Last Man Standing

22

Web had spent considerable time in the Vic cruising the streets near where the slaughter had taken place. He was on unpaid leave and not part of the official investigation. Thus he could request no backup, should he need it, nor did he have a clear idea of what he was looking for. The darkness of the streets was broken by the uniform glare of traffic lights. There were cameras at many of these intersections ostensibly to photograph drivers who ran red lights. However, Web thought they actually might be serving the dual purpose of surveillance devices in these high crime areas. He had to appreciate the ingenuity of the local criminals, though, because many of the cameras had been knocked out of their viewing lanes. Some pointed to the sky, others to the earth, a few at buildings, still others had been smashed. Well, so much for Big Brother.

Web kept checking messages at home. No more wives had called. Cynde and Debbie had probably worked the grapevine, informed the others that they had done the dirty work of getting him clear of all their lives. Web could almost hear the ladies’ collective sigh.

Web had finally made another appointment to see Claire. She did not mention his parting insult and second abrupt exit from her office. She merely noted the time and said that she would see him then. The woman must have a really thick skin, he thought.

There were several other people in the waiting room when Web got there. None of them made eye contact and Web attempted none. He supposed that’s the way it was in a shrink’s waiting room. Who wanted strangers to see you attending to your insanity?

Claire came out and got him with a reassuring smile and handed him a fresh cup of coffee, the cream and sugar already in it, just like he liked it. They settled in her office.

Web slid a hand through his hair. “Look, Claire, I’m sorry about last time. I’m not usually that big a jerk. I know you’re just trying to help and I know none of this is easy to figure out.”

“Don’t apologize for doing exactly what you should be doing, Web, which is getting all these thoughts and feelings out in the open so that you can deal with them.”

He gave her a weak smile and said, “So where to today, Doc? Mars or Venus?”

“To start off with let’s explore post-traumatic stress disorder and really see if it applies to your case.”

Web inwardly smiled. Now, this he could handle. “Like shell shock?”

“That term is very often misused, and I want to get a little more precise. Now, clinically speaking, you have probably suffered traumatic stress with the events that transpired in that courtyard.”

“I’d probably agree with that.”

“Well, let’s test that conclusion. If that is the diagnosis, then there are several proven methods of coping with it, including stress management techniques, proper nutrition and sleep patterns, relaxation drills, cognitive reframing and prescription anxiolytic medications.”

“Damn, sounds simple,” he said sarcastically.

She looked at him in what Web thought was a strange way.

“Sometimes it is simple.” She looked down at her papers. “All right, have you noticed any changes in yourself physically? Chills, dizziness, chest pain, elevated blood pressure, difficulty breathing, fatigue, nausea, anything like that?”

“The first time I went back to the courtyard and went over what happened, I felt a little dizzy.”

“Anything since then?”

“No.”

“All right, have you been excessively excitable since then?”

Web didn’t have to think long. “No, not really.”

“Any type of substance abuse to help you cope?”

“Nothing! I’ve been drinking less, actually.”

“Flashbacks of the event?”

Web shook his head.

“Do you feel numb, wanting to avoid life, people?”

“No, I want to find out what happened. I want to be proactive.”

“Are you more angry, irritable or hostile than normal with people?” She looked at him and smiled. “Present company excluded.”

Web returned the smile briefly. “Not really, Claire. I think I’ve been relatively calm, actually.”

“Persistent depression, panic attacks, heightened anxiety or phobia formations?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Okay, do you have repetitive memories of the event that intrude suddenly on your thoughts? Traumatic dreams or nightmares, in other words?”

Web spoke slowly as he picked his way through this mental minefield. “The night in the hospital, after it happened, I had some bad dreams. They had me drugged up, but I remember I kept apologizing over and over to all the guys’ wives.”

“Perfectly natural under the circumstances. Anything since then along those lines?”

Web shook his head. “I’ve been really busy with the investigation,” he said by way of defense. “But I think about it all the time. I mean, what happened in that courtyard, it crushed me. Like a pile driver. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“But in your line of work you have experienced death before?”

“Yes, but never to any of my team.”

