A/n: and here we have the first snippets of what happened to our Hero.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday afternoon, just before 2, Joe wheeled himself into Dr. Suitland's office. He had come alone, partly because almost everyone else had things to do, but mainly because he had just been cleared to drive the new hand controlled van being loaned to him during his convalescence and he could do things on his own again. Well, some of them anyway. He had given up on the dry shampoo as all it really did was soak up oil and made him reek of baby powder smell. He now sported a buzz cut reminiscent of his Navy days. Frank came by every other day when his schedule allowed but still Joe was unhappy with how he was coping.
Mary stood up from behind her desk and greeted Joe warmly before preceding him to the door of Dr Suitland's inner sanctum. Dr. S was facing away , but swiveled his chair around at Mary's voice. "Mr Hardy is here for his appointment." The smile on his face quickly turned to astonishment as he beheld his patient.
"Good Lord, what happened to you?!" he exclaimed as he stood up to shake Joe's hand.
"See the article in the news a couple of weeks ago about a major Mafia Crime Family being taken down?" Joe asked as he took his Therapist's hand in a firm grip.
"That was you?!"
"Mostly." Joe slipped into the spot created when Dr. Suitland removed the chair usually occupied by his patients. "And a large part of the reason I called you the other day."
"I take it things did not go according to plan, then?" The therapist said as he resumed his seat behind the desk.
"Actually things went exactly as planned." Joe chuckled ruefully "All my plans do." he continued cheekily.
"So of course you ended up in a wheelchair."
"Okay so that wasn't quite how I expected things to end up but overall, yeah, we got we aimed for." Joe put the brakes on the chair and shifted himself into the far more comfortable armchair.
"Well, what can I do for you today, then?" Dr Suitland asked. "Nightmares again? Frustration?"
"Would you believe me if I said none of the above?" Joe asked.
"No, not really." he replied with a smile. "You have this tendency to downplay what the real issue is."
"Who, Me?!" Joe batted his eyelashes all innocent like.
"Yes, Joe. You." The doctor leaned back in his chair grinning for a moment before becoming serious. "Tell me what is bothering you and how it happened."
Joe sighed and shifted a little in the armchair. "I have this...thing.. about water." he began hesitantly, all traces of his usual happy go lucky attitude suppressed.
"Define 'Thing'." Dr . S replied neutrally.
"An, aversion, if you will." Joe said slowly.
"All water? Or just certain kinds?"
"Well I can drink it fine. Ice is no problem either. But right now it's bottled water, or I pour from the Britta. Can't do tap or even the dispenser from the fridge." Joe responded.
"Why is that?"
Joe fidgeted a bit before voicing his fear. "The sound of the water freaks me out. Or if it splashes on me. Let's just say if the forecast had called for rain today, I would have canceled." he shuddered.
The light dawned and Dr S leaned forward again, his voice gentle. "So you were tortured. Waterboarded, I assume?"
Joe nodded. "Yeah." his voice was very soft.
"Joe, I want you to turn everything off. The fear, the pain, the terror. Pretend you are dictating one of those reports you are always complaining Frank makes you do. Then I want you to tell me in very direct, basic terms, exactly what happened. I don't want to know how you felt; not yet at least. Just tell me what happened." He got up and poured a cup of coffee before offering it to his patient. Then, instead of returning behind his desk, the doctor sat in the other armchair.
Joe sipped the coffee slowly, taking his time and using the technique Dr S had taught him years ago to shut down emotionally. After a few minutes, he gently placed the coffee mug on the desk and shut his eyes as he leaned back. He began speaking in not quite a monotone.
We had it all worked out. Leave the safe house and get on with our lives. I wasn't going to take any overt precautions but at the same time I wasn't going to make it easy for Vincente and Mazzola to grab me either. Phil put together a mini GPS tracker and injected me with it, so that everyone knew where I was. We all went about our usual daily routine. Every so often one of us would spot a known member of the Family hanging back, just watching. I'd see somebody nearly every day. About the only thing that changed is I didn't go anywhere alone, not even grocery shopping.
About three weeks went by. The Tracker had a shelf life of 6 weeks so on occasion we'd meet to discuss options. We decided it was just best to continue on, and Phil would inject a new one if necessary. In fact, I was on my way to Infotech that morning to take Halloran to lunch and while I was there, get a booster. Frank was with me, he was going to stick around and have lunch with Phil. He stayed in the car, I got out and headed to the elevator. Only it was down. Big sign on it saying it was down for maintenance. So I headed to the stairs. They were around the corner out of Frank's sightline. Opened the emergency exit door and it was lights out. Woke up I don't know how much later strapped to a table.
The table was slightly inclined, my head was below my chest. I was blindfolded, too. Couldn't make any sense of the sounds I heard. Tried to sit up, got nowhere. Straps, felt like leather, across my chest, thighs and wrists. Ankles, too. No sense of time, but at some point somebody got close. Began adjusting one of the straps. Got loose, don't ask me how, and made a break for it. Got away, but not for long, the place was crawling with enforcers. A couple of goons dragged me back into the room I had just left. During the struggle I guess I activated my Mayday although I never was sure I had until later. This was the first time I saw Mazzola face to face. Ugly SOB. Scars everywhere, bad teeth. Told me he was going to make sure I didn't try anything again.
More straps, including around my neck. Took my shoes off.
Joe stopped speaking at this point. He was silent so long that Dr Suitland had to gently prompt him. "Joe? Do you need to take a break?"
Joe jumped at the sound of the doctor's voice. "Sorry, Doc. I kinda sorta forgot about that part..."
"Which part?"
