Arrival By Wrath Part 9

He pictured a slew of mentally drained doctors and nurses rotating in and out of the office, faces in their hands, m.u.f.fled voices amid the tears.

"Do you talk to a lot of cops?" Preston asked, cutting away from the image. "I would think they'd have a lot to lay out on the table. They'd never tell their buddies down at the station, though."

"Not many recently; mostly doctors," she replied. "Working here is pretty much a full-time job. I rarely see anyone else at my private practice any longer," she said with a comforting smile. "Still, I'm betting a man like yourself won't exactly be discussing this visit with your partner. Am I right?"

"Yes," Preston admitted. "I haven't found anything relevant to the case today. I don't think Jack would need to hear this anyway. I'm sure this type of stuff probably gets harder to contain when he goes home to his family at night."

"Are you married?" she asked innocently.

"Divorced," he said plainly, "about a year and a half ago."

"Long hours?" she asked, reaching for a pad of paper on the desk. "Was that a contributing factor? Around here, the doctors have that same problem. I see it all the time."

"No. She's a lawyer. We both knew the social contract going in. We had other problems." His voice trailed into silence. "Every day the two of us would go to work and the babysitter would take care of our daughter."

"It's okay, Detective. Can I call you Preston?" After receiving a confirmatory nod, she continued, "Preston, this is just an informal session, not an official inquiry or anything like that. You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to, or if you want, we can just stop right now. I'm at your disposal."

"I'm fine," he said, clearing his throat. "It's just that I don't even let my partner talk about this with me anymore. He was around when it happened, and I feel that after all the testimony the two of us had to go through, we never felt we had to discuss it again."

"You mean you never felt you had to discuss it," the doctor added with sincerity.

"Yeah," Preston replied after a long pause. "My partner, Jack, has been trying to get me over to visit his family again recently." Preston settled into his seat, starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Are you close; with his family, I mean?" Shannon's voice was still calm and caring. Preston felt as if he were the only other person on earth, both of them living in a silent Eden, surrounded by screaming demons. Any moment, the door could burst open, flooding the room with the wails of the d.a.m.ned.

"We used to be. Both our families were, I mean," he said, looking straight at her. "About a year and a half ago, things changed."

"Did something happen on the job? Business or personal?" she said, her pen at the ready.

"Both, actually," he replied in kind. "Before Bloodstrife hit the streets, I was investigating the drug traffic of large s.h.i.+pments of cocaine into Chicago. At the time, it was the longest, toughest case I had ever worked on. Now days, it seems like a cakewalk compared to Bloodstrife." Preston was worried he might cave, succ.u.mbing to the residual memories of the screams from the way in.

"What happened next?" Shannon asked.

"I solved it," Preston relayed with a restrained smile, remembering the moment it happened clearly. "Jack and I tracked down the distribution center and busted it up. Almost everyone in there had priors, so they kept making deals, hemorrhaging information for later takedowns. Not to mention, it was a huge haul. I was on top of the world."

Doctor Morrissey smiled along with Preston, glad to hear of his accomplishment. "I bet you felt a similar feeling the other day with the Bloodstrife bust," she said. "It was all over the news."

"Yeah, or rather I tried to feel good about it," Preston said with emphasis. He could feel himself getting anxious and starting to overheat. Immediately, he rolled up his sleeves before continuing his story. "You see, we busted up the factory, but some of the remaining cartel members wanted revenge, so they . . ." Again, his voice trailed off. He s.h.i.+fted in his seat, working up the strength to continue.

"It's okay, Preston, I'm listening."

"They kidnapped and murdered our only daughter, Elisabeth."

Dr. Morrissey's face welled up with genuine sympathy. She moved forward and grabbed Preston hands, while he held back tears. He took a deep breath and pulled himself back together.

"I can't imagine what that was like for you," she said. "What about your wife, or the babysitter? Were they taken as well?"

"No, my wife was at work, and when the perps broke into my house, they basically just took my daughter and ran. The babysitter was in another room and barely had time to get a good look at them," Preston said, growing more emotional. "It was just a normal day for us before that. We left Elisabeth with the babysitter. My wife was at the firm, and I was at the station, sifting through evidence and taking praise from every officer who pa.s.sed my desk. Jack and I were told we'd both be receiving promotions. It was the best day of my life until I got the call."

"What about Jack's family?" Doctor Morrissey asked. "Were they alright?"

"If there's one good thing that came out of this," Preston said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, "it's that, due to our busts and subsequent arrests, the organization was in total disarray within the city. They only had enough manpower and information gathering agents to take Elisabeth first. When we both found out she'd been taken, we sent half the force over to Jack's place and got his family into protective custody."

"How old are his children? Are they young?"

"At the time, they were five and seven." Preston's hands were shaking. "The bad guys never got close, but Jack told me all those cops running around his house scared the h.e.l.l out of those kids, especially when their mother had found out why they were there. She was frantic."

"Keep going," Shannon said, having placed the pad of paper back on the desk. She was in control of her emotions, but let just enough of them s.h.i.+ne through to show Preston how much she cared.