“Do you find you’ve blocked part of what happened out of your mind, something we refer to as memory dysfunction or amnesiac syndrome?”

“No, I pretty much remember every damn detail,” Web replied wearily.

While Claire looked down at her notes, Web blurted out, “I didn’t want them to die, Claire. I’m sorry that they did. I would do anything to have them back.”

She looked up at him and put aside her notes. “Web, listen to me very carefully. Just because you don’t have the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder does not mean you don’t care what happened to your friends. It doesn’t mean you’re not suffering. You have to understand that. What I see in you is a man who is suffering all the normal symptoms of having gone through an ordeal that would have left most people unable to function, at least for quite a long time.”

“But not me.”

“You have unique skills, years of training and a psychological makeup that aided you considerably in being selected for HRT in the first place. I’ve learned a lot more about HRT since you came to me. I know that the physical pounding and stress they put you through is extraordinary, but the ordeal they put you through mentally is even more daunting. Because of both your physical and psychological makeup, you can deal with more than just about anyone, Web. You survived that courtyard, obviously not just with your life but also with your mind intact.”

“So I don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“No, I don’t think that you do.”

He looked down at his hands. “Does this mean we’re done?”

“No. Just because you’re not traumatized over what happened in that courtyard doesn’t mean you don’t have some issues that need working through. Perhaps some issues that have been with you since long before you joined HRT.”

He sat back, instantly suspicious; he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Like what?”

“That’s what we’re here to talk about. You mentioned that you felt a part of your colleagues’ families. I’m wondering if you ever wanted a family of your own.”

Web thought about this for a while before answering. “I always thought I’d have a big family, you know, lots of sons to play ball with and lots of daughters to spoil, let them wrap old dad around their pretty little fingers, and me smiling all the way.”

Claire picked up her pad and pen. “And why didn’t you?”

“Years got away from me.”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

She looked at his face, both the good and the bad. Web turned away just like he had last time.

“Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn the injured side of your face away when someone looks at it.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really think about it.”

“It seems to me, Web, that you think very carefully about everything you do.”

“Maybe you’d be surprised.”

“We haven’t talked about personal relationships. Are you dating anyone?”

“My job doesn’t leave a lot of time for that.”

“Yet the other men on your team were all married.”

“Maybe they were just better at it than me,” he said curtly.

“Tell me, when did you receive the injuries to your face?”

“Do we really have to go there?”

“It seems as though you’re uncomfortable with this. We can go on to something else.”

“No, what the hell, I’m not uncomfortable about it.” He stood, took off his jacket, and while Claire watched in growing amazement, Web undid the top button on his shirt to reveal the bullet wound on his neck. “I got the injuries to my face right before I got this injury.” He pointed to the wound on the base of his neck. “Some white supremacists called the Free Society took over a school in Richmond. While my face was on fire, one of them got me with a .357 Magnum round. Nice clean wound, went right through me. Another millimeter to the left, I’m either dead or a quad. Now, I got another one, but I won’t show you the hole. It’s right here.” He touched the wound near his armpit. “That bullet was what we in the business call a Chunneler round. You know, like the tunnel under the English Channel and those monster drills that dug it? It is damn wicked ordnance, Claire, steel-jacketed. It spirals into you at about Mach Three. And if anything gets in its way, it’s pulverized. It went right through me and then killed the guy behind me who was looking to pop my head open with a machete. If it had been a dum-dum round instead of steel-jacketed, the bullet would still be in me and I’d be dead from a machete sticking in my skull.” He smiled. “I mean, can you believe the timing on that one?”

Claire looked down, remaining silent.

