Mitch took a deep breath and rapped on the door. He heard a voice inside instruct him to enter. Reluctantly he entered and closed the door behind him.
Dan Tarrow, counselor, rose from the couch and met him halfway across the room. He was Mitch’s height, with a shaved head, tanned and fit. Mitch noticed on the desk behind was a framed photo of Dan finishing a marathon.
“Mitchell Parker, the hardest man to get to counseling I hear,” Dan smiled and indicated the green leather couch. “Have a seat, Mitchell.”
“Mitch is fine,” Mitch said and moved to the couch. He sat forward on the edge.
“You’re here for an hour so make yourself comfortable. Want a tea, coffee or water?” Dan asked.
“No, I’m okay, thanks,” Mitch said.
Dan looked surprised. “Really? Because that would have taken up to at least ten minutes of interview time.”
Mitch smiled and shook his head. “Okay, got any filter coffee that drips really slowly?”
“Bound to.” Dan rose and went to make them both coffee. “How do you take it?”
“White, thanks,” Mitch said, studying the room.
“Why the aversion to counseling?” Dan asked as he found two clean mugs.
“I don’t believe it helps.” Mitch turned to face him. “You spill all this stuff and when you leave, it’s still with you. What is the counseling supposed to achieve?”
“C’mon, surely somewhere along the line just talking with someone impartial has helped you put things in order in your head. Sometimes it is just hearing yourself say it out loud that makes you consider the validity. No? Never experienced that?”
“Can’t say I have. You know, in the past, it was considered shameful to show a weak side and to say you’re not coping. Several generations came back from the war and never spoke about it. They didn’t self-combust,” Mitch said, watching Dan.
“You don’t know that though.” Dan stirred sugar into his own cup. “Maybe they took it out on their wife or kids or drank too much. Maybe they led a shorter life due to stress and bottling it up.”
Mitch sniffed with disbelief.
Dan returned and placed the coffee in front of him. He sat opposite with his own cup and sipped from it.
“Thanks,” Mitch said.
“So you’re telling me it has never helped you?” Dan pushed.
“I guess once it might have helped me sort some stuff into categories,” Mitch conceded. “But I would have got there myself eventually.”
Dan smiled. “Well let me try and earn my living.” He picked up Mitch’s file.
Immediately Mitch stiffened. He began to fidget, realized he was fidgeting and sat perfectly still. While Dan looked at the file, he continued to look around the room. It was stark, a clock on the wall … forty-five minutes to go … white walls, white blinds … three exit points—a door and two windows. He turned back to find Dan looking at him.
“Your last case was a tough one,” Dan said. “Multiple dead bodies including fellow law officers; you were tortured; you had a staff member who let you down; and all but one of the villains was killed. It was a high body count.”
“It was, but not by our hand,” Mitch agreed.
“Does that make a difference?” Dan sat back and put his arm on the back of the couch. He rested Mitch’s file on his legs.
“Of course. No one wants to take a life.”
“Not even if they deserve it?” Dan asked.
“No, not even then. But it is easier to justify it in your head if that’s the case,” Mitch said.
Dan nodded. He tapped on Mitch’s file. “You have a fairly dark history here, Mitch, from a pretty young age,” he said.
Mitch looked at the clock. “Took you eighteen minutes to get there; others have done better.”
Dan laughed. “Yeah well it’s not relevant to the case you just came off unless something major happened that threw you back into your childhood and you reacted accordingly?”
“Uh, no,” Mitch said.
“Right, well let’s stay in the present for now, but if you do ever need to talk about your history … I’ve had a lot of experience in that.”
Mitch nodded.
“I’ll take that as you won’t be seeing me anytime soon,” Dan said.
Mitch smiled and sat back. “So, Cape Hatteras.”
Dan rose, and adjusted the blinds to cut the light streaming into the room. Reflected in the glass window he saw Mitchell Parker run his hand over his face, glance to the clock, then restrain himself. Dan noted Mitch knew all the cues to look in control. He turned and sat back on the couch opposite him.
“You did a good job on the case, the bosses were happy. In fact your track record for closing cases is impressive,” Dan said.
Mitch shrugged. “You do the best you can; I’ve got a good team which helps.”
“Let’s talk about the torture.”
Mitch straightened.
“You were missing for close to forty-eight hours, during which time you were restrained, blindfolded, beaten, burnt and kept dehydrated. Did you want to walk through what happened?” Dan asked.
“You just did.”
