Suspense Short Story – My, Oh Myra
Photo credit: dhester from morguefile.com
I was blessed to get fantastic employment straight out of college, though my parents bargained that it’d take years to achieve career success just because they’re still reaching. ‘I will not be moved’ I professed from within my worldly ignorance.
I woke up one day to find that my life had done a 180, without my permission.
Five years ago; I was richly blessed to gain a top-notch position as a Personal Assistant to Mr. Donald Hempshire; eccentric business multi-millionaire.
Now Mr. Hemp, what I was allowed to call him in the privacy of his office, is married to Denise; a bona fide schizophrenic since childhood. All the things she’s afraid of are actually real deals yet the reality of them only phase those farthest from her; PHDs, Specialist, Experts.
I relocate to the Hempshire’s newly purchased, 170,000 square foot office building which is located in College Station, Texas. Everything and everyone that I try to love and that loves me is emotionally left behind. All I brought with me is packed in two suitcases and the most crucial is packed deep within my brain; sheer heartache.
A week after the relocation and office set-ups, Mr. Hemp anxiously waits to cut the red ribbon in front of his building’s entrance as the camera crews, new employees and those transferred stand outside of HEMPSHIRE, located in the middle of the Business District that feed the lives of the college students, their family and friends, who rotated in and out of College Station, while Mrs. Hempshire takes a backseat to another of her husband’s successful business exploits, out of a hidden shame that is only visible to her inner self; mental abuse.
After two years of working side by side to Mr. Hemp, learning and absorbing as much of his business knowledge as he’ll relinquish, I begin to feel emotionally pressured. Not only was I his personal assistant I was also his personal confidante. He’d tell me things that he should be confessing to a Priest. When I found out that he was preparing to divorce his wife because of her mental disease, I was prompted to interfere but what did I truly know about the disease and the discomforts that it could have on a success-oriented husband; it was a good thing that they shared no kids and that her family was far away with rare visitation privileges.
Three years ago; I enter my office in a seemingly good mood as usual. What made it even brighter was the Crystal vase filled with the colors of Autumn; Orange Tiger Lilies & Gerbera Daisies and Snap Dragons, Wheat Grass and Cattails. I rush over to see who the bearer of such delightful news is. ‘You are the best PA in the world’ it reads. I smile and replace the card to begin my hectic day of taking care of Mr. Hemp, HEMPSHIRE and his business. I press my intercom to summon Ginger, Preston, Angel, Francesca and Rose for our weekly Department Head’s meeting. Moments later they all enter with a disturbing look about their faces. I engage with a smile and inquiry. What I hear from their mouths as they take their seats almost floors me; I couldn’t believe my ears. I want to rush home to hide under my covers but I know I can’t because at this moment, I’m in charge.
I push through a couple years of the emotional mess; hoping, no praying the revelation will be better. Out of the blue Mr. Hempshire phones me to ask me ’emotional’ advice. After our 30 minute conversation, I’d sworn to myself to stay unmarried. Love can’t be worth all this connivelry.
Twelve months ago; four expensive-suit wearing Attorneys stand before my desk. The strong-featured one request to see Mr. Hempshire immediately. The only woman lawyer begins to pull out papers from her briefcase, extending them to me. What I witness in bold black print is a petition, to be signed as they witness, agreeing or disagreeing to the sanity of Mrs. Hempshire. I quickly flip the pages, seeing all eight of the Xs to be signed; damn!
Six months ago; I receive a phone call from a Doctor Kelanye. What I thought was strange was why would he be calling me at my home at this hour about Mrs. Hempshire’s mental condition; all I know is what I’ve been told by those closer to the Hempshires than myself. After he spills for about 8 minutes, I confess that I didn’t think the Mrs. needed to be further institutionalized or medicated but that if she was paid more attention to and able to go spend time with her family, maybe she’d be better able to get a grip on reality, even if it’s her own reality. He listens and begins to spill for another 3 to 5 minutes about Mr. Hempshire believing that his wife needs an increase in her medications of haloperidol, perphenazine and chlorpromazine to soothe her into la-la-land. I believe it was more to enable her to no longer be accessible to further long-term financial support, as if it was hurting him financially to take care of his marital responsibility; to render her completely useless and void.
The following months become very scary to me. In another phone call I question the Doc; what was her initial diagnoses? Who had brought her in and under what pretense were they so concerned about her mental state? As he answered as best he could, I accidentally hung up on him. I leave the phone off the receiver, to fall back asleep; I’m through with this nightmare.
Two months ago; Mr. Hempshire alludes to damaging my career-path if I continue to not be for him but against him. After all this time of thinking my secrets are my own, I’d come to find out that the walls were talking. I relived all the conversations I’d had about Mr. Hemp on my personal line and on my cell phone. I scream on the inside when I find out that Mr. Hemp is doing such a disaster to me; that he’d make sure that I would have to move to another country in order to have any chance at a normal life. I can’t believe that he’s pushing me in the middle of his relationship’s rush hour traffic. I go full throttle in pursuing another employer that will cancel out the nightmare of these past five years; but is this all in my head.
Last week, Monday, I conquer two interviews, hoping for the one in Roanoke, Virginia; the farther the better. Tuesday, my choice, called me for a second interview. I was immediately hired. Happy, smiling, running around in my space, I decide, no I refused to show back up to HEMPSHIRE, so I call the Human Resource’s office to resign my position and to have Shirley pull the 5 out of 5 yearly Employee Progress Reports which I know will be favorable. He’s been too busy destroying his wife’s life.
Last night my stomach churned so that I was forced to head to the bathroom for an antacid.
Around 6 am I decide to call home to speak with my mother who I know will be wide awake wondering, making ready her day.
Our conversation went from mother daughter ‘how’s life’ to her admonishing me as I relive, in vivid detail, the past couple years and how Mr. Hemp thought he’d destroy my life as an invisible assailant. She’d forgiven me numerous times for not adhering to her parental advice but; “Myra I’ve told you on plenty of occasions that what doesn’t kill you…”
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Kim Wilson
