A Voice from the Field (11 page)

“I see you had another hallucination.”

Reflexively, Tia took the bait. “You got that from my police report?”

Gage began the slow process of setting the hook and reeling her in. “From the report and about a hundred hours of our therapy sessions.”

“Funny, because in that police report I don't mention hallucinating anything. I witnessed an abduction.”

Gage studied her face for several seconds, then looked down to scribble on the notepad he kept in his lap. Like always, he kept his knee at just enough of an angle to prevent Tia from seeing what he wrote. After several seconds of writing, Gage looked up. His expression showed concern mixed with pity and draped over insincerity.

“I thought we had worked through all this, Tia. I thought we both understood that because of your shooting, you would probably have episodes. Recurrences of a sort, especially when you're under a lot of stress. Doesn't this sound very much like the episode you experienced in the courtroom?” Reaching to his desk, the doctor retrieved a manila folder that was nearly two inches thick. He opened it and turned several pages. “That was just three months ago.”

“That was a reaction to the meds. You told me that yourself.”

His smile exposed a small, neat row of whitened teeth. “What I told you was that you experienced a significant psychological breakdown manifested through visual and auditory hallucinations and that the episode was likely to have stemmed from
abuse
of the medications I prescribed for you. I believe we determined you were mixing the pills with alcohol.” Gage made sure he had eye contact before saying, “Is that something we need to talk about again?”

Tia looked away and immediately regretted it. She tried to reestablish eye contact but knew Gage had picked up on the sign of avoidance. He made a note while she chastised herself for the rookie mistake.

Squaring her shoulders, Tia decided to ignore the question and get back to the issue at hand.

“There was a girl tied up in the back of the van Gunther Kane was trying to force me into. I didn't hallucinate anything.”

Gage gave a condescending nod. “And why do you think it is that no one else saw any of this? That there are no missing person reports? No evidence of any sort? Not to mention that this Mr…” Gage made an issue of pulling the Milwaukee PD arrest report from his file and Tia knew he wanted her to react. This time she was like a rock and gave him nothing.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Kane. He tells a much different story. Something about you attacking him while he was trying to—well, when he was trying to complete the transaction, so to speak.”

“Got some news for you, Doc.” Tia nodded toward Gage's notepad. “You might want to write this down. When it comes to the truth, crooks make like rugs.”

Gage's pen stopped and he looked up, confused. Tia smiled, amused that the man with three diplomas on his wall couldn't follow the simple humor. She helped him out. “They lie.”

The psychiatrist smiled thinly, then pressed harder. “Tell me why this is different, Tia. Why is this girl so real to you?”

She noted the “to you” but replied honestly anyway.

“Because I know. I was there. I saw her. I touched her, for God's sake.”

“You touched her?” Gage leaned forward and his interest seemed to peak. “That wasn't in your report. Tell me about that.”

“I tried to pull her out. I grabbed her by the ankle, but then…” Tia paused, hearing the van door slam shut in her mind. She shook the image away, knowing Gage was watching every breath she took. “Kane got back in the fight. Slammed the door shut. You can read the rest.”

“What did she feel like?”

Tia couldn't hide her frustration anymore. “Excuse me?”

“The girl. You said you touched her. What did she feel like?”

Tia wasn't going to let him drag her in. “Like a human being. A real, live human being.”

“Describe the texture of her skin. Was she wet? Dry? Hot? Cold? Describe it.”

“Rough. Her skin was rough.”

“I see. Fascinating.”

Gage began a furious scribble and Tia shook her head. She'd reached her limit and didn't care if the doctor knew it. “There you go. You push and push until I give you an answer, trying to satisfy you; then you act like there's been a big revelation.”

“Indeed, there has been, Tia.”

“I can't wait to hear it,” she said dryly.

Gage leaned in. “Tia, you had actual contact. Physical contact that involved tactile stimulation. You're even able to describe the sensation. This is very serious.”

