Fatal Perception Howard first saw him at old man McIntyre’s wake. He was a slight, strange looking, middle-aged man, dressed in a black suit. When their eyes first met, the man seemed to be half smiling at him, displaying a rather unstylish upper gold tooth, giving him an almost grotesque-like appearance. Ignoring the brief visual encounter, he looked away from the unfamiliar man standing halfway across the long room. After paying his respects to the family members, Howard acknowledged a few other acquaintances and started to make his way out of the funeral parlor. He glanced around at the lingering visitors but didn’t see the strange little man anywhere. Howard Marsh was a reasonably successful song writer in the late sixties and part of the seventies but time had passed him by. That era had brought him financial success and recognition. His music had quality and substance much like the songs of Michel Legrande, Henry Bricusse, and the great Broadway musical composers, Gershwin, Kern and Cole Porter. But it was 1992 and songs like the ones they wrote weren’t selling today and his publisher and agent told him he better go “country” or be content to make a living writing music for commercials. His once lucrative stream of royalty income had dwindled to a pittance and his ex-wife got most of his investment portfolio. A couple of weeks after the McIntyre wake, Howard went to the regional library to copy some music. Standing at the copier, something compelled him to look up and when he did, he saw the same little man walking down the stairs, looking back over his shoulder directly at Howard with that same weird smile unveiling that noticeable gold tooth. Howard’s curiosity was aroused and after he finished copying the music, he actually walked around the library looking for him, but once again, the strange man had disappeared. As he drove home, he thought about the man with the gold tooth and it bugged Howard that he had no clue who he was and why he would be staring or smiling at him. The next glimpse of the stranger came in another two weeks, after a visit to Howard’s cardiologist. The doctor was not very pleased with Howard and once again reminded him that his blood pressure was still dangerously high even with the medication he was taking. He could be in trouble if he didn’t exercise and lose weight. Later, driving onto the freeway entrance ramp, Howard merged slowly, yielding to ongoing traffic. As the last car passed him, he saw the driver’s face half smiling at him, and even through the car window, he could see unmistakably, that it was the same little ugly man, gold tooth and all. Now Howard felt a flush of anger come over him and he tried to get close enough to the strange man’s car to get the license plate number. He was determined to find out who he was. But the traffic was heavy and Howard got stuck in a slow moving lane. When he did finally get out of that lane, the stranger’s car was out of sight. The weird little man had now made three cameo type appearances in such remote locations that it was difficult for Howard to believe these were all merely coincidental encounters. But Howard told no one about him until after their paths crossed for the fourth time. It was downtown at the Center One building. Howard was late for a meeting with his music publisher who’s office was on the twenty-fourth floor. It was just five o’clock and the elevators were slow and crowded with people leaving their offices. Howard got on as the elevator emptied and waiting for the door to close, he stood alone in the elevator looking at the backs of the people who had just gotten off. Among them he saw a small man in a black suit and his eerie anticipation was confirmed as the man turned and looked back at Howard before the elevator door could close. He stared at Howard, his mouth open just wide enough to display that now familiar gold tooth. Howard stood there mesmerized for seconds. Then he suddenly snapped out of it and lunged toward the door but it was too late. The door closed and the elevator began its swift ascent. Frantically pressing floor numbers until the elevator stopped, Howard got out just in time to see another elevator going down. He jumped in that one and got out on the main floor with everyone else. The lobby was crowded with people leaving for the parking garage and he looked in every direction and walked around for ten minutes until he realized that he would not find the ugly little man with the gold tooth. Brucker the publisher was irritated with Howard for being late and soon noticed his foggy demeanor as he skipped several pages of the new contract which required his signature. “Marsh, where the hell are you at today anyway?” Howard looked at Brucker with a half smile. “I think I’m losing my mind.” Brucker sat puzzled as Howard began to tell him about the bizarre little man who appeared to be stalking him. When he finished, Brucker admonished him. “Well you don’t look too healthy to me. Your color is not good and quite frankly Howard, the quality of the music you’ve sent me recently is just not there. At least that’s what I’m told by my associates who know a lot more about what kind of music is selling today than I do.” Howard was barely listening to Brucker’s remarks. “As far as your imaginary little weird friend is concerned, either he’s a bashful faggot who loves your music or you need to see a psychiatrist.” Later Howard thought about Brucker’s words and decided maybe he ought to find a therapist to make sure he wasn’t imagining the little man with the gold tooth. His cardiologist recommended someone to him but he had to schedule