Chapter 11
Steve glanced in his rearview mirror and made a quick right turn at the next traffic light. For the past mile, it had seemed as if a patrol car had been discreetly following him keeping far enough back not to be noticeable but still able to keep him in their sights. Another quick look assured him that, if in fact he was being followed, his quick maneuver had lost his tail. Steve had every reason to suspect his fellow officers were keeping an eye out for him. His behavior earlier in the day had been out of character and they were probably worried he'd do something even more impulsive than resigning.
Steve drove aimlessly for a while longer. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to go home yet. An image of his father's face on the deck flashed in his head. Guilt gnawed at him, and Steve knew he should at least call to make sure his dad was okay. Under normal circumstances he never would've left him in that condition, but these were far from normal circumstances. When his dad had backed away from him, his only thought had been to escape.
Pulling his attention back to the road, Steve realized he'd been driving on autopilot for the past few miles. He looked around and discovered he was only a few blocks from Amanda's house. Maybe she'll let me spend the night, Steve thought. It's probably not a good idea for me to try and drive back to the beach tonight.
A light was burning in the living room and another was on in the back of the house when Steve stopped his truck out front. He rang the bell and leaned heavily against the door suddenly afraid his exhausted body would refuse to remain upright. A moment later the porch light flicked on and the door opened.
"Steve!" Amanda's voice conveyed her surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Belatedly, Steve realized how late it was. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I should've called first, but I don't think I should drive home tonight."
"Don't worry about it." Amanda took one look at his slumped shoulders and the pinched look around his mouth and eyes and guided Steve inside. He didn't appear to be intoxicated, but she agreed with his assessment that he wasn't in any condition to drive. She wondered what had happened to put Steve in this state and then decided it probably wouldn't do any good to question him tonight. She would wait until morning after he'd had some rest.
"You can sleep in the guest room. The boys aren't here so you don't have to worry about waking them up. Not that they'd hear you anyway. You know how they can sleep through just about anything."
After refusing Amanda's offer of something to eat or drink, Steve said good night and made his way to the guest room. The room was the smallest of the three bedrooms and rarely used except by Amanda's mother when she came for visits. Steve threw back the comforter and sat down on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes. Too physically and emotionally exhausted to even care about the possibility of having yet another nightmare, he was asleep practically as soon as his head hit the pillow.
A few minutes later Amanda stood in the doorway watching her good friend sleep. Her heart went out to Steve and for the millionth time she wished there was something she could do to ease the pain he'd been in since Carol's murder. If his appearance tonight is any indication, he's well on his way to a complete physical and emotional breakdown, Amanda thought unknowingly echoing Emma's thoughts from earlier that day.
The sudden ringing of the phone broke the stillness of the house. Amanda hurried to her bedroom and picked up the extension. She was surprised to hear Mark's voice on the other end.
"Did I wake you?"
"No. I just got home from the forensic science seminar. The thought of an empty house was too attractive to pass up so I checked out of the hotel and drove home."
Mark sighed. "I'd forgotten you were gone. Then I guess you couldn't have seen Steve today."
Amanda frowned at Mark's tone. If her suspicions hadn't already been aroused by Steve's sudden appearance on her doorstep, Mark's call surely would have set off an alarm. As it was, her instincts were screaming that something had happened to further strain their already tense relationship.
"As a matter of fact, he showed up on my doorstep a little while ago. Said he didn't think he better try driving back to the beach house tonight and I agreed."
"Is he okay?"
"He wasn't hurt if that's what you're asking, and he wasn't drunk, just exhausted. He's asleep in the guest room. Mark, what's going on? What happened to cause Steve to end up on my front porch on the verge of a breakdown?"
Briefly, Mark filled Amanda in on the day's events. "I thought he'd just blow off some steam and then come home so we could talk. When it started getting late, I got worried. A patrol car had been tailing him but lost him a little while ago."
"You had the police tailing your own son?"
"Emma suggested issuing a tail only order to see if we could track him down."
"Mark, this has to stop. The two of you need to sit down and talk or Steve's health is going to suffer even more than it already has. Why don't you come over here in the morning? Maybe you need a neutral site to have this conversation."
"You won't let him leave?" "No. C.J. and Dion are gone until the weekend. It'll be quiet around here. I'll tell him he can hang out and relax for as long as he wants."
"Amanda, I don't know if this will make his nightmare better or worse."
"Don't worry, Mark," Amanda assured him. "If something happens, I'll be here."
A few hours later Amanda was awakened from a sound sleep. Momentarily disoriented, she found herself listening for one of the boys before she remembered they were at camp. Lying still, she tried to figure out what had disturbed her. She was beginning to think it had been part of a dream when she finally heard the noise again. Low moans were coming from the direction of the guest bedroom.
"Oh no! Steve!" she whispered.
Amanda pushed back the covers and grabbed her robe from the foot of her bed. Hurrying down the hall, she pushed open the bedroom door. The first thing that caught her eye was the empty bed. Puzzled, she stepped into the room and felt her heart sink at the sight before her. Huddled in the corner was Steve. He had pulled his legs up to his chest as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible and was staring vacantly into space. He moaned again.
Amanda approached Steve slowly so not to startle him. Kneeling down in front of him, she placed a hand on his arm.
"Leave me alone." Steve's voice was ragged.
