Last Man Standing

20

Claire stretched her arms and stifled a yawn. She had been up too early and had worked too late the night before; such had become her life’s routine. Married at nineteen to her high-school sweetheart, she had been a mother at twenty and divorced at twenty-two. The sacrifices she had made over the next ten years while she pursued her medical and psychiatric degrees were too numerous for her to recall. Yet she had no regrets about her daughter, now a freshman in college. Maggie Daniels was healthy, bright and well adjusted. Her father had wanted no part in his daughter’s upbringing and he would be given no role in her adulthood either. Actually, that was up to Maggie, Claire knew, but she had never asked much about her dad and had taken single parenting in stride. Claire had never really gotten back into the social circles and she had finally come to the conclusion that her career would be her life.

She opened her file and studied the notes she had made there. Web London was a fascinating subject for any student of human psychology. From the little Claire had gathered before his very abrupt departure from her office, the man was a walking billboard of personal problems. From the obvious issues in his childhood to his disfigurement as an adult to the sort of dangerous work that he did and seemed to derive so much from, a person could devote her professional life to such a patient. The knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes?”

The door opened and one of Claire’s colleagues stood there. “You might want to come and see this.”

“What is it, Wayne? I’m kind of busy.”

“FBI press conference. Web London. I saw him leaving here the other day. You counseled him, right?”

She frowned at his question and didn’t answer it. But she got up and followed him out to the reception area, where there was a little TV set up. Several other of the psychiatrists and psychologists who had offices here, including Ed O’Bannon, were already assembled and watching the screen. It was lunchtime and none of them appeared to have patients. Several of them held parts of their meals in their hands.

For the next ten minutes or so, Claire Daniels got a much more in-depth look at the life and career of Web London. She found herself putting her hand up to her mouth when she saw Web in the hospital, most of his face and torso bandaged. The man had been through a lot, more than someone should have to go through. And Claire was feeling an incredibly strong urge to help him, despite how dramatically he had ended their session. When the press conference was over and people started to filter back to their offices, Claire stopped O’Bannon.

“Ed, you remember I told you about seeing Web London when you weren’t available?”

“Sure, Claire. I appreciate you doing that, actually.” He lowered his voice. “Unlike some of the others around here, I know I can trust you not to pilfer my patients.”

“Well, I appreciate that, Ed. But the truth is I’ve taken a particular interest in Web. And he and I really hit it off at our session.” She added very firmly: “And I want to take over his counseling.”

O’Bannon looked stunned and shook his head. “No, Claire. I’ve seen London before, and he’s a bit of a tough nut. He and I never really finished exploring it, but he seems to have serious mother-son issues.”

“I understand all that, but I really want to work on his case.”

“And I appreciate that, but he’s my patient and there is something to be said for continuity of treatment, starting with keeping the same doctor.”

Claire took a deep breath and said, “Can we let Web decide?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you call him and let Web decide on which of us he’d prefer?”

O’Bannon looked very annoyed. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“We really seemed to click, Ed, and I think that perhaps another pair of eyes on his case might be beneficial.”

“I’m not liking what you’re insinuating, Claire. My credentials are impeccable. In case you didn’t know, I served in Vietnam, where I dealt with combat syndrome cases, shell shock, prisoners of war who’d been brainwashed, and I was very successful.”

“Web is not in the military.”

“HRT is about as military as you can get for a civilian agency. I know the breed and I speak their language. I think my experience is uniquely suited to his case.”

“I’m not implying anything to the contrary. But Web did tell me that he wasn’t completely comfortable with you. And I know you would agree that the best interests of the patient are paramount.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me on professional ethics.” He paused for a moment. “But he said that—that he wasn’t completely comfortable with me?”

“Yes, but I think that’s more a reflection on the fact that you’re right, he is a tough nut. For all I know, he may not like me once we get going in treatment.” She touched O’Bannon on the shoulder. “So you’ll call him? Today?”

O’Bannon grudgingly said, “I’ll call him.”

Web was driving when his phone rang. He checked the readout on the screen. It was a number in Virginia he didn’t recognize.

“Hello?” he answered cautiously.

“Web?”

The voice seemed very familiar, but nothing clicked.

“It’s Dr. O’Bannon.”

Web blinked. “How did you get this number?”

“You gave it to me. During our most recent session.”

“Look, I’ve been thinking that—”

“Web, I talked to Claire Daniels.”

Web felt his face growing warm. “Did she tell you we talked?” “She did. But she didn’t tell me what you had talked about, of course. I understand that you were in a bit of crisis and Claire tried to get hold of me before talking to you. That’s really why I’m calling.”

“I’m not exactly following this.”

“Well, Claire said that you two really seemed to hit it off. She seemed to think that maybe you would be more comfortable with her. Since you’re my patient, you and I need to consent to such an arrangement.”

