Am I the Killer? - A Luca Mystery - Book 1

by Dan Petrosini

  “What?”

  I looked over the table for the easiest shot and was glad to see the eight ball hanging on the side pocket lip, a chip shot. I lined up the cue ball and was ready to pocket it when Vinny broke in, “What you doing, man? You sink the eight and it’s game over. You forget we’re playing nine-ball?”

  Confused, I lined up a different shot but flubbed it. Vinny missed one as well, but as much as he tried to throw it to me, I just couldn’t do it. My eyes were betraying me. I thought I was making good shots, but, well, let’s just say it didn’t happen.

  A couple of guys had sauntered over, and their hovering over the table was a good excuse to stop embarrassing myself. I told my brother, who was racking the balls, that I was gonna have that second brew, and he didn’t fight me on it.

  ***

  The following week’s therapy went pretty well for me. I was making progress physically, but I wasn’t happy because things just weren’t normal with Mary. I couldn’t figure it out. I don’t know, maybe she was scared, as she always kept her distance. I mean, she came over every now and then, but it was kiss on the cheek stuff, and she never, ever stayed long, always claiming she had somewhere to go. When I pressed her, she said she needed more time, said she was confused. I guess my condition scared her. But why? I mean, couldn’t she see how much better I was? Anyway, I still really felt that when I got all the way back, things would be good with her again.

  I looked around the garage at the tools hanging on the pegboard. Then I saw Mom’s old car out the garage door window. You know, Vinny had let me drive a couple of times, but after scrapping the curb three outings in a row, I guess I had to take it slow. It felt good to get behind the wheel; it was different than walking around. I was used to the glasses and all, but in a car, things sped up, making it tougher. A garbage truck rumbled down the street. I watched it till it was out of sight, and then I went back into the house after trying to recall what I came in the garage to get. I kicked the wall and put a hole in the wallboard. Geez, that was frustrating.

  I’d really been struggling with my memory. It’d gotten much better than when I first got to Walter Reed, but for the last few weeks I couldn’t seem to remember jack shit. Vinny was always saying he had told me that already and said I was zoning out a lot. I don’t know about that, but I never forgot a thing about Mary and thought about her all day long.

  ***

  In an hour or so, Mary was coming over again. I was amped up.

  “Hey, bro, can you do me a favor?”

  Vinny looked up from the newspaper.

  “You’re going to work soon, anyway. Why don’t you take off while I jump in the shower so I can have some privacy when Mary gets here?”

  Vinny closed the paper. “Sure thing, Romeo. I gotta pick up your refills at CVS anyway.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Vinny grabbed his keys off the counter. “You want me to put a pot of coffee up or anything?”

  “Nah, I got it.”

  “You sure? It’s no problem. She won’t be here for, like, almost an hour.”

  “Geez, what am I, a fucking invalid?”

  Vinny held up a hand. “Take it easy, tiger.” He headed to the door and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to shave, lover boy.”

  The phone was ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Peter, are you home?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I’ve been ringing the doorbell for ten minutes.”

  “Oh, sorry, sorry.” I dropped the phone, grabbed my cane, and hustled to open the door.

  Mary was wearing bright red lipstick and a pants suit. She looked great.

  “Come in, come in.”

  “You okay, Peter?” She showed genuine concern, warming my heart.

  “Yeah, fine, why?”

  “Well, you look, uh, I don’t know, tired or something.”

  “Really?” I looked in the foyer mirror and realized I had never showered, or shaved, for that matter. “Well, I, I was sleeping, I guess. Went for a walk, a real long one, you know, and guess I must’ve dozed off or something.”

  She smiled, pecked my cheek, and handed me a box of crumb cake.

  “I’d love a cup of coffee. Why don’t you go get changed, and I’ll put a pot of coffee on?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Be right back.”

  When I got ready to shave I was horrified to realize I’d been wearing my dorky glasses. Shit, I must’ve looked like a retard to her.

  “Peter! Peter! You all right up there?”

