The Corners of My Mind (11 of 13)
MRiley99@AOL.COM
Mon, 15 Oct 2001 10:52:58 EDT
"He looks a little better," Joe observed.
"Looks can be deceiving," Vanya pointed out.
"Oh?"
She gestured toward the couch they had just vacated. "Just to
make sure there's no confusion on this, Richie gave me his
permission to discuss any aspects of his case with either of you.
He hasn't retracted that permission yet, but if he should. . ."
"We understand, Doc," Joe assured her, taking the seat she
indicated, suppressing a sigh of relief as the pressure eased on his
prostheses.
"I wouldn't be talking to you now, but I was hoping you could
shine some light on a few areas for me, Duncan," she said, waiting
for the Scot to take the seat across from her before continuing.
"Richie was pretty agitated this afternoon. I think we may have
finally turned a corner in his treatment."
"Did the picture of Tessa play a part in it?"
"It was instrumental, Duncan, thank you." She settled back on the
couch and addressed them both. "Up to this point Richie has been
making a concerted effort to keep his emotions reined in, at least
around me. That photo brought his defenses down, temporarily at
any rate."
Joe rubbed at one sideburn distractedly and leaned forward in his
seat. "Why would a picture bring the kid around?"
"Memories, Joe. Our lives are made up of them. Good, bad, they
make us who we are, and. . .sometimes. . .they haunt us." Her
voice sounded hollow, her gaze locked on a point beyond Duncan's
left shoulder. She shook her head after a moment of silence, and
gave the pair a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry. Sleepless nights
seem to be catching." She saw understanding in Duncan's face and
she was grateful for it. All Immortals, it seemed, were haunted by
memories.
"What kind of break-through did you have?" he asked at last.
"A very important one, I think. He spoke of Tessa at length,
running the gauntlet of emotions from happiness to anger. It's only
a suspicion at this point, but I don't believe he's dealt with his
feelings about losing her yet. He seems to be almost afraid to deal
with them."
"Richie? Afraid?" Joe repeated, giving a caustic snort. "That kid
isn't afraid of anything. He runs headlong into trouble like it was a
romp in the park."
"Perhaps," she allowed. "There may be reasons behind that, as
well. But on the subject of Tessa's last night, Richie discussed
what happened up to the shooting, then skipped to finding an
apartment and selling the store, as if one led to the other, with
nothing in between. Duncan, do you recall what you did in the
days afterwards?" She pinned him in place with a look.
"Just worked at getting through each day. I went through some of
Tessa's things and wandered around the apartment in a daze. I
spoke with her family in France and arranged for the. . .body to be
transported there. Her parents wanted her nearby." He swallowed
heavily before continuing his recitation. "Richie helped me move
into the loft and handled a few legal matters for me. That's about
it."
"And you wept," Vanya added.
"Yes."
"Did you ever see Richie cry for Tessa, for himself?"
"I've never seen Richie cry, period," Duncan acknowledged,
startled at the realization.
"Never?"
"No. From something she told me I'm pretty sure he cried in front
of Tessa, at least once, but never in front of me."
"That's not uncommon among males. Maybe he felt he couldn't
cry in front of you."
"Maybe," Duncan droned, but he didn't look happy about it.
"Hmm. From what little Richie told me, it seems while you were
mourning Tessa's death, he was focusing on you and the sale of the
store and finding a place to live. It didn't sound as if he dealt with
his own grief at all. Add to that the guilt he's apparently been
carrying around for two years, and you could have a highly volatile
time bomb on your hands."
"What guilt?" Duncan asked, perplexed. "What would Richie have
to feel guilty about?"
"Living. It's called survivor's guilt. It's quite common among
survivors of plane crashes or other disasters."
"I saw some of that after Nam," Joe admitted, looking grim.
"Yes. Survivors feel an almost overwhelming guilt because they
lived, when friends and loved ones didn't. Did Richie give some
indication that he was troubled after the robbery and the
subsequent deaths? When you talked about it afterwards, was he
open about his feelings?"
"We...we didn't talk about it," Duncan admitted ruefully. "He
seemed to be handling it all right."
Vanya grew quiet at that, studying the Immortal across from her.
"Do you think Richie feels indebted to you?"
The Scot ducked his head, staring at the floor tiles a moment, then
met her gaze squarely. "Probably. I felt indebted to my teacher. I
suppose it's natural."
"Yes, I suppose it is, though I'm speaking of the time before he was
thrust into immortality. Do you think he felt the same
indebtedness then?"
"Tessa and I took him off the street when he was just shy of his
eighteenth birthday. I may have had a hidden agenda at first -
keeping an eye on a pre-Immortal - but he didn't know that. That
didn't last, anyway. After a month or two, Richie was like family -
Tessa thought so, too - but, yes, I would say he did feel like he
owed me something. He was usually pretty eager to please." It
was his turn to study her. "You think all of this is tied into his
sleepwalking somehow?"
"I think it explains why he put on a happy face after losing her,
instead of screaming to the heavens at the injustice of it all. You
needed him. For whatever reason, he was your rock, your anchor
in those weeks after Tessa's death. Does it have something to do
with his sleepwalking and suicide attempts? That's yet to be seen."
A car horn sounded out front to the tune of Shave and a Haircut,
effectively ending their discussion.