“Hey, Doc, don’t look away, you haven’t seen the best yet.” She glanced up as he cupped his chin with his hand and angled the damaged side of his face so it was fully on display for her. “Now, this beauty came from a flame gusher that almost took out my good buddy Lou Patterson—you know, the late husband of the woman who dissed me to the whole world? I’m sure you saw that on TV, right? Damn shield melted right to my face. They tell me a doctor and a nurse fainted when they saw me at the hospital in Richmond. The whole side was a raw, open wound. Somebody said I looked like I had already decomposed. Five operations, Claire, and the pain, well, let me tell you the pain just doesn’t come any better. They had to strap me down more than a few times. And when I saw what was left of my face, all I wanted to do was put a gun in my mouth and chew on a round, and in fact I almost did. And after finally getting past all of that and checking out of the hospital, it was really fun to see how the women ran screaming when they saw old Web coming their way. My little black book just went right down the old toilet. So, no, I really don’t date that often, and marriage just seemed to take a backseat to important things like taking out the garbage and cutting the grass.” He sat back down and buttoned his shirt. “Anything else you want to know?” he asked amiably.

“I actually saw the Bureau press conference where they revealed a lot about how you received your injuries. What you did was incredibly heroic. Yet it seems like your view of yourself is someone who is unattractive and unacceptable to women.” Then she added, “And I’m also wondering if you think you would have made a good father.”

Damn the woman, she just didn’t quit. “I’d like to think so,” he said evenly, trying very, very hard to keep his temper in check.

“No, I’m asking you if you do think so.”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” he said angrily.

“Do you think if you had children, you would have ever abused them?”

Web came halfway out of his chair. “Claire, I’m about two seconds from walking out of here! And not coming back.”

She stared him down. “Remember, when we first started therapy, I said you had to trust me. Now, therapy is not easy, Web, particularly if you have issues you don’t want to address. All I’m trying to do is help, but you need to deal straight with me. If you want to waste time with histrionics, that’s your call. I’d prefer to be more productive.”

Psychiatrist and lawman stared at each other for a very long moment. Web finally was the one to blink and he sat back down. He had just achieved a much better appreciation for Romano’s plight with Angie. “I wouldn’t have beaten my kids. Why would I, after what Stockton did to me?”

“What you say seems perfectly logical. However, the reality is that most parents who abuse their children were also abused as children. It’s not as easy as learning from our parents’ mistakes because our emotional psyche doesn’t work that efficiently. And children aren’t equipped to think that way. They are powerless to resist the abuse and thus they repress the hatred and anger and feelings of helplessness often over many years. It doesn’t just go away by itself, this boiling pot of confusion, feelings of betrayal or the low self-esteem that accompanies the abused child—Daddy or Mommy can’t love me because they hit me and it must be my fault, because Daddy and Mommy can do no wrong. Abused children grow up and have children, and sometimes they work through their problems and become outstanding parents. Other times, the anger and hatred that has lain dormant for so long comes out and is directed at their own children, just as it was done to them.”

“I would never raise my hand to a child, Claire. I know what I do for a living might make me seem that way, but I’m not like that.”

“I believe you, Web. I really do. But more to the point, do you believe you?”

His face flushed again. “You are really throwing me here, lady.”

“Let me phrase it more directly, then. Do you think it just possible that your decision not to marry and have children may have come from the fact that you were abused and you feared you may abuse your own children? It’s not unheard of, Web; it’s really not. Some might claim it’s the ultimate sacrifice, in fact.”

“Or the ultimate running away from your problems.”

“Some might claim that too.”

“What do you think?”

“It could very well be you’re both. But if that is the reason you’ve held back from marriage and a family, we can work through it, Web. And while I can understand how the injuries to your face might make it difficult for some women to be attracted to you, don’t think all women are like that, because they’re not.”

He shook his head and then stopped, glanced up at her, held her gaze. “When I was sitting out in the middle of Montana during yet another standoff with yet another group pissed off at the government, I’d spend my morning watch drawing beads on the guys with my sniper rifle as they passed by the window. I spent several hours every day just waiting for the moment when I’d have to kill one of them. That sort of thing just wears you down, Claire, the waiting-to-kill part. So when I was off watch, sitting under the stars in the evenings out there in the middle of nowhere Montana, I used to write letters home.”

“To whom?”

