The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) (13 page)

              “That’s surprising because he reminds me of a bag of wet lasagna noodles.”

Lindsey laughed.

“What do you mean when you say he ‘favors the boys?’  In what way?” I asked.

              I could hear her giggle again.  “Not in the way you’re probably thinking.  He just doesn’t seem to punish them as often or as severe.  He seems to pay them a lot more attention.  It’s just weird, now that I think about it,” she said. 

              That got me thinking.  Garvey’s relationship to the boys?  Was it sexual or strictly plutonic?  “How was he with Esteban?” I asked.

              “He took a liking to Esteban, you know, but, again, not in the way you might think.  He always asks me if Esteban can help him set up chairs and tables for assemblies, run special errands for him.  That sort of stuff.  I could tell it bothers the other kids in class because they would always say it’s not fair, which I would agree with.  And most of the other kids would behave so much better.  They would see helping Garvey as a special reward and that in itself would be motivation enough for them to behave in class and get their work done.  Esteban would fight or not do his class work and still get to help.  We always treated being a helper as an earned privilege or reward.”  I could sense the strain in her voice. 

              “Does he do that with any of the other kids?” I asked.  I was beginning to think that Garvey was just as strange and shady as Klein appeared to be.  Was one more so than the other?  While Lindsey told me that Garvey selected a few other kids but he seemed to go to Esteban more often than anyone else, I Googled ‘Glen Garvey- Bergen County Special Services.’  The link to his homepage popped up and I clicked on it.  It wasn’t too much different from Klein’s homepage.  The same cliché- riddled mumbo jumbo about caring for the success of the kids.  However, Garvey’s picture didn’t grace the homepage.  Probably better off.  Probably figured no picture would be a bigger selling point to districts looking to send their kids to the  school than having those potential sending districts see his chubby mug plastered all over the webpage.

              “A few.  He negatively rewards some of the more poorly behaved kids in the school.  Kind of goes against what he preaches to us and is the first to reprimand any staff that attempts to do the same thing.”

              “Was Garvey still there when you left?” I asked.

              “Yeah, he usually stays ‘til about four.  Sometimes five.”

              “Good.  I’m gonna pay him another visit.”

              I minimized my Google search to come back to later on.  We went upstairs and into the kitchen, giving Esteban’s records another once over.  For what reason, I don’t know.  The layout of paperwork was reminding me of the thousand- piece puzzles I used to do as a kid.  Can’t help trying to find another piece every time I walked by the table.  And I was determined to find the missing piece.

THIRTY TWO

Garvey was gone by the time I arrived back at Right Step.  The janitor that buzzed me in said I had missed him only by a few minutes.  I had no idea what kind of car he drove so I couldn’t cruise the streets in hopes of stumbling upon him and follow him home.  I’m an investigator not a stalker. 

              I returned home to find Lindsey curled up on the couch reading a book on her Kindle.  She had the television on in the background, set at a low volume, just as white noise to keep her company.  We sat together on the couch for a while.  She let me turn the volume up on the television and put on sports news to keep me in the loop with the important stuff.  Before we realized, it was pushing six thirty and we still hadn’t had dinner yet. 

              Lindsey went into the kitchen to start boiling water for the pasta while I went out on the deck to fire up the grill for the chicken breasts.  I returned to the kitchen to season and wrap three ears of fresh corn in tinfoil to cook on the grill.   Lindsey had soaked the chicken breasts in a garlic and herb marinade before she went to work this morning so they’d be primed and ready for the grill.  My iPod was connected to the portable docking station on the counter.  We ate in moderate silence, letting Jack Johnson mellow us out with his melodic and tranquil rhythms.   He always made us both wish we were on a tropical island with not a care in the world to weigh us down.

              We went to bed not too much past ten, after watching a few of our favorite television shows.  Lindsey was able to fall asleep almost instantly while I needed the background noise of the ten o’ clock news to help me drift off.

This time it is me.
 

