Reluctant Therapist

'Where are we?'

Ringo settled down into the Ikea Arild styled leather armchair. His therapist blinked as the soft overhead light came on. Almost as an afterthought, Ringo sat forward and pulled the uzi defender fixed sheathed blade from his back.

'Is that silver?' His therapist asked as he pinched the skin in between his eyes.

'Of course.'

Ringo's deep voice rumbled with an distinct South African accent, almost Australian sounding. He put the blade on the small end table next to him. It wasn't pure silver, but had been dipped generously in the deadly metal.

'You still don't think that's self-hating?'

'No,' he said with a shrug. 'I'd kill you with it, that's not self hating.'

His therapist looked at him with a slight glare. 'Not to you, maybe.'

Ringo smiled and leaned back into the armchair as it faced his therapist. Dr. Robert Hanson had served as his therapist for the past twenty years. It was a lucrative arrangement for the doctor; however Hanson probably would have said it wasn't lucrative to someone being held against his will. On the contrary, Dr. Hanson could leave anytime he wanted, at least, that's what Ringo told him.

'We're in Nachton.' The werewolf answered in a tone that betrayed no emotional attachment. 'Eastern sea board of the United States.'

'Why?'

'Why else?' Money. It was always about money. Ringo and The Nakubili went where the money was free flowing and abundant. 'My Nachton contact must be desperate, though.'

'Why is that?'

'Well he's already provided for everything necessary and paid our fee up front, claiming it's half of what we'll get in the end.'

'That's a lot of money.'

'You'll get your share, Dr. Hanson.'

'Freedom is worth more than money, Mr. Ramsey.'

Ringo rolled his eyes and sniffed. 'You're free to leave...'

Dr. Hanson held up his hand and pulled out his notebook.

With a smile Ringo steeped his fingers and watched as the good doctor went through the motions. Hanson knew there was no point in arguing and Ringo was glad he would get to avoid the topic and focus more on the session. Ringo expanded on what was planned, even though he knew Dr. Hanson did not want to hear any of it. Accessory after the fact, he claimed. Like it mattered. Once Dr. Hanson's off shore account was credited, it made him as guilty as the rest of them.

'I'm wondering how He would view this type of retribution.' Ringo looked down in deep thought. 'It's a revenge as base as most - involving greed, jealousy, and hate...but people need killing.'

'You seemed to have resolved this issue already.'

Ringo shrugged. The sleeves of his white polo tight against his sizable biceps, stretching the material across his chest in a strained manner. He pulled up his leg, resting his ankle on the opposite knee and held on to it with large, strong hands that were covered in thin scars that ran the length of his fingers, up to his forearms. Not the usual traditional tattoos of his native country, but from handling silver without protection. Was that self-hating, he wondered.

'People need killing, so sayeth the Lord.'

'I don't think he quite said it that way, Mr. Ramsey.'

'Well, this mark might not, but it's part of His plan - why else would He bring this client to me, his Left Hand of God?'

'You keep referring to yourself in what is undoubtedly a derogatory term for a less than godly position.'

Dr. Hanson looked at Ringo from his perched position across from him. Ringo regarded the searching glare that the good doctor cast on him, no doubt wondering what Hell God's hand had involved him in presently. Or maybe he was wondering just how crazy Ringo actually had become. He felt fine though, vindicated in his position in the great line before God. Everything was not left up to chance, every happened for a reason - divine or otherwise. All the events that had led up to Ringo's presence in Nachton had been carefully coordinated and planned, by his client and ultimately ordained by Him. There was no such thing as random occurrences, it was all Fate. With a large smile he regarded the doctor across from him, answering his questions slowly.

'Well...I like the sound of it.'

'Indeed,' the good doctor replied.