Chapter Ten

The next morning, after talking with the admitting doctor, Dr. Kathy Schaefer, Jim's neurologist for the last few years, headed for his room. She looked in the window of the hospital door to see Jim sitting in the chair, dressed in casual pants and a T-shirt. She knocked and opened the door. Jim's head turned as she entered, "Yes?"

"Detective Dunbar? Dr. Schaefer."

Jim stood and held out his hand. Dr. Schaefer took it. "Do we know each other?"

Kathy Schaefer smiled, his direct approach putting her at ease. From what the attending had said there was a good chance his personality hadn't been affected. "Yes. We've known each other since 2004 when I was called in to consult on your gunshot injury."

Jim nodded.

"And you've called me Kathy for a couple of years now. It's a lot less of a mouthful than Dr. Schaefer. Now, if you feel up for it, I thought we could go out and have a coffee while we talked."

"Coffee? At the cafeteria?" Although he had woken feeling much better, he wasn't sure he was up for another trip to the cafeteria.

"Oh no. There's a proper coffee shop just over the road." The doctor had taken his question as assent. "Is Hank here or…"

Jim looked annoyed. "The dog? No. Detective Bettancourt took it to the vet to get checked or something," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "She said they'd keep it until we sorted things out."

"Then allow me." Kathy tapped Jim on the back of his hand and before he realized it he had reached up automatically to grip her arm.

On the way to the coffee shop, Kathy noted that he accurately read her movements through her arm, kept pace, and when she placed his hand on the back of the chair, he sat properly, checking the height of the seat and table in front of him, rather than assuming either. He seemed fairly at ease, and not as disoriented as his doctor had suggested. Kathy had been given to understand he was operating like someone new to being blind but that's not what she was observing here. She asked him about it.

Jim admitted, "This is easier than it was last night."

"Walking with a sighted guide?"

He nodded. "Detective Bettancourt took me to the cafeteria. It was… strange, but today, this almost feels natural."

"That's good news. It means that the dehydration and any effects from the head trauma are reversing."

Then the waitress came over and they ordered.

The coffee arrived and the aroma of well-roasted beans wafted up. "You were right, this is good coffee."

Kathy sighed. "We have a choice. We can just enjoy our coffee and then go back and discuss your case, or we can talk here."

Jim smiled at her. "Looks like as good a place as any."

While she tried to decide if he was attempting humor, he continued, "Dr. Schaefer, you going to fill me in on why you're here or do I have to work that out myself?" Jim couldn't hide the bitterness.

"No, you don't have to work it out. When patients with acquired brain injury receive further head trauma, the attending neurologists are always called in if it's possible. I'm here to determine what is new injury and what is from your previous injury."

Jim nodded. "The shooting?"

"That's right."

Jim took a sip, put the cup down and lifted his head. Kathy found it unnerving, it was as if he were looking her straight in the eye. "Let's not put it off."

"Your questions first then," Kathy said.

Jim nodded. "February 2004. Tell me what you saw."

Kathy told him as objectively as she could. Jim dropped his head.

"What are you thinking?"

He shook his head and spoke in almost a whisper. "It's stupid really, but I keep looking for evidence that it isn't true."

"Jim," Kathy put her hand on his but spoke firmly, "there was nothing I could do to save your sight in 04, and there is nothing I can do to restore it now. But, your mind is another matter. Amnesia like yours is rarely permanent. There are new techniques that are proving very effective. I will speak with your psychiatrist, and we'll do whatever it takes."

"It just doesn't feel real. I wake, expecting it to be light and it's still dark. Yesterday, Detective Bettancourt seemed to think it was natural that she guide me. I felt like I was imposing on her." Jim turned to where Dr. Galloway sat across from him in a plastic hospital chair in his room.

"But?" the doctor prompted.

"But… the evidence is… compelling. Earlier today, I went out for coffee with Dr. Schaefer. She tapped the back of my hand and I knew it meant I could take her arm, that she'd guide me. How would I know that if I only went blind three days ago? This morning I showered, shaved and dressed in complete darkness and it wasn't hard. My watch has Braille numbers, my pager and phone talk to me, and a fucking guide dog wants to look after me." Jim's words had risen fairly close to a shout by the end. He calmed himself and turned away, biting the back of his index finger in frustration.

"And yet..?" Galloway prompted.

