Cass rolled his eyes, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere but here, finding out about his kid. Asshole. “I don’t know why my brother even bothers with you people. Come on, Marti.” He marched away, straightening the collar on his salmon-colored golf shirt, Marti giving me a hopeless look and then trailing in his wake. I wanted to run to her and shake some sense into her, but after three years of subtly placed comments over my kitchen table, I knew she wouldn’t listen. Not until she reached a breaking point. If she even had one.
Chief Abernathy stepped into the hallway and followed my gaze to the retreating figures with a hard set to his square jaw. He must’ve heard the exchange in the hallway, and he hadn’t liked it one bit.
A bear of a man, the chief had street-tough senses and a boxer’s intimidating face. His hands were as big as oven mitts and solid as a rock, just like the rest of him. “That guy rubs everybody the wrong way,” he commented, in a deep voice reminiscent of Barry White.
“Yeah.”
“But,” he said, “his brother donates a shitload to this department.”
“Is that a warning to be nice?” I finally looked at him as the Motts disappeared around the corner.
“It is what it is, Madigan. We make nice with the folks who provide us with state-of-the-art weapons and funding. So, you wanna tell me what happened in Underground?”
“Just defending myself. They seemed to have a grudge against ITF.”
He chuckled. “Who doesn’t? Listen, the doc is looking for you.”
“But—” I had to talk to him about a transfer.
“No buts, Madigan. You’ve missed the last two psych evaluations. Make sure you stop by her office on the way out.” He turned back to his office, but paused and gave me the infamous eye—a piercing black stare no one could take for more than a few seconds. “And I’m not asking.”
I inhaled deeply. The last thing I wanted was to be analyzed by some Ph.D. who didn’t know the first thing about tracking a crook, facing a ghoul with a bad attitude, or dodging a bullet. Emma would be home from school soon, and I didn’t have time for this. Screw the doc.
As I started down the hall, the chief stuck his head out of his office, holding a cell phone a few inches away from his ear. “I mean it, Madigan. Go see her.”
Great.
I did a one-eighty and headed back the other way with a sharp glare at the chief, but he’d already shut his office door.
Fine. But I was going to make this as quick as possible.
Doctor Berkowitz, or Doctor Berk, as we called her, peeked over the upper rim of her stylish horn-rimmed glasses as I entered the Loony Room … er, office.
“Officer Madigan, please have a seat.” She set aside the papers on her desk, folded her delicate hands on the polished surface, and waited for me to comply.
The brown leather chair begged me to sink down into its comfy cushions and lay open all my deepest and darkest fears. I perched on the edge, not falling for tricks. My hands fell limp in my lap, and I had to concentrate damn hard to keep them relaxed and to keep my pulse normal. “No offense, but I don’t have a lot of time.”
I wasn’t trying to be a bitch, really. I actually liked Katherine. Despite her soft appearance, she was as tough as nails. Maybe in another life we would’ve been friends, but the fact that she wanted to probe my mind and my past kept her eternally at arm’s length.
Leaning back in her chair, she studied me for a long moment. I couldn’t look her in the eyes, so I chose a spot over her left shoulder. Okay, so I had somewhat of a phobia when it came to therapists. At least I wasn’t in denial about it.
“I’ll take whatever time you’ve got, Detective. Now, let’s see,” she began, rummaging through the files on her desk, pulling mine out to open it.
“Last time you came to see me, you still struggled with exhaustion from the nightmares. How’s that been going?”
“Detective?”
“Oh, um, better. It’s been better.” God, this was like being on trial. “Still have them, but they’re not as bad or as frequent.”
“That’s good. And how are you doing with the meditation I recommended?”
“Fine.”
She frowned at me. “Did you try it at all?”
I didn’t answer, just gave her an apologetic smile.
Katherine removed her glasses and leaned forward. “Listen, Charlie, it’s important to take care of yourself here.”
“You still have a long way to go if you want to totally recover from your death experience. You’ve suppressed so much of how it made you feel.”
“You need to let it out, embrace your thoughts, the past, and the things you remember about that time.”
“You’ve come out of this a different person, and change is okay. It’s the events in our lives that shape who we are. Don’t fight it.”
She paused and leaned back again, rolling her pencil through her fingers. “I think the nightmares are because you’re suppressing the memories of being dead, of what you experienced, the feeling you had during this time. You’ll have to deal with it sooner or later, or it’s going to break you.”
“Doctor Berk,” I said, tiredly and with a sudden urge for pears. “I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but me dying was just that. I died. I was brought back. It’s over. End of story. I don’t remember anything, and honestly, I don’t want to. The only thing that matters is that I woke up, and” —I stood—“I really need to get home and take care of my kid. See you around.”
After stopping off at the store, I drove home, put the groceries away, kicked off my shoes and socks, and then waited for Emma on the front porch swing with a cereal bowl full of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. After the day I’d had, I deserved a little comfort food. I put Doctor Berk completely out of my mind and started obsessing again about my decision to transfer to a desk job.
I just sat there, slowly swinging and spooning ice cream into my mouth. The cold felt good on the small cuts that remained on the inside of my lip and cheek, and it helped with the stiffness in my mouth and jaw. The cookie dough bits didn’t hurt, either.
Truth was, I was nervous. Nervous to tell Emma of the decision I’d made and what she’d think about it.
Part of me felt like I was letting my brother down and even letting Emma down by giving up my part in keeping our city safe, but another part of me felt sure I was making the right move, and, more importantly, that Emma would appreciate not having to worry about me and all the dangers that came with my job.
A brand-new black-and-tan Ford F-250 pickup slowed as it approached the house. It parked directly across the narrow neighborhood street from my driveway. There were no houses across the street, just a sidewalk and then the green grass of a large baseball field, a walking path, and soccer fields. Sometimes at dawn, when the nightmares would wake me, I’d make some decaf and sit on the porch swing, watching the mist hover above the fields, and try to clear my mind.
I’d never seen this vehicle in the neighborhood before. The ignition shut off and the door popped open. The spoon paused in my mouth, and I stopped the swing with my toe.
It was Will. My ex.
Before I could drum up something sarcastic to think concerning the new truck, old feelings and memories
