Adam began his new, less promising relationship with his old buddies ‘anxiety’ and ‘depression’ shortly after he arrived in San Diego, just as predicted by Hecate. It began slowly, as Hecate released more and more of the emotions, she could no longer restrain from rushing out of his mind. Adam contacted the Tolan Clinic and told them he was suspending commencing his therapy for a few weeks; there was something he needed to do to adjust his new life but promised this was not designed to avoid treatment. He told Dr. Tolan he was committed to her course of treatment for him but just needed to get something right in his head first. If she wanted, he would drop by every day to visit, maybe begin counseling sessions with Dr. Tolan one-on-one. Perhaps even sit in as a guest in a group session, but he needed a just a bit more time before he could be committed and ready for full engagement in her treatment program.
Adam wasted no time beginning his project; the search for those responsible for Lola’s death. He pressed his political and law enforcement allies, who were many, in both the US and Canada. He was met with silence.
But slowly, as Adam came out of his initial period of grief into a new phase of intense anger, he turned his incredible mind to the minute details surrounding the deaths of Lola and her parents, and Carlos Alarcon. He focused first on the thoroughness of the investigations; things were either very odd or inexplicable. In time, he concluded the police investigation was shoddy at best, incompetent at worst.
There had been an explosion at Mama Luigi’s, but some customers, maybe even Lola and her parents, were still alive according to witnesses, though pinned under rubble and unable to move. The police took over thirty minutes to arrive on the scene; it took over an hour for the medics and ambulances to appear.
“Busy day,” was the explanation. Records obtained by Adam contradicted their story. He raised this with information with the authorities, government contacts at the NYPD and with Alan Fagan at the FBI who was well connected with law enforcement internationally. They all shrugged their metaphorical shoulders and ignored Adam. He was furious. His frustration and bitterness began to turn inward and thus began his dance with an even more profound bout of depression and anxiety. He thought that the time necessary to fully release his anger and frustration would lessen over time; but, as he uncovered more evidence, the exact opposite is what actually happened.
He was told his “evidence” was superficial at best, coincidence and lacking in detail around persons who might benefit from murders and what they might gain. His best evidence would come from his own family, but they steadfastly refused to come forward with evidence citing the danger to the extended family as well as themselves. The death of Carlos Alarcon was sufficient contemporaneous proof to them that any attempt to find the perpetrators of this scheme, whatever it was, was fraught with an unacceptable level of risk. They wouldn’t help Adam. His frustration mounted as his moods swung from one end of the lighter depression spectrum to the other. He wasn’t at the high end of the depression, but most likely at a lower end form of mood depression called “dysthymia.” His condition was likely temporary, treatable without drugs and could be the result of many causes in combination. Loss of a loved one or other traumatic events could bring the onset of symptoms, but often some forms of this type of depression could go untreated, the individual accepting a particular state of depressed mood as normal. This was the initial working theory at the Tolan Clinic, in sharp contrast to the evaluation of more dire consequences by another therapist Adam had seen at Kalindra’s request in LA on his way down to San Diego.
When Adam finally engaged in therapy, Dr. Tolan surmised that the abandonment by Misti so suddenly, without explanation and closure, was a persistent issue in his life he had never fully explored. He merely stuffed it deep down inside himself and carried on thinking that his work was the cure-all for any emotional trauma, including a broken heart. But Adam’s relation with Misti had been life-long; this was not heartache, this was searing pain that remained with him, infecting other relationships. His feeling of betrayal by family compounded his negative moods and, at times, exacerbated his anxiety. Who would betray him next? Why?
This less terrifying diagnosis wasn’t meant to suggest that therapy was unnecessary; left untreated and without resolution of the underlying causes once identified, his condition could worsen materially into something far more severe. Adam gave Dr. Tolan permission to discuss his situation, treatment and progress freely with Kalindra under the strict condition that nothing she learned would be shared with anyone. That included Zeke during pillow talk.
Kalindra readily accepted this one condition and agreed to use the privilege only to assess what steps she would need to take, if any, to protect Adam’s company and business interests.
Dr. Tolan then attempted to unwind the relationship between the Misti abandonment, his family response and finally the death of his fiancé and her family. The last event was the breaking point at which symptoms such as holding non-existent conversations and solving imaginary problems became common daily events.
Adam wasn’t crazy; he was merely in pain.
After months of one-on-one sessions, Adam was ready to begin with a group, one in which patients with similar behaviors were paired in group sessions. Adam was apprehensive at first; he liked his one-on-one sessions. One-on-one counseling with Dr. Tolan had helped him begin to understand and face the consequences of what had happened in his life. He still was not ready to fly solo, but he could see an integration back to his old life in the distance. He still needed the comfort of therapy to support him in an environment in which no one judged or ridiculed any feeling or experience.
Group was better than expected, though truthfully, he had no expectations other than the anxiety of showing up and sharing. Adam was a profoundly private man; sharing history and pain would not be easy.
After a while, it was not uncommon for Adam to invite his group and therapists to his place for dinner, or to go to events as a group. He was making progress, but still couldn’t let go of knowledge that there were people out there, for real, and known to his family, who were responsible for the death of his loved ones and shattering his life.