I
am wearing the New York Mets sweatshirt. 
I
am wearing the rainbow- colored sneakers.  And
I
am attempting to rob the 7-11.  Whatever drug I was given at the party is totally freaking me out.  I don’t know how I got here but I do remember seeing a pirate ship filled with orange elephants on some street nearby.  The elephants were singing “Jingle Bells” and one was reciting “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”   I can hear the clerk behind the counter pleading for his life.  I think I am aiming the gun-
my gun
- at him but it’s actually aimed at the Slurpee machine.  In my head, I am demanding money but my mouth is spitting gibberish. 

              Suddenly, the red and blue lights of the police car out front is blinding me and coating my body like a fire blanket.  I can’t see but I can hear lots of voices.  I don’t realize that I’ve fired a shot.  I start running.  I crash into the back door and it’s black.  Or is it blue?  I hear more voices.  Are they in my head or are they on television?  Out of nowhere I see Jake.  He’s wearing my Paterson police uniform.  It’s him yelling at me to ‘Freeze!’ and I panic.  My hands are shaking.  I cannot speak.  I’m so scared.  My left arm raises, the one holding the gun, to hand Jake the gun and just as I fully extend my arm, I hear the ‘blam!’ of the gun.  I don’t hear the second ‘blam!’ because I am already dead.

             
Even with the Ambien I still woke up from the dream.  I hadn’t had this one before.  I must’ve been tossing and turning in my sleep because when I shot up I was entangled in the blanket and Lindsey was already sitting up with her night- stand lamp already on.  No matter how many consecutive nights I had a dream she still looked at me like it was the first, and worst, of them all.  She slid to my side and attempted to caress me but her touch frightened me. 

              “What happened this time, hon?” she carefully said.  I knew she was asking about my dream.  I couldn’t wrap my head around it.  For the last seven months it had been the same dream as the night before but now it was something different.  A role reversal, if you will.  I knew Lindsey would follow me and we’d talk about it at the table so I left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen for a glass of juice.  She’d have a glass of water. 

              She sat across from me and listened to my attempt at explaining my dream.  

              “The reversed roles concept was so bizarre.  Seeing Jake shoot
me
.  Not Jake being shot by the cops,” I said.  “And it was
me
tripping on acid.  Seeing pirate ships and odd- colored elephants singing Christmas songs.”

              “Maybe you should make an appointment to see Dr. Sharper tomorrow.  Maybe this case you’re working on is causing some feelings to erupt again,” Lindsey said.  As amazing as she had been throughout this whole ordeal, I hated it when she became my homemade shrink.  I looked at her as she cautiously thought about the words of her next statement.  She finally said, “Maybe you’re not as ready to go back to work as you thought you were.”

              “I don’t know,” I said like a second grader going to the dentist. 

              “She’ll be able to help you,” Lindsey firmly stated.  Every time I had a dream or an ‘episode,’ as Dr. Sharper like to call them, Lindsey always started off by being comforting and supportive.  Once Dr. Sharper was mentioned she tried to put her foot down and we ended up fighting.  I’ve learned that I don’t have any patience for fighting with her, or anyone else for that matter, that I simply give in and let her think she’s won.  Especially in the middle of the night.

              Throughout our fifteen years together, since we were seniors in high school, Lindsey and I have been through quite a bit.  Her father unexpectedly dying of a heart attack the summer after we graduated high school.  My mother’s battle with cancer, which she has since beaten.  Lindsey’s brief battle with cocaine, which
she
has since beaten.  My cousin’s motorcycle accident.  All of these things altering our lives in some way, shape, or form but we were always able to recover from them.  Some took more from us- emotions, energy, and self- worth- while others gave us so much more- an overall appreciation for life, for who we were as people.  But since the incident, nothing seems to matter the same way anymore.  Everything seems to be breaking me down, which trickles down like an IV drip and effects Lindsey.  I knew there was a way to fix all of that but I didn’t know just how to do it. 