"Not this time, Steve." Amanda sat down on the floor beside him. "You've pushed me away for the last time. You've tried to carry too much by yourself for too long. I thought we were better friends than that."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. You know you want to let it go. I know you want to let it go. Carrying everything inside is poisoning you. Even C.J. and Dion can see the difference. They miss the old Steve who'd come and throw the ball around with them or take them to the batting cage."
Steve dropped his head into his arms. Now he could add C.J. and Dion to the list of people he'd disappointed. Would the pain ever stop? Would even the simple things ever seem normal again? he wondered.
"I'm sorry, Amanda. They deserve better than what I've been able to give them lately."
Amanda could've kicked herself. By bringing up C.J. and Dion, she had increased Steve's feelings of guilt. She needed to get the conversation back to his feelings and, more importantly, the nightmare that was ruining his health. "Forget C.J. and Dion. How much or how little time you've spent with them isn't the point. They're old enough to understand what's happened and how horrible it is. What I meant was that even they can tell how desperately unhappy you are despite your attempts to hide it from them." Amanda put her arm around Steve's shoulders shocked at how thin they felt. "Talk to me, please."
Steve was silent for so long Amanda feared she had driven him back inside himself. When he finally began to speak, his voice was low and strained.
"Every night I walk back into that alley. Every night I see the same thing. Carol - bloody, bruised and shot - lying in that alley and it's the worst feeling I've ever had."
Amanda didn't know what to say. She couldn't reassure him that it was just a dream because it wasn't. Steve was reliving a traumatic event that had really happened. Deciding it would be better to say nothing at this point, she squeezed his shoulders as encouragement to continue.
"Between being a cop and being in Vietnam, I thought I'd seen the worst life could dish out. I was wrong. When Ben Moeller moved away from the body and I saw.and I saw."
Steve's voice broke and to his horror he could feel tears threatening to fall. He struggled to break out of Amanda's grasp, to get away and regain control, but she held fast. Finally the deep, choking sobs overwhelmed him and he slumped against her letting his grief pour out.
Closing her eyes against his pain, Amanda let Steve's tears soak the front of her robe. She wondered if he'd let himself shed any tears prior to this but figured judging by his actions of the past few weeks he hadn't even allowed himself that small measure of comfort. Gently she kneaded his tense neck and shoulder muscles and whispered words of comfort to him, words she doubted he even heard. When she was sure the worst of the emotional storm had passed, Amanda slipped her arms from around him and got up from the floor. She moved a box of tissues to within Steve's reach then left the room certain he'd want some time alone to compose himself before facing her again.
Steve listened to Amanda's footsteps recede before raising his head. He couldn't believe he'd lost control like that but, other than feeling slightly embarrassed by his outburst, he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He tensed slightly as he thought about having to face his father again and knew he could delay that meeting only a few hours longer. Reaching for the box of tissues, Steve used several to mop up his remaining tears and then got to his feet. He made his way into the bathroom and found that Amanda had laid out fresh towels, a new toothbrush and a razor. Touched by her thoughtfulness, he wasted no time in putting them to use. Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom just as Amanda was coming from the kitchen. She handed him one of the mugs she was carrying.
"My mom used to make me warm milk when I woke up at night," Amanda said. "I still can't convince her that hot chocolate is more soothing."
Her comment brought a small smile to Steve's face. He looked down at the mug in his hand. "Mmm, I haven't had hot chocolate in ages. No marshmallows?"
Amanda dipped her hand into the pocket of her robe and brought out a bag containing just a few marshmallows. "This is all I've got left until the next trip to the store. Thanks to you, C.J. and Dion refuse to have hot chocolate without them anymore."
"You can't have hot chocolate without marshmallows," he protested as he dropped a handful into his mug.
Amanda shook her head ruefully. If it weren't for the full-grown man standing before her, she'd swear she was having this conversation with her two sons. Taking back the bag, she tossed it on the coffee table. She sat down on the couch, tucked her legs up under her and watched as Steve paced restlessly his hands wrapped around the mug savoring its warmth. Amanda knew enough to wait until Steve was ready to talk. She'd get nowhere if she pushed him. Finally he came and sat down next to her.
"I never should've unloaded on you like that," he sighed.
"Now we're even." At Steve's puzzled look, she went on, "Think of all the times you've let me cry on your shoulder. Like when Colin and I separated or when I had to let C.J. go and spend his first weekend with Colin. Should I go on?"
"I wanted to be there for you when you were hurting, Amanda."
Amanda nodded. "And I wanted to be there for you. That's what friends are for."
"I don't know what's happened to me," Steve admitted, suddenly. "After Carol was murdered, I was so angry. That anger gave me strength and kept me going, but now, now it's gotten to the point where it takes more and more energy to find that anger. My own sister is a crime statistic and I haven't been able to do anything about it. It should make me mad as hell, but all I feel is helpless and guilty."
"That's depression, Steve. It's a normal reaction for someone to have. There's nothing wrong with it or with you."
"I just feel so guilty that I couldn't protect her. I'm her brother. I should've been there to protect her and I wasn't. And even if I wasn't her brother, I'm a cop for God's sake. It's my job to make sure the people in this city are safe, and I failed. I failed my own sister. What kind of cop does that make me?"
"A human one. There's no way you could've predicted this was going to happen. You need to let go of the guilt, Steve. If you let it go, the nightmare would probably stop. As long as you feel guilty, your subconscious is going to keep punishing you night after night."
