Pray for Silence (15 page)

“I think we were discussing my plethora of vices,” Tomasetti replied.

Hunt gave a small smile, then looked down at the file in front of him. Tomasetti knew it contained records—damning personal information from past doctors—another proviso he didn’t care for, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it. And so here he was.

“I see you’ve had some problems with alcohol,” Hunt said. “Are you still drinking?”

Tomasetti looked across the gleaming span of rosewood, wondering how much of this would get back to his superiors. “I’ve cut back. A lot.”

“You still running?”

“I’m up to a couple of miles.” He hadn’t run for a week, but then he didn’t feel the need to confess.

“What about sleep?” Hunt asked. “You sleeping at night?”

“Better.”

“Sleep disturbances? Nightmares?”

“Sometimes.” For the last two and a half years—since the murders of his wife and two little girls—Tomasetti had been plagued by nightmares. More than one shrink had called them a by-product of post-traumatic stress disorder. They’d prescribed everything from Valium to antidepressants to antianxiety drugs to sleeping pills. The antidepressants seemed to do more harm than good, so John had stopped taking them almost immediately. The rest, however, he’d sucked down with the self-destructive glee of an addict.

Early on, the drugs had made his days bearable and the nights not quite so endless. He figured if he wasn’t thinking about blowing his brains out, the meds were working. Things began to improve after the Slaughterhouse case—after he met Kate. He weaned himself off the drugs. Not cold turkey, but one pill at a time. At first, everything had been all right. He started running. Taking care of a body he’d abused for more than two years. Just when he thought he was going to make it, everything went to shit.

Tomasetti wanted his life back. He wanted his job back. He wanted to go to Painters Mill to see Kate, help her with the case. The phone call he’d received from her earlier drove that need into his brain like a six-inch spike.
She wouldn’t approve, but he worried about her. Too damn much if he wanted to be honest about it. But then he knew that bitch Fate had a habit of snatching away the things he cared about most.

His relationship with Kate was an anomaly; he’d never been a fan of female cops. Like their male counterparts, they could be a difficult lot. John figured he had enough problems just getting through the day without taking on a complicated woman. Not that he was looking. Not that she’d have him. Or so they both claimed.

She was one of the most interesting women he’d ever met. She was tough, capable and attractive as hell. This from a man who was not easily swayed by a pretty face. Evidently, he’d made an exception for her because she swayed him and then some.

In retrospect, Tomasetti knew that while it might have been the façade of tough that had initially drawn him to her, it was the barely discernible air of vulnerability that was the coup de grâce. Thrown together during a time of off-the-chart stress, and his fate had been sealed. Less than a week into the investigation, they’d ended up in bed. At first, it had been all about the sex. By the time he’d returned to Columbus, their relationship had turned into something else. Something he didn’t necessarily want, but he’d come to learn life didn’t give a damn about timing.

“So, you’re still having nightmares,” the doctor said. “How often? Once a week? Twice a week? More often?”

“A couple of times a week,” John answered. “Not as intense.”

“I wish you’d change your mind about the antidepressants.”

“I think my brain has enough problems without adding to the mix.”

“I know a few of the MAOI-class antidepressants have gotten some bad press in the last couple of years. But we could try one of the SSRIs. There are several good ones on the market. The supervised use of an antidepressant could be helpful in getting you back on track.”

Tomasetti’s life had been a train wreck for so long, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to put the mangled pieces back together in a form that made sense. “Not going to happen, Doc.”

“If you have a chemical imbalance—”

“We both know my being here has nothing to do with some goddamn
chemical imbalance. It has to do with the people I care about getting slaughtered. How the hell do you equate that with a fucking chemical imbalance?”

“Stress hormones can affect serotonin levels.”

“Or maybe I’m just pissed off because some piece of scum took my family away from me.”

“Is that what you want to talk about today?”

“I don’t want to talk about shit today. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I think we both know the only reason I’m here is because I’m trying to salvage my job.”

