Bad Thoughts

Chapter 5

January 5. Evening.

The cast had been taken off his leg a few days earlier. Even though his fractured shin had healed, it still felt stiff and Shannon showed a slight limp as he made his way across the street.

Throughout the day he had a tough time concentrating. DiGrazia had lost patience with him several times before finally telling Shannon he had enough of his bullshit. Red-faced, he informed Shannon he’d better get his act together and then stormed out, muttering how he wasn’t going to waste any more time with a useless asshole. Susie called a little before five to see if he was coming home for dinner. He told her he would try. She told him not to bother on her expense and hung up on him. He knew from the iciness that had crept into her voice that she sensed something was wrong with him. Shannon couldn’t help it, though. He couldn’t help the pounding in his head. He couldn’t help how damn dry his mouth felt.

He hung around the precinct until seven o’clock. It was cold out, both windy and sleeting. Central Square was mostly empty; partly because of the weather and partly because the students were still away on Christmas break. Shannon stood in front of O’Leary’s, trying to find the strength to move on. The little resolve he had faded and he opened the door and walked in. Before he knew it he was sitting at the bar, staring at a bottle of bourbon.

The bartender looked at him, knew he was a cop from the way he was dressed, and asked him what he wanted. Shannon had to clear his throat before he could say that he wanted a shot of bourbon. The bartender poured him a double and left it in front of him.

Shannon’s hand felt unsteady as he picked it up. He tried to put it down, but he couldn’t. His head was pounding too much to put it down. He drank it in one gulp. It didn’t help any.

The bartender filled the glass again.

Shannon stared at the glass and found himself getting angry. It was too early for this. February tenth was still over a month away. He never started drinking this early. There was no reason for him to be starting this early.

Except he wasn’t sleeping well at night. It was almost as if he were afraid of falling asleep, afraid of what he would dream about.

The first week after Janice Rowley’s death, he would wake up with vague images of her haunting him. He would wake up wondering how he knew where to find her, wondering why he couldn’t have woken up that night a few hours earlier so he could have saved her. Sometimes he found himself wondering about that dream he had.

After a week the images stopped. The last few days it was something else. Something much worse. He just wished he knew what it was.

Shannon pushed the glass away. He sat for a moment, his body trembling, and then forced himself onto his feet.

It was too damn early to start drinking.