"In the end, it was Jack who tracked them down. He was forced to kill two of them. He's a good detective. It only took him a day to find them. The last one survived and is rotting in prison indefinitely." Preston cleared his throat and fidgeted in his seat again. "G.o.d knows when he'll get out. But we were too late. Jack found my daughter's body at the scene and called it in."

"Jesus," she said, almost on the verge of tears herself.

"They shot her twice, once in the heart, once in the stomach." Preston almost lost it, but managed to keep himself afloat. "That's what ended my marriage," Preston continued, looking down at the floor. "Carol and I tried for a few months to keep it together, but in the end we just couldn't stand to look at one another any longer." He looked up from the floor, tears clinging for dear life over the surface of his eyes. It was almost by sheer will that he managed to keep them from flowing down his face. "Have you seen this before in other couples, Dr. Morrissey? I don't hate my ex-wife, and I'm sure she doesn't hate me, but I can't even look at her, or Jack's family for that matter."

"Because it reminds you of what you lost," she said.

"Yes, I don't think anything will change either," Preston said, shutting his eyes and waiting for them to reabsorb the tears. Still closed, he kept going. "For some reason, I can still work with Jack, no problem, but I just can't keep it together when I'm around the rest of them."

"But, you see, Preston, that's the only way you'll be able to heal. Take Jack up on his invitation, visit the family. They miss you, I'm sure. If you don't hate your ex-wife, then bring her back into the picture a little while after you've adapted to the family again."

"Easier said than done." He shuddered, opening his eyes.

"You're right, it won't be easy, but that's what has to be done, both at work and home. Jack, Elisabeth, the Bloodstrife case, all of them are huge challenges that you'll eventually overcome. You need only put your mind and heart into it and before long you'll be back on top."

Preston sighed again as he hid his face in his hands. He held it there for a short time before bringing his hands up and running them through his hair. His eyes were still red with tears, but none had managed to escape.

"You wanna know something else?" Preston said, "I've been drawing things lately."

"As a hobby?" the doctor asked.

"No. I only draw one thing," Preston said. "About four months ago, when strife first hit the streets, I thought I'd need a little pick me up."

"Did you dabble with drugs?" the doctor asked. "It's okay, this is completely confidential."

"No," Preston said, letting out a laugh and a sniffle. "I took my daughter's photo to one of those age-enhancement places to get a picture of what she might look like a year and a half later. She was five and a half when she died. She'd be seven now. So, I keep trying to reproduce the picture they gave me, trying to make her look happier."

"Has it helped any?" Shannon asked.

"No, not really," he said flatly. "All I do is draw in my free time. Just the other day I cleaned up my apartment because I figured Jack might make an unannounced visit. You should've seen the place. The drawings were everywhere."

"Detective," the doctor continued, "if you'll let me, I'll be glad to help you on your way through this."

"Like I said before-"

"Money and privacy are not an issue," she said, cutting him off. "I'll help you pro bono. All you need to do is schedule an appointment and come see me."

"I'll think about it," Preston said as he rose from the ragged couch. He'd managed to visibly turn off his emotions and compose himself relatively quickly.

"Before you go," Shannon said, "why do you think you can't stand to be with Jack's family anymore?"

Preston thought for a moment as he grasped the doork.n.o.b. "I don't know. I think I might be jealous." He opened the door, letting the screams of the ward rush in. It didn't faze him like he thought it would. "Thank you, doctor," he said, appearing to the outside world as if he hadn't been changed by the conversation behind closed doors.

Doctor Morrissey remained behind, sure that he needed more time to heal. She allowed him to walk back through the ward alone.

Chapter 9.

Despite the deep rush of emotion he'd unexpectedly experienced with Doctor Morrissey, Preston was amazed at how easily he'd managed to push it all back down again. It simply slid away without much resistance when commanded, as if it were a tamed animal that dare not disobey him.

By the time he exited the Bloodstrife wing of the hospital, an outside observer would never have been able to tell he'd been crying only moments earlier. He stood straight as he walked, no longer slouching as if cowering from unseen enemies. Just the opposite, he broadened his shoulders, holding his chin high as he overcompensated.

Preston walked out casually, past the nurses' station he'd seen on the way in, once again ignored by the bustle of the people working around it. The screams emanating from behind him gradually quieted as he progressed. It didn't matter; he felt he could stop a bullet with the rush he was feeling.

Only moments later, the screams were consumed completely by the blare of the hospital workers and patients.

Instead of going immediately to his car in the adjoining garage, Preston walked through the gla.s.s sliding doors, out into the suddenly gray summer afternoon. The air had grown colder since he arrived, was.h.i.+ng over him like a cool river. He s.h.i.+vered at the change, but didn't let it slow him down.

Preston placed his hands inside his pockets. Realizing that it may rain at any moment, he made a note not to stray too far from the building.

He breathed deeply as he moved along the sidewalk. People pa.s.sed him uncaringly, going about their lives. He secretly wondered how many of them ever felt the way he did. It had been some time since he experienced the tinge of vulnerability with anyone other than his former wife.

Truthfully, he felt lighter.

It was a shallow feeling of relief that surrounded him, slowing his pace as he progressed down the street. The air finally began to smell more clearly of rain, but the darkening clouds kept their distance on the horizon, shadowing the soon to be swallowed sun.

