RELEASE TO OBLIVION

Bobby struggled to emerge from the fog surrounding his brain. He was confined; something held his arms in place. His head throbbed, and there were pricks of itchy pain on his left arm. His brain focused and Bobby realized he was in a hospital bed. “Alex,” he tried to call, but his throat was dry and the sound emerged as a croak.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Alex’s face hovered over him.

“She’s all right,” Bobby thought. “She’s here and…”

“Throat dry?” Alex asked. “Here, take a sip…” She bent the straw towards him, and Bobby sipped. The water was blessedly cool and soothing, although not as cool and soothing as Alex’s hand on his left arm.

“Better?” she asked.

He nodded. Beneath her sweatshirt he could just make out a bandage on her left shoulder. She looked pale and tired.

“Are you ok?” Bobby’s voice sounded weak even to him.

“Better than you,” Alex responded. “But I just got a nasty cut…your right side is bruised, you’ve got a slight concussion, and that lovely bit of needlework on your arm. And you were exhausted—you’ve been asleep for about twenty hours.”

Bobby stared at her. “Twenty hours?” He tried to raise himself on the bed. Alex stepped forward and rearranged his pillows.

“Yea,” she said. “Helluva way to avoid dealing with Carver.”

“The case…” Bobby winced as he raised his hand to his mouth, “what…”

“Fritz is trying for diminished capacity, but Carver’s determined he’ll serve some hard, long time. He’ll probably not be charged in the attacks on us, but he’ll get at least 20 years apiece for the murders.” Alex sat back down. “Fortunately the press hasn’t gotten too far with this one—Ericsson had several other reasons for being in the area, and it’s been reported as an unfortunate case of mistaken identity. And Marcella Torte has pulled a few strings…”

“You’ve talked to her?” Bobby wondered how he could still feel so exhausted after sleeping so long.

Alex nodded. “She’s not entirely happy—thinks that Lisa deserves better justice, but she doesn’t want to put Ericsson’s family through the wringer.” Alex stared out the window and sighed. “And the Feds and the state are happy…I think Deakins ran some interference…and somebody else may be dealing with our reports.”

“Fritz’s son…Isaac…” Bobby’s voice was low, and Alex strained to hear it.

“His mother took him and headed home to her parents somewhere in Oregon. She and Fritz were in the middle of a nasty split—his activities at the Surrender and other clubs a big contribution to it. George Fritz is not a nice guy, and apparently few people are crying for him. Too bad she didn’t get away from him before he traumatized his kid.”

“Well, we know that people …things get complicated…” Bobby plucked at the cover of the bed.

“Well, this case could’ve ended a lot worse. We ended up with a lot of people happy and we could’ve been in political quicksand.” Alex stood up. “You must be hungry…I’ll see if I can’t find a nurse, or even your doctor. You’ll like your doctor…she’s not unattractive…and she’s smart.” Alex smiled at him and waved as she went out the door.

“Much worse,” Bobby thought. “I could have lost you…”

Alex returned, followed by a nurse bearing a tray, and, a few moments later, Bobby’s doctor. Bobby poked at the food but couldn’t find the will for more than a few bites. His doctor told the nurse his lack of appetite was a reflection on the poor quality of the hospital food, and then informed Bobby he could leave the hospital that afternoon if someone could check on him.

“I can do that,” Alex said from the corner.

Bobby started to protest, but he was simply too weary, weak and eager to leave the hospital to argue. The doctor discharged him with a warning to take it easy.

Bobby sat uncomfortably in the cab’s back seat. His right side seemed to be a large bruise, the cut on his arm throbbed with sharp pain, and someone with a large hammer had taken up residency inside his head. But part of his mind, a very large and dark part, welcomed the pain and the release it provided from the buzzing thoughts in his head.

“Deakins said for both of us to take our time recuperating,” Alex spoke from her side of the cab. She wanted to tease Bobby about the Medal of Honor, and to let him know how proud she was to be his partner and friend, but she sensed this was not the time. “I thought we’d stop by your place for you to change, and maybe grab some dinner…or I could fix something…”

The cab pulled up in from of Bobby’s apartment building. “Look, Alex, I appreciate what…I do…but what I really want to do is to fall asleep in my own bed…”

“I said I’d check up on you…”

“Please..Alex…I…” Bobby looked so exhausted that Alex didn’t have the heart to press him. And his DO NOT TOUCH and DO NOT ENTER signs were back in force.

“Ok,” Alex said reluctantly. “But you call me later, or I’m calling you. And if I don’t get an answer I’ll show up with the NYPD SWAT team.”

Bobby gave her a wan smile. “Understood.”

“And Bobby…” He looked at her. “You did good…you did the right things…”

“Thank you,” he said softly, but Alex sensed he didn’t believe her.

Bobby lurched into his apartment, oddly grateful that there wasn’t any food to tempt him to try to eat. “Might as well get it over with,” he thought, and he dialed the number to Carmel Ridge. His mother’s doctor was still in and reported that Bobby’s mother was doing much better.

