DANNY ALONE
I ought to explain that this story is the third in a sequence and should be read after Vivian and Martin, and before Martin and Danny.
Special Agent Danny Taylor surveyed the living room of his apartment and what was left of his life.
He was reminded of all the pictures he had seen of the aftermath of various disasters : the attacks on the World Trade Centre; the tsunami; and, further back, bombing raids in the Second World War. Of the people who were left, wandering numbly through the wreckage of what had once been their homes, their lives, in the forlorn hope of finding something to salvage; but, there was nothing.
This was how he felt.
True, his loss was of a completely different kind; but, in its own way, it was just as bewildering, numbing and painful. He had no idea how he was going to deal with it.
He had spent the week-end alone. Martin had been so very kind to him on Friday evening; he had just let Danny give way to his emotions without comment, prejudice or judgement. During the week-end, he had seemed to know just how much space to give Danny; he had texted various times, to let him know he was there; but, had not intruded by telephoning or calling. Despite the depth of his grief, Danny knew how lucky he was to have a friend like Martin.
But, why did this happen to me? thought poor Danny. Why, why, WHY?
It was a question to which there just did not seem to be any answer.
Slowly and silently, Danny turned and left for work.
Their meeting with Jack over, Vivian and Martin returned to the bull-ring to begin the day's work.
Neither spoke very much at first; they were both attempting to digest the major pieces of news which Jack had imparted to them, and their implications.
Finally, Vivian asked, "So – how do you feel about all the changes?"
Martin waited a moment before answering, collecting his thoughts. "John – really pleased. Samantha – surprised in some ways, but in other ways not. Washington – very much looking forward to it. And Danny - "
"Look," Vivian suddenly whispered.
Danny had slowly pushed open the door at the end of the floor and he trudged through the office area towards the bull-ring.
He was carrying his rucksack – but, instead of having it slung confidently over his shoulder, he was dragging it behind him in a pathetic little manner. As he got nearer, the expression on his face could be seen, and Vivian's and Martin's hearts ached for him. The forlorn, lost little boy look, which had been all but buried, had now returned for the whole world to see again.
Silently, Danny made his way to his desk, dropped his rucksack on to the floor and slid down tiredly into his chair. Languidly, he switched on his computer. He flicked through the mail on his desk; then, he picked up a pencil and started doodling abstractedly on the pad in front of him. Tiredly, he leant forward on his elbow and rubbed his forehead.
Vivian and Martin exchanged glances. Martin inclined his head, as if to say, "Let me talk to him," and he walked over to where Danny was sitting.
"Hey, brother."
Danny had been trying to make himself interested in a case file on the computer. The sound of Martin's voice made him turn his head and look up.
"Hey," he replied flatly.
"It's good to see you here."
Danny looked at Martin, hopefully and pleasantly surprised. His previous similar experiences of trauma in his life had led him to expect the usual well-meant but meaningless and unhelpful sympathy. However, he should have remembered that Martin – and, indeed, Jack and Vivian - would know better, and realise what he wanted to hear was the security that nothing had changed at work and they still wanted him. Martin's blue eyes were filled with warmth and concern, and Danny was comforted by their steady reassurance.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Martin sat down on the arm of another chair. "Look – I know this is a cliché, pal, but – if I can help you with anything – "
"Yeh…" replied Danny distractedly. Then, "You doing anything this evening?"
"This evening?" Martin repeated.
"If it's too short notice - "
"No – no, I'd be glad to," Martin replied, anxious that Danny should feel he would be there whenever he needed. "What time?"
"If we're out of here on time – 'bout seven-thirty?"
"Fine with me."
Danny managed a weak smile. "Thanks, buddy."
Martin smiled slightly. "No worries." He rose, pressed Danny's shoulder and returned to his desk, nodding at Vivian on the way.
However, he could not get their exchange out of his mind.
The brown, heavy, sparkless eyes; the flat, quiet, emotionless voice; the sad, forlorn, lonely and hopeless expression and demeanour. Danny's spark, optimism and lovable cheekiness was all gone.
What can I do to help him? Martin mused, concernedly. How can I make it better?
Martin arrived at Danny's apartment around twenty-five to eight. Danny offered to make coffee and they went into the kitchen, before returning to the living room. They exchanged pleasantries, as they always did - but, this time, things were so different with their conversation. The "Danny bounce" was gone.
"Well – what would you like me to do?" Martin asked.
"Could you take all the books out of that shelf and put them in the box?" Danny asked quietly. "They were hers. I'll go into Sofie's bedroom and start sorting some of her things."
Absent-mindedly, Danny picked up the coffee mugs and took them to the kitchen, before drifting towards his stepdaughter's bedroom.
Martin moved over to the bookshelf on the other side of the living room, knelt down by it and took a few of the books off the top shelf. He frowned in distaste as he saw they were light fiction, airport novels, as people often called them. Trashy novels for a trashy person, he thought bitterly. He began to take them off the shelves and pack them into the box.
The job did not take long. There were about sixty of the books, all of which Martin was able to fit in. He picked up the box and made his way towards the smaller of the two bedrooms which had belonged to Sofie, who had been Danny's stepdaughter for such a short time.
