The lights dimmed on the audience as the applause filled the arena, and Timothy entered the stage from the left flank to a welcome fit for a great orator. He had wowed audiences with his presentations from London, Singapore, New York, and Shanghai. Now it was Dubai's turn. He cleared his throat and breathed into the microphone attached to his lapel to make sure it was ready. He steadied his balance and began his presentation.
"It was Jung who said, do not strive to be a good man, instead strive to be a whole man... Or words to that effect. What he meant by this was, inside all of us are the deepest, darkest desires that we suppress in the back of our subconscious. We hide them away because we don't want the world to be exposed to the weaknesses that permeate throughout our minds," he said as he strolled the stage.
"Maybe you have a secret love affair with Abba that you do not wish your corporate client who represents a Fortune Five Hundred company to know about?" he said as the audience laughed on cue.
"Maybe you harbour a secret desire for someone you know you shouldn't. Or you desire better clothes, a better house, or a better car, but the consumption of these items would go against your belief system? Or maybe you have a murderous desire?..." he let that one hang in the air. The audience was dead silent. They were with him. He had them. It was a feeling not uncommon to him on the stage.
"Jung would suggest that we are not to act on these impulses... Instead, we are not to internalise them. We are to meditate on them. Maybe we should write them down and journalise them. They serve no purpose being locked up in our subconscious. They need to be given the opportunity to flourish and exercise themselves so that we can live a life that doesn't keep a part of ourselves in shadow." Timothy took a water from the stool that sat on stage right. He was comfortable enough with this portion of the presentation to linger on the point. His credentials in psychiatry all marking the moment when he would present the bookend to this presentation. He always knew when to deliver it and the time had arrived. He lived for this element, the grip he had on a captive audience. He gave himself a smirk as he placed the glass of water down.
"Maybe you should suppress your inner demons!" yelled a voice from the dark. He was being heckled. This had never happened before. He didn't know how to respond.
"Who said that?" he said, not knowing what else to say.
"You're a murderer!" the voice called out again. It was female. What problem did this woman have with him?
"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are, I can assure you I..."
"You left them to die?!" she yelled out. She was crying.
"How do you..." Tim was stuck. He had suppressed the memory. He was living a hypocritical existence. How did this person know?
"How do you know anything about me?" he managed to blurt out.
The lights came up on stage, followed by the house lights. Timothy got a good glimpse of the faces as they watched on, in shock. Some were concerned. A floor manager wearing an earpiece climbed the front stairs from the stage and approached him.
"Are you okay, Mister McKee?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine, can you please remove that heckler from the audience?" Tim asked.
"Ah, sir, I think you're having an episode, we're here to escort you off. Maybe you need some more time to prepare yourself, and then you can present again in the afternoon?" the floor manager suggested in a calm demeanour.
"What the hell are you talking about?!" Tim yelled at him. "Get the hell off my stage, I only have thirteen minutes!"
The manager held out an arm to signal an offer of an escort, and Timothy swatted it away as if it were an oncoming assault. The audience shrieked in fright.
"Security, we're going to need some security here," the floor manager said into his radio.
"You're a murdering bastard!" the woman yelled from the crowd. She stood from her seat and she held the puppy in her arms. The same one she had been holding when he left her on the stairwell of their burning apartment. Her face imprinted into his psyche as he drove his Toyota SUV away in a huff seventeen years earlier. She was alive, and she was here to heckle him. She hadn't aged a day.
"You can't call me a murderer!" Timothy yelled. "You're not dead!"
Four security guards ran onto the stage and approached him from four angles. They all stood in an evasive stance to counter his hostility.
"Mr McKee, it would be much easier if you just came with us quietly," one of them asked.
"Get the hell off my stage, I'm not done with my presentation!" he yelled.
A guard took a dive and tackled him to the floor. Another jumped on top and held his head down. He felt the firm weight of a third holding down his legs while his arms were pinned behind his back. A pain seared through his torso that he hadn't experienced before. This was the arrest he deserved on the night of the accident. But the time had passed. They had their chance. He was free now, he didn't need to put up with this.
"You're not dead! Neither is your baby! So leave me alone, I have a presentation to give!" Tim yelled.
He was screaming with his eyes closed, and when he opened them, the lights were dimmed instantly. The spotlight was switched on again and he found himself alone on stage while the audience of hundreds looked on. He had brought his unconscious fears, locked away for the duration of his professional career, to light. Exposed them for all to see.
Timothy slowly rose to his feet and cleared his throat as he dusted off his pants.
"As you can see," he said. "These subconscious demons need to be exercised, lest they take over your life at the most inopportune moment."
The hall was silent. The applause that had warmly greeted his arrival had evaporated. He looked to the green exit sign to his right and never felt its enticing embrace as much as he did that very moment. He took the eighteen steps it required to make it out the door.
Dying a slow death inside with each step.
Putting himself in the point of view of the ridiculing audience as they watched him take the walk of shame.