Tom stood up and reached for his jacket. "Look…I uh…I gotta go."

"We aren't done, Tom," said Hirsch.

"Yeah…uh…I've got some things I need to get done today. I'll uh…I'll call you later, okay?"

The doctor watched as Tom left the office without waiting for an answer.

"It's been a month. Why not?"

Dr. Hirsch leaned forward in his chair and looked Tom in the eye. "Because you're not ready."

Tom was fuming…exasperated. "Look, I've been sitting behind a desk for four weeks now. Nothing's gone wrong. I haven't freaked out. I've been coming here every Tuesday like you said…what else do you want?! I don't know what else I can do to prove it to you. I'm ready to get back out in the field."

"You want me to let you go out…undercover…and pretend…play a part…try to fool someone…when you can't even get a good night's sleep?"

Tom looked down. "I told you," he said quietly, "I'm doing better. I'm sleeping."

"You're lying," said the doctor.

At the accusation, Tom's eyes shot up to look at the man. "I'm not lying. I mean…it's over. And he's not even around anymore. I heard…they said he moved out…he's living up in Myer now…two hundred miles away. Okay…so…yeah…some nights…I still have nightmares, but it won't interfere with my work."

The doctor looked unconvinced. "How can it not, Tom?"

Tom swallowed hard before asking, "Please? I need this. I do…I need some normalcy back in my life. I can't stand just sitting around watching everyone else do the real work. It makes me feel like…like…" He stopped and bowed his head.

"Like how?" asked Hirsch.

"Like…" Tom began, his voice breaking. He shook his head, refusing to look up as he continued, "…like I'm nothing anymore. Useless. Like he took away everything and there's nothing left of me." He was crying now as he put his face in his hands.

Dr. Hirsch leaned forward and put his hand on Tom's shoulder. "This…is why you're not ready."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Tom mumbled between sobs.

The doctor sat back in his chair. "It means that going out undercover again won't make you feel normal again. You have to resolve this and feel normal first before you can go back into the field."

Tom collected himself, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and sighed, looking up. He shook his head. "I can't," he said simply. "This is killing me. It won't let go of me. Everything I do or say or that happens is tainted. I'm tainted. I'm just…existing now. I'm not living."

"We'll get there, Tom. You'll get there. In the meantime, you must see small glimpses of it coming back, don't you? Aren't there times when you're feeling good?"

"Yeah, and then…I remember."

"That's okay," said Hirsch. "It's coming back. And those times when you remember…they'll become fewer and fewer. Believe me, I've seen this a lot. It's what I do, Tom. This is how it works. And it will get better."

Tom shook his head. "It's too hard. It…it scares me too much when it happens. And it pisses me off, and…I just feel like it's never going to change and what's the use in trying? Like, we…" He stopped short and shook his head again.

"We what?"

"Nothing."

"No, Tom, tell me what you were going to say," said the doctor.

"It's just…like…well, I tried, you know? Doug and I went out after work the other night, and…it just…"

"She's looking at you, man." Doug grinned as he lifted his beer to his lips.

Tom smiled a shy smile and looked down at the table. "Nah, she's looking at you. Go on…Sherri's been gone for a couple of months. What are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting for a girl to look at my table…just once…when someone better looking than me isn't sitting here too!"

At that comment, Tom erupted in laughter. "Don't be an idiot. Get over there."

Doug took another look at the dark haired girl sitting at the bar with her back to them. She turned her head to look at them again, smiling as she swirled her finger in her drink. He sighed and shook his head. "No way. Outta my league. You go."

Tom looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Go."

A slight cloud of doubt crossed Tom's mind, but he quickly pushed it away. He stood up and walked over to the bar, ordering another beer. While he waited for it, he sidled up to the dark haired girl. "Excuse me."

She turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"I…uh…couldn't help noticing that you were staring at my friend over there." Better safe than sorry.

"Actually," she said with a smile, turning on her seat to face him. "I was staring at you."

"Oh, really?" Tom asked as he took his beer.

"Really. My name's Lena."

"Tom," he said.

