and swallowed the liquid in one go. It tasted purely bitter and felt hot in his stomach. On the plus side, the alcohol did lesson his anxiety.

“There!” he said, slamming the base of the glass onto the table. “Now talk.”

Miss Sunshine began by telling Terence the circumstances under which she met Melvin. After visiting his ailed grandmother, Melvin met Miss Sunshine in the elevator on his way out. Miss Sunshine had been singing a song which she had composed herself. It was entitled thusly: To Swoon to Swoon for Mr. Coon.

“ Melvin complimented me on my lovely singing voice, and told me he knew you,” she said. She chuckled and shook her head.“He was a naughty boy, Mr. Coon. You see he stole his grandmother’s marijuana card. His grandmother used the card to get medical marijuana to treat her multiple sclerosis.” Pascal arrived just then, the special expertly balanced in one hand and the love crèpe in the other. Miss Sunshine cut into her crèpe as soon as it was placed in front of her. A concoction of chocolate and strawberries oozed out of it. Terence discovered that his own crèpe was loaded with escargot: snails swimming in a pool of ooey gooey butter and cheese.

“How’s the crèpe?” Miss Sunshine asked, licking a blob of chocolate from her lip.

“Special,” Terence replied. He hesitantly took a bite. The snails tasted rather like mushrooms. “Please continue,” he said after swallowing.

“Not until I get a kiss,” she declared. Her smile was devious. Terence wanted to respond, “you can kiss my a*s,”  but bit his tongue for fear of her taking him literally. She closed her eyes and leaned forward; her lips puckered like those of a fish. Terence plucked a particularly juicy snail from his plate, pressed its salty body against her mouth, and made kiss imitations. When she opened her eyes, Terence was convincingly close, the snail melting under the table. She smacked her lips, her cracked tongue tasting the salty residue that the snail had left behind.

“Why that kiss was positively scrumptious!” she said.

“Indeed,” Terence agreed. “Now please, tell me the rest of the story.”  As soon as the command was out of his mouth, Terence began to feel off.  With each word Miss Sunshine said Terence grew more and more woozy. Soon he was too busy holding back his vomit to even hear her words. He wanted desperately to excuse himself, but found that even the tiniest of movements caused him insufferable pain. His skin burned with fever;  he was so hot he felt as though he was on fire. Miss Sunshine appeared to be in the dark about his current condition. Her lips continued to flap, but the words that tumbled out slurred together in Terence’s mind. Her face was a haze before him and he found that he could no longer remember why  he was with her. Only one thing was clear in his mind: he had been poisoned by the waiter. The toxin must have been added to his crèpe. Terence had ordered ‘the special’ without knowing for sure that there was a special. Pascal  hadn’t known either because he wasn’t a waiter; he was an assassin. The special had been special alright―specially prepared with an aconite substitute for oil. Terence was dying.  Upon this realization, he let out a panicked gasp. Not knowing why, Terence stood. The lights of the restaurant melted together. As he stepped out of his booth, he sensed that people were watching him. Their faces appeared to Terence as messy smears.

“I―I’ve been poisoned,” he announced weakly to the smears. A woman screamed. So did a man. Soon everyone was screaming. Terence too tried to scream, but his mouth filled with vomit and he fell to the floor choking.  His heart was thrashing in his chest, pounding so viciously he could feel it in his ears. A man came to him as he lay, sweating and in pain.

“I’ve called an ambulance, Mr.Coon. They’ll be here soon.” The voice was familiar somehow. A stabbing pain erupted in Terence’s shoulder. He wanted to shriek in agony, but was in too much pain to do so. Black spots filled his vision and then all was dark.

 

-

                Beep, beep, beep, beep. A squiggly line shot up with each beep on the monitor beside Terence.

                “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Coon.” A short old lady in a white coat with carmel-coloured hair stood crossing her arms next to Terence’s bed. “It’s rare for a man to have Grave’s Disease, let alone go into thyroid storm.” Terence looked down at himself; tubes were protruding from various parts of his body. A strange plastic clip covered his index finger.

                “It wasn’t thyroid storm,” Terence grumbled, “I was poisoned.”  The doctor laughed. Terence made it clear to her that he was not joking.

                “When you were admitted you presented with tachycardia, and hypertension. Your heart rate was through the roof, along with your blood pressure and thyroid hormone levels. It was a miracle you didn’t go into congestive heart failure!” Terence looked at her incredulously. “ We did the blood work, Mr.Coon. There was no poison in your blood stream.” Terence sighed. A white curtain surrounded him.

                “You’re going to be fine, Mr. Coon,” she said. “You have a number of people here to see you, and I would hate to keep them waiting any longer.” Her exit was followed by the entry of Penelope, Brutus, and Jaune, all led by Ash Wilson. Their thoughts and emotions were written on their faces as clear as the writing in a book. All four of them were concerned, save for Brutus. Brutus was proud as a peacock. He had been the one to call for help, thus saving Terence’s life. It had been his voice in Terence’s ear.  Apart from feeling concerned, both Ash and Jaune wore the face of a guilty conscience. Synchronized apologies leaked from their mouths. Jaune sobbed for forgiveness. Like the police, she had thought Terence to be a druggie with related mental health issues.  Before Ash could begin his guilty ramble, Terence stopped him. The convoluted feelings associated with him being half naked in the ICU were really of no concern.

