Marlowe's Massacre | ;

CHAPTER 21

He dropped the pills and ran to his bookshelf brushing an index finger over titles. Nothing. He went to the stack of books four feet tall by the window panels and scanned the names. Nothing. He went to another stack by his desk. Still, nothing. And then he took to under his bed and just as he reached for the books that had fell there, he mouthed the word Abimelech. It slid upon his tongue so familiarly. Sitting up, he thought.

"It's not an English word, is it?" He whispered to himself. No, not quite. "Abimelech." He said it again. Old English, maybe? No, no, no, no! His mind lurked harder as his eyes drifted to the world map planted on his wall. "Arabic?" His thoughts shifted and started naming countries were the language was spoken. On his fingers he counted off. "Algeria, Chad, Libya, Iraq, Morocco, Oman, Tunisia-" Wait. Putting his hands on his face, he mentally changed directions. He thought more in the realms of linguistics. "A Bidirectional language." Max looked again to the map. "Hmmm, uhm Ara-Arabic and Hebrew both are Semitic." He noticed and then settled on his discovery. "Hebrew, the Bible."

He knew for a fact, Marlowe had kept his bible under his pillow so he drifted into his brother's room and took out the Bible. His mind went off again. Abimelech. Abimelech. Abimelech. Abimelech. Abimelech and Judges. Of course! The son of Gideon. The noble story of displeasing God, our holy father. His father. The King. "Father-King...My father is king." Max's blood froze, he couldn't breathe. He always knew his parents, more specially his father had the injections and pills within arms-length but he never thought more of it. Max's father was the creator of Abimelech Pharmaceuticals and felt betrayal. That thought scared him the most. He truly didn't know how to confront his father and a part of him wondered what he might do when he did.

"Here you go." Doctor Roe's words blew him back to the present.

"Thank you."

"No problem. Now," Doctor Roe placed his tea on his desk. "before we get to anything. I typically have clients pay weekly or however they feel. Your type of session would be 60 every time that you come. You would come 3-4 times a month, is this okay with you?"

"What if I come more than three or four times a month?" He wanted to get this over with quickly.

"That's highly unlikely and if that does happen it's an extra 20, but that won't happen because I plan ahead. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

"The goal is to pay little to receive the upmost confrontational results. I hold morals before money unlike many therapists."

"Can I pay you the 240 now?"

"Yes, cash or card?"

He could not have a paper trail.

His father would probably grab him by the neck and kill him if he found out what he was about to do. His only option was money. "Cash."

"Sure."

Max straighten his position from where he was leaning from. He placed his notebook and pen on a nearby table and dug into his pocket to find his wallet. The first thing his hands touched were a pack of cigarettes, he didn't dare remove them because he wasn't sure if they would change the way Doctor Roe felt about him. Cigarettes tend to be deal breakers for a ton of people. He cleared his throat and reached into his back pocket.

"Here." He opened it and took out two clean hundred dollar pills and then a fifty because that was all he had. He gave them to Roe in a heartbeat. "Keep the change, think of it as a tip."

This was what Teddy had been trying to explain to him. Maxwell was such a good boy, his morals were welted on him and showcased so beautiful that anyone could see how they should be. He was the guideline that they needed. Part of Doctor Roe wished that Maxwell was his son, he would've had a much more comfortable life beside him.