Chapter 4 - Past and the Furious
[Note: This chapter is not in the direct continuity; this is, more or less, the "funny story..." Victor told Gerald and Phoebe at the reception.]
(...an airport lobby...a year ago...)
Helga is standing in line, clutching a boarding pass in one hand and a laptop case in the other. The line is a particularly long one; she's the fourth person from the front and there are six people behind her.
Helga shoots an irritated glare at the ticket agent, who shrugs in response. The old lady at the counter seemed to be setting a record for slowest time to present her ticket.
"Now, I know I've got it here somewhere."
The woman checked her coat pocket and her purse with no luck.
Helga didn't need this. Her flight was leaving in 10 minutes. In truth, she didn't even want to go; book signings could be such a pain. Her griping fell on deaf ears at the book label, so she was stuck.
She looked around and saw a number of couples together: husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, acquaintances, all of them showing some kind of affection for one another.
Her animosity at having to take the trip and waiting in the line that wouldn't budge caused her to groan loudly. The other people in line looked at her, then looked away.
Checking her watch did little to quell the anger; the seconds ticked off slower and slower.
Helga stormed to the front of the line.
"Look, lady, the rest of us have places to go, people to see and lives to live, so could you just move it along?"
"But I can't find my boarding pass."
"Well, it couldn't have gone too far. It..."
The sight of something on the floor causes Helga to grow angrier.
"I think I found it."
"Oh. Where?"
"It was on your shoe!"
"Now, I remember. I was in the ladies' room, and it must've fallen out of my pocket."
"Freakin' fabulous", Helga muttered as she made her way back to her place in line.
"Um, what do you think you're doing?", a middle-aged man said as Helga tried to re-enter the line in front of him.
"Getting back in line. What does it look like?"
"You got out of line. You can't skip back in. What do you think this is, grade-school?"
A vein started to throb in Helga's forehead. She snatched the man by his collar.
"I just wasted minutes of my life helping an old lady who'll be lucky to find her glasses on her face! All I wanted to do was get on the plane, fly to New York and attend a crappy book signing, and you're telling me I can't get back in line?!"
"Yeah", he responded in a tone that resembled "Doi!"
A security guard spots the scuffle and rushes over.
"Unless you want your wife to be a widow, you'll let me back in this damn line!"
The hulking man approached Helga.
"Is there a problem here, Miss?"
"No, there isn't, Lobo, so buzz off."
"You're a pretty lady. I'd hate to have to hurt you."
Helga releases the middle-aged man. She turns to face the guard, assuming a fighting stance.
"Good luck. I know a man's every vulnerable spot."
The guard reaches into his pocket.
"What is that?"
He turns around, blocking Helga's view.
"It's...oh, it's nothing."
"What is it?"
"You don't want to know."
Helga lunges at him, and before she can stop, he presents his mystery item: a stun gun. A quick hit and Helga goes down.
"I told you you didn't want to know."
"Please rise."
(...a courtroom...days later...)
Helga is standing behind a table.
"For this outburst, it is the opinion of this court that you undergo six months of anger management counseling, effective immediately."
Helga sits down shocked.
(...a center...the next day...)
"So, what can you tell me about her?", the young counselor wondered.
"Well, according to her file, she's had anger issues since childhood: threats, attacks, verbal and physical", the curly-haired woman replied.
"Sounds like a sweetheart."
"More like a bitter pill. She's always kept people out. There is a 20 year old report here from a Dr. Judith Bliss that goes into some detail about it."
She hands him the file.
"There's also something in there about 'latent schizophrenia', but there's not much that can be done about that. I mean, I'm not a psychiatrist. Are you?"
"Not the last time I checked."
They look through the window in the door and see Helga, sitting with her arms folded and an expression on her face suggesting a great consumption of lemons.
"Good luck, Victor. You'll need it."
The woman walks off, leaving Victor to the task. He gulped and opened the door. Helga turned to regard her "guest".
"Hello."
"Hello, yourself."
Victor sits at the table in the seat across from Helga.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Helga puts a hand to her chin.
"Well, I think it's because I've won a contest of some kind. Why the hell do you think I'm here, Einstein?"
"It's not a contest, though you would've been a shoo-in for Miss Congeniality."
"Nice. Who writes your material?"
"I'll tell you later, but for right now, you're here because you have anger issues."
Helga notices the thick file at the other end of the table.
"Is that what it says in that folder?"
"Truthfully, I didn't need the file to guess. The look on you face says it all."
"Look, uh..."
"Victor. Jamison."
"Look, Vic, I'm not here to get better. I'm here because the courts forced me to be here."
"Good to know your priorities are in order. Shall we get started?"
"Don't expect any miracles, but all right."
