"Thanks for coming by," she laughed, "I've actually missed you."
As Goren heard Eames' voice echo amidst this vivid memory, he was drawn back to reality when he felt the cell phone in his left trouser pocket vibrate.
"Goren," he answered quietly, still very much caught up in his head.
"Robert?"
The female caller's voice was certainly not the voice he'd been expecting.
"Yes?" Goren answered. He was still puzzled as he had not yet been able to place the voice on the other end of the connection.
"It's Paula," the caller continued, "Dr. Paula Gyson."
Goren startled. How could he possibly forget Dr. Gyson's voice?
"Doctor?"
"Sorry," Dr. Gyson paused, "I was a bit surprised you answered. I was expecting to go straight to messaging."
"I see."
"Look," Gyson started, "I went back through my patient files, and it's been over a year since your last visit. You stopped scheduling appointments so I nearly packed your file permanently away and . . ."
"You wanted closure?" Goren concluded. "Uh, it's okay, I-I've no plans to renew our sessions. In fact, uh, I'm not working for the NYPD anymore."
"They said as much when I first tried to contact your work number," Gyson confirmed softly.
Goren nodded thoughtfully. Although Gyson did not have the benefit of reading his body language, it's likely she heard him exhale sharply.
"Are you okay?"
Goren silenced a laugh, "I could never pull one past you."
He swore he could almost hear her smile back when she resumed speaking, "but you've tried."
"You must be relieved," he mused.
"I'm sorry?"
"Relieved," Goren repeated, "Relieved that I won't be coming back in to badger you."
"Detective?"
"Yes?"
"On the contrary, I'd like you to come in again."
"I can't."
"I think we have unfinished work," Gyson offered, "and I'm worried about how you are handling this new major life change."
Goren shook his head, "It's not possible. I-I no longer have an insurance plan."
"We'll figure something out."
And it was easy for him to sense that Gyson meant business. Of course he could refuse, and perhaps he still would. But for now he reassured her that he would show up during their old time slot at the end of the week.
"It's been over a year," Gyson smiled, gesturing for Goren to sit down.
Goren nodded a quick acknowledgement before walking over to an oversized leather armchair. He waited for Gyson to settle down in her chair before seating himself.
Gyson was sharp as a hawk. Goren knew that she noted his simple gesture - and for a millisecond he thought he saw the curve of a smile forming before her face was obscured by a curtain of long brown hair.
"Look." Goren started.
Gyson had barely settled comfortably in her armchair, her legs tucked gracefully beneath her.
"I can't . . ."
But before he could finish his sentence, her hand shot up in the air before he could finish his sentence.
"One rule detective."
Goren visibly squirmed, raking a hand through his greying curls before he felt composed enough to meet her eyes.
"No discussions that touch upon payment or any kind of business transaction during this session."
He nodded agreement, and in some ways was heartened by the idea, for as of late, business transactions had been a real drag.
"Tell me what's going on in your life right now."
"I, uh, I work independently. Spying and reporting on the daily lives of lovers, spouses, uh, you know, typical private investigation fare."
"For how long?"
"Last six months or so."
"Do you enjoy it?"
Goren fought the urge to laugh, "it pays the bills."
Gyson mirrored his intense gaze before she asked the big question at hand - a question Goren knew was coming all along.
"Why did you leave?"
"My career at Major Case? Uhhh, or are you referring to why I stopped coming to our sessions?"
Gyson smiled, "It's good to see that you are the same old Robert Goren I remember from a year ago. You certainly haven't lost your spirit."
Her response certainly caught his attention. Was she suggesting that he was still alive? And that there was at least one more run left in him now that he'd broken the fifty year mark?
"In fact I was referring to why you left you job with Major Case," Gyson leaned forward, resting her the weight of her chin on the palm of her left hand, "but you are more than welcome to address the issue of our lack of sessions."
Goren drew both of his hands together into his lap. He sat erect, his eyes lowered in reflection like a meditating Buddha. He remembered quite vividly the day he decided that he should leave Major Case.
And the reason it was memorable was due to the fact that there wasn't anything memorable about his decision at all.