"And yet…" Jim searched for words, "… it just doesn't feel right."

Galloway watched as the detective in front of him fought the inevitable conclusion, his jaw clenched, his color high. The war raging on his face was the most painful Allan had ever seen on a patient. "You were sighted for, what, thirty-eight years, Jim? You've only been blind for three. Perhaps this is how it feels."

Jim's breath shuddered in, the blood ran from his face and his hands rose toward his face. His voice was so low that Allan had to lean forward to catch the words. "Have I ever told you that? Before, when I had to see you?"

"No. You never said that, but…"

Galloway didn't get he chance to finish as Detective Dunbar sprang to his feet and took a step away from the chair. "No, no, it can't be. There's no way I could live with this." He stopped after two steps when his knee hit the wheeled trolley and it rolled, clanging loudly as it met with the bed. Jim tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut with a reverberating groan.

Galloway waited. He watched as Jim deliberately slowed his breathing and calmed himself enough to speak. His steps were slightly unsteady and there was no confidence in his actions as he found the chair, sat and lowered his head.

"When I was alone, in the garbage, I wondered briefly if I had died and it was hell. But, even then I thought the dark was temporary. This is worse."

Galloway reached out and touched Jim's hand where it gripped the armrest like a vice. "Jim. I want you to know that the Jim Dunbar I know, the Detective Jim Dunbar that came to my office, was very passionate about his job and there was nothing that could prevent him being a damn fine officer, sighted or not. And together we will find that man again."

Jim closed his eyes and nodded.

"Tell me what memories you have recovered."

"I've managed to remember a few people, old partners, a couple of bosses, some women, but I have images in my mind of what they look like, images of places I've been."

Galloway watched his patient. Jim was more open now than he had ever been, he was easily directed, compliant, and Allan was confident they would recover most, if not all of his memories. "Have you remembered anyone that you've known only since you were blind?"

Jim shook his head. "No, Kathy says that's not surprising, the memories with visual images have more neural connections or something."

"Can you tell me what you do remember now?"

"I remember bits of my childhood, joining the army. I remember serving, my buddies. I remember joining the police force, getting married. I remember my Lieutenant at the 77th, and the squad. I even remember cases."

"Not the bank?"

"No, well, yes. There're some memories of Terry. He cracked, he cowered and hid. I had to take his gun from him, the guy was out of ammo, but that's all. I don't remember being shot, I don't remember my sight fading like Dr. Schaefer describes. I don't remember Christie leaving."

Jim went quiet. His head dropped.

"How do you feel about that?"

Jim cocked his head, "About Christie leaving?" When Allan grunted assent, he shrugged his shoulders. "Sad, not surprised. I'd…there was a woman…I'm assuming that's why she left." Jim chewed his lip. "I wonder what happened to Ann. I don't know. And I don't know who I can ask."

"You remember her name?"

"Yes."

"Then we could find her, find out."

"And what? Call her up - by the way, this is Jimmy from a few years ago, my wife left, I'm blind now and I don't know what happened to us, did we hook up, did it end?" He couldn't quite pull off the tone for the sarcasm. Jim's face showed deep distress, "Karen says my apartment is like a bachelor pad, so I obviously live alone… No one reported me missing."

"Your Lieutenant and your squad turned half of New York upside down looking for you, Jim." Allan reminded him. He made a note. Jim had once mentioned that Karen and Ann were friends, he could follow that one up easily.

Jim had slid into silence.

"You feel adrift?" Galloway suggested.

"Yes, adrift, that's the word."

"How about your job? When we worked together last time, you were pretty connected to your job. Very determined to remain a cop."

"I'm a cop?" Jim laughed a cold dry and empty sound. "A blind cop? I can't believe that all you guys are for real. Can't you see why I don't believe you? What do I do, trip up fleeing perps with a white cane?"

"Alright, Jim. Instead of fighting about this, we're going to do some serious work here to see if we can stimulate those memories for you. I'd like you to lie back on the bed. I'm going to sit here next to you. "

Jim settled down, listening.

"We're going to use a form of hypnotherapy that is based on sense associative therapy. With your permission, I'll put you into a stage one trance, that's one where the conscious mind doesn't fight suggestion, but where you are fully aware of everything we are discussing. You can also pull out of it at any time you choose."

"And this will help me remember?"

