A Final Session

Chapter Nine

Jim felt vaguely nauseous and his back and shoulders ached. He lifted his head up and blinked, the tiny movement causing the nausea to rise threateningly. Where was he? He felt disoriented. He couldn't clear his head and he really wanted to close his eyes again and go back to sleep but a persistent voice in the back of his head told him to stay awake.

He could smell coffee and the aroma helped to pull him into place in his surroundings.

He was in his apartment sitting on the floor, leaned up against something cold, his legs stretched out in front of him. His arms hung down by his sides, each palm flat on the wooden floor. When he tried moving forwards he found he couldn't. Something was wrapped around each of his wrists. He could reach out behind himself to some extent though and as he did so he felt the cool surface of one of the kissing poles that ran from floor to ceiling in the middle of their living room. Continuing to feel behind him he felt thick, rough rope looped tightly around his right wrist then snaking around the back of the thick pole finishing in an equally tight loop that encircled his left wrist. The length of the piece of rope meant he could keep his hands at his sides but not move them forwards enough to feel for anything and the width of the pole meant his hands couldn't reach back to meet each other to get to the knots. He knew that was the case but tried anyway, the rope biting into his skin as he twisted his hands back.

"Don't do that. It's quite rough rope and you'll only hurt yourself." A calm voice told him as he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled in front of him and a mug being set down on the floor. "I'd hate you to hurt yourself."

There was an edge of sarcasm to the voice that made Jim's skin prickle.

"Where's my wife?" Jim asked, trying to keep the note of fear out of his voice.

"Sleeping." Came the calm, almost distracted reply. Jim could hear papers shuffling and then something snap shut and the sound of a button being pressed.

"I'm here to help you James. Is it James? Or do you prefer something else."

Jim didn't answer. He listened intently, trying to place the voice.

"It doesn't matter. I was just being polite. I'll stick with James. I'm here to help you. I've helped other people before. I'm very good at it." The voice was matter of fact.

"If you want to help me why don't you try untying me and getting the hell out of my apartment." Jim said carefully.

"Well that would be no help at all would it? You really shouldn't be rude you know. I've made such effort to come here tonight and you're not grateful." While he spoke Jim heard the man move softly from the chair and stand at his right side.

Without saying anything further or giving any warning he balled his fist and backhanded Jim across the side of his face. Jim's head snapped to the side and blood spattered softly onto the floorboards from the cut forged just below his right eye by the sharp edges of the large silver ring the man wore on his right hand. Jim coughed, his eyes watering, breath catching in his throat. Amidst the pain exploding in his cheek and the burning sensation across the bridge of his nose he finally placed the voice.

"You were at Dr Bergen's office. You work there." Jim gasped, fighting to even his breath out.

"That's right. Edward. Now we're introduced shall we start?" Jim heard him take a swallow of coffee and set the mug back on the floor. A slight creak told him he was sitting in the dining chair he had dragged up.

"I help people who can't help themselves James. I see you and I know you need someone like me."

"To do what?"

"To help you see your life for what it really is, to help you step back, let go and let others live happily, free from the burden of you."

"Others?"

"First we need to talk about you. I have Dr Bergen's notes but why don't you fill me in?"

Jim didn't answer. His mind was racing. The perp they were chasing had links with Dr Wilson's practice not Esther's. How was this guy linked to them both? What had they missed, had it been staring them in the face all the time?

"No? OK I'll start. It only takes one to get a ball rolling!"

Edward's tone was frighteningly cheerful and Jim knew from his decade of experience on the job that there was no reasoning with this kind of killer. Those who killed for money or drugs could be reasoned with. They would usually bargain to help themselves out but the ones like Edward? No. Nothing was logical in their world. There was no bargaining to be done. All he could do was hope that when he didn't turn up at the squad tomorrow that they would come looking for him and hopefully he wouldn't already be dead. That was a slim hope though and he knew it.

"Let's see, ha, sorry. No pun intended James. You're blind. Have you always been blind?"

"Doesn't it say in your notes?" Jim answered tersely as he lowered his head down awkwardly to wipe his jaw onto his shoulder. Something, which he assumed to be blood, was running down his face and the tickling was distracting him.

This time Edward's movements weren't so careful as he jumped from the chair and leaned forwards over Jim, once again backhanding him. That really hurt, Jim thought as he struggled to raise his head, more than the last one. There was something hard on the back of Edwards hand that cut into Jims face with the first blow and connected viciously with the second.

"I want you to tell me, so answer my question." Edward's voice was hard.

"I've been blind for a couple of years." He said thickly, running his tongue over his teeth, feeling for blood.

"How?"

