by Jay Allisan
I took a small step toward Max, then another, my head throbbing in time with my heart. He looked like hell. His eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed, his cheeks stubbled with uneven growth. I made out a purple ring around his eye, and my stomach turned when I realized I’d done that to him. I’d done all this to him.
I stopped a few yards from the stairs, a sick, fluttery feeling in my gut. Max was on his feet. Paddy eyed me warily but moved away, leaving me and Max alone.
Max wrung his hands, his arms lifting, then falling, then lifting again. “Can I hug you?” he blurted. “I know I did the wrong thing last night, but I was just trying to—”
“You didn’t know,” I said quietly, looking down at my shoes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
A familiar wash of shame burned down my neck. I knew what I had to say to him, the same thing I’d said in these circumstances every time before. This wasn’t working for me. I needed time. We could still be friends.
“Shirley?”
I shuffled backward. “Max…”
“Shirley, please…”
I forced my eyes to his face, wrought with fear. It was almost more than I could bear. “Max, I—”
“I love you.”
All the lies I was about to tell him drained away, as if he’d pricked me with a pin. I stared at him, uncomprehending. “What?”
“I love you,” he said. “Whatever you were going to say, I need you to know that. I love you.”
“You don’t mean that,” I whispered, but Max nodded with undeniable conviction.
“Yes I do. I’ve never meant anything more.” He took a step toward me. “I love you, and I want to be there for you, Shirley. I want to help you.”
He came closer. I held perfectly still. He extended his hand. “Will you trust me?”
Fresh tears stung my eyes as I looked at him, at his hand hanging between us like salvation.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“I know, sweetheart, and it’s okay to be scared. But you don’t have to be scared of me.”
Slowly, slowly, he lifted his hand, until his fingertips brushed my cheek. “Will you trust me?”
Something knotted inside my heart until I couldn’t stand it, and whether it was weakness or courage it pushed the words out of my mouth.
“I love you too.”
Max wrapped me up in his arms and I clung to him, whimpering apologies. He just held me, answering every sorry with love. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
“I have to go to the hospital,” I told him timidly. “I have to see a psychiatrist. Can you come with me?”
“Anything you need,” he said earnestly. “What else can I do?”
“Can you call the academy and tell them I won’t be there today?”
“I’ll call from the car. What else?”
“Can you say it again?” I whispered. “One more time?”
Max cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, saying more than words ever could.
“I love you,” he promised, “and I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.”
12
DR. MALONE made Max leave.
She took one look at us, me lying on a cot with an ice pack to my head, Max hovering over me, and ordered him out.
“This is a confidential assessment,” she said. “You can wait in the hall until we’re through.”
“I don’t mind—” I began, but she cut me off.
“I do. Have a seat in the hall, Officer Mordecai.”
Max nodded obediently, pressing his lips against mine before leaving the room. Dr. Malone shut the door behind him and pulled up a chair. She settled a clipboard on her lap.
Already my heart was racing. I kept looking at the door. Dr. Malone was in my way, but she was short and soft with desk work. If I was quick I could make a break for the exit.
She spoke first. “Relax, honey, there’s no need for all this.” She touched my hand, and I realized I was making fists, tensed from head to toe. “We’re just going to talk. I’m Dr. Malone, but I’d prefer if you call me Tish.”
“Tish,” I repeated. I let out a shaky breath. “I’m Shirley.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Shirley.”
“Wish I could say the same.”
Tish smiled. “Let’s see if I can’t change that. Why don’t you sit up a bit, if you can. Or are you more comfortable lying down?”
“Sitting,” I said immediately. Sitting felt less vulnerable. I propped up the pillows and leaned against them, studying my new therapist. Tish’s skin was a rich chocolate, her tight curls cropped close. She wore a brightly patterned dress and large, dazzling earrings that caught the room’s dull fluorescent light and turned it into radiance. I watched the gemstones twirl and flash, and gradually the hum of anxiety in my veins began to settle.
“I’ve spoken with Lieutenant Dixon,” Tish said at length. “I know what happened, and I can tell you that the worst is already over.”
“How can the worst be over?” I asked. “You haven’t even started assessing me yet.”
“Of course I have, honey.”
I set the icepack on the cot and looked down at my hands. “Then I don’t think I’m doing very well.”
“Shirley, there’s no wrong or right in a situation like this. There’s just what is and what isn’t. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“And you understand that whatever you’re going through, I’m here to help?”
I nodded again, less convincingly. She smiled.
“This is all voluntary, Shirley. You sought me out, and I won’t force you into treatment of any kind. This needs to be your choice and your commitment. Is this what you want? Do you want help?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I can’t do it by myself.”
“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to.” She uncapped a pen from around her neck. “I’m going to ask you some questions now. I need you to answer as fully and completely as you can. Once we have a diagnosis we can come up with a treatment plan.”
“I don’t want to take drugs,” I said quickly.
“There’s plenty for us to do before we consider medication,” Tish assured me. “Now, if you’re ready, let’s get started.”
