The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(103)
I waited awhile before suggesting he come by to talk. Prepared with an explanation but he said, “Sure, Doc,” and didn’t ask for clarification.
He arrived dressed for work, in a blue suit, white shirt, tie, and the usual Doc Martens. The tie, patterned with Fender Precision Basses.
He doesn’t drink coffee so I’d set out a bottle of water.
He said, “Thanks, Doc,” and drank. “So what’s up?”
I said, “You’d know better than me.”
He looked around the office. “I’m always impressed when I come here how quiet it is. Must be nice.”
“It is.”
“So,” he said.
“So,” I said.
“First can I tell you what I found in Okash’s place? The only thing really.”
You’re not a child. Then again, maybe part of you is, given what you’ve been through.
I said, “Of course.”
He finished the bottle. The blushing began. “It’s not going to be in the book, Loot says the brass don’t want it there, there’s enough going on without feeding the wolves.”
“Makes sense.”
“I guess…okay, let me tell you about her laptop.”
When he finished, I said, “Consistent theme.”
“Exactly, Doc. Maybe it isn’t evidence, but I’m thinking it’s still psychologically meaningful. Like once they found out about her…about what she liked, they could set her up. For what happened. At the party.”
“That makes sense, Sean.”
“Does it? Great.” He ran his fingers through the ginger thatch atop his head. “I always like when I get it right.”
I said, “You don’t need me to tell you.”
“I don’t?”
“You’re a skillful detective, Sean.”
“Am I?”
“Definitely.”
“Definitely…well, definitely is better than not.”
He looked away. A young man caught between the blessings of instinctual sincerity and positivity and the job he’d chosen.
“Sometimes I wonder, Doc. Is this what I should be doing forever. Then I think, What else is there, and I can’t come up with anything—Doc, tell me straight, am I having PTSD?”
“Are you experiencing flashbacks?”
“Nope.”
“Panic attacks?”
“Nope. But sometimes I just kind of…I find myself thinking about what happened. Not reliving it. More like…just remembering it. And then I feel kind of flu-ish for a few minutes—maybe even an hour. Then I’m basically okay.”
“What you went through,” I said, “isn’t something that can be just filed away and forgotten.”
“It’s normal?”
“It’s a normal reaction to an extreme situation.”
“That’s what my wife says.”
“She’s right.”
“She also said I need to talk to someone until I’m feeling myself again. The thing is, I don’t want any disability situation. The department thinking I’m defective.”
He sat forward. “I don’t want to be off the job for one second.”
“I’ve got a good referral for you. Someone with flexible hours.”
His face fell. “You couldn’t do it?”
“We work together, Sean.”
“Yeah…Becky said that, too.”
He looked at the floor. Forced his eyes upward. “Also, you saved my life.”
Tears filled his eyes. “I never really thanked you. And sometimes—I’m ashamed to say this, Doc, sometimes when I see you it makes me think of what happened and I don’t feel that great.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“But I don’t want us to—I don’t want it to be different. I know how Loot feels about you, you’ll always be on the tough ones. That’s what I want. To be on the tough ones. To work with you and not remember.”
“No reason that can’t happen.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am, Sean. The best thing you can do is take care of yourself and stop worrying. Things have a way of working themselves out.”
“With the Lord’s help.” Sheepish smile. “At least that’s how I see it.”
We need all the help we can get.
I said, “Use all your resources. You’ll be fine.”
He let out a long gust of air. “Doc, this is going to sound weird but can I get up and shake your hand?”
“Of course.”
We stood at the same time. Before his fingers reached mine, he pitched forward, threw his arms around me and squeezed.
Then he pulled away, as if stung.
“Sorry, Doc.”
I said, “Nothing to be sorry for.”
“I owe you my life, Doc.”
“Yours is a life worth saving, Sean.”
“It is?—no, scratch that. It is. I actually could use more water.”