                “Right now I care about one thing and one thing only,” Terence stated, “Is Melvin going to jail?” Penelope stepped forward in her silver studded heels. Terence could feel the smirk on her face crossing over to his own.

                “Most definitely,” she answered. “Brutus got the recorder off of you before the paramedics came.” Brutus highlighted his heroic deed by demonstrating the karate move he used on Miss Sunshine to peel her off of Terence. According to him, Miss Sunshine had flung herself on Terence’s unconscious body in a fit of sorrow and rage. Penelope then summarized the contents of the recording, beginning from where Terence could last remember. Penelope had Melvin on four charges: drug conspiracy, two assault charges, and fraud.  

                “Melvin got in possession of the marijuana from a doctor who prescribes marijuana for medicinal purposes. He stole his grandmother’s marijuana health card, bribed Miss Sunshine to play the part of his grandmother, and tricked the doctor into giving her marijuana seeds and hash oil,” Penelope explained.  

                “He put his own grandmother through hell!” Ash cried. “She used marijuana to help ease the pain and sleep issues associated with her MS. Without her card, she couldn’t get the prescription.” One thing was for sure: Melvin would be going away for a long time. Terence felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was a free man. His probation would be terminated and he would no longer have to attend drug therapy sessions. Best of all, he would be able to keep his funeral director’s license and continue practicing the one thing he loved: embalming. There was only one thing that wasn’t clear to Terence.

                “Why did it take the police so long to authenticate my antithyroid medication?” He addressed the question to Brutus. “I went into thyroid storm because I wasn’t getting the necessary treatment for my hyperthyroidism.” Brutus crunched his eyebrows together in confusion.

                “The police didn’t hold back your antithyroid medication. In fact, I had a nurse come in to ensure that you were taking your pill every day.” Ash looked as though he had just been struck in the face.

                “You told me those were your antipsychotics,” he said, crossing his arms. “Terence! You told me you pretended to take your pills!”  Brutus, Penelope, and Jaune mimicked his stance.  Terence remained genuinely confused. He had the distinct memory of a man in uniform coming to his dorm to inform him that he would not be getting his thyroid medication back until the prescription could be authenticated. He relayed this memory to his present party, including a description of the cop.

                “He told me there were people watching to make sure I swallowed my antipsychotics,” Terence recalled.  Brutus shook his head.

                “I know of no cops who fit that description,” he said. “The found antipsychotics were brought to your psychiatrist, who made it clear that he prescribed them before knowing about your marijuana use,” Brutus clarified. “He told us the marijuana was causing your mental health symptoms, and that you should try going off of the antipsychotics while in drug therapy.” Terence swallowed. The police had held back the antipsychotics, not the antithyroid medication. His own paranoid delusion had almost cost him his life. Ash spoke up before anyone else could.

                “Terence,” he said, “I think you need those antipsychotics.”

 

-

                Terence endured a few more nights of hospitalization under careful surveillance before his condition was deemed stable enough to leave. Back on is antithyroid therapy, he made a follow up appointment with his doctor. He also attended an appointment with Mr. O’reilly, free of Jaune’s coercion.  After listening to Terence’s story, the psychiatrist renewed Terence’s prescription, giving him careful instructions on when and how much of the antipsychotic he should be taking.

                “Although it’s taken a near death experience for you to do so, I’m glad you’ve finally accepted the seriousness of your condition enough to trust me,” Mr. O’reilly said.

                “I still don’t like your hair piece,” Terence had answered.  

                Now, standing in his kitchen, his cat purring and rubbing against his legs, Terence fingered the red and blue capsule. A newspaper clipping of Melvin’s and Miss Sunshine’s arrest was attached to his fridge.  He placed the colourful pellet next to a glass of water on the table and picked up his cat. Anubis had been beside herself with glee ever since Terence had returned. He fondled her in his arms for a moment and then took a seat. His cat leapt onto the table; she demanded attention.

                “What do you think, Anubis,” he sighed, pressing the pill to his lips, “will I go blind?” The cat meowed and rubbed her head against his arm. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Terence placed the pill at the back of his tongue and took a long drink of water.

 

The End

               

 

 

               

               

 

Author's Note

The conclusion to this three parter is rather lengthy. For this reason I kept the font smaller so it wouldn't seem like you were scrolling on for days! Let me know if you think this should be made shorter and how you believe this could be acheived. Give me your thoughts in general! Thanks!

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

You always stick to the facts and don't wander off on tangents, so I can't see shortening it.

You really need to get this published. I am not saying this is good stuff for WritersCafe, it is publication-worthy. And I'd suggest you try to get an agent who can get you connected with a big publisher who can promote your book properly. Don't settle for a little online publication. Shoot for the best.

[Margo Seuss]

Wow! Thanks so much! My goal has always been to publish these stories! And it WILL happen! :)

[Margo Seuss]

Personally, I liked it the way it is... I see nothing that I could offer that would make it better... I think if you cut anything out... it would not do your story justice... It marvelous just as it is...

[Margo Seuss]

Thanks so much. I appreciate your review!

[ANM]

Love Terence well written and so darkly funny! The font was fine for me.

[Margo Seuss]

Thanks so much ANM. I don't know if you read the other parts of this. Thank-you for your review! Let me know if you ever want me to review something of yours in return.

[ANM]

I have read other things off yours always enjoy them! Have a look in my writing and review whatever you like!