TISH’S QUESTIONS took a long time, so long I had to lay down and close my eyes. My head hurt. I was dead tired. But I wanted her to help me.
Our conversation took on a dreamlike quality, where everything I told her was distant from me, detached. Yes, I experienced heart palpitations and shortness of breath during an attack. Yes, I felt like I was going to faint. Yes, I often threw up. Yes, I felt like I was out of control. Helpless. Crazy.
How frequently did I have an attack? Maybe three or four times a month. What did I do to manage an attack? Run. Hide. Wish I was dead. What type of circumstances triggered an attack? Bad ones, the ones where people got hurt. People I knew? Yes. People I loved? Yes. When was the first attack? Six years ago. I was fifteen. What happened when I was fifteen? What happened? What happened? What happened?
I woke up screaming.
Max shot through the door. “Shirley! Shirley, what is it?”
“It’s all right,” Tish said calmly, moving aside to let Max past her. “You’re all right, honey.”
Max gathered me into a hug. “Are you okay? What is it? What happened?”
“I want to be done,” I whispered. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”
“We’ll continue tomorrow morning,” Tish agreed. She closed her clipboard. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to get yourself up, all right, Shirley? Max, I’d like to speak with you outside.”
Max brushed his hand down my cheek. “Will you be okay? I can wait—”
“Just a moment of your time, Max,” Tish said from the doorway.
He stepped away reluctantly. “Five minutes. Two minutes. And then we’ll go home, I promise.”
“Okay,” I answered, watching the door swing shut. Never mind that we didn’t live tog
ether, that we didn’t have a home.
Home was with Max.
“MAX, YOU missed the turn for the hospital.”
“We’re not going to the hospital.” He shielded his eyes against the rising sun and continued on the freeway toward downtown.
I twisted in my seat, watching the exit disappear behind us with dismay. “Max! I have therapy!”
“I know, sweetheart. That’s why I offered to drive you.”
“When you offered to drive me I assumed you knew where I was going.” I looked at the clock and thrummed my fingers against my knee. “I’m going to be late. My first session, and I’m going to be late.”
Max covered my hand with his. “You’re not going to be late. Look, we’re here already.”
He turned into a parking garage in the heart of downtown and rolled down his window to swipe a pass card. I rolled down my window too, staring up at the building towering over us. I looked back at him in a stupor. “Max… this is…”
“I know, sweetheart,” he said, a smile just about splitting his face. “Welcome to Old Town.”
IT WAS even better than I’d imagined.
The building was an eight-story brick giant, squat and square, taking up half a city block. It was Briar Rose’s original police station, dating back to the mid 1800s and in service ever since. A historical landmark and therefore well-maintained, its grim, weathered exterior was still perfectly indicative of the officers who called it home.
Inside the ceilings were vaulted and crowned with ornate moldings. Towering columns divided the lobby in two and sequestered the public from the police. The left side of the room housed a small waiting area and an enormous wooden processing desk, and on the right side was a staircase better suited to a debutante ball.
Max squeezed my hand, pulling me away from my ogling. “No elevators here,” he said, looking at me with amusement. “At Old Town we take the stairs.”
“I don’t mind,” I said breathlessly. “I don’t mind at all.”
The grand staircase tapered off on the second floor, replaced by two narrow stairwells up the center of the building. We climbed to the fourth floor. The hallway formed a continuous loop, with rooms on either side. Max led the way to the last door on the right.
“Homicide,” I whispered, stepping into the room.
The office was open concept, with half a dozen computer tables pushed together in the center. A tall bank of windows made up the south wall, and the east wall was one big whiteboard with GARRISON scrawled across the top.
I started toward it, but Lieutenant Dixon pulled me up short. He shook my hand. “You’re looking much better today, Shirley. How is your head?”
“You referring to my goose-egg or my state of mind?” I stood on tiptoe, trying unsuccessfully to read the whiteboard over his shoulder. “The doctor said no concussion and no lasting damage. I’ll be back at the academy tomorrow.”
“Careful,” Dixon said, his tone implicit. “You wouldn’t want to jeopardize yourself again so quickly.”
I made a face but dutifully dragged my attention away from the whiteboard. “Is someone going to tell me what I’m doing here? Not that I’m complaining. I’m definitely not complaining.”
Dixon directed me to the back of the room, to a small, enclosed conference space where Max was already waiting. “Today is couples therapy, and since I’m keeping Max close, Dr. Malone agreed to come to us.”
“Couples therapy,” I repeated. The words left a bad taste in my mouth. “You know, I was actually kidding yesterday when I told Tish Max could stay for my session. I think I’d rather do this stuff alone.”
“And I think if you’re interested in a place in my unit, you need to learn to communicate.” He nudged his glasses up his nose and fixed me with a look. “You do well on this and maybe I can find something for you to do the rest of the day. Photocopying, maybe. Or a coffee run.”
I turned to Max as Dixon left. “Is he seriously bribing me with photocopying? Because I’d do just about anything if it meant hanging around all day. This place is amazing.”
