Last Man Standing (25 page)

The kids poked at their food, slouched in their seats and clearly did not want to be there. They treated Web, who had been
their bosom friend, playing and joking and watching them grow up, like they had no idea who he even was. Everyone, even Debbie
Riner’s seven-year-old daughter, who had loved Web from almost the day she was born, looked relieved when he said his good-byes.

“Keep in touch,” Debbie said, pecking him on the cheek. Carol merely waved to him from a safe distance, while she clutched
her glassy-eyed son to her wide hips.

“You bet, sure thing,” Web said. “Take care. Thanks for dinner. You need anything, just let me know.” He drove off in the
Vic, knowing he would most likely never see them again. Time to move on, that was clearly the message of the dinner.

A
t nine sharp the next morning Web stepped into Claire Daniels’s world. Ironically, the first person he saw was Dr. O’Bannon.

“Web, good to see you. Would you like some coffee?”

“I know where it is. I’ll get it, thanks.”

“You know, Web, I was in Vietnam. Never under fire, I was a psychiatrist back then too. But I saw a lot of guys who were.
Things happen in combat, things you never think will. But you know what, you’ll probably be stronger for it. And I worked
with POWs who’d been tortured by the damn Viet Cong. It’s terrible what they were put through, classic physical and mental
manipulation, ostracizing troublemakers, robbing them of every scrap of moral and physical support. Controlling their lives
down to the position of their sleep, turning each individual against the other in the name of the group, as it was defined
by their captors. Now, of course it’s not ethical for one psychiatrist to poach patients off the other, although, frankly,
I was a little surprised about what happened with Claire. But I think Claire would agree that the paramount issue here is
your best interest, Web. So if you ever change your mind about working with Claire, I’m here for you.” He slapped Web on the
back, gave what Web assumed was intended to be an encouraging look and walked off.

Claire came out of her office a few moments later, saw him and they made their coffees together. They watched as a uniformed
repairman with a box of tools came out of the closet housing the office’s electrical and phone lines and left.

“Problems?” asked Web.

“I don’t know, I just came in,” answered Claire.

As they were making their coffees Web checked the woman out. Claire was wearing a blouse and knee-length skirt that showed
off nice tanned calves and ankles, but her hair, though short, was in a bit of disarray. She seemed to note Web’s observation
and swiped at the errant strands.

“I’ve been fast-walking around the building in the mornings to get a little exercise. Wind and humidity aren’t really good
for hair.” She took a sip of her coffee and added some more sugar. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Once in her office Claire perused two files for a bit while Web stared over at a pair of sneakers in the corner. Probably
what she fast-walked in. He looked over at her nervously.

“First of all, Web, I want to thank you for having enough confidence in me to let me take over your treatment.”

“I’m not really sure why I did,” he said candidly.

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m going to work hard to make sure your decision was a good one. Dr. O’Bannon wasn’t very happy
about it, but the primary concern is you.” She held up a small file. “This is the file Dr. O’Bannon gave me when I took over
your case.”

Web attempted a weak smile. “I would’ve thought it would have been thicker.”

“Actually, I was thinking the same thing,” was Claire’s surprising reply. “It shows the notes from a number of standard sessions;
he prescribed various medications, antidepressants, again nothing out of the ordinary.”

“So? Is that good or bad?”

“Good, if it helped you, and I’m assuming it did, since you returned to a productive life.”

“But?”

“But maybe your case deserves a little more digging. I have to tell you that I am surprised that he didn’t hypnotize you.
He’s very skilled at that, and that is usually part of his course of treatment. In fact, O’Bannon teaches a course at GW,
where every third or fourth year he hypnotizes a student and does things like making them block out a letter from the alphabet
so they’ll look at the word ‘cat’ on the blackboard and pronounce it ‘at.’ Or make them believe a gnat is flying around their
ear, things like that. We do that as part of a routine to demonstrate visual- and auditory-induced hallucinations.”

“I remember we talked about it the first time I saw him years ago. I didn’t want to do it, so we didn’t,” he said flatly.

“I see.” She held up a much thicker folder. “Your official Bureau file, or at least part of it,” she said in response to his
inquisitive look.

“So I gathered. I thought they kept that confidential.”

“You signed a release when you agreed to counseling. The file is routinely given to the therapist for help in treatment minus
any top-secret or other sensitive information, of course. Dr. O’Bannon transferred the file to me when you became my patient.
I’ve been going over it thoroughly.”

“Good for you.” Web cracked his knuckles and looked at her expectantly.

“You didn’t mention in our initial interview that your stepfather, Raymond Stockton, died from a fall in the house when you
were fifteen.”

“Didn’t I? Huh, I thought I did. But you didn’t take notes, so you have no way of checking, do you?”

“Trust me, Web, I would’ve remembered that. You also told me you got along with your stepfather, didn’t you?” She looked down
at the papers.

Web felt his heart rate accelerate and his ears burn. Her interrogation technique was classic. She had baselined him and had
just now jerked his chain using a five-hundred-pound gorilla for added leverage. “We had some differences, who doesn’t?”

“There are page after page of assault claims in here. Some filed by neighbors, some by you. All against Raymond Stockton.
Is that what you refer to as ‘some differences’?” He flushed angrily and she quickly added, “I’m not being sarcastic, I just
want to try and understand your relationship with the man.”

“There’s nothing to understand because we didn’t have a relationship.”

Claire consulted her notes again, flipping back and forth, and Web watched every movement with growing anxiety.

“Is the house that your mother left you the same one where Stockton died?” Web didn’t say anything. “Web? Is it the same—”

“I heard you!” he snapped. “Yeah, it’s the same one, so what?”

