EYES ON YOU Read online

  EYES ON YOU

  BY

  LILY ROBINS

  EYES ON YOU is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  Lily Robins

  All Rights Reserved

  For Those Who Listen

  CHAPTER 1

  It was Friday and another long week-end lay ahead.

  When he pulled open the Navigator’s door for her, Mona decided to take her time, squatting to take care of business. He, on the other hand, had to beat it to his inner office’s facility to relieve his bladder. He had drunk too much coffee that morning. Mona beat him to the door, tapping down the short hall looking very stylish in her cobalt blue turtleneck sweater. She sensed and reacted to the urgency of his footsteps, and he would have chuckled at her, except that doing so might cause him to have an accident on this cold, icy morning.

  She displayed a look of empathy for his human frailties, but she, nevertheless, abided them well. Perhaps in her mind, she was leading him to a place he otherwise might not find. No time for removing his parka, but he did manage to drop his satchel beside his secretary’s desk before making a beeline to where Mona stood waiting.

  Inanely, he said, “I’m hurrying…thank you, Mona.” Dashing into the restroom while fumbling with his pants’ zipper, he managed to kick the door shut, but not before eyeing that intimate degree of knowledge on Mona’s stalwart face.

  Minutes later, he came back out and could hear the cooing vocals of Rene, his secretary. She and Mona were having a lovefest in the front office, and when he approached, they were so into their one-sided conversation that both woman and dog ignored him. He couldn’t help but smile at how Mona was actually preening, her neck arching far upward to allow Rene to admire the full effect of her turtleneck sweater’s fit and color.

  “Such a fashionista you are,” Rene told the dog as she stroked Mona’s back, from her head to her tail. “Maybe gramma will knit you some matchin’ berets to wear on your head.”

  Picking up his satchel to place it on the desk, he muttered, “Don’t go giving my mother more ideas, Rene.”

  Rene Sampson was squatting and stroking Mona’s chest now, and, to show her mutual affection, Mona had placed one of her paws on Rene’s arm. The two females were nearly face to face, staring intensely at each other as Rene murmured, “You’re such a beautiful girl.” Then, in the same tone, as though speaking to the dog, Rene informed him, “Captain Randall would like a consult for a young man brought in this mornin,’ if you would.” Redirecting her attention to Mona, she continued, “Blue is definitely your best color, Sweetness.”

  “Why thank you,” he said. “I’ve always thought I looked my best in blue too.” When he opened his laptop, he sat for a moment and then muttered, “I forgot my new password, Rene.”

  “Sixty-eight, capital L i-s-t-e-n-e-r, exclamation point.”

  Hurriedly, he typed what she said into the sign-in space and received invalid password for his effort.

  “Take my car,” she offered as she stood. “The slush’ll mess up your shoes and pants’ cuffs.”

  More slowly and precisely, he typed in the new password again, and got his laptop to respond with the homepage powering up. He muttered, “We drove this morning.”

  Rene stood up from petting Mona, repeating what she’d said earlier that pertained to him. Affably, he replied, “I heard. I’m going.”

  * * * * *

  As soon as Roman Mayer entered the police station, he could tell that the city’s law enforcement community had had a busy night. The waiting room was jammed with people, no one displaying much in the way of patience. He briefly locked eyes with one of the front desk sergeants, Althea Gibbons, someone he occasionally had a drink with, and who evidently knew why he was there. She signaled with one of her thumbs for him to proceed through the gate to the back of the main room. A man bundled in a thick coat and knit cap stood in front of her desk, speaking loudly over the other voices in the room, holding her attention.

  Coming toward them was Captain Eli Randall, who nodded at Roman before shouting above the cacophony of voices, “EVERYBODY CALM DOWN!” Receiving a lull amidst the storm, he added, “You can make all this go a lot quicker if you’ll pawk your behinds somewhere, keep your voices down and wait your turn!” Adding a hard look around the crowded room, he dared anyone to smart off at him. No one did in the time it took Roman to follow Eli to the hallway entry that led back to other offices.