"Even Dad is disappointed in me. He blames me." "Mark would never blame you for something you couldn't control," Amanda protested.
"It's in his eyes, Amanda. He's never said anything to me directly, but he came close at dinner the other night." Steve's eyes filled with pain as he remembered the incident at the beach house.
Amanda blew out a breath. Steve was consumed with guilt over something he'd had no control over and it was ruining both his confidence and his health. Before she could try again to reassure him the doorbell rang. Steve frowned.
"Kinda early for visitors isn't it? Expecting someone?"
Rising from the couch, Amanda said, "Don't go away. We're not done here yet."
Steve turned and rested his forehead against the fireplace mantel as Amanda left to answer the door. He was beginning to think she missed her true calling. Rather than a pathologist, Amanda should have been a psychiatrist. She was pushing him to confront his feelings much faster than the department psychiatrist had and it was emotionally draining work. The day had barely started and he already felt exhausted. Steve was vaguely aware of the murmur of low voices as Amanda answered the door, but he paid no attention to what they were saying. He wasn't even aware that she had let someone into the house until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hello, Son."
Steve's head jerked up. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to see his dad, but for some reason he was. After yesterday's scene at the beach house, Steve hadn't thought his dad would want to see him again.
"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, wearily.
"When you didn't come home last night, I got worried. I was hoping we'd be able to talk and try to work through things. Then I called Amanda and she said you ended up here and that you were asleep. She suggested that we talk here." Mark sighed. "Steve, I want to apologize for my recent behavior but especially for yesterday. I reacted badly and you got hurt. It was just such a shock to find out that you'd actually been there, at the scene, and you never told me."
"I understand, Dad. It's okay."
The idea that Steve thought so little of himself or believed Mark thought so little of him combined with the worn out, defeated tone of his son's voice brought Mark's temper to the flashpoint.
"No, it's not okay!" Mark snapped. "You're not okay, and you haven't been for a long time. I had no idea, no idea, how much pain you were in, and I blame myself for not realizing it sooner. Why didn't you trust me enough to share what you'd seen? Why didn't you tell me?"
Amanda winced as she listened from the other side of the kitchen door. Mark rarely raised his voice to anyone let alone lost his temper so she knew the events of the past weeks had pushed him to his breaking point. It distressed Amanda to see her two best friends so distant from one another at a time when they should've been supporting each other. She held her breath when she heard Steve lash back.
"I wanted to tell you! I wanted to come home that day and crawl into your arms and hide like I did when I was six and you'd tell me everything was gonna be okay!"
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because nobody should have to see what I saw that day, least of all a parent!" Steve shouted. "And when the nightmares started, I knew I couldn't tell you. What was the point? What was the point of both of us being tortured by those horrible scenes replaying over and over again in our heads? I couldn't protect Carol, but I could protect you." Steve's anger faded as quickly as it had flared. "Because nobody should have to see what I saw," he repeated softly, his voice clogged with unshed tears.
Steve's grief and pain doused Mark's remaining anger. Reaching out, he tentatively placed his hand over his son's and breathed a silent sigh of relief when Steve didn't pull away from the contact.
"I knew something was wrong," Mark said, self-recrimination in his voice, "and I didn't do anything to help you. If I'd been thinking more clearly and not been so wrapped up in my own grief, I would've realized that you had withdrawn into yourself too much, even for you. I wanted to be there for you this time like I wasn't when your mother died. Instead, I let you push me away thinking you were dealing with everything better than I was. All those times you wanted to be alone and I just let you go. I should've forced you to talk to me. We needed each other and didn't even realize how much."
"All your life you've tried so hard to do what you thought was right even if it meant sacrificing yourself to do it. Now that I know what you went through that day, I want to help you. No more secrets, no more half- truths. From now on, we face everything together. The good days, the bad days, the anger, the guilt, everything. That's the way it should've been from the beginning. That's how it will be from now on if you agree."
Steve searched his father's face for any sign of anger or condemnation and found none. Still he had to be sure. "You don't blame me for not keeping Carol safe or for not being able to catch the person responsible?"
"Keeping Carol safe was out of your control. She was a grown woman living her own life and there was nothing you could've done differently." Mark touched Steve's face. "I'm sorry if I led you to believe that I was angry with you for not catching the person who did it. Yes, I am angry; angry that that monster is out there somewhere, but it was wrong of me to make you the target of that anger. You didn't deserve it. You and I are just as much victims in this as Carol was." Steve could hardly believe what his dad was telling him. He didn't blame him for Carol's death, didn't blame him for not being able to catch the person responsible. Steve had compounded their mutual grief by pushing his dad away instead of trusting him. When they had really needed each other, he had almost destroyed their relationship by underestimating his father's strength.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I should've trusted you more. Should've had more faith in our relationship. I just was trying to spare you more pain by not telling you I was there that day."
"I know that, and I appreciate it, but we can talk about it." Mark held his son's gaze. "I had Emma bring the crime scene photos over last night."
Steve inhaled sharply. "Dad, she didn't."
"She didn't want to at first. She told me that you wanted to know first if I ever asked to see them. But I was finally able to convince her I needed to see them if I was ever going to understand what you'd been through."
Steve closed his eyes as he thought about his father sacrificing his own feelings to look at the gruesome pictures of his only daughter's murder scene in order to better understand the emotional pain his son was suffering. How could have he ever doubted his father's love and support?
"I should've been there with you."