Dan nodded. He had read the incident report from Mitch’s last case, and knew the extent of his injuries.
“What was going through your head?”
“The drill.”
“Mitch …” Dan frowned.
Mitch looked towards the window, and locked his jaw. “I thought I’d never get out of there alive.”
Dan waited.
Mitch turned to look at him. “I’ve had a lot of close calls, but I thought that was it.”
“Why that time?” Dan asked.
“Because we didn’t know the underground cell existed, we hadn’t found it in our survey of the property, so no one knew where I was. Plus they took my watch that had the tracker from me and at that stage I knew they had killed the four police officers—I figured killing another person would be no big deal to them.”
Dan nodded but said nothing.
Mitch sat forward on the couch and rubbed his arm which had been burnt during the torture. “What a stupid way to go though—because Sam screwed up. Who walks into their lair like that?” He stopped rubbing and talking, bit his lip and sat back.
“So you’re still harboring a lot of hostility towards Samantha,” Dan stated.
Mitch sighed. “Everyone makes errors on a case, but willful disobedience of orders and plain stupidity just pisses me off.”
Dan smiled.
“Too blunt?” Mitch exhaled and smiled back.
“Nope, I get it. I served for ten years before I became a psychologist. If you can’t follow an order you shouldn’t be in the field. Have you spoken with Samantha about it?”
“At the time.”
“But when you’re in pain or have a flashback, it’s her fault?” Dan asked.
Mitch looked to his right, to the window again. “I’m not in pain and I’m not having flashbacks about it.”
“Okay,” Dan said. “So look at me and say that.”
Mitch frowned and looked at Dan. He spoke the words again. “I’m not in pain and I’m not having flashbacks.”
“Very good,” Dan said. “So you sleep well, no night sweats? Honestly, Mitch?”
Mitch hesitated.
Dan waited. After some time he realized Mitch wasn’t going to answer. “Tell me about the vault?”
“What vault?”
“When you and …” Dan turned to his notes, “… Nicholas, when you and Nicholas went to open the storage vault.”
“Oh, that,” Mitch said. “We expected to find some missing police officers dead in there and we were right. Shook Nick up a bit, but he had some counseling as you know. All better!” Mitch smiled at Dan.
“Didn’t shake you up though, huh? How come you held it together?”
“Training,” Mitch said. “Part of the job.”
Dan reached to the water jug in the middle of the table between them and filled both of their glasses. Mitch drank it within minutes.
Dan noticed as Mitch glance at the clock again.
“Surely seeing something like that is a rarity on a job?” Dan asked.
“I was telling Ellie, it was one of the first things I encountered when I started the job. You know how it works, Dan. You go there expecting and preparing for what you’ll see and it minimizes the trauma. It’s when you don’t know what to expect that you can get affected.”
Dan refilled Mitch’s water and he drank it again.
“Time’s up. One more to go, see you then.” Mitch rose.
“See you Mitch.” Dan watched him leave. He sighed, shook his head and made some notes on Mitch’s file.
Seeing Mitch return to his desk, John Windsor put in a call to Dan Tarrow.
“Dan, John Windsor,” he introduced himself. “I know your session with Mitch was private, but tell me, did he respond to it?” he asked, looking across the office at Mitch seated back at his computer.
“Well, it’s safe to say he’s the master of masking,” Dan said.
“Mm,” John agreed. “So was it of any value?”
“For me more than him,” Dan said. “He’s an interesting study. Never lets his guard down while you’re watching. But I caught him out a couple of times in the window reflection.”
“So he’s not saying how he’s dealing with things?”
“Oh, he’s not lying about anything,” Dan said. “He simply doesn’t answer if he doesn’t want to. Great self-control. I’m looking forward to the next session.”
“Thanks Dan,” John hung up and walked over to Mitch’s office. He rapped on the glass door, entered, and sat in the chair in front of Mitch’s desk. “How did the session go; was it any help?”
“For what? I wasn’t looking for help.”
John sighed. “Right. So was it of any use?”
“No, but I knew that before I went. Nice guy Dan, a bit different.”
“How?”
“He doesn’t really prod.”
“That’s good that you connected with him, because he wants you to have the full six sessions,” John said.
“What? No!”
“Just joking,” John said.
“On what planet would that ever be funny?” Mitch shook his head.
“Oh, lighten up,” John glanced at his watch. “Late lunch. Want to get a sandwich?”
“Sure.” Mitch rose.
John followed him out of the office. Yes, the master of masking.