Chapter 6
11 a.m. Wednesday, OHSU psychology clinic — Rev. Washington knew the way. He’d been here before. It sounded like Ryan had as well, and he wondered if Ryan would ever feel comfortable enough to confide in him. His sons had a lot of respect for Ryan Matthews, in part because he’d turned his life around. He doubted Ryan knew how much his sons had told him over the past few years.
He wasn’t apprehensive, particularly, but he was unsure what to expect from J.J. The young man had been very quiet during his last visit, but the Reverend seemed sure he preferred going to the Washington home rather than his own. He wouldn’t have minded Ryan’s company to break the ice, so to speak. Then he recognized a car parked by the clinic as his son’s, and he picked up the pace.
Cage, and his friend, Sarah — he thought that was her name — were sitting in the waiting room with J.J. who was laughing. Cage looked up at his father.
“Figured we’d come by for the breaking-him-out-of-jail ceremony,” Cage greeted his father. “And we’ve been telling him about Ryan and Rafael.”
“And that makes you laugh?” Rev. Washington asked.
“Yes, yes it does,” Cage said, still chuckling. “All kinds of puns. Chicks coming home to roost, comes to mind.”
Rev. Washington tried not to laugh at that one, but he knew his eyes crinkled a bit. Ryan’s reputation was well known.
Dr. Clarke came out and nodded to him. “I’ve got some paperwork,” she said, as she led the way back to her office. “J.J. has already done his.”
Rev. Washington closed the door behind him. “How is he, doctor?”
Dr. Clarke frowned thoughtfully. “Fifty-fifty,” she said. “I’m still concerned. If he wasn’t going to your place, I’d lock him down for 30 days.”
Rev. Washington nodded. “OK. It may come to that, but the laughing seems to be a good sign.”
“And returning to a normal routine will also be good,” Dr. Clarke said. “Did I hear them right? Ryan Matthews has inherited custody of a son?”
Rev. Washington caught her up to speed. “He says he’ll call for an appointment. That you’d been his doctor once.”
Dr. Clarke nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, an appointment would be good.”
“Anything I should know?”
“That I can say?” She shook her head. “No. But if you’re worried about Rafael’s safety or anything like that? No, I have no concerns there.”
“Good. I guess I’ve got three young men back under my roof,” he said, as he stood up.
“Good luck with that,” Dr. Clarke said as she escorted the man out.
J.J. looked at his friends. They were his friends, not just coworkers, he realized. They cared. Cared enough to save his life, but also enough to see him through this. Cage was even sharing his father.
He instinctively liked the Rev. Washington. It made him hesitate, but then he really didn’t have anything to go on but his instincts at this point, he thought. His brain felt stuffed with cotton, like he had a cold, an emotional cold or a brain cold? Whatever it was, it made it hard to think things through. Nothing seemed clear.
So, he’d have to trust his instincts. And his friends.
They left the clinic together, Cage pushing Sarah’s chair. He’d winced when he saw that, because he knew she’d strained her body immensely to save his life. He couldn’t remember it clearly, just her holding him and telling her story. He couldn’t remember that clearly either, which bothered him a lot. He wanted to remember Sarah’s story.
And maybe that was the problem, there was so much he didn’t want to remember, it was all cloudy.
But Sarah had assured him the chair was temporary, and she didn’t seem mad about it. So J.J. decided it wasn’t necessary to include it on his guilt list. It was long enough already.
“Carroll?” Cage said, surprise in his voice.
J.J. looked up and grinned. “Carroll!” he said with pleasure. Carroll had been by daily to just sit and tell him the news of the protests and the lawsuit against the cops who had kidnapped them last summer. Carroll made him laugh with descriptions of Turk and the other independent journalists, of Rep. Sarah Gilligan, Carroll’s mother, who had been arrested at the protest one night and her battle with the DA’s office who wanted to drop the charges quietly, and Rep. Gilligan wasn’t having it. He hadn’t thought laughing was possible ever again.
“Wait, your mom is arguing she shouldn’t have the charges dropped?” J.J. asked, laughing, but baffled.
Carroll nodded vigorously, hamming it up for him. “Yup. Mom says why should she be treated any differently? That if he’s going to drop her charges, he needs to drop everyone’s. And she wants an apology from the officers who made the illegal arrest.”
J.J. laughed. “Will she get it?”
Carroll shrugged. “She’s getting headlines. Which is what she really wants, I think. Mom is shrewd about things like this. We’ll see.”
Another day Carroll told him about their flashbacks and nightmares. A much more serious conversation. “In a weird sort of way, those blackmail photos? They helped me. Now I know that my flashbacks are real, I’m not going crazy. Sarah helped too. She’s been through that too. She keeps insisting I am real, this is real now, and that is the past. That helps too. It gets confusing sometimes,” Carroll confided.
J.J. nodded. He’d seen the photos because Carroll had insisted that they be made public. Eyewitness News ran them as part of the story about Carroll’s kidnapping last summer and the events since then.
J.J. had followed the independent journalists covering the Black Lives Matter protests in downtown Portland since they started in May. He had been in awe of what they were doing. So, when fall term started, he lost no time in signing on with Eyewitness News. He’d checked out a camera and headed down. Foolishly, he knew now.