              I knew, as always, that Lindsey was right and this time was no different, but I tried as much as I could to avoid feeding her ego.  So I kept my mouth shut, looked her in the face, and nodded my agreement.

Third Journal Entry:

Here I am again!

I don’t know why I’m even still here.

Drew and I took the call and sped to the scene.

Chamberlain and Ryerson.

Ryerson and Chamberlain.

I can’t get myself to step foot in a 7-11 ever again!  Nope.  No way in hell!  Do they have 7-11’s in hell?  Guess I’ll get to find out when I die.

The blur of Jake inside that 7-11 through the large store- front windows.  My eyes were hazy through the glare of the blue and red police sirens flashing.

The Mets sweatshirt.  My Mets sweatshirt.

The gun.  My gun.

THIRTY THREE

Garvey was in his office when I got there bright and early the next morning..  He was on a call but waived me in when I knocked on the door.  I was gestured to the same chair I had taken on my last visit.  The stench of moldy pepperoni and stale beer filled the office.

              “Welcome back, Mr. Barnes.  What can I do for you?” Garvey asked while he hung up the phone.  “Any news on Esteban?” he added.  I didn’t want to tell him what I had up to this point, which wasn’t much anyway.  Five days and I was still pissing in the wind.  Some investigator I’m turning out to be.  Maybe I should go back to the insurance company and rot to hell behind a desk.

              “Why’d you become a principal?” I asked him and got the exact reaction I was hoping for.  Garvey was puzzled and twisted his chubby nose to ponder the question.  His nose was the color of a raw ham.  Then he giggled like a second grader who just heard the teacher fart. 

              “That’s an easy one, Mr. Barnes,” he said.  “I really enjoy kids.  I love being the one the kids rely on to help shape their futures.  It was one thing being a teacher but it’s a horse of a different color being a principal.  A different perspective.  An opportunity to lead our kids into the future.”  If I let him he would have talked until Christmas. 

              “I get that,” I said just to say something to cut him off.  “What can you tell me about Esteban?”  I watched him think and it actually made my brain hurt.  And made me a little nauseous.  I was waiting for him to use the end of his tie to sop up the loose puddles of sweat on his deeply crevassed forehead. 

              “I’m not sure what else you’re looking for.  As I told you yesterday.  Everything you would have to know about Esteban is in his file.  Would you like to see them again?”  Little did Garvey know that I already had a copy of everything at home. 

              “But I’d like to hear it from you,” I said.  He held my firm stare into his eyes for a few seconds then looked to something on his desk.

              Garvey uncomfortably adjusted himself in his chair.  The pained expression returned as he began to think again.  “Esteban has a difficult home life.  Mom works one shift while Dad works the other.  But Esteban should be lucky that he still has both his mom and dad in the picture at home because most kids here just have one, if that.  We have a lot of kids here from group homes and various types of shelters around the county.”  He branched off into a rant about how tough it must be to one of his students, living in the environment they do and who knows what else.  I reeled him back in.

              “Esteban,” was all I said.

              “Right, right.  Sorry.  Anyway, Esteban has a lot of siblings he has to compete with for attention at home, which is why I think he acts out so much.  We always tend to think that being the one of the oldest has its advantages, which it can, but in Esteban’s case, he’s got to compete with so many younger siblings.  From what I understand, Esteban is sometimes the primary caretaker during the day for his younger siblings.  I think his dad works odd jobs just to make ends meet.  To give a twelve, thirteen year old boy that much responsibility is way too much to ask.”  I was listening to what Garvey was saying because it actually made sense.  At the same time I was studying his facial expressions, trying to get any sort of read on him.  I’m good at multi- tasking.  From what I gathered, Garvey was being genuine and sincere.  He seemed like a good- hearted man, despite being a little flaky.

              He had lightly touched on my next anticipated question but I asked it anyway.  “Do you know for sure what Esteban’s father does for a living?”

              “We’re not really sure.  We’ve attempted to contact him several times since Esteban arrived here but there’s never any answer and the mother doesn’t give us a clear indication whenever asked,” Garvey said.

