Part 7 (Some mild language)

Dr. LaKaison still had not arrived at 3:00, but Peter listened to a one-sided phone conversation that convinced him of the wisdom of staying.

"Dr. LaKaison’s office. How may I help you?"the receptionist answered the millionth call since Peter had started pacing in the waiting room.

"Yes, Captain. That individual did arrive for his appointment." Her glancing look at the nervous detective confirmed that he was the topic of conversation.

*Damn her* Peter thought. *Checking up on me like I was a child.* A moment later, however, and two rounds of the waiting room, he chuckled slightly. The receptionist glanced up without seeming to and then returned to her files. *Guess she knows me better than I thought she did,* he conceded to himself.

It was almost 4:30 when an attractive brunette rushed into the office carrying a briefcase. By that time, Peter was ready to climb the walls, ceiling and onto the roof. Waiting was not something that he did well. Waiting when he did not relish what he was waiting for was even worse.

"Katie, did you cancel all the rest of my appointments for the day?" the brunette asked the woman at the desk.

"Yes, Dr. LaKaison. Mr. Caine has been here since 2:30," she spoke in low tones to her employer. "He is getting somewhat agitated."

The pretty doctor smiled quickly, then turned to the man pacing a marathon in her waiting room. She met his eyes without flinching or showing emotion. Her well-manicured hand extended in a greeting. Peter took the hand and shook it gently.

"I am Jessica LaKaison, Mr. Caine. Please, come into my office while I get settled in. I am sorry that I was called away and unable to be on time," she apologized, flashing a beautiful smile, calculated to diffuse any anger there might be. It worked.

"Katie, why don’t you go ahead and go. I will do the preliminary visit and paperwork with Mr. Caine," she dismissed the blonde behind the desk without looking up from the folder that the woman had handed her. It did not seem to bother the receptionist, however. She merely acknowledged the release, and gathered her belongings. She was out of the office before Peter was through the door into Dr. LaKaison’s office.

Peter resumed his pacing in the office even though the psychiatrist gestured for him to sit. He didn’t like head shrinkers. He didn’t like them at all. At the orphanage the staff psychologist was always trying to get into his mind. It had felt as if his soul was being invaded.

"Peter. . . May I call you Peter?" she questioned, waiting for his nod before proceeding. "I have been in contact with Karen Simms and that is why you are here. Obviously, you don’t feel comfortable with this."

"Astute observation," Peter replied with more sarcasm than he meant to. She ignored the cutting edge on him comment and continued. Over the next forty minutes, she asked pointed questions, and he pointedly avoided giving straight answers. His temper flared a couple of times, as did the deep sadness that had overtaken him since he had walked into Billy Grayson’s bedroom.

"I won’t lie to you, Peter," she started, still reading the folder in her hands. "Your captain is concerned, and she has a right to be. I don’t know *you*, but I know the signs of severe clinical depression You are clearly suffering from sleep deprivation. You are nervous and agitated. From the report that Captain Simms faxed over, and what I saw on the news last night, I know you experienced a deep emotional trauma yesterday. You work in a job, Detective, that requires steady nerves and complete concentration. I see that those are lacking at the moment."

"Now just a damn minute," Peter began, bristling at her pronouncing judgment on him without ever giving him a chance. She had no idea what he had been through, what had transpired over the last 15 or so years of his life. To simply tell him that he was unfit for the job with only a little over half an hour of conversation was completely out of line in his view.

"No, you wait, Detective Caine. Karen Simms sent you here today so that she wouldn’t have to place you on stress disability and lose her best homicide cop. I have read her account of your reaction to Billy Grayson’s homicide, and I have to agree with her, that you are in serious need of help. You are in a crisis situation. I have to have your complete cooperation, or I will be forced to sign off on her recommendation for a two week stress leave. Are you ready to cooperate, Detective Caine?"

"You play hardball," Peter sighed, feeling the world once again descend on his shoulders. He lowered himself into the chair facing her desk, defeated.

