Reed Coleman - Empty ever after

Had I walked out of Jack’s apartment in the West Village twenty-two Februaries ago and called Katy to tell her that I had found Patrick… Sometimes in my blackest moments, I think about what might have been had I, just that once, broken my word. I mean who the fuck was Jack White to me? And Patrick, what had he done to earn my trust? If anything, his behavior had earned my scorn. All those times my father-in-law asked me about ghosts, he was off target. He should have asked me about being haunted. For while I still didn’t believe in ghosts, I did believe in hauntings. Who needs ghosts when questions will suffice? Ghosts, one in particular, were the reason I was heading back upstate and why I was about to break my word to Sarah.

Pete Vandervoort had taken up the post outside Katy’s door. When he saw me approaching, a series of expressions washed over his face in rapid succession. He smiled, squinted, frowned, and snarled before settling on the world-weary cop smirk. Instead of shaking his extended hand, I placed the Polaroid in it.

“What’s this?”

“A ghost with a freshly inked tattoo,” I said.

“Nice trick, a ghost with a new tattoo. Where’d you get this?”

“My people tracked the tattoo artist down and she gave that to us. I’ll give you all her info after I talk with Katy. I think she needs to see that Polaroid.”

“Good timing. She’s up. Her shrink was in there checking on her about fifteen minutes ago. He said she seemed more stable. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. More stable than what?”

“It’s cover-your-ass-speak. Have you seen Sarah? I tried to get her on my way up, but kept getting her voice mail.”

“Nope. Haven’t seen her today. Why, is something wrong?” he asked.

“I promised her that I would back off for a few days, so Katy could catch her breath.”

“I see, but they’ll understand when they get a look at this. I mean, Christ, you can’t sit on this. It proves that this has all been a setup.” He handed the Polaroid back. “Go on in and show her.”

I knocked before stepping in. My ex’s expression was less ambiguous than the sheriff’s had been. Disappointment was writ large in every fold of her face and her first words didn’t leave much room for interpretation.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I-”

“Sarah told me you promised to-”

“I did promise and I meant to keep my word, but something came up that I couldn’t keep a lid on.”

“You’re full of shit, Moe! Do you even believe half the things you say? You kept a lid on things for twenty years.”

Her anger, it was like a separate entity. There were times I fooled myself that it was at an end, that Katy had gotten past it. No, it was metastatic, laying dormant for months at a time and then… Bang! Like today, something I would say or do would set her off. That’s why our early attempts at reconciliation were short-lived. Our mutual despair or old hungers could keep it at bay or out of the bedroom for a few hours at a time. Then it would flare up. The odd thing was that I knew at least a part of the anger wasn’t even meant for me, but rather for my father-in-law. When Francis died, I was left the only available target.

“Look, I didn’t come here to fight, but to show you this,” I said, holding out the Polaroid. She took it. “Brian Doyle tracked down the tattoo artist who did that back in April and Devo found more than twenty casting calls for young men who would meet Patrick’s physical description.”

I felt myself wince, waiting for that second wave of anger. It didn’t come.

“Who is he?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Some kid desperate for an acting job, I guess.”

“You don’t know his name or anything?”

“Give us a little time.”

“I want to see him again.”

“What?”

“I want to see my brother again.”

“He’s not your brother.”

“I don’t… care. I…I…” Katy tried choking back the tears, but it was no good. She was sobbing now so that her whole body shook. “I want…I want to see… him. I want to know… why he-”

“He’s not your brother, for chrissakes.”

She crumpled up the Polaroid and threw it at me. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! You’ve taken everything away from me.”

“But Katy, I-”

“Get out of here! Get the fuck out of here.” She was squeezing the life out of the call button. Even before the staff could respond, Vandervoort and Sarah came rushing into the room. “Get him out of here. I want him to leave. Get him out of here. Get him out-”

With little effort, Pete Vandervoort ferried me out of the room, but I could still hear Katy screaming and Sarah trying to calm her down. A roly-poly Filipino nurse and a psychiatric aide flew past us and almost immediately some coded message went out over the loudspeaker.

“What happened in there?” the sheriff asked.

“I’m not really sure. I showed Katy the Polaroid and she went batshit on me. When did Sarah get here?”

“Just after you walked in there. She was none too pleased.”

“Figures. I seem to be having that effect on the Prager women today.”

Just then, Dr. Rauch, the shrink who had seen Katy on her initial visit, came charging down the hail. He looked less pleased to see me than Katy and Sarah, but didn’t stop to elaborate.

“Shit,” Vandervoort said, “you’re just making everybody’s day.”

“Yeah, you noticed that look too, huh?”

“Hard to miss.”

A few seconds after Dr. Rauch went into the room, Sarah came out glaring.

“Dad, I thought you said you were going to give Mom some time. Now look at her.”

“But we found proof that there is no ghost and that it’s just some actor parading around out there like-”

“And you thought, what, that Mommy was going to be thrilled about that? You know, for the world’s smartest dad, I think you’re just totally lost sometimes.”

“Look, kiddo, I know I broke my word to you about coming up, but I had to show Mommy what I found. What was I supposed to do, sit on it? What if she found out that I was keeping it from her? Can you imagine how she would’ve reacted to that? Either way, I was screwed.”

“I guess you have a point, but still, you should’ve warned me, us. Her doctor’s pissed.”

“Your mother is my concern, not her doctor. Besides, I tried, to call ahead, but I kept getting your voice mail. Where were you anyway?”

“The movies. I needed a break.”

The door to Katy’s room opened again. Dr. Rauch held it open for the nurse and the aide. He told them he’d be up at the desk in just a moment. When they were out of earshot, he pointed his finger at me.

“Listen very carefully, Mr. Prager, I-”

“Doc, you want me to listen, I suggest you get that finger out of my face.”

He looked at his finger like it didn’t belong to him, shrugged his shoulders, and put his hand in his pants pocket.

“Very well, Mr. Prager. Why don’t you and your daughter meet me in my office in…”-he checked his watch-“… ten minutes?”

“That’ll be fine, Dr. Rauch,” Sarah answered. “I know where it is.”

He didn’t wait for my response before heading to the nurses’ station.

Rauch’s office was like a movie set of a doctor’s office. The carpeting was high end industrial in a sort of speckled sage green, a few shades darker than the matte finished walls. The shrink’s desk was large but non-descript and cluttered with patient files, pharmaceutical company doo-dads and note pads, a phone, an engraved pen and pencil set and a plastic model of a human brain. His chair was the standard issue high back, black leather swivel. One wall was dedicated to enlargements of family vacation photos and a goofy My Brother the Psychiatrist needlepoint, one to overstuffed bookcases, and one to degrees and decrees of board certifications. It seemed that Rauch was certified to perform neurosurgery and sell real estate.