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  HE STARED AT HER LYING in the bed. Sean turned to the doctor, who said, “Don’t worry, it’s not as serious as it looks. She had a concussion but otherwise the pictures of her head came back fine and there’s no internal bleeding. She got a tooth knocked out and suffered two cracked ribs and bruises over much of her body. She’s going to be in some pain when she wakes up, even with the meds.”

  Sean focused on the one thing that looked totally out of place: a handcuff on Michelle’s right wrist, with the other cuff attached to the bed’s side rail. And then there was the beefy cop parked outside who’d searched Sean for weapons and told him he had ten minutes with her.

  “What the hell happened?” Sean asked.

  “Your friend walked into a bar and picked a fight with a guy. A really big guy.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because the big guy’s down the hall getting worked on right now.”

  “She picked the fight?”

  “I assume that’s what the handcuff is for, although she’s in no shape to make a run for it. The other guy was pretty banged up too. She must be quite a pistol.”

  “You have no idea,” Sean muttered under his breath.

  After the doctor left, Sean drew nearer to the bed.

  “Michelle? Michelle, can you hear me?”

  All he got was a low moan. He backed out of the room, eyeing the handcuff with every step.

  It didn’t take Sean long to run down the full story. He had a buddy on the D.C. police force who checked the arrest report and filled him in.

  “It looks like the guy’s filing charges,” the detective told Sean over the phone.

  “And they’re sure she wasn’t provoked?”

  “About fifty witnesses swore she attacked the other guy. And what the hell was she doing in that part of D.C. in the first place, Sean? Did she have a death wish?”

  Did you have a death wish, Michelle?

  He ran into big Rodney in the hospital corridor. His girlfriend was with him, still sponging stains off her dress.

  “She’s been going through a really tough time,” Sean explained.

  “You think we give a shit!” the woman yelled.

  “I’m gonna sue her ass off!” Rodney bellowed.

  “Damn right,” his girlfriend said. “That bitch! Look at my clothes.”

  “She doesn’t have any assets,” Sean pointed out. “You can take her truck, but it’s got a hundred thousand miles on it.”

  The girlfriend said, “Ever heard of garnishment? We take her whole paycheck for the next twenty years. See how she likes that.”

  “No, you get a portion of her salary, but she doesn’t have a job either. In fact, after she gets out of here they’ll probably just take her back to the institute.”

  “Institute? What institute?” the girlfriend asked as she stopped rubbing her dress.

  “St. Elizabeth’s. You know, for people with mental problems.”

  “I don’t believe this shit,” Rodney exclaimed. “That bitch attacked me!”

  “You saying she’s nuts?” the woman asked anxiously.

  Sean eyed Rodney. “Come on, you think any sane person would take a run at him? Especially a woman?”

  “Damn, maybe the man’s right. I mean she’s got to be crazy to do that, right, baby?”

  “Well, I want money from somebody,” the woman said, hands on hips. She eyed Sean pointedly. “A friend will do just fine. Or Little Miss Karate Bitch and her bony white ass can do some jail time.”

  “Okay, I can probably raise some cash.”

  “How much cash?” the woman snapped.

  Sean quickly calculated what he had left in his account. “Ten thousand but that’s a stretch. It’ll pay your doctor bills and leave enough over to make you forget about it.”

  “Ten? You think I’m an idiot? I want fifty thousand!” the woman roared. “Doc says Rodney needs to get his knee scoped. And she broke his damn finger.”

  “I don’t have fifty grand.”

  “Well, I ain’t taking a penny under forty-five, I can tell you that,” the woman said. “Or we let this go to court and your friend can have a few years in prison to work on her damn anger management.”

  Sean said, “Okay, forty-five.” That took away every bit of their safety net.

  “And the bar got messed up too,” Rodney pointed out. “Man’s gonna want his money.”

  “Fifteen hundred to the bar guy. And that’s my final offer.”

  Early the next morning the matter was settled right outside the hospital. The prosecutor dropped his case when Rodney told them he wouldn’t press charges. As the big man folded the check he said, “I gotta hand it to her though, she nearly kicked my ass, but…”

  “But what?” Sean said quickly.