“We’ve tried to reach you several times, Mr. Goren,” the doctor said. “But we only got your voice mail.”

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry…my work…a case…”

“I understand, but it would be very helpful if you could come to see her soon.”

“Why,” Bobby thought, “does “I understand” sound like “you terrible jerk”?” He strengthened his grip on the phone. “I’ll be there this weekend—I’ll definitely be there.”

“Good,” the doctor replied. “If I’m not available, the nurse will have information.”

Bobby hung up the phone and picked up the bag of his clothes. His coat and suit might be salvageable; the cleaners on the corner had provided greater miracles for him. He rummaged through the pockets to empty them, and pulled the Surrender Club brochure from his jacket. His fingers seemed to move with a will of their own, and Bobby read the descriptions of the club’s services intently. He turned the brochure over and over again in his hands. “What am I becoming,” he thought. The bright part of his mind told him, “Call her. Have dinner with her.
She can help you.” But the dark side cast shadows in every corner of his brain. “Maybe I’ve always been this,” he thought. “I can’t touch her…can’t let her know…”

Bobby dropped the brochure and headed towards his bedroom. He shed his sweatshirt and pants and headed into the bathroom. He showered in stinging hot water, carefully washing around the stitches on his arm. Bobby finished, and stepped in front of the mirror. Cleaning away the fog, he stared for a few moments at the man in the mirror. “Do I know you at all?” he whispered. He bandaged his arm and brushed his teeth, but ignored shaving. He moved to the bedroom, and a few moments later Bobby, dressed in jeans and a sweater, emerged. He stopped to slip on his black leather jacket, slipped his wallet, keys, and cell phone into his pockets, and gathered the bloody coat and suit into his arms.

Mr. Yung at the cleaners gave him a slightly hard time. “Mr. Goren, you’re one of my best customers, but why do you give me these challenges?”

“Hey,” Bobby strained for a light tone. “I’m helping to send your girls to some of the finest colleges in America.”

Mr. Yung grinned at Bobby. “Ah, Mr. Goren, you know they’re on full scholarships. I’ll see if I can save these.”

Bobby’s cell phone rang as he stepped out of the cleaners. He recognized Alex’s number, briefly
considered not answering, but realized she would come looking for him if he didn’t.

“Hey, Eames.”

“Hey, yourself. You didn’t answer your phone at home. Do I hear traffic?”

“I was…just…taking my clothes to the cleaner.” Something inside of Bobby was slowly crumbling.

“What are you doing out? Hey, why don’t I come by with some Chinese food, or we can order a pizza…”

“No, Alex, please.” Bobby was on the verge of tears, and he struggled to keep his voice from betraying him. “I’m really tired…I promise…I’ll call you again…later, ok?”

“Bobby…”

“Please…Alex…I gotta go…” Bobby saw an empty cab and waved at it. “Thank you, Alex.”

“Don’t you hang up…” Bobby shut the cell phone off and put in his pocket as he entered the cab.

The cab pulled up at the corner closest to the Surrender Club. From inside the club, Jorge watched as the large man slipped out, paid the driver, and moved down the street. The new camera was expensive, but it was clearly needed, even if it failed to bring Lisa back. A second camera picked up the man as he approached the door and pushed the buzzer. The casual
clothes, the unruly hair, and, most of all, the slumped, defeated posture, kept Jorge from quickly recognizing the man, but he knew who the visitor was by the time he entered.

“Detective Goren—how may I help you?”

“I wonder,” Bobby could not get his eyes to meet Jorge’s, “if Ms. Torte is available…”

“For you, I believe so.” Jorge made a quick call while Bobby prowled listlessly around the reception area.

“She would be happy to see you—we’ll need to go around to the side entrance…the club’s rooms are in use.” Jorge indicated their direction, and they stepped out just as Alena entered to take Jorge’s place.

Jorge ushered Bobby into Marcella Torte’s outer office. She was waiting for them.

“Detective Goren,” she said guiding him into her main office. “A pleasure and a surprise. Detective Eames called me…told me you caught the man who hurt…” Her voice caught. “Thank you…I understand both you and Detective Eames were hurt…are you all right?”

Bobby nodded. His shoulder were slumped forward, his head bowed.

Marcella Torte examined him closely. She moved to stand in front of Bobby. “Do you need more
information? Anything for the case?” Her voice was soft, subtle, gentle.

Bobby shook his head. He could not find his voice.

Marcella Torte saw Bobby twist the Surrender Club brochure over and over in his hands. “This isn’t about the case…this is for our professional services,” she said.

Bobby nodded slowly.

“I think we might be able to add you to our clients.” She walked behind her desk, picked up the phone, and spoke briefly and softly to someone. Bobby, his heart pounding, body shaking, remained before her desk.

“Is there a name you wish to use?” There was no accusation, no anger in her voice. She stood before him again.

“Robert,” Bobby exhaled.

“Very well, Robert. Please…come with me.” She opened the door at the back of her office and led him into the dark.

End Chapter