  I yelled down the stairs. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be right down.”

  It was good Mary was in the kitchen. I struggled to get down the stairs, forgetting how tough it was to do without my special glasses.

  I squinted at the doorway into the kitchen and shut one of the lights. I stepped in and smiled.

  “Better?”

  “Yes, but what on earth were you doing for so long?”

  Uh-oh! I didn’t like the sound of that. “Was it that long?”

  Mary nodded.

  “I, I was looking for that shirt. You remember, the red one with the pockets. You always liked it.”

  “It’s okay, Peter. Really, don’t worry. You want a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure, but how about you?”

  “Had two already. You want a piece of crumb cake?”

  We made small talk as I drank my coffee. Mary kept calling me Peter. She never did that before; it had always been Pete or Petey.

  “You okay?

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I don’t know, you seem real fidgety.”

  “Gotta take a pee. Been holding it for a long time.” I got up with a hand on my crotch like a five-year-old trying to prevent a leak.

  When I came out of the bathroom, she was putting the cups in the sink.

  “I really gotta run.”

  “Already? You just got here.”

  She nodded and said, “It’s just that Cathy needs to talk. She’s got some major issues going on. You remember Cathy, don’t you?”

  A metallic flavor seemed to coat my throat.

  “Of course I fucking remember! Geez, everybody thinks I’m some kinda fucking moron.”

  She pursed her lips. “That’s not fair, Peter.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s not fair that you’re leaving. I, we need to talk about the future, our future.”

  Mary moved to the door. “It’s not a good time right now. Some other time, okay?”

  She went to peck my cheek, and I grabbed her arm.

  “Ow, that hurts. Let me go. Now!”

  “Aw, come on, Mary.”

  “Peter!”

  Her screech pierced my ears and I released her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it. Just wanted to, you know . . .”

  She headed down the walkway to her car and I to a date with the blues. Vinny found me staring at an infomercial when he came home.

  “What’re you doing up? It’s frigging four in the morning.”

  I shrugged and said, “I donno, guess I couldn’t sleep.”

  “How’d it go with Mary?”

  I picked up the remote and flipped through channels.

  Vinny headed for the stairs. “I’m beat, man. I’m going up. You coming?”

  I kept changing channels.

  “Look, Pete, you gotta stop fixating on Mary. What’s gonna be is gonna be, man.”

  I raised the volume and Vinny stormed over, grabbing the remote out of my hand.

  “Look, you wanna stay up all night? Fine with me. Just have some damn courtesy and lower this so I can sleep.”

  Vinny tossed the remote on the couch and went to bed.

  Vinny lay in bed and decided to put his anger toward Mary aside and enlist her help with Peter.

  As soon as Vinny got to work the next day, he called Mary, asking her to let Peter down easy, play it along a bit, not crush him. Mary said she would do almost anything to help, but when she told Vinny about Peter’s behavior, h
e made an appointment with the neuropsychologist.

  Dr. Rombauer’s office was in a low-slung building in Colts Neck, near Delicious Orchards. The setting was tranquil and bucolic. The smell of cut grass put a tickle in both brothers’ throats as they entered the building. As they walked into the doctor’s office, Vinny smiled at the receptionist, hoping she wouldn’t bring up the past-due coinsurance amounts they owed.

  If Psychology Today carried pictures of what a head doctor should look like, they’d use Rombauer as a model. Tall and erect, with the beginnings of middle-age flab, his face was punctuated by a gray goatee hanging off his chin without the aid of a moustache.

  When Vinny made the appointment, he alerted Rombauer about Peter’s increasing forgetfulness, erratic behavior, and verbal outbursts. Vinny also hoped his brother’s irritability and anger could be nipped in the bud.

  ***

  I picked up and put down just about every magazine in the ten minutes we waited until being shown into Rombauer’s office. The doctor was sitting perfectly still, hands folded in his lap as if posing for a portrait. He looked like a statue to me. Rombauer studied me and stood, smoothing his white coat as he came around his desk, extending his hand.