"I was a teller. I got shot in a bank robbery." Jim lied knowing that for this guy to find out he was a cop wouldn't help any. He could only hope the notes Edward had either didn't specify his job or that he hadn't read anything that alluded to it yet.. He couldn't believe the job wouldn't be in there. They had talked about it a lot at the beginning of their sessions with Esther. Suddenly another thought sprung up in his mind, probably because he was thinking about the job, and it wasn't a pleasant one, Anne Donnelly. Shit. Jim realized that if this wasn't about him being blind then the situation was gonna get a whole lot worse.

Edward snapped his fingers. "Hey, stay with me champ. You kind of zoned out a bit there. Not going to pass out are you? We're only just starting. Getting back on topic, you got shot and blinded and your wife stood by you?"

Coughing Jim replied, "Yes."

"So you trapped her?"

"What?"

"You trapped her. She didn't choose to marry a blind man she had one forced on her. Don't you feel guilty about that?" When he was met with silence Edward carried on. "You could answer or I could hit you again. It really is your choice." His voice was smooth.

"Sometimes, yes." He answered quietly.

"Sometimes yes what? Say it out loud James. It's you that needs to hear it not me."

Jim gritted his teeth. "Sometimes I feel guilty."

"It must be like caring for a child, having you."

"It's not like that." Jim stated hating the lack of conviction in his voice. This guy was really pushing his buttons and he knew it. He would know exactly what to hone in on wouldn't he if he had access to Esther's notes?

"What does she have to do for you?"

"She doesn't have to do anything for me." Jim answered flatly.

"Really? She doesn't dress you? Pick out clothes? Help you shave?"

"You know, funnily enough, no. I can do those things myself you ignorant son of a bitch!" Jim snapped, instantly regretting his temper as he felt the hand connect with his face once more. This time the connection was lower down and the force drove his lip hard into his teeth and Jim felt blood begin to flow freely.

"I don't appreciate sarcasm James." Edward was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Why don't you go ahead and spit that out?" He asked referring to the blood pooling in Jim's mouth.

Jim spat onto the floor, the blood on his taste buds reviving the nausea in his stomach.

"So, she doesn't have to do things for you. Do you go out with her?"

"What?"

"Well, I know you can leave your apartment James. Do you go out with her?"

"Of course I do."

"Without your dog?"

"Sometimes."

"And she leads you?"

"She guides. She knows how to be a sighted guide."

"And if she steps away from you? Moves out of arms length. What would you be able to do then James?"

"I'd use my cane." He answered stubbornly.

"What if you didn't have it?"

"I always have it." Jim lied.

"But if you didn't? Imagine for one second that you didn't have it. What could you do without her or your dog or your cane? What James? Your life is a prison and those three things are your jailers. She doesn't want to be a jailer, James. She wants to be a wife." Edward sneered.

Jims head was splitting and he felt dizziness overcoming him in waves. He had no idea which way to jump. If he agreed with this guy, played the role subserviently he'd soon be headed towards the sleeping pills or the slit wrists, but if he kept this up what then? He wasn't sure how many more hits like this he could take. He did have an idea though, a stupid and probably painful one but still it was an idea. If he riled the guy again so that he hit him he could play possum for a while, make like he was knocked out just to buy a little recovery time and some breathing space. He figured Edward would stick to his pattern and want to resume his questions so he'd wait for him to wake up. The idea formed, he didn't have to wait long for Edward's next line of questioning.

"She's really very beautiful your wife. She could have her pick of men. Men who aren't damaged like you are. Men whom she can share everything with, do everything with." He took a deep breath. "She looks very stylish your wife. She'd probably enjoy galleries, traveling, theatre – and you can't enjoy those sorts' things with her James, can you? Another man could. A whole man could. And what about family James? A woman like that, she would have beautiful children. But with you, well, think about it. What help would you be? You couldn't even tell her that they had her eyes. But we're jumping the gun aren't we? We're assuming you could even give her children considering you haven't been able to perform for the last two years." Edward goaded.

Deep inside his gut Jim's temper flared and he didn't have to play act to find something to say to annoy this guy. What he said came from the heart.

"Fuck you!" He spat out as he coughed on the new pool of blood filling his mouth. That did the trick. Edward lunged out of the chair and over to Jim his arm raised and his fist clenched. By this point though Jim felt so angry he couldn't control himself enough to stick to his plan. Edward hit him and pain exploded in his nose as he felt it crack and hot blood gush from it down his lips and chin. Instead of feigning concussion Jim looked up and spat towards where he figured the guy was. Edward moved back a little but not before Jim raised his knees keeping his feet together and jabbed with all his strength in Edwards direction catching him in the stomach and shoving him backwards into the chair behind him. Jim heard the coffee mug skitter across the wooden floor and Edwards body land on the chair before it tipped to the side with a loud crash.

For what seemed like an eternity the apartment was dead quiet. Jim could only hear his own ragged breaths and nothing else. Then his stomach clenched in fear as he heard the chair scrape on the floor as Edward stood up. Gingerly Edward raised a hand to his head and felt through his thick black hair. He could feel something sticky and when he brought his fingers down he saw that they were streaked with blood. Tears clouded his dark eyes.

