part0006

Blake stared at the red and yellow splotches of acrylic paint that coated the stretched canvas, fully expecting to find order in the seemingly haphazard pattern.

The inner door of the waiting room swung open and Dr. Maritza Perez appeared, accompanied by an attenuated but welcoming smile.

“Ready, Mr. Brier?”

Her voice was melodic, which served to soften her sharp appearance. Dressed in a gray business suit and high heels, the ensemble would have predicted corporate attorney more than therapist.

Perez was attractive and, Blake guessed, older than she appeared. The clues were subtle but conclusive. Plump lips that moved in a slightly unnatural way. Eyelids pinned at the outer corners. The work was good. Almost imperceptible, if not for the discrepancy between her face and neck. The neck always gave it away.

Blake stood up and took a step toward Perez. He paused in front of the mounted artwork and squinted at it. “A horse, right?” Blake’s hand hovered an inch from the surface. “The eyes. Here and here. The nose. And this is the mane.”

Perez’s smile grew less subdued. “If you say so.”

“Am I at least close?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be. But it’s not a Rorschach test, Mr. Brier.”

Blake shrugged it off as Perez led him to her office, and he took a seat on the couch. Perez closed the door before taking her own seat in the opposite high-backed leather chair.

The room was sparsely decorated but achieved a sense of warmth, nonetheless. There were two doors. The one he entered through, and the one he was to exit by. The purpose of the forced traffic pattern was obvious. He appreciated Perez’s respect for her patients’ privacy.

“If you want to know the truth, a couple of months ago I went to a winery with a few girlfriends. They happened to be putting on a painting event. The theme was Abstract something or other. Basically, there was an actual painter demonstrating, and the rest of us were supposed to copy what she did. Turns out, I wasn’t very good at it. But it was fun. Plus, the colors worked nicely in the waiting room, so I hung it up. I never thought it would end up being so thought-provoking.”

“Maybe you have more talent than you think.”

Blake may have been a perpetual schmoozer, but in this instance, it was part of the game. During his first visit, Blake was struck by how similar a therapy session was to an interrogation. While he had no experience with the former, he was an expert at the latter.

The first step in any interrogation is the rapport building phase. In it, the interrogator shares an innocuous story, usually fabricated, with the purpose of establishing a conversational tone. An interpersonal connection. Dr. Perez’s use of similar tactics was not lost on him.

“I must tell you, knowing your reluctance to all of this during our first session, I wasn’t sure if you’d show up today,” Perez started.

“Like I said before, I made a promise to Haeli. I’m not in the habit of breaking promises.”

“That’s admirable. But could it also be that you found some value in our previous conversation, apart from appeasing Haeli?”

He considered it. While he couldn’t say he had been counting the days until his next visit, he found himself looking forward to it.

Blake had never been under any delusions that he was a well-adjusted individual. Even beyond his idiosyncrasies, he carried a hefty share of baggage. But so did everyone else he knew. The solution, for all of them, had always been one of compartmentalization. As far as he was aware, he was the first of them to find himself in these circumstances.

“Look, Doc. I hope I didn’t come across as rude when we last met. I’m fully aware that I’ve got my issues. As much as Haeli does. Probably more so. But I have a hard time buying into the huggy-feely stuff.”

“Is that what you think this is all about? Some kind of love fest, where we cry it out?” Perez laughed. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but you’re way off. I’m going to ask you hard questions and you’re going to be expected to provide even harder answers. It’ll be contentious, at times. But my job is to hold your feet to the fire. So, to answer your question, no, you were not rude. You were honest. And if you can be that, I believe this can be of some benefit to you. Whether you believe it or not.”

At some point, the soothing timbre of Perez’s voice evaporated, leaving only its raw mechanics. Blake figured she had hoped to hit a nerve and, he had to admit, she had. Blake could subscribe to this version of psychotherapy. No indulgence. No excuses. She had pivoted in her approach. Parried his attack. He would have done the same.

“Honesty I can do,” Blake said. “What do you want to know?”

“Why don’t we pick up where we left off.” Perez flipped to the previous page of her notepad. After a quick glance, she flipped the page back and looked him in the eyes. “Last we spoke, Haeli had brought up the idea of the two of you moving in together. You believed your hesitancy was causing a strain on the relationship. Have you spoken to her about your concerns, as we discussed?”

“No. She hasn’t brought it up again, so I left it alone.”

“Then things have improved?”

“Things are fine. I mean, they were never bad. But…”

“Ever since she brought it up, she seems off. We still spend a lot of time together and we have a good time, but I can tell she’s not right.”

“Do you think it could be that she feels hurt? Hurt that you're not willing to take the next step. Can you understand why she might feel that way?”

“Of course I can. The thing is, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s not that I don’t love her. And it’s not that I’m not committed to her. I really am, even if it doesn’t seem that way. The weird thing is that she stays at my place almost every night and it’s great. But when I think about her moving in, I have a physical reaction. It’s like I’m in fight-or-flight mode. It’s ridiculous.”

