“Stress hormones can affect serotonin levels.”
“Or maybe I’m just pissed off because some piece of scum took my family away from me.”
“Is that what you want to talk about today?”
“I don’t want to talk about shit today. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“I think we both know the only reason I’m here is because I’m trying to salvage my job.”
“Well, I’m glad you got that out in the open.” Hunt gave him a passable smile. “How do you feel about being put on leave?”
“I’m pissed. I want to work. I
The doctor stared at him for a while, then said, “Look, John, I know you don’t want to be here. I understand that. To be perfectly honest, you’re not exactly the ideal patient.”
“Now there’s a revelation.”
“The truth of the matter is you have some issues to deal with. Your not communicating with me isn’t going to help. I can’t do my job unless you talk to me. The sooner you’re straight with me, the sooner you’re out of here and back to work. We’re not going to progress until that happens.”
Tomasetti stared at him, aware that his heart was pounding. The words were a knot in his chest, being pulled inexorably tighter until he thought something inside him would rip apart. “I’m not getting any better,” he said after a moment.
“Why do you think that is?”
“It’s been two and a half years. I should be getting better. I’m not.”
“Healing takes time.”
“I’m getting worse.”
The doctor’s eyes sharpened, his expression taking on a knowing quality Tomasetti didn’t like. “Are you talking about your trip to the emergency room?”
Tomasetti looked away, wishing he’d been able to salvage just one shred of privacy. He honestly didn’t have much faith that this doctor could fix him, and he sure as hell didn’t want to dredge up one of the most degrading experiences of his life.
“Why don’t you tell me about that?” Hunt pressed.
Tomasetti shifted in the chair, caught himself fidgeting, and stilled. “I thought I was having a heart attack.”
“But your heart is fine, isn’t it?”
Tomasetti said nothing.
“What was the emergency room physician’s diagnosis?” the doctor asked.
“He said I’d experienced an anxiety attack.”
“Do you understand what that is?”
“I’ve read up on it.”
“Why don’t we talk about that?”
Sighing, Tomasetti looked out the window at the lights of the city beyond. Downtown Columbus was a bustling place this time of the evening. Happy hour was just heating up over at the Buckeye Pub on High Street. He could hear the traffic three stories down and wished he were out there. He wished he were anywhere but inside this office, inside his own skin, inside his own head.
“How much of this gets back to the suits at BCI?” he asked after a moment.
“Everything you and I talk about is confidential. You know that.”
“You have to tell them
“I give them attendance reports.”
“So how are they going to know when I’m fixed?”
A smile curved the doctor’s mouth. “I’ll include that in my final report.”
“How will you know when we get there?”
“Let’s just say we’re not there yet.” The doctor waited a beat. “John, tell me about the anxiety attacks.”
Tomasetti thought about walking out. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d walked out of a doctor’s office. But he knew it would be counterproductive. The last thing he wanted was to sabotage his job. His relationship with Kate aside, it was all he had left.
He shrugged. “They’re pretty much textbook. Pounding heart. Sweating. Chest so tight I can’t take a breath.”
“How do they make you feel?”
“Out of control.” Tomasetti wiped his wet palms on his slacks, realized what he was doing and stopped. “Scared shitless.”
“I can write you a prescription.”
“I think I’ve had more than my share of pills.”
Hunt frowned. “Let’s go back to the nightmares for a second.”
“What about them?”
“How do they make you feel?”
“They scare the fuck out of me.”
“Why do they scare you?”
“Because someone I care about always gets hurt. Or worse.”
“They die?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you there? Witnessing it?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you try to help them?”
“I try. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s like I’m paralyzed or something.”
“Are we talking about your family? Nancy? The girls?”
This was the part Tomasetti didn’t want to talk about. If he said it aloud, he would have to acknowledge the possibility that it could really happen. “Not always.”
“Who else is it you dream about, John? Who is it you can’t help? Who can’t you talk to me about?”
“Someone I care about.”
“A partner? A cop? A personal relationship?”
“Personal.”
“Okay. That’s a starting point. Thank you.” Hunt’s eyes sharpened. “You know I have access to your personnel file, John. Because of the shooting you were involved in. I know about the case last January.”
“Most of it was in the papers.”
“I’m talking about the stuff that wasn’t in the papers.”
Tomasetti remained silent.
“Look, I used to be a cop. I know how close partners can get.”
“She isn’t my partner.”
“But you were working with her. You were there for an extended period of time. You were under tremendous stress.” Hunt looked down at his notes. “You got involved with the chief of police.”
Since it was a statement as opposed to a question, Tomasetti figured it didn’t require an answer. Not that he had one. Hell, he didn’t know what was happening between him and Kate. Were they involved? It had been two months since he’d seen her. Did that equate to a relationship? Maybe it was all in his head because he spent so much time thinking of her. Dreaming of her. Things had progressed too quickly, and neither of them was prepared to deal with the consequences. That’s what you got when you put together two people who were experts at sabotaging relationships.
“Is she the one you dream about?” the doctor pressed. “The one you can’t help?”
“Sometimes.”
