The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [64]
“Why?” Keller said. “Are you suggesting it? Wow, treatments really have changed in five years.”
“Damn it, stop avoiding my questions. I wouldn’t keep asking if it wasn’t important.”
“No,” Keller said. “Nothing like that.”
“You said you almost hurt somebody. Tell me about it.”
Keller took a deep breath. “I’ve been seeing a woman.”
Berry leaned back and folded his big hands across his chest. “Someone you met on the job?”
“Yeah. She’s a cop.”
“Okay. Go on.”
Keller looked at the lawn. “We were asleep. Together. I had one of the dreams. She was on fire.”
“Ah.”
Keller looked back at him. “What do you mean, ‘ah’”?
Berry waved him off. “Just ah. Keep talking.”
“I think she tried to wake me up. I woke up with my hands around her throat.”
“What happened then?”
“She has a kid. A son. I woke him up. He was crying. I scared him.” As he spoke, Keller involuntarily leaned forward, his hands wrapped across his stomach. When he had finished, he was curled over like a man shot in the gut.
Berry’s voice was steady. “Then what happened?”
Keller straightened up. “I left.”
“She say anything to you?”
“Yeah,” Keller said. “She asked me what was wrong.”
“Did you tell her?”
Keller shook his head. “I just left.”
“You ran.” Berry said it without anger or accusation; his voice was flat and matter of fact. Keller started to protest, then just nodded. “Yeah.”
“She mean anything to you? This woman?” Berry asked.
Keller thought for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“What had been going on between you? Before the dream?”
Keller looked at him. “We were making love.”
“Before that, then.”
“We were--she had asked me about my family.”
Berry raised an eyebrow. “And you told her?”
“A little, yeah. Just the basics.”
Berry whistled. “That’s serious progress, Jack,” he said.
“Yeah, but..”
Berry cut him off. “You’re starting to open up to someone. That’s good. It’s a damn sight better than the way you were when you saw me five years ago. Then, you were...” he trailed off.
“What?” Keller said. “I was what?”
Berry looked straight at him. “You were the walking dead, Jack. You’d cut yourself off from everything. I was kind of amazed when you called. I was amazed that you were still alive.”
“Yeah,” Keller said. “Well, I guess I’m better now.”
“A little,” Berry agreed. “But some of the stuff you’ve been cramming down into the back of your head for years is coming out. Believe it or not, that’s good too. It was going to come out anyway, Jack. So does she care about you?”
“I think so. Probably. Yeah, she does.”
“Congratulations,” Berry said. “Love and work, Jack. That’s what Freud said everyone needs.”
“I thought you said Freud was a quack.”
“Mostly,” Berry said. “But sometimes he hit it right on the nose.” He stood up. “You still against the idea of prescription meds? They’ve got some new stuff on the market that doesn’t have as many side effects.”
Keller shook his head. “No. I’m still working. I can’t take anything that might slow me down.”
Berry sighed. “It’s hard to treat someone for anxiety who gets shot at for a living.” He shrugged. “Well, you’re not suicidal, at least not any more than your job requires. Come on with me to the front desk and we’ll make you another appointment.”
Keller stood up. “Okay. How much do I owe you?”
“I don’t know,” Berry said. “I haven’t done outpatient psychotherapy like this in a few years. I’ll send you a bill when I figure out what to charge.”
“Thanks, doc,” Keller said. “I mean, for taking all this trouble.”
Berry clapped him on the shoulder. “You were always my greatest challenge, Jack.” They went inside to the front parlor that had been converted into an office and reception area. As the receptionist penciled in Keller’s appointment, he heard a voice behind him. “Mr. Keller?”
Keller and Berry turned. Crystal Puryear was standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a pair of ragged jeans and a tee-shirt. Behind her, a group of people was slowly filing out of a room across the hall.
“Crystal,” the receptionist said, “You know the rules. After group, you have to get back to your room