Mark swallowed hard as he remembered his first glimpse of the pictures. "I won't lie to you. It wasn't easy, but now I understand. I know that sight will haunt you for the rest of your life, but I hope I can help it fade over time."
Grateful beyond words, Steve simply stared at his father. Mark opened his arms and Steve, reading the silent invitation, accepted it immediately. Father and son shared a long, cleansing embrace drawing strength from one another. After a few moments Steve pulled back.
"Dad, there's something else I need to tell you."
"Anything. Don't ever feel like you have to hold anything back from me."
Steve looked at his hands refusing to meet his father's eyes. "I quit the force yesterday," he said, quietly. "I just couldn't go on solving other cases knowing that I'd failed to find the person responsible for Carol's murder. No matter how many cases I closed, it was eating away at my confidence that I couldn't solve the one that really mattered."
Mark remained silent forcing Steve to finally look up. Instead of the disappointment or anger he had half expected to see, Steve saw nothing but love and support in his father's steady gaze. "You already knew, didn't you?"
Mark nodded. "But I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me on your own." "Who told you?"
"Emma. After you left the beach house."
Steve shook his head ruefully. "Poor Emma. I left her to pick up all the pieces yesterday and to try and explain my behavior. That's not a moment I'm real proud of, taking off like that. I'm sorry Dad that I didn't come home last night. I guess you were probably worried, huh?"
"I didn't start to really worry until after you shook your tail. We didn't know what happened to you until I called Amanda and found you here."
Steve was pleased to know he'd had enough of his wits about him to be right about the tail. "I thought I noticed someone back there, but then I thought maybe I was being paranoid."
"Steve, I need to know so please be honest with me. Why have you been avoiding me? Was it because of the nightmare?"
"Partly," Steve admitted. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you started asking questions. You were already giving me the look."
"The look?"
"You know. The one where you know I'm hiding something from you but you haven't quite figured out what, and you're trying to decide when and how to get me to talk about it. It was easier to avoid you then answer a bunch of questions that were too horrible to even think about let alone talk about."
"Was that the only reason?" When Steve didn't respond, Mark prodded gently, "Son, was that the only reason?"
"I didn't think you'd want me around."
Mark was stunned by Steve's strained admission. "Why would you think that?" He searched his memory trying to recall if he'd said or done something to give Steve that impression but came up empty. The shock that had rendered him numb for the first few days after Carol's murder had also left large chunks of time he couldn't recall clearly. "Did I do or say something - "
"No." Steve was quick to reassure him. "It wasn't you, Dad. It was me. I thought you wouldn't want to see me because it would remind you that I was here and Carol wasn't, and that it could've been, in fact probably should've been, me lying in that alley."
"Should've been?"
"I lived with the risks of my job everyday. I always knew something could happen to me. Carol was an innocent bystander. She had no idea when she left to come here that she wouldn't make it." Mark ached for his son. He recognized the emotion Steve was feeling for what it was even if Steve didn't - survivor's guilt. "I guess it never occurred to me that you'd feel guilty about something you didn't have any control over. Steve, do you think you'd feel this guilty if Carol had died in a crash on the highway?"
Steve thought about it for a moment. "Probably not, I guess. Why?"
"Just like you'd have no control over the other drivers on the road at the same time, you had no control over the person who did this to Carol. This person made a choice and probably no one could've stopped him once he had made his decision to hurt Carol. Maybe it's because of the risks that you feel so guilty for not being able to do more to prevent it or to resolve it, or maybe it's simply because you loved your sister so much. Whatever the reason, I blew it by not being there for you. For not recognizing what you were going through."
"You were already hurting so much. I didn't want to dump anything more on you. You needed to take care of yourself and not worry about what a mess I was."
Mark smiled affectionately at his son. "Don't you know by now that worrying about you is my number one hobby?" he teased.
Steve smiled in return. "Yeah, I noticed you seem to do it quite often."
"In a way those first few days, we switched roles and you became the parent. Whenever I needed you, you were there supporting me, letting me lean on you, helping me make decisions. I didn't give you the opportunity to grieve because I depended on you too much. Then when I was finally getting it together again, you started drifting away. I suppose that's when the nightmare started?"
Steve nodded. "It all kind of hit me after we came back from the memorial service in Portland. Those people knew Carol better than I did, and I was her brother. It made me angry.and guilty that I hadn't done more to patch up our relationship. After that, everything just started to snowball. We didn't have any leads, our snitches were useless. Then I started wondering if there was something more I could've done that day. Searched sooner, alerted the highway patrol, anything. And through it all, that nightmare was with me not letting me forget."
Mark was so proud of his son. Steve placed such high expectations on himself. The weight of the emotional burden he'd been carrying would've crushed a weaker man yet he had refused to share that pain with anyone to lighten his load. Mark knew that although they'd never be the same people they'd been before this happened, they had survived and he was certain it had strengthened their already unshakable relationship. He knew they both had a lot of grieving to do yet, but now they could do it together supporting each other if at times it seemed like the pain was too much to bear.
Mark stood. "What do you say we let Amanda out of the kitchen?"
Steve looked at his watch amazed at how much time had passed. "Do you think she's ever spent this much time in a kitchen before?"
"I wouldn't let her hear you say that, my friend."
"That's why I'm still on this side of the door as I say it," Steve said, as he headed toward the kitchen. "Too many sharp objects within reach if I went through that door and teased her about her cooking skills."
