"She kicked you where?" Joe asked again vehemently, eyes sparking with anger.
Frank turned on his brother, beginning to match Joe's mood. "Don't perseverate on that, Joe. I'm not blind, I'm not a fool, and I know what Nancy was like the rest of the weekend. This was the breakthrough that she needed to really start figuring things out."
"And so this is the plan that she came up with. Immediately spending the day with psychotic people who can relate to her."
"Don't make me regret telling you everything, Joe," Frank said warningly. Everything except Nancy freaking out at your daughter's photograph.
"Actually, I don't think you have. Why the hell is the bathroom practically flooded, and wet towels lying around?"
"None of your damn business," Frank said, taking a menacing step forward. "Do I ask about your intimate affairs? We share almost everything, Joe, but that's the one area we don't need each other for."
Joe began to pace, running a hand through his hair. "I'm starting to wonder which one of the two of you is more delusional."
"You know what?" Frank asked. "Time for you to get out of my apartment. Don't pick a fight with me because you're already a cynic."
"All right, then let me summarize the situation for you like a case file. 'Twenty-four-year-old female hospitalized yet again for psychosis, rescued by frantic ex-boyfriend, pardon me, ex-hook-up, male gets a swift kick in the groin but still sweeps the young nutso off her feet and out the door—'"
Joe never saw the fist coming simply because he wasn't expecting it, but suddenly found himself clutching his nose. Blood dripped onto his shirt. Frank opened the door and gave Joe a powerful shove. Joe slammed into the hallway wall and then slid onto the floor, trying to staunch the blood. Frank threw out a box of tissues and shut the door.
Two hours later, Frank received a flagged email that made his heart sink and his blood boil at the same time. It was a summons to Internal Affairs.
Nancy found herself giggling for minutes on end as she drove along the county road, thinking of the evil eye her supervisor Melissa had given her at morning meeting. Have you been checking on Maria regularly, Nancy? Melissa had asked, in a tone of voice that was supposed to be authoritative. The landlord has been calling, saying her apartment is a wreck again. What a small problem, Nancy thought. Life only had to throw a couple of curveballs in order to put problems into perspective.
Nancy parked her car and knocked on Maria's door, walking in without waiting for an answer. "Maria, it's Nancy," she yelled. Nancy looked around her, spying pizza boxes, food spills all over the carpet and kitchen, and overturned cigarette ashtrays. And of course, the empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, and disorganized meds. Nancy helped herself to cleaning supplies from under the sink.
Maria hurried from the bathroom, dripping wet with a bathrobe on. She gaped at Nancy in shock. "Oh, I uh…didn't realize you were coming…"
"Yup," Nancy said, straightening. "It smells like a rose in here, and looks even better. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
Maria's eyes wandered to the cleaning supplies. "I'm so sorry, Nancy, I have an appointment this morning."
"Yes, you do. With me. Now. The state called, they said they're going to take your housing voucher away if you don't keep this place clean. The board of health is getting concerned."
Maria's eyes bugged in disbelief. She searched Nancy's body language for a sign that she was joking. "What? This is my place! This is against my civil rights!"
Nancy shrugged noncommittally. "You can call the state and try to fight it, if you want. I'm here to help now, but I can leave. My schedule is booked for the next couple of weeks, though."
"No—no!" Maria said, taking a frantic step toward Nancy. "Just let me get dressed first."
"Nope." Nancy threw a trash bag, and Maria caught it. "The second you stop working, I stop working. Start off by picking up all the trash." Nancy sprayed Febreeze in Maria's general direction.
Maria adjusted the towel on her head, looking at Nancy strangely. The next few minutes of cleaning were painfully awkward for Maria, but Nancy seemed to have forgotten Maria was there. When Nancy turned her back to start on the dishes, Maria left to get dressed in the bedroom. When Maria returned, Nancy was sitting calmly in a kitchen chair. "Ready to resume?" Nancy asked. "I'll start a minute after you do."
Maria nervously bent to the coffee table, gingerly placing the trash in the trash bag as if it were fragile, acutely aware of Nancy's eyes on her. "Are you okay, Nancy?" Maria asked. "I thought I was the one with the problem. Something seems off."
"Yes, you're right," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Something is definitely missing." She walked over to Maria's radio. She turned it on to 102.7 Rock, and Nickelback blasted from the tiny device. A second later, loud, rapid pounding sounded from the wall that Maria shared with neighbors. Nancy turned the music up.
Maria's mouth hung open, and a laugh escaped involuntarily. "Oh my god, Nancy! They're going to call the cops on me, not you!"
