II - The Adventure of the Final Problem
Jul 17, 2019 20:26:48 GMT -5
silentpartner, Maurice Yensman, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Jul 17, 2019 20:26:48 GMT -5
II
“Good morning, John.”
Back in Doctor Moriarty’s office. John had decided to dress more casually this time. There were no planes to catch or media appearances to make today. Moriarty’s blouse was grey. John looked at the ticking clock. His mind was scattered. Mike had picked at their breakfast and wouldn’t discuss the anomaly that was the morning altogether. John heard the doctor click the pen multiple times before scribbling down whatever observation she was making.
“Morning.”
He could feel her eyes on him. There afterall was an obvious story to tell.
“Well, what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s a nasty shiner you’ve got.”
“This?” he put his finger tips to the discoloration caused by the broken blood vessels just under his eye, “Perks of the job.”
“Oh,” another note, “What do you do for a living?”
John normally found the practice of asking questions that one already knew the answers to quite annoying. He had written all of this out already. But something from last time resonated with him. This made him want to push through the desire to walk out. To just go hang out with Mike. That wouldn’t resolve anything. But that was another thing - just what issue was he trying to resolve?
“Fight.”
She nodded, “The line of work you’re in, you did it before prison?”
A lot of people who were trying to be polite would trail off before using that word but the implication was the same. John appreciated the bluntness of Moriarty’s question.
“Yes. Regional territories,” John paused to rephrase, “local companies had all but died off in the mid nineties but the scene on the west coast was sustainable. Back then it was all about cable TV and pay-per-view if you wanted to be anyone. But … now it’s all changed. You can find it all on the internet.”
The doctor made direct eye contact even when John’s eyes failed to meet hers.
“Back in 96, 97, I’d send the promoters one of those big manila envelopes. It contained a video tape of...” John searched for those details, “Like a best of tape. And a photo of yourself. They wanted a good look at your body.”
John pulled out his phone from his pants pocket and tapped the screen.
“All on here now though.”
“Thank you for sharing, John. So, do you like what you do?”
“No,” John blurted that out without much thought, “I mean, I like working with Mike.”
“I believe you. But why don’t you like to … well, fight?”
“That’s not the issue. I don’t even mind stuff like this,” he pointed to his eye, “It’s everything else. Everything that leads to those fleeting moments in the ring.”
“I think I understand what you mean, John. Have you told Mike about this?”
“Kind of,” after their abrupt exit from their previous company, there was just that admission and while everything seemed to simmer down, there still was that tension until they had both found a new home so to speak, “Everything is okay there. The best way I can explain it is that where people at least act cordial to each other in normal circumstances - that doesn’t exist there. It’s not the violence. That’s the most normal part. It’s just like I said … everything else.”
She took note of that.
“But this is all I know how to do,” his voice diminished at this admission, “I’m grateful for that.”
“That’s good, John.”
He had a brief recollection to a few weeks after he had been released. To him, it was like being unceremoniously dumped back into the world. For a few days, there had been the flashing lights of cameras and there had been a few interviews for the local news, but then, he just moved on. He had been bused to a small town in New Mexico, ironically named Las Vegas. John had worked as help in a food truck and Manny was kind even when he admonished him for inability to get things right. He had a lot of trouble with the computer that was used to enter the orders which was strange considering.
“I was taking night classes. For computers. I can’t really remember. I didn’t really get that far.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Whatever Mike wants.”
“That’s interesting. Who’s Mike to you?”
Moriarty had a tendency to repeat her questions. But as with anything else so far, it didn’t seem to bother John.
“My partner.”
“John, are you in a relationship with Mike?”
“That’s what I said,” John’s tone was terse all of a sudden.
But Moriarty didn’t seem phased by his sudden mood change, “Tell me about your relationship with Christina.”
“I did what she told me to do.”
There was a silence between the two and if there was a moment for a sudden realization, it was absolutely lost on John. Doctor Moriarty flipped through John’s packet to an excerpt from the Innocence Project case.
“Did Christina ask you to give those pills to her?”
“Yes.”
“But you told her no. You didn’t do what she asked.”
“The pills were mine. I had just had surgery on my shoulder and--”
“John,” she snapped him back into focus, “Why did you say no?”
“Because ...it was wrong,” he was mumbling but the doctor leaned into the words and picked it up easily enough. The only real other conclusion to draw is that the oxycodone, that John had used once and tucked away in his dresser drawer, was tempting to a twenty one year old woman that had been jailed twice prior for possession of illegally obtained prescriptions.
“What if Mike asked you to do something that you felt was wrong?”
“I want to stop.”
“If I change the subject, may we continue? Would that be okay, John?”
“...yes.”
“What do you want to do?”
He began to answer the same way but there was a hitch in his voice and a forced course correction.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. It’s okay to not know,” she closed the packet, “We have some time left but I’m kind of like you, John. I like to keep focused on one task at a time. Today was about what you do. We established that there are some aspects of your workspace that you don’t like. That’s normal, John. Completely normal. I want to circle around back to something I said last time. I’d like to help you. And this isn’t a platitude. I don’t think someone like you would appreciate that.”
“Someone like me?”
“Just my impression of you. Could be totally wrong - but John, that is what this whole process is about,” she cleared her throat, “Those questions you filled out? They were to establish a baseline. They happen to be why you’re sitting with me right now. But I needed to look you in the eye and see John Bishop Church for myself.”
“Here I am.”
The doctor chuckled lightly at that, “This might get a little granular so I apologize in advance. When you speak, you stated that people get angry at you and you don’t get why. Let’s talk a little more about that.”
John traced his finger along the engraving of his watch, “Okay.”