Delirious (26 page)

“I was brought here,” Charlie said.

“And why were you brought here, Charlie?” George asked.

“Somebody thought I was dangerous,” Charlie revealed.

“And are you?” George said.

“No,” Charlie said.

“But they locked you up here for a reason, didn’t they? You can’t get out of here. Somebody decided this was best for you,” George said.

“Who? Who thought you were dangerous, Charlie?” Joe asked. “I need to know what’s going on.”

Joe rose from his seat and began pacing back and forth. Charlie took in a deep breath.

“Joe, you know how I asked you for Rachel’s contact information so I could speak with her? And how you and I got into that fight in your practice studio? Well, there are some things you don’t know,” said Charlie.

“Things I don’t know? Like what?” Joe asked.

“Like that I was fired from my job. I didn’t resign like I had said,” Charlie confessed.

“Fired?” Joe stopped pacing and took a few steps toward Charlie. George stood and put a hand on Joe’s shoulder.

“And that’s just for starters,” Charlie said. “They … these doctors I mean, believe I’m delusional.”

“Why would they think that?” Joe asked.

“Because I chased after a woman who I believe is real but nobody else has even seen. And also, I had that list. The one we fought about.”

“That list …,” Joe said but stopped himself, deciding not to say anything more.

“Well, I told Rachel about it. She was concerned that not only was I paranoid but I might be a threat as well. So when I went chasing after this woman, security at the Mount Auburn ER thought I had lost it. They shot me up with Haldol and locked me up in here.”

“The Mount Auburn ER?” Joe said, more surprised by that than by Charlie having been administered a chemical restraint. Charlie could see that his brother was becoming disoriented. He noticed Joe’s breathing growing heavier and beads of perspiration forming on his brow.

“If I didn’t comply, Rachel was going to notify Simon Mackenzie about my list. It would have meant the end of my being able to salvage my reputation and career.”

“Are you sick, Charlie? Do you have what I have?” Joe moved away from George and approached his brother. “You’re all I have left without Mom. I know that I said that I didn’t need you, Charlie. But I lied when I said it. I still need my brother. I do!”

Tears ran down Joe’s cheeks. Charlie could tell that his brother was not angry, but frightened. Same as he was. Joe lowered his chin to his chest, but the tears continued to flow. His massive upper body convulsed with sobs, which he tried valiantly to contain.

“I’ll always be your brother, Joe,” Charlie said.

Charlie didn’t think about what happened next. The moment happened before Charlie even knew what he was doing. He opened his arms wide, inviting his brother to come toward him. Joe leaned forward, and Charlie grabbed his brother’s broad shoulders, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. In response, Joe lifted his arms to embrace Charlie in return. Joe’s cries continued until Charlie could no longer contain his own.

“I’m scared, Joe,” Charlie said. “I don’t want this to be my life. I don’t want this at all.”

George kept his distance and watched the brothers embrace.

“None of us ask for this, Charlie,” George said after a moment. “But it’s what we do with what we are given that truly defines us.”

Charlie looked up at George as Joe pulled away.

“Tell me, what do I have to do?” Charlie asked.

“If you have the courage to face this head-on, you can find out and treat it. But only if you’re willing to be open to all possibilities can you find out,” George said. “You have to free yourself from the guilt of what might be. It’s not your fault.”

“Charlie, you have to listen to him,” Joe said. “You have to trust.”

Charlie wiped the tears from his eyes and thought a moment.

“Tell me, where do you want to start, Charlie?” George asked. “It’s up to you to decide. Your brother and I can help. We understand.”

“You’re telling me that I have to free myself of guilt before I can move on?” Charlie asked.

“That’s what I’m saying,” George said.

“Then there is only one place I can start,” Charlie said.

“And where is that?” George asked.

“In Arlington. With a dead body.”

I
t was just after sunset. The red and blue lights from the police car strobes danced about Charlie’s face in an uneven frenzy. Before now this sort of police activity and chaos had been the exclusive property of TV shows and movies. They were as much spellbinding to him as they were terrifying. His wrists were bound together by plastic handcuffs, and his hands hung uselessly down the front of his waist.

