Chapter 10

"This better be good," Jason said as he walked into Sonny's house. It was a dark place, moody and gloomy, and it fit Sonny's personality perfectly. The walls were all wood imitation, the floors were hardwood with dark brown carpeting in the upstairs. The windows were French and had redwood trimmings, and the doors were mahogany. Inside the livingroom was the only thing that gave the house a life, it was the orange couch. It stood out, different from the rest of the dark brown decor. It added to the place, and needless to say, Sonny wasn't the one who picked it out. Carly, though having a lack in decorating skills - but having more then Sonny, knew that to bring life into the house or the room, she'd need something of outrageous color, and that was where the couch came from.

Sonny was already at the door waiting for him, and his face turned to a worried gaze. "Did I interrupt something important?"

"Actually, yes," he clarified angrily and stood straight in front of his boss. "So what's the emergency?"

"It's Michael."

"You said that on the phone. What else?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched as Carly walked down the stairs. Her blonde hair flaunting around her shoulders, her blue eyes showed signs of fear, which was normally an emotion Carly was incapable of feeling. She looked fragile, and from the redness of her face he assumed she'd been crying.

Carly?

Crying?

Something wrong with Michael?

Panic arose in him and he knew that the people he cared about were hurting.

Carly walked to the landing and glanced at Jason. After giving him a weak smile she turned to Sonny. "I don't know what to do, he just doesn't talk to me."

Sonny nodded. "I tried talking to him too. . . Nothing." He turned to Jason and he already knew what his friend was going to ask of him.

"I'll go talk to him," Jason said before instructed to do so.

"Thank you," Sonny murmured.

He walked upstairs with everyone still staying in their spots at the landing. From what he saw of their worried faces, this was something he wasn't sure he could deal with.

He walked into Michael's bedroom without knocking and glanced at the redhead boy sitting on the bed. He looked younger, and Jason remembered all the times he had taken care of Michael when he was a kid. "Hey," he said and the boy looked up.

"Hey, Jay."

For once, Jason let the nickname slide. There were bigger problems at hand then making Michael learn about respectful speech.

"Your parents' say something's wrong with you."

"Nothing's wrong." He smiled as if to convince it was all true.

"They're worried about something."

"Only because they have their panties in a twist," Michael chuckled.

Jason sighed in frustration. He didn't even know what the problem was, and already he was ordered to fix it. It would have been helpful if Sonny actually told him something of use.

He glanced around the small bedroom which was painted in a gray color, with rap and rock artist's posters littering the walls. There was a computer in Michael's room, and it was off at the moment. The desk around it was messy, as it was in every man's room. Men, especially young ones, had no clue on how to clean. No independence. Except Jason and other grown up bachelors who afforded cleaning ladies. Sonny had a cleaning lady too, who cleaned all the rooms to a museum like status, but Michael had arranged that his room be left alone. And Sonny, the careless bastard that he was, posed no opposition.

Sonny walked into the room and Jason looked at him. "What's the problem?"

He stared off someplace for a moment, as if in deep thought. "I don't know how to say this. Michael has been. . . He has been." Sonny paused and opened one of the drawers on the desk.

Jason didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what was wrong. Now he understood. He stood frozen as he glanced at the bag with green, dried, grass in it. Now he understood why the bedroom window was opened the second time around. He turned to Michael, and glared him in the eyes. "You've been experimenting with drugs?"

"So," Michael said innocently. "Everybody does it."

Jason felt his frustration spike, and anger formed inside him like a poisonous pill. "Not everybody!" he shouted. "I don't use it, your father doesn't use it. No one I know of uses it."

"Really? If no one used it, then why are you two selling it?"

Jason thought in frustration. "We don't sell weed."

"No, but you do sell crack, or heroin, or ecstacy."

Jason though it frustration, the boy was into drugs. And wasn't that exactly what he and Sonny were promoting. The boy was only following in their example. He turned to Sonny and whispered, "I want to talk to him alone."

Sonny nodded. "That's why you're here," he said and walked out of the bedroom.

Jason walked over to the bed and sat down next to his nephew. Michael was almost like a son to him. He remembered the boy when he was a baby, when he was one years old, in the phases where he thought that Sonny was a hero, that Jason was a hero. And now, now he was a teen, a stage Jason wasn't prepared for. He sighed and put his hands in his lap. What to say? What to do? His heart ached with pain for the boy, he was almost like a son to him. "Michael," Jason finally began. "Your father and I are selling drugs, there's a different between selling and using."

