Fever Dream

by Dennis Palumbo

  “But according to his files, he seemed to be getting worse.”

  Nancy opened the driver’s side door and stood up inside it. Intentionally or not, keeping it between me and her. A barrier.

  “I know. From personal experience.” She paused. “I found him once. After one of his last suicide attempts. In the pantry off the kitchen. He’d stolen a screwdriver from the work shed and stabbed himself in the abdomen.”

  “Poor bastard.”

  She bit her lip. “He almost succeeded that time. Given the blood loss. Internal injuries.”

  We both grew quiet. Nancy still standing behind the opened door. Me still leaning against the hood.

  Something hung, unsaid, in the air. Like that exhaust cloud from the bus.

  “Look,” I said at last, “I know you have to go. We can discuss Andy some other—”

  “Dan, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  Her voice was uncustomarily sharp. Clipped. As though she’d had to screw up her courage to get the words out. Hands clutching the door frame, as if for support.

  “What is it?”

  She swallowed. Her eyes were moist.

  “I…I’ve met someone. A pediatric surgeon. Over at Children’s Hospital.” A careful pause. “That’s why I wasn’t home when you called last night. I was with Warren.”

  I nodded. Which was all I could think to do.

  Nancy took another breath.

  “Warren and I…well, I wanted you to know. To find out from me first. We’re engaged.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  After I’d watched Nancy pull out of the parking lot, I retraced my steps back into the cemetery and sought out my parents’ graves. Standing alone on a treeless patch of yellowed grass, I looked down at the small, plain headstones. Feeling the familiar mix of loss and regret. For the mother I barely knew, the father I knew only too well.

  At least the part of him I got to see: the anger, the bitterness. The disappointment with the way his life had turned out. Including, I suspected, the way I’d turned out. Too much like him, in some ways, and at the same time so different as to seem like an alien.

  No epiphany visited me as I stood there, head bowed, the sun beating down like a shower of white heat. Until I didn’t want to stand there any longer and went back to where my car was parked. The only one left in the graveled lot. I got in and steered my way to the exit. In minutes, I was on the parkway heading into town.

  Replaying in my head my conversation with Nancy.

  I had to admit, her news had come as a shock. Of course, I’d made all the appropriate noises after she told me. Congratulated her. Wished her the best.

  Which was how I truly felt.

  Yet, as I hugged her good-bye, and kissed her neck, the scent of that unfamiliar perfume stung me. To my shame, I felt envious. The new perfume signifying to me that her life had changed. That she’d changed. Moved on.

  And I had not.

  But did I even want to? After our romantic relationship ended, had I ever wanted more from Nancy than just friendship? No matter how close, how intimate. Had she?

  I pulled into the parking lot at Pittsburgh Memorial and cut the engine. Sat staring out the windshield at the bright, cloudless day.

  It didn’t matter now. Nancy had found someone who made her happy, and as her friend I was sincerely glad for her.

  Just as it was my duty—as her friend—to let her go.

  ***

  “How much have you had to drink?” I asked Harry Polk as we rode up in the elevator to Ward B.

  He frowned, as though he hadn’t heard right. “When?”

  “Just now. At lunch.”

  “What are you, my mother?”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Harry. I’m starting to worry about you.”

  He pursed his lips. “Is that a fact? Well, don’t put yourself out. And don’t play therapist with me. You know what I think o’ that stuff. Voodoo horseshit for wing-nuts and losers.”

  I reached across and hit the elevator’s stop button. The car rumbled to a halt.

  “Indulge me,” I said.

  Now he was fuming. Stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “You been talkin’ to Lowrey, ain’tcha?”

  “I don’t need to talk to her. Or anyone. I have eyes, Harry. And a nose. I can smell it on your breath. Hell, even your clothes reek.”

  A dark grin. “That’s why God invented breath mints. And after-shave.”

  “Well, He didn’t invent enough of it. You think Biegler doesn’t know what’s going on?”