  “Thanks for comin,’ Roman.” The guy was clearly flustered. “There was a hoo-ha with some random gunfire at Jolly’s Tavern early this mornin,’ and that’s what most of this confusion’s about.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Roman inquired.

  “Nope. Just some cah glass got sprayed on a couple-a folks out in the pawkin’ lot where the fracas occurred. Shootah’s been arrested.”

  “That’s good.” Roman looked back at the throng of people whose voices were picking up again.

  Eli Randall was an eighteen-year veteran of the police force, due to be bumped to chief at any time, and more than a friend to Roman. The guy’s calm demeanor returned quickly after his outburst to quiet down the crowd.

  “Gotta kid, age fourteen, who was brought in with another boy who was attemptin’ to sell some pills at the school before first bell.” Eli grabbed a sheet of paper off one of the desks, glanced down at it and continued. “Name’s Aden Leitner…a new kid who started second semestah here, and mom’s with him. I’d appreciate you verifyin’ my gut feelin’ that he’s got a tongue and can actually speak. Some other kid said he was just standin’ there, didn’t do anything, just got caught up in the deal.”

  “Pain pills?” Roman asked.

  Eli arched his brows and then briefly shuttered an eye. “I was thinkin’ the same thing until I looked inside the plastic bag. Xanax point 5, and Lexapro 10 mil. Thirteen tabs total.”

  “An unnoticeable confiscation from parents’ medicine cabinets would be my guess,” Roman said.

  “Mine too,” Eli replied. “Far as we can tell, no kids bought any, ‘cause the price was too steep. This kid I want you to see has extenuatin’ circumstances. Recently lost his father.”

  “Could he be the supplier of these medications?”

  “What I’m thinkin,’” Eli said with a head nod. “The kid won’t talk, Roman, and that’s why I called you.”

  Unzipping his parka and taking it off, Roman handed it off to Eli and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Owe ya,” Eli remarked, pointing to one of the rooms with its door closed.

  CHAPTER 2

  The boy and his mother were sitting close together in two chairs that were backed against the wall, rather than at the table in the middle of the room. The mother was turned toward the boy to hold both of his hands in hers and the boy was looking down at the floor. Only the woman looked up.

  Roman’s greeting was falsely cheery. “Hello.” He received a nod from the woman, but not even a glance upward from the boy. He pulled over a chair from the table and sat down to face the duo. No table between them was good. “My name’s Roman Mayer.” He noticed that the woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, obviously from crying.

  “Jessica Leitner,” she said in a wary voice. “This is my son, Aden.”

  Waiting a beat, Roman hoped the kid would at least acknowledge his presence by lifting his eyes, but the boy remained defiantly staring at the floor. Settling himself in his seat, Roman crossed his long legs before saying, “Place is crowded out front, and that’s not generally the case. There was some sort of shooting in
cident at one of the local taverns.” He spoke while watching the boy’s face, hoping for some sort of reaction, but none was forthcoming. “I’m glad we’ve got a quieter place to talk here.” Turning his attention to the woman, he heard a long intake of quaking breath.

  “I’m a psychologist,” Roman told them, “and I’ve been asked to evaluate you and your situation here, Aden. At some point, you’re going to have to tell someone why you were palling around with a dude, both of you trying to make some money off selling some drugs at school. If you don’t cooperate, they’ll probably hold you in a cell until you do tell them.”

  A pleading look for mercy overtook the woman’s face before she said, “Aden told me he didn’t know they were going to try to sell the medication.”

  “I’d like to hear Aden tell me all that he knows,” Roman gently informed Mrs. Leitner. He waited and noticed how the woman began wringing her hands; clearly, she was at wit’s end as evidenced by her hand movements, and by the look of exhaustion on her face and in her posture. Unsurprisingly, she brought her hands to her face and began shakily sobbing. Fear that your minor child would be jailed had that effect.

  His mother’s crying prompted the boy to place an arm around her as he blurted, “They were supposed to be free.” He then accusingly stared at Roman, deflecting blame for his mother’s loss of control from himself onto the intruder. “There was a bunch of kids freaking out about having to give speeches in Mr. Snyder’s civics class. I didn’t know Fletcher was going to try to sell the pills.”

