Jonathan Kellerman - Rage

“Something about what happened to Kristal,” I said. “Any idea what?”

“My assumption was he needed to unload. Because he’d never really dealt with what had happened. During our visits he had expressed some remorse. But maybe now that he could see freedom on the horizon, he was getting to a place where he could take a higher level of responsibility.”

“Such as?”

“Integrating his atonements into his consciousness. Perhaps by making proactive gestures.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“I know,” she said. “This must sound like gobbledygook to you. And I’m not sure I understand it myself. I guess I can’t help but think there was something Rand wanted to say that he hadn’t said before. Whatever it was, I’m kicking myself for not prying it out of him.”

“Sounds like you did more for him than anyone else did.”

“That’s kind, Doctor, but the truth is, with all the other fosters, there are so many demands on my attention. I should have reacted more… affirmatively.”

“Are you saying Rand’s guilt had something to do with his murder?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. To be honest, I’m feeling pretty foolish right now. For bothering you.”

“No bother,” I said. “What had Rand told you before?”

“At first, he claimed he didn’t remember a thing. Maybe that was even true- you know, repression. Even if it wasn’t, the psychodynamic would be the same, right, Doctor? The enormity of his transgression was just too much for his soul to bear, so he closed up and marshaled his defenses. Am I making sense?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I mean, it was all that boy could do just to get through each day. They claim it’s a juvenile facility but it’s not that at all.”

“There were old scars on Rand’s body,” I said.

“Oh, I know.” Her voice broke. “I heard about each assault but was never allowed to visit him when he was in the infirmary. When we got home he changed into fresh clothes and I took the old ones to wash. When he slipped off his T-shirt, I had a quick look at his back. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but it was hideous.”

“Tell me about the assaults.”

“The worst was when he was jumped by some gang members and stabbed several times for no reason at all. Rand wasn’t a fighter, just the opposite. But did that stop them?”

“How seriously was he hurt?”

“He ended up in the infirmary for over a month. Another time he was surprised from behind and hit on the head while taking a shower. I’m sure there were other incidents he didn’t talk about. He was a big strong boy, so he recovered. Physically. After the stabbing, I complained to the warden but I might as well have spit into the wind. The guards beat the inmates, too. Do you know what they call themselves? Counselors. They’re hardly that.”

“Those types of experiences could make someone jumpy,” I said.

“Of course they could,” she said. “But Rand had adjusted, it wasn’t until his release approached that the symptoms began. He was an amazing person, Doctor. I don’t know if I could’ve coped with eight years of that place and not gone crazy. If only I could’ve guided him better… One thing about working with people, you constantly get reminded that only God is perfect.”

“Did you visit Troy as well?”

“Twice. There wasn’t much time, was there?”

“Did Troy ever express any guilt?”

Silence. “Troy never got the chance to grow spiritually, Doctor. That child didn’t have a chance in the world. Anyway, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Whether it’s relevant, I don’t know.”

“I’ll pass it along to Detective Sturgis.”

“Thanks… one more thing, Dr. Delaware.”

“What’s that?”

“Your report on the boys. I never got a chance to tell you at the time, but I thought you did a very fine job.”

Rick Silverman answered at Milo’s house. “I’m out the door, Alex. Big Guy flew to Sacramento a couple of hours ago.”

“Where’s he’s staying?”

“Somewhere in Stockton, near some youth prison. Got to run, car crash, multiple traumas. I’m off-call but the hospital needs extra docs.”

“Go.”

“Nice talking to you,” he said. “If you speak to him before I do, tell him I’ll handle Maui.”

“Vacation plans?”

“Allegedly.”

Fun.

A woman’s body curled next to yours, inhaling her skin, her hair.

Cupping your hand over the swell of hip, tracing the xylophone of ribs, the knob of shoulder.

I propped myself up and watched Allison sleep. Absorbed the rhythm of her breathing and followed the slow fade of the flush that had spread across her chest.

I got out of bed, slipped on shorts and a T-shirt, and made my escape.

By the time she wandered into the kitchen wearing my ratty yellow robe, I’d made coffee and checked my service for messages and thought a lot about Cherish Daney’s call.

Rand wanting to talk about Kristal. Same thing he’d told me.

No, that wasn’t quite right. He had mumbled and I’d raised the topic and he’d agreed.

Opening him up.

Allison mumbled something that might’ve been “Hi.” Her gait was unsteady and her black hair was loose and unruly in that nice way really thick hair can pull off. She blinked a few times, struggled to keep her eyes open, made it over to the sink, ran the tap and wet her face. Cinching the robe’s belt tight, she patted herself dry with a paper towel, shook her head like a puppy.

Gaping yawn. Her hand reached her mouth belatedly. “ ‘Scuse me.”

When I took her in my arms she fell against me so heavily I wondered if she’d dropped back to sleep. In heels, she’s no giant. Barefoot, she barely reaches my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head. She patted my back, a curiously platonic gesture.

I steered her to a chair, filled a mug with coffee, put some ginger cookies on a plate. She’d bought them weeks ago. They’d never been opened. I keep telling myself to learn some serious cooking skills, but when I’m alone it’s whatever’s easy to fix.

She stared at the cookies as if they were some exotic curiosity. I placed one at her lips and she nibbled, chewed with effort, swallowed with a gulp.

I got some coffee in her and she smiled up at me woozily. “What time is it?”

“Two p.m.”

“Oh… where’d you go?”

“Just here.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I had a catnap.”

“I passed out like a wino,” she said. “I don’t even know what time zone I’m in…”

Her eyes swung to the mug. “More? Thanks. Please.”

Half an hour later, she was showered, made-up, hair combed flat down her back, wearing a white linen shirt, black slacks, demi-boots with heels too thin to support a chihuahua.

She hadn’t eaten since tea with Grandma the previous afternoon and wondered aloud about protein. The choice was mutual and easy: a steak house in Santa Monica that we frequented when we needed quiet. Dry-aged beef, good bar. Also, the place we’d first met.

The air outside was a brutal seventy-five and we took her black Jaguar XJS because it’s a convertible. I drove and she kept her eyes closed during the trip, rested a hand on my thigh.

Glorious day. I wondered about the weather in Stockton.

I’d been there once, years ago, on a court-ordered evaluation. It’s a nice aggie town east of Sacramento, in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley, with a river port. That far inland, all those flat fields, it had to be hotter.

By now, Milo would be sweating, probably cursing.