Last Man Standing (27 page)

“Damn, sounds simple,” he said sarcastically.

She looked at him in what Web thought was a strange way.

“Sometimes it is simple.” She looked down at her papers. “All right, have you noticed any changes in yourself physically?
Chills, dizziness, chest pain, elevated blood pressure, difficulty breathing, fatigue, nausea, anything like that?”

“The first time I went back to the courtyard and went over what happened, I felt a little dizzy.”

“Anything since then?”

“No.”

“All right, have you been excessively excitable since then?”

Web didn’t have to think long. “No, not really.”

“Any type of substance abuse to help you cope?”

“Nothing! I’ve been drinking less, actually.”

“Flashbacks of the event?”

Web shook his head.

“Do you feel numb, wanting to avoid life, people?”

“No, I want to find out what happened. I want to be proactive.”

“Are you more angry, irritable or hostile than normal with people?” She looked at him and smiled. “Present company excluded.”

Web returned the smile briefly. “Not really, Claire. I think I’ve been relatively calm, actually.”

“Persistent depression, panic attacks, heightened anxiety or phobia formations?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Okay, do you have repetitive memories of the event that intrude suddenly on your thoughts? Traumatic dreams or nightmares,
in other words?”

Web spoke slowly as he picked his way through this mental minefield. “The night in the hospital, after it happened, I had
some bad dreams. They had me drugged up, but I remember I kept apologizing over and over to all the guys’ wives.”

“Perfectly natural under the circumstances. Anything since then along those lines?”

Web shook his head. “I’ve been really busy with the investigation,” he said by way of defense. “But I think about it all the
time. I mean, what happened in that courtyard, it crushed me. Like a pile driver. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“But in your line of work you have experienced death before?”

“Yes, but never to any of my team.”

“Do you find you’ve blocked part of what happened out of your mind, something we refer to as memory dysfunction or amnesiac
syndrome?”

“No, I pretty much remember every damn detail,” Web replied wearily.

While Claire looked down at her notes, Web blurted out, “I didn’t want them to die, Claire. I’m sorry that they did. I would
do anything to have them back.”

She looked up at him and put aside her notes. “Web, listen to me very carefully. Just because you don’t have the symptoms
of post-traumatic stress disorder does not mean you don’t care what happened to your friends. It doesn’t mean you’re not suffering.
You have to understand that. What I see in you is a man who is suffering all the normal symptoms of having gone through an
ordeal that would have left most people unable to function, at least for quite a long time.”

“But not me.”

“You have unique skills, years of training and a psychological makeup that aided you considerably in being selected for HRT
in the first place. I’ve learned a lot more about HRT since you came to me. I know that the physical pounding and stress they
put you through is extraordinary, but the ordeal they put you through mentally is even more daunting. Because of
both
your physical and psychological makeup, you can deal with more than just about anyone, Web. You survived that courtyard,
obviously not just with your life but also with your mind intact.”

“So I don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“No, I don’t think that you do.”

He looked down at his hands. “Does this mean we’re done?”

“No. Just because you’re not traumatized over what happened in that courtyard doesn’t mean you don’t have some issues that
need working through. Perhaps some issues that have been with you since long before you joined HRT.”

He sat back, instantly suspicious; he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Like what?”

“That’s what we’re here to talk about. You mentioned that you felt a part of your colleagues’ families. I’m wondering if you
ever wanted a family of your own.”

Web thought about this for a while before answering. “I always thought I’d have a big family, you know, lots of sons to play
ball with and lots of daughters to spoil, let them wrap old dad around their pretty little fingers, and me smiling all the
way.”

Claire picked up her pad and pen. “And why didn’t you?”

“Years got away from me.”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

She looked at his face, both the good and the bad. Web turned away just like he had last time.

“Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn the injured side of your face away when someone looks at it.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really think about it.”

“It seems to me, Web, that you think very carefully about everything you do.”

“Maybe you’d be surprised.”

“We haven’t talked about personal relationships. Are you dating anyone?”

“My job doesn’t leave a lot of time for that.”

“Yet the other men on your team were all married.”

“Maybe they were just better at it than me,” he said curtly.

“Tell me, when did you receive the injuries to your face?”

“Do we really have to go there?”

“It seems as though you’re uncomfortable with this. We can go on to something else.”

“No, what the hell, I’m not uncomfortable about it.” He stood, took off his jacket, and while Claire watched in growing amazement,
Web undid the top button on his shirt to reveal the bullet wound on his neck. “I got the
injuries
to my face right before I got this
injury.
” He pointed to the wound on the base of his neck. “Some white supremacists called the Free Society took over a school in
Richmond. While my face was on fire, one of them got me with a .357 Magnum round. Nice clean wound, went right through me.
Another millimeter to the left, I’m either dead or a quad. Now, I got another one, but I won’t show you the hole. It’s right
here.” He touched the wound near his armpit. “That bullet was what we in the business call a Chunneler round. You know, like
the tunnel under the English Channel and those monster drills that dug it? It is damn wicked ordnance, Claire, steel-jacketed.
It spirals into you at about Mach Three. And if anything gets in its way, it’s pulverized. It went right through me and then
killed the guy behind me who was looking to pop my head open with a machete. If it had been a dum-dum round instead of steel-jacketed,
the bullet would still be in me and I’d be dead from a machete sticking in my skull.” He smiled. “I mean, can you believe
the timing on that one?”

Claire looked down, remaining silent.

