1Healing

The nurse entered the room with a warm face cloth, a hand towel and the urinal. "Rizzo wasn't joking," Bobby conceded, "At least it's a male nurse." Rizzo took several steps back, observing Bobby's demeanor and how he would treat the nurse. The nurse went about his business professionally– matter-of-factly, making Bobby feel a little less self conscious. Bobby thanked him as he exited the room.

Dr. Rizzo stood, observing his patient. "That was IT, Detective."

Bobby turned his head slightly; the doctor could see the question in his eyes.

"The right response," Rizzo continued; "defeat. Now, how about surrender? I'm here to help you, Detective. I'm not the enemy."

Bobby remained silent, but there was no question that the doctor had his full attention.

Rizzo half-sat on the edge of the bed. "So, how about answering my first question? How are you feeling today?"

Bobby shut his eyes and let out a long sigh. His eyes opened, looking at the ceiling above him. "I feel...tired...helpless...I–I'm uncomfortable...sad...empty...I, I'm feeling a thousand things and nothing...um, kinda' numb...I d-don't know what else..." They were truthful answers.

"Suicidal?" Rizzo bluntly asked.

Bobby furrowed his brow, "no."

"Homicidal?"

Bobby looked at Rizzo. Obviously, this guy was good–he had already demonstrated that he could read Bobby, so why bother lying. Bobby looked Dr. Rizzo in the eyes, "maybe."

Rizzo appreciated the honesty of the answer. "I understand that...it's a normal reaction...wanting revenge against the person who did this to you–who took the life of your partner. Is that the only person towards whom you feel that way?"

Bobby nodded his head affirmatively.

"We're making progress here, Detective. Is it all right if I call you Robert? Or do you prefer Bobby?"

Bobby knew this game – try to make it personal – establish a rapport. He didn't fault the doctor for it. It was his job. And if Bobby was gonna' be honest with Rizzo and, more importantly, himself, what was the harm? He already realized that just being able to talk with someone was making him feel better– despite still feeling somewhat like a tethered animal– and he reminded himself that he needed to get on Rizzo's good side.

"Whatever you like...Bobby's fine with me."

"I spent hours last night, Bobby, reviewing your file. You have quite an exemplary record...in the military and in the Police Department...interesting conflicts you've placed yourself in, in your life choices."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

"Well, your psychological profile alludes to rebellion against authority figures, yet you chose to place yourself in two situations where you'd be forced to deal with it...chain-of-command organizations where you're forced to answer to authority every day. Why do you think you did that?"

"To try to make up for the lack of an authoritative father figure in my childhood, I suppose," he answered, looking Rizzo directly in the eyes. "They say children like authority, discipline, whether they want to admit it, or not."

Rizzo nodded, but raised his eyebrows as he stated to Bobby, "But you're not a child."

Bobby cocked his head to one side, "I know. Or maybe I just like testing myself to see how much BS I can take."

Rizzo admired Bobby for his candor. This man was obviously in touch with his feelings, and the fact that he was giving honest answers was a good indicator that he was ready to accept help and begin the healing process.

"Would you like to talk about your mother?" Rizzo asked.

"What about her?" Bobby retorted, noticing the hint of hostility in his own voice. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way and hoped Rizzo hadn't noticed.

Of course, Rizzo did. He heard the "edge" in his voice...the defensiveness. He made a mental note: "patient has no difficulty expressing negatively about father figure; defends mother."

Rizzo decided another approach would be better. "You were probably concerned for many years as to whether symptoms of her illness would present in you. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

Bobby nodded.

"Well," the doctor continued, "we both know you're well past the age where symptoms would have manifested. You um, you probably felt more relieved with each passing birthday...each year you got through unscathed."

Bobby nodded again; he tried to stifle a yawn; "excuse me...I'm tired."

"That's okay. Bobby? If I were to remove those restraints, what would you do?"

"I'd um, I'd like to stretch an...and turn on my side..I s-sleep on my side."

"I'd like to be able to make you more comfortable, Bobby. You realize that those restraints weren't to punish you...they're to keep my staff and myself safe."

"I know that...I don't blame you...I was...out of control last night. I'm not gonna' hurt anyone...not even myself," he answered Rizzo almost sheepishly.

