Don't Leave Me by James Scott Bell Page B

mind. He wanted his brain to gush it out, like Royce said. “All I see is Dylan Bly, and the explosion. Three shadows.”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute! That’s new. Who is Dylan Bly?”
    “He came to me, had something he wanted to tell me. The night before the patrol.”
    “The one where you got captured?”
    “Yeah.” And the one where the concussive blast of the RPG had knocked him senseless before he could get to the dying Dylan Bly.
    “What else?” Royce said.
    “It’s still fuzzy, dammit. I see shadows, but I can’t see their faces. I hear some words.”
    “Words?”
    “Something like words. Rush ten line. ”
    “What is that?”
    “I don’t know!” Chuck hit the passenger window with his fist. At least give me pain and blood and I’ll be clear about that.
    “Wait a second,” Royce said. “Rushton. Maybe that’s it. Did you know a soldier named Rushton?”
    “I don’t remember anybody named Rushton.”
    “Let’s go see the doc, Chuck. This could be major.”
    “No.”
    “Come on––”
    “No!”
    “Okay,” Royce said. “That’s it. Let it go for now.”
    “I can’t get any closer.”
    “Okay, that’s all, Chuck. Take it easy.”
    “Drive me to Studio City.”
    “I thought you wanted––”
    “Somebody I need to see. Now.”

Chapter 24

    “Hey,” Mooney said.
    Sandy looked up from her cubicle desk. “Nice greeting,” she said.
    “You talked to Samson without me?”
    “I was down there, they OR’d him,” Sandy said. “I took a shot.”
    “You don’t think to call?”
    “No time.” That was a half truth, maybe even a quarter. Sandy hadn’t wanted to call him because his presence and attitude put Samson off.
    “So he give you anything?” Mooney said.
    “Not really.”
    “Then it was something.” Mooney made wiggly fingers at her, like he was asking for money.
    “Nothing that helps with Nunn,” Sandy said.
    “What else?”
    Sandy swiveled in her chair, faced him. “You really don’t like this guy.”
    “Got nothing to do with it.”
    “I mean, you’re anxious about him.”
    “Why shouldn’t I be?” he said. His eyebrows creased downward. Then he did his Bogart voice. “He’s good. He’s very good.”
    Actually, it wasn’t a bad Bogart at all. Mooney could also do other oldies, like Edward G. Robinson. But it seemed like he would pick odd times to do them, like when he wanted to annoy her.
    “I don’t know that he’s good in that way,” Sandy said. “He seems conflicted and confused. He has PTSD.”
    “He was a chaplain. A man of the cloth. What’s he got to be PTSD’d about?”
    Sandy opened her file on Samson. “Doesn’t say. But that scar on his neck?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Maybe that’s the reason.”
    Mooney cocked his head to look at the sheets. “Maybe we better find out.”
    “You want to question him again?”
    “Yeah I do.”
    “He’s got counsel. I don’t know that he’ll consent.”
    “You’re the charmer,” Mooney said. “Work your magic. But one thing.”
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t ever talk to him without me being there, okay?”
    Sandy didn’t like the cold thrust of his words then, but decided to let it pass. He was right. He should be in on everything. She was, in a sense, training him after all. Should show him the right way.
    “Okay,” she said.
    “Thanks, Shweet haht,” Bogart said.

Chapter 25

    As Royce drove he said, “Let me get you together with a guy.”
    Chuck rested his head on the back of the seat. “What guy?”
    “Guy I know, uses hypnosis.”
    “I don’t buy that stuff.”
    “Now’s the time. I don’t want to have to drag you in.”
    “For mumbo jumbo?”
    “Exposure therapy, Einstein.”
    “What, I take my clothes off and run down the street?”
    Royce said, “Your normal memories are filed away in the right spots in your brain. And they don’t intrude on your day-to-day. But the traumatic memories aren’t filed at all. They’re scattered all around, and can pop up and go bam