“I’m glad you think so, sweetheart,” Max said, chewing his lip, “but if Dixon’s bribing you that means—”
Tish came in then, dropping a stack of papers on the table and telling us to take a seat. She closed the door and drew the blinds, and suddenly therapy felt like an interrogation.
“You have panic disorder,” Tish told me, matter-of-fact. “Do you know what that is?”
“It’s an anxiety disorder characterized by recurring panic attacks,” said Max. I stared at him in surprise and he flushed. “I did some research yesterday while you were sleeping.”
“Can you fix it?” I asked Tish.
“It can’t be cured, but it can be managed. The success rates for treating panic disorder are very high. I’m confident you’ll see great improvement once we start therapy.”
“What about my job?”
“You still have it. Thus far your condition hasn’t affected your performance at the academy, and it would be discrimination to fire you based on a diagnosis alone. That said, a diagnosis means you have some extra hoops to jump through.”
“Like what?”
“You will be closely monitored until the end of the academy semester, and I’ll be providing your instructors with regular progress reports. At the end of your training you will be evaluated by multiple parties to determine your fitness for the job. If you’ve impressed everyone, you’ll graduate with your class and be sworn in as an officer.”
“So let’s get started.”
“First things first. Do you know why I’ve asked Max here?”
I slouched in my seat. “Couples therapy.”
“Max is a trigger for you,” Tish said. “He needs to understand where your anxiety is rooted if he’s going to be able to help you. This is important not only for your personal relationship but for any future professional relationship as well. It may involve sharing some uncomfortable truths.”
She spread her papers out in front of her. I couldn’t read the words but I recognized the letterhead, and I leapt to my feet. “No. No way.”
“No more secrets,” Tish said. “Not in this room.”
“Those files are sealed.”
“Not to me.”
“Max doesn’t need to know—”
“He does. Sit down, and we’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it!”
“I thought you wanted to be a cop,” Tish said, and the realization hit home. Damn her, and Dixon too. Damn them for bringing me here, the one place in the world I couldn’t walk out of, because if I did I’d never come back.
I was at the door, my hand on the knob, the polished brass cool beneath my palm. What the hell kind of police station had polished doorknobs? Goddamn Old Town. Goddammit.
“Are you prepared to continue?” Tish asked.
I glanced at Max, who was poised on the edge of his chair, watching me worriedly. “I just want to help, Shirley,” he said fervently. “You can trust me.”
I shot Tish a glare, but released the doorknob and returned to my seat. Tish nodded in approval.
“Good,” she said. “Now, why don’t you tell us about your overdose?”
Max lost all his air. “Your what?”
I folded my arms and ignored him. “Why does it matter? Clearly it didn’t take.”
“You were fifteen,” Tish said. “Was it related to your first panic attack?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you tell me what triggered that first attack?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
“Okay,” Tish said lightly. “That’s okay, honey. Let’s just focus on the aftermath. That first attack must have been very scary for you.”
I toyed with the hem of my shirt, curling the seam and then flattening it again. “I didn’t know what was happening,” I mumbled. “I should have. I’d seen my dad have them, but it’s different when it’s you. I thought I was dying.
”
“Tell me about the sleeping pills.”
“I thought if I fell asleep it would go away, and it did. It worked.”
“You took a lot of pills, Shirley. You almost didn’t wake up.”
A bitter laugh crawled up my throat. “The way my mom was screaming I couldn’t not have woken up.”
“She must have been very concerned about you.”
“Bullshit. She wasn’t concerned. She was mad. I’d polished off her last prescription and she was angry she had to go back to the doctor. It inconvenienced her.”
“Shirley,” Max whispered. He reached for my hand but I jerked away.
“Why did you take so many pills?” Tish asked. “Why not just take one?”
I shrugged.
“Shirley.”
“What?”
“Were you trying to kill yourself?”
Out of nowhere my eyes were brimming with tears. I whispered, “I just wished I was dead.”
“You were arrested a few weeks later, in Spokane. Did you run away?”
I laughed. It sounded more like a sob. “Running away would imply it was my decision.”
“Why the drug use, Shirley?” she asked, and I just fell apart. Before I knew it I was on my feet, the chair in my hands, and then it was flying across the room and crashing into the wall.
“Because I wanted to forget!”
“Forget what? Forget what, Shirley?”
“SHE TOLD ME TO KILL MYSELF!”
I collapsed to the floor, gasping and dry-heaving. It was too hot in here, too hot and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe—
“DON’T TOUCH ME!”
Tish held tightly to my arms. “Tell me what she told you, word for word. I want you to tell me what she said.”
“She said…” I coughed. “She said…”
“What did she say?”
“She said get out or get it right! She screamed it at me and then she hit me, right in front of Frances, and she threw me out and I didn’t have anything, so I went to Spokane and that’s when I started doing drugs.”
Tish let me go. Max knelt in front of me, and I threw my arms around his neck and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. He held me so tight it made it worse, but it made it better, too.