“Look, Dr. O’Bannon—”

“Web, I want you to know that we were successful in the past in dealing with your issues and I think we can be again. Claire probably was just embellishing somewhat on your uncertainty about me. But just so you know, Claire does not have the experience I do. I’ve been seeing FBI agents for longer than she has. I don’t like to say this, but between you and me, Claire would be out of her league with you.” He paused, apparently awaiting Web’s answer. “So, we’re good, you’ll continue to see me?”

“I’ll go with Claire.”

“Web, come on!”

“I want Claire.”

O’Bannon was silent for a bit. “Are you sure?” he finally said curtly.

“I’m sure.”

“Then I’ll have Claire get in contact with you. I hope you two click,” he added brusquely.

The line went dead and Web continued driving. Two minutes passed and the phone rang again. It was Claire Daniels.

“I guess you feel like quite the pursued man,” she said in a disarming tone.

“It’s nice to be popular.”

“I like to finish what I start, Web, even if it means upsetting a colleague.”

“Claire, I appreciate everything, and I know I told O’Bannon it was okay, but—”

“Please, Web, I think I can help you. At least I’d like to try.”

He thought about this for a bit as he stared over at the cardboard box. What treasures did it hold? “Can I reach you at this number?”

“I’ll be here until five.”

“After that?”

He pulled into a gas station and wrote down Claire’s cell and home phone. He said he’d call her back later and clicked off. Web punched the numbers into his phone’s memory, pulled back onto the road and tried to think all this through. What he didn’t like was that she was trying really hard, maybe too hard.

Web drove back to the motel room. He checked his messages at home. A few people who had seen the press conference had called to wish him well. And an equal number of voices he didn’t recognize were basically telling him that they wanted to punch him in his cowardly, messed-up face. Once Web thought he heard Julie Patterson’s voice and kids bawling in the background, but he couldn’t be sure. He wouldn’t exactly be at the top of the woman’s phone list.

He sat on the floor with his back to the wall and suddenly felt so sorry for Julie he started to shake. Sure, things were going rough for him right now, but that would blow over. She had the rest of her life to work through, with the weight of a lost husband and child forever around her neck and four young kids to raise on her own. She was a survivor, like Web. And survivors hurt the most of all, for they had to pick up the pieces somehow and go right on living.

He dialed the number and a child answered. It was the oldest, Lou, Jr., all of eleven years old and the man of the house now.

“Louie, is your mom in? It’s Web.”

There was a long pause. “Did you get our dad killed, Web?”

“No, I didn’t, Louie. You know better than that. But we’re going to find out who did it. Go get your mom, son,” he added firmly.

Web heard the boy plunk down the phone and walk off. While he waited, Web felt himself start trembling once more, for he had absolutely no idea what he would say to the woman. His nervousness grew as he heard footsteps approaching the phone and then it was picked up, but the person said nothing.

“Julie?” he finally said.

“What do you want, Web?” Her voice was tired. Ironically, the weary tone was more painful to Web than her angry screams at the church.

“I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.” “There’s nothing you or anybody else can do.”

“You should have somebody with you. It’s not good to be alone right now.”

“My sister and mother came down from Newark.”

Web took a breath. Well, that was good. Julie at least sounded calm, rational. “We’re going to find who did this, Julie. If it takes the rest of my life. I just want you to know that. Lou and the others meant everything to me.”

“You do what you need to do, but that won’t bring them back, Web.”

“Did you see the press conference on TV today?”

“No. And please don’t call again.” She hung up.

Web sat there while he absorbed this. It wasn’t that he had actually expected her to say she was sorry about trashing him the other day. That was far too much to expect. What bothered Web was that he felt dismissed by her. Please don’t call again? Maybe the other wives felt the same way. Neither Debbie nor Cynde nor any of the others had contacted him to see how he was doing. Then again, he reminded himself, their loss was much greater than his. They had lost their husbands. He had just lost his friends. He supposed there was an enormous difference. It was just in his case there didn’t seem to be.

He ran across the street to a 7-Eleven and bought a cup of coffee. It had started to drizzle and the temperature had dropped. What had started as a beautiful warm day now was gray and wet, so common for this area, and so reinforcing for his suicidal spirits.

Web returned to his room, sat on the floor and opened the cardboard box. The documents were musty, some mildewed, the few photos yellowed and torn. And yet he was enthralled by it all, for he had never seen these things before. Partly it was because he had never known his mother had kept these items from her first marriage. And he had also never searched the house for them before either. Why not, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps his relationship with his stepfather had smothered all interest Web had in dads.

He arranged the photos fanlike on the floor and then examined them. His father, Harry Sullivan, had been a handsome man. Very tall and broad-shouldered, he had wavy dark hair worn in a greased pompadour and possessed a confident look as he stared out from the photo. He looked like a 1940s-era film star, young and commanding, with a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. Web could see how Harry Sullivan could be attractive to a young woman who was naive perhaps despite her intelligence and her world travels. Web wondered what his father would look like now, after years in prison, after decades of what he assumed was a fast life to nowhere.

