Chapter 8

Jessica held her hand out for high fives as the children filed out of the room.  Five, six, seven.  "Have a great lunch.  Eat!"  She signed along and counted the eighth clap.  One more.  She waited.  It would be Jimmy.  He was trouble.

She closed the door and wove her way through the small desks to her own at the head of the class.  She stepped behind it and sat in her chair.

There it was.  Breathing.  Just behind her.

She spun the chair and spread her hands out, eyes and mouth stretched wide for the little boy.  "Bah!"

His laugh was loud and off tone, but filled with joy at the surprise.  He reached out and tapped a laugh into her hands.

"Go!  You'll be late for lunch."  She signed to him and spun him toward the door.  She listened to his small feet scurry to the exit.  The door opened with a wave of noise from the hallway, then closed.  Jessica sat for a moment, listened to the wind on the windows, the creak of pipes in the old brick building.  She reached into the desk's bottom drawer, pulled out the portable recorder.  She settled it in her hand, thumbed rewind, then play.

"Hey, Jess.  Just a quick note to say I love you.  Note done.  Bye bye."  William's voice sank into her.  She played it again, then leaned her head down onto the recorder.

Damn it, she thought.

She sat, tried to push his voice out of her mind, but it wouldn't move.

Five knocks at the door in a rhythm she knew.  Shave and a haircut. 

Jessica patted her eyes dry and dropped the recorder back into the drawer.  "Sarah?" she signed.

Two more knocks.  Two bits.

Jess rose and met Sarah halfway to the door.  Sarah rubbed a thumb across Jess' cheek, lifting away another tear.

 *

The front desk was large.  It seemed to Dr. Westen that its age and stained wood gave it authority, a sense of purpose and ability.  Predictably, the woman behind it had none of these.  The receptionist put the phone down and Westen blew out a breath as she waited. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am.  No answer," the woman said.

Westen stared at her.  "Then I'll just go upstairs to leave a message in person."

"I'm sorry, ma'am.  No visitors upstairs without an escort."

Westen's hand jolted with pain as she tried to gesture her frustration.  She settled it back down.  "Just tell him I stopped by."  She turned before the desk clerk could answer and started toward the large outer door.  As she walked, her eyes scanned the lobby, the people milling around, the large stairs.  Then she saw the man walking down the stairs, his face buried in a file.

She turned, stopped in front of the stairs and waited.

He hit the bottom step, looked up and stopped cold.  He closed the folder and she saw his hand gravitate to the watch again.  Interesting, she thought.  The behavior bordered on obsessive.  It was obviously some sort of unconscious comfort to him.  A panacea for some weakness.

"Detective.  You haven't responded to any of my messages."

She watched his attempt at a calming smile.  "Doctor.  Good to see you up.  Are you sure you should be out of the hospital so soon?"

"I'm perfectly able to manage my own care, thank you, Detective."  She didn't return the smile, though she knew he expected it.  "My calls?"

His smile faded, which was fine.  She didn't need the social pretense, not when there was work to be done.  "I've been a little busy trying to find your patient, Doctor."  He glanced at the exit and took a step that way.  She followed.

"And what can I do to help?"

He turned to her, obviously had to think about the appropriate answer.  "Help?"  He took another step and stopped.  "All right.  William Adams is schizophrenic; experiences auditory and visual hallucinations.  Correct?"

Hearing that he only had more questions could be annoying, but her level of patience was an easy element to control.  "Yes."

"What specifically did he see and hear?"

She felt her patience stretch a little tighter, a little closer to breaking, so Westen took in a slow breath.  She would have to keep a tighter lock on her frustration if these were the types of questions the detective would ask.  He obviously didn't know just how important it was to find Adams, and she wasn't about to inform him, but he could at least act like this was something of a priority.  "He was non-specific in the interviews I had with him.  He always insisted that the voices were gone.  Why?"

He continued walking.  "What did the voices tell him to do?"

Westen blew out a short breath before answering.  "His fiancé reported that they told him to put himself at risk.  Typical of some types of schizophrenia."

"Anything else unusual?" he asked.

"No.  He's been essentially non-responsive the whole time he's been in our care.  Both conventional and atypical antipsychotics produced a heavy sedation and did little to treat the negative symptoms in his case.  Do you understand what that means?"

He nodded at her, but she doubted that he understood half of what she'd told him.  She could have been clearer, explained that Adams had been withdrawn and that the side effects of his drugs only made it worse, but the detective needed to know his place in this round of questioning.  He was supposed to be providing her with information.  "And any idea why he attacked you instead of someone else?" Mickelson asked.

She made sure to answer quickly, to keep her voice even.  "No idea.  I assume I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, so to speak."

He pushed open the doors.  "All right.  Thank you."

Westen followed, kept her voice in check.  "I think you misunderstand me, Detective.  What can I do to help you find him?  How do such basic questions help?"

"The more I understand about him, the quicker I can find him."  She saw there was more.  What did he know?  She might have to step a bit more carefully around this man.  He was useful if he could find Adams, but that was all the detective was needed for.

"Detective, I've been out looking for him.  Don't you at least want to compare notes?" she asked.

He finally stopped.

"You've been out looking for him?  For the man that attacked you?"  She saw exasperation on his face.  "Dr. Westen, do not do that."  He pronounced each word of the last statement distinctly, as if he was speaking to a child and Westen had to stop herself from sneering at him.

"Why not?"

He pointed the file at her.  The move was too direct, rather rude, she thought.  "The one thing we know about him is that he reacts badly to you, doctor.  I don't need you putting yourself in danger and complicating the situation." 

He turned away and started walking again.

"Just let me do my job, Doctor Westen."  He hurried down the street.

For a moment, Dr. Westen considered following him, but the throb in her hand slowed her.  She would have to work without the detective, find William before he did.

(Author's note:  So...what is Westen hiding that is making her so anxious to capture William?  What do you think might happen if she catches him!)