Dave Zeltserman - Bad Thoughts

“I think we’re making a real breakthrough here.” She gave his hand one final tight squeeze before letting go. Then she stood up and went back to her chair.

“I really feel positive about today,” Horwitz said, a soft smiling breaking over her face. “I really believe you’re going to be fine.”

Shannon waited a ten-count before clearing his throat, waited until the effect of her smile passed through him. Then he forced a shrug. “I was feeling that way also until I started to fall apart. Just like all the other years.”

“But this year it’s different. You’re more committed to healing yourself.”

“I’ve seen other therapists before.”

“But you’ve never opened up like this before. You’ve told me so yourself. And this breakthrough today is real. These feelings of guilt have been lurking within your subconscious for a long time. They’re baseless, of course, but they’ve still been doing a number on you. Now that they’ve been brought to the surface, let’s squash them completely. Admit to yourself there’s nothing to be guilty about, that you couldn’t have done anything to have saved your mother. Please, Bill, admit it out loud.”

He obliged her, more for her benefit that his. Usually he had a strong intuitive sense when he was on the right track. That was what allowed him to close more cases over the past six years than any other detective in the precinct. The only thing he was feeling in his gut now was queasy. He mentioned to Horwitz about not being sure if she was right.

“Guilt can be a very destructive force. It can manifest into physical as well as mental illness. You’ve been suppressing your feelings of guilt concerning your mother’s murder for twenty years. They’re the root cause of your depression and blackouts.”

“And I only feel this guilt for a couple of weeks a year?”

“No. I’m sure you feel it all year long. It probably becomes unbearable around the anniversary of your mother’s death. The depression allows you to numb out these feelings, the blackouts allow you to hide from them.”

Shannon thought about this. It made sense in a way. Maybe he needed to hit the booze when the depression no longer did the trick, and when the booze stopped working the blackouts did, offering the necessary escape. It was possible. He swung his legs around so he was sitting on the couch facing her.

“So that’s it?” he asked doubtfully. “I’m cured?”

“You’re well on your way.” She paused while she rubbed a finger along the length of her cheek. “I would like to see you tomorrow. How is three o’clock? We’ve talked about hypnotism before, and I know you have strong feelings against it, but I believe at this point it’s crucial. I’m going to invite a hypnotherapist to tomorrow’s session.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t-”

“Bill,” she stopped him, her green malachite eyes determined. “We’re at a crossroad right now. If we can tap into your subconscious, we can allow you to fully come to terms with your guilt. Your recovery requires it. You don’t have to have a breakdown this year.” She paused and gave him a reassuring smile. “The hypnotherapist is very good,” she added. “I’ve been working with him for years.”

The idea of opening himself up to hypnotism troubled him. He had told Elaine only part of what happened with his mother. Only a small part of it. Still, it was more than he had ever told anyone, even his father. All Susie knew about it was his mom was dead.

He wasn’t sure if he could bear Elaine finding out the other part. And there were other reasons. Like Dr. Eli Woodcock. Years ago, he was seeing him in Cambridge and after six months of pressing he submitted to Woodcock’s requests and allowed himself to be hypnotized. Afterwards Woodcock dropped him without explanation. He refused to say a single word about it. He didn’t need to, though; the look on his face told the story.

But still, if she was right and this was the answer, how could he turn it down? Resistance fizzled out within him. Like a dying ember buried in snow. He told Horwitz to go ahead and make the arrangements, that three o’clock would be fine. As he started to get up, he stopped himself and gave the therapist a sheepish smile.

“You know, I haven’t eaten anything all day,” he said. “Want to get something?”

She seemed taken aback by his offer. She noticed her tape recorder still running and reached over and turned it off. “I don’t know if it would be a good idea,” she started, her peaches and cream complexion quickly turning a warm pink. “And you’re married-”

“I’m not asking you on a date,” Shannon said.

“I don’t know.” She hesitated, the warm pink now brightening into a deeper red.

“I feel good around you,” Shannon explained. “I guess right now I don’t know if I can handle being away from you. At least for the next few hours.”

She sat studying her patient, the little resolve in her eyes weakening. After a long silence she nodded. “I am hungry,” she admitted.

“Then let’s go.”

“How about I meet you in a half hour?” she asked. She suggested a restaurant on Harvard Street in Brookline and Shannon agreed. He didn’t know the place, but it didn’t matter. She could’ve suggested a soup kitchen and it would’ve been fine with him. As long as she was going to be with him. He left her office feeling a little funny inside, but also feeling hopeful, maybe even upbeat.

Shannon had the restaurant sized up as soon as he stepped inside it. A yuppie hangout with overpriced drinks and mediocre food. The type of place that put sun-dried tomatoes in everything and offered more types of pasta than anyone would ever care about. He sat down at the bar and studied the liquor bottles lining the back wall. He was surprised to find he didn’t want to sample any of them. The bartender, a beefy, football player-type with a crewcut and a thick, red neck, asked him what he wanted.

Shannon thought about it.

“What can I get you?” the bartender repeated, annoyance straining his smile.

“A beer,” Shannon found himself saying. “A Bud.”

When Elaine Horwitz showed up twenty minutes later, Shannon was still drinking from the same bottle. He almost didn’t recognize her. She’d gone home and changed and had put on a tight-fitting green dress and black stiletto high heels. Shannon had seen her dressed up before but not to this extent. And she looked different out of the office. More curvy, more sexual.

He called out to her. She turned, caught sight of him and started to grin. Then she spotted the beer bottle in his hand.

As she approached him, Shannon noticed she had on a richer shade of lipstick than usual. As she got closer, he could smell the Giorgio perfume from her skin.

“Do you think that’s wise?” she asked, her voice subdued, her eyes focused on the beer bottle.

Shannon held the bottle up to the light and studied it casually. “It’s the only one I’ve had,” he said, smiling. “And it’s the only one I’m going to have.”

He left the unfinished bottle on the bar and led her back to the front of the restaurant. There, a young girl wearing way too much gold costume jewelry showed them to a table. Shannon sat to the side of his therapist. She still seemed subdued.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“To see if I could,” he told her matter-of-factly. “You know, I’m not an alcoholic. During most of the year I can walk away just as easily after one drink as I can from half a dozen.”

“But you told me you don’t drink except before your breakdowns?”

“I stopped a few years ago.” Shannon looked away from her and started to pick at a fingernail. “It made my wife nervous and after everything I’ve put her through…” He let the sentence die as a soft growl in his throat.