"Damn straight." she shot back at him. "First thing I am going to do is restrict your case load. I won’t yank you off the streets yet, but if it comes to that, I will." She waved off his attempt to interrupt. "Next, I am going to prescribe a sedative at bedtime to help you sleep. I want you to take them every night for the next two weeks, even if you don’t think you need them. I am also going to place you on a mild antidepressant once a day. I will start with the lowest dosage available and adjust upward if needed. I will be monitoring you blood levels, so don’t try to skip."

"Last of all, I want to try some hypnotherapy, starting tonight and every evening for the next two weeks. Before you say anything, only the first five sessions have to be here at the office. After that we can conduct the hypnotherapy over the phone."

"Damn it, Doctor!" Peter snapped vehemently. "I don’t even take aspirin if I can help it and you want to turn me into some kind of drugged-out zombie. How the Hell can I function with all that shit in my system?"

"All that *shit* in you system might be the only thing that *does* allow you to function," Jessica LaKaison matched him shout for shout. "May I remind you that you ran from a crime scene, that you nearly passed out on your partner, that you can’t or won’t sleep, and as far as I can tell, you probably haven’t been eating either. What makes you think you can *function* like that, *Detective?* How long before you get yourself. . . or your partner. . . killed because you aren’t thinking straight?"

Peter looked down at the floor. This woman was pulling no punches and pushing every button he had. She didn’t fit his preconceived idea of how a shrink was supposed to act. All the psychologists at the orphanage had been so. . . so. . . gentle. Jessica LaKaison left the young detective feeling like he had gone sixteen rounds barefisted with Mike Tyson.

"Okay, I’ll go along," Peter conceded. "Tell me, Doc, are you this rough on all your clientele?"

"Sometimes I have to be. Didn’t Captain Simms tell you? I handle both sides of the justice system. I consult with the police department to handle officer referrals, but I also treat the people they hunt," Jessica answered, her tone somehow sharper than before. Peter listened to her last sentence and played it over in his mind. ". . . the people they hunt." It seemed an unusual way to describe criminals. He would have to ask her about that someday. . . once she finished with him.

"In that case, Detective, let’s get started with the hypnotherapy. I am going to give you an injection, just something to relax you and make you susceptible to hypnosis. From what Captain Simms tells me, you have a strong personality and would probably resist any attempt at hypnosis without it. Turn around, unfasten you pants and pull them down slightly. I have to give this in the hip. It will sting a bit. . ."

[end part 7]

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Part 8

Peter remembered nothing of the hypnotherapy session. In fact, everything from the moment the drugs had caused his vision to blur until the next morning was missing from his mental files. He awoke, somewhat refreshed, in his own bed. The alarm clock on the bedside stand told him that he had plenty of time to shower and perhaps even have breakfast. He threw back the covers and was surprised to find he was completely naked. He usually slept in running shorts or boxers. He had been surprised one too many times at night in the past by Sing Wah to leave himself so vulnerable.

The shower seemed to clear his slightly fuzzy head, but a quick check of his food supply found nothing that he wished to put in his queasy stomach. He opted for microwaved instant coffee. Without even realizing that he had done it, he retrieved a tiny blue pill from an amber bottle on the counter and washed it down with the too-strong coffee. He tucked the bottle in his jacket pocket.

Locking his front door as he left, he realized that he didn’t know where he had parked the Stealth, or *if* he had parked the sleek blue auto. He didn’t remember driving home, nor did he remember leaving the doctor’s office. It made him vaguely uneasy.

Not finding the Stealth parked in any of his usual spaces, he took a taxi to the precinct. Strenlich could not hold back the comment that formed on his lips.

"On time two days in a row, Peter?" he asked incredulously. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Ha Ha." Peter answered mirthlessly, making his way to his desk. There were two pink folded messages taped to the handset of his phone. He peeled the first open and read it. It was a call from Jules, his favorite body shop owner, asking him to call. The other was a message to call Dr. LaKaison as soon as he got in. He laid that message aside as he dialed Jules’ number.

