Chapter 6
Rating: PG-13
Not mine ~ they just use my head for a playground sometimes!
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Jordan. . .
Yeah. They're back. The nightmares I was plagued with after Mom was murdered. Dad in the kitchen holding something. Mom singing. The staircase. I'm not even trying to sleep anymore. I know it's showing at work, more than once I've dozed off at my desk, much to Grace's frustration and delight ~ there's nothing that she'd like more than to see me fall. But I don't dare try to sleep at Dad's cause I just end up screaming and waking him up and then we're both awake for the rest of the night.
"Jordan? You have a minute?" Garret had popped his head into the office while I was lost in some sort of daydream-trance combination.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. What do you need?"
"Come on down to the conference room."
"Ok." So I followed Garret down the hall. When we got to the conference room, I found a small, balding man sitting on one side of the table.
"Dr. Cavanaugh, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Howard Stiles, the state psychiatrist assigned to this office."
"Hi."
"He's going to be doing your psych eval, Jordan."
"Oh. Ok."
"Howard, I'll be in my office if you need anything. Jordan, relax, things are going to be fine."
"Ok." I watched Garret as he walked out the door towards his office, feeling not unlike I did when that police officer left me at Children's Services. Abandoned, alone, and scared.
"Dr. Cavanaugh? Would you like to have a seat?"
"Ok. Can you call me Jordan?" I took a seat on the opposite side of the table from him.
"That's fine. I like to let you determine what I'll call you. Now, I've been going over your file. It seems that you've had some tragedy in your life."
"Are you going to make me talk about my mother?"
"Jordan, I'm just trying to make sure that you're able to do this job. The fact that your mother was murdered does not necessarily count against you. We just have to make sure. . ."
"That I'm not getting in over my head?"
"Well, there is that. It seems you have a penchant for going above and beyond your job description."
"Someone has to speak for the dead."
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
"Alright. My mother was murdered when I was 10. The police officer came and got me from school ~ I thought it was my Dad because he's a cop. She was on the living room floor. They took Dad away in handcuffs. You know the drill; they've always got to look at the husband. I went to Children's Services until Dad signed permission for me to stay at my friend Kim's house. Dad was cleared and I moved back home."
"It sounds like you've been over this before."
"Therapy off and on for years after that."
"I see." And that was all he said. He decided it would be easier right now for me to decide what I wanted to say and when I wanted to say it. I don't know how shrinks' brains work. He got up and wandered over to the window. At some point I guess I nodded off because the next thing I knew, her was gently shaking my shoulder. "Jordan? Are you feeling ok?"
"Um, yeah. Sorry. I just. . ."
"I see that you recently took a vacation. . ."
"I just needed to get away for a while. I'd been in a CT residency program at BU Hospital and. . .things didn't exactly work out there. I'd met Dr. Macy while I was there and he offered me this job, and I decided to take it."
"Alright. You've also changed your address."
"Yeah, I moved in with Dad for a while. There was. . .I wasn't comfortable in my old apartment. I just couldn't stay there anymore."
"Hey, things happen that make us uncomfortable. I do recall some unusual police activity around your old neighborhood recently. Perfectly understandable for you to want some security."
"I guess. I don't know how safe home really feels, but. . ."
"Do you mean because of your mother?"
"If you'd seen. . . Having your mother murdered in your home doesn't exactly make you feel like it's a safe place."
"And yet you moved back home. But. . .Jordan, have you been sleeping?"
"No, I. . .I've just been busy and had things on my mind and. . ."
"I can prescribe some sleeping pills for you, if you'd like."
"No! I mean, thanks, but I can't take anything like that."
"Really?"
"I know it's in the file."
"What Jordan? What's in the file?"
"That just before I left the CT program I was technically fired, and I accidentally swallowed all my pills while Dad and I were having some scotch."
"Accidentally?"
"I don't think I meant to kill myself. I didn't sit there and say 'Ok, Jordan, swallow the bottle and drink some scotch.'"
"And yet, you did."
"You never did anything unconsciously?"
"Touché."
"Look, I know I screwed up. It was a mistake and it won't happen again. I promise."
"But you don't want to take the prescription?"
"I'll take it, but I'm not sure I'll fill it."
"Jordan, what are these nightmares?"
"They're. . .they have to do with my mother. I. . .I really can't say anything else. They've come and gone for years. No one's been able to figure out how to make them stop for good."
"Do you want them to?"
"I know this is going to sound strange, but. . ." I was interrupted by some kind of scuffle outside in the hallway. I looked out the window and saw the husband in the DV case I'd pulled a few weeks before. I knew I was still in my eval, but I had to get out of there. "What the hell were you thinking? How could you do that to her?"
