Hell Within -- Chapter Five: The Humanist -- Scenes 1&2

-Chapter Five: The Humanist-

-1-

The apartment on the third floor of Paul Ambrose’s practice consisted of three rooms adjoined by open archways, and there was none of that hunter green shit that Mandy hated.

"Will this be satisfactory?" Paul said.

Mandy stepped out of the wooden staircase and around Paul. The center room was kind of a den with an antique couch, a coffee table and end tables situated on top of a red and gold oriental rug.

And it was airy. Three windows to the left of the couch -- old picture windows of the variety one would expect to find in a house built in the 1800s -- showered the room in sunlight, and the soft canary paint on the walls further added to the effect.

Mandy drifted through the den area into the next room where she found a breakfast nook. Three more windows the same as the others lined the left wall, and beside them sat a small table with brass legs and a glass top with a kitchenette.

She stepped over to the kitchen side and looked up at the cabinets. The cabinet doors were of the variety that had glass panes in them, and inside, simple ceramic bowls and plates neatly stacked.

She opened the refrigerator, and found it stocked with Coke, Milk, Eggs, sandwich meats, and hotdogs. She closed the refrigerator, and went through the other archway.

Within she found a bedroom -- yellow with white trim. The furniture was old but it all matched. There was a white wardrobe, with the carved border around the doors painted the same color as the walls. An antique dresser matching the wardrobe of the old-fashioned variety that had a swiveling mirror built into it. And against the right wall was a single bed that also matched the wardrobe and the dresser, and the canopy over it told her that it was crafted with a woman in mind.

And there was a maple roll top desk beside the archway. Not one of the newer paste board imitations, but a bona fide antique in immaculate order.

"Through that door over there," Dr. Ambrose said, pointing toward a door on the wall opposite the archway where they’d entered, you’ll find the bathroom."

She looked around the room again.

"I had it painted while you where in the hospital. I didn’t think the green would agree with you."

She smirked.

Dr. Ambrose motioned toward a stack of boxes beside the wardrobe. "All of your personal effects are in there."

Mandy stepped over and opened the boxes, and inside, she found her makeup, toothbrush, hair brush.

How did all of this get here?

She looked back at Dr. Ambrose.

He eyed the boxes. "Your mother delivered your things last week. I would’ve unpacked for you, but I didn’t think it appropriate."

"You’ve gone to a lot of trouble," she said.

Paul shook his head.

"I think I’ve removed most of my things, but if you find anything else, kindly drop it downstairs."

Why had he done all of this?

"Where are you gonna stay?"

He nodded. "My house."

"Where is that?"

"About fifty miles from here."

"That sure is a long drive."

He shook his head. "I haven’t spent enough time at home in a long while. I’ll relish the drive."

"You’re not married?"

Paul looked down at the floor. "A long time ago."

"What happened?"

He bunched his lips together. "She died."

"Do you have any children?"

"She was expecting when she died."

"That’s awful."

"Sometimes difficult things that happen to us drive us to become bigger than we are."

"How long have you been a psychologist?"

"Most of my adult life."

She looked back at the bed. "Why did you go to all of this trouble?"

He smiled shyly. "I’ve never had a daughter before."

Even though she still didn’t trust him, she smiled at the thought.

"And as I understand it, you’ve never really had a father, so I guess we"ll learn together."

Okay."

"And if the phone rings downstairs at night, I would like you to answer it. I don’t have an answering service, and I have certain clients who like to buzz me incessantly. I’ve left my cell number in one of the drawers in the kitchenette; if someone calls with a true emergency take their name and number and call me back."

"Okay."

He searched her face as though he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to put it.

"Yes?" she said.

He shrugged and looked away. "I’ve taken the liberty of stocking the kitchen, but I wasn’t sure what you might want. If you’ll make a grocery list tonight and leave it on my desk, I’ll see what I can do about it."

"Thanks."

"My helping you with groceries will not last. You have a job. I’ll expect you to care for yourself."

She nodded.

He smiled and started to turn away, but then stopped as if remembering something.

"How well did you keep up with your school work in the hospital?"

"I’m a little behind."

He nodded. "I can’t stress the importance of your grades enough."

"I know."

"One wrong move could put you in a foster home."

She nodded.

Paul studied her a moment longer, and then he sighed and turned as if to head back to the steps.

"I’ll be downstairs for about another hour if you should need me."

"Dr. Ambrose?"

He looked at her and smiled.

"I’m sorry for giving you so much shit."

He nodded. "I’m not going to lie to you, this will not be easy."

"I know."

"And there’s another thing, too. I called one of my friends, Jason Barnes. He’s an attorney who doesn’t mind doing a little pro bono work for a good cause. He’s going to represent you in your emancipation suit free of charge."

"Really?"

Dr. Ambrose nodded but he had a weary look on his face.

"You were pretty drugged up, but do you remember that detective who came to visit you in the hospital?"

"No."

"Jason said that you have a good case, but we needed a police report on the abuse."

A pang of terror shot through Mandy’s chest.

"Do you know what you’ve done?"

Dr. Ambrose nodded. "We’re going to take a potentially dangerous man off the streets."

She shook her head. "You don’t understand; Davy is crazy. He told me that if I went to the cops, he’d cut my throat."

Dr. Ambrose nodded. "And I’m sure he meant every word of it. That’s why we’re going to municipal court in two weeks to put his ass behind bars."

"Does he know?"