  The boy was a good-looking kid with curly, dark-brown hair that he wore unfashionably long, and when he raised his head, Roman could see the resemblance between mother and son, although her hair was well past her shoulders and highlighted with streaks of a lighter color. What he saw beyond the anger in the boy’s eyes was fear.

  “Were you the one who brought the pills to school?” Roman asked.

  When the boy hesitantly nodded, Mrs. Leitner threw her arms around her son, tempering her crying to soft weeping against the side of his head. The boy’s stare at Roman remained steadfast, conveying an honesty in them that provided a tiny window into the young man’s character.

  The mother pulled back, looking morosely at her son as she confirmed, “The pills…they were prescribed to us.”

  Waiting until both looked his way, Roman said, “I was told by Captain Randall that you’ve recently suffered the loss of someone in your family?”

  A look of suspicion distorted the boy’s face, causing Roman to wonder if mom had erroneously played her trump card with Eli in an attempt to gain some leniency. She looked at Roman and said, “Aden’s father. He…uh…he died three months ago.” From the look on her face, Roman could tell that she wasn’t lying.

  A disturbing look flashed on the boy’s face. Roman said, “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Pressing onward, he asked, “How did Mr. Leitner die?”

  Pulling himself further away from his mother, the boy crossed his arms over his chest, answering before his mother could. “They said he offed himself, but we don’t believe it.” Anger was asserting itself into his tone of voice.

  Roman was struck by how the boy’s posture morphed into a manly position, Aden scooting back in his chair to sit up straighter, to face whatever was coming. Yet he kept his arms crossed over his chest—an unconscious gesture that could mean that he was protecting his heart. Ms. Leitner’s reaction involved slowly closing and re-opening her eyes as she struggled to relate the tragedy. Yet she persevered. “Aden found his father.”

  Roman said to the boy, “I’m truly sorry you had to see that, Aden.”

  Aden responded, “He was a fucking bastard.”

  Ms. Leitner winced at her son’s use of profanity before saying, “The drugs Aden took to school were prescribed for us after what happened.”

  Roman asked, “You’re seeing someone for trauma-related care?”

  She explained that they had recently moved from Seattle, Washington, over the holidays, but had received some psychiatric counseling before the move.

  Roman said, “A new environment often helps.”

  Aden Leitner’s frown deepened.

  Ms. Leitner replied, “We’re hoping that it does.” Her tired, worried look, along with her son’s obvious unhappiness, spoke volumes. The signs were there that adjustments to a new environment were proving difficult for at least one of them.

  He asked, “Where are you living?”

  When she told him, Roman smiled. “We live on Whittler Island too.”

  “We’re living with my aunt,” she added. “Ruth Fenwick?”

  It took only a moment for Roman to smile when he heard the name. “The Goddess of Pies.”

  Ms. Leitner’s face brightened a bit. “We had no idea Aunt Ruth has made such a name for herself.”

  Roman said, “People take the ferry over, just to eat there—and especially to enjoy a slice of one of her pies. I’m guilty too.” He patted his middle, glad to have a bulky sweater on. “Her lobster cakes are the best in the world.”

  The boy had folded over in his seat to place elbows on knees and to stare at the floor again. Clearly, the milder exchange was going sideways for him and Roman could understand why. Aden wanted to know what his punishment for taking the drugs to school was going to be. Roman said, “So, you decided to share your drugs with your classmates.”

  “Just to help them out!” Aden fired back. “Fletcher grabbed the bag from me and wouldn’t give it back. He said he was going to make a little pocket change by selling them.”

  “How much?” Roman asked.

  “He told the first kid ten dollars a pop, but nobody had that kind of dough. So, he dropped the price to five dollars and that’s when Mrs. Atwood, one of the security people, caught him opening the bag to show Dillon. I was hanging with him so I could tell anyone who thought about buying anything not to do it.”

  Roman believed him. The kid was looking right at him while telling all this. “Do you take the medication prescribed to you, Aden?”

