Jonathan Kellerman - Dr. Death

"You are so full of shit," he broke in. Discomfortingly mild tone. "How can you sit there and judge my experience?"

"I'm not judging, I'm empathizing. I was older than you when my father died, but not much older. He brought on his own death, too. I was a good deal older when my mother died, but the loss was more profound because I was closer to her and now I was an orphan. There's something about that-the aloneness. My father's death was a big blow to my sense of trust. The fact that something so important can be taken away from you, just like that. The powerlessness. You view the world differently. I think that's worth talking about to someone who'll really listen."

The black eyes hadn't moved from mine. A vein in his neck pulsed. He smiled. Slouched. "Nice speech, bro. What's that called? Constructive self-disclosure? Technique Number Fifty-five C?"

I shrugged. "Enough said."

"Sorry," he said in a small, hurried voice. "You're a nice guy. Problem is, I'm not. So don't waste your time."

"You seem heavily invested in that," I said.

"In what?"

"Being the quirky, obnoxious genius. My guess is that somewhere along the line you were taught to associate smarts with having an edge. But I've met some really bad people and you don't qualify for that club."

His face went scarlet. "I apologized, man. No need to twist the fucking knife."

"No need for apologies, Eric. This is about you, not me. And yes, you're right, that was constructive self-disclosure. I chose to expose part of myself in the hope it might spur you to get some help."

He turned away from me. "This is bullshit. If Dad hadn't been a fucking old maid and freaked out, none of this would be happening."

"That wouldn't change the reality."

"Give me a break."

"Forget philosophy, Eric. Forget intro psych. Your reality is what you're experiencing. Most people your age don't have to endure what you've endured. Most aren't concerned with guilt and expiation."

His shoulders jerked as if I'd shaken him. "I. Was. Talking. Abstractly."

"Were you?"

He seemed poised to leap from the chair. Settled back down. Laughed. "So you've met a lot of bad guys, have you?"

"More than I'd care to."

"Killers?"

"Among others."

"Serial killers?"

"That, too."

Another laugh. "And you don't think I'd qualify?"

"Let's call it an educated guess, Eric. Though you're right: I don't really know you. I'm also guessing guilt's more than an abstraction for you. Your father and your sister both told me how much time you spent with your mother during her illness. Taking the semester off-"

"So, now I get punished for it? Have to listen to all this fucking shit?"

"Being here's not punishment."

"It is if it's against your will."

"Could your father really have forced you?" I said.

He didn't answer.

"It's your choice," I said. "Your volition. And since this is a one-shot deal, the best I can do is give you some advice and let you run with it."

"My advice is forget it-don't waste your midwestern time. I shouldn't be here in the first place. I shouldn't be horning in on Stacy's therapy."

"Stacy's okay with it-"

"That's what she says. That's the way she always starts out, path of least resistance, everything's fine. But, believe me, she'll get pissed about it, it's just a matter of time. Basically, she hates me. I'm a shadow in her life, the best thing that ever happened to her was my going away. Stanford's the last place she should go, but with Dad leaning on her, she'll comply once again-the path of least resistance. She'll come up there, want to hang out with me, start hating me again."

"She stops hating you when you're apart?"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Sometimes absence makes the heart grow hollow."

"Profound," he said. "All this fucking profundity so early in the day."

"You really think Stacy hates you."

"Ah knows she duz. Not that I can do anything about it. Birth order's birth order, she'll just have to deal with being number two."

"And you have to deal with being number one."

"The burdens of primacy." He peeled back a sleeve. "Oh man, left my watch back in my dorm room… Hopefully no one swiped it-I've really got to get back, take care of business. How much more time do we have?"

"Ten more minutes."

He examined the room some more, saw the play corner, the bookcase stacked with board games. "Hey, let's play Candy Land. See who gets to the top of that big rock-candy mountain first."

"Nothing wrong," I said, "with having a sweet life."

He wheeled, gaped at me. I never saw the tears in his eyes but the frantic way he swiped at them told me they were there. "Everything's a punch line with you- making your fucking point. Well, thanks for all the fucking insight, Doc."

The bell rang. Eight minutes early. Richard, overeager?

I picked up the phone, punched the intercom button for the side door.

"It's me," said Richard. "Sorry for interrupting, but we've got a bit of a problem out here."

Eric and I hurried over. Richard stood on the porch along with Stacy. Two tall men behind them.

Detectives Korn and Demetri.

Richard said, "These gentlemen want me to accompany them to the police station."

Korn said, "Hey, Doc. Nice place."

Richard said, "You know them?"

"What's going on?" I said.

Korn said, "Like Mr. Doss said, his presence is requested at the station."

"For what?"

"Questioning."

"In regard to?"

Demetri stepped forward. "That's not your business, Doctor. We allowed Mr. Doss to call you because his children are present and one of them's a minor. The boy's twenty, right? So he can drive both of them home in Mr. Doss's car."

He and Korn moved closer to Richard. Richard looked scared.

Stacy said, "Daddy?" Her eyes were wide with terror.

Richard didn't answer her. Nor did he ask what it was all about. Not wanting his children to hear the answer?

"You ride with us, sir," said Demetri.

"First I'm calling my lawyer."

"You're not being arrested, sir," said Korn. "You can call from the station."

"I'm going to call my lawyer." Richard brandished the silver phone.

Korn and Demetri looked at each other. Korn said, "Fine. Tell him to meet you at the West L.A. station, but you're coming with us."

"What the fuck," said Eric, moving toward the detectives.

Demetri said, "Stand back, son."

"I'm not your fucking son. If I was, my knuckles would be scraping the ground."

Demetri reached inside his jacket and touched his gun. Stacy gasped and Eric's eyes got wide.

I placed my hand on his shoulder, bore down. He was trembling.

Richard stabbed the keypad of the silver phone. Eric got next to Stacy, put his arm around her. She threw her arm across his chest. Her lips quivered. Eric's were still but the neck vein was racing. Both of them watched their father as he held the phone to his ear.

Richard's foot tapped impatiently. No more fear in his eyes. Calm under fire, or not totally surprised?

"Saundra? Richard Doss. Please get Max on the phone… What's that? When?… Okay, listen, it's really important that I talk to him… I'm in a bit of a jam… no, something different, I can't get into it right now. Just reach him in Aspen. ASAP. I'll be at the West LA. police station-with some detectives… What're your names?"

"Korn."

"Demetri."

Richard repeated that. "Reach him, Saundra. If he can't jet back, at the very least I need the name of someone who can help me. I'm on cellular. I'm counting on you. Bye." He clicked off the phone.

"On our way," said Demetri.

Richard said, "Demetri. Greek?"

"American," said Demetri, too quickly. Then: "Lithuanian. A long time ago. Let's get going, sir."