It had taken several phone calls and a mountain of paperwork to secure Charlie’s temporary release. Charlie had agreed to be restrained and under the close supervision of Walderman staff, making approvals easier to obtain. If it weren’t for the call to Walderman from Randal Egan, a special agent with the FBI, Charlie doubted anybody would have believed his story, let alone allowed him to leave Walderman under guard. Charlie’s one demand, agreed to by the FBI, was that he be allowed on-site when Arlington police retrieved the body, else he wouldn’t provide a name or address.

Charlie understood that tipping the police to a dead body’s whereabouts was tantamount to implicating himself as the perpetrator of the crime. In discussing his situation with Joe and George, Charlie had conceded that the truth about Gomes would eventually come out. But he had another reason for wanting to see the body again, one that he kept to himself. Soon, Charlie would have the answer he needed.

The commotion, although heightening his anxiety, also had the welcome benefit of distracting him from the constant throbbing pain in his wrists from the handcuffs. All he could do was watch and wait
as more police and eventually an ambulance arrived. The lights from the ambulance were flashing, but the siren was hauntingly absent. That was to be expected, given what he had told the police was waiting for them inside the apartment.

Randal had been acting on Charlie’s behalf as the go-between with the Arlington police.

“Why do you want to see the body?” Randal had asked.

The two had spent over an hour on the phone, making the arrangements.

“I need to see it for closure,” Charlie had said.

Now that he was finally here, Charlie was even more sure of his decision. After all, Gomes’s murder was the key link in a long chain of events that had concluded with his involuntary commitment to Walderman. Embracing the possibility that he had committed the crime without memory would be impossible without first seeing the body removed. Charlie needed to witness it for himself and had told Randal as much.

Thankfully, Randal had deep ties and long-standing relationships with many local law enforcement officials. Without those connections, the probability of a committed patient witnessing a crime scene would be nil. Luckily for Charlie, the Arlington chief of police and Randal had been to several law enforcement conferences together and over the years had forged a cordial friendship.

As the minutes passed, Charlie grew more anxious. He wanted this part to end quickly so he could mentally ready himself for the next phase of his treatment to begin in earnest. He was closely guarded by two Arlington police officers. His physician escort from Walderman waited in the van that had brought him first to the Arlington police station. Once there, he had been transferred by police cruiser to the crime scene.

His police escorts were as forthcoming with emotion as the Foot Guards of Buckingham Palace and kept a watchful eye over him. Randal had warned Charlie about what to expect, but the reality was far more dramatic than he had imagined. The sheer size of the police force needed to recover a dead body was puzzling. Since it was a recovery mission and not a criminal search, Randal had explained that a warrant wouldn’t even be necessary. But Charlie had assumed fewer officers would be involved.

Charlie watched Randal Egan approach from the shadows, with his hands stuffed into his overcoat pockets and his face briefly illuminated by the revolving strobes. Randal flashed the officers guarding Charlie his badge. They moved backward, but with subtle, incomprehensible grunts of disrespect.

“This is all pretty fucked up,” Randal said, placing a strong hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

“I told you in the bar strange things were happening to me,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, but this is a bit more than strange. Now do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“Am I under arrest?” Charlie asked.

“No.”

“Do I have to tell you anything more than I already have?”

“As a friend, yes. As a member of the law enforcement community, you know this isn’t my jurisdiction, Giles. Unless it’s a federal case. Any reason this would be federal?”

“I’m long past reason,” Charlie said.

The two men exchanged an awkward stare, until Charlie broke the tension with a laugh and a smile. It was the first time he had smiled in what felt like years. Randal replied with a laugh of his own, then put his arm around Charlie’s shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay, buddy,” Randal said. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Charlie felt his friend’s concern and had never appreciated the man more. But his brief respite from the intensity of the moment ended when a dark blue Crown Victoria, flashing a single red strobe, turned the corner and sped toward them.

“Who’s that?” Charlie whispered to Randal.

“That, my friend, is the Arlington chief of police.”