Tia looked to the ceiling, shaking her head. She didn't try to hide her irritation. “No, it's not. I touched a person, like I might touch anyone else I happened to come in contact with.”

Gage shook his head dismissively and Tia knew he wouldn't stop until he made his point.

“What did she look like? This girl you saw in the van?”

A face flashed across her mind as if Tia were driving at high speed past a billboard: there for a few seconds, then gone. But in that flash of a moment, the terrified image of desperation was seared into her mind. Tia shrugged and did her best to sound unaffected. “Teenager. Dark hair. Probably Latina.”

“So, an older version of the girl we both agree wasn't really in the courtroom?”

Tia shot back, “Yeah, Doc. Exactly. All us brown folks look alike.”

“That is not what I'm saying, Tia, and I think you know that. Let's go back.”

Tia rolled her eyes. The last thing in the world she wanted was to go back. She just wanted to go.

“When you were shot in the café that day, bleeding on the floor, you saw a girl. She came to you, protected you. You described that girl as very young. Dark skinned. Isn't that what you told me?”

And I've regretted it ever since,
she thought to herself. She flashed back to that day in the Danville café. “Yes. I know, but that has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, but it does, Tia,” Gage said. “We both agreed that the little girl was a hallucination … and that your breakdown in the courtroom was directly related to that hallucination. Remember? You and I decided that the girl in the courtroom was the same as the girl in the café.”

Tia's pulse began to pick up and she knew her chest was rising and falling more than it should. It didn't matter how many times she had been through it; whenever she thought of that day in the courtroom the same mixture of anxiety and humiliation descended on her.

It had been a child abuse case. The victim, a five-year-old girl who only spoke Spanish, had been molested over a period of months by her thirty-five-year-old stepfather. Tia, who had interviewed the child at length, knew all the hideous details. To avoid making the child testify, Tia relayed the story to the jury. An ugly story for sure, but one that had to be told.

At some point—Tia couldn't say when—she stopped talking about the events and began experiencing them. Stopped reporting and started to live it. To see it. She was in the room, night after night, when the stepfather would come in. When he touched the girl. When he pushed himself inside her and put the pillow over the child's face to stifle her cries. Tia listened to the monster whisper that bad girls who let such things happen to them didn't get to keep their families. She saw his hulking figure, hunched over a little girl who whimpered and cried, begging for someone to make it stop.

It wasn't until Tia stood up from the witness chair, her hand going to her gun, that the prosecutor finally broke in. When he said, “Detective Suarez?” in a voice that sounded both frightened and angry, the images disappeared and Tia found herself standing up, her hand on her weapon and tears streaming down her face. Twelve confused jurors stared at her, terrified but captivated by what they had witnessed.

Tia had told herself that no matter what she carried inside, she would never allow such a public display to occur again.

She had to be careful, now, not to let Gage take her down that road. “Yes, we worked through it, Doc. And that was an isolated event. I'd been back on duty for less than two weeks when it happened. It's over and done with.”

“Are you sure of that, Tia? There haven't been other occasions where you imagined something? Heard something?” He looked directly at her. “Are you sure there is nothing else you and I need to work through?”

“No.” The lies were becoming complicated and Tia grew flustered.

“No, you're not sure?”

“I mean, yes.” Her frustration turned to anger. “I'm sure there isn't.”

Gage smiled. “Well, which is it?”

Tia clamped down hard on herself. There was no way she was ever going to let Gage drag
that
out of her.

No one knew that since she had returned from Mexico she had had almost nightly visits from … something. That in some way she welcomed the contact. That she somehow needed the feelings of warmth and affection that accompanied the strange experiences. Tia knew if she ever spoke of it her days as a cop were over.

“Look, Doc,” she said, leaning forward and smiling, trying to project competence and sanity. “I'm here on Chief Sawyer's orders. I got into a pretty dicey situation with a crook; we tussled a bit.

