by D. L. Line
She knows why I’m here. Hell, I might just as well have “defective agent” stamped on my forehead. Let’s get on with this already.
The phone rang sharply on the receptionist’s desk, startling them both. Midway through the second ring, the receptionist picked up the handset and answered with a cheery, “Yes, Doctor.” The person on the other end kept it short, and the receptionist hung up the phone. “Agent McKinnon?”
Terri looked up in response.
“She’s ready for you.” She pointed to a door to her left. “Right through there.”
Terri got up from the sofa and crossed the small space, every step filling her with just a little more apprehension. “Thank you. I remember.” The receptionist returned to her work on the computer and Terri turned the knob, pushed the door open, stepped into the office, and closed the door behind her, wishing she were anywhere else but here. Meeting yet another new therapist who would no doubt tell her she still had more processing to do. Great.
Another middle-aged woman, younger and slightly more attractive than the receptionist, stood up from the high-backed office chair behind her desk, nondescript manila folder in her left hand, and greeted Terri by extending her right hand and introducing herself.
“Agent McKinnon, it’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you have a seat and let’s get started.” Terri accepted the closer of the two chairs facing the desk, taking note of the assortment of Native American artifacts on the shelves and large Navajo rug hanging on the wall. New stuff since her last visit, but the face of the therapist was new also, so she dismissed it quickly.
Terri sat and crossed her legs, attempting to make herself as comfortable as possible. Considering that Terri was somewhere she didn’t want to be doing something she didn’t want to do, any kind of comfortable was pretty much out the window. She settled in as much as she could and waited for the doctor, who finally broke the silence.
“Well, Agent McKinnon... Terri. May I call you Terri?”
Does it matter?
“Sure. That’s fine.”
The therapist pushed the closed file folder out of her way in order to weave her fingers together and lean her forearms on the neat-as-a-pin surface of her desk. “Well then, Terri, since I’m new here and this is the first chance I’ve had to talk with you, how about we start with the basics? It seems the Bureau is concerned about your actions on a case from several months ago. I’ve read the report, but I’m more interested in your views. What happened there?” Besides me falling into a relationship with the victim?
“Well, it was a standard stalking case that involved a recently-released convict who wanted to exact some revenge on the person who, in his opinion, landed him in prison. He committed a series of crimes ranging from simple battery to arson, killing two people along the way.”
“That seems pretty straightforward. Did something unusual happen?”
Unusual. That’s a great word. He tried to murder my girlfriend.
“There was an interesting aspect to the case when the fire department found a body in the basement of his fourth crime scene, an arson attempt. He had duped someone, set him up as a decoy, switched ID, and allowed him to die in the fire. It seemed wrong for his profile, so I questioned it.”
The therapist cocked her head to one side and furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, you questioned it?”
You mean, besides looking for any excuse I could find to stay and protect her?
Terri inhaled deeply and resigned herself to telling the story that she had already told so many times. “There were heavy amounts of alcohol and prescription medications in the body, and it just seemed wrong to me. The perpetrator had eluded us for weeks, and I knew he was smarter than that. I questioned the identification of the body and went to my boss with it.”
“And he approved your actions?”
Well, yes, if you mean he accused me of behaving inappropriately and lying to him, which I was and I did.
“Yes. There were some issues with the local sheriff since there was evidence to support the removal of their backup. That left my partner and me out there on our own. I’m sure McNally—he’s my supervisor—thought I was wrong or else he wouldn’t have left us out there like that.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Hung out to dry for attempting to protect someone I love more than anything.
“It’s policy. I understood the consequences, and I felt our continued presence was worth the risk.” Terri fidgeted in her seat, intently studying the spines of the books on the shelf behind the therapist. She knew that she was being studied as well, so managed to maintain a calm façade, despite her desire to be anywhere but where she was.
“Were you right about the dupe?”
You’re goddamned right I was.
“Yes, it turned out that I was correct and the perpetrator showed up on the target’s property the next evening. My partner and I set up a standard perimeter watch. We patrolled for several hours until a noise in the barn alerted my partner, so he went to check it out. We lost radio contact shortly after that.” Terri shifted in her seat, crossing her left ankle over her right knee to pick at the cat hair on the hem of her slacks.
“So did you call for backup when that happened?”
No, I damn near peed my pants like a little kid because I was so scared that someone was going to hurt my girlfriend that I just fucking forgot.
“No. I thought that there might be radio interference, so I opted to go look for him myself. I had no reason to believe that anything had happened to him.” She sat back and returned her foot to the floor, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And did you locate him?”
Yeah, in a big useless pile on the floor.
“Yes, he had been attacked by the perpetrator, who struck him over the head with a shovel. He was unconscious, so I checked to see if I could assist him.”
“So did you call for backup then?”
No. I panicked. Remember that “so scared I thought I might pee my pants” part? Stay with me here, Doc.
“No. I attempted to do so, but the perpetrator threatened me before I could. He got the drop on me while I was offering assistance to Agent Kraft.”
“He threatened you how?”
God, you’re just dense. He was going to steal my lunch money. What do you think?