The man who emerged from the police car was strikingly tall. His cheeks were sunken and hollow, as if work, not food, had been his mainstay for years. Every feature on the man was narrow and angular. From the long, thin nose to his fingers drumming restlessly on his legs, to a neck so wiry that his Adam’s apple stuck out like a Ping-Pong ball in his throat. There was nothing about the man that suggested comfort. He moved with calm assuredness and projected an aura of complete control. He took no time to adjust to the chaos into
which he had entered. His eyes were keen, like those of a hunter, narrowed and searching. He first saw Randal and then set his gaze on Charlie. He held eye contact long enough to make Charlie’s pulse quicken. The man seemed capable of sniffing out deception by observation alone. The chief rubbed at the coarse scruffiness of his three-day-old beard and continued his silent stare. Charlie felt certain he had already been judged guilty of something. What that was remained to be seen.

“Charlie, this is Police Chief Sandy Goodkin. Sandy, good to see you again,” Randal said, extending a hand.

“Wish I could say the same,” Goodkin said. “And you, I suppose, are Mr. Charlie Giles.”

“I am.” Charlie lifted his cuffed wrists and smiled awkwardly. Goodkin looked at him as if a handshake would be the last thing he wanted.

“Lot of fuss you’ve caused,” Goodkin said. He pulled out a pack of what Charlie thought were Camel cigarettes. Charlie watched as Good-kin put one of the smokes in his mouth, then shoved the whole thing in and began to chew. “I’m quitting,” Goodkin explained. “Vera said it was time. These candy cigarettes are a lot cheaper than Nico-rette and just as effective, if you ask me. You smoke, Mr. Giles?”

“No,” Charlie said. “I don’t smoke.”

“Well, that’s at least one thing you’ve got going for you. So what’s the deal with this circus you’ve created? Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in your own words?”

“I’m not here to tell you anything,” Charlie said. “I’m here to show you something.”

“And why is it you want to be on the scene to play show not tell?”

“It’s personal. I need to relive that day. In exchange, I’ll give you the body.”

“Tell me why you want to relive it,” Goodkin said.

“I don’t remember anything but seeing a dead body. I want to be back here and face this thing head-on. I want to know if seeing the body again triggers some repressed memory,” Charlie explained.

Goodkin’s skeptical look prompted Randal to intervene. “Charlie’s been going through a lot lately. This was just one of several strange incidents that have been happening to him over the past few weeks for which he has no explanation or memory.”

Goodkin nodded his head in a way that suggested he didn’t much care but understood. “So did you murder this …” Goodkin reached behind him and pulled out a metal folder from the front seat. He then shuffled through the case file papers, scanning them for a name. “Mr. Rudy Gomes?”

Charlie looked Goodkin in the eye but said nothing.

“Well then,” Goodkin said to Randal, “this sure is a weird one. No missing persons report filed, either. And by the way, consider any favors that you’ve earned over the years paid in full.”

“Understood,” Randal said.

“Since Chatty here seems all out of chat,” Goodkin said, “why don’t we go inside and have us a look? Shall we?”

Goodkin motioned toward Gomes’s apartment, and the three marched side by side across the street. The wind flapped Goodkin’s and Egan’s overcoats open like capes; the lights from the yellow streetlamps above cast their shadows into superhero-like figures on the march. Police officers milling about parted as they approached. The two Arlington policemen assigned to guard duty kept pace only a few feet behind.

Charlie had been on this street at night only once before, and that was an experience he’d rather soon forget. The jarring sound of shattering glass from Gomes kicking out the window of his BMW was still fresh in his memory.

Goodkin turned to Charlie as they neared the steps to the apartment. “Okay, Mr. Mystery Man,” Goodkin said mockingly. “Why don’t you talk and I record?” Goodkin held in his hand a small Panasonic digital recorder, a type Charlie had frequently used for recording business meetings.

Charlie was caught off guard at the thought of being recorded. Instinctively he knew any lawyer worth their price would strongly disapprove. But this wasn’t about common sense. Charlie shrugged off his apprehension with a slight nod of his head.

Whatever they are going to do to me won’t be decided based on a recording,
he thought.