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Chapter 4: Session 3

Things didn't begin well the next time Bobby met with Dr. Olivet. The doctor had no idea what to expect with this patient. There was obviously something dark in this man, but Olivet knew six weeks of suspension counseling wouldn't get them very far with Bobby's problems. The doctor sighed, rubbed her temples, and pressed the button. Once buzzed in, the detective entered quickly and sat heavily on the couch, much like a pouting five year old.

"What's bothering you today?" Olivet innocently asked, instantly knowing that something was wrong.

Bobby faced her and squinting his eyes slightly. "Nothing."

The doctor studied the patient. The patient studied the doctor. Neither could read the other, and thus neither won. Cat's game.

Olivet continued, "Why do you continue to leave these sessions so abruptly?" She braced herself for aggression.

But instead, "You know why," was his childish response as he turned away.

"Tell me anyway," she continued to push.

Bobby lit a cigarette even though the ashtray was nowhere to be found. He paused and thought it was odd that the doctor hadn't offered it to him. He took it as a sign that she was trying to gain more control. Resting his elbows on his knees, Bobby leaned forward and through a cloud of smoke responded, "Because I want to spend as little time here as possible."

They continued to watch each other. Tension was high and Olivet was beginning to feel like one of Bobby's suspects. His intimidation skills were powerful and combining that with his massive size the doctor had to force herself not to be affected. Every session seemed to be revealing a different side of Bobby. This one was his police side. Unfortunately she knew the police side was his mask.

She cleared her throat and, writing some notes, continued, "Alright. Now tell me the truth."

Bobby sat back and took a drag, trying to hide his confusion. "That is—"

"No, it's not," she cut him off. She was done playing games for today. "You leave because you feel it's your way to have some control in a situation where you feel out of control."

"If you know so much about me, why am I even here?!" He crossed and re-crossed his legs.

Olivet paused. "Have you ever been to anger management?"

"No." His foot began nervously tapping and he flicked ash on the coffee table, expecting Olivet to react.

Olivet noticed this as she asked, "Has anyone ever recommended it to you?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek and continued to tap his foot, showing obvious discomfort with the questions. "Why?"

"I just want to know. Please answer the question."

Bobby sighed and looked away. "Yeah."

Olivet wrote. "And who recommended this?"

He hesitated, not knowing where she was going with this. She was right: he needed to be in control. He was always in control. "Um," he shook his head, not wanting to answer. "My captains."

Olivet raised her eyebrows at Bobby, " 'Captains'?" she repeated. "Plural?"

"Yeah. Deakins and Ross. Deakins was more light hearted I guess. He said that he knows I'm a passionate person but that my anger was inappropriate at times. After I interrogated a suspect he told me that I had to cool it a bit. But he never mentioned it again."

The doctor finished writing and asked, "And Captain Ross?"

"He was serious."

She waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "Could you tell me what he said?"

"Um, that I need to get my 'rage' under control or I'd be suspended. And here I am."

"But not for rage," Olivet corrected. "And did you take what they said to heart?"

"Not them." He finished his cigarette and got up to find and ashtray. Olivet saw that he didn't want to invade any private spaces so she got the ashtray for him. Bobby swept the ash from the table into the tray.

As they sat back down she asked, "You said, 'not them'. Who else talked to you about your anger issues?"

"First of all, I don't have anger issues!" he said a little too loudly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and hesitantly responded, "Eames."

This caught Olivet off guard, "Your partner/"

He nodded. "She said it to me after a case one time. I don't know if she was serious or not."

"What prompted her to say it?"

"I had… gotten angry at a perp. Lost my cool. I kicked him a couple times while he was down and she and another cop had to hold me back. Nothing was ever filed or reported, but Eames, she saw it, the anger, and told me that I needed help, that it had been escalating. And that if it happened again she'd report me."

"When was this?"

"A few years ago."

Olivet nodded slowly. "And did she ever have to report you? Did it happen again?"

He shook his head. "I didn't get physical like that again. Verbal, yes. Hateful... maybe." He stared at his hands.

After a moment of silence Olivet said, "So, I suppose I don't have to ask if you get violent when angry."

