If you don't read "Mania" published November 7, 2016, this will make no sense to you. The only summary I provide here is that Dave has been told by his shrink that since his wife Jennifer is almost certainly impregnated with Dave's fraternal twin brother Rob's kid that Dave is in a totally fucked up situation and he needs to simply get the hell out of there and move 1,000 miles away.
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Siri gave me the location of two cities roughly 1,000 miles away. I picked the one in the state that hadn't voted for Donald Trump and was soon on my way in my six year old, but highly functional and reliable, Ford Fusion. I stayed in a motel only one night – then I was able to get a small furnished apartment in a very mediocre part of the city near a hospital. That same day – a Thursday – I called my previous employer, a hospital where I worked as a lab technician.
I always had a good relationship with my supervisor. I was completely honest with her about how fucked-up my life had become, and what the shrink advised me. She was understanding, however because I hadn't given two weeks' notice she couldn't pay me for my accumulated sick leave, although she could for my annual leave. I gave her the address to send my final check after getting her to swear that she would tell no one what it was, and also assured me that she would give a great recommendation to a potential new employer – and not mention my sudden departure.
There were dozens of calls on my iPhone when I checked after my talk with my former employer; several from Jenny, several from Rob, one from Cathy, and one from my parents, in addition to a few non-related calls. I deleted them all without listening to them, tried the best that I could to delete all personal information from my smartphone, canceled my account, and gave the phone to a charity. I bought a simple old-fashioned flip "burner" phone, added money from a card to it, and walked over to the hospital a few blocks from my new apartment.
Something finally went my way; the hospital had two immediate openings for lab technicians and interviewed me and called my old supervisor right on the spot. They hired me that same day and asked if I could start work the next day – which I happily did.
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For the next five months I primarily worked, ate, slept, and went to movies or minor league sporting events. I had almost no social life outside of work, although there was a married couple in my building that I did do a few things with, and a single guy in accounting at the hospital that I palled around with a little. I didn't apply for or use credit cards, only used the hospital's credit union for cashing my paychecks, and essentially paid for everything in my simple life with cash.
The only people that I had any contact with from my previous life were my parents, who I called about once every two weeks, normally on a Saturday morning. However, I early on established the ground rules for contact with them. I told them that they could never ask where I was, nor did I care for any information about Jenny, Rob, or Cathy. I told them that as much as I loved them if they violated those guidelines I'd cut off contact with them too.
My Mom was very sad; but she's a strong woman and sucked it up and went along with my conditions. My Dad was actually understanding; the only comment he had in our first conversation was that even though he had incomplete information he had accused Jenny and Rob of driving me away and reamed them out; and then said nothing further about it.
I had no expectation of staying married to Jenny. I was sure that she'd divorce me for abandonment, which suited me just fine. Rob could raise the kid he had with Jenny if he wanted to, or she could be a normal single mom. Except for when I woke up in a cold sweat during the night sometimes, my mania, obsession, or whatever you want to call it, for Cathy had almost disappeared. More often than thinking about Cathy, however, was my recollection of Jenny's thighs and pussy which I admittedly had not revered enough when I was married to her, but that Rob apparently had.
On a Saturday morning five months and several days after I took off I called my parents' house and the male voice that answered didn't sound exactly like Dad. "Dad," I asked, "is that you?"
"Dave – don't hang up; Mom and Dad were killed in a car crash," was Rob's hurried response.
"What?" I asked, not believing what I had heard.
"Sorry, man; it's lucky that you called. The funeral is Wednesday at Robinson's funeral home on Forest Lane near their house. We can talk about the estate when you come," Rob continued.
"What time?" I asked.
"11:00 a. m. with a luncheon to follow. When you come we also need to talk..." he started to say, but once I had the time of the funeral I hung up.
I was depressed the entire day. However, when I woke up in the middle of the night for some reason I had the strangest feeling. I don't know why – it may have been the lack of emotion in Rob's voice, the background noises when I was on the phone with him, or maybe something in my psyche – but I suddenly was overwhelmed with suspicion.
Sunday afternoon – when if standard procedure was followed Rob would be at a football game – from one of the few working pay phones left in America I called my parents' house again. "Hello," came my Mom's voice.
I did my best not to faint or be startled. "Hi, Mom; I was hoping to get you today. Are you and Dad doing OK?"
I was starting to choke up. "Yes, of course. We were hoping that you would call today because yesterday we took Kyle out...Oh, I'm sorry,...I forgot I wasn't supposed to talk about that...Anyway, Rob came over to put in some new smoke detectors for Dad."
We chatted some more; then my Mom got solemn and started to cry. "Please, Dave; will you let us tell you about Kyle? I really need to..." and then I could no longer understand her she was sobbing so much.
"Sorry Mom, it's too soon; listen I'll call you again next Saturday. Say hi to Dad."
I didn't want to tell her what Rob had done – it was amazing that in less than a year I had come from loving Rob completely to despising him. I did emit a minor chuckle, however, at the thought of Rob and Jenny waiting at Robinson's Funeral Home to sandbag me on Wednesday but that I wouldn't be showing up.
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Even though I rarely interfaced directly with doctors at work, the hospital did have a program where all employees had to see a psychiatrist on a random basis, usually once every two years, for an evaluation. My number came up only about ten days after Rob had given me the misinformation about my parents' deaths. Because I had never had a psych evaluation before, the shrink knew nothing about me. She was really skillful at drawing me out, and the session that was designed to last thirty minutes lasted ninety five as I spilled out all my issues.
"Dave," Dr. Susan Bremer said at about the ninety minute mark, "you're going to have mental health issues in the future unless you deal with your situation now. The doctor who advised you to take off had it only partially right. You need counselling and a series with a sex therapist, and to get on a regular exercise program."