  “From what I hear, he’s got enough to deal with without worryin’ about me. Nice piece o’ ass, that LaWanda. Real cop-friendly.” A sidelong look. “So I’ve heard.”

  “Me, too. But I’m serious, Harry. You know that the whole ‘tough, hard-drinking cop’ thing is just Hollywood nonsense. Guys like that don’t stay detectives for long. Guys like that get transferred. Or suspended and sent to the department shrink. Or just kicked off the force.”

  “Is that so? How do you know?” Polk stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “Unless you’re just goin’ down Memory Lane, thinkin’ about your old man. Kind of a legend around here, that mook. Put it away pretty good, on duty and off. Till his liver couldn’t take it no more.”

  I felt the anger build in my chest. Forced myself to breathe evenly. Slowly.

  “What?” Polk’s voice held a challenge. “You gonna take a swing at me? A cop? I don’t think you’ll like county lock-up, Danny boy. I hear the wine list sucks.”

  We stood eyeball-to-eyeball in the cramped, unmoving elevator car. I felt the tension climbing up my arms, gathering in my throat.

  I knew at that moment that one of us had to take a step back. I also saw that Polk wasn’t going to budge.

  He was the law. He didn’t have to.

  Finally, I let out a long breath and back-stepped into the near corner. Extended my hand until I could reach the stop button and release it. With a shudder, the car lurched into motion again.

  When the elevator doors opened on Ward B, Harry Polk adjusted his tie and squinted at me.

  “Glad we had this little chat,” he said. “But let’s not make it a habit.”

  “Listen, Harry…”

  “No, you listen. Maybe we’re friends, maybe we ain’t. But keep your goddam nose outta my business, okay?”

  Then, voice thick and hard: “And tell Lowrey that goes for her, too.”

  ***

  They’d moved Treva to a private room at the end of the hall. As Polk and I entered, the seasoned, sturdily-built duty nurse turned from adjusting the window blinds and smiled. The afternoon sun threw soft, diffused light against the opposite wall.

  The nurse nodded at Treva, who lay against her bed pillows, eyes half-lidded. But awake. With no IV drip, no monitors.

  “They’ve given permission for you gentlemen to talk to her,” the nurse said. “But not for too long. Okay?”

  Treva opened her eyes. “It’s okay, Ruth. I’m fine.”

  “And where did you get your medical degree, dear?”

  The nurse waved her hand at Treva, gave Polk and me a serious look, and brushed past us out the door.

  I went over to Treva’s bedside and smiled down at her.

  “I wouldn’t mess with Ruth if I were you.” I pulled a chair from the near corner and sat.

  Treva took her hand from under the bed covers and put it gently on mine.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Rinaldi.”

  “You can call me Dan.”

  Polk came closer then, too, standing stiffly at the end of her bed.

  “And you can call me Sergeant Polk, Ms. Williams.” He pulled a notebook from his back pocket. “I know we have to keep this short, but we do need a statement from you. About what happened in the bank.”

  “I know.” Treva wet her lips. “I also know everyone’s been very patient with me.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “After what you’ve been
through, if you still want a little more time to rest…”

  Polk angrily cleared his throat, a sound like a truck back-firing.

  Treva gave him a wry look. “I’m happy to tell you what I can.”

  “Good.” Casting a warning glance at me. “Now, how ’bout you start at the beginning, Ms. Williams. At the bank. When the first masked man entered…”

  I just sat back and listened as Treva repeated the story she’d told me on the curb outside the bank. This time, there was no hesitation. No confusion. Though her voice quavered at certain points. Or grew so quiet you could barely hear it.

  What was more surprising was Polk’s reaction. Rather than encouraging his witness to take her time, letting her story unspool in as much detail as possible, he kept interrupting her. He seemed impatient, irritated. More than once he tapped his pen briskly on his pad.

  If Treva was upset by this, or even noticed it at all, she didn’t show it. Instead, what I saw on her face was a rising grief, the slow-welling sorrow of remembrance.