an appointment three weeks in advance. Two days later, Howard received a call from the psychiatrist’s office. They had a cancellation for the following day and would be able to squeeze him in. His cardiologist didn’t tell him Doctor Whitlow was a woman. She was about fifty and fairly attractive with a friendly, relaxing manner. He was pleased to hear her say she loved his music and that she wondered why nobody writes music like that anymore. After he finished talking about the ugly little man who seemed to be invading his privacy, Doctor Whitlow looked down at her notes briefly, asked him a few more questions, then began her preliminary analysis. “I received a copy of your medical history from your cardiologist and outside of your heart condition, you have no other health or physical problems that are evident. You’re divorced, which is nothing unusual today since over 50% of adults are divorced, including myself. You are also a successful composer and musician with no history of mental illness on either side of your family. Thus, I would conclude that this person you keep seeing is very real and not a figment of your imagination or some delusion you’re experiencing. It’s unfortunate that you haven’t been able to confront him and find out who he is and what he wants from you, if anything.” Whitlow then proceeded to interrogate Howard as to whether he had any serious enemies or competitors that might hire someone to stalk or perhaps taunt him. “I sound more like a police detective than a psychiatrist, don’t I. Right now, there’s probably some very plausible explanation for your visual encounters with this person. And if that’s the case, you probably don’t need my help.” “But Doctor, what if we discover that I’m the only one who sees this man?” “Then we’ll have a lot of work to do won’t we.” Several weeks went by and Howard would find himself looking suspiciously at the backs of small men everywhere he went. There were times he embarrassed himself by grabbing some of them on the shoulder to turn them around and look at their faces. A couple of times he was positive he’d seen him only to find it was someone else when he got up close. Then one Spring morning Howard received some good news that temporarily helped him forget his obsession with finding the man with the gold tooth. A popular recording artist had signed a contract to record several of his latest songs and his agent and publisher were excited at the prospects of this CD becoming a huge commercial success, possibly even a grammy award candidate. To help him celebrate, Howard called Doctor Whitlow for a date. At first, she was obviously uncomfortable because she rarely, if ever, socialized with her patients. However, after Howard convinced her he wasn’t really a regular patient of hers, she conceded his point and agreed to share an evening with him. Howard had two orchestra tickets for a revival of Jerome Kern’s musical “Roberta” and they planned to have an early dinner and catch the show later. Since Doctor Whitlow’s office was just around the corner from the restaurant, they decided to meet at the front entrance in the heart of downtown. It was almost six when Howard arrived at the restaurant entrance. He was glad he decided to wear his raincoat because it had been drizzling for the last hour. Standing in the light rain, he waited for Doctor Whitlow, looking out at the street and the rush hour traffic which was now winding down. The light changed and watching the pedestrians march along the crosswalk, he got a strange feeling as he caught a glimpse of the back of a small man about to reach the other side of the crosswalk. He wanted to follow the man but instead, resisted the impulse and looked around for her. He wondered if she would mind if he called her Marilyn. Somehow his eyes returned to the group of people at the end of the crosswalk. He stared at the little man now turned around, looking back toward him. The man’s eyes found Howard’s and widened as he opened his mouth and even from this distance, Howard could see the gold tooth protruding. Almost involuntarily, Howard began to trot across the walk in pursuit of the little man who was now aware that he was coming after him. The man’s eyes widened with fear and he began to quicken his steps, approaching another intersection. Howard almost passed Doctor Whitlow up but she called out “Howard,” which made him slow down but he didn’t stop. Looking back at her he shouted, “that’s him, that’s him,” pointing toward the ugly little man just ahead of them who had now accelerated his pace considerably. “Wait here. I’ll be right back. I can’t let him get away.” Doctor Whitlow watched as Howard actually started running after the man he had described so vividly in her office. His prey crossed the next intersection and the light had turned red but Howard didn’t pay any attention. He was totally obsessed with confronting his antagonist and darted down the crosswalk after him. Doctor Whitlow’s eyes were still following Howard as half way across he suddenly staggered and grabbed his left arm. The pause was untimely, for a taxicab accelerating through the green light was unable to stop quickly on the wet street. Doctor Whitlow could almost feel the impact and instinctively closed her eyes for a split second. When she opened them, she saw the other pedestrians begin to flock toward the fallen body of Howard Marsh. Her heart was racing and she was frightened as she jogged toward the scene which now obscured her view of Howard completely. Doctor Whitlow weaved her way through the small crowd of onlookers. She saw the pale cab driver and a