"I believe you. There are no blemishes on your record...no excessive force complaints...nothing to indicate you have a propensity for violence...quite the contrary, it seems your favorite 'weapon' is your brain...you'd rather do battle with your wits than with your fists or gun, any day."

Bobby nodded, giving the doctor one his breathy chuckles.

"I'd like to give you a pill..."

Bobby protested.

"I'm gonna' have to insist, Bobby. Don't worry...it won't be anything like yesterday...just a mild, low dose of Valium. It'll keep you calm..it won't make you sleep, but it'll help you sleep."

Bobby blinked...holding his eyelids closed for a few seconds, letting out a soft sigh, he nodded his head in acquiescence. He thought to himself in exasperation, "Rizzo 2, Goren 0."

Dr. Rizzo stepped out of the room momentarily to ask the nurse to bring the meds. The same nurse as before accompanied the doctor back in the room - each man on either side, and they began undoing the restraints at his wrists.

Bobby couldn't wait to sit up and stretch...arch the aches out of his back. He sat, flexing his wrists and elbows, rolling his shoulders.

The nurse handed Bobby the pill and a small cup of water. Dr. Rizzo nodded toward at him, "Go ahead."

Bobby placed the pill in his mouth and gulped the water. He had been thirsty; the coolness felt wonderful in his throat.

"Paul," Rizzo addressed the nurse, "would you bring Mr. Goren another cup of water?"

Bobby glanced down at his ankles, still bound. He looked at Dr. Rizzo, "Ar-aren't you taking those off?"

Rizzo assured him, "Don't worry...Paul will be back in a second. Then we'll get you settled in. Would you like another pillow or blanket?

"Another pillow, please."

Rizzo continued, "I know, Bobby, you probably don't feel like eating, but it's important to keep your strength up. I'm gonna' give you my pad and I want you to write down a few choices...something you feel like your stomach could manage, okay? ...and I'll check with the kitchen."

Paul returned with the water and placed it by the bedside, exiting quickly. Bobby handed the pad back to Dr. Rizzo, who proceeded to the foot of the bed and undid the straps around Bobby's ankles. He retrieved another pillow and, instead of handing it to Bobby, fluffed it and put it at the head of the bed.

"One more thing, Bobby...would you mind opening your mouth?" It wasn't really a question.

Bobby knew the drill. He opened wide, giving the doctor the proof he wanted.

"Good boy. You get some rest now. I'll look in on you in a bit."

Bobby nodded, "Thank you, doctor."

"You're welcome. I know your Captain will be relieved next time he sees you. I don't think he liked those restraints any better than you did."

Bobby looked at him, bewildered, "Captain Deakins was here? When?"

"Last evening...with a Mr. Carver. The Captain was quite worried about you." Rizzo got the feeling that worrying about Goren wasn't a new experience for Deakins.

Rizzo left, locking the door behind him. He looked through the window, observing Bobby as he took the fresh pillow from behind him, held it against his chest and curled on his side in a fetal position. He thought to himself, "Truthful about his sleep position...people that don't lie about the little things usually don't lie about the big ones." He took it as good sign.

Bobby inhaled and exhaled deeply, taking comfort in his semi-freedom...the coolness of the pillow against his cheek. But, now that Rizzo was gone, his thoughts returned to Alex. His mind began racing with memories...and questions...he couldn't help the morbid thoughts from infiltrating his mind: "where is she? what had they done to her body? what organs did they harvest? ...flashes of bodies he'd seen at the morgue...now his Alex looking like that. He tried to force the images from his mind's eye, but to no avail. Another wave of sobbing overtook him, his grief almost palpable. His stomach ached. His chest ached. His heart ached. "It's normal to feel this way...it's part of the healing process...I have to deal with this," trying to reassure himself...his sanity...with is own words. He cried himself to sleep, drifting off...hugging the pillow that he wished was Alex.

Rizzo headed down the busy corridor towards his office. He took the notepad from his breast pocket and flipped to the page where Bobby had written, a smile overtaking his lips as he read the neat printing: "Peanut butter and jelly...chocolate milk. "Childhood comfort food," he thought to himself amusingly, realizing his growing, genuine fondness for this new man/child of a patient. His thoughts continued, "I'm only 9 years older than this patient...he chuckled at his own soft heart...now I know where Deakins is coming from."

When he reached his office, he called the Dietary Department.

End. Chpt. 6