by S. L. Hebert
Once we’re back in the office, I take a seat at my desk and place a call to Logan. Considering what’s happened today, I feel the need to make sure she’s okay. After dialing her number, I lean back in my chair and wait for her to answer the phone. My call ends up going straight to voicemail, and I can’t help paying attention to the alarms going off in my head. Why is she not answering her phone?
Shutting off my computer, I grab my keys and drop into the lieutenant’s office. He’s looking over some paperwork on his desk. I quickly knock on the door, getting his attention.
“Lieutenant, I’m going to head out of the office for a while. If you need to get in touch with me, just call me on my cell.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I have a few errands to run, if that’s okay?”
“Yeah, keep your cell phone on you.”
Rather than give him a reply, I quickly turn and head out of the building.
As I’m driving to Logan’s apartment, my sense of dread becomes more urgent. It takes everything in me not to start driving recklessly. Turning off my car, I hop out and walk so fast, I’m almost jogging. It literally takes me only a few seconds to knock on her door.
I patiently wait after knocking the first time and getting no answer. I know I saw her car in her parking spot. Feeling annoyed and worried, I pound on her door harder, and this time the whole door frame starts to shake. It takes a few minutes, but I begin to hear someone shuffling around on the inside.
“Logan, I can hear you in there. It’s me, Grasso. I need you to open the door; it’s important.”
Listening closely, I can hear her mumbling. As she gets near the other side of the door, I’m assuming she’s in her foyer when I hear glass breaking and her saying, “Shit!”
“Logan, I need you to unlock the door. Can you do that?”
The clicking sound on the other side lets me know she’s doing as I asked. From behind the door, she peeks her face into the crack. I manage to place my foot in the doorway, making sure to prevent her from closing the door on me.
“Thanks for answering the door. I really need to come in and speak with you.”
“Now is not an appropriate time, Michael.”
“Well, I’m here, and I need to tell you about last night and today.”
“Fine. Come in and excuse the mess.”
Looking around her apartment, I’m in awe. She’s never let it get this dirty. There are empty pizza boxes and wine bottles everywhere. With the sudden sensation of my anger rising, I keep walking through the living room and take a seat at the kitchen table.
“So, what have you been up to, Logan?”
“Can’t you tell? Not a damn thing. Oh, except for going to the shrink in the mornings and then to AA after lunch. Other than that, nothing. This is my life right now. This is what I’ve been diminished to.”
She’s drunk. This is going to be way worse than I’d imagined. Changing the subject, I try to make small talk. “Would you like to maybe call for delivery? We can order some food and watch a movie, my treat.”
“Don’t try to pacify me, Michael. You know I’m drunk.”
“Yes, but I need you to start sobering up, so I can discuss a few things with you.”
“How about we discuss what you came to my house for, and then I’ll decide if I need to sober up?”
“Fine, just know that I’m not leaving for the rest of the day. You can get mad and pitch your little fit, but I’ll be crashing on your couch tonight. As for why I’m here, John tried to cut the main artery in his leg last night while in solitary.”
“They should have let him bleed out.”
“You don’t mean that, Logan. Anyways, I received a call today saying if you don’t speak with John soon, more people are going to die.”
Sitting across the table from her, I wait to see how she’s going to handle the news; to my surprise, she doesn’t even flinch. She doesn’t even respond to me right away; she takes a moment, then says, “I already know.”
“How do you know?”
“I received a call this afternoon, too, and the female on the other end of the phone informed me of the same thing. Hence, why I started drinking early in the day. I feel like the whole game is starting all over again, and even if I wanted to back out of playing, I can’t.”
“Logan, I need you to shower and eat something. You need to sober up. The sheriff and department shrink are meeting as we speak to discuss possibly allowing you to meet with John.”
I watch as she literally inhales a large breath through her nose and slowly releases it. It’s as if she’s now having second thoughts about meeting with my brother. I’m not sure what’s brought on this sudden change in her, but I intend to find out. Maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t want her past to be exposed to the world.