Nancy grinned. "But we're both in here, right, and it's my fingerprints on the radio. They'll bring a locked van for you and a locked van for me. I'm looking forward to seeing those nice young men in their clean white coats."
Maria giggled like a schoolgirl, and returned to picking up trash with renewed energy. Nancy used the top of the mop handle as a microphone as she sang along with the song. The apartment was just beginning to look sanitary enough for human habitation when the doorbell rang.
Nancy turned the radio off as Maria scampered toward the door, ready for trouble. From her position in the kitchen, she could see a change come over Maria as she only cracked the door open slightly—Maria appeared to cower, her voice subdued as she spoke to a gruff, middle-aged man.
"Payday is on Friday this month, I'll have it to you by then," Maria said nervously. "I swear to you this time, I swear. My social worker's here, I've got to go." She shut the door and turned around, searching Nancy's face to see how much she'd heard.
"I heard it all, Maria," Nancy said, a hard glint in her eye. "And I will give you direct advice this time. Pay that man what you owe him. And then never speak to him again."
Maria burst into tears, sitting on the couch. "I'm sorry, Nancy, please don't be mad. You're the only one who—"
"No, we're not going through this dance again," Nancy said firmly. "There's nothing I can tell you about recovery that you haven't already heard. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. It's up to you to decide what you're going to try differently in your life. On my end, I'm done with words right now." Nancy stood in a basic karate stance, hands up.
Maria stared up at her in horror. "What?"
"Time for self-defense class," Nancy said simply. "Stand up. You're right-handed, right? Therefore your right leg should be in front, with most of your weight in the back leg. This is so that you can easily kick with the front leg, step back in retreat, or pivot. Right hand is in front of you to strike, left hand is to protect. Come on, Abbs, I'm not teaching your booze bottles. Get up and mimic me."
Maria slowly, cautiously stood up. She felt decidedly foolish as she assumed something resembling a karate stance. Nancy showed her how to punch, using power from the shoulder.
"I know what you're thinking," Nancy said after a few minutes. "You're not physically strong enough to face these men. Let me teach you a move. If you grab both arms like this, all you have to do is pull down while bringing your knee up. It will force his face into your knee, and momentum is on your side."
"Cool," Maria said, practicing tentatively.
"And remember: while men have most of their power in their upper body, women have most of their power in their thighs, and we are also more flexible. If a man's hips begin to approach yours, adjust your feet so they are squarely on his hip bones. Then shove off powerfully, both feet equally, not a kick but a push. You'll be able to flip a man off you that's three times your weight.
"And finally," Nancy concluded, getting onto the floor on her back to demonstrate, "if someone doesn't have a gun and you find yourself in a corner, lie on the floor and kick out repeatedly like this. Think of it as a bicycle-kick. Older women have been known to keep attackers at bay for over a half-hour with this move. And the phrase to yell is "Ki-yah, it's an attack, call the cops." If you yell "help," no one will hear you because the 'h' and the 'p' are not enunciated."
"But I won't practice that part now, or the white vans really will be here." Maria giggled and Nancy couldn't help but join in. As Nancy got into her car to head back to the office and figure out a clinical note based on her interesting morning, she felt an energetic, liberating sense of accomplishment. She was sure that she'd broken a few dozen policies and procedures, but Maria had appeared just a little more empowered by the time Nancy had left. She couldn't wait to tell Frank about it at 4:30. And her decision to rejoin karate class.
At 11:30 Frank breezed into his father's office, plopping into the nearest chair. Frank had to walk by Joe's office on the way in, and Joe had seen him and followed him into the office. Both young men sat across from their father, who had no intention of making either of them feel more comfortable.
"What the hell is going on," Fenton breathed threateningly.
"Frank's having some kind of a breakdown, I don't know," Joe said sarcastically.
"Joe wouldn't know decent priorities if they bit him in the ass. What is he doing at work on Monday morning when he just had a baby on Friday?" Frank asked, not looking at his brother.
"Don't you dare bring my daughter—"Joe started angrily.
"You ladies done?" Fenton interrupted, looking from Joe to Frank. "Frank, Joe walks into work an hour ago with his face obviously turned the other way, like I'm not going to run after him and follow up. Joe came by your apartment to check on you before work this morning, and you fly off the handle at his opinions on Nancy? Your email to me on Saturday said that everything in Richmond had gone according to plan. You never said anything about Nancy's violence, releasing her to work at a high-risk job, or you just forgetting to come to work on Monday morning. Or the need to punch your brother in the face and possibly compromise an investigation six months in the making. You're too far along in this case for your supervisor to assign anyone else."