“Hey, Doc, don’t look away, you haven’t seen the best yet.” She glanced up as he cupped his chin with his hand and angled
the damaged side of his face so it was fully on display for her. “Now, this beauty came from a flame gusher that almost took
out my good buddy Lou Patterson—you know, the late husband of the woman who dissed me to the whole world? I’m sure you saw
that on TV, right? Damn shield melted right to my face. They tell me a doctor and a nurse fainted when they saw me at the
hospital in Richmond. The whole side was a raw, open wound. Somebody said I looked like I had already decomposed. Five operations,
Claire, and the pain, well, let me tell you the pain just doesn’t come any better. They had to strap me down more than a few
times. And when I saw what was left of my face, all I wanted to do was put a gun in my mouth and chew on a round, and in fact
I almost did. And after finally getting past all of that and checking out of the hospital, it was really fun to see how the
women ran screaming when they saw old Web coming their way. My little black book just went right down the old toilet. So,
no, I really don’t date that often, and marriage just seemed to take a backseat to important things like taking out the garbage
and cutting the grass.” He sat back down and buttoned his shirt. “Anything else you want to know?” he asked amiably.

“I actually saw the Bureau press conference where they revealed a lot about how you received your injuries. What you did was
incredibly heroic. Yet it seems like your view of yourself is someone who is unattractive and unacceptable to women.” Then
she added, “And I’m also wondering if you think you would have made a good father.”

Damn the woman, she just didn’t quit. “I’d like to think so,” he said evenly, trying very, very hard to keep his temper in
check.

“No, I’m asking you if you
do
think so.”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” he said angrily.

“Do you think if you had children, you would have ever abused them?”

Web came halfway out of his chair. “Claire, I’m about two seconds from walking out of here! And not coming back.”

She stared him down. “Remember, when we first started therapy, I said you had to trust me. Now, therapy is not easy, Web,
particularly if you have issues you don’t want to address. All I’m trying to do is help, but you need to deal straight with
me. If you want to waste time with histrionics, that’s your call. I’d prefer to be more productive.”

Psychiatrist and lawman stared at each other for a very long moment. Web finally was the one to blink and he sat back down.
He had just achieved a much better appreciation for Romano’s plight with Angie. “I wouldn’t have beaten my kids. Why would
I, after what Stockton did to me?”

“What you say seems perfectly logical. However, the reality is that most parents who abuse their children were also abused
as children. It’s not as easy as learning from our parents’ mistakes because our emotional psyche doesn’t work that efficiently.
And children aren’t equipped to think that way. They are powerless to resist the abuse and thus they repress the hatred and
anger and feelings of helplessness often over many years. It doesn’t just go away by itself, this boiling pot of confusion,
feelings of betrayal or the low self-esteem that accompanies the abused child—Daddy or Mommy can’t love me because they hit
me and it must be my fault, because Daddy and Mommy can do no wrong. Abused children grow up and have children, and sometimes
they work through their problems and become outstanding parents. Other times, the anger and hatred that has lain dormant for
so long comes out and is directed at their own children, just as it was done to them.”

“I would never raise my hand to a child, Claire. I know what I do for a living might make me seem that way, but I’m not like
that.”

“I believe you, Web. I really do. But more to the point, do
you
believe you?”

His face flushed again. “You are really throwing me here, lady.”

“Let me phrase it more directly, then. Do you think it just possible that your decision not to marry and have children may
have come from the fact that you were abused and you feared you may abuse your own children? It’s not unheard of, Web; it’s
really not. Some might claim it’s the ultimate sacrifice, in fact.”

“Or the ultimate running away from your problems.”

“Some might claim that too.”

“What do you think?”

“It could very well be you’re both. But if that is the reason you’ve held back from marriage and a family, we can work through
it, Web. And while I can understand how the injuries to your face might make it difficult for
some
women to be attracted to you, don’t think all women are like that, because they’re not.”

He shook his head and then stopped, glanced up at her, held her gaze. “When I was sitting out in the middle of Montana during
yet another standoff with yet another group pissed off at the government, I’d spend my morning watch drawing beads on the
guys with my sniper rifle as they passed by the window. I spent several hours every day just waiting for the moment when I’d
have to kill one of them. That sort of thing just wears you down, Claire, the waiting-to-kill part. So when I was off watch,
sitting under the stars in the evenings out there in the middle of nowhere Montana, I used to write letters home.”

“To whom?”

Web looked a little embarrassed and took a few moments to get going, for he had never revealed this before to anyone. “I pretended
I had kids.” He shook his head and couldn’t even look at her now. “I even made up names like Web Junior, Lacey. My youngest
was Brooke, with red hair and teeth missing. And I’d write them all letters. I actually sent them to my house, so they’d be
waiting there when I got home. In the middle of waiting to kill a bunch of losers in Montana who were so outgunned it wasn’t
even funny, I’m writing to Brooke Louise and telling her Daddy will be home soon. I actually started believing I had a family
back home. It’s really the only thing that got me through, because I finally did have to pull that trigger and the population
of Montana dropped by a couple.” He stopped and wiped his mouth, swallowed what seemed to Web like a mountain of belly bile
and stared at the carpet. “When I got home, there were all those letters waiting for me. But I didn’t even read them. I already
knew what they said. The house was empty. No Brooke Louise.”

He finally looked up. “That’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?” he said. “Writing letters to kids you don’t even have?”

Without trying to, Web could see that he had finally gotten to Claire Daniels.