Adam vowed to stay the course, and when he was ready, he would find these monsters and deliver old school justice. He worried about his family in Seattle, the Eight Families, but had no compassion for the Barrows Bay crowd. As far as he was concerned, they were a part of the problem, not the solution. He had severed all connections to them, and that was how it would remain.
Hecate the Immortal was always in his mind with the children and that, as much as anything, drove his recovery forward. It wasn’t all revenge. There was still joy in his life, and his Immortal wife was the one who calmed his spirit the most.
Still, he would have his day, and Hecate promised that when he was ready, she would be right there at his side as she had been for tens of thousands of previous lifetimes.
***
On the day Adam began his journey with his new group, his newly assigned “buddy” for group was absent due to extenuating circumstances. She lived in a crappy apartment in OB, Ocean Beach, and took the bus each day to the Tolan Clinic in downtown San Diego. The woman, Patsy Murray, was stuck on the freeway connecting Ocean Beach, Pacific Beach and Mission Beach to the I-5, which in turn led south to the downtown area. From her stop, she walked to the clinic. Her daily commute was an hour and a half each way. Longer if she hit rush hour traffic.
She had called her group therapist to say her bus had broken down and she would likely not be in that day. Adam asked if the group could wait a while, hang out and talk Padres baseball while he went to collect his new “buddy.” Seemed like the polite thing to do.
***
“Patsy? Patsy Murray? Are you here? Anywhere on this bus? Looking for Murray, comma, Patsy. Known CIA assassin and jewel thief. If you’re here, and I know you are, then please show yourself. I have important news about your work release and probation. My name is Adam St. James an
d I’m your new study buddy at the Tolan Institute for Lost Causes. Patsy?”
Silence.
“C’mon, Dr. Tolan sent me. We have group. We’re late. Don’t worry people; she’s harmless unless provoked by men like me.”
A woman sitting in the back of the bus stood up, excused herself as she pushed past the other riders and stood squarely in front of Adam, inches away. She was shorter than Adam, who was 6’1”, blond hair, hazel eyes and dressed in a T and jeans, his footwear of choice, flip-flops. He was, however, driving a Porsche.
Adam asked, “Ever heard of ‘personal space’? If you promise not to hit me, I’ll show you my ID.”
Adam pulled out his wallet and handed Patsy a card.
“This is your Costco card. I need a picture ID.”
“I’m standing right in front of you. You can see me clearly.”
“C’mon, drivers’ license and Clinic ID. Hand them over.”
“You have trust issues, that’s clear. I’m a doctor you know?”
“MD?”
“No, Computer Engineering. Why so picky?”
“If you’re at the Tolan Clinic, then you know why. You could be delusional.”
“I think you’re very pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“But, as you said, I may be delusional.”
Patsy examined his ID and concluded he was relatively safe.
“That your ride?”
“Yep. Stolen. Do you know how much these things cost? Who in their right mind would buy a car that costs more than a house? I mean what kind of idiot would do that? I hot-wired it.”
“Liar.”
“Yeah, but it could be true. I mean it’s feasible. I’m told I look shifty.”
“You look like Adam St. James. The computer nerd turned billionaire who somehow found his way here. Tolan already gave me the lowdown on you.”
“Do people really say ‘lowdown’ anymore. What are you, like seventy years old?”
“Drive before I have to call Tolan and rat you out. Extreme annoyance syndrome; EAS. Obviously, you are afflicted.”
“That kinda hurts my feelings. Are you always mean, or just mean to me?”
“I haven’t decided. But we are now buddies, so let’s make the best of this while we’re still young.”
“Jeez, Grouchy McGrouch. Meds are in the glove box.”
Patsy reached in and pulled out a bottle of 81 mg time release aspirin.
“You call these meds?”
“If you’re having a heart attack, yes.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“And you don’t look a day over twenty-seven. You’ve aged well.”
“Is there any way to turn off your mouth?”
“Tell me you like me already, and I’ll stay quiet all the way to the Clinic.”
“Promise?”
“No, of course not. You had it right the first time. I’m a congenital liar and a thief.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. What would you like to know?”
“Which ring of hell am I on with you right now?”
“Number seven. No resorts, just me. Hawaii, only much hotter.”
Patsy reached into her backpack and pulled out a set of headphones.
“Noise canceling?”
“Top of the line.”
“Harsh, Patsy Murray, harsh. But just you wait, I’ll grow on you.”
“Are their ointments for that?”
“Wow, cruel yet witty. I like you, Patsy Murray. We’re going to be great friends.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“I know. Me too.”
Chapter 7
For the next few days in the group, the other pairs of buddies gave their stories, stories of hope, progress, and recovery. Most had suffered multiple traumas that had culminated in bouts of depression and anxiety that had manifested in many different ways. The vast majority had accepted this was their “normal,” and though not experiencing emotions like other friends and family members, it was simply their cross to bear. Men were often told to “buck up” and women to suffer in silence; the plight of women in society was just as it had always been. Their fears and anxieties were the same as all women everywhere.
