Thomas O`Callaghan - The Screaming Room

“He headed for the door?”

“Like the place was on fire.” Margaret sighed and grew silent.

“Still jones’n for that cigarette?” Fahey asked.

“The scotch too!” She gave Fahey a crooked smile. “As it turned out, his wife had resumed breathing by the time he’d gotten home, still comatose, but breathing. But that put the kibosh on things. The next day, he told me he was filled with guilt and asked if we could slow things down. I got the sense he was hoping for a complete stop. The days that followed… Who am I kidding? The weeks that followed were awkward. We weren’t making any headway on the case, so that only added to the frustration. But the investigation gave us something to focus on, aside from our feelings.”

“What feelings did you experience throughout this ‘thing,’ as you call it? He was married, no?”

“If you’re wondering about my guilt, yes, I endured the shame of being the other woman, but what was really nagging me was something else. Something far more dreadful.”

Margaret prided herself on being able to detect and decipher body movements, an attribute in her profession. Fahey had leaned forward in her chair. An inch. No more. Was she spreading a net for the freefall Margaret was about to take? She certainly hoped so.

“My father repeatedly raped me when I was a child.”

Margaret expected the walls to reverberate. Instead, silence settled. But only for a moment.

“I’m very sorry,” Fahey said. “Would it be all right if we talked about it?”

“I believed it was my fault, Elizabeth. Isn’t that the damnedest thing? For years. My fault.” Tears welled. “He was my father! A man who could do no wrong. He was even a cop, for Chrissake!” Margaret stared down at the floor as memories swirled. “He’d come into my room. Three or four times a week. Some nights he would straddle me; cover my mouth with his hand.” Margaret looked up. Her cheeks were red, stained with tears. Her chin was trembling. She cast doelike eyes at Fahey. “Sometimes he would lay back and have me get him off. Said my hands were sent by God. Lambskin wonders, he called them. Other nights he was more adventurous. Adventurous. I was eleven years old and my father is teaching me how to su-” Margaret choked; her face falling into cupped hands. She sobbed uncontrollably, while gasping for air.

Fahey had witnessed many a meltdown. She was always moved with pity. But her feelings of empathy were stronger this time. Undoubtedly because of the relationship she had with a central character in this woman’s life: John Driscoll, a man whose life was likewise riddled by trauma, albeit of a different sort. She was proud to have helped Driscoll cope with his feelings of abandonment brought on by his mother’s suicide, the untimely death of his daughter, and the prolonged demise of his wife. She had also been privy to the Lieutenant’s struggle with his feelings for this woman and knew it was no stroke of happenstance that Driscoll had referred her. Strokes of happenstance were not accidental. They were, like everything other impulse, driven by the unconscious. Life may rock. But the id rules.

“Some cop I turned out to be, huh?” said Margaret, a handle on composure.

“A damn good one, I’d bet. Your abuse was the likely force behind your decision to become part of law enforcement. Someone to right the wrong was who you needed back then. And now, here you are. Like the song title suggests, everyone needs someone to watch over them. But more often than not, it takes time for that someone to materialize.”

“I believe you’re that someone to John.”

Fahey was touched by the remark. “In his mind, that may be the case. But if he were to look closely, he’d realize he is his own protector. My role as a therapist is to help people discover their omnipresent power and provide them with tools to tap into it to effect and maintain good health.”

“It must be a rewarding job.”

“At times. Therapy is a process. Each individual goes through it at his or her own pace. So…”

“So sometimes you wait forever.”

“Precise and succinct.”

Margaret’s expression soured. “I’ve got a feeling my pace is going to be like that of a snail.”

“That remains to be seen. But you’re off to a good start. We’ve established your relationship with your father for what it was. We may need to dredge up some stuff about that relationship you’ll wish we didn’t, but that’s part of the healing process, I’m afraid. For now, though, I’d like to touch on your relationship with men in general.”

Boy, she’s good at keeping the nerve exposed.

“Judging from the look on your face, it would help if we talked about it.”

Perceptive too. “Just how slow is that second hand on your watch?”

“Well, we’re not going to resolve all of your issues in one session, but I’d like to spend some time putting them out.”

“It’ll be more like pulling them out.”

“That speaks volumes,” said Fahey with a smile.

“Thank you, Daddy!” Margaret growled, waving a fist in the air. “Does it always lead back to horrendous parenting?”

“In some cases back to the womb! It’s only recently that expectant mothers have been made aware of the risks involved in picking up a drink or smoking a cigarette. And let’s not overlook the mothers-to-be with emotional baggage of their own who seek relief from a variety of substances. Mother’s little helper may becomes baby’s little toxin.”

Jesus! Margaret thought, deciding quickly to save the exploration of the back-to-the-womb part for another time. “You asked me about my relationship with men. Hello-o! Venus to Mars, come in please. I’ll sum up my relationship in three words. Men petrify me!”

“That apply to John Driscoll as well?” Her boss, the perfect father figure.

“Especially to him! On the job, there’re mostly men. Despite the efforts of Betty Friedan and Anna Quindlen, the wall of blue is still predominantly male. Focusing strictly on matters of law enforcement, I get along well with those I’m assigned to work with. Pair me up with one? It’d better be inside a police cruiser. Otherwise, Panic City. When it comes to relating to a guy outside of Platonicville, I’m an emotional idiot. I feel as adept as an eighth grader. I’d rather be thrown from a plane!”

“I’ve known some eighth graders…”

“Well, they didn’t go to my school!”

Fahey was pleased. She had elicited some anger from Margaret. That was a good sign. Margaret would be visiting that emotion, often, in the months to come.

“I said men were part of the reason I’m here. I get a sense that we’ll be talking about them for quite a while. But the other reason I’m here is more urgent.”

“How so?”

“The case we’re working on involves a pair of twin adolescent killers.”

“Ah, the twins with the million-dollar bounty on their heads.”

“They’re the ones. I’m having a problem putting aside strong feelings of sympathy for the pair. We believe they’re killing their adult victims to avenge years of sexual abuse. There’s more to their motive, but the likelihood of them being sexually abused has stirred up not what I’d call a treasure trove. I’m rocketed right back to my bedroom as a child. Where I was abused! Where I was raped by my father! Their father apparently forced them into prostitution. I know I took an oath that calls for me to stop them. Arrest them. Shoot them, if it comes to that. The struggle I’m having is because I want to save them. I try to be objective. To focus on their crimes and not their dreadful life. But, if they walked in here right now and confessed, I’m more likely to take them home, secretly harbor them, and get them help, instead of slapping on the cuffs. I know my issue with men stems from my being abused. I’ve lived with that for a long time and I know it may take equally as long to resolve. But this is immediate. These twins are out there killing people and it’s my job to arrest them as soon as possible. You sure you don’t have a super-sized pill for a quick fix so I can to do that? The way things are going inside my head, I’m liable to put my job-hell, my life-in jeopardy by aiding and abetting this pair. The entire city sees them as demons. I see them as victims. I live with that every waking hour. John offered to discreetly arrange for a transfer. I got to tell you. I’m getting closer and closer to accepting one.”