Web looked a little embarrassed and took a few moments to get going, for he had never revealed this before to anyone. “I pretended I had kids.” He shook his head and couldn’t even look at her now. “I even made up names like Web Junior, Lacey. My youngest was Brooke, with red hair and teeth missing. And I’d write them all letters. I actually sent them to my house, so they’d be waiting there when I got home. In the middle of waiting to kill a bunch of losers in Montana who were so outgunned it wasn’t even funny, I’m writing to Brooke Louise and telling her Daddy will be home soon. I actually started believing I had a family back home. It’s really the only thing that got me through, because I finally did have to pull that trigger and the population of Montana dropped by a couple.” He stopped and wiped his mouth, swallowed what seemed to Web like a mountain of belly bile and stared at the carpet. “When I got home, there were all those letters waiting for me. But I didn’t even read them. I already knew what they said. The house was empty. No Brooke Louise.”

He finally looked up. “That’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?” he said. “Writing letters to kids you don’t even have?”

Without trying to, Web could see that he had finally gotten to Claire Daniels.

When Web left Claire’s office and saw the two people conversing in low voices in the waiting area, he blanked for a second, because the context was wrong. O’Bannon was standing there, and that fit, for the man worked here, after all. The woman he was there with, though, she shouldn’t be here. When she glanced over and saw Web standing there, Debbie Riner actually gasped.

O’Bannon saw Web too and came over to him, his hand extended.

“Web, I didn’t know you were going to be in today. I guess there was no way I would know, Claire and I don’t exactly share calendars, bit of an ethical nightmare if we did.”

Web didn’t take the doctor’s hand; he kept staring at Debbie, who seemed frozen, like she had just been caught in a tryst with O’Bannon.

O’Bannon looked between them. “Do you two know each other?” Then he smacked his forehead and answered his own question. “HRT.”

Web moved over to Debbie, who was pulling a tissue out of her purse.

“Deb? You’re seeing O’Bannon?”

“Web,” O’Bannon said, “that’s really confidential.”

Web waved the little man off. “Yeah, I know, top secret.”

“I never liked this common waiting area—it’s not good for patient privacy, but there’s no other configuration possible,” O’Bannon said, though the two were clearly not listening to his complaint. Finally, he said, “See you, Debbie.” To Web he said, “Take it easy, Web. I’m sure Claire’s doing wonders for you.” He looked at Web inquiringly.

She is, Doc, Web wanted to say. The woman’s doing such wonders for me, she’s driving me nuts.

Web held the door for Debbie and they walked to the elevators. She wouldn’t look at him and Web felt himself growing red in the face, with anger, embarrassment, he wasn’t quite sure what.

He finally said, “I’m seeing a shrink to help me through what happened. I guess you are too.”

She blew her nose and finally looked at him. “I’ve been seeing Dr. O’Bannon for well over a year, Web.”

Again he stared blankly at her, and didn’t even hear the elevator doors open.

“Are you going down?” Debbie wanted to know.

They got out on the street and were about to go off in different directions when Web swallowed his confusion and said, “You got time for a cup of coffee, Deb?” He was absolutely certain that she wouldn’t have any time at all for the likes of him.

“There’s a Starbucks around the corner. I know the lay of the land quite well around here.”

They sat with their Grande cups in a lonely corner while shiny machines whirred, slurped and sputtered for their thirsty customers.

“Over a year, you say? You’ve been seeing a shrink all that time?”

Debbie stirred sprinkles of cinnamon deep into her cup. “Some people are in therapy their whole lives, Web.”

“Yeah, other people. Not people like you.”

She looked at him in a way she never had before. “Let me tell you about people like me, Web. When Teddy and me were first married he was regular military. I knew what I was in store for, assignments overseas where no one spoke your language, or else in swampy backwater USA where you had to drive a hundred miles to go to the movies. But I loved Teddy and I went, eyes wide open. Then he went Delta. And the kids started coming, and while we mostly stayed in one place, Teddy never was in that place. Half the time I didn’t know where he was. Dead or alive. I’d read about it in the newspaper or see it on CNN like everybody else. But we got through that. Then he joins HRT, and I thought it might actually be better. My God, nobody told me HRT was even crazier than Delta, Web, or that my husband would be gone more than he ever was before. I could take it when I was twenty with no kids. I’m not twenty anymore, Web. And I’ve got three kids that I raised pretty much on my own, on Teddy’s paycheck, which, after all those years of serving his damn country, was about what a cashier at Kmart earns. I was there every day for my children and all my youngest wants to know is, why did Daddy have to go away? Why can’t Daddy come home? And I have absolutely no answer to give her.”