“He threatened me with a handgun to the back of my neck.” Terri tilted her head a little to the right, and pointed to the spot with her left index finger. “Right here.”
“That must have been frightening.”
No, it was just like rolling in big, fluffy piles of hugs and puppies. Better than sweaty, naked sex.
“Yes, it was.” Terri inwardly enjoyed the therapist’s shudder at the thought. They always did that.
The barrage of questions continued. “What did you do?”
Remember that “thought I would pee my pants” part? We’re right back there.
“Well, my options seemed limited, until something diverted the perpetrator’s attention.”
“What was that?”
Twelve pounds of neutered mutt with way more balls than I had at the moment. Oh, by the way, he lives with me now.
“Jen... um, Dr. Rosenberg’s dog, Snickers.” Terri smiled a bit as the therapist laughed at her dog’s name. “He evidently had a small problem with strangers and decided to attack Mr. Davis. I saw an opening and I reacted by attempting to strike him in the face with my weapon. Davis, not Snickers.” The therapist appeared to relax a little more, as she leaned back in her chair, making non-committal noises of agreement.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d find it necessary to pistol-whip a dog. But anyway, then what happened?”
Oh, you’re going to love this part. I sure did.
“Then he shot me.” Damn, that hurt. That hurt a lot. Terri hesitated in order to collect herself. The memory of the severity of her injuries, while six months old, was still pretty fresh. She took a long breath. “When I struck him, his gun we
nt off. I was properly outfitted in a Kevlar vest, but the impact broke three of my ribs. I fell pretty hard and cut my face, too.” Terri raised her hand, using her right index finger to lightly touch the scar just above her right eyebrow. “It was a big cut. Took thirteen stitches to close it. When I attempted to turn over to return his fire, the floor of the barn collapsed under me. Davis apparently thought I was either dead or too injured to bother with, so he headed up to the house.”
“What did you do next? Did you call for backup?”
Jesus, here she goes again with the backup thing. Lady, I fucked up. Remember the panicked and scared part? Add bleeding and broken to that.
“No. Davis was ahead of me now and I was concerned that a large show of force would push him over the edge.” Like I was thinking of anything but getting to Jen before he did. “I knew that he had already killed two people, so he had nothing to lose by killing one more. I determined the best course of action and dealt with the problem myself.”
“How did you do that?”
I offered to let him watch us have sex if he wouldn’t blow my girlfriend’s brains out. What do you think I did?
“I determined that the best course of action was to attempt to remove him from the situation. I set myself up strategically and I shot him.”
“And you killed him?”
Terri looked at the floor. “Yes, I killed him.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Haunted, tortured, pained, disturbed. Nothing good, believe me. But then again, I ended his pathetic, waste-of-space existence before he could snuff out the light of my life.
“It was unfortunate, but there was no other option. He already had Dr. Rosenberg pinned to the wall, threatening her with his weapon. If I hadn’t shot him, he would have shot her. There was no other option.”
The therapist was silent for a moment. Terri watched her face, attempting to gauge her reaction to the answers she’d provided to all the stock questions. The therapist took a long moment to center herself. “I will never get used to the level of violence that you people are forced to live with every day.” Since it wasn’t a question, Terri sat and waited patiently to see what would happen next. The next question surprised her.
“Terri, are you married?”
What?
“No, I’m not.”
“Seeing someone, dating, got a boyfriend, anything like that?”
Can I trust you?
“Yes, I am. Actually, I’m living with someone.” Terri crossed her foot over her knee again and picked at some more residual cat hair around the hem of her black slacks, inwardly bracing for the next question.
“Does he have a name?”
Oh, shit. Come out, come out wherever you are. Focus, Terri. She looks okay. Go ahead. Trust her.
“Actually, she does have a name.” The therapist didn’t flinch, not a bit. She raised her eyebrows, silently urging Terri to continue. “Her name is Jen.”
A ghost of a smile floated around the therapist’s mouth for just a moment before it was replaced by a wrinkled forehead and a not so ghostly frown. “Jen... as in Dr. Jen Rosenberg?”
Big time, oh, shit. Well, it’s out there now, Terri. Just do it.
“Yes, Dr. Jen Rosenberg, the target of the perpetrator that we’ve just spent the last few minutes talking about. She got a job offer here at American University, so she moved in with me three months ago.”
“Snickers, too?”
Relax, Terri. She’s okay. Really.
“Yes, Snickers too.” Terri returned to the cat hair on her slacks while the therapist took a second to formulate an opinion.
“So did you start this relationship before or after the shooting?”
Good question, Doc. I can do this.
“Actually, the crimes started out as apparently random events. The only common thread was the victim’s employer. Since Dr. Rosenberg was close by and worked for the same company, Agent Kraft and I interviewed her early in the investigation. Then she asked me out to dinner. Agent Kraft pushed, and I said yes. I did question the appropriateness of my own actions, but decided that since there was no hard evidence at the time to indicate that she was in any danger, I opted to pursue the relationship.”
