by Jack Kinsley
He met Lucy at the front door.
She was a bag of bees, and he could see her mind running in ten different directions. "Nice and easy, Lucy," he told her.
"I went to tell Sarah, but she was busy with Jordan. And Diane, she's busy too, but she said she could stay and work another hour, it'll be overtime, but Devon needs help to pack his things, and I know you're busy, but—"
"Nice and easy," he repeated. "Big deep breaths." She took a couple. "Now, tell me in the fewest words possible... What is wrong, Lucy?"
"I was doing the bag search for the new client, for him over there." She didn't look at Dallas, but nodded exaggeratedly in his direction. "And...and I think...you should just come. Come with me. You know, see it for yourself." She stopped there.
He stared at her in disbelief. All her rambling was for nothing but to say, 'come with me.' Travis thought, First, I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to kill my wife.
"Okay," he replied. "Let's go have a look."
On their way to the Palermo suite, Chef Tom caught sight of them and asked if they wanted breakfast. Travis asked for only coffee and Lucy was too distracted to reply. They almost made it to the room when Nathalie shouted down the hall at them. "Any word from the vet?" she asked.
Lucy instinctively grabbed Travis's arm in fright, which made him jump. "Sorry," she told him and let go.
"They don't open until ten. We might get word this afternoon. I promise you'll know as soon as I do." He wondered if she was aware Devon was leaving this morning, but didn't want to stick around to find out. He turned back down the hall with Lucy hot on his heels again.
"I laid all of it out on the bed," she said, as he opened the door and entered.
Holy crap was his first reaction, staring at what was displayed before him. Travis had seen some crazy shit in his time, but this was one haul he wouldn't soon forget.
Laid out on the bed was a frightening assortment of items that could have told a variety of horror stories: a half-dozen packets of meth, two full bottles of OxyContin, three bottles of Percodan, a bottle of Seroquel, a zip-lock bag of what looked like Ketamine with a dozen or so pills of Valium mixed in, ten 30-milligram bottles of Sustanon 250 steroids, an eight-inch combat knife with a visibly worn handle, and a Glock 17 handgun. There were around forty loose 9mm bullets corralled on the corner of the bed, and very few clothes to speak of.
Travis stood there reviewing the itemized pattern of mayhem Lucy had laid out. She had been quite meticulous in the way she had organized and placed the items around the bed: legal meds placed in their own group, the illegal ones in another, and the weapons placed a little further in their own separate category. It was impressive. He thought she would have come running to him the minute she saw the gun, let alone the knife, but she had taken her time and categorized everything. The top of the gun even ran parallel to the stitching on the bedspread.
"Did you touch this gun?" he asked.
She looked even more afraid. "Yes, why?"
"No reason," he said, but his mind raced in a completely different direction than what he told her next. "You just never know if a gun is loaded by looking at it." He certainly wasn't going to touch it with his bare hands.
He continued staring at all of it, trying to make sense of it; trying to find the story in what he was looking at. This is no fairytale bedtime story, he thought. Then, he recalled Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel, the Little Mermaid, all Bella's stories with their grisly happily ever afters. Or is it?
"Everything came from one bag?" he asked.
"No, it came from two bags and a backpack. The bullets were loose in the large suitcase and the drugs were scattered in a lot of different panels and pockets."
Travis suddenly became aware of how unpredictably concise she'd become with her answers. She wasn't the verbally challenged gas bag she normally was. It was nothing less than a miracle. Maybe it was the gun lying on the bed. It held a lot of weight in the room, especially with the fighting knife beside it.
"Okay, Lucy," he spoke without looking at her, mentally inventorying the items. "I need you to bring me a few things. In the office, there's a black shoebox in the closet on the top shelf. Bring it here, and on your way back grab a few large and small zip-lock bags from Chef Tom in the kitchen."
She just stood there until he looked at her. "Now, please." She left in a rush, and returned with all the items with surprising speed. He thanked her and then excused her from the room.