  Rodney shrugged. “She had me, man. I ain’t ashamed to admit it. She was doing that kung fu shit on me. But then right when she could’a taken me out for good, she threw this weak-ass kick. After that, it was all over. It was like she wanted me to bust her up. But she’s crazy, like you said.”

  Sean hustled back inside the hospital. He didn’t want Michelle to wake up with the handcuff still on.

  CHAPTER

  4

  HER FITNESS WAS SUCH that Michelle recovered quickly from her injuries, at least her physical injuries. The effects of the concussion wore off, the ribs started to heal, and a tooth was implanted to replace the one knocked out. Sean had checked into a motel near the hospital and was there with her every day. Yet then another problem cropped up. When Sean brought Michelle home from the hospital the locks on the guesthouse had been changed and their bags were packed and sitting on the porch. Sean called his buddy the owner. The man who answered the phone said that Sean should feel fortunate the owner was not filing assault charges against him for attacking his son with a bat. And the man added that Sean should never attempt to contact them again.

  Sean looked over at Michelle in the passenger seat. The woman’s eyes were blank, and it wasn’t just the pain meds.

  He said, “Uh, Michelle, they’re, uh, renovating the guesthouse. I knew about it, but forgot.”

  She just looked out the window, not registering on anything.

  He drove to a motel and checked into a double room, not trusting Michelle to be left alone. He had gotten cash from his bank, afraid even to look at the pitiful balance of funds left. At dinner that night Sean had takeout Chinese while Michelle, with her badly bruised jaw and newly installed tooth, could only drink liquids.

  He sat on the edge of her bed where she lay huddled. “I need to change the dressing on your face,” he said. “Okay?”

  She had superficial cuts on her jaw and forehead. Both areas were still tender to the touch and she flinched as he took the old bandages off.

  “Sorry.”

  “Just do it,” she snapped, startling him. He glanced at her eyes but they’d already retreated into a deep glaze.

  “How’re the ribs?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. She turned away from him.

  After he finished he said, “You need anything else?” No answer. “Michelle, we need to talk about this.”

  In response she lay back on the bed and curled into a ball.

  He stood and paced the room, his hand clasped around a bottle of beer. “Why in the hell would you take on a guy who looks like he could start at left tackle for the Redskins?”

  Silence.

  He stopped pacing. “Look, things will turn around. I’ve got a few leads on some work,” he added, lying. “Does that make you feel better?”

  “Stop, Sean.”

  “Stop what? Trying to be optimistic and supportive?”

  All that got in response from her was a grunt.

  “Look, you go into another bar like that, some guy’ll probably pull a gun and put a hole in your head and that’ll be it.”

  “Good!”

  “What is going on with you?”

  She stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. He c
ould hear her upchucking.

  “Michelle, are you all right? Do you need help?”

  “Leave me the hell alone!” she screamed.

  Sean stalked outside and sat by the motel’s pool, dangling his feet in the warm water and breathing in chlorine fumes while he finished his beer. It was a beautiful evening. And to top it off a cute, twenty-something lady had just slipped into the pool wearing a bikini that was so small it hardly qualified as clothing. She started doing laps, her strokes efficient, powerful. On the fourth lap she stopped and treaded water in front of him, her full breasts bobbing on the surface. “Care to race?”

  “From what I’ve seen of your performance, I doubt I could give you much competition.”

  “You ought to see me really perform. And I don’t mind giving lessons. I’m Jenny.”

  “Thanks for the invite, Jenny, but I’ll have to take a pass.”

  He got up and walked off. Over his shoulder he heard Jenny say in a disappointed tone, “God, why do I always pick the cute gay guys?”

  “Damn, this has been such a great day,” Sean muttered.

  When he got back to the room Michelle was asleep. He lay on the other bed staring at her.

  Two more days passed with no improvement. Sean made a decision. Whatever was hurting the lady, he simply didn’t have the tools to help her. Apparently, a deep friendship didn’t cut it with matters of a wounded soul. But he knew someone who might be able to help.