  And I knew why. As she gave her statement, it was clear that she’d relinquished the comforting fantasy that what happened in the bank had been a dream. Enough time had gone by that her conscious mind had grasped and accepted the reality of what had occurred.

  Which was why, as she finished her narrative, the emotional strain of the experience was plainly evident. Her face had paled. Eyes pinched, almost to a squint. Fingers twitching anxiously on the sheets.

  “Then…well, the last thing I remember is the tall man looking out the window. Real upset.”

  “Probably when he saw SWAT taking up positions outside the bank,” Polk said.

  “I guess. All of a sudden he called out to the police that he was letting one hostage leave. Just one.” Treva paused. “Then he pointed his gun at me and said, ‘You’re it, girlie.’ And pushed me out the front door. Suddenly, all these policemen surrounded me, grabbing my arms. Pulling me away from the bank…”

  Another, longer pause. “Then I sort of…went blank. And that’s all I can remember. Until…” She looked at me. “Until I was sitting on the curb with you.”

  “You did fine, Treva,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Polk pocketed his notebook. Glanced at his watch. “Real good. Thanks, Ms. Williams.”

  Treva pushed herself up to a sitting position. “I guess you want to ask me about last night, too? When that man took me and Dr. Holloway down to fix his arm.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “That’s enough for now. There’ll be plenty of time later to—”

  “But I’m feeling better. Honest. And I want to be helpful…”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” Polk said quickly. “But Doc Rinaldi is right. You oughtta rest up. Besides, we got Holloway’s statement about what happened. We can talk to you about it later. In case we need to fill in any gaps.”

  I could tell Polk was getting more and more anxious to leave. Not that he was being exactly subtle about it.

  “Ready to roll, Doc?”

  As I started to rise from my chair, Treva clutched my arm through the bed rails.

  “Would it be okay if you stayed a few minutes?” Eyes searching my face. “Just to talk?”

  I turned to Polk. “You need me for anything else?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t need ya for this. But, sure…far as I’m concerned, you’re off the departmental clock.”

  Then, with a quick nod at Treva, he strode out of the room. Footsteps clicking purposefully on the well-scuffed linoleum as he went down the hall.

  Some instinct made me step to the door and look out. Polk had just pushed the elevator button, and was pacing impatiently back and forth in front of the closed doors. Stopping only to jab the elevator button again.

  I turned back into the room. My first impression about Polk had been mistaken. He wasn’t deteriorating from booze, or poor health, or lack of sleep. Nor some deep distress.

  He was gripped by urgency. Impatience.

  Harry Polk was a man on a mission.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Ellie’s told you about us, hasn’t she?”

  Treva’s gaze at me was frank, unwavering. She was sitting up now, hands kneading on her lap. Yet she seemed calmer, more assured. Less fragile.

  I was back in my chair at her bedside.

  “How do you know what Eleanor’s told me?”

  “It wasn’t hard to guess. She told me she was calling someone who could help. Someone she trusted. So I figured she’d end up telling you.”

  “Is that okay? I mean, that I know about your prior relationship?”

  She smiled. “Now you sound like this shrink I had once. Guy was totally full of shit.”

  “Then I’ll try not to sound like him.”

  Treva leaned back, gazed at me warily. As though, perhaps for the first time, sizing me up.

  “I’m…well, I guess I’m not real good at trusting men. Not used to the idea, anyway.”

  I said nothing. Waited.

  She closed her eyes then, took a long breath. When she opened them again, her look was as clear and focused as I’d ever seen in her.

  “I guess you’re surprised that I didn’t want Ellie to be here. That I didn’t want to see her.”

  “I was surprised, yes. Why was that?”

  “Because I feel too guilty. Because of what I did.”

  “You mean, when you left her? All those years ago?”

  She nodded. “She really loved me. And I left her for some guy who turned out to be a real bastard. Who cheated on me…beat me…”

  “He beat you?”

  “I thought he was exciting. Dangerous. You know, in that sexy, bad-boy way. I wanted someone different, someone who’d rock my world. Well, he sure did. Rocked the hell out of it. And I had the broken heart—and broken bones—to prove it.”

