The Incident at Dry Salvages

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Dr.Lillian Anderson, a forensic psychologist, accepts a compulsory therapy case treating a man who groped an intoxicated woman. Meeting Jack Rich, she soon realizes his history may be darker that he lets on. She also consults with the police interviewing a man apprehended on a trawler containing drugs and 20k in cash. Sailing with detective, Sal DiPinto, they witness the recovery of bodies tied to an anchor. This event begins to draw them into an intimate relationship that surprises them, but also introduce Lillian to the seamier side of cartels vying for control over drugs and Human traffic. Lillian's treatment with Jack suggests that what is not said is more important that what is, putting her at risk. A storm rages as a drug war erupts culminating in a clash between rival cartels and the Coast Guard near a rocky shoal called the Dry Salvages. Lillian's profiling and Sal's police work make Jack a murder suspect. A man hunt ensues across Ipswich Bay and into the marshes of the North Shore of Massachusetts. The outcome is in doubt as Jack leaves a trail of wounded and dead as he attempts to escape in his kayak, while Sal pursues him in his sailboat through out the night. Wounded, Jack plans revenge and corners Lillian and Sal on Sal's boat where he has them strip naked.

Thriller / Action
4.9 16 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

Jack Rich, at least that what he was calling himself this time, stood in front of a brick Federalist commercial building in downtown Newburyport and looked at the list of names under Moorings Counseling and Psychodiagnostics. He scanned the names until he came to Dr. Lillian Anderson, Ph.D. a therapist he had chosen for a specific purpose.

It was a dumb move and out of character for Jack, who thought of himself as very careful. He had one too many at the Grog, a local bar, and got in a conversation with an attractive young lady. She had one too many and they left together. In the parking lot, he tried to thrust his hands under her coat and kiss her. She put up a struggle, which drew the attention of some damn do-gooder, that raised a ruckus and attracted the attention of a nearby Dudley Do-right. Before he knew it, he was cuffed and spent the night in the slammer. Thank God they didn’t fingerprint or photograph him because anonymity was central to his business. He gave his name as Jack Rich a financial Advisor from Portsmouth, NH, and he had the documentation to prove it. No real damage had been done except that the young lady was in full feminine self-righteous mode, and wanted something done, like having his nuts roasted in a microwave. To expedite the matter, he had a conference with a probation office where he agreed to do ten sessions of counseling to address substance use and develop greater sensitivity to the fairer sex. The whole business was reduced from assault to disturbing the peace, and the case was continued without a finding pending that the ten sessions went well, and he behaved for the next year.

Jack really didn’t care about being a good due-be, because he planned to be long gone once his business was concluded. However, it would take a few weeks so he had to play along until his job was done. The choice of therapist was up to him as long as the therapist was on the court approved list, and Lillian oops Dr. Anderson, Ph.D. from the University of Rhode Island in Clinical Psychology specializing in sexual behavior was on it. He could have chosen a male therapist, but he was always good with women. What that meant in his mind was that he could manipulate them.

He approached the receptionist, a plump forty-year-old woman with shortish hair and makeup that was too thick. Considering her dress, a poorly fitting flowery number, she shopped at Walmart for everything. “I’m Jack Rich, and I’m here to see Dr. Anderson,” he said with a smile looking deeply into her blue eyes made tiny by her plump cheeks. Yuck that perfume’s awful, he thought. He could see she melted at his gaze and gave her a sympathetic smile. Jack had that effect on women.

Gladys collected herself. “Yes, Dr. Anderson is expecting you. Since your therapy is court ordered it’s not covered by insurance and the entire ten sessions have to be paid in advance.”

“I was informed of that. I believe that comes to $125 per session so that is $1250. Will a cashier’s check from my bank do?” Jack knew that it would. He leaned over the partition as he handed her the check and let his expensive musk cologne drift over to Gladys. He could see her blush. Fat cow, he thought.

A voice came from behind, “You must be Mr. Rich. I’m Dr. Anderson.” She offered her hand and the handshake was unexpectedly firm.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lillian.” Jack held her hand a second too long as he looked into her eyes. She looked back briefly and then looked away, and motioned him into her office.

Jack scanned the room. It didn’t have the chick touch he expected. There weren’t any girly frills like overdone curtains or plants all over the place, and no family photos or pics of animals. The office was austere and furnishings were sensible. Chairs were leather and comfortable, but you couldn’t fall asleep in them. There was a desk and a laptop. Paintings decorating the walls might as well have come from the local Holiday Inn. At first glance, there was no indication of Dr. Lillian Anderson’s existence outside the office. If he wanted to know more, he’d have to look more carefully. She wasn’t the type of person that was going to share much if any of herself. This might not be quite what I signed up for, he thought.

Dr. Anderson motioned for Jack to be seated, as she examined his file. Like her office she was dressed simply, in a long skirt, and a cream-colored blouse that didn’t reveal much. Minimum makeup and gold studded earrings and a small amber pendant on a fine gold chain were the only adornments. The pendant along with the spike heels suggested that there was more to Dr. Anderson than she let on. She was attractive even though Jack thought she worked at not expressing her sexuality. She was about five-five without the heels and movement was fluid. Jack guessed she probably trained as a dancer, and probably still dances. Her hair, which was almost black, was pulled back like a dancer might. None of her presentation suggested Walmart.

