William kept pushing the idea of a book deal on me and that the networks would pay big money for an exclusive interview. “Why give it away for free?” he’d said. But I couldn’t care less about the money. I just wanted this all to be over.
As I pushed against the wall of people around me, I heard the piercing screech of a police siren, followed by a booming voice over a loudspeaker.
“This is an illegal assembly! You are in violation of Florida statutes 870.02 and 870.03! You must disperse immediately or we will be forced to begin making arrests!”
Fear registered on the faces of those around me, and I couldn’t help but smile. They wanted me to talk, to answer their questions, but not enough to go to jail. I felt the crowd loosen and while their attention was focused on the police, I moved quickly. I pushed hard, shoving people out of the way. I saw daylight as those who had been lingering just outside the door to my office wandered off. I guess staying out of jail was more important than protesting me.
I finally broke free of the crowd and ran the last thirty feet to the front door. I yanked it open, stepped inside and closed it behind me, my back pressed up against it.
Vera and Alexis were standing behind the front desk, watching.
Breathing hard, I said, “I have never been happier to see the police.”
“You’re welcome,” Vera said, arms crossed and a smile on her face.
Chapter 39
Over the next week it was much of the same. Nightmares, dodging the media, deleting messages, and ignoring voicemails. At the office, however, we were in full damage control mode. I had apologized profusely to Vera and Alexis for the awkward and difficult situation I had put them in. I didn’t apologize for what happened at the bank, but I should have told them I had been bringing a gun into the office. They had the right to know. I assured them I was done with that, and that my pistol was securely locked away in my safe at home. They were relieved.
We had a good talk and agreed to put it behind us. Then we got to work on a plan to get our patients back and the business cranked up. I posted a lengthy explanation on our website and Facebook page, sent out a newsletter and an email blast to our entire patient base, and even posted a video on our YouTube channel.
Fortunately, as the days passed, the crowd outside the office died down. As William had predicted, they simply lost interest. Or just didn’t want to be arrested. There were a few committed people that showed up every day, but for the most part, the rally was over.
I kept getting calls from the NRA and other Second Amendment advocates begging for interviews, even offering money for exclusives. With the knocks I’d taken in the press, I was tempted to accept just so I could get my side of the story out there, but William continued to advise against it.
When I wasn’t at the office, I spent as much time as I could with Sara and the boys. They were leaving for camp soon, and I didn’t want to waste a minute. Despite my sleep deprivation, I wanted to maximize the time we had left before they headed up to camp. Part of me wondered if we’d ever be together again. I feared for both their safety and mine. They’d be gone for two months and, hopefully, when they returned, the Escalantes would be nothing more than a distant memory.
We watched movies, played board games, went to the beach, took bike rides, played basketball and football, read books, and even cooked together. All the while, I was looking over my shoulder wondering if today would be the day, but we had a great week together with no surprises.
In between family activities, I went to my first appointment with the psychiatrist. Sara had done some research and found a well-reviewed doctor with an office only a few miles from the house. She was newly established in the area, but she had impressive credentials and stellar reviews.
According to her website, Dr. Erica Norris was a graduate from the University of Miami School of Medicine, as well as the psychiatric residency program. She was board certified by the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology, and had been in practice for eighteen years. Her specialty was dealing with patients suffering from depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress.
The paperwork took less time than expected, so I had a few minutes to kill before my appointment. After handing the paperwork over to Colleen, the front desk coordinator, I casually flipped through a magazine while I waited. Dr. Norris had a small, sparsely decorated waiting room. There were just three chairs and a coffee table, with only a handful of magazines to choose from. On the walls hung a few paintings and photographs, mostly images of the brain, but they were captivating. One picture appeared to be the synapses firing in brilliant colors. Once I noticed them, I had a hard time looking at anything else.
Until I saw her, that is.
The door to the left of the receptionist opened and out she walked. It was like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine. The first thing I saw were her legs. Long, lean and tan, they rose up and disappeared beneath a short navy skirt met by a sleeveless white blouse that showed off her toned arms and hugged her wonderfully proportioned chest. The three-button top revealed little, but my imagination was firing on all cylinders. Her brown hair with auburn highlights cascaded down just below her shoulders and her brilliant green eyes dazzled in the fluorescent lighting. She was one of those stunningly beautiful women you couldn’t take your eyes off, and I gawked at her like a teenage boy. She was perfect.
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, put on a pair of oversized sunglasses, and breezed past me as if I didn’t exist. Her scent—a mixture of vanilla and lavender—was intoxicating. I had goose bumps as I watched her walk across the waiting room and out the door.
How long I stared at the door behind her, I couldn’t be sure. A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my trance.
“Dr. Spero?”
I turned to see Colleen standing over me.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine. Why?”