"Have a seat, Tom."

"What was making you nervous about that, Tom?" asked Hirsch.

"Nothing. Not yet. I mean, when I first started to go over there, I felt a little anxious. But…well…I brushed it off."

"So what happened?"

"We talked awhile. She was flirting with me pretty hard…leaning in and laughing a lot. She had this red dress on…man…" He shook his head. "It was nice…low cut…and she kept crossing her legs…pulling it up over her knees."

He wanted to touch her. God…he wanted to touch her. But the stirring inside of him didn't feel right. He let her make the first move, laying her hand lightly on his arm as she leaned in close, laughing. He could smell her perfume then, slightly sweet but a bit musky. Her hand grazed his knee, and he felt himself getting aroused, but then she came closer, whispering something in his ear, and he gasped and pulled back.

She looked shocked…wounded…and he quickly apologized, telling her it tickled. She laughed and said it was okay, and they both turned back toward the bar. But as they continued their conversation she put her hand on his and brought it down to lay on her thigh. He gasped again, this time from the feel of her soft flesh beneath his fingers. She left his hand there and placed hers on his leg, giving it a squeeze and then sliding her hand along his inner thigh, slowly back and forth.

"That's progress, Tom," said Hirsch.

Tom huffed. "Yeah…right. I progressed right into a panic attack."

"What happened?"

"I started…God, it felt so good…it really did. I had my hand on her knee. I wasn't moving it, but her hand…she was rubbing the inside of my leg and then she…she slid it up higher, and she was close…so close…and I…God, I was getting hard, and she touched me there."

As her hand grazed his growing cock, she turned to him and smiled. He was breathing heavily now, torn between the pleasure his body was feeling and the fear that was slowly creeping into his mind. Her hand returned to the hard place between his legs, and she cupped it and rubbed it, kneading it firmly. She whispered to him, "Ohhh…you like that, don't you? I can tell."

Tom was squirming in his seat now and he shook his head vehemently as he heard Eckert's accusation in his mind…"Damn! You're getting off on this, aren't you?! I knew you'd like it."

"No…" he said, "no…no…no…I don't."

"What?" she asked, sure that she had misheard.

"I said no!" he shouted as he pushed her hand away. "Get your fucking hands off me!" He jumped up from his stool and threw a ten on the counter for their drinks.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Tom ignored the question and pushed his way through the crowd to the exit. Doug had been playing pool and looked up as he heard the commotion at the bar. As he saw Tom leaving, he followed him out.

"So I looked like a complete freak."

"It's a normal reaction, Tom," said Hirsch. "Flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, triggers…it's all part of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's going to happen…we just need to work on how you can deal with it."

Tom looked at the doctor. "But…it's everywhere…all the time. I can't…I can't do anything. It's always there."

"Like when? Give me another example."

"Like when…like…hell, I don't know…all the time!" Tom leaned back in his chair and put a finger to his mouth, chewing on the nail as he thought. "Okay…okay," he said, leaning forward again. "Like a couple of weeks ago. My car was in the shop, and Doug brought me here after work for my session. We ran a little late, and it was getting dark when we got back to my place."

"Thanks, man!"

"No problem," said Doug. "So…seven in the morning? And I'll drop you off at the garage to pick up your car?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks again." Tom opened the door and started to get out, but stopped short at the sight of the dark steps and corner of his apartment building, a sick feeling creeping into his stomach.

Doug started to say something to him…to kid him about hurrying up…when the events of that other night came back to him as well. "Hey…you care if I come up and use the bathroom real quick?"

Tom was still sitting half in and half out of the car, his back to Doug. He hung his head and fought back tears of shame. He hated this. And he hated himself for feeling this way. He was ashamed and terrified at the same time, but there was no way he was going to let Doug walk him up to his apartment. "Doug…don't."

"Don't what? C'mon, man, I really gotta go."