  CHAPTER

  5

  THE NEXT MORNING Sean called an old friend, Horatio Barnes, a psychologist in northern Virginia. In his fifties, Horatio wore a ponytail and sported a furry, silver goatee. He favored faded jeans and black T-shirts and rode a vintage Harley. He made a specialty of helping federal law enforcement folks through myriad problems caused by the stress related to their work, which is how Sean had met him.

  Sean filled Horatio in on the event at the bar and his discussion with Rodney about the fight. He made an appointment and took Michelle to see him under the pretense of a doctor’s visit for her injuries.

  Located in an otherwise abandoned warehouse, Horatio Barnes’s office was large and airy, with rows of dirty windows and books stacked on the floor. His desk was made out of construction sawhorses with what looked to be a large door placed across them. The man’s black Harley motorcycle was parked in one corner.

  “In this neighborhood, if I left it outside, it wouldn’t stay there, now would it?” he explained with a broad smile. “Okay, Sean, out of here. Michelle doesn’t need your sorry butt listening in while she tells me everything about herself.” Sean obediently left them, waiting in a small, cluttered anteroom. After an hour Horatio came out, leaving Michelle sitting in his office.

  “Okay, she’s got some serious issues going on,” Horatio said.

  “How serious?” Sean asked cautiously.

  “Deep enough to qualify for some inside time.”

  “Don’t you do that when you think the person’s a threat to herself or others?”

  “I believe she went into that bar partly to die.”

  Sean flinched. “Michelle said that?”

  “No. It’s my job to read between the lines.”

  “Where is this place?”

  Horatio said, “Reston. A private clinic. But it’s not cheap, my friend.”

  “I’ll get the money. Somehow.”

  Horatio sat down on an old packing crate and motioned for Sean to do the same. “So talk to me, Sean. Tell me what you think the problem is.”

  And Sean talked for a half-hour, explaining what had happened to them both in Wrightsburg.

  Horatio said, “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not both in therapy. You sure you’re okay?”

  “It affected us both, but Michelle was hit a lot harder.”

  “She obviously feels that she can’t trust her judgment anymore, and with her that’s a big deal.”

  Sean said, “And she cared for the guy too. And then to find out what he was really like. I guess that would screw anyone up.”

  Horatio scrutinized him. “And how did you feel about that?”

  Sean gaped. “A guy slaughtering a bunch of people? How the hell do you think I felt about it?”

  “No, I meant about Michelle becoming involved with another man?”

  Sean’s face took on a more subdued expression. “Oh. Well, I had my own personal involvement at the time.”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I was referring to.”

  Sean looked at him quizzically, but his friend didn’t pursue it.

  Sean said, “Do you think she can get better?”

  “If she really wants to. If she’s ambivalent about getting better we can at least show her the steps she can take to get there.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to get better?”

  “That’s a different planet altogether.” Horatio paused. “But remember that I said she was in that bar partly to die? Well, Michelle going in there and picking a fight with the biggest son of a bitch she could find may be the best sign that she actually wants to get better.”

  Sean looked at him oddly. “How do you figure that?”

  “It was a cry for help, Sean; an awkward one, but a cry nevertheless. What’s curious is why she chose now to do it. She’s obviously had these issues for a long time.”

  “Any guess?”

  “Like I said, she feels she can’t trust her instincts anymore. Next stop, that bar and the end of that guy’s fist. Her punishment.”

  “Punishment? For what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to admit herself to the facility?” Sean said.

  “We’ll never get an involuntary commit from a judge. Either she puts herself in or I have to counsel her on the outside.”

  “Then I’ll get her inside, somehow.”

  “How?”

  “By wearing my lawyer hat and lying my ass off.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  THAT EVENING SEAN SAT DOWN with Michelle back at the motel.

  “Look,” he began. “The guy you beat up filed assault charges against you. I can get them dropped without you appearing in court, but I know the judge is gonna want something from you.”

  She sat huddled in front of him. “Like what?”

  “Psychiatric treatment. Horatio knows of a place you can go.”

  She stared up at him. “You think I’m crazy?”

  “What I think doesn’t matter. Now if you want to get prosecuted for assault and spend some time inside another facility, fine. But if you voluntarily agree to admit yourself the charges get dropped. It’s a sweetheart deal.” He silently prayed she would never learn that this was