Intentional End

Chapter 21

Sunday Morning

October 14

Bobby was torn. He did not want Gleason to return to Evanston today or anytime soon; and, he certainly did not want her to go alone. But, he knew what would happen if he tried to stop her. If she was going, he was going with her; but, that meant taking off a few days and Deakins and Eames would have his ass for that. That meant she was going back to Evanston alone, this afternoon. His gut burned as he sliced the loaf of sourdough.

"Oh, that shower felt so good," she said as she made the turn from the hallway. Bobby said nothing. "What time do you have to leave," she asked.

"Do you want this toasted?"

"No, just soft is good."

Bobby set the plate of bread at her place and went to the fridge for the butter and spreads and orange juice.

"Oh, you cut them good and thick," she said appreciably, eyeing the plate.

Gleason set the teapot on the table and sat, reaching for a slice, "I'm not going to overdo it like I did last night. Ugh, that was horrible. All that good bread, wasted." Bobby poured the juice, set them on the table and then he sat. He got right back up, retrieved a blueberry bagel for himself, and sat again.

"What time do you have to leave," she asked again, her attention on the butter she spread.

"I told Eames I'd be in at ten. I don't want you to go back today."

Gleason stopped spreading and looked at him. He glanced at her in that way and didn't move, waiting for what came next.

She set down the bread and knife and put her hands in her lap, then looked away, thinking. "I have to go back today. It's all arranged." She paused and then continued, "I have an electronic ticket, Metro-Air flight 631 at two o'clock to O'Hare. I have to go back today." She looked at him, "You cannot come with me. You have to stay here. I have to go by myself. They said I have to be back by Sunday night. I have to be back."

Bobby recognised the words from the night before – a recitation from a script. The change in her character indicated that she was recollecting what to say; she seemed programmed to reply to certain topics or situations in predetermined ways. Someone was controlling her responses.

"What if I said no?" He watched the nearly imperceptible changes on her face – confusion, fear, confusion again, and that robotic-like blank look. And then she blew.

Gleason shot to her feet and screamed at him, "I HAVE to go! I have to! They said I have to be back by tonight!" She slammed her fists on the tabletop and then pushed back her chair, knocking it over. She strode to the sofa, sat, wrapped her arms across her chest and rocked.

Bobby's head began to pound. He recounted the steps in her behaviour pattern – she had been normal, then the confusion as she recalled what to say, here was the anger, fear was next. He didn't know what to do, so he sat and watched her.

She was seething, he could see it. Suddenly, Gleason was on her feet, she turned to face him, still at the kitchen table, and she screamed, "I AM GOING AND YOU ARE STAYING HERE!" She glared at him. "Do you understand?" she yelled. He did nothing. "ANSWER ME!"

Still he did nothing, just sat and watched, and it worked. Bobby watched his wife's face and saw the change again; her whole body seemed to relax as confusion supplanted anger, offsetting the coming fear. The fingers of both hands went to her lips and she looked away, searching for something, perhaps how to respond.

"Honey, come sit down," he said softly. He didn't want to approach her for fear of triggering her fear, the next behaviour in her pattern. However, he thought, the pattern may have broken by substituting the confusion for the fear.

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Across the alley, Drumiester, who had been watching through the night hollered, "Yeah, in here," to his replacement.

"Get anything?" Robinson asked.

"Some stuff. Watch this," he said, nodding to the first monitor, showing the couple in the living room and kitchen. "I think that detective has figured out her response string. She just exploded and she should devolve into the fear sequence, but he's not done anything to activate it; he's just sitting there. Look at her; she's drifting back into confusion. Son-of-a-bitch, he's figured it out." Drumiester slid back the chair and stood. "This is not good," he said, "I need to call Wycoff."

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Bobby rose slowly but didn't move otherwise, continuing to watch her. "Honey, Glea-, come here. Let me hold you," he spoke softly, steadily. Only then did he take a step. "Come here, Sweetheart, you're hungry. Let's eat. Come on, come here." He paused between each sentence; again, speaking to her as one would a child and he took another step.

Gleason's eyes met his and she sought to recognise him. She sighed and then looked at the table. Her hands left her lips and hung at her side. Bobby continued to walk slowly toward her.

"The tea is getting cold. Let's sit and have our breakfast." He was in front of her and reached slowly for her arm; she didn't jerk away. "Are you hungry?" She looked back at him and nodded. "I am, too; come on, let's eat." He guided her around to her chair, set it upright and she sat.

