Dr. Belliveau's Dream Job Chapter 4 [Fiction-Humour]

Has he gone too far this time?

Stacey nearly spun on one foot and walked out the door when she returned on Monday morning. Everything seemed to be in place, on first glance. That alone made her nervous. No weirdly stacked files on her desk, no stolen strips of staples taken, and no weird notes left on the computer monitor for her.

Dr. Belliveau had a weird habit of staying late at night and sitting at her desk. She knew this because she installed her Blink pet monitor in the room to keep an eye on things. It felt like an “off” thing to do (probably even illegal), but there was something very strange about Dr. Belliveau and his obsession with her desk.

For the longest time, she thought his obsession was with her, but she quickly trashed that idea. If he were obsessed with her, wouldn’t he be sniffing her scarf that she hung on the coat rack in the winter? Wouldn’t he be leaving her gifts, asking her out, or at the very least sending pics of his stethoscope against his naked, hairless chest?

Nope. She determined rather quickly that it was something about the desk that turned his crank. He molested paper, especially when it came right out of the printer. He liked it hot.

He had her order stacks of hard-cover (MUST be hard-cover) medical books just so that he could crack their spines when they arrived. Every once in a while, she’d catch him sniffing the heavily glossed and lightly coated pages.

Once, after a few drinks with friends, Stacey confided that Dr. Belliveau took the love of that new book smell to a whole nubba lebel.

They had laughed at that Key and Peele reference. She laughed when she was out with friends. When she was in the office, she mostly just did her job while casting suspicious glances at the doctor, wondering where he’d had his fingers lately (on her desk, of course).

So, with a great deal of weariness, Stacey made her coffee and made one for the doctor. Not because she had to. She’d always just felt it was a courtesy, not like a 1960s subservient secretary or anything.

She took hers black. Double Chiaro Nespresso for her. For him, she made a watered-down version of the same and then filled it with coconut milk. He never knew what was in it. Never asked. He liked it and that was that.

Finally, she sat down at her desk and hit a key to bring the monitor to life.

Jesus H Christ! she said aloud, glancing at the seating area to make sure nobody had snuck in. What the f…

She snatched her fingers away from the keyboard as if she’d get instantly sucked into whatever version of hell was on her screen.

She didn’t recognize the browser OnyonSurf and certainly couldn’t understand the black screen and red and green font.

Dr. Belliveau? She shouted. Our system’s been hacked!

She knew he’d already arrived before her because she could see the slim line of office light that hit just below his closed door.

He stepped out looking disheveled and a little sheepish, as if he’d just slept under his desk with a bag of Cheetos and a Voodoo Doll of the medical director.

Stacey looked up, eyes wide. She pointed to the screen. Is your computer doing this?

Dr. Belliveau made a show of walking to Stacey’s desk and peering over her shoulder, a look of concern on his face.

I don’t know what happened here, he said.

I’ll get tech support over here, Stacey replied, but the doctor tapped the top of her hand and knocked the receiver back in place.

Nope. Nope nope. No need for that, Dr. Belliveau said. Just reboot the computer. It will go back to normal.

He was nervous. Stacey could tell by the way he rubbed the top of his hand back and forth across his lips. Stimming to relieve some anxiety. What she wanted to ask was What did you do to my computer? Instead, she told him she’d figure it out and handed him his first file of the day.

Jimmy Schleara. Prostate issues. Obese. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Fear of corduroy pants.

Dr. Belliveau sighed. I loved being the administrative assistant on Friday, he said. You should take more days off!

Stacey narrowed her eyes at him. You’re not the administrative assistant, though. You’re the doctor. Right? I offered to bring someone in for you if you’re implying….

NO no no no. Not a problem at all, Dr. Belliveau said. He rocked from foot to foot, his anxiety amped to 10 now. It’s just that, well, you know, I’ve always wanted to, you see, I’ve always wanted to be a secretary.

It wasn’t that confession that caused Stacey to momentarily stop breathing, it was the way he said secretary. Se-Crete-ary. Just gross and wrong. Besides, nobody said secretary anymore.

Were you working on my computer? She asked. She knew damned well he was.

Dr. Belliveau stood up straight and tugged at his tie. I was trying to find the password to open the appointment database, he said brusquely.

You already have the password, remember? We wrote it down and locked it in the office safe.

The doctor looked from Stacey to the safe at the back of the room. It was a small safe, just big enough for a few important things like the doctor’s extra prescription pads, a bottle of valium for Stacey to be used as needed, a scribbler filled with important passwords, and a book of conversation starters for those days when everyone in their wing of the hospital was called to the social room to celebrate someone’s birthday or welcome a new hire.

YES! Dr. Belliveau cried, smacking his forehead for effect. And then, without another word, turned on his heels and headed back into his office.

Stacey sighed, ready to reboot the computer to try to get back to her regular browser.

What even is this? she wondered, reading the screen.

Huge pop-up ads with skulls, yellow exclamation marks, and threatening zig-zagged lightning bolts lit up the screen.

BUY UNTRACEABLE PARROTS NO QUESTIONS ASKED

50% OFF A LIST OF THE DEAD AND THE DERANGED - FULL AND COMPLETE IDENTITY THEFT

CALL JOHN. WE CAN FAKE ANY DEATH, ANYTIME.

Stacey considered getting tech support again, but the screen had a luring quality that seemed a hell of a lot more interesting than her database.

A button called TORENT jumped all around the screen, daring her to try to catch it, to try to click the button.

So she did.

WELCOME BACK TO THE DARK WEB, WHERE THINGS THAT SHOULDN’T BE POSSIBLE ARE POSSIBLE. IF YOU HAVE THE GUTS AND THE MONEY.

Stacey sighed. What could go wrong? she thought. It wasn’t as if she went looking for this garbage. It came to her via her incompetent and strange boss.

So she clicked another link. This one brought her to an entirely blacked-out page framed in blood red. The words were in bright yellow, making her squint as she read the text.

It appeared to be a search history of sorts.

She read the first one:

How do I crack my secretary’s computer password? Don’t want to hack it per se, but I’d like to be able to find her passwords.

Then she moved down to the next one:

My mother wanted me to be a doctor. Should I seek therapy for the fact that my parents wouldn’t keep the bar lower for me? What’s wrong with being a secretary? They’re considered very helpful.

Stacey sat back in her chair and took a sip of coffee. Her eyebrows seem to want to raise high into her forehead, so she let them. Her eyes followed next, slightly bulging from their sockets and then turning upwards until they stuck to the ceiling.

She swallowed the coffee in her mouth, a loud gulping sound. Now she HAD to read the rest.

BING BONG BING BONG

The first patient walked in and sat down. Stacey didn’t care. She lowered her eyes to the screen, squinted, and leaned in.

If I fire my secretary, could I take her job and then hire a doctor to replace me? Also, my last patient had a bottle of chloroform in her purse. Where did she get it?

WHAT THE HELLY HELL? Stacey said aloud, clearly alarmed. She didn’t care that, this time, someone WAS in the waiting area.

She pulled herself away from the computer monitor, as if being too close might suck her into the void.

She’d always known Dr. Belliveau loved hanging around her desk, always asking for paperclips (the coated kind, not the scratchy metal ones). She’d put up with, but never took part in, his bizarre joy in being the first to break the spine of a new book.

BUT THIS? He wanted her gone. He wanted HER job. God, you’re a fucking nutbag, she said aloud.

Clearly, he wanted her gone, a desire that may or may not include chloroform.

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