Simple Genius (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 3)

51

MICHELLE SPENT THE NEXT HOUR going through the mansion’s main floor as methodically and yet unobtrusively as possible. She made rounds through the billiards room, the vast library, a smoking room, gun room with ancient rifles and shotguns kept behind iron grille doors, a parlor, and a trophy room with the requisite animal heads on the walls. Yet nowhere did she see any indication of a room that wasn’t supposed to be there. Tired of dark worm-eaten paneling, thick Persian rugs underfoot, the musty smell of another century grabbing at her twenty-first-century edges, and weary of making no progress she went outside to ponder her options.

It was too early to get Viggie, and yet it took another half-hour of fits and starts before Michelle climbed in her truck and drove to see Horatio.

“I’m doing this only for Sean,” she said as they sat down in the same room where Horatio had met with Viggie earlier.

“I’m just glad you’re here, whatever your motivation. You really left an impression on the psych facility, I can tell you that. You caught a criminal and literally saved that woman’s life. That has to make you feel good.”

“Yeah, I was feeling really good until Sean said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I’m just trying to do my job any way I can.”

“Look, let’s cut to the chase. I attended my little sessions, did my little exercises, answered your insulting questions, spilled my soul, caught a drug dealer and, like you said, saved a woman’s life. I think we can conclude that I’m cured, so we can just stop spending Sean’s money, okay? Now I’m going to go back to doing my job. And why don’t you go back to whatever it is you do, I guess I’ve never really been clear on that.” She got up.

The bark of his voice startled her. “You’re not cured. You’re not even close to being cured. You’re totally and completely fucked up, lady. Things will continue to spiral down and the day will come when you’re doing your job that you totally whack out and get yourself and maybe Sean killed. Now if you’re cool with that, keep on walking, climb in that Dumpster you call a ride and drive off into the sunsets of a gathering hell. But don’t sit here and think that you’re cured, because that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. People who want to get better, they work at it. They don’t lie to themselves and everyone else. They don’t sit on their ass and sink deeper into a pathetic existence while denying anything’s wrong at all. They have balls not bullshit. And I’m pretty much fed up with yours.”

Michelle felt a blinding fury gathering inside her. Her fists clenched, her body tensed to strike.

He calmly continued. “See how much anger you have inside your gut right now? You see how quick it is to build, Mick? Just because of a few words I said. True words by the way, but still just words. That’s called losing your self-control. You want to kill me, right? I know you do. I can see it in every molecule. Same way you wanted to kill that poor slob back at the bar. The difference is at the bar you had to get wasted first before the rage became so bad you just had to release it on another human being. This time you’re stone-cold sober and that rage is taking control of you and makes you want to knock my head off. That’s what I meant by things spiraling down. What next? Will the rage be triggered by the way some stranger looks at you on the street? Or bumps into you on the subway? Or maybe just the way someone smells? It all comes down to that inner rage, Michelle. And you have to deal with yours right now.”

“And if I don’t?” she said hollowly.

“You lose. And the demons win. It’s your choice.”

Slowly, by almost imperceptible degrees of movement, Michelle sat back down.

Horatio watched her steadily. Her gaze remained on the floor while a muscle tremor worked its way down her neck.

When she spoke, her voice shook. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I could be flippant and say the truth, but that’s not really how the mind works. I want to talk, Michelle, that’s all. I want to ask some questions, listen to your answers, but mostly I just want to talk to you. About you. That’s all. You think you’re up to that?”

A full minute went by as she white-knuckled the arms of her chair. “Okay,” she finally said in a voice so small he could barely hear.

“I went to the home you lived in when you were six. Sean told you that.”

“Yes.”

“I met a woman named Hazel Rose. Do you remember her?”

Michelle nodded.

“Hazel certainly remembers you. She told me to tell you that she’s very proud of you.” Horatio waited a few moments but Michelle gave no reaction to this news. “Hazel said you used to come over to her house for tea parties with some of the other neighborhood kids. Do you remember those parties?”

“No.”

Horatio continued to watch her closely. There was no manual on how to do this. Essentially Horatio read the body cues of the patient and hoped those reads were right.

“Hazel told me about this beautiful rose hedge you had.”

As soon as he said it, Michelle’s entire body went lax, as though someone had pulled the plug on her heart. At first he thought she was going to faint. Then she rallied and sat up straighter in the chair.

“My father planted that rose hedge,” she said in an automatic tone.

“Right. An anniversary present. But someone cut it down.”

“Some kids, mad at my dad.”