The Forsaken (2 page)

“Let’s not do this,” Jude said.

“Do what? Be honest? These sessions won’t do you any good if you keep me in the dark.”

If he could avoid the doctor’s stare for a little while longer, the session would expire and he could escape to the department to start his real day. Didn’t Dr. Irons understand that a stupid conversation like this wasn’t therapy? An obligation, that’s all it was.

“Although your mind has some splinters, it can be put back together.” A long pause. “In time.”

There it was. Without fail, Jude expected to hear that phrase at least every session.

Jude heard his back crack. A distraction, he hoped, from the probing inquiries he hated more than filling out profiles. His face and every crease in it read like a badly-written novel. No secrets, no rising action. Boring, stock characters. Pages with no romance. His seemingly misguiding features were offset by two arctic eyes, brown in the sunlight but actually gray.

“Good grief, you’re a dense old man. Session after session, you still don’t get it. I hate this. You ask the same thing every time. Ask me if I’m crazy. What is that, some kind of reverse-psychology garbage? You and I both know the things that happened aren’t right.”

“But your reaction to them, that was?”

“A question with a question. Classic. I hate being in this room.” Jude couldn’t even hear himself anymore.

“If you want things back to the way they were, you’re going to have to play by the rules.”

What kind of manipulation was this? Following orders, is that all he was good for?
You’re not even that good at that
, his mind intruded
.

“I want you to be free,” Irons said. “The first place sickness lurks is in our minds. Nothing would give me more solace than to see you get your life back in order.”

“So this is some kind of an ego trip for you, then? Nice. Getting your patients better, that gets you off, doesn’t it? Are
you
fulfilled? Does this stuff give your life meaning and make you happy? Can you sleep at night?” Barraging the ancient gargoyle with accusations and questions wasn’t intentional. He simply fired them off like a rogue machine gun. He hoped one of the bullets landed in Irons’ sepulcher of a heart.

“Life is no guarantee, Detective. I do what I do because I need to.” Dr. Irons almost became human for a moment. His wrinkled, brick-like flesh and milky eyes formed a picture of what Jude might one day look like if the nightmares had their way.

“Maybe you’re sick too.”

“Perhaps I am. Is that what you want to hear? That the doctor trying to make you better is a sociopath? Would you relate more keenly to me then? Would you trust me?”

Jude didn’t like where this was going. Insinuation and innuendo were two mistresses he never went to bed with.

“Seems I’ve struck a nerve.”

Jude held back.

“You want resolution, I get it. But that’s not the way the world works. Sometimes you must accept things as they are. Unfinished.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll go mad if you let it consume you. Your emotions, your anger, your thirst for whatever this is, may destroy you.”

“Now you’re a psychic, is that it?”

“Hardly,” the doctor returned, folding his hands on his lap. “I am just a man who knows what it’s like to lose a part of who you are.”

“Is that the textbook talking or you?”

“What will it take for you to put away that menace?” the doctor asked. “You think it’s your guard, but it’s not. It has you on its leash. You, Jude Foster, are more lost than you know.”

When he heard those words, it was like Father Eliam were saying them to him.

“We all want a reason, a method to explain the things we can’t control.”

“This is different!” Jude hollered.

“How? Do you really think I haven’t seen men and women like you before? Do you really think you’re that unique? Forgive me, but this is classic. You need to accept reality, the truth, and move on. He is gone.”

“I’ll find him,” Jude fumed. “I’ll find them both. I swear, I will.”

“How far are you willing to go for this vendetta? How much will be enough? When will the bloodlust cease?”

“Bloodlust?” Jude asked, almost sarcastically. “Justice.”

“Whose justice?” Irons coldly returned. “Yours? The city’s? I guarantee you the people here have already forgotten about this business.”

“Yeah, well, maybe they’re the lucky ones.”

“You got a second chance. You survived, didn’t you?”

Jude reluctantly nodded.

“Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones as well. Let it go. The thirst never dies.”