  “Peter, it’s nice to see you again.” We shook hands. “Please, please, take seats, gentlemen.”

  Rombauer eased into his leather chair and said, “So tell me, how are you feeling, Peter?”

  “Pretty good, I guess.”

  Rombauer studied my face. “Is there anything bothering you?”

  Shrugging a shoulder, I said, “Usual stuff, the ringing never really goes away, and bright lights—”

  “Tell him about the memory stuff, Pete.”

  “It’s not so bad. I can live with it.”

  “Peter, the objective is to achieve the highest degree of functionality we can. There is no reason to accept anything less, unless, of course, we cannot improve it. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. We’re hoping the tinnitus and sensitivity will fade somewhat over time, but let’s see about the memory and cognitive areas. I’d like to run some of the same tests we’ve done in the past and a couple of new ones as well. This will give us a picture of where you are and how it compares to previous results. Then we can go from there.”

  I nodded again; everyone expected me to.

  Rombauer stood. “Let’s get started.”

  The first test seemed simple enough, I thought. Rombauer gave me a sheet of paper and pen.

  “There are four objects I want you to try to remember. You ready?”

  I pursed my lips. “Okay.”

  The doctor held a picture up and said, “These are the four objects: dog, house, duck, spoon.”

  I silently moved my lips.

  “Now draw a picture of a clock with the time showing one o’clock.”

  I hunched over and scrawled away. When I finished, Rombauer asked me, “Now what were the four objects?”

  I felt like a deer in headlights. “Dog, uh, spoon. Uh, uh, dog, spoon—fuck!”

  “Good, that’s fine, no need to get angry. We’re here to find solutions, okay?” He reached for the sheet of paper and scanned the oval-shaped clock I’d drawn, which had only one hand.

  “Let’s move on. This is what we call the Doors and People test.” The doctor smiled.

  This sounded good, I thought. “Makes sense, people go through doors, right?”

  Rombauer smiled. “First, I’ll show you a picture of four colored doors.” He held up an image. “You’ll need to remember them.”

  He paused for five seconds and put the picture face down and turned over a new sheet with ten different doors on it. “Now, point out the doors from the previous sheet.”

  Moving my index finger over the doors, I tapped. “This one here, and this one, no wait, no.” I pointed again. “This one, yeah this one for sure.” I moved on. “Mmm, this looks like one, but . . .” I sat back. “Geez, they all look pretty much the same.”

  “Good, good. Now, let’s do the people part. I’ll recite four names, which I’ll ask you to repeat. Ready?”

  I swiped my hand across my mouth, trying to get the rust taste out, and nodded.

  “John, Mary, Joe, Malcolm.”

  “Mary, Mary, Joe, and Malcolm.”

  “Good. Now I’d like you to repeat them again.”

  Again? I blinked. “Uh, Mary, Mallory, and Joe, and uh, uh.” I slammed my fist on the table.

  “There’s really no need to get upset, Peter. I know you may feel frustrated, but remember, we’re here to help you. Don’t forget how far you’ve come.”

  I rested my chin on my hand and nodded.

  Rombauer handed a sheet to me that had twenty randomly numbered circles. “I want you to start at circle number one and draw a line as quickly as possible from one circle to another. Now you have to go in numerical order, one, two, three, etcetera. So locate the first circle, and we’ll begin.”

  This I could do. I mean, it was just like counting. I put his pen on the first circle, and Rombauer clicked a stopwatch.

  It took just shy of two minutes for me to slam down the pen and a smiling Rombauer to slide the test back across the desk and into a drawer.

  Rombauer presented another sheet to me. “We’ll do one more and then take a five-minute break. I want you to read the three sentences aloud, but the point is to remember the last word of each sentence.”

  “The swan is on the lake. Is the soup ready? Throw me the ball.”

  Rombauer took the paper. “Okay, what were the last words?”

  “Throw the ball.”