Gleason took her cup and sipped. "I'm so hungry, Bobby." It was as if nothing had happened, she was back to normalcy. Bobby stood behind her chair and leaned on it, squeezing shut his eyes for a moment. Then he took his seat and wondered when Huang was going to return his call.

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Drumiester called his boss, Wycoff, who then called hisboss, Peterson, "Yeah, she's prepared to head back this afternoon, that's not the problem. The problem is, the cop husband figured out her response sequence. He needs to leave in an hour to get to work; but chances are excellent he's not going in. If he doesn't go in, he might screw with her sequence. He's a smart son-of-a-bitch, he'll do it."

Wycoff listened to Peterson berate him for not correctly wiping the linguist's memory in the first place.

"Yeah, I know – I fucked up. What do you want me to do?" he replied with attitude. He listened and breathed a sigh of relief when his boss came to the same conclusion Wycoff had when the bitch first came home. "Ok, yeah, if that's what you want. No problem."

Wycoff and Peterson clicked off, and Wycoff returned to the bedroom; Suzy, or whatever her name was, hadn't moved.

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Think of the devil and he calls, Bobby's cell rang and he stood to get it from the end table. "Goren."

"Detective, George Huang. I hope it is not too early to call."

Bobby wandered down the hall, out of Gleason's earshot, and stood in the bedroom doorway. "No, no, thanks for getting back to me. Listen, I, I wonder if I can have a few minutes of your time. I have a situation that I, that's concerning me and I'm at a loss. Is that possible, to speak with you?"

Huang listened and then thought of the phone call he had whilst at Bellevue last night. He had been at the hospital interviewing a suspect when summoned to the phone; which was unusual, as protocol dictated no interruptions during an interview. The call had been confusing and disturbing, to say the least; however, it made sense when he picked up Bobby's message at home hours later. Huang hesitated and then said, "Can I see you at your office?"

Bobby did not want to leave Gleason alone; however, he couldn't talk with the psychiatrist with her nearby. She said she was leaving and was adamant about it. "Uh, yeah, sure, I have to go in anyway. Is ten ok?"

"Ten is perfect. I'll see you then," and Huang clicked off.

Bobby slowly flipped shut his phone and stood for a minute. He did not want to leave her, he did not; but he had no choice. He returned to the kitchen and Gleason watched him sit, and she waited.

"Who called?" she asked softly.

"Uh, George Huang."

"The SVU psychiatrist? Why did he call you? At home?" Her anxiety rose.

"It's, it's about a case, Honey, he's consulting on a case." God, he hated lying to her.

He watched her surreptitiously and picked up his bagel, separated the halves, then reached for his knife and the cream cheese. He felt her eyes upon him.

Gleason's mind raced. She thought he was lying to her and struggled to make sense of what this might mean, but couldn't pull together a coherent strand of thought. She caught bits of idea but they slid away as fast as she was aware of them. Why can't I think, she wondered, why can't I remember? What is wrong with me? Her frustration and anxiety increased and so did her breathing. Gleason put both hands flat on the table surface and sat up straight.

Bobby glanced at her and saw her distress, "Gleason, what's wrong?"

Her fingers curled onto the tablecloth and she clutched it and began to whimper escalating into a scream. Bobby was on his feet and held her, she wouldn't let go of the tablecloth and she wouldn't stop screaming. "Gleason, Honey, stop! It's ok, stop screaming! Gleason!" On and on she screamed.

Becky heard the screams from across the hall and shouted to Ted in the bathroom, "Gleason's screaming! Did you hear me? Something's happening in Bobby's apartment."

Ted stepped from the bathroom, zipping his trousers, and heard the woman scream. At that moment, the phone rang and Becky went to answer it. Ted started for the door and then headed across the hall to Bobby and Gleason's place. The screaming seemed to increase. He pounded on their door, "Bobby! It's me, Ted. Open up."

Bobby tried to calm her to no avail; she had crumpled to the floor, pulling the tablecloth and everything on it with her. Bobby dashed to the door, unlocked it and returned to Gleason, now kicking and flailing. The fear response had arrived in a big way.

"Bobby, is she all right? What happened?" Ted asked entering the kitchen. "Gleason, what's wrong." Bobby struggled with her and then Ted said sternly, "Get away from her. Bobby, let her go."

The way he said it made Bobby look up at his neighbor and friend. Ted continued, "You heard me, get away from her." Gleason continued to scream and thrash. Becky walked in and stood watching, aghast.