“Good. You recognize the trigger and the response. That shows an adequate level of self-awareness. It seems you have an aversion to the idea of cohabitation that may even be unrelated to Haeli. The type of reaction you are describing is often indicative of past trauma. Can you identify a past traumatic experience?”

Perez’s neutral expression remained unchanged.

“We’re going to need a lot more than an hour and a half,” Blake said.

“I see.” Perez scratched at the notepad, then paused. Her brow tensed as if saddened or, more likely, concerned. “Did you serve?”

“Tell me about that.”

“I won’t lie to you,” Blake said, “there’s a lot I can’t tell you. But I can say that I’ve seen many terrible things. And I’ll admit that I’ve had to do terrible things.”

“That must have been difficult for you.”

“That’s part of the problem, I think. Being in the thick of it, life or death situations, dangerous situations, is when I feel most at peace. The hard part is fitting into regular life, as crazy as that sounds. When I’m set into action, I’m a totally different person. A better person. It’s like I have a split personality.”

“Well, you don’t,” Perez assured. “That’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder, and it’s very rare. It’s characterized by completely separate personality states, almost as if more than one person is inhabiting one body. What you’re describing is something that is much more common, even expected for a man with your experience.”

Blake knew what she was alluding to. He had known for many years. “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” he said.

“Yes. Exactly. PTSD manifests itself in a number of ways, at different levels of intensity.”

“I know. Too well, unfortunately. I’ve known more than a few good men who have lost their battle with it. It’s the reason I’m here in the first place. Or it’s the reason Haeli felt the need to seek professional help. Then convinced me to do it with her.”

“Here’s where I ask a tough question, Mr. Brier.”

“Please, call me Blake.”

“Thank you, Blake. What I want to ask is if you have experienced extreme depression. Suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, self-mutilation?”

“No, never. Just the opposite. I want to live more . Bigger. With a purpose. I’m going stir crazy right now. That’s the real diagnosis.”

“Many in your position, typically task-oriented individuals, struggle with feelings that they are no longer useful. You mentioned you are retired. Have you considered part-time work? Maybe join an organization or get involved in community service. Something to focus your energy on.”

“Yes. In fact, it’s in the works. A few old friends and I have been considering starting a new venture.”

“That sounds excellent, Blake.” The injection of enthusiasm was jarring. Almost patronizing, however unintentional. “What type of venture?”

Blake weighed his words. “The details are being finalized, but its mission will be to help those in need.”

“That sounds worthy, indeed.”

A loud electronic chirping cut through the relative quiet. Blake admonished himself for forgetting to shut his ringer off as he reached in his pocket to retrieve the device. “Sorry about that.”

Blake pressed the button on the side to silence the sound and, before stowing the phone in his pocket, glanced at the screen.

It was the last name he’d expected to see. Especially after so much time had passed. The last time he had spoken to Anja’s partner was around the time of her death.

“What I would like to do,” Perez continued, “is dig into some of these events. You may leave out whatever details you feel necessary. The important thing is the impact they may have had on you. Now, I want you to recall an event that affected you. The first thing that pops into your mind, okay?”

Blake was aware that a question had been posed to him, but his mind was preoccupied with questions of his own. Why would Harrison be calling him? Had there been new information? Something to do with Anja? What could possibly cause him to reach out after all this time?

He touched his phone through the coarse fabric of his jeans. The mystery of what words would have been spoken from the other end of the call tugged at him.

Even though Blake hardly knew the man, he felt they shared a bond. A bond forged by mutual suffering. He recalled the pain on Harrison’s face when they’d met at the cemetery, as clearly as if the man were standing in front of him.

A surge of grief overwhelmed him. Anja’s delicate face permeated his thoughts. A mixture of deep longing and outrage hijacked his rational brain. Tears welled in his eyes.

He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat.

“Anja,” he said.

“Okay, good. Who’s Anja?”

Who’s Anja? Blake was struck by the absurdity of the question. Not on Perez’s part, but his own. The death of his beloved Anja defined him. Near crippling flashbacks snuck up on him on a regular basis, becoming more frequent as more time passed. Yet, he had not mentioned her to Perez.

“Someone I loved very much,” Blake said. “She was murdered.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Blake took a breath and tried to slow his pulse. He reached into his pocket and brought his phone to his lap. He stared at the missed call notification for a moment, then thrust himself to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Doc,” he said, “something has come up. We’re going to have to cut this session short.”

“Blake, we’ve touched on something that I think is extremely important we talk about.”

“You’re right. And I promise we will. Next time.”

Perez stood as Blake made his way to the exit.

“I wish you’d stay,” Perez said.

“If it’s any consolation, you were right. It never had anything to do with Haeli.”

Blake tapped the notification, causing the phone to redial Harrison’s number, and held the phone to his ear.