Thrill Kill (Matt Sinclair #2) - Brian Thiem Page 0,33
and during future sessions you’ll deal with them, too.”
“I’m worried about how much shit I have buried inside me.”
“It’ll all come out as long as you don’t fight it. Then you can be free from all the barriers that are holding you back emotionally. Has any childhood stuff come up?”
“Sort of, but I know the heavy shit I need to work through is from my Army and police work.”
Walt took a long drink of his coffee and turned his chair to face Sinclair. “You might want to mention those early life memories to Dr. Elliott. Sometimes incidents from our childhood form the foundation for how we think and deal with the world. If that foundation was based on invalid principles, it can skew how we function today and in the worst cases, even our moral code.”
“There’s nothing from those days that I didn’t get over.”
“The problem is we don’t know what we don’t know. I had a patient when I worked with the VA who suffered from PTSD. He had plenty of wartime trauma, but one thing that struck me was a report from his wife that he never cried and appeared to be emotionally dead. During a year of weekly sessions, we pealed back the layers. We finally reached an incident from when he was in the first grade—something he had long ago forgotten. He had fallen on the playground and skinned his knee badly. The school nurse was putting tincture of iodine—or whatever they used back then—on his scrape. Of course, he was balling his eyes out. The nurse said to him, ‘Stop crying and act like a man.’ That was the last time he ever cried. To ensure he never again cried, he stopped feeling. I gave him permission to feel, even if it led to his crying, and his recovery was miraculous.”
“The stuff I flashed on was when my little brother was killed,” Sinclair said.
“You never told me about that.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
Walt smiled, took another drink of his coffee, and gazed across the pool at the mansion.
Sinclair puffed on his cigar. “I was twelve when my two brothers and I were going to the zoo with our church youth group. My parents told me to watch over my little brother, but you know how it is when you’re a sixth grader and you want to hang out with those your age. I boarded the first bus with my friends, leaving Billy to wait for the next bus with the other little kids. A woman drove up and let two boys out of her car. A man, who I later learned was her estranged husband, got out of his car and started yelling at her. I watched through the bus window as he pulled a gun and emptied it at the woman. One of the bullets hit Billy. I ran off the bus and held him in my arms as the life drained out of him. Although my parents never came right out and said it, I knew they held me responsible for Billy’s death.”
Walt sat there quietly staring at the pool and sipping his coffee for a few moments. Finally he asked, “Has the issue of being responsible for the life and death of other people come up again in your life?”
“What do you think?” Sinclair said. “I’m a cop. It’s my job to save lives.”
“Saving lives and holding yourself responsible when they die are two different things.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Sinclair said.
“I’m sorry, Matthew. I didn’t mean to tread into an area that best belongs to Dr. Elliott. Any time you want to talk, I’m here.”
“You’ve been a great friend. Maybe we can talk about this when it’s not so late.”
“I was at a meeting tonight. People were asking about you.”
“It’s hard to hit meetings when I’m on standby. Maybe tomorrow if I get off on time.”
“Let me know and I’ll go with you,” Walt said. “Oh, and Betty will take your stuff to the dry cleaners tomorrow, but even with a rush, it won’t be back until Thursday. Is that your only raincoat?”
“Yeah, I’ll just have to stay out of the rain.”
“Fred has an old Burberry trench coat, one of the classic ones. I’ve been trying to donate it for years, but Fred thinks he’ll lose enough weight to wear it again someday. It should fit you perfectly. I’ll leave it hanging on the kitchen door.”
“Thanks, Walt.” Sinclair watched as Walt gathered up the coffee cups and wet towel and