“I called your name a few times. I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“Oh, sorry. I spaced out there for a minute.”
“I see,” she said, with a smile that expressed what Colleen was too polite to say. “Dr. Norris is ready for you.”
I stood, rather embarrassed, and followed her back to the “Conversation Room.” It was a beautifully adorned office with soft carpeting, a plush leather couch, two large chaise lounges, and an oversized armchair where Dr. Norris was seated. It felt more like a living room than a psychiatry office.
She rose as I entered and extended a hand. “Erica Norris.”
“Simon Spero,” I said, taking her hand. It was cold, but soft.
“Please, have a seat wherever you’d like,” she said, gesturing toward the various seating options. She had an accent I couldn’t place, but it was disarming and I liked her immediately. With her shoes already off, she returned to her spot in the armchair, pulled her legs in, and tucked her feet under her. She grabbed her notepad from the small table next to her chair. She opened it on her lap and clicked her pen.
Dr. Norris did not look like a psychiatrist. She was in her late thirties or early forties, with chestnut brown hair and bronze skin. Her rimless glasses did little to hide her large hazel eyes and long lashes. Her hair was up in a bun and she wore very little makeup. She wore jeans and a white-and-blue striped button-down blouse with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her petite form fit nicely between the cushions of the armchair.
I took a seat on the couch and glanced around the office. Her degrees and credentials were mounted on the wood-paneled wall to my left. Below them sat a small oak credenza offering coffee, tea, and bottles of water. Behind Dr. Norris was her desk and a window garnished with silk valances, blocking the sun with horizontal wooden blinds. There was a small bathroom to my right, and a coffee table sat between us with a box of tissues conveniently placed in the center.
“So, Dr. Spero, what can I do for you
?” her pen poised over her pad.
“Simon, please,” I insisted.
“Simon.”
“It’s a long story.”
Chapter 40
Peter Blunt had served as the Attorney General for the state of Florida since 2005. A native of Jacksonville, he graduated from Florida State University and FSU’s College of Law, and had served as a prosecutor for more than twenty-five years. He became Florida’s thirty-seventh Attorney General after being elected in November 2004 and sworn into office January 2005.
Despite a successful record of prosecuting murderers, drug dealers, and child molesters, Peter had a long list of his own personal vices. Married, with two kids, both grown, Peter took advantage of his free time a little more than the average empty-nester. He had a fondness for fast cars, fast women, and cocaine. He also had a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. With the weight of his office and the help of some friends, he’d managed to pull his ass out of the fire more than once during his tenure as Attorney General.
He’d been busted for speeding while driving under the influence, nailed for soliciting prostitutes, and arrested while attempting to buy narcotics from an undercover officer. Each time he managed to keep his name out of the press and his keister out of jail, but he owed a lot of favors and had handed out a number of markers.
Today, one would be cashed in.
He stood behind his desk in his Tallahassee office barking at an assistant state attorney when his cell phone buzzed. He picked it up off the desk and looked at the screen. He recognized the number instantly and his stomach turned over. He looked up at the junior associate and said, “Get out.”
When the door was closed, he cursed under his breath and answered the phone.
Chapter 41
“Wow.”
It was my first time seeing a psychiatrist, but that was not the response I had expected. Dr. Norris stared at me for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Simon. Forgive me.”
I’d spent the first forty-five minutes of the hour-long session telling her my story. The movie theater shooting, my decision to buy a gun, going behind Sara’s back, the trainings I’d attended, the skills I’d acquired, what happened in the bank, and why I did what I did. I told her about the media attention, the mob scene outside my office, the protesters, and, of course, the nightmares.
I described for her, in great detail, the nightmares from which I’d been suffering, including the most recent ones. Then I told her about Carlos, Christina, and the Escalante family and how, at any moment, Christina could appear out of nowhere to snatch the life out of me. She wrote feverishly as I spoke, especially during the part about the Escalantes.
When I had finished speaking, the look on her face was almost stoic, and I wasn’t sure what she was thinking. “I’m sorry, Simon. That was very unprofessional of me,” she apologized again. “It sort of just came out. That story is unbelievable.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, but thank you for understanding.” She smiled warmly. With a small chuckle and a shake of her head, she said, “I thought I’d gotten to the point in my career where nothing surprised me anymore. I guess I was wrong.”
The meter was running and we didn’t have a lot of time left in our session.
“Any thoughts on all of this?”
“Yes, of course.” She began talking about the human psyche and our subconscious reaction to traumatic events. I nodded along initially, genuinely wanting to hear her opinions and advice, but I was soon having trouble focusing on her words. I found myself thinking about the gorgeous woman from the waiting room. Her brown hair with auburn highlights, her green eyes, her long legs, her voluptuous curves. I could still see her beautiful face and her incredible scent still filled my nose.