In fact, he couldn't even point to one specific event that begged, "quit now!"
Rather, it seemed to be an accumulation of factors that sent him packing.
His moment of lucidity came into being on an unusually warm November afternoon:
With his sports jacket removed, and dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, Goren balanced the bulk of his weight on his haunches, leaning over the body of a slain forty-four year old man.
He'd never, ever been fazed by death, nor the gruesome nature of his job. The blood on this unfortunate vicim was still moist - more of a gel-like substance, thick and caked all over the gaping wound on the crown of the man's head. After the crime scene unit had snapped it's last photograph, Goren launched in, the smell of iron was so strong, his nostrils flared.
With the skill of many years of service under his belt, Goren gently supported the head with five white gloved fingers, his left index finger probed around the oozing cavity. As Goren tentatively worked around the shape of the skull, he quietly counted the soft depressions that indicated both primary and secondary damage. There were defensive wounds on the victim's hands, and bruises would undoubtably be found on the lower and upper arms - all of which indicated that the victim probably had enough time to see his attacker and would have had enough visual information to make an identification if the wounds had not proved to be fatal.
Goren saw his partner, Alex Eames, in his peripheral vision. She was busy interviewing one of several eye witnesses. And he knew full well, that after he'd had all the time he needed to review the body, it would be his turn to give Eames, his senior partner, his full professional report, i.e., his initial insight into this latest puzzle.
And just like clock-work, as soon as she had wrapped up her last interview, Alex Eames came over to his side. Silently, she squatted down, resting on all hands and knees so that they were both eye level. They briefly made eye contact. She blinked once and waited.
This is how it had been for nearly twelve years.
In her gloved right hand, she held a beautifully hand carved wooden staff. Blood adhered to the thicker end of the staff, and speckled the leather hand strap. The intricate design had been brutally splintered by the impact.
Goren felt a unique mixture of sorrow and rage building from his core.
The staff had been an incredible relic before it had been destroyed by this violent act. And he found this situation to be utterly obscene. Not the broken skull of the victim, mind you, but rather that the beautiful hand carved artwork that had been used as a mindless instrument of evil. Surely an antique of this nature could not be replicated, could not have protected itself - nor at this point, would it ever be repaired. Rather, the disfigured staff would live out its life in a sealed evidence box, deep in the bowels of 1PP.
And he remembered seeing a quizzical expression on his partner's face. He even thought he heard his name "Goren?" come from her mouth, but she sounded like she was in a tunnel. Then without so much as a warning, he felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. Then everything went black.
When he woke up, he was suddenly enlightened. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was time to leave.
"I-I just knew it was time."
Gyson looked puzzled, "but it, I mean, the job seemed so vital to you. It doesn't make sense."
"I just left."
Gyson shook her head, "As a world class detective, would that answer be enough for you?"
"Maybe you're better than you paint yourself out to be, doctor," Goren offered snidely, trying to hide the growing irritation that was starting to mount in his gut, "perhaps you've successfully taught me how to work through my trust and anger issues so that I can finally focus on what is important."
"On the contrary, we barely touched upon those issues. You left before we had a chance to go deeper."
"And what makes you think that today's session is going to change that?"
"Because you reached out this time."
Goren was dumfounded, "what do you mean?"
"You called me last night, left a message on my machine," Paula spoke softly and deliberately, "you don't remember, do you?"
Goren's face turned from pale pink to ashen grey. "I don't uh – w-what did I, uh, say?"
"Well first you sort of apologized for disappearing off the face of the planet. Then you implored me for help. You wanted advice."
"Advice." Goren repeated quietly as he tried to piece it all together. Since he'd read the article about Eames in the paper, he knew that he'd had been drinking more than usual at night.
"Did I say what for?"
Gyson nodded, "You kept saying, 'It turns out she doesn't need me anymore.'"
A.N. Thank you for all your reviews! I feel very welcomed back indeed. I almost want to apologize for how bizarre and dark this particular tale is, but then again, I still don't know where I'm taking it. (I hope that is not too obvious) I'll try to hold on to my end of the bargain. Enjoy!