Steve glanced in his rearview mirror and made a quick right turn at the next traffic light. For the past mile, it had seemed as if a patrol car had been discreetly following him keeping far enough back not to be noticeable but still able to keep him in their sights. Another quick look assured him that, if in fact he was being followed, his quick maneuver had lost his tail. Steve had every reason to suspect his fellow officers were keeping an eye out for him. His behavior earlier in the day had been out of character and they were probably worried he'd do something even more impulsive than resigning.
Steve drove aimlessly for a while longer. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to go home yet. An image of his father's face on the deck flashed in his head. Guilt gnawed at him, and Steve knew he should at least call to make sure his dad was okay. Under normal circumstances he never would've left him in that condition, but these were far from normal circumstances. When his dad had backed away from him, his only thought had been to escape.
Pulling his attention back to the road, Steve realized he'd been driving on autopilot for the past few miles. He looked around and discovered he was only a few blocks from Amanda's house. Maybe she'll let me spend the night, Steve thought. It's probably not a good idea for me to try and drive back to the beach tonight.
A light was burning in the living room and another was on in the back of the house when Steve stopped his truck out front. He rang the bell and leaned heavily against the door suddenly afraid his exhausted body would refuse to remain upright. A moment later the porch light flicked on and the door opened.
"Steve!" Amanda's voice conveyed her surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Belatedly, Steve realized how late it was. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I should've called first, but I don't think I should drive home tonight."
"Don't worry about it." Amanda took one look at his slumped shoulders and the pinched look around his mouth and eyes and guided Steve inside. He didn't appear to be intoxicated, but she agreed with his assessment that he wasn't in any condition to drive. She wondered what had happened to put Steve in this state and then decided it probably wouldn't do any good to question him tonight. She would wait until morning after he'd had some rest.
"You can sleep in the guest room. The boys aren't here so you don't have to worry about waking them up. Not that they'd hear you anyway. You know how they can sleep through just about anything."
After refusing Amanda's offer of something to eat or drink, Steve said good night and made his way to the guest room. The room was the smallest of the three bedrooms and rarely used except by Amanda's mother when she came for visits. Steve threw back the comforter and sat down on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes. Too physically and emotionally exhausted to even care about the possibility of having yet another nightmare, he was asleep practically as soon as his head hit the pillow.
A few minutes later Amanda stood in the doorway watching her good friend sleep. Her heart went out to Steve and for the millionth time she wished there was something she could do to ease the pain he'd been in since Carol's murder. If his appearance tonight is any indication, he's well on his way to a complete physical and emotional breakdown, Amanda thought unknowingly echoing Emma's thoughts from earlier that day.
The sudden ringing of the phone broke the stillness of the house. Amanda hurried to her bedroom and picked up the extension. She was surprised to hear Mark's voice on the other end.
"Did I wake you?"
"No. I just got home from the forensic science seminar. The thought of an empty house was too attractive to pass up so I checked out of the hotel and drove home."
Mark sighed. "I'd forgotten you were gone. Then I guess you couldn't have seen Steve today."
Amanda frowned at Mark's tone. If her suspicions hadn't already been aroused by Steve's sudden appearance on her doorstep, Mark's call surely would have set off an alarm. As it was, her instincts were screaming that something had happened to further strain their already tense relationship.
"As a matter of fact, he showed up on my doorstep a little while ago. Said he didn't think he better try driving back to the beach house tonight and I agreed."
"Is he okay?"
"He wasn't hurt if that's what you're asking, and he wasn't drunk, just exhausted. He's asleep in the guest room. Mark, what's going on? What happened to cause Steve to end up on my front porch on the verge of a breakdown?"
Briefly, Mark filled Amanda in on the day's events. "I thought he'd just blow off some steam and then come home so we could talk. When it started getting late, I got worried. A patrol car had been tailing him but lost him a little while ago."
"You had the police tailing your own son?"
"Emma suggested issuing a tail only order to see if we could track him down."
"Mark, this has to stop. The two of you need to sit down and talk or Steve's health is going to suffer even more than it already has. Why don't you come over here in the morning? Maybe you need a neutral site to have this conversation."
"You won't let him leave?" "No. C.J. and Dion are gone until the weekend. It'll be quiet around here. I'll tell him he can hang out and relax for as long as he wants."
"Amanda, I don't know if this will make his nightmare better or worse."
"Don't worry, Mark," Amanda assured him. "If something happens, I'll be here."
A few hours later Amanda was awakened from a sound sleep. Momentarily disoriented, she found herself listening for one of the boys before she remembered they were at camp. Lying still, she tried to figure out what had disturbed her. She was beginning to think it had been part of a dream when she finally heard the noise again. Low moans were coming from the direction of the guest bedroom.
"Oh no! Steve!" she whispered.
Amanda pushed back the covers and grabbed her robe from the foot of her bed. Hurrying down the hall, she pushed open the bedroom door. The first thing that caught her eye was the empty bed. Puzzled, she stepped into the room and felt her heart sink at the sight before her. Huddled in the corner was Steve. He had pulled his legs up to his chest as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible and was staring vacantly into space. He moaned again.
Amanda approached Steve slowly so not to startle him. Kneeling down in front of him, she placed a hand on his arm.
"Leave me alone." Steve's voice was ragged.