"Ted, she's, she's out of control; help me," Bobby answered with desperation.

Ted pulled his cell, dialed 9-1-1, waited and then said, "I need the police and an ambulance. There's a woman having a real problem here, she's, uh, having some ki–," and Bobby stood, stepped over Gleason and ripped the phone from Ted's hand.

"This is Detective Robert Goren of MCNYPD; I need a bus at 250 West 45th, apartment four-B. My wife is having some kind of seizure, or, or breakdown." He gave the operator his badge number and then began the assessment of her condition. Bobby answered questions whilst Ted tried to catch Gleason's arms and legs and Becky looked on. Gleason's screams slowed to sobs and wails and she stopped flaying. Mrs. Ziegler, from next door peeked in and entered, standing beside Bobby's chair in the living room, hand to her mouth.

Gleason lay limp on the floor, gasping and sobbing. Ted stood up and removed the fallen kitchen chair. "Beck, help me with this mess," he said to his wife. Bobby thanked the emergency operator and went to kneel by his wife. He cradled her head on his thighs as his neighbors picked up the breakfast from the floor. The door buzzer sounded and Mrs. Ziegler pushed the button, unlocking the lobby door, the apartment door stood open. The EMTs pounded up the steps and Mrs. Ziegler stepped into the hallway to usher them in.

Ted and Becky stepped aside as the EMTs went to Gleason and began to assess. The third EMT recognised Bobby, and the address, from his previous two visits, one a year ago for a miscarriage and the second for a heart problem; this lady has shitty health, he thought. He told Bobby to set down her head and stand up, as he needed to take information. Bobby answered and explained, and then went to get her heart pills from the bathroom.

Ted and Becky finished picking up the food and things, and then Becky whispered that she was going to take Mrs. Ziegler back to her apartment and would wait for Ted at theirs. He nodded and Becky went to the older woman sitting on the sofa, watching.

Their appraisal complete, the EMTs loaded Gleason onto the stretcher, covered and belted her. "We're going to Bellevue," the one announced as they lifted the stretcher and the legs dropped down.

"No, uh, not Bellevue. Take her to Methodist General. Please." Bobby knew that Gleason would receive better care at Methodist as the psych ward was smaller and the attention less generalised.

"Whatever you say," the one said and they headed out.

Bobby moved to get his phone and money clip when Ted asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"

Bobby stopped and put his hands to his face and fought tears. He lowered his hands and replied, barely above a whisper, "No, no." He looked at the other man and continued, "Ted, thanks," he wanted to say more, but just repeated, "thanks."

Ted nodded and left. Bobby called Eames, explained what had happened and apologised. He said he would be in as soon as he could, but not to count on it. She said she understood and they hung up. Bobby stood a moment and then walked back to the bedroom for his money clip, took his keys and left, locking the door behind him.

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"Holy shit, she broke," Robinson announced when Gleason started to scream, "Call Wycoff back."

"I don't think it was a break, I think it's the fear response that should have occurred earlier. She's programmed pretty tightly.""Yeah, but they're taking her to the psych ward at Methodist. They'll be able to tell that she's been programmed. Call Wycoff."

Drumiester did not want to call his boss again; Wycoff was pissed the first time. But, he knew his boss would want to know about her being hospitalised. "You call him, I'm off the clock," and with that, the agent walked through the empty apartment and out the door.

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Wycoff was humping away at Suzy-or-what's-her-name when his cell rang again. He ignored it and continued humping, wishing this bitch would give some indication that she was enjoying it; he needed that to finish. The phone continued to ring. "Are you going to get that?" she asked. And he was done – withering like a deflating balloon.

"Fuck!" he spat and rolled off her onto the edge of the bed and grabbed his cell, "What!" he screamed.

"Uh, uh, they took her in an ambulance," Robinson said in a rush.

"What?"

"That woman we're watching, she had some kind of breakdown, Drumiester thinks it was just the delayed fear response, but anyway, she freaked and started screaming and the neighbour guy came over and they called an ambulance." He waited for the boss's response.

Wycoff was furious, for two reasons, but right now he was furious at that fucking woman and her goddamn fucking cop husband. He thought a minute and then asked, "Where'd they take her?"

"Methodist General."

"How long ago?"

"Just now."

Wycoff thought again and then said, "Ok," and hung up. He sat a moment thinking.

"We gonna finish or what," Suzy-somebody asked.

He looked over his shoulder and said, "Get out."