Free Phobia KDP by C.A. Shives Page A

The Healer felt some pressure and a little tinge of fear at the sight. The task before him would take some time, and he knew that daylight was limited. He urged Emmert faster through the trees and brush.
    Emmert scratched his face on a branch and cried out as blood spilled down his cheek. Suddenly, in front of them was a clearing in the woods.
    The open area was small, just a patch of grass and ferns among the trees, and in it rested a plain wooden box with a hinged lid, the size of a coffin. The pine wood was so fresh that The Healer could smell it.
    “I’m not a craftsman, unfortunately,” The Healer said. “Please pardon my amateur attempt to make your casket.”
    Emmert spun around and fell to his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “No,” he begged. “I’ll do anything.”
    “Tell me about it,” The Healer demanded.
    Emmert looked up, his eyes questioning. A bubble of mucous popped in his nostril and saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
    “You want to live, don’t you?” The Healer asked.
    Emmert nodded.
    “Then tell me about your fear. You hate tight spaces, don’t you?”
    Emmert’s breath came in short hitches. He moaned softly.
    “Do they make you panic?”
    “I… I can’t breathe,” Emmert said.
    “Of course you can breathe,” The Healer said contemptuously. “You just feel like you can’t breathe, right?”
    Emmert nodded again, eager and compliant.
    “But it’s not real. This fear you have is something you create in your own mind.”
    Emmert hung his head.
    They stood in silence for a moment. Doctor and patient , The Healer thought. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the mingled scents of the raw pine wood and the musky odor of fear that seeped from Emmert’s pores.
    It was time to complete the therapy.
    “Get in.” The Healer used his gun to gesture toward the wooden box.
    “No,” Emmert said. “I can’t.”
    “We’re going to conquer your fear, Charles. I promise.”
    “I can’t. I won’t be able to breathe in there.”
    “I’ll make you whole again. You must face your fears.”
    “Why are you doing this?” Emmert screamed. He began weeping again, his sobs thick with tears and terror.
    “Because it’s the only way to heal you. It’s the only way to make you whole. Now get in.”
    “I can’t,” Emmert wailed.
    “I promise you’ll get out of the box. You won’t stay in there forever,” The Healer said.
    Emmert looked up, his eyes hopeful again.
    “I promise, Charles. You won’t be in there long.” You’ll get out as soon as the police find you , he thought.
    Emmert glanced at the box and hesitated.
    “Either get in or I’ll shoot you right now, on the spot,” The Healer said impatiently, aware of the sun’s low position in the sky. “And I won’t make your death quick. I’ll blow off your balls and let you bleed until you die.”
    Emmert moved slowly toward the box, like a child reluctant to take a bitter medicine.
    “It’ll be over soon,” The Healer crooned. “Very soon you’ll be a free man.”
    Emmert sat in the box as if it were a canoe, his hands gripping the sides.
    “Lie down.”
    Weeping, Emmert obeyed.
    In one swift movement The Healer flipped closed the lid of the box and sat on it. Emmert pounded at the wood, his panicked screams muffled by the thick pine.
    Using a small hammer and nails he carried in the pocket of his pants, The Healer sealed the box. He stood back and listened as Emmert’s fists flailed against the wood. His shrill cries were buried in the box.
    The hot sun cast long shadows over the coffin. The Healer walked away.
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Bethany drove her small car around the parking lot, searching for a space close to the entrance. It wasn’t laziness—she didn’t mind walking—but the closer spots were more secure. Women abducted from parking lots usually had poor judgment. They forgot to park under streetlights at night, or they parked in a remote corner of the lot where seclusion gave rapists and