After Travis bagged most of the drugs in the large zip-lock, he carefully picked out the pills of Valium from the bag of Ketamine and placed those in the small zip-lock. This he put into his own pocket. He used a hand towel from the ensuite bathroom when handling the knife and gun, and placed them carefully into the black shoebox. He thought about how he had filled two shoeboxes in two days with unimaginable items; they could have never been intended to store such random, dark things. Or maybe the shoeboxes of the world could have contained more than he had ever imagined?
He walked into the office to put the bags and box in the safe and was miserably reminded that Jordan was still in there with Sarah. He had already completely entered the room before noticing him — it was too late to escape.
Sarah looked perplexed at the sight of yet another shoebox under his arm and the bags of drugs dangling from his grip. She continued telling Jordan about the other facilities he could possibly check into and what kind of programs they offered. But Jordan wasn't listening. His eyes followed Travis around the room and into the closet. He looked like an old friend who'd been told by another old friend to go fuck himself.
Travis put all the items in the safe and then stepped out of the closet and asked Sarah if they were just about finished.
"Yes, we were just wrapping up," she replied.
"Would you mind if Jordan and I talked privately?"
She looked surprised, almost pleased. "I think that would be a great idea." And then she told Jordan, "I'll be waiting outside for you, whenever you're ready."
Travis took the seat Sarah had been sitting in and waited until she'd completely exited before he said anything. The two men shared an equally sympathetic look with each other.
"I know you hate me right now," Travis told him. "But I hope you'll realize this is in your own best interest." He picked up the glass paperweight and ran it along his fingers.
"I don't hate you Travis. And I know very well it's not in my best interest." Jordan crossed his legs with an ankle on his knee, exposing the sole of his shoe to Travis. "You know what the opposite of love is?" He waited for an answer, but Travis could see he didn't expect one. Jordan continued, "It's not what you think it is." He sat up and leaned toward him. "It's indifference. Because for me to hate you would mean that I cared for you in some way."
Travis replaced the paperweight on the desk. He was getting tired of thinking too much with the damn thing in his hand.
"Okay, let's just cut the crap right now, Jordan. All right? Let's look at the facts. You climbed a tree at my rehab and got plastered. You know what could have happened if you got hurt? Or you died falling from that tree? An accident like that can put me out of business. And you, being a business owner yourself, know this better than anyone. How am I able to continue treating people if I'm shut down and possibly thrown in prison for negligence? I can't risk that."
"I know it was wrong. For Christ's sake, Travis, I'm sick. That's why I'm here." He tried to repress a few small coughs and then had to let out a couple big ones to free him of the itch.
"Why the damn tree? Of all places... Why up there?"
"I started drinking early in my room and was already half drunk. And I knew my wakeup call was coming at the door at any minute. I panicked and slipped outside. It was the only place I could see and it was the only tree that could hold me." He chuckled a bit, nearly bringing on another coughing fit.
"I can't believe you even got your ass up there." Travis shared a smile with him.
"Well, I used to be a little monkey w
hen I was younger, a hundred pounds ago. Now I wear the monkey on my back." He smiled, but his eyes were sad.
"What were you trying to see up there? A better view of the ocean?" Travis asked, but couldn't bring himself to look directly at Jordan. Instead, he checked his fingernails for any remaining red paint.
"No, Travis. I was just hiding. Just an old drunk hiding in a tree. Nothing more."
An uneasy silence filled the room.
Travis wasn't convinced, however, and stood from his chair. "Well, Jordan, you will be missed." He held out his hand.
"I don't have to missed," Jordan said, and remained seated. "A friend would let me stay."
Travis knew how hard it was for a man of Jordan's caliber to say what he did; for him to ask. And he could only reply, "I am your friend. I hope you will always know that."
Jordan stood and gave him a genuine smile. "But I'm a better friend," he said and shook Travis's hand. "That's why I'm not going to ask again."
"I wish you the best, and I'll be looking in on you from time to time. Seeing how you're doing."