"Yes. I've used it on other amnesiacs. I believe that the selectiveness of your memory loss shows the conscious mind is trying to rebuild your world without some of the less positive aspects of it. Hence you remember getting married but not divorced, having an affair but not whether or not you stayed with this woman, being a cop but not being blind."

Jim nodded, put that way, it did look suspicious.

"This form of therapy bypasses the safe-guards your mind has erected and allows you to access more of your memory. It will feel a little like lucid dreaming, you will have sounds, feelings, and perhaps images. Your emotions and your body's reflexes will be dampened as if you were in REM sleep. I'll also record the sessions so that if you feel like re-listening to them, you can do so later."

"Alright, sounds good," Jim agreed, "what do I do?"

Allan had Jim lie back on the bed. He took a chair next to him.

"First you relax, as I count, you tap your finger like this." Allan tapped his finger on the back of Jim's hand as he counted. "One, two, three." Jim picked up the beat and began tapping in time with Allan's voice. "When I ask you questions let the answers come. It's like word association. You give me a stream of consciousness audio so I can follow along."

Jim nodded and continued to tap his finger as the doctor counted steadily. Anything would be better than where he was at now, and somehow, even though he didn't remember him, Jim felt a trust for this doctor.

As Allan counted, he slowed the pace, eventually there was fifteen seconds between counts and Jim's finger barely twitched. He noted Jim's eyes were closed and his breathing slow, as if he were asleep.

"Return to a joyful incident with Christie…" When Allan saw the barest hint of a smile on Jim's face he asked, "Tell me about it."

Jim's voice was quiet, relaxed, fairly normal, "She's opening a birthday present." A smile touched his lips and Allan watched as Jim's eyes moved back and forth behind his lids, as if he were in REM sleep.

"Do you see her?" When Jim nodded slightly, Galloway said, "Describe what you see."

"A negligee. She likes it, dark blue silk. She's holding it up against her and looking at me from under her lashes."

"What do you hear?"

Jim cocked his head, "Music, saxophone…" He frowned for a moment. "Traffic on the street."

"What do you smell?"

His nose flared, "Christie, Dior perfume, red wine."

"What do you feel?"

Jim just smiled. "Good."

Galloway smiled, this was going very well. "Now move to a time you were happy on the job."

Jim shifted a little, his head turned to the left. He cleared his throat. Again his eyes moved back and forth beneath the lids. Color rose in his face.

"What's happening?" Galloway prompted.

"Surprised. The Lieutenant's called us in and handed me a paper. I'm upgraded, but…"

"But?"

"It's too early, I thought another year maybe…"

"What do you see?"

"The guys, all looking at me, Wilson's jealous, the rest are cool."

"What do you hear?"

Jim took a while. "Lieutenant's voice, I can't make out what he's saying."

"What do you feel?"

"I'm worried. Shocked a little, it's unexpected."

Once Allan had the procedure working smoothly he went after more recent memories.

"Return to the first time you met your current partner, Karen Bettancourt."

Jim frowned, shifted, licked his lips. He said nothing.

"What are you hearing?'

Jim shook his head, "Nothing."

"Any images?"

"No."

"Feelings?"

"I feel uneasy, but that's all." Allan noted Jim had begun to rub his knee.

"No problem, let's try this another way. You know the Miranda rights?"

Jim nodded.

"Read me my rights."

Jim rattled off the correct string of words. Allan was satisfied, he'd heard them a hundred times or more from officers on his couch in very similar circumstances.

"Last time you gave them to a perp?"

Jim stiffened on the couch, but said nothing.

"Getting something?"

"Feeling a little out of breath. That's all. Don't remember the last time." His voice was tight and his expression serious.

"That's okay, no rush." Galloway took another path. "In a missing person's case, what are your automatic checks?"

"Hospitals, shelters, an APB."

"Then?"

"Background checks of all family members."

"Last missing person case?'

"Ben Crider."

"Go to the first time you were at the crime scene." Galloway watched intently as Jim shifted slightly.

"What do you see?"

"Nothing."

Allan grimaced, stupid question, he berated himself silently. "What do you hear?"

"A child talking, a woman in the background, Detective Bettancourt's voice."

"What's she saying?"

"She's asking the woman about arguments with her husband."

"Describe the boy."

"Young, six, soft spoken, scared." Jim turned away, emotion began to well in his face.

Galloway steered his attention away, too much emotion here and Jim would shut down. They needed to keep to keep surfing, no diving yet.