“I was just asking. So, do you think you’re going to sell it?”

“Why do you care? Do you do real estate on the side?”

“I’m just getting a sense that you seem to have issues about the house.”

“It wasn’t a real nice place to have a childhood.”

“I understand that completely, but often to get better and move on you must confront your fears head-on.”

“There’s nothing in that house I need to confront.”

“Why don’t we talk about it some more?”

“Look, Claire, this is getting pretty far afield, isn’t it? I came to you because my team got blown away and it’s messed me
up. Let’s stick to that! Forget the past. Forget the house and let’s just forget fathers. They’ve got nothing to do with me
or who I am.”

“On the contrary, they have a great deal to do with who you are. Without understanding your past I can’t help with your present
or your future. It’s that simple.”

“Why don’t you give me some damn pills and we’ll call it a day, okay? That way the Bureau’s satisfied that I did my little
mind massage and you did your job.”

Claire shook her head. “I don’t work that way, Web. I want to help you. I think I can help you. But you have to work with
me. I can’t compromise on that.”

“I thought you said I had combat syndrome or something. What does that have to do with my stepfather?”

“We merely talked about that being one possibility for what happened to you in that alley. I didn’t say that it was the only
possibility. We need to thoroughly explore all angles if we’re to really address your issues.”

“Issues—you make it sound so simple. Like I’m moping about having acne.”

“We can use another term if you prefer, but it really won’t affect how we approach the problems.”

Web covered his face with his hands and then spoke through this shield. “What the hell exactly do you want from me?”

“Honesty, to the extent you can give it. And I think you can, if you really try. You have to trust me, Web.”

Web removed his hands. “Okay, here’s the truth. Stockton was a creep. Pills and a boozer. He never got past the sixties, apparently.
He held some low-level office job where he got to wear a suit to work and fancied himself another Dylan Thomas on his off-hours.”

“So what you’re telling me is he was some sort of frustrated dreamer, perhaps even a phony?”

“He wanted to be more of an intellectual and more talented than my mother, and he wasn’t, not by miles. His poetry was for
shit; he never got anything published. The only thing he had in common with old Dylan was the fact that he drank too much.
I guess he thought the bottle would inspire him.”

“So he beat your mother?” She tapped the file.

“Is that what it says in the file?”

“Actually, what it doesn’t say in the file is even more interesting. Your mother never filed charges against Stockton.”

“Well, I guess we have to believe the record, then.”

“Did he beat your mother?” she asked again, and once more Web didn’t answer. “Or did he just beat you?” Web slowly lifted
his gaze to her, yet still said nothing. “So just you? And your mother let this occur?”

“Charlotte wasn’t around a lot. She’d made a mistake in marrying this guy. She knew it, so she avoided it.”

“I see. I guess divorce wasn’t an option.”

“She’d done that once. I don’t think she felt like bothering with it again. It was easier just to drive off into the night.”

“And she left you with a man who she knew abused you? And how did that make you feel?”

Web said nothing.

“Did you ever talk to her about it? To let her know how it made you feel?”

“Wouldn’t have done any good. To her, the guy never existed.”

“Meaning she repressed the memory?”

“Meaning whatever the hell you want it to mean. We never talked about it.”

“Were you home when your stepfather died?”

“Maybe, I don’t really remember. I’ve sort of repressed it too.”

“The file just said your stepfather fell. How did he fall?”

“From the top of the attic stairs. He kept his secret stash of mind goodies up in the attic. He was wigged out, missed a step,
cracked his head on the edge of the opening going down and broke his neck when he hit the floor. The police investigated and
it was ruled an accidental death.”

“Was your mother home when it happened, or had she gone out on one of her
drives
?”

“What, are you pretending you’re an FBI agent now?”

“Just trying to understand the situation.”

“Charlotte was home. She was the one who called the ambulance. But like I said, he was already dead.”

“Have you always called your mother by her first name?”

“Seems appropriate.”

“I imagine you had to feel relief at Stockton’s death.”

“Let’s put it this way, I didn’t cry at the funeral.”

Claire leaned forward and spoke in a very low voice. “Web, this next question is going to be very difficult, and if you don’t
want to answer it now, fine. But in instances of parental abuse, I have to address it.”

Web held up both hands. “He never touched my private parts, and he never made me touch his private parts, okay? Nothing like
that. They asked back then and I told the truth back then. The guy wasn’t a molester. He was just a cruel, sadistic asshole
who made up for a lifetime of insecurities and disappointments by beating the shit out of a boy. If he had messed with me
like that, I would’ve found a way to kill him myself.” Web realized what he had just said and hastily added, “But the guy
saved everybody the trouble by taking his tumble.”

Claire sat back and put aside the file. This small measure relieved Web’s anxiety somewhat and he sat up. She said, “You obviously
remember your time with your stepfather and loathed it for good reason. Have you thought more about any memories with your
natural father?”

“Fathers are fathers.”

“Meaning what, you lump your real father and Raymond Stockton together?”

“Saves the trouble of thinking about it too much, doesn’t it?”

“The easy way out usually solves nothing.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin, Claire, I really wouldn’t.”

“All right, let’s go back to the courtyard for a bit. I know it’ll be painful, but let’s go through it again.”

Web did so and it was painful.

“All right, the first group of people you met, you don’t remember that having any sort of effect on you?”

“Nothing other than wondering if one of them would try to kill us or tip somebody off, but I knew the snipers had them covered.
So other than the potential of instant death, everything was cool.”