Logan
Listening to Michael, I suddenly feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. This feeling is far from new to me. I’ve been in this position more than once in my lifetime, only this time it feels different. Without hesitation, I rise from my chair and inform him I’m going to go take a shower. Not even bothering to get a fresh set of clothes from my bedroom, I head straight for the bathroom. No sooner than I’ve closed the door and locked it, I breathe a sigh of relief. Slowly, I pick up the pregnancy test off the counter and look at it. Unsure of what I’m seeing, I read the back of the box again, not wanting to get the lines confused.
Little does he know, this is the reason why it took me so long to get to the door. I’d just peed on the stick when he started knocking on my door. I was trying to wait to see the results until he started banging like a maniac, causing me to put it aside and wait to read it. Now that it’s finished processing, I can’t believe my eyes…I’m pregnant.
Suddenly feeling lightheaded, I take a seat on the toilet. Never in a million years did I think I’d become pregnant; I’m on the pill. How do I tell Michael and the lieutenant? If they find out I’m pregnant, they’ll pull me off the case – and we’ve been warned of what’ll happen if I don’t go meet with John. I’m in a no-win situation.
After catching my bearings, I stand and look in the mirror. Shedding my shirt, I examine my stomach. It still appears to be flat, so I can’t be far along; maybe a month or two at the most. I’ll need to contact my gynecologist tomorrow when Michael’s nowhere around.
In the meantime, I turn on the shower, allowing it to warm up before stepping in. My hope is to be able to wash away some of the guilt I’m feeling for what I’m about to do. My gut is telling me no matter what happens, someone isn’t going to make it out of this alive.
As I wrap my towel around me, I take one last look in the mirror and say a silent prayer, a prayer I never dreamed I’d be saying. “Lord, please watch over the people I love and protect my unborn child at any cost.”
Making my way to my bedroom, I notice Michael is picking up the trash scurried around my apartment. Instantly, I shout, “Leave it, Michael. I’ll pick it all up in a minute.”
Hurrying, I throw on a pair of pajama pants and a tee shirt, then head back out to the living room. Michael has managed to clean nearly all my mess up, including the broken glass by the door. I can feel him looking at me hesitantly as he asks, “Do you feel a little better?”
Trying to remain casual, I simply say, “Yeah. I needed to get my head on straight, and a shower always seems to do the trick.”
“I talked with the lieutenant. He wants to know if you’re up to going in tomorrow and speaking with him? I told him I was here, and I’d be sleeping on your couch for the night.”
“Really? How did he take that bit of news?”
“He didn’t say much about it. I have a feeling he’s worried because of the phone calls. It’s like déjà vu all over again. I think he prefers me to keep an eye on you, at least until we know where all of this is leading.”
“Well, if you’d like, we can order Chinese food. Suddenly, I’m hungry.”
“Sounds good to me. Do you hav
e a menu?”
“Yeah, it’s on top of the icebox.”
Michael and I order Chinese food and watch TV the rest of the evening. To my surprise, he doesn’t ask too many questions. Come to think of it, we really don’t talk much at all. I guess he doesn’t want to press his luck and end up pissing me off. At the same time, I figure it’s best to keep the talking to a minimum; I need to process the fact that I’m now with child.
Waking this morning, I feel famished; it’s as if I hadn’t eaten a thing last night. Rising from my bed, I stretch out my limbs and realize I didn’t dream last night. I’m forced to admit to myself it’s because Michael’s back on my couch. I’ll never tell him that, but it’s the truth. I always sleep better when Michael’s around.
Entering the kitchen, I check the fridge and realize I have nothing to eat in it. I can’t remember the last time I went to the grocery store. So, I opt to just fix a pot of coffee.
Coming from the living room, I can hear Michael asking, “Did you get any sleep last night, Logan?”