Michael chuckled as if it were funny, and Jason assumed there was an irony to that. "But tell me honestly, working around drugs as you do, that you don't ever feel tempted to use them."

"I'm not. I know what it can do to you. I've never even considered using them."

Michael shrugged. "Guess you and I are different."

"We don't have to be, all you have to do is stop smoking."

He shrugged again. "It makes me feel good."

"It's an artificial feeling, Michael, it's not real. And the feeling goes away quickly, but the side affects remain forever. Did you know that it takes about two hours for the high to wear off, but it takes about a month for the drug to leave your system. The human body is a delicate thing, you don't want to trash it with drugs."

"I haven't been using them as often as you think."

"Then how often have you been using them?" Jason asked.

"This week only once."

"And last week."

When Michael looked down, Jason realized it was too many to count.

Something stuck him as odd. The boy had been happy for the whole week, acting as if high, but he was drug free. High without drugs. A natural high. He wanted to run that by Sam and see if she could take on two meetings with Michael instead of one per week.

As he was in the process of thinking, Courtney walked into the room and Jason instinctively stood up.

"Carly called me, she said something was wrong with Michael," she explained.

Jason walked toward her and lead her out of the room. "He's using drugs," he explained.

"Drugs?"

Jason nodded.

"My God, why would he do that?"

"He said it makes him feel good." Jason rubbed his face in his hands and tilted his head backward, this was a complicating he didn't need.

"How long has it been going on?"

"I don't know," he said.

Courtney laid her back against the wall and put her hands into the pockets of her tan jacket. It was a pretty fashionable one, with fur (which he hoped was fake) lining the neckline and all the trims and hems of it. "There are a lot of drug addicts in my foundation. It's such a sad thing."

He nodded. "How is your foundation doing anyway?"

"Good, I guess." She glanced at him and then glanced down. "I was wondering if you would like to donate some money to the foundation?"

"I though Jax was taking care of all the finances."

She glanced up at him. "Jax and I broke up."

---

Sam sat in her office at the mental hospital and looked through her appointment book. She had plans, she was constantly busy. Out of one page, a little sheet fell out. She stared at it, reading each number over and over until it was almost scratched into the lining of her memory. It was her sister's number. She should call, she should. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Nerves pulled at her, she was too nervous.

Putting the number away, she closed her eyes and remembered the morning with Jason. Only earlier in the morning he had almost kissed her, and had awoken the woman inside of her. She now wanted to feel, to touch, to taste, to explore. Things she had been denied for years. She wanted it all, and she wanted it with him.

The phone on her office desk rang and a chill of fear ran down her neck. What if it was a problem? Something wrong with her patients? Michael? Molly? Any other child?

She snatched the phone and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey," Jason' voice rang on the other end.

She smiled widely. "How come you're calling the office instead of my cell phone?"

"I figured that if you're with a patient you wouldn't answer the cell phone, but you might answer the office phone."

She tilted her head to the side and for some unknown reason her smile grew wider. "I don't have any patients at the moment, though one is running a few minutes late."

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, "about two things. Which do you want first, the good news or the bad news?"

"Can't you give me double good news and no bad news?" she asked flirtatiously.

"I wish I could, but unfortunately you have to know the bad news."

"In that case, give me the good news first."

"I want a date," he said and she felt her heart jump. "We could see the sunset."

"When?"

"How's tonight?"

Sam opened to the appropriate page of her appointment book and glanced down. She felt as a frown caressed her face and her heart beat slowed down. "I can't. I have a meeting with the PCDP about a rape one of my patients has gone through."

There was silence for a moment. "How about tomorrow evening?"

She turned to the appropriate page and glanced at it. A meeting. An important meeting. She wondered how would everyone feel if she canceled a meeting to go out on a date. "Sure, tomorrow is great for me." She scratched the meeting out and put down Jason's name on the page. She had a date! And besides, she'd been looking forward to getting out of that terrible meeting with the people who drove her up a wall.

"I'll pick you up at six thirty then."

"Can't wait."

"Now the bad news," he said. "I was wondering if you could take on another appointment with Michael? Like twice a week instead of once?"

She though it through. "Is it really that bad?"

"He's experimenting with drugs."

She flipped through her appointment book to see if she had any openings to see the boy. "That would explain why he's happy. He's high."

"Not really. He sais he didn't use a lot of drugs this week. But last week he had."

"He was aggravated last week," Sam noted.

"I noticed that too. It doesn't many any sense."