“I know what I saw, but if the DA and everyone else want to blow it off, then so be it.” She shrugged as casually as possible. “It's not the first time I've had a case I thought should be prosecuted get kicked to the curb. I say we all just move on.”

“Yes. I heard about your problem with the prosecuting attorney. It sounds like the conversation got pretty heated. Again, doesn't that strike you as reminiscent of your earlier breakdown?”

Only Ben could have given up that detail—TJ would never throw another cop under the bus—and Tia felt the sting of disloyalty. She quashed it and managed to reply in a normal tone of voice.

“I argued my case. I lost. That's all. Now I just need you to sign off on my fitness for duty.”

Dr. Gage put his pad of paper and fountain pen on the desk and folded his hands in his lap. “I think we are going to have to put that idea on the shelf for the time being.”

Tia's heart dropped to her stomach. “What does that mean? Put it on the shelf?”

“Tia, it's evident you're still suffering from significant post-traumatic stress. The only question at this point is, are the symptoms related to your actual shooting or due to something else altogether? But whatever the case, I'm sorry, I can't approve you for a return to full duty.”

Tia felt the simmering anger roil up inside her. She lashed out without any consideration of the consequences, “Are you kidding me? You're going to put me back on light duty? What's your problem, Gage?”

For a moment Tia saw a flash of satisfaction cross his face. She cursed herself—she'd finally given Gage just the reaction he wanted. The headshrinker tilted his head and spoke in a tone of paternalistic admonishment. “Tia. Please. Let's not make this any more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Fine. Keep it simple,” Tia almost shouted. “Mind your own damn business and let me get back to work.”

“You can work, Tia. On restricted duty. I want thirty days free of any episodes. And…”—Gage paused—“I'd like to start you on a regular urinalysis screening. Every seventy-two hours should suffice.”

Tia braced herself on the arms of the chair, about to leap to her feet, then controlled herself. She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice. “You're going to piss test me?”

“I'm going to confirm that you're taking the proper dosage of your medication, Tia.” Another look over the top of his glasses. “And get a sense of your alcohol intake as well.”

“Jesus.” Tia fell back against the chair and turned her head. Even she could hear the sound of her own indignant guilt. “I can't believe this bullshit.”

“I'm sorry, Tia, but I'll be recommending a period of desk duty. No fieldwork. No assignments requiring the carrying of firearms. No off-duty police authority.” Gage pulled his iPad off the desk. “How about we schedule a two-hour session for early next week?”

“Forget it.” Tia stood and headed for the door. “You aren't the only shrink on the list, Gage. We're done. Find yourself another lab rat.”

“This isn't a car dealership, Tia. You don't get to shop around. Any other therapist you approach will consult with me before beginning treatment.”

“I'll take my chances on that, but we're done talking. I don't want you in my head anymore.”

Gage gave Tia a long look. He hadn't moved even when she'd finally exploded out of her seat. “As you wish, Tia. You can continue therapy with another psychiatrist, but with regard to your employment, I still hold certain professional responsibilities.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Now Gage stood and moved behind his desk. He scribbled on his prescription pad, tore the page off, and held it out to her. “This is the address of the laboratory. You have twenty-four hours to submit a urine test. While you're there, set up a screening schedule for the next four weeks.”

“And if I don't?”

“I'll recommend you be placed on
no
-duty status indefinitely.” He spoke with such a casual air it seemed as though the conversation were about the weather, not her life. “Of course I can't be certain, legal appeals and all, but I assume my report would lead to your eventual dismissal.”

“I'd get fired?” Tia's voice cracked.

“Well, not fired,” Gage said coolly. “You'd receive a psychological retirement. But, yes. Your police career would be over.”

Tia was panting. She took two steps back toward the doctor and snatched the paper from his hand. She kept her mouth shut, finally realizing every time she spoke she dug her grave deeper. A moment later she was on the breezeway, pretty sure the truckers on the highway heard the slam of the door.