"You kicked me!" He was incredulous. "You kicked me?" He shouted sounding like a petulant child. He was over by Jim's side in an instant, keeping well away from the range of his legs, rage filling every molecule of his body. Standing over him he drew his hand back, clenched his fist and lashed out, again and again until the rage subsided and Jim was out cold.


By the time Marty reached the squad room it was close to 3.30. Karen was there her head resting on her desk.

"This better be really good." She mumbled not looking up.

"It is. Tom and Jim in the locker room?"

"Nah. Just me." She still had her head on the desk.

"Karen!" Marty shouted. "Come on let's get some coffee on and ring Tom and Jim. We might need a full house to work through this." He said more gently.

She looked up and caught Marty's serious expression.

"I think I found a link to the next victim but there's no name so I need to get a hold of Wilson and find out who it is."

"Show me." She demanded.

Marty spread the sheets over his desk, took out his highlighter and marked the three DOA names and then marked the fourth line of data to have the asterisk in the final column.

"What does IOF mean?" Karen asked.

"No idea. Another question for Dr Wilson." He replied as he pulled out the business card from his jeans pocket and grabbed up the phone. He tried all the numbers before giving up. Dr Wilson couldn't be raised at any of them.

"You left your cell number and the squad number Marty. He'll call. Lets go and brew that coffee and I'll try Tom and Jim."

"I paged them both same time as you." Marty huffed.

"Oh." Karen looked sheepish. "I have Jim's pager. He has my broken one."

Marty sighed, "And Tom is out clubbing. He'll never hear it until throwing out time." It's just you and me kid. Oh well, we'll just have to collar this guys ass without them."

"I'll try Jim's cell in a minute." Karen offered as they walked towards the locker room.

An hour and three mugs of coffee later Karen and Marty were still waiting for Dr Wilson to call back. Marty was running his details to get an address, determined to reach this guy whatever it took whilst Karen tried Jim's cell phone for the second time.

"Still not picking up?" Marty asked.

"Nope. He always picks up." She shrugged.

"Well we're not getting anywhere without Wilson calling us back so there's no point pulling Jim and Tom in anyway." Sorry for dragging you out. I just got a bad feeling about this guy and I don't want to wind up with another DOA if I can avoid it." He was saying as his desk phone burst into life.

"Russo." He snapped.

"Detective Russo." Came the sleepy voice of Dr Wilson. "I'm sorry I didn't pick up. The ringing woke me but I couldn't find my cell. My kid was playing with it and hid it in the closet. I just found it."

"No problem." Marty answered as he pressed the hands free button on the phone base so Karen could listen in. "Look, the client list you gave me has thrown up a link with our three victims and a possible fourth."

"Who?" Wilson interrupted.

"We can't tell. The name is missing. Around forty or so of the records on the last pages just have a reference number and no names."

Wilson groaned down the phone. "They must be details from our other office. They use a slightly different system on their paper work where they use reference number instead of names. We should stream line but.."

Marty cut him off. "You have another office?"

"Er yes." Wilson answered uncertainly.

"With staff that we don't know about and haven't checked?" Karen pressed.

"I didn't think. I'm so sorry." Wilson blurted. "My partners Dr Bergen and Dr Armstrong run it but they only have three staff, themselves and a secretary. The address is printed on my business card if you still have it."

"We need that client name now Dr." Marty demanded. "Can we meet you at your office?"

"No need. I have a computer in my study and I have remote access to all the client files. Let me set it up."

It seemed like an age waiting for Dr Wilson to access his files, listening to him as he scrabble around his office flipping switches and opening drawers. Whilst she waited Karen asked Marty for Dr Wilson's card. As she listened to the open-ended phone line she studied the card, reading the office addresses. She was about to toss the card back onto her desk when she stopped and re-read the practice addresses. "Marty," She started at the same time as Dr Wilson began to speak and Marty held up his hand motioning her to wait.

"I'm in the file Detective Russo. What do you want me to search for?"

"It's a single record which has an asterisk in something called the IOF field."

"Inter-Office Forum. It denotes if we have used certain aspects of those clients' issues for clinical discussions between the partners. We don't do many. Never get the time! What's the reference?"

"EB4299/JCD." Marty gabled the number as he looked across the page to read the brief note 'Emotional/Disability Issues.'

"Marty!" Karen cut in while the light tapping from the phone indicated Dr Wilson had entered the number. "I know this place." She waved the card at him. "I've dropped Jim off just around the block from here!"

"Detective, I have the client name." Wilson voice crackled down the line.

"Go ahead." Marty replied as he looked at Karen's worried face.

"It's Dunbar. James and Christine Dunbar." Came the disembodied answer over the line.