“Well, I’m glad you got that out in the open.” Hunt gave him a passable smile. “How do you feel about being put on leave?”

“I’m pissed. I want to work. I
need
to work. My being here is a waste of taxpayer’s money and a total waste of time. Mine and yours.”

The doctor stared at him for a while, then said, “Look, John, I know you don’t want to be here. I understand that. To be perfectly honest, you’re not exactly the ideal patient.”

“Now there’s a revelation.”

“The truth of the matter is you have some issues to deal with. Your not communicating with me isn’t going to help. I can’t do my job unless you talk to me. The sooner you’re straight with me, the sooner you’re out of here and back to work. We’re not going to progress until that happens.”

Tomasetti stared at him, aware that his heart was pounding. The words were a knot in his chest, being pulled inexorably tighter until he thought something inside him would rip apart. “I’m not getting any better,” he said after a moment.

“Why do you think that is?”

“It’s been two and a half years. I should be getting better. I’m not.”

“Healing takes time.”

“I’m getting worse.”

The doctor’s eyes sharpened, his expression taking on a knowing quality Tomasetti didn’t like. “Are you talking about your trip to the emergency room?”

Tomasetti looked away, wishing he’d been able to salvage just one shred of privacy. He honestly didn’t have much faith that this doctor could fix him,
and he sure as hell didn’t want to dredge up one of the most degrading experiences of his life.

“Why don’t you tell me about that?” Hunt pressed.

Tomasetti shifted in the chair, caught himself fidgeting, and stilled. “I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“But your heart is fine, isn’t it?”

Tomasetti said nothing.

“What was the emergency room physician’s diagnosis?” the doctor asked.

“He said I’d experienced an anxiety attack.”

“Do you understand what that is?”

“I’ve read up on it.”

“Why don’t we talk about that?”

Sighing, Tomasetti looked out the window at the lights of the city beyond. Downtown Columbus was a bustling place this time of the evening. Happy hour was just heating up over at the Buckeye Pub on High Street. He could hear the traffic three stories down and wished he were out there. He wished he were anywhere but inside this office, inside his own skin, inside his own head.

“How much of this gets back to the suits at BCI?” he asked after a moment.

“Everything you and I talk about is confidential. You know that.”

“You have to tell them
something.
How else do they know whether or not I show up?”

“I give them attendance reports.”

“So how are they going to know when I’m fixed?”

A smile curved the doctor’s mouth. “I’ll include that in my final report.”

“How will you know when we get there?”

“Let’s just say we’re not there yet.” The doctor waited a beat. “John, tell me about the anxiety attacks.”

Tomasetti thought about walking out. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d walked out of a doctor’s office. But he knew it would be counterproductive. The last thing he wanted was to sabotage his job. His relationship with Kate aside, it was all he had left.

He shrugged. “They’re pretty much textbook. Pounding heart. Sweating. Chest so tight I can’t take a breath.”

“How do they make you feel?”

“Out of control.” Tomasetti wiped his wet palms on his slacks, realized what he was doing and stopped. “Scared shitless.”

“I can write you a prescription.”

“I think I’ve had more than my share of pills.”

Hunt frowned. “Let’s go back to the nightmares for a second.”

“What about them?”

“How do they make you feel?”

“They scare the fuck out of me.”

“Why do they scare you?”

“Because someone I care about always gets hurt. Or worse.”

“They die?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you there? Witnessing it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you try to help them?”

“I try. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s like I’m paralyzed or something.”

“Are we talking about your family? Nancy? The girls?”

This was the part Tomasetti didn’t want to talk about. If he said it aloud, he would have to acknowledge the possibility that it could really happen. “Not always.”

“Who else is it you dream about, John? Who is it you can’t help? Who can’t you talk to me about?”

“Someone I care about.”

“A partner? A cop? A personal relationship?”

“Personal.”