"Not this time, Steve." Amanda sat down on the floor beside him. "You've pushed me away for the last time. You've tried to carry too much by yourself for too long. I thought we were better friends than that."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. You know you want to let it go. I know you want to let it go. Carrying everything inside is poisoning you. Even C.J. and Dion can see the difference. They miss the old Steve who'd come and throw the ball around with them or take them to the batting cage."
Steve dropped his head into his arms. Now he could add C.J. and Dion to the list of people he'd disappointed. Would the pain ever stop? Would even the simple things ever seem normal again? he wondered.
"I'm sorry, Amanda. They deserve better than what I've been able to give them lately."
Amanda could've kicked herself. By bringing up C.J. and Dion, she had increased Steve's feelings of guilt. She needed to get the conversation back to his feelings and, more importantly, the nightmare that was ruining his health. "Forget C.J. and Dion. How much or how little time you've spent with them isn't the point. They're old enough to understand what's happened and how horrible it is. What I meant was that even they can tell how desperately unhappy you are despite your attempts to hide it from them." Amanda put her arm around Steve's shoulders shocked at how thin they felt. "Talk to me, please."
Steve was silent for so long Amanda feared she had driven him back inside himself. When he finally began to speak, his voice was low and strained.
"Every night I walk back into that alley. Every night I see the same thing. Carol - bloody, bruised and shot - lying in that alley and it's the worst feeling I've ever had."
Amanda didn't know what to say. She couldn't reassure him that it was just a dream because it wasn't. Steve was reliving a traumatic event that had really happened. Deciding it would be better to say nothing at this point, she squeezed his shoulders as encouragement to continue.
"Between being a cop and being in Vietnam, I thought I'd seen the worst life could dish out. I was wrong. When Ben Moeller moved away from the body and I saw.and I saw."
Steve's voice broke and to his horror he could feel tears threatening to fall. He struggled to break out of Amanda's grasp, to get away and regain control, but she held fast. Finally the deep, choking sobs overwhelmed him and he slumped against her letting his grief pour out.
Closing her eyes against his pain, Amanda let Steve's tears soak the front of her robe. She wondered if he'd let himself shed any tears prior to this but figured judging by his actions of the past few weeks he hadn't even allowed himself that small measure of comfort. Gently she kneaded his tense neck and shoulder muscles and whispered words of comfort to him, words she doubted he even heard. When she was sure the worst of the emotional storm had passed, Amanda slipped her arms from around him and got up from the floor. She moved a box of tissues to within Steve's reach then left the room certain he'd want some time alone to compose himself before facing her again.
Steve listened to Amanda's footsteps recede before raising his head. He couldn't believe he'd lost control like that but, other than feeling slightly embarrassed by his outburst, he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He tensed slightly as he thought about having to face his father again and knew he could delay that meeting only a few hours longer. Reaching for the box of tissues, Steve used several to mop up his remaining tears and then got to his feet. He made his way into the bathroom and found that Amanda had laid out fresh towels, a new toothbrush and a razor. Touched by her thoughtfulness, he wasted no time in putting them to use. Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom just as Amanda was coming from the kitchen. She handed him one of the mugs she was carrying.
"My mom used to make me warm milk when I woke up at night," Amanda said. "I still can't convince her that hot chocolate is more soothing."
Her comment brought a small smile to Steve's face. He looked down at the mug in his hand. "Mmm, I haven't had hot chocolate in ages. No marshmallows?"
Amanda dipped her hand into the pocket of her robe and brought out a bag containing just a few marshmallows. "This is all I've got left until the next trip to the store. Thanks to you, C.J. and Dion refuse to have hot chocolate without them anymore."
"You can't have hot chocolate without marshmallows," he protested as he dropped a handful into his mug.
Amanda shook her head ruefully. If it weren't for the full-grown man standing before her, she'd swear she was having this conversation with her two sons. Taking back the bag, she tossed it on the coffee table. She sat down on the couch, tucked her legs up under her and watched as Steve paced restlessly his hands wrapped around the mug savoring its warmth. Amanda knew enough to wait until Steve was ready to talk. She'd get nowhere if she pushed him. Finally he came and sat down next to her.
"I never should've unloaded on you like that," he sighed.
"Now we're even." At Steve's puzzled look, she went on, "Think of all the times you've let me cry on your shoulder. Like when Colin and I separated or when I had to let C.J. go and spend his first weekend with Colin. Should I go on?"
"I wanted to be there for you when you were hurting, Amanda."
Amanda nodded. "And I wanted to be there for you. That's what friends are for."
"I don't know what's happened to me," Steve admitted, suddenly. "After Carol was murdered, I was so angry. That anger gave me strength and kept me going, but now, now it's gotten to the point where it takes more and more energy to find that anger. My own sister is a crime statistic and I haven't been able to do anything about it. It should make me mad as hell, but all I feel is helpless and guilty."
"That's depression, Steve. It's a normal reaction for someone to have. There's nothing wrong with it or with you."
"I just feel so guilty that I couldn't protect her. I'm her brother. I should've been there to protect her and I wasn't. And even if I wasn't her brother, I'm a cop for God's sake. It's my job to make sure the people in this city are safe, and I failed. I failed my own sister. What kind of cop does that make me?"
"A human one. There's no way you could've predicted this was going to happen. You need to let go of the guilt, Steve. If you let it go, the nightmare would probably stop. As long as you feel guilty, your subconscious is going to keep punishing you night after night."
