I smiled inwardly for a moment. Score another one for me. If things kept falling into place this quickly, I just might get the gift of my sanity for Christmas.
“Good morning, Miz Hodges,” Ben greeted the young woman as we ventured into the room.
“Detective McLaughlin told me that you work with Homicide,” Miranda ventured.
“That’s right,” he answered.
She looked past Ben and locked her eyes on mine. “Are you with Homicide too, Detective Gant?”
“Mister Gant is a consultant,” Ben told her, answering before I could open my mouth and heavily stressing the Mister. “He’s helping us with another case, and I thought his input might be valuable here. But if you’re uncomfortable…” he allowed the comment to hang, unfinished.
“No,” she shook her head. “No, it’s fine. What kind of consultant?”
“Umm…”
“Latent memory analysis and dream interpretation,” I interjected, plucking something impressive sounding out of the air since Ben seemed at a momentary loss. I knew full well that I was stepping outside the boundaries that he’d set, but I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity.
I’d been allowing everyone else to guide me for far too long. I had come to the conclusion that it was my turn to drive.
“So like a psychiatrist then,” she said.
“Not exactly,” I told her with a shrug and then nodded as I moved closer to the table. “But something similar I suppose.”
“I’m not crazy,” she immediately announced.
“No one thinks you’re crazy, Miz Hodges,” Charlee told her.
I could feel Ben’s stare burning a large hole in my back. I was going to be in deep trouble with him when this was all over, but I knew he wouldn’t make a scene. Not in here, and not as long as things remained on an even keel anyway. Still, the only way I was going to redeem myself in the least was if I could make some progress, so I continued.
“Not at all,” I echoed. “I’m just here to help you with your memory, but if you’d rather I leave, I’ll certainly understand.”
She sat quietly for a long stretch before finally answering, “I’m not so sure I want to remember.”
“That’s perfectly normal,” I offered calmly, pressing my voice into a soothing monotone. “But eventually we always do. Perhaps not everything, but enough to fill in at least some of the blanks.”
Her eyes were fixed with mine, and she gave me a nervous smile before looking down at the table. She was outwardly displaying a tenuous amount of confidence in my presence here, and I accepted it for what it was worth. I fought back my own desire to rush headlong into a series of questions and ushered it into the background. I couldn’t afford to betray her trust, nor did I want to.
“I have plenty of those.” She let out a forced laugh. “Blanks I mean.”
“Rohypnol does that,” Charlee told her. “That’s one of the reasons it’s called the date rape drug.”
I continued to watch the young woman, not placing any demands on the situation but keeping my attention focused directly on her. Engaging in a simple exercise, I allowed my breathing to grow more and more shallow as I drew air slowly in through my nose and let it escape from my mouth in a quiet stream.
“While it may seem painful at first, Miranda,” I offered, keeping the measure of my voice even, “filling in those blanks can offer closure.”
She turned her gaze back to me and brought her eyes to rest directly on mine once again. I continued to stare, unblinking as I spoke, “And with that closure can come peace of mind.”
She was beginning to relax as I soothed her with my voice. I could feel a connection beginning to flow between us, and I prepared to press forward. Ben, however, immediately figured out what I was about to do. He had seen me enter into such a hypnotic state before, and he wasn’t going to allow it this time around.
My friend cleared his throat with almost over-animated gusto and bumped against me. I was betting the move was no accident.
“Excuse me,” he offered the bogus apology, grabbing my arm as I stumbled. “Clumsy of me. Sorry ‘bout that, Mister Gant.”
When I caught his eye I knew I’d won my bet. But it didn’t matter. He’d done what he set out to do. The thin connection was broken and Miranda Hodges, wearing a mildly bewildered expression as if she’d just awoke, shook her head and blinked.
“I want you ta’ know I appreciate ya’ talking to us,” Ben offered, stepping farther forward and insinuating himself even more prominently into the scene.
“So why are you interested in this, Detective Storm?” Miranda turned her attention to Ben as she took a hit from her cigarette. “Did…did the sonofabitch that raped me kill someone too?”
“We don’t know for sure,” he told her. “But I’ll be honest, yes, that is a possibility. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Her reaction was instantaneous and not all that unexpected.
“Oh my God,” she whimpered as she brought her hand up to her mouth. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and blinked hard before squeezing them tightly shut. She let out a low, nasal whine as she began trembling. Large tears proceeded to roll down her cheeks, and we all stood in awkward silence.
I personally erected a shabby wall of ethereal defense against the woman’s burgeoning emotions as I felt a lump begin to rise in my throat. Apparently the empathy I had been missing seemed to have chosen this inopportune moment to return.
I managed to stave it off, thankful that the distress wasn’t aimed directly at me because I still wasn’t all that well grounded. Right now, I needed to take things one at a time.
Charlee found a box of tissues and offered it to the young woman. She took them and sniffed loudly as she dabbed at the tears, and then looked up at us and weakly uttered, “I’m sorry.”
“S’okay,” Ben told her. “Can we get ya’ anything? Maybe somethin’ ta’ drink? Coffee? Soda? Water?”
“A soda,” she nodded. “A soda would be good.”
“Particular kind?”
“Anything diet.”
“How about you, Chuck?”
“Coffee’s good. Two creams, four sugars.”
“Okay, one diet soda and one coffee, two by four,” Ben repeated. “Come on, Rowan, why don’t ya’ come with and gimme a hand. Ladies, we’ll be right back.”
“Just what the fuck was that?” Ben snarled at me as we entered the corridor and rounded the corner toward the vending machines.
I didn’t answer and just kept walking.
“You were tryin’ ta’ do one of those hocus-pocus things, weren’t ya’?” he continued angrily.
I felt his large hand come down in a firm grip on my shoulder, and with a quick jerk he twisted me around. “Goddammit, Rowan! Don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to you!”
“Back off, Ben,” I spat.
“Me back off?” he asked, incredulity coloring the question. “I talked to ya’ about this before we went in there. You promised me ya’ wouldn’t do any of that shit.”
“I didn’t promise you anything,” I shot back. “I said I’d try. That’s it.”
“Ya’ didn’t try very fuckin’ hard!”
The few people that were in the hallway were giving us wide berth as each of them selected the nearest escape route. Ben was seething, and the very sight of him like this tended to strike fear directly into the heart. He hadn’t been willing to make a scene in front of Miranda Hodges, but apparently once the door to the interview room had closed he had no problem at all with us being center stage.
“Guess again! I’ve been trying ‘very fucking hard’ for a week now. Maybe it’s your turn!”
My comment took him completely by surprise. He just stared at me dumbfounded with his jaw hanging open. Whatever biting comment he’d been prepared to hurl at me had instantly evaporated into nothingness. After a moment he spoke, this time with a little less fire in his voice. “So what the hell is that s’posed ta’ mean?”
I sighed and consciously forced some of my own anger to drain away. “It means that it’s time you started trusting me again.”