“Okay. That’s a starting point. Thank you.” Hunt’s eyes sharpened. “You know I have access to your personnel file, John. Because of the shooting you were involved in. I know about the case last January.”

“Most of it was in the papers.”

“I’m talking about the stuff that wasn’t in the papers.”

Tomasetti remained silent.

“Look, I used to be a cop. I know how close partners can get.”

“She isn’t my partner.”

“But you were working with her. You were there for an extended period of time. You were under tremendous stress.” Hunt looked down at his notes. “You got involved with the chief of police.”

Since it was a statement as opposed to a question, Tomasetti figured it didn’t require an answer. Not that he had one. Hell, he didn’t know what was happening between him and Kate. Were they involved? It had been two months since he’d seen her. Did that equate to a relationship? Maybe it was all in his head because he spent so much time thinking of her. Dreaming of her. Things had progressed too quickly, and neither of them was prepared to deal with the consequences. That’s what you got when you put together two people who were experts at sabotaging relationships.

“Is she the one you dream about?” the doctor pressed. “The one you can’t help?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you want to talk about her?”

“I think we’ve talked enough for now.” Rising, Tomasetti gathered his coat from the back of the chair.

“We’ve got twenty minutes left.”

“Give it to the next guy.”

“All right. Maybe we’ll get into that next week.”

Tomasetti left without responding.

June 5

I saw him at the park again. I sat on the bench by the gazebo and ate my lunch. He was taking pictures. I pretended not to watch, but I did. He has the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

June 8

Mrs. Steinkruger snapped at me for daydreaming. I didn’t deserve her words. I took an early lunch at the park. He was there and asked why I was crying. I told
him, and he laughed. I felt like such a baby. I let him take my picture. The
Ordnung
forbids it. Graven images and all that. But he said I was photogenic. That made me so happy I forgot all about Mrs. Steinkruger.

June 12

I ate lunch at the park again. He was there and asked me if I wanted to take a ride in his car. I knew it was wrong, but I did it. Oh, it was such fun! But I was scared one of my Amish brethren would see me. I will never forget this day!

June 25

He took me to Miller’s Pond. He snapped pictures while I ate my bologna sandwich. I love to watch him with his camera, so serious. We sat in his car and listened to music. Oh, how I love rock and roll!

June 27

He told me I was special. After lunch he removed my
kapp.
I know it’s wrong, but his fingers in my hair felt so lovely. He said I have pretty eyes. I want to tell
Mamm
and
Datt
that he is courting me, but I know they will not approve. I want him to be my
kal.
But he is an outsider. I’m afraid they’ll make me quit my job and I won’t be allowed to come into town anymore. For now, this is my secret.

June 28

I thought of him all through worship.
Mamm
asked me if I was ill. I laughed and told her no. But I miss him so much it hurts.

June 30

I haven’t seen him for two days. Mrs. Steinkruger asked me why I keep looking out the window. I wish she would be nicer to me.

July 6

I’m fifteen years old today! I rushed through my chores and got to work early. I ate my sandwich in the park, but he didn’t come. I miss him. I was on my way back to the shop when he showed up in his car and asked me to get in. I should have
said no, but I couldn’t. He took me to Miller’s Pond and gave me a gift! English clothes! Blue jeans and a pretty pink shirt. I love them!

July 7

It happened today. He kissed me. My first ever. I couldn’t stop blushing. He thinks I’m a child, but I’m not. His mouth on mine was like poetry, soft and flowing and warm. Oh, I will never in a thousand years forget that kiss.

And so the saga of Mary Plank’s life goes.

I lie in my bed, propped up with pillows, and listen to the rain against the window. I hold Mary Plank’s journal in my right hand and a glass with two fingers of Absolut in my left. Reading the diary is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. I’m through the first month of her relationship with a man she hasn’t yet named. A man who is not Amish. An older man who has no regard for her age or the problems that will arise if her parents or the Amish community find out about them.