Six Months Later
Are you free, J.D., to discuss the final outcome of Vinnie’s case?”
“Sure. It’s all a matter of public record now,” J.D. Blackstone said.
His psychiatrist, Dr. Jim Koesler, was nodding, and then went to his next question.
“So Vinnie accepted the plea bargain, then?”
“Yes. At least initially,” Blackstone replied.
“But she came after you legally, is that it?”
“Oh gosh, yeah, you might say that,” Blackstone said with a chuckle. “After she accepted the deal and gave evidence against her partner in crime, Victor Cheski, and after Judge Templeton sentenced her to the ten years in prison she was expecting, then she turned on me. She fired my former partner, Julia, who had adroitly led her through the plea negotiation process and sentencing phase.
“Then she hired another attorney and filed a civil suit against me, and also complained to the bar association against me, and finally filed a motion with Judge Templeton saying she should be able to get her ten-year sentence vacated because I had ‘violated the attorney–client relationship in ways that shock the conscience and betray my oath as a lawyer.’ That choice of language in the paperwork was her lawyer’s, of course, not Vinnie’s. I’m sure Vinnie would have used a much more colorful set of descriptives.”
“She lost. I prevailed. On everything.”
“Do you feel vindicated, then?”
“That seems like a very hollow description of my feelings.”
“How would you put it?”
“ ‘Trying not to look back’—how about that?”
“And your former partner, Julia?”
“We’re talking about putting the law partnership back together again.”
“Sounds promising. And on a personal level?”
“A different kind of partnership may be emerging. I am getting Julia into horseback riding, mountain climbing, and kayaking—and she’s getting me into being more human.”
“That also sounds promising. And your interactions with your father, and your uncle?”
“Oh, the same. I don’t have much contact with Dad, I’m afraid. That is probably more my fault. Maybe I should do something about it. And my uncle—Reverend Lamb—he’s the same. He tells me that the human condition has two universal truths—that we are all sinners and we all need a Savior. He still invites me on a regular basis to get down on my knees, confess that I am a sinner, and believe in Jesus as the Son of God.”
“He was correct, in a way, about the Langley note, though—wasn’t he?”
“In a way, yes. He certainly figured out the word puzzle all right, even though the puzzle ultimately was proven to be a fake.”
Blackstone paused and thought about something.
“And I was right too.”
“Well, J.D.,” Dr. Koesler said, “your handling of Vinnie’s defense appears to have been brilliant. Gaining a dismissal of the charges, but then motivating her in the end to own up to the truth behind the crimes and receive some measure of punishment…while making sure that the trigger man, Victor Cheski, caught the full brunt of the punishment.”
“No,” Blackstone said, pondering it. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that at some point I came to realize what Vinnie’s case was really about.”
“And what is that?”
“Two things, I think. The hunger of human beings for eternal life, and the power of greed.”
“Or as your uncle might put it, eternity and sin?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Blackstone said.
“So,” Dr. Koesler said changing the subject slightly, “you are here for another refill of your medication?”
“No, actually I am here to get rid of you.”
Dr. Koesler laughed. “When I hear that, I often think it can be a good thing—that the patient has progressed.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Blackstone said. “All I know is that I’ve decided to give up my membership in the ‘Better Living Through Chemistry’ club. Your pills give me four hours of sleep, rather than three and a half. It’s not worth the trade-off. There’s got to be a better way.”
“I respect that. But, how about the ‘not looking back’ part—how does that fit into everything?”
“Well, there is one thing I do need from you, now that you are no longer going to be my psychiatrist.”
“What’s that?” Koesler asked.
“An honest answer to an honest question.”
“Which is?”
“Your professional opinion regarding the cause, the etiology, of my accursed insomnia.”
“That’s really for you to answer more than me.”
“Come on, Jim, I know the drill here. The therapist thinks he needs to have the patient do the self-discovery. I know all that. Just give me your theory.”
“I really am hesitant,” Koesler protested.
“Okay, Jim, really—what do you have to lose? Look, let’s make it a bet, alright? Like the old fraternity days together. I dare you, for the sum of ten bucks, in valid American currency—and I’ve got it right in my pocket here—I dare you to nail the cause of my insomnia. Explain it to me.”
“J.D., you’re smarter than I am. I’m sure you’ve already figured it out.”
“Well, let’s test your theory. Come on. Lay it on me.”
Dr. Koesler looked into the face of his friend. He was tempted to play the clinician. To play it safe. By the book.
“Alright,” Koesler said. “You told me once, in one of our first meetings, about the last thing you remember Marilyn saying to you before she left with your daughter for that music recital. What was it she said?”
Blackstone had been looking at Koesler, but now he looked down at some undetermined and unfixed point in space.
“She said…‘Don’t forget.’ ”
“Don’t forget what, exactly?”
“ ‘Don’t forget,’ ” Blackstone said, his voice faltering a little, “ ‘to set your alarm.’ So I wouldn’t sleep through Beth’s recital.”
“You were about to take a nap?”
“I had gone two weeks without a solid night’s sleep…handling a very demanding, very complicated trial…grabbing a few hours here or there each night, not much more. The case ended. We won. Wonderful. Great. I was exhausted. It was Beth’s recital that day. Rather than driving them to the recital myself, I said I needed to lie down for a few hours. But I would meet them at the recital auditorium…in time.”
“In time for Beth’s recital.”
“Yeah, of course, obviously,” Blackstone blurted out. “Jim, look—you’re the one with the MD degree, you’re the psychiatrist. I’m just the one who never bothered to finish my PhD in psychology. Why don’t you simply give me your brilliant psychiatric deduction, then? Just tell me!”
“Well, it seems to me,” Koesler said quietly, “ that the driving force in your internal struggle now is the fact that you didn’t drive them. Marilyn did. The route she took just happened to lead her into the path of an oncoming car. But you, J.D., who believe you are the one who has to be right all the time, you knew a different route. And I am guessing you feel you would have taken them on that different route—your route, a better route, a safer route—maybe even a quicker route, less traffic, that’s why you would have preferred it. But there was a problem…the fact that you needed sleep. So Marilyn ended up leaving first, doing the driving. She took her route, not yours. The accident happened. And you haven’t forgiven yourself for not being there to take care of your family. Not saving them from disaster. So the enemy of those you loved the most, in your view, ended up being sleep. Sleep—your need for sleep, then, somewhere on a feeling level, has been proven to be your mortal enemy. Or so you believe.”
Blackstone had stood up from his chair. His face was red, and his neck veins were bulging. Then he exploded.
“Why did I need sleep that day—why that day? Why? You tell me that! It is an absolute fact, beyond debate, that I would have taken a different route. It is absolutely assured that I would have thereby averted their deaths. It is beyond any reasonable doubt that my selfish desire for sleep was the cause of the catastrophic deaths of my wife and my daughter—and that…and that…is true beyond any scintilla of a shadow of a doubt. Now…you tell me to try and fix that, Jim…because…there is no fixing that.”
Blackstone turned to the door, still standing, and covered his face with one hand. He stood there motionless for several moments.
When he had regained his composure, he pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it on Koesler’s desk.
It was a twenty-dollar bill.
“Keep the change,” Blackstone said as he walked out the door.