Tough Love

Tough Love
Kira Stone
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Kira Stone

After saying goodbye to his last client in the relaxation rooms, Cas skirted the administrative offices, then let himself out the side door of Blossom House’s massage building. He paused for a second to inhale a lungful of the fresh, cool fall air, a treat after spending his day in the heavily perfumed pampering rooms.

Clients could spend hours in the luxurious mineral baths, wrapped up in pore-cleansing steam or soaking in hot mud. One-on-one workouts were a favorite, as were the deep tissue massages. Just about anything a person could ask for from a health spa was offered at Blossom House’s main campus.

There was, however, another section of Blossom House, a far more important one in Cas’ opinion. Sometimes it wasn’t a person’s body that needed pampering, but their mind. That was his main job, helping people tend to the needs of their mind and soul. And because this was Blossom House rather than a psychiatric facility, they went about caring for their special guests in a very unique way.

Dense ivy filled the gaps between the slats of the ten -- foot-high wooden fence separating the public area of Blossom House from the private side. Cas followed the expertly tended dirt path until he reached an isolated, unremarkable metal gate.

“Password?” a familiar voice echoed over the hidden speaker as he came to a stop.

“Boyd?”

Orin Boyd, Blossom House’s roving troubleshooter, rarely staffed the security desk. His services were in constant demand in virtually every other part of the campus. The fact that he was manning the surveillance cameras meant either one too many people had called in sick or he was tackling a new problem. Cas’ gut said it was the latter.

Boyd’s height -- five-feet, three-inches -- wasn’t likely to make the average person feel secure. Or intimidated. But appearances were deceptive. Boyd was more than a chief security guard in the same way that Blossom House was more than an upscale day spa. Cas liked the guy, had liked Boyd even before the troubleshooter saved his butt from certain death.

“Hey, Cas. How’s it hanging?”

“Loose and low, my friend. Loose and low.” His voice now was quite different than the one his recent clients had heard. No slow, careful phrasing and just a fraction of the Slavic accent he’d used with them.

“Done for the day?”

“Done for good. I’m officially back in R Block, as of right now.”

“Your next guest arrives tomorrow. You up for it?”

Cas rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the lingering ache from eight straight hours of giving rub-downs to the wealthy masses. “I was ready two weeks ago. This stint in the relaxation rooms wasn’t my idea.”

“I’m your Hawk on this one. I’ve got a right to know where your mind is.”

If Boyd had assigned himself the job of looking over his shoulder while Cas attended to a private guest, then something was definitely going on inside Blossom House -- or he was being overly paranoid. Neither option was good. “Yeah, Boyd, I can handle it. Want to tell me why you’re taking on a low-level security assignment?”

“Dr. Scott’s idea of damage control.”

Cas formulated many responses to that news, but he bit them all back. For one, it wasn’t right to take out his anger on the messenger. Secondly, anything passing his lips on the sensitive subject could be recorded and used against him later. He wasn’t giving his critics more ammunition to use against him.

And honestly, there was no one better than Boyd to watch his back. If Cas was pissed because the facility’s director found the extra precaution necessary, he had no one to blame but himself.

He kicked at the dirt path with his shoe. “So you gonna let me in or what?”

“Password?”

“Oh, come on.” Like Boyd really thought he was a spy or a too-curious guest.

“Password,” the troubleshooter repeated in the same flat tone.

“Fine, fine. It’s relic.”

“Approved.”

Twenty feet further down the garden path, the ivy parted and the wire-thin electrified gate behind it retracted into the wooden slats. Cas passed through the opening and then sprinted over the grassy rise to R Block, a set of single-story buildings in the hundred acre private sector designed to resemble military barracks. Colorless and drab, the units were identical except where the occupants had taken the trouble to liven up their homes.

His own suite remained as bland as the day he’d moved into it, both inside and out. People colored his world, not things.

The door opened at his voice command, leaving his hands free to discard his sweat-stained clothing as he strolled inside. He took a quick shower to rid his skin of the heavy floral scents his last guest had chosen to aid her relaxation and then tugged on a pair of lightweight drawstring pants and a matching gray T-shirt. He finger-combed his wavy black hair out of his eyes, making a mental note to get it cut soon. Though he had a few minutes to spare, he abandoned the idea of a hasty dinner and stepped through his back door into a narrow passage.