“Slept like a baby.”
“Really?”
“I guess I was tired. What time are you wanting to leave to go to the office?”
“I spoke with the lieutenant this morning, and he said to meet him at about nine in his office. If this is too early for you, then I need to know so I can call him back.”
As I pour my coffee, I reply, “No need, nine o’clock is good. I may as well get it over with. There’s coffee in the pot if you want a cup. I’m going to get dressed.”
Knowing this morning is going to be stressful, I decide to dress casually, picking a pair of dress pants and blouse out of the closet, with a pair of matching flats. I need to at least attempt to look like I somewhat give a shit. It’s not that I don’t, but it’s been over a week, and up until yesterday I haven’t heard one peep from Lt. Clark or the sheriff. They seemed perfectly content with having me on the department shrink’s couch. Now, because there’s the threat of more dead bodies piling up, they want to talk. They need me; otherwise, I’d still be burying myself under empty pizza boxes.
We arrive at the office at about ten to nine. For the most part, it was a quiet drive to work. Grasso is being very patient with me, and it’s starting to make me wonder why. Usually, he has a smart-ass comment or fifty questions. Between last night and this morning, I’m lucky if he’s spoken to me more than a handful of times. I can honestly say, I’m not sure what to make of it.
This is the first time I’m back at the office during the day. I see Mrs. Landry is still in her usual spot, right along with everyone else. As I proceed to pass by her, she quickly stands and says, “Logan, I’m so happy to see you. How have you been?”
“I’m doing well, Mrs. Landry. I’m here to speak with the lieutenant.”
“Oh, I understand. We’re all just so happy you and Michael made it back home to us in one piece.”
Without thinking, I instantly say, “I guess we have, even if the one broken piece is being held together by super glue.”
From behind me, I hear Grasso whisper, “Logan.”
Changing my tune, I continue. “Please excuse us, Mrs. Landry. We really need to speak with Lt. Clark.”
Proceeding to walk away from Mrs. Landry, I don’t even bother to stop and talk with anyone else, for fear of saying the wrong thing.
As we get closer to the lieutenant’s office, I immediately hear him say, “Detective Grasso and Logan, you’re here.”
Once in the office, I quickly notice the sheriff sitting in a chair located in the corner of the room. What I see next nearly knocks me off my feet: it’s the department shrink sitting next to the sheriff. Instantly, I can feel my blood start to boil.
“Can someone please explain to me what’s going on and why he’s here?”
Turning around, I watch as Michael closes the door to the office.
On cue, the sheriff pipes up, saying, “Detective St. Martin, why don’t you take a seat, and then we’ll gladly explain what’s going on.”
I take a moment to study each one of their faces, attempting to see any possible clue as to why I’m being ambushed. The only sign I receive is Michael motioning his hand towards the chair in a silent gesture, telling me to sit. My lungs feel like they’ve just had all the oxygen squeezed out of them.
Reluctantly, I take a seat. Unable to control myself any longer, I blurt out, “Okay, I’m sitting. Now would someone tell me why Dr. Ashby is here? We can’t possibly be here to discuss my sessions. They’re private.”
Lt. Clark finally speaks up, saying, “We’re fully aware of your rights, Logan. We simply need to discuss the new situation we’re in pertaining to John. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that we’d want to talk with you. We’ve gone from him requesting to speak with you to now getting threats on the matter. Threats we have to take seriously.”
Promptly, I hear the sheriff rattle off, “I know you remember what happened the last time there were threats made pertaining to you. It didn’t end well, did it?”
Unable to deny it, I answer, “No.”
Grasso, feeling the need to quickly defend me, adds, “Yeah, but what happened a few months ago was not Logan’s fault. It just so happens she was his target.”
The lieutenant then says, “And she still is the target. If we didn’t learn anything else from the last time, the one thing we did learn is usually when it comes to John, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
In a melancholy voice, I manage to ask, “So what is it exactly y’all are wanting from me, and again, why is Dr. Ashby here?”
