It's funny, I think to myself as I look into my own eyes. Doesn't really look that bad. Oh, it's a disfigurement. And it's shocking. But . . . taken as a whole, I don't look like I belong in a freak show. I wonder why I never noticed that before, why it's seemed so much uglier until now. I guess it was because I was holding so much ugliness inside. I like the way I look. I look tough. I look hard. I look formidable. All of this fits with my current view of life. I turn away from the mirror.
"What do you think? Good?"
Nod, smile.
"Let's get going, then, honey. We're going to make a few trips today."
She takes my hand and we head out the door.
*
*
*
First stop is Dr. Hillstead's office. I'd called ahead and he is waiting for me. When we arrive at the office, I convince Bonnie to stay with Imelda, Dr. Hillstead's receptionist. She's a Latin woman with a no-nonsense way of caring for people, and Bonnie seems to respond to this mix of warmth and brusqueness. I understand. We walking wounded hate pity. We just want to be treated normally.
I enter and Dr. Hillstead comes to greet me. He looks devastated.
"Smoky. I want you to know how sorry I am about what happened. I never meant for you to find out that way."
I shrug. "Yeah, well. He's been inside my home. Watched me sleep. I guess he's keeping pretty good tabs on me. Not something you could have planned for."
He looks shocked. "He's been inside . . . your house?"
"Yep." I don't correct his or my use of the word he. The fact that he is actually they remains confined to the team, our ace in the hole. Dr. Hillstead runs a hand through his hair. He looks shaken. "This is really disconcerting, Smoky. I deal with secondhand accounts of these kinds of things, but this is the first time it's entered my life in reality."
"This is how it goes sometimes."
Perhaps it's the calmness of my voice that gets his attention. For the first time since I entered his office, he really looks at me. He sees the change, and it seems to bring back the healer in him.
"Why don't you sit down?"
I sit in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. He looks at me, musing. "Are you upset with me for withholding the ballistics report?"
I shake my head. "No. I mean--I was. But I understand what you were trying to do, and I think you were right to do it."
"I didn't want to tell you until I thought you were ready to deal with it."
I give him a faint smile. "I don't know if I was ready to deal with it or not. But I rose to the occasion."
He nods. "Yes, I see a change in you. Tell me about it."
"Not much to tell," I say with a shrug. "It hit me hard. For a moment, I didn't believe it. But then I remembered everything. Shooting Alexa. Trying to shoot Callie. It was like all the pain I've been feeling over the last six months hit me at once. I passed out."
"Callie told me."
"The thing is, when I woke up, I didn't want to die. That made me feel bad in a way. Guilty. But it was still true. I don't want to die."
"That's good, Smoky," he says in a quiet voice.
"And it's not just that. You were right about my team. They are like my family. And they're fucked up. Alan's wife has cancer. Callie has something going on she won't talk to anyone about. And I realize that I can't just let that pass. I love them. I have to be there for them if they need me. Do you understand?"
He nods. "I do. And I'll admit that I was hoping for that. Not that your team members would be in distress. But you've been living in a vacuum. I was hoping that getting back in touch with them would remind you of the one thing I know would give you a reason to go on living."
"What's that?"
"Duty. It's a driving force for you. You have a duty to them. And to the victims."
This idea catches me by surprise. Because I realize that it's dead-on. I may never be fully healed. I might wake up screaming in the night till the day I die. But as long as my friends need me, as long as the monsters kill, I have to stick around. No choice about it. "It worked," I say. He smiles a gentle smile. "I'm glad."
"Yeah, well." I sigh. "On the way home from San Francisco I had a lot of time to think. I knew there was one thing I had to try. If I couldn't do it, then I was done. I would have gotten up today and handed in my resignation."
"What was that?" he asks. I think he knows. He just wants me to say it.
"I went to a shooting range. Got a Glock and decided to see if I could still shoot. If I could even pick it up without passing out."
"And?"
"It was all there. Like it had never been gone."
He steeples his fingers, looks at me. "There's more, isn't there? Your entire appearance has changed."