They still held their handshake when Jordan reeled him in for a bear hug. Afterwards, he told Travis, "Take care of you. Success can bring out the worst in people. I'm living proof of that." And then he left and closed the door behind him.
Travis walked to the office window, tweaked the blinds for a little more privacy, and waited for Jordan's large silhouette to pass outside. His great shadow drew across the window, darkened the room briefly, and then he was gone.
The phone in the office rang, drawing a contemptuous look from Travis. He wanted to throw it to the floor and jump on it until it was silent. Instead, he let it ring six times, and every howl was like a lash across his back.
When he finally picked it up, it was the vet's office calling to get their fax number to send over Little Jack's report. He gave it to them and within minutes, the fax came alive and started shooting paper from its mouth. He waited until all sheets were printed before he looked at it, put a staple in the corner, and then took a seat to review the verdict.
On the second page was their official finding: a broken neck. Someone had intentionally snapped his neck, and that's what had killed Little Jack. The vet had easily ruled out a fall, since he would have had to fall from a great height to sustain such an injury (and there were no other broken bones) and Crystal Heights was a one-story facility.
Sitting there, absorbing the rawness of the moment, Travis almost forgot about Dallas waiting for him. He tucked the report into the top desk drawer and went outside to see how he could appease the giant until Helen Ross showed up to save the day.
Outside, Sarah was sitting with Dallas. Travis called her over.
"So sorry, Dallas," he apologized. "It's been an unexpectedly busy morning. I'll be with you in just a sec."
While Sarah walked toward Travis, her back was to Dallas and she was slowly mouthing the word, "Wow."
"That guy's a total nut case," she whispered on her arrival.
"Yeah, no kidding. You should see what was in his bags. Is Helen coming in today?"
"Yeah, she has an appointment with Nathalie at ten, but I think she may have other commitments afterwards."
"Shit, don't tell me that." He looked sourly over her shoulder at Dallas, who was back in his 'thinker' position. "What are we going to do with him until then?"
His question was more rhetorical, and before she could answer, he asked, "Is Devon still here?"
"Yep, and he just heard Betsy was coming in. Now, he's really pissed."
"What?"
"He thinks it's the real reason he's getting the boot and—"
"That's ridiculous. Even with Betsy and Dallas, we still have a spare room."
"Yeah, but you know Betsy treated him like a son the last time she was here with him."
Travis remembered how Devon had secretly enjoyed the old woman's motherly affection. "Screw him," he told Sarah. "We just received the fax for Little Jack's autopsy report."
"And?" she read him while he kept quiet, and quickly had her answer. "He did it. The son of a bitch killed him."
"Yep. Now get him out of here, before I lose all my senses. The report's in the top drawer if you want to have a look." He returned his attention to the new client.
"Coming," he called to Dallas.
Chapter 6 / Spinning The Positives
Therapist Helen Ross was a full-figured woman with a heart to match. Sometimes her tough love approach wasn't always appreciated by the clients in the beginning, but eventually they came around to realize just how deeply she cared about them. Often, the life lessons she taught extended outside of her therapy sessions into daily conversation, and there was always a riddle of sorts when talking with Helen. If she wasn't shooting you straight between the eyes with a poignant observation, then she was most likely giving you a think-for-yourself moment to come to your own conclusions.
By allowing patients to discover solutions for themselves, Helen gave them the sense of confidence and independence they needed to know they could do it on their own. She'd told Travis once that it was better for someone to be an active participant in their self-actualization than for her to simply hand them the candle and the match. But she was sure to provide them with all the necessary tools, even though the person may not have grasped the full scope of her guidance at that very moment.
This morning, Helen arrived her usual twenty minutes late to Crystal Heights. Travis heard the iron latch open at the front gate and spotted her walking into the courtyard. He'd been pacing aimlessly around the front door, not really waiting for Helen, but instead thinking about Ana. His mind seemed stuck on a single track. Ana hadn't come out to see him when he'd dropped Bella off. What if she was already packing? She could be selling the furniture in the old Victorian. He hadn't seen the inside of the house for a long time. Maybe it's already been sold?
