Brothers and Bones by James Hankins Page A

I could whip it out at my appointments and play along. Fielding reminded me that my parents were taken from me when I was very young. My brother, who was everything to me—parent, friend, protector—disappeared. Fielding assured me that that it was natural to feel insecure, unprotected, like the world was out to get me, like nameless forces were conspiring against me. I realized I’d been unconsciously tapping my foot to the rhythm of the overplayed tune.
    “But you’re a rational man, Charlie,” Fielding said. “And you certainly don’t lack for brains. You surely can see that your fears are groundless. While you may be rational, your fears are not. And I don’t mean to insult you. In fact, it’s my respect for you—for your intelligence—that gives me the confidence to speak to you so honestly.”
    He smiled reassuringly. I smiled back uneasily. He solved another crossword clue, then seemed to be waiting for me to say something. Finally I shook my head and said, “Okay, sure, sitting here with you, it’s easy to believe I’m imagining things, that I’m just a paranoid nutcase.” Fielding winced a little at that. “But sometimes, when I’m alone and it feels like someone’s behind me, well…I don’t know, it’s hard to remember our rational little conversations here. I know it’s ridiculous, Dr. Fielding. I know I always turn and find no one behind me, no one watching, but…it’s just frustrating, that’s all.”
    “Charlie, you’ve been doing very well for a long time now. You’ve been having those feelings far less frequently, haven’t you? This was a minor setback. Nothing more.”
    I shook my head. “You know, Dr. Fielding, it sucks to be crazy.”
    “You aren’t crazy, Charlie. You’re simply allowing your feelings of insecurity in your life to manifest in a more dramatic way than most others do—others, I should add, who haven’t experienced the same tragic events that you have.” He smiled. It was supposed to make me feel better. It didn’t, but I appreciated the effort, so I smiled back. Shortly thereafter we wrapped things up and I gave his receptionist my insurance copayment in cash and left Fielding’s office behind for another month.

 
     
     
     
    SIX
     
    As I opened the door to my apartment, fumbling to pull the key out of the lock, Jessica was laughing at something I’d said. If only I’d been a little funnier, she might have laughed a little harder, a little longer, and she might not have heard the message being left on my answering machine in the living room. But I wasn’t funny enough.
    “—and I think this one has real promise, Mr. Beckham, real promise. I’d like to see it through. All I’d need to get right back into it is a retainer of, say, three thousand. Call me if you want me to run down this lead. I think it’s a good one. Real promise.”
    He left his number, then there was a click, then silence. Way too much silence. I turned to look at Jessica, who stared at me for a moment, then walked past me and into the kitchen. I heard the thud of Chinese-food-leftover containers dropping onto the kitchen counter. Or maybe the floor. I closed the front door.
    The plan had been to meet after my appointment with Dr. Fielding, then bring takeout back to my place to eat. But when we got to the restaurant, we were having too nice a time, so we stayed for dinner. And, for one blessed hour, the first such hour in more than a day and a half, the homeless man and Jake’s ghost occupied only two-thirds or so of my mind, leaving fully one-third to be charmed by my better half.
    “Jessica?”
    More of that stony silence from the kitchen. Until a poodle barked in there. I had this novelty clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It had a picture of a different breed of dog at every hour, and when that hour struck, the clock barked the appropriate number of times in the appropriate breed’s bark. When the poodle barked for the eighth and last time, I said, “Jess?”
    No