“And everything’s fine with you two now? You’re getting along okay? No problems?”
We’re getting along finer than you could imagine. You should see her naked. Wait, no. Never mind.
The thought of a naked Jen lifted her spirits considerably. “No problems. We get along great. Everything works just fine for both of us. Her dog even likes my cat.”
“Terri, I’m very happy for you. But I do understand why there was a problem, and why you’re here. Why didn’t you tell either of the other therapists about your relationship?”
That’s another great question. I have a great answer.
“Actually, you’re the only one who’s ever asked. They just hammered me with questions about why I didn’t call for backup. I’m still on restriction, so I guess they didn’t like my answers.” Terri finally stopped fidgeting and looking around the room, focusing her attention fully on the new therapist. “Do you understand? This is important to me that I be reinstated to full duty. I need to get my life back to normal.”
The therapist flipped through her notes and took a deep breath. “Terri, your file says that you’ve been having nightmares. How is that? Are they gone?”
Oh, shit. Not this again.
“I think they’re getting better. It’s been a while since I’ve had one, so maybe they’re gone. I’m not sure.”
“Tell me about them. What are they like?”
Can’t we talk about Jen some more? I like that better.
Terri crossed her foot over her knee again, returning it to the floor quickly as she realized that all the cat hair was gone. “Well, they’re generally the same. It usually starts out with me aiming my gun at someone who is threatening Jen, and then something happens that doesn’t allow me to take the shot. You know, the gun misfires, I get distracted... things like that.”
“And your girlfriend winds up dead.”
“Yes.”
“And you say it’s been a while since you’ve had one of these dreams. How long?”
Five days. But that doesn’t sound like the right answer.
“Probably about a month.”
The therapist leaned forward, resting her forearms on the surface of her desk. “So, Terri, do you know why the Bureau still considers you high risk?”
Besides the spooky dreams and the lying and the poor judgment and the almost getting everyone killed?
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I feel ready to return to full duty. My supervisor seems to believe that I’m not...well...that I’m not predictable. He’s expressed his misgivings about me reacting appropriately in a hazardous situation. I think I understand why, but I really need to get back into it to prove myself.”
The therapist nodded, “Okay, Terri. What I’m hearing from you is that you really want to return to full duty, but your supervisor has noticed that something in your demeanor has changed, and he’s interpreting it as a weakness to act. Does that sum it up?”
“Yes.”
“So if you find yourself in exactly the same situation again, you would react appropriately? You’d make the proper calls for backup and step back if the situation required it?”
Wow, that’s a really loaded question.
Terri knew the right answer, so she offered it up. “Yes.”
“Even if it was Jen?”
I can’t answer that. Please don’t make me answer that.
“I suppose.”
The therapist turned her attention back to the case file on her desk. Leafing through the paperwork, she appeared to be looking for something, but Terri sensed it was more to help her think than anything. The therapist looked up and set the file down. “You see, Terri, this is the problem the way I see it. The FBI needs the answer to that last question to be ‘yes,’ not ‘I suppose.’ You k
now as well as I do that one of the most important weapons in the arsenal of an agent is their professional detachment, and quite frankly, you’ve lost a lot of yours. But you lost it because someone you care for deeply was in danger. I daresay most of us would react exactly the same way, but the FBI needs something extra from you.”
Terri could feel her hope begin to swirl away like water down the drain. This was not going to turn out in her favor, but she remained stoic as the therapist continued.
“What I would like to recommend is that you stay on restriction until we can meet again, say in about two weeks. That will give us another chance to talk, make sure the nightmares really are gone, and reevaluate. I think, most likely, that I can recommend reinstatement at that point, but I’m just not comfortable doing it right now. I hope you understand.”
Terri struggled to remain professional, biting lightly on her lower lip to fight back the tears she felt stinging in the corners of her eyes. “Two weeks?”
“Can you work with that?”
Do I have a fucking choice?
“Yes, I can work with that.”
Chapter Five
Amidst the swirling mass of people at the Metro Center Station, Terri attempted to sort out her own swirling emotions. Sadness, anger, and loss were all firmly entrenched in her busy brain. She needed to find something to pull her from her own depths.
“Damn it, I am not ruining Jen’s evening with all this crap,” she muttered to herself.
She stepped onto the escalator for the ride down to the platform, oblivious to her fellow commuters. When her train arrived, Terri wedged herself into the car between a middle-aged business-suited guy checking his e-mail on a BlackBerry and a kid in a George Washington University sweatshirt. She resisted the urge to resent them for their placid faces and normal expressions. Closing her eyes, she began rehashing her conversation with the therapist. Where had she gone wrong?
Terri was so lost in her own recriminations that she almost missed her stop, sidestepping quickly through the doors of the train as they nearly closed on her. Determined as she was to put on a good face for Jen, the prospects of that happening dimmed as she rode the long escalator up into the bright September sunshine of Dupont Circle. One simple fact remained: she was still out in the cold with the Bureau. She couldn’t do her job, the one she was damn good at. Or at least she used to be. She could only trudge the three blocks home feeling lost and defeated.