              I instantly made a mental note-
burner phones?

              I wanted to keep him talking.  “What is your relationship like with Esteban?”

              “My relationship?  I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” he said.

              “I mean how did you and Esteban get along?”

“I try to get along with all of my students just the same.  I like to think of myself as the consummate professional.  I don’t tend to favor one over the other, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

              “I’m not getting at anything.  Just asking a simple question,” I said.  “And I’m not asking about your relationship with your other students.  I’m asking about Esteban,”

              Garvey seemed to have disregarded my straightforwardness.  “We are big on incentives here as a way to motivate the most reluctant and oppositional students, such as Esteban.  The kids have plenty of opportunities on a daily basis to earn various things, such as extra independent computer time, being a helper, or an activity with a friend from another class.”  A bing- bong noise came from Garvey’s computer and he gave it a casual glance. 

              “Did Esteban like to earn these incentives?”  I was trying to hook Garvey on my line but he just wasn’t biting.  I wanted him to tell me what Lindsey told me earlier about Esteban being his ‘special helper.’

              “It depended on what the incentive is.  Esteban doesn’t like to be in class so he enjoys basketball in the gym, walks outside, going to the park.  Things like that.  He’s a kid that has a lot of pent up anxiety and energy and requires frequent breaks.”  Garvey swiveled his chair to check the bing- bong, which I saw was an email notification.  “He’s a kid that needs to be active as much as possible,” he added while glancing at his computer monitor.

              He obviously wasn’t biting so I had to pull out the big net. “Does he ever get to help you with special things?”

              “Not usually.  I’m a big advocate of the students having to earn the right to be a helper or any other incentive for that matter.  They have to learn that things aren’t just given to them.  They have to work for it.  Earn it.”

              I wondered why he lied.

              I thought about my conversation with Garvey and was convinced he was hiding something.  One way or another I was going to get it out of him.  At the same time, I didn’t want to have him connect the dots and get Lindsey in trouble for ratting him out.  I was thinking about applying even more direct pressure but I was afraid some of the fat would start to ooze through the seams of his cheap suit.

              Lindsey was in the middle of a lesson with her kids so I didn’t want to disrupt her.  She knew I was coming by but she constantly reminded me how difficult it was to get her kids back on task after an unexpected distraction.  I hate to think of myself as a distraction but, who am I to decide?  However, I did peek through the small rectangular window in her classroom door and stood watching what I assumed to be Esteban’s empty chair.  From the books the students had on their desks, it appeared Lindsey was doing some sort of science lesson.  Angling my body, I could see a computer image of an animal’s skeletal system being shown through the projector onto the white board. 

              As much of a turn on it was for me to watch Lindsey in action, I quietly left without any further disruption.

THIRTY FOUR

Sharper was able to fit me in.  She was willing to sacrifice her lunch to see me.  I felt so special.  Dr. Karen Sharper was a five- nine brunette with deeply set brown eyes.  She usually wore her hair loosely draped around her shoulders and hung down to the middle of her back but today it was tightly wound in a ponytail, exposing her slender neck.  When I walked into her office I instantly noticed the low- cut navy blue sleeveless sweater on top of white pleated dress pants.  I thought it was too warm outside for a sweater but she never seemed to care what I thought.  Rumor had it around the department that she became a cop shrink because her old man had gone off the deep end after serving too many years on the force.

              “Hello, Mr. Barnes,” she said.  It was the same professional greeting she gave me at the beginning of every session.  Her legs were crossed and she didn’t appear to catch me staring because even through her white slacks I could still catch a glimpse of her athletic tone.  Either that or she was immune to my ogling.  I prefaced my request for this emergency session with a brief synopsis of the dream I had so she said, “Tell me more about the dream.”

Normally, this is the time where I’d be super resistant and act like an adolescent refusing to do chores but I actually wanted to figure this one out.  “It was really bizarre,” I began.  She could tell I was already invested in this session with the way I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees rather than assuming the usual laid back, resistant pose. 