"The part that actually put me in the wheelchair." Joe took a long, deep breath and blew it out very slowly. "Wanna know something hysterically funny?" he asked with a wry grin. "I barely even acknowledge it. Hardly mention it at all. I only get frustrated when I forget I can't just stand up and grab that beer, you know?" He shifted in the armchair, lifting a foot so that his sock clad appendage was in better view. "Mazzola beat the ends of my feet with a bamboo rod. There's so much nerve damage that they may never fully heal." Joe laughed, albeit a little bitterly. "Not a mark on them either." He shook his head. " At least when his brothers did their thing I ended up with scars. Made it easier to deal with when I had a visual reminder."
"And why is that, do you think?"
"I am like Frank in a few ways, mostly the fact that I need to see it to believe it. And if you tell him I said that, I will deny it vehemently." Joe glared at his therapist's grin. "Without a visual reminder, or even a physical one, I dismiss it. Broken ribs have a bruise, and when that fades there's still soreness. But unless I actually try and put any weight on my feet, they don't even twinge. So I forget I can't do anything with them. Gets damned annoying." he sighed. "And my other therapist says the best exercise is swimming. You can imagine how well that has gone over." Joe shook his head, clearly upset with himself.
"Let's start there, then. What, if anything, are you doing to get over your aversion?" Dr. S. asked neutrally. "Actually, scratch that, what are your biggest triggers?"
"Well, for starters any kind of falling water sends me right back to that table and it's all I can do to not choke. My throat closes up and I start gasping. I can hide it, mostly, or at least not let it become the focus. A minute or two and I am okay. It's easier when Halloran is in the kitchen running the faucet and I am in the living room. It's not so easy when I am trying to brush my teeth."
"When the water actually touches you, then." Joe nodded. "What about standing water, like the bath tub?"
Joe shrugged. "Less panic inducing, once the tub is full and the faucet turned off. Until it's time to rinse." he ran a hand over his shorn locks. "Had to cut it; I can run a damp washcloth over my head and that's okay. No way can I handle free flowing on my head." he shuddered at the concept. "Frank comes over a couple times a week to manhandle me. Hall's on her own for doing dishes right now." Joe tried not to appear too ashamed of his shortfalls.
"Joe, here's what I want you to do until our next appointment." Dr. Suitland began writing a few things down on a piece of paper as a reference. "Start off low key. Leave the water on when you are brushing your teeth. You can worry about conservation later. Steady stream., but not gushing out full force. Instead of hiding in the living room, force yourself to be in the kitchen when dishes are being done. You don't have to be right there, just at the table is fine. In fact I want you to avoid getting splashed as much as possible. I just want to you to get comfortable with the noise again for now. Think you can handle that?"
Joe nodded. "I'll try, if nothing else."
"That's all I ask, is that you try." Dr, S said encouragingly. "One more thing, do you have a covered patio or or deck?"
"Yeah, both."
Dr. S nodded. "Good. If it rains, and the temperature isn't too cold or uncomfortable, I want you to sit outside and just listen. Bring along some moral support if you want, someone who can sit with you and keep you grounded. Avoid alcohol, though. No sense in trading one coping mechanism with another. And if is windy and the rain blows in, get back inside. Again we are just looking to get you past the audio triggers for now. The rest comes later."
"Any other homework, Doc?" Joe grinned as he began to shift back into the wheelchair.
"Now that you mention it, yes." the doctor grinned right back. "I want you to prepare a statement. You can write it down, or tape it, or do a Power Point presentation, but the next time I see you I want to know exactly what happened while you were strapped to the table. I won't make you say the words if you aren't ready but you do need to express the emotions."
"So the old Diary trick then?" Joe shook his head ruefully.
"Hey it worked for you once before, did it not?" the doctor shot back with a raised eyebrow.
"Do I need to share?" Joe asked, a look of doubt and fear on his face.
"You mean with your brother, or your wife?" At Joe's nod he continued. "Of course not. This is for you, not them. And you need to be be your own best source of coping before you can let others help. Only if you are okay with it should you let anyone else know exactly what you went through. And do not let either of them, nor anyone else for that matter, guilt you into sharing your fears. I am sure they will mean well, and beg you to let them cary the burden, but it isn't theirs to carry."
"So if Frank gets too pushy, I can have him call you and you will read him the riot act?" Joe asked with a hopeful lilt.
"Absolutely." Dr. S nodded emphatically. "I did it once before, no reason why I can't do it again."
He walked out into the reception area with his patient and had Mary schedule another appointment for a week hence before shaking Joe's hand a final time. "See you next week, Joe."
Joe returned the handshake with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Doc. I'll do my best." and he turned and left the office. Once he got downstairs and into the van, he sat there in the parking lot until somebody started beeping their horn in an obvious attempt to get him to vacate the spot faster. He backed out and cheerfully waved at the scowling old woman hunched over the steering wheel who returned the wave with the universal gesture of contempt. Joe chuckled even more and felt decidedly less morose as he pulled onto the street.
About half way home, he made one of those sudden impulsive decisions that he was so famous for. Instead of continuing on home, he headed towards the overlook by the Bay. He pulled into the area that wasn't really a parking lot but had been used as one ever since he was a kid. He turned off the engine and just sat there. He closed his eyes and just listened. It took a few minutes, but he got the hyperventilating under control. After about ten minutes of listening to the sounds of the crashing waves, which had always been the source of comfort to him, he rolled down the windows so that the noise was clearer. The shortness of breath came back with a vengeance, but he firmly clamped down on his rising terror, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his hands began to cramp up. He forced himself to sit there for five full minutes before rolling up the windows and turning the engine back on. As he pulled away and headed home for real, he flipped the radio on and began singing along with The Stones.
A/n: Slightly less graphic than the last time I beat up Joe Hardy. For now.