Tom shook his head, still refusing to turn and look at his friend. "No…you don't." He sighed. "But thanks." He looked at the building, then looked left and then right, seeing nothing but darkness in either direction. Resigned to getting it over with, he said, "I'll see you tomorrow," and got out of the car, closing the door without looking back. He walked half the distance from the car to his building and stopped. Doug's car had not yet moved, and Tom knew it wouldn't until he was inside…and probably not even until the lights came on upstairs to show he had gotten in safely. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, and he felt himself suddenly fighting to breathe. A shiver ran up his spine as he glanced at the corner once again, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"So what did you do?"

"I made a run for it," answered Tom. "Like a fucking kid afraid of monsters under the bed."

"Tom," said Hirsch, "it's perfectly normal and understandable that this would freak you out. It was déjà vu. Of course it was scary. But you did it."

Tom laughed. "Yeah…yeah…I did it…with Doug babysitting me. And then I got upstairs and…" He stopped speaking, looking down at his hands.

"And what?" Hirsch asked gently.

"And I locked the door. And I turned on every light in the place. And I sat in the living room chair until morning."

"You didn't sleep?"

"No."

"What did you do the rest of the night while you sat there?" asked the doctor.

Tom hung his head again and mumbled, "Nothing…mostly. I…I…just cried." He lifted his eyes briefly to look at Hirsch, then looked back down again, embarrassed. "At least I didn't get sick."

"Did you feel sick?"

"Of course I did. Hell, I feel sick most of the time."

"That's a physical reaction to a psychological trauma," said Hirsch. "I can prescribe something to help you with that."

"Yeah?" asked Tom doubtfully. "Will it keep me from puking?"

"It might. That depends. Is that happening a lot too?"

Tom shrugged in response.

"Tom?"

"Just…sometimes," he said, fidgeting in his chair.

"Like when?" asked Hirsch.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Tom had taken his mother out to lunch. They had a good time talking and catching up. She hadn't seen him much since the trial had ended, and she had been worried about him. So they enjoyed a good meal together, and Tom had actually felt like eating for the first time in a long time.

Tom drove his mother home afterward and she asked him to come inside for a little while. He did as she asked because he had been feeling a little guilty about not spending time with her lately. And to be honest, it felt good to be there. He felt relaxed sitting on the sofa in her living room. There was none of the anxiousness that he still felt in his own home. His mother made him a glass of iced tea, and they talked some more, enjoying their time together.

"She asked if I would take out the trash before I left."

"Was that a problem?" Hirsch asked.

"I didn't think so, but…" Tom sighed, exasperated. "I got out back…it was just a little kitchen bag, you know? Tied off. But I got out there and…I took the lid off the garbage can, and…"

The smell hit him like a punch in the face. He stood still, instantly transported back to that night as he lay on the ground behind the dumpster. He could almost feel the tight ropes binding his hands, cutting into his flesh, and the cotton rag stuffed into his mouth. He dropped the metal lid and the trash bag and leaned over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath, but every inhalation brought with it the rotten stench that caused him to gag and his stomach to clench. Before he knew what was happening, the contents of his stomach were coming up as he began retching violently, tears running down his face.

When he finally finished vomiting, he stood upright, wiping the tears from his face, his back to the house.

"She saw me. I could feel her watching. But…when I went back in she pretended she didn't know."

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"No," replied Tom. "No…I…I just left. Then I sat in the car and cried…again." He looked at Hirsch, his eyes pleading with him to help somehow. "I don't know what to do anymore. It's been so long, but it won't go away. The son of a bitch isn't even around anymore, but it feels like he's everywhere all the time…around me…on me…in me."

Dr. Hirsch looked with sympathy at the young man sitting across from him. All of this was normal, especially for someone who had suffered such a horrific attack. As a psychologist, he knew that. But he was beginning to wonder if Tom Hanson needed more help than he could give him.

There are a few more chapters to go, and then we're done. I'm not going to keep dragging this out forever, but there will be an ending to it. :-) I have a couple more stories in my head and I plan on writing those as well, so if you want to add me to your "Author Alert" list then you'll get an email when I publish a new story. Until then, thank you again SO MUCH for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate all of the kind comments and feedback. It's great motivation to keep going when I know you are enjoying it. :-)