"Somebody's getting impatient," Joe said, chuckling as he
snatched up his cane, using it as leverage to push himself to his
feet.
"I've kept you longer than I intended," Vanya apologized, smiling
as Duncan waited for her to get to her feet before he did the same.
"I have a meeting tomorrow I can't cancel," she explained, walking
with them to the door. "Do you think you could bring Richie by an
hour later than usual?"
"That shouldn't be a problem. I'll ask one of our regulars if he can
man the dojo for us. If not, I'll just shut the place up for the
afternoon."
"You could have him come alone," she pointed out.
"No. Richie's my student, and my friend. I want to be here."
Her smile was radiant. "At the risk of repeating myself, Richie is a
lucky young man." She included Joe in her praise, then waved
them through the door before turning back to her office, her own
pain at outliving so many loved ones a dull ache within her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Right on time, as usual, I see," Vanya said brightly, greeting
Richie and Duncan in the lobby, as had become her custom.
"Don't look at me," Richie grumbled. "Mac can't stand to be late.
In case you haven't noticed, anal's his middle name."
The Highlander scowled in his direction but, as this was true for
the most part, decided to hold his tongue.
"Hmm," Vanya murmured, giving the pair the once-over, noting
with a dissatisfied sigh that both Immortals were sporting dark
circles under their eyes. "You two don't appear to have gotten
much sleep again last night."
"Good guess," Richie muttered darkly, toeing the carpet with one
foot, eyes refusing to meet hers.
Duncan was even less communicative, settling for a bass grunt of
agreement, his stance rigid and unyielding.
"Is there something I should know?" she asked, as neither man
seemed inclined to volunteer the information.
"No, nothing," Richie replied before the man at his side could even
open his mouth.
Duncan settled into a scowl at that, lips compressed into a thin
line, looking for all the world as if he would like to do the younger
Immortal a violence, or at least shake him till his teeth rattled.
"In that case, shall we?" Vanya offered, throwing her left arm wide
to encompass the entry to her office, following along behind
Richie as he reluctantly trudged ahead.
She cast an understanding smile in Duncan's direction before
closing the door, then turned to see her young charge drop down
onto the couch. Walking around to face him, she was both amused
and curious as the redhead folded his arms across his chest in a
decidedly defiant stance and took on an aspect that could only be
called petulant.
"Do you feel like discussing what's going on between you and
Duncan today?" she asked patiently, settling on the edge of her
chair.
"No," was the sullen reply.
"All right."
Richie sighed heavily, giving her the barest of grins. "Sorry. I
guess I'm not very good company right now."
"It's not a prerequisite for the position of patient," she quipped,
trying to draw a real smile out of him. Her attempt fell short.
"Hmm, mad at the world, or someone in particular?"
"It's Mac. It's not bad enough that he has to follow me everywhere
I go, now he wants to 'talk'."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"This is Mac we're talking about here. You know, Mister Stoic
himself? Getting him to talk about things is usually like pulling
teeth. Then last night he started dogging me, asking me how I
felt? Was there anything I wanted to talk about? Telling me it was
all right to cry if I felt like it. I mean come ooooon, what is *that*
all about?"
Vanya suppressed a smile. It seemed the Scot had taken their
discussion about Richie and his feelings to heart. Perhaps too
much so, if the redhead's reaction was any indication. Then again,
maybe Duncan had the right idea. Perhaps it was time to push a
bit harder.
"And he totally overreacted to a bad dream I had last night," Richie
continued, oblivious to Korsikov's musings. "I've had it plenty of
times before, but you'd think it was headline news the way he was
acting."
"It must have been pretty frightening if it woke you both."
"It was nothing. . .a nightmare. It's not worth making a big deal
over."
"I'd like to judge that for myself, Richie," she scolded, then
softened her tone. "All right?"
"Yeah, okay," he capitulated, eyeing this new side of Vanya
warily.
"Good." She abandoned her chair to sit beside him on the couch.
"What do you remember?"
He took a deep breath and blew it out, hesitant to reenter this
particular field of dreams. "It's dark. . .night."
"Go on," she urged when he hesitated.
Richie raised a hand to his head, rubbing at one temple
distractedly. "I'm searching for something, but I can't find it. It's
black as pitch, I can barely see more than a few steps in front of
me, but I know I don't have much time. I have to find it."
"Find what? Do you know?"
He shook his head, trying to envision it. "It's never clear. There's
just this sense of urgency, and I know I have to hurry. I start
running and. . .there's a light, so I run toward it." His breathing
quickened, chest rising and falling as if he were reliving the
events. "I'm almost there when somebody screams. . .a woman. It
seems to go on and on and I cover my ears but I can still hear it.
That's when I see them."
"Who, Richie? Who do you see?"
"Mac. . .and Tessa. He's. . .holding her and her eyes are open," he
gasped out, his breathing sounding harsh and loud in the closed
room. "He looks up and sees me standing there, and he doesn't say
anything, he just. . .*points* at me. I open my mouth to say
something, but nothing comes out and. . .I start backing away. .
.and then. . .I realize. . .she's looking at me, too. . .and. . .she
knows."
Vanya was caught between wanting to hold him and chase the
demons away, and needing to push him further; she steeled herself
against the emotional fallout and chose the latter. "What does she
know, Richie?"