I couldn’t help but wonder what brought her here. How long had she been coming? What was she dealing with? Why was she crying? I knew Dr. Norris would never betray a patient’s trust, but the questions lingered nonetheless.
As I pondered these things, I thought I heard my name in the distance.
“Simon…”
Those long legs...
“Simon, are you listening?”
“What? Yes. Sorry,” I said, snapping back to reality.
“What were you thinking about just now?”
“Sorry. My mind wandered for a second.”
She let out a small sigh, clicked her pen and closed her notebook. “You know, it can be exhausting unloading a heavy burden like the one you’ve been carrying around. Why don’t we stop here and we’ll pick this up again in our next session?”
She rose before I could respond and held out her hand. I shook it and we both made our way to the door. She opened it and said, “Colleen will set you up for our next appointment. Let’s both try to be here one-hundred percent, shall we?”
I nodded, mentally blaming the gorgeous woman for my spotty attention.
“Deal,” I said, and she smiled and closed the door.
Chapter 42
Talking to Dr. Norris was cathartic. A weight had been lifted as I shared all that had happened over the last month, and she seemed genuinely interested in helping me. I was glad to get it off my chest. With my next appointment scheduled, I felt good as I left her office. Maybe tonight I would finally get a good night’s sleep.
In the meantime, I was eager to get home and spend time with Sara and the boys. They were leaving for camp tomorrow, so we had planned dinner and a movie at the house. I wasn’t ready for all of us to be out in public together.
Staying up late tonight and up early tomorrow to drive them to the airport meant my good night’s sleep might have to wait.
As I headed for the exit to Dr. Norris’s medical building, I had a slight spring in my step. Maybe things would be okay. A month had passed since the shooting and Christina had shown no interest in me. She was out of the country. There hadn’t been any attempts on my life, not even a single threat.
From now on, I would try to relax, sleep better, and, hopefully, stop having visions of Carlos. After Sara and the boys left for camp, I would refocus my energy on my office and get it back to where it was before all the lunacy began.
Today is a new beginning, I thought. The rest of my life starts now. It’s going to be a great day!
As I opened the door leading from the office building to the parking lot, I was ambushed. Microphones, cameras, and bright lights were thrust in my face, and the onslaught of questions began.
“Are you seeing a psychiatrist?”
“Are you having mental problems?”
“Is your marriage in trouble?”
“Are you feeling guilty for killing Mr. Escalante?”
The questions came fast. I resolved to ignore them, but the next one got to me.
“Do your patients know you’re mentally unstable?”
“What?!” I shouted “I am not mentally unstable!” I regretted my words the moment I said them. William was going to kill me. They kept peppering me with questions, but I was determined not to say anything else. I pushed my way past, and as they continued shouting questions, I simply repeated, “No comment” until I reached my car.
With the mob right on my heels, I got in and closed the door on them, trapping someone’s microphone cord in the door. I didn’t care. I put the car in gear and sped away.
“Hey!” I heard behind me, as a microphone was yanked from his hand. It dragged and bounced alongside my car, but I wasn’t about to stop.
I drove home, furious and upset. My plan to relax was off to a terrible start.
How do they always know where I am?
Chapter 43
Fifteen minutes later, I was home.
I pulled into the driveway, got out of the car, and angrily kicked the microphone into the street. On the drive home, I worried what this would do to my practi
ce. Would my patients really think I’m mentally unstable? Just because I’m seeing a psychiatrist? Or would they be understanding, considering what I’d been through? Only time would tell.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and promised myself I would not let this ruin my last night with Sara and the boys. I opened my eyes and walked toward the house. I didn’t get two steps from the car when my cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. It was William.
I pressed the green accept button and, before I could even say hello, I heard, “Goddammit Simon! What did I tell you about talking to the fucking press?!”
“How do you even know about that already?”
“I know everything, Simon! Your sound bite is already on the internet and social media! It’s only a matter of time before it’s on TV and in the papers! Can’t you keep your goddamn mouth closed?!”
“I’m sorry!” I said. “They push my buttons!”
“That’s their job! They push your buttons hoping you’ll say something stupid, something they can use. And now they have a clip of you shouting that you’re not mentally unstable while sounding mentally unstable!”
I let out a long, tired breath, not sure what else to say.
“Why does this keep happening?” I asked.
“Because you can’t keep your mouth shut!”
“No, I mean, why does the media always seem to know where I am?”
“They have spotters everywhere, Simon. Who cares? What difference does it make?”
“It just feels a little too coordinated, you know? They’re at the hotel the day I leave for home, they’re at the office my first day back, and today they’re outside the doctor’s office. It’s like they have a copy of my schedule or something.”
“Now you just sound paranoid. Screw the press, Simon. Just stop giving them usable sound bites and they’ll lose interest in you.”
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