“He died fighting the good fight, Deb. He died for his country.”

Her fist came down so hard on the table, the slurping customers all turned and stared. “That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it.” With a monumental effort, she gathered herself.

To Web, the woman seemed like an erupting volcano desperately trying to recall its lava.

She said, “He made his choice. He wanted to be with his buddies and his guns and his adventures.” Her voice grew calmer, sadder. “He loved you guys. He loved you, Web. God, you have no idea how much he did. Far more than he cared about me, or even his own kids, because he didn’t know them half as well as he knew you. You guys fought together, you saved each other’s lives, each day you walked in harm’s way and were good enough and trained hard enough to make it through. As a team. The greatest damn team there ever was. He talked to you about things he never would with me. He had this whole other life I could never be a part of. And it was more exciting, more of a rush than anything else he had.” She spread her arms wide. “How can a mere wife and family compete with all that? Teddy would only tell me things here and there about what he was doing, just little tidbits to keep peace in the family.” She shook her head. “There were so many days I hated all of you for taking him away from us.” She put a tissue to her eyes to catch the tears.

Web wanted to put his hand out and touch her, but he didn’t know if that would be welcome. He felt guilty of grand and awful crimes, and he never realized he’d even been indicted.

“Did Teddy go to therapy too?” he asked quietly.

Debbie wiped her eyes clear and took a sip of her coffee. “No. He said if anyone at HRT found out he was seeing a shrink they’d throw him off the team, that there was no room for guys with weaknesses on HRT. And, besides, he said, he had no reason to go to a shrink. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, even if I had some crazy problem. He didn’t want me to go, but I put my foot down for once in my life. I had to, Web, I had to talk to somebody. And I’m not the only HRT wife who’s seeing a psychiatrist. There are others, like Angie Romano.”

Angie Romano! Web wondered if she came to talk about Paulie. Maybe he beat her. No, more likely she beat Paulie. “I’m sorry you weren’t happy, Deb. You deserve to be.” At his house Web had a hundred pictures of himself and his Charlie buddies doing fun things together. And not one wife appeared in any of those photos because they had never been invited to come. Web had judged others without walking in their shoes. It was not a mistake he cared ever to repeat, for the exposure of one’s ignorance could be so devastating and complete.

She looked at him, reached out and touched his hand, even attempted a smile. “So, now that I’ve unloaded on you like a ton of bricks, how’s your therapy going?”

Web shrugged. “It’s going. I’m not sure where. I know it doesn’t come close to what you lost, but it suddenly occurred to me that those guys were all I had in my life. And they’re gone and I’m still here and I’m not sure why. I don’t think I’ll ever be sure why.”

“I’m sorry what Julie Patterson did to you. She’s totally screwed up. She was never that stable to begin with. She resented you guys, I think, most of all.”

“Julie could do it to me again and I’d take it again,” he said flatly.

“You should get out now, Web. You’ve paid your dues. You’ve damn well served your country. You’ve given enough. They can’t ask for any more of you.”

“I figure after about thirty years of psychobabble, I’ll be as good as new.”

“It does work, Web. O’Bannon’s even hypnotized me; got me to think about things I never thought I could. I guess they were hidden really deep inside.” Debbie gripped his hand more tightly. “I know the dinner at my house was awful. We didn’t know what to say to you. We wanted to make you feel comfortable, but I know we didn’t. I’m surprised you didn’t run out screaming before dessert.”

“It wasn’t your job to make me feel comfortable.”

“You’ve been so good with everybody’s kids over the years. I want you to know how much we all appreciated that. And there’s not one of us who isn’t glad you survived. We all know how you’ve risked your life over the years to keep our husbands alive.” She reached across and touched the damaged side of his face, sliding her soft fingers up and down the rough, jerry-rigged surface and Web did not pull away.

“We all know the price you’ve paid, Web.”

“Right now it seems worth it.”