policeman who had been within earshot of the accident hunched over Howard’s limp body. “I couldn’t stop! He came out of nowhere….. I wasn’t speeding. Ask anybody.” “Calm down. Nobody said you were but we’ve got to get this man some help real quick.” The patrolman had a cell phone and was calling for an ambulance. Just then an unmarked police car which had been in the area pulled up and two plainclothesmen got out of the car. They began asking the swelling crowd of gawkers to get back and pointed to Doctor whitlow as well when she said “I’m a friend of his. I’m Doctor Marilyn Whitlow.” “Are you an M.D.?” “No, I’m a psychiatrist.” “Were you with him when this happened?” “We were meeting for dinner and he began to run after …..” “Run after who? Why was he running? Did somebody try to rob or mug him?” “No, you see……” Just then Doctor whitlow looked at the onlookers staring at the policeman hovered over Howard. He was there among them; the ugly little man with the gold tooth and he looked very frightened. “That man over there.” Doctor whitlow pointed toward the strange little man. “What man?” The plainclothesman motioned to his partner and they both followed Doctor whitlow’s eyes. The man saw them looking at him and he looked even more frightened but he didn’t move. He just stood there looking back at them. “That’s the man Howard was chasing.” “But you don’t know why he was chasing him?” “Well, actually, I do, but it’s kind of difficult to explain.” The plainclothesman talked briefly with his partner and the latter went to approach the little frightened man, apparently to question him. “Doctor Whitlow what’s the name of your friend?” “Howard Marsh.” “The song writer?” “Yes, that’s him.” “Maybe we should sit down in the car and sort this out a bit for the record.” As they got into the car, the ambulance pulled up. The two paramedics immediately went to work on Howard Marsh while Doctor Whitlow told the detective Howard’s story of the little ugly man with the gold tooth. “But this guy never threatened Mr. Marsh or anything like that did he?” “No, I don’t think so.” As she answered the detective’s questions, Doctor Whitlow kept glancing out the car window at the paramedics who seemed to be working more frantically on Howard than before. “Well this guy whoever he is, and we’ll find out soon, apparently was nowhere near Mr. Marsh when the cab hit him. So we certainly can’t blame the accident on him. However, …” Realizing Doctor Whitlow was not paying attention to him, the detective stopped talking. Marilyn Whitlow sat motionless staring at the paramedic alternately pushing on the chest of Howard Marsh. An oxygen mask covered his mouth. She felt an incredible sinking feeling in her stomach as the seconds became minutes. Finally, the paramedic stopped and removed the oxygen mask. He covered Howard’s face with a sheet as they lifted the stretcher into the ambulance. She was surprised at her composure. No tears, no sadness, no shock, just a numbness which engulfed her. Then she thought for a moment like an ordinary person, not a psychiatrist. What could she have done; what could anyone have done to prevent this absolute waste of life? She had no answer and knew she probably never would. The detective interrupted her reverie. “I’m sorry Doctor Whitlow. Excuse me for a minute.” The detective got out of the car and began talking to his partner and the patrolman who had gathered statements from the cab driver and several witnesses. She sat in the car thinking about Howard. He was an attractive man and if he were anything like his music, she could really have been romantically interested in him. But it didn’t matter now. The detective got back in the car. “I’m sorry Doctor Whitlow but it appears Mr. Marsh suffered a heart attack. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to revive him. The injuries from the vehicle were not life-threatening. The driver wasn’t going very fast. Do you know if Mr. Marsh had a heart condition?” The Doctor’s face was pale. “Oh,…a, yes, as a matter of fact he did. I saw his medical chart.” “Now about that little man my partner talked to. He was scared to death. Didn’t speak very good English but his name is Yurie Prasnovsky, a Russian immigrant. He says he didn’t even know who Mr. Marsh was but recognized him as the man who’s been following him around for a couple of months now. Says Marsh chased him in his car for miles before he was able to lose him on the freeway. I’ll admit he’s a weird looking little guy but we’ve nothing to suspect him of or charge him with, for that matter.” Doctor Whitlow looked at the detective, then nodded her head sadly in agreement. “Will you be all right Doctor? May I take you home?” “Please, if you could just take me to my car at the Bulkley building parking garage.” The detective nodded and motioned for his partner to get in the car. On the way home, Doctor Marilyn Whitlow recalled some of her former patients who died or were killed. Two even committed suicide. But she never had a personal interest in any of them. She wondered who would make the funeral arrangements. His ex-wife? She didn’t even know if he had any children. Finally it was beginning to hit her and she began to feel really sad. Then for some strange reason, she turned on the radio. “You’re listening to the music of your life. That was Two For the Road by Henry Mancini. And now here’s a classic from 1969 written by Howard Marsh….” She listened to the romantic music as she drove and stared out at the darkness through the windshield wipers. For the first time that evening, her eyes began to water.
Copyright © 2000 Richard Koss |