Sam thought about it. So far, Michael had mood swings, abused drugs, and had sleeping problems. As she flipped through a page, she saw an opening for one hour. "I could take him in every Friday at six."

"Thank, Sam," he said. "And sorry about waking you so early this morning."

"No, I'm glad you woke me up," she said. "Gave me a chance to get to know you better, and to watch a beautiful sunrise."

---

It was evening and Sam walked into the police department building and walked to the private interrogation room. She had seen Glenda's car outside so she knew Molly and her mother were already there. As she walked, she noted the chaos of the building, the officers that walked back and forth with cups of coffee and files in their hands. Everyone was busy, some were only pretending to be busy. The scene was familiar to Sam, and for the first time it hadn't brought her sadness.

"Dr. McCall," Lucky Spencer said as he welcomed her. "Right this way."

She walked where he lead her. In the small room, the table was pushed aside, and some comfortable chairs were placed for everyone to sit. Some were already occupied. She watched as Molly ate a doughnut, provided by the PD, no doubt. And Glenda was drinking coffee. She noted a blond man with curly hair. He was dressed in a suit so she knew he wasn't a street cop, but he was someone amongst cops. Lucky pointed her to a chair and she sat down, then he took the only free one.

"This is Commissioner Scorpio," Lucky introduced.

"Hello," Sam said and extended her hand in a formal handshake.

"I'm glad you could see us," the Commissioner said and glanced at Molly who was just finishing up her sugary snack.

"Okay, Molly," Sam said as soon as the girl had finished. "What could you tell us about the night of your rape?"

She stared blank-eyed at nothing in the room. "It was dark," she said, and they all already knew that.

When Scorpio opened his mouth to say something, Sam raised her hand and he closed it just as quickly.

"I saw his face."

"What did he look like?" Sam asked.

"I. . ." Molly closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. "I knew him, had seen him many times before."

"Who is he, Molly?" Sam asked in an intimate, secure tone, hoping to cause trust and security in the girl. Hoping to put her fears and tragedies at ease.

"I. . . I don't remember," she said and her face looked confused, but at the same time, it seemed as if she'd just gone through an epiphany.

Sam looked at Glenda and the two men in the room. All eyes were on Molly, all looked confused.

Sam took in a deep breath and breathed out. She felt a chill run down her back as she turned back to the girl. She was shaking. Molly was shaking valiantly. She started hypervenolating, her breathing shallow and rapid, and loud. A wheezing sound escaped her, oven and over again. Her eyes wondered around the room.

"Quick!" Sam shouted. "Get me a paper bag."

Lucky ran out of the room and returned in a few minutes, handing the brown bag to Sam. She opened it and placed it on Molly's mouth. "Breath," she said.

"What's wrong?" Glenda asked. "What's happening to my daughter?"

Sam's heart filled with sadness. "She just had a panic attack."

"She's never had those before," Glenda said.

"It's okay, Molly," Sam said. "It's okay."

"I don't get it," Scorpio said. "She said she knew him, but she couldn't remember?"

Sam nodded. "She's blocking it out, and that might have been what caused her panic attack."

"Then what should we do?"

"Hypnosis can carry a risk," Sam said, "So I don't want to go in that direction. But if nothing else works we might have to hypnotize her into remembering."

"And what do we do in the mean time?" Lucky asked.

Sam shrugged and ran a hand though Molly's shoulder. "Wasn't there any sperm or other physical evidence found?"

"We had sperm but it didn't match anything in the DNA bank."

"How does a DNA bank work?" Glenda asked as she hugged her daughter tightly, silently murmuring nice, supportive things into her ear.

"When a sex offender is convicted, we take a sample of his DNA and put it in this file where for future instances we could monitor if he has committed more crimes. This DNA comes out empty, which means this guy is a first time offender, or other victims haven't come forward."

"Do you think there could have been more victims?" Glenda asked.

"Could be," Lucky said, "We are always-."

"No," Sam interrupted. "It was an isolated assault and he knew his victim. That to me sais that she was a planned attack. Serial attacks are usually random following a formula."

"I'm sorry, Dr. McCall," Scorpio said, "but you are not authorized to make a statement like that. You don't have a knowledge of the criminal mind."

"I'm a psychologist. I know what I'm talking about."

"You're a child and developmental psychologist. You're expertise doesn't carry to mens rea, criminal psychology, or profiling psychology."

She could have argued that point, but Sam decided to let it go, but she was also trained in profiling psychology.

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