I watch as Sheriff Trahan leans forward in his chair, placing in hands on his knees. He then goes on to say, “Detective St. Martin, the department felt it was pertinent for you to go through counseling with Dr. Ashby due to the events that happened to you over the last few months. Up until yesterday, I had every intention of allowing you to remain on leave until the good doctor was confident enough you could handle coming back to work. It seems your boy John has other plans in mind for you. Truth be told, this town cannot afford for bodies to start popping up all over the place again. I asked Dr. Ashby to drop by to see if he could give us his expert opinion on whether I should allow you to walk into a room with a man who’s clearly trying to destroy you. See, Detective St. Martin, even I have a heart. If he doesn’t think you can handle it mentally, then I won’t send you in. We’ll simply figure out some other way to find the bodies he claims to have hidden.”
Without hesitation, I turn to Dr. Ashby, asking, “What’s the verdict, Doc?”
Almost reluctantly, he clears his throat and begins. “Frankly speaking, I feel as if we’re playing devil’s advocate here. This has the potential to go either way. See, there’s no sure way of knowing how this will end up. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of my sessions with Detective St. Martin. I can only say we’ve made minimal progress.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dr. Ashby, I’m right here! I have no problem with you telling them what goes on in my sessions.”
“It’s confidential, Logan. I’m ethically prohibited from discussing what’s said between you and I.”
“Okay, then I’ll say it for you. I was hypnotized; what happened while I was under is unknown to me.”
Dr. Ashby quickly cuts me off, “Logan, it’s not that simple of an ordeal. Allow me to say this: Detective St. Martin was put under, but truth be told, it was unsuccessful. In my opinion, she was witness to something traumatic as a child, and her body went into survival mode and suppressed the event. I believe it’s buried deep within her. The problem is, I’m not sure if the memory will ever surface. If it does, I’m afraid she may not be able to handle knowing the truth. This is the tricky thing about psychology; every case is different. I’d also like to offer this to each of you: I’m willing to bet money John knows her secret. It’s the sole reason he continues to toy with her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so persistent on her revealing her past.”
The lieutenant
finally speaks. “So, you think John holds the key to unlocking Logan’s memory?”
Dr. Ashby turns to me with caring eyes and says, “Yes, I do. If you sit in the room with him and talk, it’s possible he could trigger your memory to come back, or with a little luck maybe he’d be willing to spill the secret on his own. Either way, in my opinion it’s worth a shot. I’d like to ask, if she decides to go through with this, I want to be put on standby at the prison in case she needs me.”
Unable to look at any of them in the room, I silently bow my head to stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. Softly, I hear myself whisper, “I’ll do it.”
For what feels like forever, the room remains in total silence until the sheriff speaks up, saying, “Well, then that settles it. I’ll meet with the warden and make sure every precaution is taken during the interviews. I need to be on my way.” As he’s just about to open the door to walk out, he turns back to me and says, “Detective St. Martin, thank you. I know none of this is going to be easy on you.”
Unknowingly, a single tear manages to sneak out of the corner of my eye, and I only realize it when the wetness slithers down my cheek.
Dr. Ashby stands and turns to speak to me, saying, “I’ll be in my office if you should decide you want to talk. Feel free to stop by anytime.”
Not saying a word, I find myself nodding yes before he turns and walks out the door.
Lt. Clark waits until it’s only he, Michael, and I left in his office before speaking. He then nods to Michael, saying, “Close the door.”
Michael does as he’s instructed while I remain mute and motionless; all my emotions are scattered, and I’m not exactly sure what to say or do in this very moment. Choosing to do nothing, I let Lt. Clark and Michael do the talking.
I hear them rattling on about how to contain the situation, hearing bits and pieces of how to keep me off the radar of the media. It doesn’t take the lieutenant long before he’s turning his attention towards me.