I look into his eyes, this man who has tried to help me through these months. I realize that his skill in helping people like me is an amazing dance, a mix of chaos and precision. Knowing when to back away, when to feint, when to attack. Putting a mind back together. I'd rather hunt serial killers. "I'm not a victim anymore, Dr. Hillstead. I can't put it any more simply. It's not something that needs a lot of words around it. It's just true. The way it is." I lean back. "You had a lot to do with that, and I want to thank you. I might be dead otherwise."
Now he smiles. He shakes his head. "No, Smoky. I don't think you'd be dead. I'm glad that you feel I've helped you, but you're a born survivor. I don't think you would have killed yourself, if it came to that."
Maybe, maybe not, I think.
"So what now? Are you telling me you don't need to see me anymore?" It's a genuine question. I don't get the sense that he has already decided what the correct answer would be.
"No, I'm not saying that." I smile. "It's funny, if you had asked me a year ago about seeing a shrink, I would have made some snide comment and felt superior to the people who think they need one." I shake my head. "Not anymore. I still have things to work through. My friend dying . . ." I look at him. "You know I have her daughter with me?"
He nods, somber. "Callie filled me in on what happened to her. I'm glad you took her with you. She probably feels very alone right now."
"She doesn't talk. Just nods. Last night she screamed in her sleep."
He winces. No one sane enjoys the pain of a child. "I would guess that she's going to take a long time to heal, Smoky. She may not talk for years. The best thing to do for now is what you're already doing--
just be there for her. Don't try to approach what happened. She's not ready for that. I doubt she'll be ready for months."
"Really?" My voice sounds bleak. His eyes are kind.
"Yes. Look, what she needs right now is to know that she's safe and that you are there. That life is going to go on. Her trust in basic things for a child--her parents being there, the safety of a home--her trust in those fundamentals has been shattered. In a very personal, horrible way. It will take some time to rebuild that trust." He gives me a measured look. "You should know that."
I swallow once, nod.
"I would say, give it some time. Watch her, be there for her. I think you'll know when it might be right for her to start talking about it. When that time comes . . ." He seems to hesitate, but only for a moment. "When that time comes, let me know. I'd be happy to recommend a therapist for her."
"Thanks." Another thought occurs to me. "What about school?"
"You should wait. Her mental health is the primary issue." He grimaces. "It's hard to say what will happen on that front. You've heard the cliche--and it's true: Children are very resilient. She could bounce back and be ready for the complexity of social interaction that school provides, or"--he shrugs--"she might require homeschooling till she graduates. But I would say, at least for now, that that's the least of your worries. The simple truth is, get her better. If I can help, I will."
A certain relief comes over me. I have a path, and I didn't have to make the decision on my own. "Thanks. Really."
"What about you? How is taking her on affecting your state of mind?"<
br />
"Guilty. Happy. Guilty that I'm happy. Happy that I'm guilty."
"Why so much conflict?" His voice is quiet.
He's not saying that my being conflicted is wrong. He is saying, Tell me why.
I run a hand across my forehead. "I think 'why not' is probably a better question, Doc. I'm scared. I miss Alexa. I worry about fucking it up. Take your pick."
He leans forward, intent. He's got ahold of something, and he won't let it go. "Distill it down, Smoky. I understand there are many factors. Lots of reason for emotion. But break it down to something you can work with."
And just like that, it comes to me. "It's because she both is Alexa and isn't Alexa," I say.
And that is it, that simplicity. Bonnie is a second chance at Alexa, at having a daughter. But then, she isn't Alexa, because Alexa is dead. Not all truths are good, on the surface. Some truths bring pain. Some are just the starting point for an uphill climb, for a lot of tortured work. This truth makes me feel empty. A bell being rung in a windless field.
If I can work through this truth, I know things will change. But the work is huge and ugly and it's going to hurt me.
"Yeah," I manage to say. My voice sounds ragged. I sit up, push away the pain. "Okay. I don't have time for this right now." It comes out sounding harsh. Too bad. I need my anger these days. The hard parts of me.
Dr. Hillstead isn't offended. "I understand. Just make sure that you make time for it at some point."
I nod.
He smiles. "So, back to my original question: What are you going to do now?"
"Now," I say, and just like that, my voice has turned cold, my heart along with it, "I'm going back to work. And I'm going to find the man who killed Annie."