Preston stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, beginning to contemplate the case. With the sheer number of addicts, he realized, it would only be a matter of time before the DEA came knocking. It wouldn't be the first time they attempted to take something like this out of his control. He flinched as someone b.u.mped into him from behind.

"Careful," the pa.s.serby said, trying to be nice. Obviously, he was in a hurry as he quickened his pace without looking back at the detective.

"Sorry," Preston mumbled uncaringly. Impulsively, he rubbed his chin, noticing immediately that he was sporting a full beard. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaved. G.o.d, he wondered, Shannon must have thought I spent the night on the street by the look of me.

He took a few steps to the side, leaning up against a brick building as he tried to stay out of everyone's way.

"Better watch out. These people always got somewhere to go," a voice said aloud. "Never have time to sit back and hear the music."

Preston turned to see a middle-aged homeless man smiling with pearly white teeth. Out of place, they shone even brighter when contrasted against the dirty face surrounding them.

Reminded of his own wrinkled clothes and five o' clock shadow, Preston a.s.sumed they had at least a few things in common.

The man looked to be newly penniless. He wore a pair of untainted brown corduroy pants, but the black sport coat he complemented it with appeared to have been on the street a lot longer than he had.

He wore clean leather gloves, adding to the vision that his wife had probably kicked him out of the house for any number of reasons, allowing him to take his most recent anniversary gift from her to keep his hands warm. By the look of it, she had probably been the breadwinner in the family.

"Thanks for the tip," Preston offered with a good natured laugh. "It's been one of those days."

"The name's Jay," the man said politely, outstretching his hand. Preston shook it, introducing himself. "You think you could help me out?"

Preston searched his pockets for a moment, finding a wrinkled five dollar bill in the depths of his blazer.

"Here," he said, handing him the money. "I think I can live without it."

"Ah," Jay replied with courtesy, "the generous type. Sad to say there aren't too many of those on the streets anymore. Bloodstrife kinda keeps them away. What you just gave me goes about halfway."

"You don't look like an addict," Preston said cautiously.

Jay rolled up both sleeves, showing clean, untainted arms. From the looks of it, he'd never been addicted to any intravenous drugs.

"You ever see any dealers or anything around here?" Preston asked, mildly satisfied that he wouldn't be directly responsible for the man's drug habit. Nevertheless, Preston remained pessimistic. The mention of the drug had piqued the detective's interest. He placed his hands back inside his pockets as the wind picked up, ushering a fresh draft of the cool breeze down the street.

"Nah, I'm still kinda new to the whole game. Thinking of taking a hike up town a little farther," Jay said with a somewhat nave grin. "It's not so bad up there, I think."

"Not yet," Preston said with a depressed sigh as he stared loosely in the direction the man referred to. Jay's voice still sounded new, as if he hadn't been worn down by crus.h.i.+ng poverty. Preston thought for a moment, trying to recall the name of a nearby shelter, but couldn't. It was still summer, so he would be fine on the street for now, but it was only a few short months until the snow arrived. He wondered how long the man could last.

"Sounds like you know an addict; let me guess," Jay said, thinking for a moment. "You got a teenage boy who started using?" Jay asked, "Daughter maybe?"

"No," Preston said, wincing at the word "daughter." "It's not important. I guess up town would be a good way to go for now." He waved casually as he turned away before walking down the street. His hands found their way back inside his pocket. "See ya," he offered quietly.

Without realizing it, the spring in his step had long since evaporated. He was hunched over and moving slowly, now aimlessly wandering like the vagrant with whom he'd just conversed.

Preston lost himself in the case again, going over all the strange occurrences he had the misfortune of seeing first-hand. No one in the department believed his story from the factory, even with Jack standing beside him, vouching for every word. He knew most of the other cops probably thought it had been a hallucination brought on by too much stress, or worse-studying the drug a little too closely.

Nevertheless, all the Unis and the other detectives were playing along for now, refusing to question his story too harshly, at least not when he was around.

He sighed, thinking about how he would have reacted if someone had told him such a story, especially a middle-aged man with no family and only a few friends. He was lucky he wielded at least a reasonable amount of influence in the department.

Then, there was the hospital. Aside from reminding him about the victims, the visit with Shannon Morrissey hadn't yielded any forward progress concerning the case. He reminded himself that he would need to look into Myers-Echowan's contribution to the hospital, but doubted it would turn up anything useful.

If anything, it only reinforced the notion that he was losing the battle. The bodies were piling up all around them, and the big fish were nowhere to be found. There weren't any suspects whom they had identified by their real names either. Each was known only by the mocking names of ancient sins.

The screams of the addicts in the hospital crept up in his mind without much warning. It was almost as if they never left, not since he half-sprinted out of Morrissey's back office before s.h.i.+fting to a light-hearted walk when entering the normal part of the ward.

He knew he'd been drowning in Elisabeth's death for quite a long time. Even with Shannon's help he didn't think he was going to make it up for air.

His pulse quickened as he heard the m.u.f.fled scream. It took a split-second to realize that it wasn't just a memory echoing inside his head from the hospital.