The trip to the R Block staff’s underground common area was a short one down a steep tunnel, and through another key-coded door.

“Hey, D --” The rest of his greeting ended abruptly as Cas stopped to stare at the sight before him. “What the --”

Digger Graves, a beefy black man who had the heart and soul of a kitten, lifted his nose from the science fiction book he was reading. “Be glad Helen didn’t decide to redecorate by filling the conversation pit with a mud bath.”

“That’d still be better than the time the twins made each of us life-sized clones to sit with because they were tired of being the only identical pair around,” Cas replied. “That just plain freaked me out.” He kicked his way through the fluffy gray throw pillows until he reached the center of the seating area. There were no other obstructions to get his in way. Not even a foot stool. Where the hell were they all supposed to sit?

The only other person in the room didn’t utter a word to him, so he returned the favor. Dana Goddard had come to Blossom House as one of their special guests, but she’d been in residence so long she was now part of their inner circle. Cas thought of Dana as the black sheep of the family because she usually stuck to the shadows. She had her own set of rules for social interaction. Memories of the few times he’d accidentally broken those rules lingered in the back of his mind, a warning to the future. Out of necessity, he’d developed his own method for dealing with her. When in doubt, avoid.

Cas chose a spot near Digger that had, until Helen Monroe redecorated for her month as den keeper, held his favorite chair. He was just about to comment again on the lack of functional comfort inherent in Helen’s new design when the door marked with a large, black “4” opened.

Dr. Matthew Scott tumbled into the room on the heels of the twins, Ella and Alle Kopf. Limbs and pillows spun through the air as the three of them rolled to a halt and attempted to make sense of the decorative changes in the room. The fact that several months ago Digger had installed green carpet on the ceiling and painted a cloudy blue sky on the floor didn’t help them figure out which end was up.

Predictably, Helen made her appearance while everyone else milled around, dazed and confused. This time she did so in a hip-swinging gait reminiscent of the leading ladies in the film noirs that she loved.

Not bad for a woman approaching sixty, Cas silently mused.

“Damn it, Helen, where the hell am I supposed to sit?” Dr. Scott complained.

“On your cute bottom.”

“I should sit on your lap,” the psychiatrist retorted. Though young in age, he sometimes acted as if he were a generation older. Cas didn’t pry into why. The doctor would share his reasons if he ever felt it necessary.

Dana left her secluded corner and approached the group. She wore a rough woolen dress, gray and shapeless, that hid her boyishly slim body and pooled around her feet. Her shaved head glowed under the ambient lighting. She looked like a fallen angel who’d been singed by her halo.

“I did it. I said it was okay. I’m sorry.” Her musical voice made the very air hum with happy feelings, even though the expression on her face could only be described as anxious to please.

“Understood, Dana,” Dr. Scott said with little inflection. He then addressed Helen one more time. “Henceforth, Helen, please take into consideration the comfort of your block-mates when you redesign. We’re not all as spry as you.”

Helen nodded, a queen accepting sage advice from a peer of the realm.

Having settled the point, Dr. Scott moved on to the reason for the gathering. “Tomorrow we will receive a new guest.”

The twins burst into enthusiastic applause. Dana continued to study the fabric covering her body as though clothing was a new experience for her. Digger turned to the next page of his book. Cas, however, gave the doctor his full attention.

Helen’s voice became strained as she placed her ankle behind her neck in an attempt to practice her yoga position of the week. “What can you tell us about her?”

“Her name is Jade Rue.”

The psychiatrist fished around in the sea of pillows until he caught his prize, a thin manila folder. He removed a picture and handed it over to Digger.

When the photo made its way around the group to him, Cas studied it. A professional pose touched up by an artist’s airbrush, he suspected. Real women were seldom as beautiful as this one. Ash blonde hair, pixie short. Green eyes that reminded him of rolling Irish hills. A swanlike neck exposed for the camera, her lips curved into a stunning smile.

She wouldn’t be smiling when she arrived at Blossom House. Cas would bet on it.