Dr. Hillstead looks at me for a long, long time. It's a gaze like a laser. He's gauging me, deciding if he agrees with my decision. What he decides is evident when he reaches over to his desk drawer and pulls out my Glock. It's still encased in the plastic evidence bag. "I thought you might be telling me something like that, so I had this ready for you." He cocks his head. "That's why you really came to see me, isn't it?"
"No," I say, smiling, "but it was a part of it." I grab the gun and put it into my purse. I stand up and shake Dr. Hillstead's hand. "I also wanted you to see me looking better."
He holds my hand a little longer than is needed. I feel the gentle spirit of this man; it comes out through his eyes. "I'll be here if you need to talk again. Anytime."
And, surprise--tears. I thought I was done with them. Maybe it's a good thing. I don't ever want to be unaffected by kindness, whether from strangers or from friends.
23
THIS IS THE building where I work, honey."
Bonnie has my hand, and she looks up at me, inquisitive.
"Yes, I'm going back to work. I have to tell my boss first."
She gives my hand a squeeze. She seems to approve. We ride first up to the NCAVC Coord offices. When we enter, only Callie and James are there.
"Hi." Callie's voice is tentative. James looks on without speaking.
"Callie, I need to go up and see AD Jones. Can you watch Bonnie for me? I won't be gone long."
Callie studies me for a moment. She looks down at Bonnie, smiling.
"How about it, honey-love? You okay to stay with me?"
Bonnie studies her, and Callie bears this with tender patience. Bonnie nods, letting go of my hand and going over to take Callie's.
"I'll be back in a little bit." I leave, knowing that I have left James and Callie wondering. That's okay. They'll know soon enough. I make my way up to AD Jones's office, which is on the top floor. Shirley, his receptionist, greets me with a professional smile. "Hi, Smoky."
"Hey, Shirley. Is he in?"
"Let me check." She picks up the phone and presses the intercom button. She knows he's in. What she meant was she would find out if he wanted to see me. I don't take it personally. I think Shirley would keep the President of the United States cooling his heels. "Sir? Agent Barrett is here. Uh-huh. Yes." She hangs up. "Go right in."
She snags my sleeve as I move toward the door. There's a slight smile on her face, and it's playful now. "Welcome back. Oh, don't look so surprised. Anyone with half a brain can tell that that's what's going on. You look good, Smoky. Real good."
"You should come work for me, Shirley, a sharp mind like that."
She laughs. "Oh, no thank you. Too tame for me. This job is a lot more dangerous."
I grin back, and open the door. I close it behind me. AD Jones is sitting at his desk, and he's giving me a keen-eyed once-over. He seems to see something he approves of, and nods to himself.
"Take a seat." Once I am sitting, he leans back. "I got a call from Dr. Hillstead about ten minutes ago. He gave you a pass to return to full, active duty. That what you're here to see me about?"
"Yes. I'm ready to come back to work. But I have a proviso: I want to run Annie's case."
He's shaking his head. "I don't know, Smoky. I don't think that's a good idea."
I give him a shrug. "Then I quit. I'll go private and keep looking for them that way."
AD Jones looks like he is trying to keep his jaw from falling open. He also looks pissed. Volcano, H-bomb pissed. "You're giving me an ultimatum?"
"Yes, sir."
He continues to glare at me, shock and anger battling for dominance. Both disappear in a sudden flash. He shakes his head. A hint of a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. "Pretty good hardball there, Agent Barrett. And okay. You're back, it's your case. Keep me in the loop."
That's it. He's dismissing me, telling me to get back to work. I stand up to leave.
"Smoky."
I turn to him.
"Get these motherfuckers."
*
*
*
Back at Death Central, Callie and James are waiting. They know something is up. I realize that this is a critical moment for them, for all of my team. A place where life might change forever. I should have told them when I came in, but I wasn't sure, not a hundred percent, that AD Jones was going to let me run Annie's case. I'd been serious about quitting if he hadn't.
"I'm going to drop Bonnie off with Elaina, Callie." She raises her eyebrows. James looks at me, questioning. "I've kept my word. I'm back."