"Even Dad is disappointed in me. He blames me." "Mark would never blame you for something you couldn't control," Amanda protested.
"It's in his eyes, Amanda. He's never said anything to me directly, but he came close at dinner the other night." Steve's eyes filled with pain as he remembered the incident at the beach house.
Amanda blew out a breath. Steve was consumed with guilt over something he'd had no control over and it was ruining both his confidence and his health. Before she could try again to reassure him the doorbell rang. Steve frowned.
"Kinda early for visitors isn't it? Expecting someone?"
Rising from the couch, Amanda said, "Don't go away. We're not done here yet."
Steve turned and rested his forehead against the fireplace mantel as Amanda left to answer the door. He was beginning to think she missed her true calling. Rather than a pathologist, Amanda should have been a psychiatrist. She was pushing him to confront his feelings much faster than the department psychiatrist had and it was emotionally draining work. The day had barely started and he already felt exhausted. Steve was vaguely aware of the murmur of low voices as Amanda answered the door, but he paid no attention to what they were saying. He wasn't even aware that she had let someone into the house until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hello, Son."
Steve's head jerked up. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to see his dad, but for some reason he was. After yesterday's scene at the beach house, Steve hadn't thought his dad would want to see him again.
"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, wearily.
"When you didn't come home last night, I got worried. I was hoping we'd be able to talk and try to work through things. Then I called Amanda and she said you ended up here and that you were asleep. She suggested that we talk here." Mark sighed. "Steve, I want to apologize for my recent behavior but especially for yesterday. I reacted badly and you got hurt. It was just such a shock to find out that you'd actually been there, at the scene, and you never told me."
"I understand, Dad. It's okay."
The idea that Steve thought so little of himself or believed Mark thought so little of him combined with the worn out, defeated tone of his son's voice brought Mark's temper to the flashpoint.
"No, it's not okay!" Mark snapped. "You're not okay, and you haven't been for a long time. I had no idea, no idea, how much pain you were in, and I blame myself for not realizing it sooner. Why didn't you trust me enough to share what you'd seen? Why didn't you tell me?"
Amanda winced as she listened from the other side of the kitchen door. Mark rarely raised his voice to anyone let alone lost his temper so she knew the events of the past weeks had pushed him to his breaking point. It distressed Amanda to see her two best friends so distant from one another at a time when they should've been supporting each other. She held her breath when she heard Steve lash back.
"I wanted to tell you! I wanted to come home that day and crawl into your arms and hide like I did when I was six and you'd tell me everything was gonna be okay!"
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because nobody should have to see what I saw that day, least of all a parent!" Steve shouted. "And when the nightmares started, I knew I couldn't tell you. What was the point? What was the point of both of us being tortured by those horrible scenes replaying over and over again in our heads? I couldn't protect Carol, but I could protect you." Steve's anger faded as quickly as it had flared. "Because nobody should have to see what I saw," he repeated softly, his voice clogged with unshed tears.
Steve's grief and pain doused Mark's remaining anger. Reaching out, he tentatively placed his hand over his son's and breathed a silent sigh of relief when Steve didn't pull away from the contact.
"I knew something was wrong," Mark said, self-recrimination in his voice, "and I didn't do anything to help you. If I'd been thinking more clearly and not been so wrapped up in my own grief, I would've realized that you had withdrawn into yourself too much, even for you. I wanted to be there for you this time like I wasn't when your mother died. Instead, I let you push me away thinking you were dealing with everything better than I was. All those times you wanted to be alone and I just let you go. I should've forced you to talk to me. We needed each other and didn't even realize how much."
"All your life you've tried so hard to do what you thought was right even if it meant sacrificing yourself to do it. Now that I know what you went through that day, I want to help you. No more secrets, no more half- truths. From now on, we face everything together. The good days, the bad days, the anger, the guilt, everything. That's the way it should've been from the beginning. That's how it will be from now on if you agree."
Steve searched his father's face for any sign of anger or condemnation and found none. Still he had to be sure. "You don't blame me for not keeping Carol safe or for not being able to catch the person responsible?"
"Keeping Carol safe was out of your control. She was a grown woman living her own life and there was nothing you could've done differently." Mark touched Steve's face. "I'm sorry if I led you to believe that I was angry with you for not catching the person who did it. Yes, I am angry; angry that that monster is out there somewhere, but it was wrong of me to make you the target of that anger. You didn't deserve it. You and I are just as much victims in this as Carol was." Steve could hardly believe what his dad was telling him. He didn't blame him for Carol's death, didn't blame him for not being able to catch the person responsible. Steve had compounded their mutual grief by pushing his dad away instead of trusting him. When they had really needed each other, he had almost destroyed their relationship by underestimating his father's strength.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I should've trusted you more. Should've had more faith in our relationship. I just was trying to spare you more pain by not telling you I was there that day."
"I know that, and I appreciate it, but we can talk about it." Mark held his son's gaze. "I had Emma bring the crime scene photos over last night."
Steve inhaled sharply. "Dad, she didn't."
"She didn't want to at first. She told me that you wanted to know first if I ever asked to see them. But I was finally able to convince her I needed to see them if I was ever going to understand what you'd been through."
Steve closed his eyes as he thought about his father sacrificing his own feelings to look at the gruesome pictures of his only daughter's murder scene in order to better understand the emotional pain his son was suffering. How could have he ever doubted his father's love and support?
"I should've been there with you."