Frank had almost blown steam out of his ears in the effort to wait for his father to finish his speech. "Everything's fine, Dad. It only took a few minutes to get Nancy out of the hospital. She spent the rest of the weekend recovering—" Frank ignored Joe's snort—"and I'm not seeing why the three of us as civilized human beings are allowed to go to work in the morning, and she's not. So I'm a few hours late. Write me up."
Fenton nodded. "Good idea, I'll do that. And now, since you both are assigned to a very high-risk, high-profile case, let's do some kind of hokey therapy so you two can mend your differences long enough to be able to work together and focus. All it takes is one slip-up and we'll be conducting your funeral, as well as who knows how many innocent civilians."
"Then I'll go first," Joe said. "I don't want an apology for this morning. All I want is for Frank to acknowledge that there is some slight chance that enough is enough. Nancy is many things, but she is not stupid. She will get over this if she's determined to, with or without Frank destroying his own life to try to save her."
Frank faced his brother, his tone of voice calmer than Joe's. "That may be true and thank you for your concern, however, as I said before, there will always be a case, and sometimes other important things in life will not wait. You can insult me if you want, Joe, but call Nancy names and you will get another fist in the face. I don't disrespect your wife."
Joe softened. He'd never been able to stay angry with Frank for very long. "Fair enough. But we can still disagree." The two shook hands.
Fenton watched in silence. He'd always been amazed at how quickly his sons resolved their differences, once they really listened to one another. "Grand." He nodded his head in Joe's direction. "Go put some ice on that. I need to speak to Frank."
Joe was not happy about the curt dismissal, but complied.
Fenton waited until the door was shut, then leaned his forearms on his desk. "I would expect this kind of bleeding heart crap from Joe, but not from you," he began.
Frank's temper flared. "Joe and I just settled our argument in front of you, and you're still speaking to me like this? I know that you're trying to shame me into getting back to work as usual, but that kind of comment just pisses me off, Dad."
"Back in my day, I would expect to be in hot water with IA if I punched my partner in the face," Fenton said icily. He put up a hand to stop Frank from responding. "I did give you my assistance this weekend, did I not?"
Frank uncrossed his arms. "Yes," he said, subdued. "And Nancy has also not caused a problem."
"Yet. Good. My number one argument to you is this: If Nancy were well, she would never, ever, ever want you to neglect a case in order to figure out a relationship. She would rather die than risk the lives of innocent people."
"That's true now even when she's not well," Frank said quietly.
"Nancy is one of a kind, and I can see why you're hung up on her. However, I expect you to be focused solely on this case from now on."
"Like you neglected Mom all those years?" Frank shot back. "Or how Carson Drew sat back and allowed his wife to be killed on a risky mission? Work does not always come first, Dad."
Fenton flinched as Frank spoke. Color began to drain from his face. He swallowed with an effort. "Get out," he managed.
Frank didn't need to be told twice. "Damn, Dad," Frank snapped in parting, standing up. "All I needed was a pep talk. Not this guilt game."
As soon as Frank was clearly out of sight, Fenton rushed around his desk, twisting his Venetian blinds for full privacy. He flicked off his light switch and couldn't even make it back around his desk, sinking into the nearest office chair. His leaned forward and held his head in his hands.
Fenton forced himself to breathe evenly. He shook, his stomach nauseated. Several minutes passed, and as soon as Fenton was able, he slowly walked around his desk and sat down. He pressed the speakerphone on and dialed an extension.
"Fenton?" a voice asked in surprise.
"Morning, shrink, can you come to my office please?" Fenton asked wearily. "Nothing official, I'd just like a personal favor."
Derrick, a criminal profiler, hurried into the office a few minutes later. He'd been so surprised by the request that he'd come immediately. Besides, he owed his career to Fenton's connections. "What's going on?" Derrick asked cautiously. He looked pointedly at the light switch.
"It hasn't been my Monday, let's say that," Fenton said with a sigh. "The lights are off because I'm getting a headache. I'm just hoping that you can do me a personal favor—off the record—and give me a psychological profile on a young woman. Tell me what you think she's capable of doing."
Derrick's facial features relaxed. That's it? he thought with relief. "Sure, Fenton. Give me everything that you have so I can get started."
"Let me print out her basic information from the computer. She's in her mid-twenties, did excellent detective work up until a year ago, when something traumatic must have happened to her. Changed careers, everything, been in and out of brief psych hospital stays."
"Okay," Derrick nodded, taking the face sheet from Fenton. Derrick flinched when he saw the photo. "Wow. I recognize her from news stories a few years ago."
"Yes," Fenton nodded. "The infamous Nancy Drew. Tell me how stable you think she is, and what her upcoming behavior might look like."