He nods once, no other questions asked. Callie's face is filled with relief and happiness. I'm glad to see it, but I'm also a little bit sad. I wonder if she thinks things are going to go back to the way they were. I hope not. Things will be good again, yes. Working with my team will be rewarding, as always. But we are older now. Harder. Like the undefeated team who loses their first game, we have learned that we are not invulnerable, that we can be hurt. Even die.
I am changed too. Will they notice that? If they do, will it make them happy, or sad? What I said to Dr. Hillstead is true. I'm done being a victim, but that does not mean that I'm the same Smoky Barrett I used to be.
It was an epiphany that came to me at the shooting range. Like a voice from the God I don't believe in. I realized that I will never love again. Matt was the love of my life, and he is gone. No one will ever replace him. This is not fatalism or depression. It is a certainty, and it brought me a kind of peace. I will love Bonnie. I will love my team. Other than that, I will have only one love now, and it will define the rest of my life: the hunt.
I held the Glock in my hands, and I realized it right there, right at that very moment. I am not a victim, not anymore. Instead, I have become the gun. For better or worse, till death do us part.
24
I LOOK AT Bonnie before we get out of the car. "You doing okay, honey?"
She gazes back at me with those too-old eyes. Nods.
"Good." I ruffle her hair. "Elaina is a very, very good friend of mine. She's Alan's wife. You remember Alan? You met him on the plane."
Nod.
"I think you'll like her a lot. But if you don't want to be here, you just let me know, and we'll figure something else out."
> She cocks her head at me. Seems to be weighing the truth of my words. She smiles and nods. I grin back at her. "Great."
I look in the rearview mirror. Keenan and Shantz are parked in front of the house, ever-present. They know that I'm leaving Bonnie here and that they'll be staying. This almost makes me feel safe about leaving her. Almost.
"Let's go, babe."
We get out of the car and go up to the house, ring the doorbell. After a moment, Alan answers. He looks better than he did on the plane, but still tired. "Hey, Smoky. Hey, Bonnie."
Bonnie looks up at him, examining him by staring straight into his eyes. He bears this with the gentle-giant patience that he personifies, until she gives him a smile that is her equivalent of a thumbs-up. He smiles back. "Come on in. Elaina's in the kitchen."
We enter, and Elaina's head pokes around a corner. Her eyes light up at the sight of me, and it squeezes my heart. This is Elaina. She glows with kindness.
"Smoky!" she cries, rushing toward me. I let myself be embraced by her, return the hug.
She steps back, holding me at arm's length, and we examine each other. Elaina is not as short as I am, but at five foot two she's a dwarf in comparison to Alan. She is incredibly beautiful. Not in a way that stuns you, like Callie; her beauty is a combination of the physical mixed with pure personality. She is one of those women whose depth and goodness texture her entire presence, making you yearn to be near her. Alan summed it up once in a single simple sentence: "She is Mom."
"Hey, Elaina," I say, smiling. "How are you?"
A brief twinge of something appears deep in her eyes, disappears. She kisses me on the cheek. "Much better now, Smoky. We've missed you."
"Me too," I say. "I mean, I've missed you guys."
She looks at me for one meaningful moment, nods. "Much better,"
she says. I know she means me. She turns to look at Bonnie and hunches down so they are face-to-face. "You must be Bonnie," she says. Bonnie looks at Elaina, and it is a moment suspended in time. Elaina just sits there, exuding love in her wordless, unconscious way. It's a force of nature all its own, a power people like Elaina have. Something made to beat down the barriers that pain can erect around the heart. Bonnie freezes. Her body shudders, and something undefined goes shivering across her face. It takes me a moment to place that something, and when I do, pain jolts through me like a lightning strike. It's suffering and yearning, deep and dark and soulful. Elaina's love is powerful. It is raw and elemental. It is not something to fuck with; it takes no prisoners. And it has cut into Bonnie like a knife made of sunlight, cut deep and exposed her hidden pain. All in an instant. Just like that. I watch Bonnie lose an internal battle, watch as her face crumples against her will, and watch as silent tears begin to pour down her cheeks. Elaina holds out her arms, and Bonnie rushes into them. Elaina gathers her up, hugs her close, strokes her hair, croons in that mixture of English and Spanish I remember so well.
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