Then a new trauma would trigger a reaction and, now being older and better informed, sought treatment. Adam listened to their stories, their treatment, and roads to recovery. Like him, they felt courageous and optimistic that they had faced their challenges and would, in time, be rewarded with happiness and a better life. That the weight of the concrete shoes afflicting them was dissolving away, freeing emotional space for a rich and fulfilling life they might never have otherwise known.
As the newest in the group, Patsy and Adam went last. Patsy felt she had less to say, so she went first. She was brief, which led Adam to conclude that she was holding back. She was either not ready to share or still too traumatized to open up to her therapists and fellow travelers. Adam had considered himself closed off and walled in by events in his life; Patsy seemed more encased in her emotional confinement than he had ever been. Still, her outward appearance was cheerful, though sarcastic and at times caustic. Many in the group just avoided her sharp tongue and any interaction with her; they didn’t want that kind of negativity anywhere near them. She apologized when even she stepped over the line, but in truth, she thought, what had she done wrong? She was iron surrounded by a bunch of eggs about to be made into an omelet.
“I don’t have much to say, so I’ll be brief. I am a genealogist and worked happily for a firm in Philly. I had two best friends, a guy and a gal, a couple who were in love like two peas in a pod. We all worked together in the same place. Adrenalin junkies, who climbed mountain hiked and camped, did mountain biking, bouldering and repelling.
“We went for a weekend camping trip and found a spot they wanted to repel, so they geared up, and we tied off their ropes on a huge tree. It was unusual for my friends not to check my knots, but this one time they didn’t. It was a new knot my friend Martin had just shown me how to tie, so I used it as he requested. They got a maybe a hundred feet of the way down a seven-hundred-foot rock face, and the knots unraveled. They fell to their deaths on the jagged rocks below; I watched them spiral down, silent yet holding hands, staring at their lifeless bodies and waiting for Mountain Rescue to arrive.
“I fell apart. I alternated between crying all day in bed at home, to crying all day at work, to short bouts of lucidity when I could actually carry out a work assignment. Worst were the stares my co-workers gave me; a few intrepid souls even asked how I was doing. I hid away in my office, drapes drawn. Only my boss, the owner, stopped by every day. One day he came in, shut the door and informed me I was on my way to San Diego, to a clinic where he arranged for me to enroll, and that I should take the time to get well. He would miss me but couldn’t bear to watch me in grief any longer.
“I resisted of course; I’m tough, I’m strong, I don’t need stupid counseling that only weak people need as an excuse for being pathetic and fragile. I was none of those. I am Patsy Murray, one tough girl, raised with four brothers who could take any kid on the playground whenever I wanted to. I was the fifth brother in the family, and I never let anyone ever forget it.
“My boss said that needing help for circumstances we cannot change shows wisdom and strength, not weakness. He was ordering me to go; he couldn’t witness my pain any longer.”
“We’ve got insurance, and I’ll help out. You have six months then I expect you back here cracking the whip and bossing everyone around just like before. Now go. I have a plane ticket ready for you, and you’ll have a stipend for expenses.”
“Thanks, Frank.”
“And Patsy?”
“Yes?”
“Please try. Please come home to us here. We love you.”
***
Adam wrapped his arms around Patsy, a slight woman, freckled with milky white skin and a mane of bri
ght red hair.”
“You’re my hero. That was brave.”
“You want to cop a feel. Typical male.”
“That too. But you’re still my hero.”
Patsy smiled. No one ever “got” her; Adam did. This time, for the first time in a long time, she did not recoil from the touch of a man. She let him hold her. It felt good; safe.
Dr. Tolan looked at Adam. “You’re up.”
Adam looked at his watch and noticed the time. “I’ve got like twenty minutes, Doc. I need a lot more time than that.”
“How much? We can hold over a little while if everyone agrees.” Adam was popular, so heads shook in the affirmative all around.
“I calculate two and a half days should be enough.”
Everyone laughed. Adam always had something funny to say, though he warned that the line between truth and fiction could be blurry when he spoke. His fellow patients didn’t mind. Unlike Patsy, Adam was warm and caring, taking time to listen to his fellow travelers, no matter what the issue.
“An extra half hour then. That’s final.”
“You’re the boss, but then I have to leave out the story of how I was born in the mountains of Tanzania and raised by Neandertals. It’s a heartwarming tale, complete and utter nonsense, but it might help you understand me better.”
Everyone laughed again, even Patsy, who gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs to cut the crap and get going.
“You guys used to be fun. Now you’ve turned on me.”
“Non-fiction, please, Mr. St. James. And while we’re still young.”
***
“The tipping point for my rough patch was the murder of my fiancé and her family, but my issues, I now realize began long before that. I have been different and an outsider for most of my life. It may not seem so, but I am a genius, off the chart and wealthy. I had wonderful parents and friends who tried to understand me. And since age eight, I had a girlfriend I knew and loved all my life. Right up to the day she graduated from high school and broke up with me, giving no reason or explanation. She just said she didn’t want me anymore, wanted to experience other men and life without me around. I was devastated.
Patsy Murray Page 6