  Right away, the boy shook his head, and his mother’s headshake confirmed his denial. She explained, “I brought the pills with us when we moved…in case. I don’t take anything either.” She turned to her son.

  “I don’t!” Aden ardently confirmed. “That was just—right after, and only a couple.” The boy appeared above average in intelligence, and he’d been dealt a cruel hand in Seattle. Then he’d come here and had made the mistake of trying to help his classmates feel less edgy with a little legal pharmacology.

  The boy said, “It was dumb—I know.”

  “It was a dumb thing to do,” Roman confirmed. “But I don’t think you’re dumb. I think you need more counseling, however, regarding what happened in Seattle.” He let that sink in, watching for reactions. The mother began nodding. “So I’m going to recommend that you see someone, Aden. I’d like that someone to be me, but that decision rests with your mother. We’re a two-person office—besides me, there’s a licensed clinical social worker and neither of us prescribes medication. We do talk therapy.”

  The boy frowned again, but Ms. Leitner said, “If you’ve got space in your schedule, he’ll see you.”

  “I do,” Roman confirmed. “In fact, I can see both of you.”

  As though she were being led to the guillotine for a head chopping, Jessica Leitner closed her eyes before saying, “Whatever.”

  *****

  He found Eli Randall in his office on the phone, so Roman used the time and his cell to call Rene at his office.

  “I need an opening for next week,” he said. “And I’ll be staying over this afternoon to see someone after lunch.”

  “Things aren’t looking good for an opening anytime next week, but let me look.”

  He heard his secretary munching on what he assumed was a rice cake, or an apple.

  “Nope—nothing available. You’re all filled up, Roman.”

  “So squeeze in an hour before first appointment Monday or Tuesday, R
ene. It’s super important.”

  “Tuesday then,” she muttered, trying to muffle her chewing noise.

  He didn’t have to wonder if Mona had begged for a bite and gotten it. The dog was incorrigible when there was any food around and he wasn’t there. “Seven A.M. on Tuesday. Leitner.”

  Eli hung up the phone on his desk at about the same time that Roman disconnected from his call, and they looked at one another.

  “The kid brought the pills to give them out free. Some speaking assignment that was freaking out a lot of the classmates. Fletcher Whoever jerked the pills away and decided to try selling them, but no one bought any.”

  “Fletcher Whoever is Fletcher Christianson. His dad’s on the city council.” Eli smiled. “He’s been suspended for two days per his papa and the principal’s agreement. Ted Maldon wants the same two days for Aden.” Maldon was the high school’s principal.

  “I’ll call Ted and recommend one day—and that’s today,” said Roman. “He and his mother have agreed to see me for counseling.”

  Randall said, “I figured this was your bailiwick, once I heard the father died and they’re new to the area.”

  “As usual, Eli, you never let me down.” Roman smiled.

  Eli’s grin stretched wider. “You got time for lunch at Lenore’s today?”

  “Would I ever say no when you’re buying? Don’t bother with the consult fee and we’ll call it even.” They both knew that the requisition form for a psychological evaluation was a bitch to fill out, and the fee for Roman’s professional services beyond insulting. But that was the way the cookie crumbled in a small town with limited resources.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ben Girard had crept into Roman’s mind as he exited his vehicle in the parking lot of the clinic. Ben had a classic case of PTSD, the acronym for post-traumatic stress disorder. He had survived two tours of combat duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, his second time in the war zone involving his unit in an encounter with a super-sized explosive device that killed everyone but him. Thus, Ben had plenty of reasons to experience the aftermath of a horrific, traumatic event, as well as a strong case of survivor’s guilt. He’d been in therapy for over two years with Roman, fighting ongoing depression and debilitating flashbacks. Roman had consulted with his doctoral advisor at Emory University, Dr. Harvey Applegate, a specialist in PTSD. Dr. Applegate had recommended that Roman try using imaginal exposure therapy (IET) with Ben, imagining and relating the traumatic event over and over again, talking through it, until the event, theoretically, no longer had as many negative thoughts attached to it. After nearly three months of IET, the results had been negligible.