"What the Hell happened to you, Caine?" Julia Louise Taylor’s sexy voice came over the phone. "You were supposed to pick up the Stealth day before yesterday. I put a rush on it so that it would be done by the time you got off work and you don’t even show. You owe me big time for this one, Hot Shot." Her words suggested anger, but her tone was pure tease. Julia and Peter had been trading gentle insults for almost two years. If timing had ever been in their favor, they probably would have become lovers. As it was, one of them was always involved in a relationship when the other was free. Peter pictured her slender form and flaming red hair, then sighed. Too late again. Julia had introduced him to Todd, her latest, when he had dropped the Stealth off.

"Jules, God, I’m sorry. I had something come up. It’s this case I’ve been working on. I couldn’t get away. I’ll be over at lunch to pick it up. Forgive me?" he apologized, the events of the last two days flashing through his mind. *Gee,* he thought. *Should I tell her that a nine-year-old boy died because of me and I ran from the crime scene. Should I tell her that I couldn’t pick up the car because I freaked out and had to have my buddy from the precinct babysit me. How about telling her that I didn’t make it yesterday because I am seeing some shrink and was so spaced out on drugs that I don’t remember getting home?*

"Okay, Petie, but you still owe me lunch at least. I get to pick the place. I’ll meet you at Delancey’s with the Stealth. You can give me a ride back to the shop after you buy me an outrageously expensive meal," she smiled through the phone. "See you at 12:30."

Peter was still smiling when he dialed the number on the second note.

***

The morning drug by at a snail’s pace. Peter was stuck in front of his computer terminal the entire morning. Captain Simms had demanded written updates on all of his current cases. He looked at the stack of files on his desk to find that it was considerably smaller than it had been the previous day. He strode to the Captain’s office, pausing only to tap a request for entry on the door frame.

"Enter, Detective Caine," Karen Simms spoke without looking up from her paperwork. He closed the door behind him as he entered the office. The blonde Captain looked up and sat back in her chair. Her face indicated that she was bracing for battle.

"I suppose you are here about your case load?" she asked, knowing the look in his eyes. She waved his attempt to speak away. "Dr. LaKaison suggested that you be put on light duty for a couple of days until you adjust to the medication she gave you. I had the Chief redistribute the cases in which you were not impossibly entrenched."

"Damn, Captain, does everyone out there know I went crazy?" Peter asked plaintively. He felt his face flush red with humiliation.

"First of all, Detective, you are no more *crazy* than you have always been. Secondly, no one with the exception of you and I know that you are seeing Dr. LaKaison," the woman at the desk told her detective firmly.

"Kermit knows,too," Peter told her. "I told him."

"I don’t think you have to worry about Detective Griffin sharing that information with anyone. He has a habit of keeping secrets," the Captain understated. "Peter, you have to accept this situation for what it is. You are not less of a cop for reacting as you did at the Grayson house. I would have worried more if you have not. I just think that you need help with this. In the absence of you father or Captain Blaisdell, I believe that talking to Dr. LaKaison is your best option. Take that option and use it to your advantage."

Peter nodded, not meeting her gaze, and returned to his desk. He ignored the eyes on him, and reached for a file folder to begin his assigned task.

***

Jules Taylor watched Peter walk into Delancey’s Tavern and was shocked by what she saw. She had expected that cute swagger in his step and a sparkle in his eyes. What she got was a shadow of the man she knew. His shoulders had lost their square set, his eyes were dark-ringed and bloodshot. His cheekbones, one of the things that gave him part of his chiseled good looks, stood out starkly. He had lost weight and lost sleep. The Peter in front of her was obviously troubled. He seemed distracted throughout the meal, not really listening to her banter. Julie frowned as she watched him move his food from one side of his plate to the other without consuming any of it. Dropping the pretense of eating as Julie finished her meal, Peter reached for his coffee cup, draining the contents. She made a mental note to call Kermit when she got back to the shop. Maybe he could shed some light on what had happened to the young man in front of her.

[end part 8]

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