Mark swallowed hard as he remembered his first glimpse of the pictures. "I won't lie to you. It wasn't easy, but now I understand. I know that sight will haunt you for the rest of your life, but I hope I can help it fade over time."
Grateful beyond words, Steve simply stared at his father. Mark opened his arms and Steve, reading the silent invitation, accepted it immediately. Father and son shared a long, cleansing embrace drawing strength from one another. After a few moments Steve pulled back.
"Dad, there's something else I need to tell you."
"Anything. Don't ever feel like you have to hold anything back from me."
Steve looked at his hands refusing to meet his father's eyes. "I quit the force yesterday," he said, quietly. "I just couldn't go on solving other cases knowing that I'd failed to find the person responsible for Carol's murder. No matter how many cases I closed, it was eating away at my confidence that I couldn't solve the one that really mattered."
Mark remained silent forcing Steve to finally look up. Instead of the disappointment or anger he had half expected to see, Steve saw nothing but love and support in his father's steady gaze. "You already knew, didn't you?"
Mark nodded. "But I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me on your own." "Who told you?"
"Emma. After you left the beach house."
Steve shook his head ruefully. "Poor Emma. I left her to pick up all the pieces yesterday and to try and explain my behavior. That's not a moment I'm real proud of, taking off like that. I'm sorry Dad that I didn't come home last night. I guess you were probably worried, huh?"
"I didn't start to really worry until after you shook your tail. We didn't know what happened to you until I called Amanda and found you here."
Steve was pleased to know he'd had enough of his wits about him to be right about the tail. "I thought I noticed someone back there, but then I thought maybe I was being paranoid."
"Steve, I need to know so please be honest with me. Why have you been avoiding me? Was it because of the nightmare?"
"Partly," Steve admitted. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you started asking questions. You were already giving me the look."
"The look?"
"You know. The one where you know I'm hiding something from you but you haven't quite figured out what, and you're trying to decide when and how to get me to talk about it. It was easier to avoid you then answer a bunch of questions that were too horrible to even think about let alone talk about."
"Was that the only reason?" When Steve didn't respond, Mark prodded gently, "Son, was that the only reason?"
"I didn't think you'd want me around."
Mark was stunned by Steve's strained admission. "Why would you think that?" He searched his memory trying to recall if he'd said or done something to give Steve that impression but came up empty. The shock that had rendered him numb for the first few days after Carol's murder had also left large chunks of time he couldn't recall clearly. "Did I do or say something - "
"No." Steve was quick to reassure him. "It wasn't you, Dad. It was me. I thought you wouldn't want to see me because it would remind you that I was here and Carol wasn't, and that it could've been, in fact probably should've been, me lying in that alley."
"Should've been?"
"I lived with the risks of my job everyday. I always knew something could happen to me. Carol was an innocent bystander. She had no idea when she left to come here that she wouldn't make it." Mark ached for his son. He recognized the emotion Steve was feeling for what it was even if Steve didn't - survivor's guilt. "I guess it never occurred to me that you'd feel guilty about something you didn't have any control over. Steve, do you think you'd feel this guilty if Carol had died in a crash on the highway?"
Steve thought about it for a moment. "Probably not, I guess. Why?"
"Just like you'd have no control over the other drivers on the road at the same time, you had no control over the person who did this to Carol. This person made a choice and probably no one could've stopped him once he had made his decision to hurt Carol. Maybe it's because of the risks that you feel so guilty for not being able to do more to prevent it or to resolve it, or maybe it's simply because you loved your sister so much. Whatever the reason, I blew it by not being there for you. For not recognizing what you were going through."
"You were already hurting so much. I didn't want to dump anything more on you. You needed to take care of yourself and not worry about what a mess I was."
Mark smiled affectionately at his son. "Don't you know by now that worrying about you is my number one hobby?" he teased.
Steve smiled in return. "Yeah, I noticed you seem to do it quite often."
"In a way those first few days, we switched roles and you became the parent. Whenever I needed you, you were there supporting me, letting me lean on you, helping me make decisions. I didn't give you the opportunity to grieve because I depended on you too much. Then when I was finally getting it together again, you started drifting away. I suppose that's when the nightmare started?"
Steve nodded. "It all kind of hit me after we came back from the memorial service in Portland. Those people knew Carol better than I did, and I was her brother. It made me angry.and guilty that I hadn't done more to patch up our relationship. After that, everything just started to snowball. We didn't have any leads, our snitches were useless. Then I started wondering if there was something more I could've done that day. Searched sooner, alerted the highway patrol, anything. And through it all, that nightmare was with me not letting me forget."
Mark was so proud of his son. Steve placed such high expectations on himself. The weight of the emotional burden he'd been carrying would've crushed a weaker man yet he had refused to share that pain with anyone to lighten his load. Mark knew that although they'd never be the same people they'd been before this happened, they had survived and he was certain it had strengthened their already unshakable relationship. He knew they both had a lot of grieving to do yet, but now they could do it together supporting each other if at times it seemed like the pain was too much to bear.
Mark stood. "What do you say we let Amanda out of the kitchen?"
Steve looked at his watch amazed at how much time had passed. "Do you think she's ever spent this much time in a kitchen before?"
"I wouldn't let her hear you say that, my friend."
"That's why I'm still on this side of the door as I say it," Steve said, as he headed toward the kitchen. "Too many sharp objects within reach if I went through that door and teased her about her cooking skills."