  “The last word of each sentence.”

  “I, I.” I sighed heavily. “Let me read it again.”

  “It’s okay—”

  “Give me the fucking paper!”

  Rombauer calmly stood and smiled. “Let’s take that break now.”

  The following day Rombauer called Vinny.

  “I’m pleased that you had the foresight to bring Peter in before his regular appointment. I’ve had a chance to review his latest test results against the last couple of series.” The doctor took a breath. “Your brother has slipped in a number of areas, primarily in the memory area.”

  Vinny sighed. “I knew it. Here we go again.”

  “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions here.”

  “It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

  “I see, well, as I was attempting to express, Peter’s memory facility, more specifically, his episodic and semantic capacities—”

  “What?”

  “His ability to retain facts and autobiographical information: what he did, when he did it, with whom, all the details and recollection.”

  “Now what?”

  “I’m going to change some of his medications. It may be that he has built up a resistance to some of the nootropics, uh, the memory-enhancing drugs. There are a number of studies that support such a thesis. In any event, I’ve made several changes. Now, keep in mind this may be trial and error, and we’ll need to retest frequently to see what’s working and what’s not.”

  Vinny rolled his eyes at the thought of Peter continually taking the tests as the doctor continued.

  “Vincent, your eyes are going to be critical to the process. We’ll need to know as early as possible of any changes in his behavior, memory, anything. It’ll take some time to identify the right combination of drugs and then more time for the medications to build up to an effective level.”

  “What’s a realistic timeline?”

  “Well, that’s difficult to predict. The brain is continually building new links, and a drug’s efficacy is impacted . . .”

  Rombauer droned on. Vinny had heard it all before and wondered how it would play out.

  ***

  Vinny watched closely, hoping the change in medications would get his brother back on a path of recovery. Within days, however, Peter seemed to be falling asleep more often, and his memory certainly didn’t improve
. Vinny called Rombauer.

  “Doc, I gotta tell you, I don’t think the new pills are working. He seems to be getting worse.”

  “What signs do you believe indicate the new regimen is not effective?”

  “Well, he’s falling asleep easily during the middle of the day.”

  “Yes, that can be a side effect, and while we should keep an eye on it, I am reluctant to make changes at this point.”

  “Yeah, well how about this, two times this week he asked me when we were going to eat.”

  “An increase in appetite is—”

  “Hold on, Doc, he asked about it within an hour of just having eaten. When I tell him we just ate, he seems to have forgotten completely. I’m telling you, it’s gotten worse. I’m real concerned, as I’ve got to take a trip soon, and I just can’t postpone it.”

  The doctor agreed to change course and prescribed different medications, which Vinny picked up that afternoon.

  Chapter 7

  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew I’d slipped a bit, causing a dilemma for Vinny. You see, not only was his lease up in Texas, but the hold on his regular job was slipping away. He didn’t know what to do. I simply hadn’t recovered enough to allow him to move back to Texas like he wanted, so he decided to go down and move his stuff into storage to buy some time. I felt bad. I knew he wanted to go back to his old life, or at least take me down there, but the doctors said I had to stay in a familiar area, or something like that. When Vinny suggested getting a sleepover nurse, basically a babysitter to stay with me while he was gone, I fought with him, and we ended up with a compromise of sorts.

  Vinny took off for Texas on a drizzly morning, leaving a list of instructions and sticky notes everywhere. It was fucking depressing. It drove home how dependent on him I’d become. The meds I was taking helped me sometimes, but the problem was that I needed the damn reminders all the time. I turned on the TV and plopped on the couch with a notepad he had tagged with a giant, lime green identifier. After checking the date, I started to read the day’s instructions but got caught up in The Price is Right. I loved that show.

  The doorbell rang a few times, and I trudged over, opening it for Melika, a Russian lady Vinny hired to check on me. She eyed me up and down, frowning.

  Then she drummed in her hand the newspaper I’d left outside. “It’s three thirty, and you’re not dressed yet?”