She was the only one knew most of what my dreams were about so we have to waste time comparing the two dreams.  “
I
was the one wearing my sweatshirt. 
I
was the one whacked out of my mind on acid. 
I
the one wearing the rainbow sneakers.  The sneakers. 
I
was the one holding up the 7-11 and wildly wielding my gun.”

I knew Sharper was listening while paying attention to my over exuberant hand gestures as I explained the dream.  “Come to think of it, I’m not sure if Jake was wearing my cop uniform or not.  I don’t remember,” I added.

“What happened at the end of the dream?” she asked. 

I froze.  Deer- already- getting- hit- by- the- truck frozen.  This is the point I was hoping to overcome today.  I was hoping to march into Sharper’s office and lay it all out on the table.  The full hand.  No more bluffs and no more wheeling and dealing under the table.  I knew it was time to be honest with someone.  But now that the time was in the present I reverted back to my old ways.  The cold sweats and stone- cold blood in my veins.  The clammy hands and razor sharp hair standing on the back of my neck.  The fear of finally revealing the truth. 

I shook my head, “No can do, Doc,” was all I said and started to get up to leave.

“Chase.”  Dr. Sharper had never mentioned my first name in isolation before and had never spoken to me in such a firm tone.  It made me stop dead in my tracks.  I’d just been scolded by my shrink.  I sat down.   She bore her tree-bark brown eyes through my face like a blowtorch through a paper plate.

She took a deep breath before continuing.  “Look, I know what happened, losing Jake, was tough on you and your wife.  And I’m here to try and help you.  You come in here every session with the same I- hate- the- world- and- the- world- hates- me attitude and we end up running around in circles until your time is up.  If you can’t tell me what really happened that night then we’re both going to end up dizzy from running these circles.  And I think it’s safe to assume that if you can’t tell me what happened you sure as hell haven’t told Lindsey.  Am I right?”

The question was rhetorical and we both knew it.

“You’re right, Doc.  About everything.  Lindsey doesn’t know; I can’t even remember the bullshit story I made up that she apparently bought because she’s been on my side and hasn’t asked any more questions.  It’s just that between the guilt and the dreams I don’t know what to do,” I said.

“Ok, let’s start with the dream last night.  How did you react when you woke up and realized it was a dream?”

              This is where I usually became aggravated but that was the past and this is now and I need to figure this shit out. 

              “I was freaked out just the same as waking up from any dream over the last six months.  Lindsey was up already before I realized it was a dream,” I said.

              Dr. Sharper continued to stare at me.  “Did you tell Lindsey about the dream?”

              “Yes.”

              “How did she react?”

              I thought about it a second.  “She listened, as usual, and then told me to make the appointment with you.”

              “And it was good of you to listen to her advice,” she said.

              “I suppose.”  I was beginning to grow frustrated but not at Sharper, just at life in general.  I usually felt like Sharper never offered me the assistance I needed when I came to see her.  Always questions followed up by more questions.  I usually felt like I was talking to myself.  I can’t count how many times I’d say to myself on the drive home, ‘If I wanted to offer myself psychological advice I’d stay home, save myself the hundred bucks a session, and talk to a mirror.’  But today was different.  What do the people of the psych world call it-
a breakthrough
?

I wasn’t sure why but I was starting to get another headache.  It wasn’t the typical sore- behind- the eyes or punch- me- in- the temples type of headache that I usually got after a session with Sharper.  This was more of a dull tingling on the top of my head.  Sometimes it would pulsate like I was receiving electric shock treatment on my brain.  They’d happened before but I had never mentioned it to Dr. Sharper because I didn’t think it was anything to worry about but since they were happening more and more over the last couple of weeks I figured it was worth mentioning.  “Hey, Doc.  I’ve been getting these headaches the last couple weeks.  They’re not like painful headaches but more like dull ones on the top of my head.  Feels like my hair follicles are vibrating.”