"Jordan, that's enough. " Garret tried to restrain me and gently push me back into the conference room. The guy turned around and leered at me.
"Like you can prove anything, you skinny bitch." And he headed towards the elevator. I tried to go after him, but suddenly the floor felt like water below me. As my knees collapsed, I heard Garret calling my name.
A few minutes later, I woke up on the couch in his office. "What happened?"
"You collapsed Jordan."
"Oh. Where's Dr. Stiles?"
"Right here my dear. I just went to get some Coke and crackers for you."
"Thanks." I took them and began to eat the crackers. I guess I was eating them a little faster than "normal."
"Jordan? When was the last time you ate?"
"Ate at all or a meal, Garret?"
"I'd prefer a meal, but I'll take at all."
"Um. . .I can't remember."
"Jordan, you're not eating, you're not sleeping. I'm concerned." Stiles was reaching for his prescription pad. "Now I didn't get this written before, but here is a scrip for some sleeping pills ~ at least for the moment. You need to get some sleep, and these will help."
"They'll take the nightmares away?"
"Jordan, there's only one way to do that."
"No! I can't. . ."
"Alright. Garret, I think it's probably best if she takes the rest of the day off to get some sleep."
"I agree. Jordan, is your dad going to be home?"
"Um. . ."
"Let me call him."
So he did and Dad came to get me. He insisted on getting the scrip filled, and said that he would hold onto the pills. When we got home, he gave me one, made sure I took it, and then sent me up to my room to get some sleep. What the hell, maybe it would work.
No such luck. I still woke up with the nightmare. I tried to be quiet so I wouldn't disturb Dad, but I know he knew what was going on. And things at work weren't getting any better. In fact, they only got worse.
As I continued to lose sleep, my performance became more and more sporadic. Looking back, it's easy to see, but at the time I was in complete denial. I didn't want to admit what had thrown me into a tailspin. Garret, Stiles, even Nigel all tried to help me out, but I kept pushing them away. Finally after one messed up case too many, Garret called me into the conference room. Stiles was with him.
"Jordan, I know how much this job meant to you. You. . .you speak for the dead better and more clearly than anyone I've ever seen. And you're probably the most gifted medical examiner I've ever known."
"But what? I know there's a but there."
"You're right. Jordan, I've talked with Dr. Stiles at length. Neither of us wanted things to come to this, but given the situation. . . Jordan, I have no choice but to fire you."
"What?"
"Speaking for the dead is one thing. Jordan, you've crossed the line more and more these last few weeks. Believe me, I don't want to do this. . ."
"Not even a suspension?"
"Jordan, it's not just that. Given your history. . ." I knew Dr. Stiles was trying to make things better, but it wasn't working.
"You think I tried to kill myself on purpose? Dr. Stiles, I explained. . ."
"Jordan, given the history then and what I'm seeing now, I have to conclude that being a medical examiner, at least here in Boston, isn't the best thing for you."
"But what will I do? Try to get into a residency program or something?" I was trying not to cry in front of them, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the tears spilled over.
"Jordan, I still think you're a wonderful medical examiner. But maybe there are too many memories here in Boston. Maybe somewhere else. . ."
"But if I've been fired. . ."
"I'm sealing your psychological record. I've written you a letter of recommendation and I'll do everything I can to help you find a job somewhere else. Jordan, I hate to lose you, but this is for your own good."
"Yeah, right." I looked at Garret and Stiles sitting there. "Fine. I'll clean out my desk."
I went into my office after grabbing a box from the storage area. Thankfully Grace was in the field. I couldn't stand the thought of her gloating over my packing. When I put the last of my personal things in the box and taped it up, I took one last look around the office and headed for the door.
Garret walked me to the elevator. "Jordan, it kills me to have to do this."
"Whatever."
"I hope that we've developed enough of a friendship that one day you can talk with me about all this ~ what caused this particular situation. But if not, I'll understand. Let me know if there's anything I can do."
The doors opened and I stepped in, just avoiding the kiss Garret was trying to plant on my cheek. "So I guess this is it. Maybe I'll see you around sometime." And the doors closed.
I went home to pack and leave a note for Dad. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I needed to leave. As it turns out, he came home as I was headed down the stairs to leave. He gave me a hug and asked where I was going to go. I told him I didn't know, but I needed to leave Boston. He said Garret had called him and said that there was an opening in Chicago and he'd put in a good word for me.
I knew letting me go was killing Dad, but he drove me to the bus stop, slipped a couple hundred dollars in my pocket and sent me out to wherever the wind was going to take me. Who would have imagined that six years later it would lead me back to Boston ~ where I'd have to eventually confront my past.
All of it.
The End.