Helen carried a large pink box that could only be a dozen donuts. Travis desperately hoped that Helen could meet with Dallas after her session with Nathalie. It would be one less thing for him to deal with today. Earlier, he'd convinced the giant that a shower and a siesta would be just what he needed before he met with Helen. This would give Travis enough time to get Helen up to speed with the latest events at Crystal Heights, maybe even partake in a morning donut.
Travis held the front door open for her in true butler fashion.
"Why, thank you kindly, Mr. Martin," she said in a professionally mocking tone.
"Morning, Ms. Ross."
"Are you okay?" she asked, looking over him with concern.
"There's just a lot going on."
"Well, there always time for a donut," she told him and headed for the kitchen.
Travis followed her. He was grateful for the temporary distraction that relieved him from obsessing over Ana.
In the kitchen, Chef Tom was skinning a pineapple. The smell of coffee saturated the air. "Oh," he nodded at the pink box, "I believe we now have a complete breakfast."
"Morning," Helen said, and set the box on the kitchen island. She opened the lid to reveal a spectacle of sugar and sweet.
"Don't mind if I do," said Chef Tom. He chose first — an old-fashioned glazed.
"Could you be any more boring?" Travis asked Chef Tom. Then he dipped in the box for an apple fritter. "None for you today?" he asked Helen.
"Still sticking to my diet I'm afraid."
"That's funny, I only counted eleven in there," Travis teased her, knowing she'd undoubtedly had one while driving in.
"How many fingers did the Lord bless you with, Mr. Martin?" He just smiled and let her continue. "Not sure? Well, now we know the limits of your addition skills, don't we?"
"Baboom!" Chef Tom cried out and laughed.
The scent of fresh donuts seemed to have permeated every nook in the household, pulling a steady stream of staff and clients into the kitchen for a taste. They left as quickly as they had arrived, most of them thanking Helen with their mouths full. Travis wat
ched as the donuts quickly diminished in number and considered having another one.
Helen looked on in satisfaction and commented, "The simple power of a dozen donuts bringing people together."
"Here, here," said Sarah as she entered the kitchen. She snatched up the last chocolate twist Travis had his eye on.
"Damn it," he told Sarah.
"Are you kidding me? You're still eating one," she pointed out, and then turned to Helen. "Thanks. By the way, everyone... It looks like Betsy is coming earlier than anticipated. Her chauffeur is bringing her in...possibly within the next thirty minutes. Lucy and Diane are turning Jordan's room right now, and they'll have it ready for her. Chef Tom, do you need me to send Lucy out to Whole Foods, maybe pick up a few things for Betsy?"
"No worries. I've got more than enough. And I'll ask her what she's feeling like for dinner when she gets here."
Helen looked around at everyone, stupefied. "Jordan? Betsy? Have I been gone for that long? Was I not just here only a day and half ago?" She genuinely looked confused, as if a day had somehow slipped past her.
"You were just here," Sarah told her. "Sorry, I meant to call you, but it's been insane around here. And way more than the usual insanity. I wish I had time to fill you in, but I have to get a copy of Devon's discharge paperwork in the mail to his father."
"What? Devon's too?"
Sarah took a deep breath and started giving Helen a few details, but Travis drifted from the conversation. His mind was back on how Ana would carry out her plans. What about her Volvo? Was she going to sell that too? And where was Bella right now? Was her mother pulling her from school while he stood there eating a shitty donut?! He wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it.
"Travis!" Sarah yelled at him.
He snapped back into the moment.
"Yes?"
"Can you tell Helen the rest? I've got way too much going on right now. And Nathalie can wait a little bit."
"Sure, I'll fill her in," he said. "Let's have a seat outside." He opened the patio slider for her and then told her, "And we have a new client that checked in this morning. He's probably our biggest emergency — no pun intended."