“I’m not some vampire. I’m human, flesh and blood. Still, someone has to pay. Someone always does. It isn’t right.”

“I guess that makes you God, then, does it? Well, while you’re cleansing yourself, might you find time to give this old heart a scrub?” Dr. Irons pushed out a condescending chuckle. “If you don’t want to be here, just leave. I don’t need the aggravation.”

Jude scratched at the fabric in the leather chair, chewed the bottom of his lip for a while. He then got up and moved toward the door but stopped short of turning the handle.

“Something’s keeping you here. You want it. You can walk through that doorway like any other, but you and I both know you ultimately won’t find what you are looking for. Only more dead ends.”

Jude turned around and walked back to his seat. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t I make it stop? This hatred, this pain, it’s like a freaking leech. It feeds and never stops. Why can’t I let it go?”

“It’s simple, really. You’re not ready.”

“How long’s it been? Nights start to blur.”

“Let’s not forget that you endured a terrible experience. The trauma, the devastation—they don’t vanish overnight. But, in time, like all things, these wounds may heal.”

“Time sounds a lot like a sadist.”

Dr. Irons tried to hide his toothy grin. “You trusted Morgan like a brother. He was your partner on the force, so it’s normal for you to feel this way, to feel wounded. The human creature lies, murders. There is darkness within all men, Detective. How much we let in determines who and what we’ll become.”

For the first time in a long time, Jude was really listening. But the blade churning in his gut, that craving for payback, lingered.

“In order to obtain control, sometimes we must first relinquish it. Morgan, your partner, wore several masks, Jude. He was a very sick killer. He was never your ally. He became one of this city’s most dangerous threats. Morality and conscience far too often blur. Truth and lie become one. He thought he possessed control, but in the end, his desires became his chains.”

“I’m not him!”

“No one begins that way. Roads to hell are paved with the intentions of good men. Morgan lost himself. He wanted to hurt little girls, or anyone else who seemed to fit his nightmarish cravings. Perhaps he thought all of it might make him better, might help him fix his past.”

“Stop it. You’re making him sound like he’s some lost puppy. He’s a twisted freak!”

“I’m not the one to convince, Jude. You’ve told me quite enough about his character. But what of you? Are you so sure in your ability to make him bleed? What if you suffer for the rest of your natural life, waiting for vengeance, but it never comes?”

Jude flared his nostrils. Again, the questions pierced like arrows.

“I’m not the bad guy. I just want it to stop. He has to pay for what he’s done.” Jude glanced at the clock. Suddenly, he wished he had never turned around. Then again, if the chief found out he had bailed from a session, he’d probably suspend him indefinitely.

“How’s your brother, Kevin?”

“Nothing’s changed.” Jude coughed and then muttered under his breath, “Nothing ever changes.”

“Are you going to keep enabling him? He’s your younger brother, so by no means am I suggesting that you cut him off entirely. But sooner or later creatures with wings must learn to fly.”

“Is that your solution for everybody? Doesn’t matter if we’re ready or not, just push us out of the nest and hope to God we spread our wings? You like to talk a lot about the real world, but you don’t have any brothers. You have no idea what it’s like to try to help them.”

“Settle down. I’m sorry. Perhaps I was out of—”

“Yeah, you were,” Jude replied, before the doctor had a chance to fully apologize.

Irons scribbled several notes and looked Jude in the face. “You’re holding onto him, but I don’t think he’s strong enough to save you. This fear, where does it come from, I wonder? There is so much of it in you. It’s coming out of your eyes, your bones. You’re afraid of being alone, I think. You keep people far enough away but close enough to know you’re not forsaken.”

Jude shrugged, not believing it. The clock ticked.

“Your ex-partner brought this frailty to the frontlines. It’s a sad thing to think we’re all alone in the world.”

“Guess you cracked the case. That’s it. Am I dismissed?”

“I’m not holding any collars here. You came back to me.” Dr. Irons released a breath of frustration. “The mind is a puzzle. These things take time.”