  Her slender shoulders lifted. A weary shrug.

  “Karmic payback, I guess. For what I did to Ellie. Do you believe in things like that, Dr. Rinaldi?”

  “I’m afraid that question’s above my pay grade. And, please—call me Dan.”

  She shook her head.

  “No, it feels better calling you ‘doctor.’”

  “Then, of course. Whatever’s most comfortable.”

  Treva looked past me, toward the sunlight serrated by the window blinds.

  “I’ve had a lot of stupid relationships since then. Done a lot of stupid things. Bounced around. Lost. And then…see, this job at the bank is the first good job I’ve ever had. I’m only a junior associate, but Mr. Franconi—he’s the manager—Mr. Franconi said I showed real promise. That I had a flair.” A rueful smile. “First time anybody’s ever told me something like that.”

  I leaned forward, but kept silent. Watched conflicting emotions flicker across her face.

  “Then there was this other thing that happened. A man. A good man, who loved me. And I loved him.”

  I spoke carefully. “Bobby Marks.”

  Her chin lowered, and she began to cry. Silent tears, that welled up at the corners of her eyes.

  “I…Bobby and I had been seeing each other for months. We’d even begun talking about moving in together. Maybe marriage. But Bobby wanted to be cautious about things. He said Mr. Franconi frowned on office romances. That if they went wrong, it was bad for office morale.”

  “It must have been difficult,” I said. “Keeping it a secret.”

  “It was. Especially because I was so happy…I mean, I hadn’t felt like that since…Well, since Ellie and I were together.”

  She gave me a sharp look. “And you don’t believe in karma? I finally find someone, and then this…thing…happens. Poor Bobby. He was so sweet. So…”

  I let her sit with her pain, her sorrow, for a few minutes. Then I risked touching her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, Treva.”

  More than she knew, I could relate to what she was feeling. The unbearable grief. Trying to come to terms with the inexplicable randomness of violence. How—
in a matter of moments—it can tear your life apart.

  Her sobs grew more intense, wracked her whole body. At first, I was alarmed. Concerned that she might be convulsing. I was about to call out for the nurse. What the hell was her name—?

  Then, just as quickly, Treva’s tremors subsided. But her breathing turned to shallow gasps.

  She finally looked up, her eyes wide, ghostly white. They held not grief, but fear. A kind of terror.

  “Please, Dr. Rinaldi…”

  Suddenly, her hands—both hands—were gripping mine. Clutching as though clinging for life.

  “Treva, what is it?”

  “Please…” She was distraught. Terrified. “Please promise you’ll take care of me.”

  “Of course, I…”

  “No, promise me! You promised you’d ride in the ambulance with me, and you didn’t.”

  Her fingers tightened their grip. Went white. I felt the strength of her panic.

  “Please!” Her words thick with anguish.

  “Treva, I…”

  I hesitated only a moment. Unsure exactly what she was talking about. What was going on inside her.

  Until, at a loss, I nodded. “I promise.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Stand still, will ya?” Noah said. “You’re breakin’ my concentration.”

  We were standing together in the riverfront bar’s small kitchen, and Noah Frye was helping me with my tux. To be exact, he was fixing the knot on my tie.

  “Hurry it up, Noah. Traffic’s gonna be murder.”

  Ignoring me, Noah unhurriedly tugged on one end of the tie’s bow, then the other. Making them even.

  “I don’t mean to go all OCD on your ass, man, but if a thing’s worth doin’, it’s worth doin’ right. Right?”

  Which was Thelonius’ cue to meow his agreement. The cat was perched atop the refrigerator, peering down with detached curiosity. A Zen monk with fur.

  “Dammit, Noah—”

  “There!” He stepped back, hands outstretched as though a magician who’s pulled off a miracle. “Given what I had to work with, you’re not half-bad lookin’ in that tux.”

  “Half-bad is good enough for me. It’s a rental. Now let me go, okay? I should’ve been at the Burgoyne Plaza a half hour ago.”