Bobby shook his head again. "It's not like that. That was the only time I ever… hurt someone unnecessarily."

Olivet put the pen down. "And how about yourself?"

The detective kept his head down and picked at his fingernails. "I'm not a teenage girl. I don't hurt myself."

"That seems like very black and white thinking coming from you, a person who understands human psychology so well." She paused. "How often do you get drunk to forget? And how many holes have you punched in walls so that you don't hit someone?"

Bobby lit a cigarette and glanced at his knuckles in the process. Both he and the doctor could see the fading scars. Bobby responded, "It's been a long time. I don't do that anymore." He still couldn't look up at her.

"Now you just internalize all your anger. You beat yourself up inside with self loathing. You force yourself to work harder, stay later at 1PP, because that keeps your mind off your own demons and forces personal self hatred from rising. But that pressure is building."

Bobby couldn't believe how accurate Olivet was describing his thoughts.

The doctor continued, seeing the realization on Bobby's face, "You remember your father's anger and you see it in yourself—"

"No," he interrupted, "that's not true."

"—and you don't want to become like your father, with alcohol and gambling and hate—"

Bobby jumped up from his seat, "I am nothing like him!"

"Okay." She had pushed Bobby a little too far and now she needed to calm him down, "What did I say that upset you so much?"

He took a deep breath and started pacing. "He… I… Because he's not my real father." Bobby stood, defeated. "Mark Ford Brady was. I just found out."

Olivet was confused. "The man who was just executed? In your file it says that you worked on his case. He's… how did you find out this?"

The doctor saw pain in Bobby's eyes as the large man moved back to the sofa. He stubbed out his cigarette. "He asked for me and Eames specially. He has a picture of my mother in one of his prize books. I asked her and she admitted to an affair... that she was never certain who my father was. So I had a blood test. I'm his son." He stopped, but Olivet knew he wanted to continue so she said nothing. After a moment Bobby said, "I don't remember him, but my brother does. The last time Brady and my mother saw each other was when she changed"

"Does anyone else know?"

He shook his head. "I'm too afraid to tell them."

"Why? Do you think they will judge you because of this?"

"I don't know. You judged me based on the man I thought was my father." He looked up at the doctor.

"Because I believe a big part of anger is learned."

It was as if Bobby didn't hear the last remark. He continued, "And I am already the department 'whack job' according to the Chief." He sighed. "I don't know what I am. My mother was schizophrenic, my brother is an addict, my childhood father was an addict, and my biological father was a serial rapist and killer."

"And do you think you're any of those?"

"I don't know."

That troubled Olivet. The detective hadn't denied any of these characteristics or diseases, but perhaps was coming to terms with something he had suspected for a while.

Bobby started pacing again. "Ever since I found out, my thoughts have been racing."

"Racing thoughts? Why haven't you mentioned this before?" Olivet quickly jotted in her notepad.

Bobby stopped pacing and looked at her. "It's not what you think."

"Then you know why I'm asking." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah, and I'm not manic. I'm just confused." His voice was rising. "A major part of my identity was just proven to be a lie!" He was nearly in her face at this point. Bobby saw her tense and could tell that she was suddenly afraid of him, something that he never intended. He put his hands up apologetically and took a couple steps back. "I... I should go."

As he turned to leave Olivet ran around and stopped him. "No. Please, Detective. We should continue." She could see him weighing this thought and finally he turned and returned to the sofa.

They sat in silence for at least five minutes. Olivet was about to speak, but Bobby got to it first. "I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't. I swear." He put his head in his hands and stared at the floor.

"It's okay, Bobby. You and I both know that this can be a very emotional process." The doctor looked at the clock. "Our session is over for today, but before I let you go I need to know that you will be okay once you leave this office."

"I can't anticipate anything with certainty."

She nodded, "I know. But please, call me if there is anything, anything, that you want to talk about once you get home. In fact, I'd like you to call me tonight so that I can sleep better." She reached to the side table, took a business card and jotted down a number. "This is my cell number."

He took the card and said, "This isn't necessary-"

"I'm sure it isn't. But please try to remember."

Bobby nodded, took the card, and left.

He never called that night.