desperation.

Desperation makes people do crazy things. Like what I am doing today, right this instant.

It didn’t take long for me to make up my mind with regards to the course of action I decided upon once I woke up from my horrible nightmare earlier this morning. I was drenched in sweat and frightened of what remained locked in the catacombs of my twisted mind. All because of my heightened state of desperation. A famous American writer once stated that desperation is the raw material of drastic change, and that only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. For all my intellect, I can’t make head or tails of that.

The current situation isn’t helping either, as it seems to be veering off the plotted course. “I have to say, Miss Mortaz, this situation doesn’t have to be what it is now!” Mark Addleman pleads, still squirming in his chair. As far as grown men go, Addleman could be considered a disgrace.

After all, I’m only holding a simple pistol. A semi-auto, at that. To be more precise, the semi-automatic weapon I hold in my right hand this very second is a Type 64 silenced pistol. A thing of beauty, it is. For all the stupid things associated with Chinese people, they sure know how to make their firearms. And now, it’s time for me to get technical about my only friend in the world.

The very wonderful Type 64 silenced pistol was adopted by the Chinese military in the mid-1960s as a special purpose silenced weapon, intended for both military and political clandestine operations. Unlike most other silenced pistols, the Type 64 is an integrally silenced weapon, and not an adaptation of any existing “non-silenced” design. More specifically… it is a blowback operated, integrally silenced pistol. The integral silencer consists of a large thin steel case, which contains steel mesh and several baffles which are used to slow down and cool expanding muzzle blast. To further decrease the sound signature of the firing pistol, the blowback mechanism can be blocked using the cross-bolt button, mounted in the slide. When the lock mechanism is engaged, the Type 64 pistol turns from a semi-automatic into a manually operated magazine-fed weapon, thus avoiding the sound of the recoiling slide. Because of a silencer, the recoil spring is located at the rear of the slide, above the barrel along with guide rod. Also, the Type 64 pistol has a fixed sights. Trigger is of single action variety, with an external hammer and a manual safety, located on the frame above the left grip. Cartridges are fed from single stack, detachable magazine which holds nine rounds.

Nine solid rounds, for a girl that actually doesn’t even need a single one. Still, I’ve got Queen — my little nickname for the pistol — fully loaded. Just in case the good doctor here turned out to pose some sort of problem. I overestimated him, it would seem.

“I know it doesn’t, Mark. I know this reeks of volatility. And you are essentially my hostage.” I reply, my eyes completely fixated on him. “You have to understand, though, how desperate I am. Rest assured, if you cede to my requests without any fuss… I’ll put this magnificient beast of a weapon away and we shall be able to talk like civilised human beings. Does that sound good, Mark?”

What the hell do you think Mark says? “Y-Yes, that sounds perfect. Whatever it is, Miss Mortaz, I can help you. It’s my job.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mark. Don’t patronise me. As I said before, I have several requests. One of them, which you’ve just mentioned, is the matter of help. You can probably tell by the way I barged in here and took control of your life that I require assistance of the highest order.” I start to unravel, while lowering Queen. Of course, my index finger is still wrapped around the trigger. Ready to fire if need be.

I now stand up, keeping my gaze on the doctor. “I’m pushing forty, Mark. Yes, here I am… a chick revealing her age. That’s just it, I’m not your normal woman. I’m complicated. Have been my whole life. And by that, I include all the crazy shit I’ve been involved in ever since I was shot four times in the stomach by an informant turned bad. My existence has never been the same since that fateful night. Hell, I cry myself to sleep at night because everytime I close my eyes, I am reminded of all the insane things I’ve done over the last ten years.”

Wow, I didn’t expect myself to be so open with him so early on. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me now, with his lips slightly parted in quasi-shock, that he didn’t expect it either. Fact of the matter is, everything I’ve just rattled off is the absolute truth. And now that I’ve let that shameful cat out of the bag, I’ve really got to convince Addleman not to freak out and call the cops. Or worse, try to be a hero.

Walking towards the good doctor, I can tell he’s nervous. Not because of the potentially dangerous situation he’s in due to the presence of a weapon. No, he’s now more afraid of me than he is of Queen. The sublte quivering, the beads of sweat slowly trickling down the side of his oily face. Perhaps I picked the wrong guy for this job?

Perhaps I’m overthinking this a tad too much. Yeah, that’s got to be it. Silly girl, I am.

“So, Mark. Here’s the deal — you are going to be my official psycharitrist from here on out. I have no friends except for this lovely weapon you see here, and I have no family. I have enemies; hundreds of time. But at this stage of my life, I really need someone I can confide in. Which is where your services are requested. You’ll be my shrink, and I’ll pay you accordingly. Under the table, of course. The other requests that I have? That comes later on in our relationship. If you agree to be my shrink, this incident here will never be repeated to anyone else. Doctor-client privilege. Understood?” I offer, now crouching down in front of him.

Any other man would be thinking he’d be getting his dick sucked right about now. My face is mere inches away from his crotch, yet Addleman doesn’t flinch. Either he’s found a way to mask his emotions or the ring on the pinky of his left hand means absolute shit.

I’ll find out soon, I think. “O-Okay, Miss Mortaz. Let me just get this straight. You have led a very tough life, by your own definition. And therefore, you have come here today because you require my professional services. You do however seek the need for our potential relationship to be covert, which means I have to ignore several things. Like, for instance, you kicking the door to my office open… producing a weapon and aiming it at me… locking me inside my own office and making demands at me after calmly introducing yourself. Oh, and I also have to act as if I’ve never met you and that I actually don’t have you as my client. Is that correct, Miss Mortaz?”

“Mhmm.” The man’s good. He learns fast. Finally, we’re getting somewhere. “Indeed, Mark. And please, call me Ana-Lucia. Looks like we have everything worked out, then. Which means I can now put my great equaliser away and apologise for resorting to the measures I did.”

I flick the safety switch on Queen and slip her back inside one of my coat pockets, pleased at how everything has turned out brilliantly. Addleman gulps and breathes a sigh of relief. He’s probably thinking I went to a lot of trouble just to hire him as my shrink, under the condition that he never reveals he knows of me. I motion for Addleman to stand up, and he does. Reluctantly. Can’t blame him.

“Thank you kindly, Mark.” I say with a hint of sarcasm, before leaning in and giving him a quick peck on his right cheek. Addleman just stares at me, more stunned than ever. He’s probably going to be thinking about this day for the rest of his life, and the moment I kissed him on his cheek will resonate forever.

Which is, of course, good news for me. “I’ll be seeing you around, Mark. Say, every Tuesday? No matter, I’ll contact you soon. Ta, for now!”

And just like that, I’ve found myself my new best friend. Queen is great and all, but inanimate objects don’t talk about and analyse me. I need that in my life right now. I ease out of the doctor’s office, and hastily make my way out of the clinic. It’s a good thing I decided to execute my plan on a Monday evening, where nobody except Mark Addleman is around. Why exactly would a married man stay in his place of employment way past working hours, you ask?

… That’s what I plan to find out, you see.