He sighed. "Part of the procedure in such cases is that the Defendant is issued a court summons and supplied with a copy of the police report."

"Oh, my God!"

"You’ll be fine. Your mother’s boyfriend is belligerent, not stupid. He knows that if he sets foot anywhere near you he’ll be in a world of trouble."

"No! Davy doesn’t care about trouble!"

Dr. Ambrose nodded. "Look at it this way, you’re not doing this for yourself, you’re doing it for the next person he decides to beat up."

"Justice isn’t going to do me any good if I’m dead."

Dr. Ambrose frowned. "Jason is in the process of filing a restraining order. He thinks it should go through in two days. In the mean time, the alarm here will keep you safe."

Mandy turned and looked up to the ceiling.

"Why is this happening to me?"

"You can’t choose what happens to you, you can only react to it. You’re going to have to summon enough courage to sit across from him in court and tell the world what kind of low life he is."

Mandy shook her head.

"There’s another thing, too."

She gave him a tired look.

"Once you’re emancipated, we’ll have to find you an affordable place to live. You’ll not be comfortable with this situation for long."

She nodded. "I’ve already thought about that. If we can make you the executor of my grandmother’s Will, that problem is solved."

Dr. Ambrose gave her a puzzled look.

"My grandmother died when I was nine, and she left her house to me."

"Is your mother in charge of her estate?"

"No, she wrote Mom completely out of the Will. She didn’t trust her anymore than anyone else. Her lawyer is the executor of her Will."

"That’s great! I’ll get Jason to look into it."

"Thanks."

Paul turned and disappeared back into the other room. And she looked around her new bedroom again. There was something in the order of it that spoke to her.

The dark hardwood floors where obviously not of this era, but they were in immaculate condition, and the furniture -- all antique -- was in fine shape as well. Her apartment smelled of Pledge and aged timbers.

She had never lived in such a pretty place before.

She stepped over to the desk and opened the middle drawer, and inside she found a new pack of pens and an unopened pack of loose-leaf notebook paper.

Even though she didn’t trust Paul’s intentions, she couldn’t remember a single time when someone had gone so far out of his own way to accommodate her.

She shut the drawer and opened the right desk drawer -- empty accept for a single sheet of Xerox paper. She pulled it out and found that it was a Copy of an old newspaper article.

Steel Tycoon sells off Company

And beneath the article was a fuzzy photograph of a young Paul Ambrose wearing a suit that appeared to be reminiscent of the late 1800s. She frowned and looked up at the date in the upper right hand corner of the page.

"August 17, 1885."

-2-

After Mandy unpacked her things, she waited until Dr. Ambrose had enough time to leave and then she slipped downstairs to return his newspaper article. She wasn’t comfortable with having this much alone time with Ambrose. Even though his intentions did seem innocent, she still had no idea what kind of man he really was.

On her way down to his office, she discovered the second floor. Unlike the first floor, which had been converted to a psychologist’s office and the third floor that was her makeshift apartment, the second floor was in bad repair.

The hardwood floors were scarred from years of use and abuse, and the walls, which obviously hadn’t been painted in years, were covered in a red fabric-like wallpaper that was torn and peeling. And large strips of the hand-carved moldings were missing from the walls.

She opened the first door to the right. Inside, old furniture from various periods stacked up nearly to the ceiling. A burnt orange leather sofa that looked like it had come straight from the sixties -- a bean bag chair or two -- an old console style television and a matching console stereo.

Mandy was no expert on antiquity but even she could tell that some of the items in this room would bring a small fortune. -- A Victorian sofa still covered with original red fabric, five dressers from various decades at the early part of the century.

Mandy turned out of the room concluding that the good doctor must be loaded.

And she opened the door to the left -- nothing but wall to wall file cabinets, some appearing very old and fashioned out of wood, and some looking like those one might pick up in the stationary department of a Wal-Mart.

She stepped up to one of the older-looking cabinets and opened the first drawer, and removed a tattered file folder. The date on the pages within: February, 1927. The notes described a patient housed in Bridgeton sanitarium, and each page was signed by Paul Ambrose.

What the hell?

"May I help you with something?"

She dropped the file to the floor and its contents spilled, and she spun around.

Dr. Ambrose stood propped in the doorway, unamused.

"I was just. . . ."

He shook his head gravely. "This floor is off limits."

"Sorry."

Dr. Ambrose eyed the file folder lying at her feet, and then looked back at her face.

"That’s none of your business."

"I said I’m sorry!"

But Paul didn’t look convinced. He eyed the folder once again and sighed hard.

"Being this close to a psychology practice, you may come across sensitive information," he said.

She looked back down to the file folder and eyed the handwritten date 1927 and the signature Paul Ambrose. She’d never been good at math, but she certainly didn’t think Dr. Ambrose looked old enough to be a practicing psychiatrist that long ago -- he didn’t look to be a day over 45.

Her eyes found him again. He tilted his head back slightly.

"Can I trust you?"

"I won’t say a word."

Dr. Ambrose stared at her a moment longer and then nodded as if coming to a decision, and he walked off.

Mandy stood alone in the room full of file cabinets looking after him. How could that file be correct? She looked back down at the copy of the newspaper article and studied the face of the man again. There was no way that the young man depicted could be anyone other than Dr. Ambrose. No one looks that much like one of their relatives. She folded the page and stuffed it in the sling around the cast on her arm.

(Continue to scenes 3)