“Do you have these dreams often?”
“Most nights.” She hums and scribbles down on the notepad she has rested in her lap.
“You didn’t go to the funeral. Why?”
“I don’t know. I got up, showered and got dressed in my full uniform. I even shined my shoes before leaving home. I drove to the cemetery and when I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car I just drove away.” I lace my hands together before sitting forward, counting the fake plants in the pots decorating different surfaces in the room. There were six. “I went home, changed out of my uniform and hung it back in my closet before driving to my parent’s place in Fosford.”
“Have things been better or worse at home since I saw you last?” I shrug, I have no idea how to explain the mixed emotions I’d had being back home. I felt safe again, like I was a little kid but also conflicted, like I had failed at being an adult as well by being back in my childhood bedroom, but seeing Daisy, everything I had felt all those years ago rose to the surface like a series of bubbles in the deep blue ocean. We sit in silence for a beat, until she accepts I wasn’t going to elaborate further on her question.
“Oliver,” She drops her notepad and pen with a quiet thud on the carpet next to her chair before templing her fingers and leaning forward on the edge of her chair. “If the situation were reversed, I was the one in that chair and you were me, what would you be telling me to do so I could get back to work?”
“Are you asking me because you have no idea?” I scoff at her, she is supposed to be the professional and she’s asking me my opinion. I knew coming here would be a waste of everyone’s time. She is supposed to be offering me the advice, not asking for it.
“No, I’m just trying to understand what you think about being here.”
“I can tell you it’s a waste of everyone’s time being here. I don’t need someone to tell me how I should feel. I’m fully aware my partner has died and of the stages of grieving so I don’t need you to tell me how I should be accepting what has happened or screaming and crying. Justice will be served when the fucking arsehole who shot her is locked up for good, then I will accept what has happened because it is my job to punish the bad guys.”
“Is that why you beat on him? It’s your job?”
“No, but it isn’t as black and white as you’re making it sound. He’d just killed my partner. He didn’t care he was taking her away from a family or fiancée she loved or from our team who respected her, or from me.” My voice betrays me, trailing off at the end, the anger I had welling inside like a tornado fading to barely a breeze in comparison.
“You’re angry, it’s understandable. It’s a natural response to feel that way toward someone who has taken away a loved one, your reaction in that situation is why you are here. I need to determine if that was an isolated incident or if you are likely to react the same in the future.”
“So I can’t just cross my heart or pinky promise that it isn’t going to happen again?”
“If only it were that easy. Look, this is what I propose,” She slides back in her chair before linking her fingers and laying them down on her dark blue pencil skirt. “I’m going to have you back here in two weeks, look at that time as a holiday or a chance to do something you’ve been putting off or haven’t had the time to do, go fishing or camping or even on an overseas holiday and then in two weeks’ time when you come back we can look seriously at when you can go back to work and in what role.”
“What are you saying? What role? What does that mean?” We could both tell from my tone I was getting a little defensive, I was left sitting there as if the rug had just been pulled from under me. There was no way in hell I was about to become a desk warrior. Fuck that shit.
“I’m just saying there may be some restrictions but we’ll discuss that at your next appointment.”
“But I will be able to go back to work soon. Right?”
“It’s a possibility.”
* * *
The receptionist is at her desk before I leave, she schedules me another appointment for a fortnight, writing the time and date in a large cursive font on a glossy business card.
Tucking it into my back pocket I call the elevator to the floor. The ride in the elevator car feels like it takes forever, as it descends more people get on and off at each stopped floor, by the time the car arrives at the underground car park I’m the only one on it.
* * *
The minute I’m outside the city limits I switch my phone on to silent, I didn’t want any distractions or delays in getting back to Fosford. I had the drive ahead of me to get the plan in my head straight before I could face Daisy again.
14
daisy
* * *
My hand falters on the key in the lock when I catch a glimpse of Oliver parked at the curb. I try to keep the surprise from my face at his presence as I wrestle the key from the lock. I had stopped looking for him each morning and afternoon but just as quickly as he disappeared he had reappeared.
There he was; parked at the curb outside Sweet Nothing’s waiting for me. Seeing me, he climbs from the car, stalking toward me as if I were a gazelle and he a lion and I was going to be his last meal.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, determined not to let his presence here show how much it is affecting me internally. Drinking in the sight of him, captivated with the way the denim of his jeans hugged his hips in their familiar way and dark fabric of the t-shirt stretched across the tight muscles of his biceps and chest. My eyes reluctantly trailed higher to his face, the dark stubble across his chin an obvious sign he hadn’t shaved today, the shadows below his eyes caused my heart to squeeze; he hadn’t been sleeping much if at all, I could only hazard a guess for the reason. Even awash with fatigue he was still a sight to behold. His lips curved a little at the side and there was still a sparkle in his eyes.
“Hi, Daisy Blo–,” At my stern look he stops mid-word. “Need a ride?”
“You’re back. For how long this time?” I ignore his question.
“As long as it takes.” His lips curve into a bigger smile, as he steps closer to me.
“As long as what takes?” My tone is clipped as I cross my arms in front of my chest, keeping a physical barrier between my heart and Oliver’s body.
“As long as it takes to complete my plan.”
“A plan? You have a plan?” I scoff, “Like some sort of super villain?” I can’t contain my laughter as I watch him twizzle his non-existent moustache and wiggle his eyebrows at me.
“I’m sorry, love, to tell you would mean I’d have to,” he pauses for effect, scanning the darkening and mostly deserted street around us as if waiting for someone to jump out and nab us, “take you to dinner. Tomorrow night?”
“Best of luck with your plan, Oliver.” I roll my eyes as I try to move to pass him; I had parked my car behind the shop this morning, leaving the parking spaces in front clear for customers. Oliver side-steps, blocking me from making my escape.