“Look, it’s been more than a year. I’ve been trying to get straight, fix the mess in my mind ever since that scumbag left me for dead. I’m starting to think there is no way to get better. Can you help me or not?” Jude was desperate for peace of any kind.

The doctor removed his round, plastic frames and replied, “I am trying.”

“I can’t sleep. You know I’ve tried to stop relying on the medication, but it isn’t working. Give me something, anything.”

Irons cracked his jaw, a sigh of reluctance, but eventually surrendered and wrote out a new prescription. “You’re not a good beggar. But here you go. This won’t fix you, you know that. It will only postpone the inevitable.”

Jude looked away and took the note.

Irons was silent for a moment before saying, “Most often, change comes from the inside.”

Jude stood up, knowing there was no doubt a story or some kind of philosophy lesson the doctor had hoped to convey. But he didn’t care. He’d heard enough of today’s sermon.

“We must face our demons sooner or later, Detective,” Irons concluded, putting on his glasses.

Jude exited the office without regard. He hated that some of what the old man said was true. He descended the long flight of stairs that led to the crowded parking garage. As he opened his car door and stepped inside, he stared for a long moment at the reflection trapped in the rearview mirror. A man could wear thin through more than just age. And somehow it was happening. The grip of fatigue, rage, and obsession had begun its cycle.

He swallowed hard, and looked away. “From the inside,” he sighed.

3

KEVIN SQUINTED UNTIL HIS
eyes were ready to give. He glanced around his small studio apartment then back at the nightstand cluttered with cigarette ashes and liquor bottles. His body was already starting to exact revenge for last night.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he yawned, eventually taking another long sip from the half-empty jug of vodka. The headache vibrating through his skull wasn’t nearly jogging his memory like he’d hoped. The last nine hours were still mostly a blur.

No matter how many times he endured them, Kevin hated hangovers. The forgetting, the queasy stomach, the wondering where you were when you woke up. He hated all of it. Thankfully, it wasn’t all that hellish of a wakeup this time; the babe lying beside him still breathed softly.

“A piece of art,” he whispered, moving a strand of bleached hair behind her ear. Most girls usually left before dawn. But Crystal was sweeter. She threw in the mornings for free because she enjoyed spending time with him. He was thankful there was someone who would love him when he called for it.

He’d kiss her cheek, but he wanted to wait for her to wake up. Crystal wasn’t like past girlfriends or the occasional dancer he hooked up with; she actually seemed more beautiful in the morning. Kevin focused on the sound of her slow breathing. Then he studied the ruby lipstick that delicately sketched the soft frame of her mouth and the black eyeliner a night of sleep had left slightly smudged. He slipped his fingers through her beautiful mane. “You’re a goddess, and I’m…only human.”

He staggered out of the sheets and moved toward the window, looking down at the city street. There weren’t many sights to see from his low-end studio. Jude claimed he got it for him dirt cheap. But he’d never even met the landlord. Of course, Kevin never dug deeper for any explanations. He was okay with the crummy neighborhood he called home. Felt more a part of their world anyhow, rather than his own growing up. A close-knit family system was never really in the cards for his brother and him, especially since Dad died and Jude decided to split out of convenience. Or maybe he left because of heartbreak; it didn’t make an ounce of difference. Big brother bailed when he couldn’t take it anymore.

Kevin glanced down at his wrists for a second, remembering. The scars never let him forget how screwed up he was, how screwed up the Fosters were. It wasn’t bitterness or hatred that he felt for his father or for Jude; it was envy. The beggars who claimed their corners down below, much like the hustlers and package-store thieves, were all the same, but they seemed to have a drive and a purpose. They had each other too. He had never had Jude, not really. Still, he gave these faces down below names, titles like brother and father, sister and mother. Cousin and blood. They stuck around when no one else did. At moments of convenience, they reminded him he was still alive. And from his spot in the watchtower, behind ripped curtains he never bothered to replace, Kevin was safer. He could look at them not with contempt but with understanding. This was the alley’s family unit. Dysfunctional, broken, but true north.