"How'd the case go?"

"Good. We got the confession." The answer came swiftly.

"Who'd you report to?"

"Lieutenant Fisk."

"Describe him."

"Tall, tough, got choked up on this case though. Fair." Jim frowned. "I'm remembering…"

Allan waited.

"Getting chewed out."

"By Fisk?"

Jim nodded.

"What for?"

Jim grimaced and shrugged.

"Relax, let the impressions come, listen, be open… let me know when you get something."

Jim waited. Galloway watched him relax and drop a little deeper, the indicators of REM sleep picked up again and soon he began talking quietly.

"He's telling me I have obligations, to go see some shrink. But I'm sure it's because I called in CSU to see if the kid was buried in the back yard. We found… a dog…"

Jim fell silent again, his jaw tightened.

"What's happening, Jim?"

"There're other people there, Marty, Tom. Marty's sneering," Jim's head turned as if avoiding something, "It stinks and he's implying we're wasting time. Karen's there. She's quiet. I feel… I feel like an idiot. But I'm not sure why."

"What can you hear?"

"Plastic rustling, Marty's voice. Someone crying, maybe the little boy, Jake. Everyone's too quiet."

"What do you see?" Galloway carefully placed the question into the scene and watched.

Jim twitched, "I'm not sure, a boy, curled up in the dirt? Yeah. But we didn't find him until later, at the park." There was a little questioning mixed into Jim's voice.

Jim went on to describe the boy, brown hair, broken arm, bruises. Galloway was fascinated, as he always was, at how well the mind could gather evidence to fill in blanks, when it needed to.

He drew Jim back and into a couple of more scenes, bringing him all the way up to a few days before his assault. Then Allan looked at the man in front of him, took in the blue smudges under the eyes, the strain in Jim's voice. "When I count to three you'll move into full awareness and be fully awake. One, two, three." He watched the subtle changes that told him Jim was fully present.

"We're done for the day, Jim."

Jim's turned his blue eyes to the doctor. "No, I've remembered a lot, I want the rest now." Jim was eager to reclaim his memories, his life.

Galloway laughed out loud. "You need sleep. Resting will help and you'll wake up with more than you have now. Trust me."

Reluctantly Jim nodded.

"I'll be back mid morning and we'll continue." Galloway patted Jim on the arm and stood, creaking a little from sitting still for so long.

"That you creaking?" Jim asked, "You sound like an old rocking chair."

Galloway laughed. "See you tomorrow, Jim.

The nurse came in with his meds a few minutes later. He slept quickly and dreamed.

The doctor had been right, after a night of sleep, Jim woke with many new memories. His logic still fought against the blind cop scenario, but he knew in his gut now that he was a cop and he felt a familiarity with the names of people in his life he hadn't before. He had recovered all his memories of Christie and their breakup.

Galloway laughed when he came in and Jim immediately lay back, ready to start. "If you could have seen yourself now, when we first met, you'd never have believed this, Jim."

"What?"

And so Allan popped recovery of memories of his time in therapy a little higher on the list. The doctor had called the Lieutenant and Karen in the morning and gotten some details of cases from them so he could be even more precise in his targeting of specific people. The count in went swiftly and in no time at all they were chasing down memories and Jim was reclaiming his life.

"Recall a case involving a cop." Galloway continued.

Jim looked confused. "Ronald Johnson."

"Go to the crime scene. Nod when you're there."

Again Jim looked confused but he nodded.

"Where are you?"

"On a roof."

"Who are you with?"

"Bettancourt."

"What's happening?"

"I… I'm not sure. She's looking for something but she's being stubborn… wait, we found, we found the handkerchief."

"This when Terry shot himself?" Galloway asked.

"Yes. Yes. But…" Jim began to look agitated again, Galloway steered him away from the bigger issues, aiming to get Jim connected up to memories of his partner.

"Karen found some evidence?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What's your impression of Karen's detective skills?"

"Good. She didn't want to look… maybe it was a long shot… I guess she had a point. We butted heads a bit back then." Jim was relaxed again, his breathing even, no sign of the earlier emotions.

"Butted heads? About what?"

Jim grinned, "She says I'm like a bull in a china shop, I think she pussy foots.'

"Best thing about her?"

"Her ass." Jim blurted, then he went silent, his face reddened. "I... I …"