In another photo, Sullivan had his arm around Charlotte’s tiny waist. The man’s arm was so long it curled around her torso and his fingers were placed just under her breasts, maybe even touching them. They looked very happy. Indeed, Charlotte London in her pleated skirt and flip hairstyle looked more beautiful, more enchanting and more excited to be alive than Web had ever seen her. Yet that was part of youth, he supposed. They hadn’t experienced the hard times yet. Web touched his cheek. No, the hard times weren’t great, and they didn’t necessarily always make you stronger. Looking at her so full of life, Web had a hard time believing that the woman was actually dead.

As the rain started to pour harder outside, Web sat in his motel room and sipped his coffee and looked at some of the other items. He fingered the Sullivans’ marriage certificate. Web was surprised his mom had kept that. Then again, it was her first marriage, however awry it might have gone. His father’s signature was surprisingly small for such a big, confident-looking man. And the letters were badly formed, as though old Harry were embarrassed by the exercise of signing his name, unsure of how to make out the letters. An uneducated man, Web concluded.

He laid down the certificate and picked up another slip of paper. A letter. At the top was the heading of a correctional facility in Georgia. The date of the letter was a year after mother and son had fled the convict that the husband and father had become. The letter was typewritten, but Harry Sullivan’s signature appeared at the bottom. And this signature was written bolder, the letters larger and more exactly formed, as though the man had been really working at it. But then, he had had a lot of “free” time in prison.

The contents of the letter were brief. It took the form of an apology to Charlotte and Web. When he got out, he would be a changed man, he claimed. He would do right by them. Well, actually, the letter said that Harry Sullivan would try hard to fulfill all these promises. Web had to concede that it was perhaps brutal honesty on Sullivan’s part, not an easy thing for a man rotting slowly in prison. Web had conducted enough interrogations to know that steel bars and big locks and no future as a free person tended to make people lie shamelessly if they thought it would help their cause. He wondered if the divorce papers had reached his father soon after he had sent the letter. What did that do to a man in prison? His freedom taken and then his wife and son gone too? It certainly didn’t leave a person with much. Web had never faulted his mother for doing what she did, and he didn’t fault her now. Yet these little snippets of his family history made him feel a little sorry for Harry Sullivan, wherever he might be, dead or alive.

Web put the letter aside and spent the next couple of hours going through the other contents. Most were items completely useless to him in tracking down his father, yet Web spent time over them all, if just to get a better feel for the man. His hand closed around two objects that promised a lead. One was an expired driver’s license that had his father’s photo on it, and the other, more importantly, was his Social Security card. These opened up all sorts of possibilities. Web also had another angle to work.

He swallowed his pride, called Percy Bates and apologized to an almost embarrassing degree. Then he told him Harry Sullivan’s name, Social Security number and a guesstimate of the dates of Sullivan’s incarceration in the Georgia prison. Web had thought about calling Ann Lyle with this request but he didn’t want to go to that well too often. Ann had enough to do, and HRT really needed her full attention right now. Besides, she hadn’t gotten back to Web yet on Cove, and he didn’t want her to feel pressured.

“Who is this guy?” Bates wanted to know.

When Web had applied to join the Bureau, he had had to put down his real father’s name, and the investigators had wanted further particulars. He had asked his mother back then to supply more information on the man, but she had absolutely refused to discuss it. Web had told the investigators he didn’t know the whereabouts of his father and had no information to help them track him down. As far as he knew, that had been the end of it. He had passed the background check and was off and running in his FBI career. His last contact with his father had been at age six, and the Bureau couldn’t exactly hold it against Web that his father was a con.

“Just some guy I need to find,” Web told Bates. Web knew that the Bureau was very thorough in its background checks and could very well have information about Web’s father. Web had just never felt inclined to check the file over the years. And yet Bates might know that Harry Sullivan was Web’s father. If so, he was lying very well.

“Any connection to the investigation?”

“No, like you said, that’s off-limits, but I’d really appreciate the favor.”

Bates said he’d see what he could do and then hung up.

Web packed the box away and slid it into a corner. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his voice mail again. He had been obsessive about it since the courtyard and not really sure why. When he heard the voice, he was glad he was so diligent. Debbie Riner wanted to know if Web could come to dinner tonight. He immediately called her back and said he would. She had seen the piece on TV. “I never had any doubts, Web,” she said. He let out a long breath. Life seemed a lot better right now.

He brought up the number he wanted on the phone screen. It was after five, so Claire Daniels wouldn’t be at her office. His finger hesitated over the button. And then he called her. She was in her car heading home, she told him. “I can see you first thing in the morning. Nine A.M.,”she said.

“So, you’ve got all my problems solved?”

“I’m efficient, but I’m not that quick.” He found himself smiling at this remark. “I appreciate you letting me counsel you. I know change is hard.”

“Change I can handle, Claire. It’s the going crazy part that’s bothering me. I’ll see you at nine.”