She gave a perfunctory smile and said, “It’s my understanding that you’re coming here voluntarily pursuant to a complaint that you tried to grope an intoxicated woman, and you want to gain greater insight into your relationship with women and use of alcohol. Is that correct?

“That’s a mouth full Lillian, but it seems about right.”

“Good, but there are a few things you need to understand Mr. Rich. This is a professional relationship and as such you are Mr. Rich and I’m Dr. Anderson. Since you’re coming voluntarily, I’m more than willing to help you, although, I think you would do better in AA and a first-time sexual offender’s group.”

“We were both in the parking lot with our clothes on, and I was in the process of stopping when the do-gooder and Dudley Do-right showed up. I don’t see the problem except for drinking too much and making the wrong choice in a woman,” said Jack rolling his eyes. He would have liked to have a peek down Dr. A’s blouse, but she was buttoned up like a bank vault.

“We’re at the beginning of the treatment, and if we’re successful, my hope is that you’ll see the error of your present line of thinking. It would appear that you are not taking into account the feelings of the victim in this case, and taking other’s feelings into account will be part of your therapy.” Dr. Anderson pulled her legs under her and folded her hands on top of the chart resting in her lap.

While her voice was firm, Jack could see that her curled up legs suggested a defensive stance. She’s anxious. Good. This is something I can use to my advantage. He smiled and said, “I never thought about it that way. What’s the next step?”

“Addressing these issues is will cause you to confront parts of yourself that you are likely to find anxiety provoking, but I would encourage you to stay with it.”

“Well, what happens if I don’t? You know, opt out?”

“The assault charges will be reinstated and you will do jail time.”

“And you keep the money.”

“Correct, this office keeps the money, but let’s assume for now that you choose to stay. We should take a look at your first series of comments. You show significant oppositional trends in your comments minimizing your behavior.”

Jack was feeling pressure. He had a whole alternate history cooked up that had nothing to do with his actual history. Now this bitch had jumped past the phony history he was prepared to share. She was touching on some real-life issues such as his oppositional attitude. “That’s interesting. I don’t understand?” and on a deep emotional level he didn’t.

“Well Mr. Rich, it’s expressed in your language. For example, you minimize and degrade the efforts of the young man who intervened by calling him a do-gooder and referring to the arresting officer as a Dudley Do-Right. Both terms degrade the status of the officer and the man making the initial intervention, thus trivializing the incident.”

Jack spread his hands in a supplicating manner and said, “But I thought I was being funny.”

“This is where you may be missing something that partly explains why you got arrested in the first place. What you implied by your comments is not funny to most other people. If you were to label the women, what term would you have used at the time?” she said scribbling notes.

Jack felt his back tingled as he started to break a sweat. She wasn’t even asking about the history he cooked up. She was pushing him into a corner, and not giving him time to formulate a slick response. “Well Sophie, she said her name was Sophie,” he said. What he really meant was ‘hot little bitch’, and he planned on fucking her ears off if she liked it or not. He planned to force her into her car and drive her to a location in the woods, and during the trip drug her up. He’d screw her over and over again, and she’d never remember it. Then he’d leave her in her car and park it on some side street and take off. It’s damn lucky they were next to her car and not his, because they may have had reason to search it, and it was full of drugs and pot stashed under the dash. Not that he used the stuff for himself; they were tools he used to loosen up the ladies.

“Mr. Rich, I know it is early in your therapy so I’d like to point out that your hesitation and bland response suggests a defensiveness and lack of willingness to share more intimate thoughts. That has to change if we are to make progress. If you sensor, deflect, or minimize, it suggests a resistance either conscious or subconscious that will impede the successful completion of your work here. I know it’s early in the treatment, but successful completion will require an honest commitment on your part. We don’t consider successful treatment as showing up for ten sessions and just shooting the breeze. One hundred percent attendance without commitment does not result in a letter to probation indicating successful completion of treatment,” she said in a firm voice looking right through him.

“Yes, Dr. I fully understand,” he said, but the inflection in his voice reeked of being disingenuous. He didn’t like being pushed around, especially by a woman. He’d like to give her a good fucking to teach her a lesson, and maybe he would if he had time once the job was done.

“Good,” she said. She knew he was either lying or just didn’t understand, both of which were not unusual at the beginning of treatment. She looked into his eyes was greeted with a reptilian gaze that didn’t match his smile. She curled her legs closer and could feel a tightness in the pit of her stomach. It was obvious that he sensed her defensiveness, but she continued, “Over the coming weeks we’ll take your complete history with a detailed focus on your sexual development and your experience with women. It’s likely to be challenging, but it’s my hope you’ll find it gratifying in the long run by developing greater sensitivity to others, and especially women. It would help if between now and the next meeting you start on a written life history. We don’t take off for grammar or spelling.”

Dr. Anderson announced when time was up, and walked Jack to the reception desk to make the next appointment. She turned and walked back to her office, but felt a sudden pang of discomfort and turned. Jack was still staring at her. She felt naked. Jack smiled. Try as she might, Dr. Anderson couldn’t hide her lithe body and hips that swayed back and forth as she balanced on spiked high heels.

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