Primal (17 page)

Once inside Crane’s office, she takes the seat opposite his
desk. Her muscles let go and she relaxes. She feels safe here. As they wait,
Hank paces. She is at rest. There is comfort in the deliberate order in this
room. Crane is a right angle kind of guy: every sheet of paper on his desk is
perfectly stacked, on the corner is a jar with eight sharpened pencils, the top
of the file cabinet is a printer and a calendar with pictures of his family.
Everything appears brand new. Even the items pinned to the bulletin board are
in level lines. Alison breathes and feels calm.

Hank says, “This is a little creepy. Like it’s a prototype
of an office.”

“I like it.”

And even these few inconsequential words hurt him, make him
feel discounted and minimized. The walls are painted a doughy color that
resembles a jar of chicken gravy. The floor moldings only go half way around
the room. Alison wonders if they ran out of money or interest. She sees little
nail holes in different spots on the walls testifying to the parade of
detectives who have occupied this room. Witness to the coming and going of
people who cared enough to put up pictures of their spouses, their children,
their dogs - people who nail their heart to the wall of their office. She
prizes the pictures she has of her family and decides to rearrange her photo
albums as a project.

Detective Crane is relatively new to the crumby hallway that
leads to his office. He was proud to make detective a few months ago. His wife
and kids made him a special pork roast family dinner with a congratulations
sign and a balloon. He had wanted to be a detective since he’d been a little
boy sitting in front of the TV watching show after show where the good guys
were funny and clever and always got their man. Reality has made a series of
adjustments to that picture, but he is still proud, and he still loves his job.
He may be a touch too refined for the grit of this work, but he was first in
his class at the academy so he makes up for that with insight. He nods at
Officer Simmons as they pass in the hall.

“Hey, Crane,” Officer Simmons says, “AK Allie is in your
office. Just give a shout if you need backup.”

Crane smiles. “Right, thanks.” Inside, though, he doesn’t
particularly like this kind of jocularity at a victim’s expense. As he reaches
his office door, Officer Thomas joins him. They enter together.

“Hello, Mr. Kraft, Mrs. Kraft.” Crane shakes their hands and
Thomas does the same. Alison doesn’t move from her chair. She narrows her eyes
and studies them. One of the most alarming realizations about this ordeal for
her has been how perfectly average the Burne boys looked. She thinks if there
is a god, and he was intent on creating monsters, the least he could do was
make monsters look like monsters.

Thomas says, “You’re a legend around here, Mrs. Kraft.”

“I’d like my fifteen minutes to be over.”

“Understandable.” Crane smiles.

Hank walks behind Alison’s chair and puts both his hands on
her shoulders protectively. He levels his eyes at these men with a
communication that says, “take care.” Crane gets it. Thomas is not that
sensitive. He’s a guy who needs to be told things - sometimes more than once if
he thinks you’re full of shit or dead ass wrong.

Thomas adds, “We got cops here, me included, who made a
career trying to nail any one of the Burne boys and you dusted three in twelve
hours.”

“You know how good we women are at dusting.”

Thomas laughs aloud and then seeing the look on Crane’s
face, shuts up.

Crane takes the lead, “Mrs. Kraft, may we get you some
coffee or tea?”

“No.”

Crane speaks gently, “I’m very glad to give you some really
wonderful news.”

“Oh?”

“Ma’am, Ben Burne was positively identified in Port Arthur,
Ontario. He has family there, an Uncle Rafael. The Canadians moved in to arrest
him yesterday morning at his uncle’s cabin.”

“They have him?” Her heart leaps!

Thomas jumps in excitedly, “Burne put up a fight. The
gunfire set off some explosives and the whole place went up. He was trapped
inside like the rat he was.”

Reflexively, Hank gasps happily. “Thank god. Oh, good,
great.” Alison does not react. He reaches for his wife. He shakes her, “Alison!
It’s over.”

Crane smiles, he understands, “Now, I know some folks prefer
a long trial and an opportunity to face him.”

Thomas breaks in, “I prefer him charbroiled and six fuckin’
feet under. Oh…ah…excuse me.” Crane rolls his eyes. Thomas adds, “And also,
personally, I wish I could’ve been the one to light that torch.”

“Thank you, Officer Thomas.” Crane silences him.

Alison has been sitting and waiting for the rush of relief.
Nothing. No rush. No relief.

Hank says, “Thank you. This really helps us a lot. Doesn’t
it, Alison?”

They all look at Alison for her reaction.

She is staring at her feet. Raising her eyes to Crane, “It
doesn’t feel right.”

Crane speaks with kindness. He directs his words to Alison
but he is clearly sending a message to Hank as well.

“Mrs. Kraft, I have trained officers who’ve been through
less violent experiences who take leave to mend and recover.”

“I still feel him. He’s still around or I wouldn’t feel
him.”

“It’s the trauma that’s still around - that is what you’re
feeling. It’s like your body is caught in it. I’ve seen this so many times.
Exercise can help. Relaxation techniques. Perhaps you should consider a
vacation?”

“I’m not over my last vacation.”

Thomas laughs spontaneously. Alison can’t help but smile at
Thomas. She likes that he is such an open book.

“Sorry.” Thomas shrugs.

Crane continues. “Right. What we would recommend is for you
to go home. Raise your great son. Get back to your life as soon as possible.
Routine is the best medicine.”

“Yes.” Hank is euphoric. “That’s exactly what we’re going to
do.” Now, they will mend; their lives will come back into harmony as they
recover the melody line lost in the madness. He will have his wife back. He
will revel in an ordinary day: a good bye honey—have a good day at work—what’s
for dinner—how was school—love you—good night kind of day. He
will never underestimate the solace of normal again.

Hank grabs her hand as they walk out of the police station.
He squeezes it three times, which meant I love you when they were dating. She
looks up at him as the squeeze goes directly to the memories her heart holds
dear. They remind her of a time before all of this, when she was young and in
love, and the book of their lives was blank. They share a soft smile as he
holds open her car door. Now, it will all stop. Her thin body falls heavily
into the passenger seat. Now, the terrorizing visions of disembodied eyes, the
unendurable dark and sleepless nights, the muscle tremors, the dirty muddy
feeling of her skin, the constant flood of primitive hormones, all gone. She
sinks into the leather upholstery and lapses into sleep in the time it takes
Hank to walk around the car and get in. He turns on the motor. He looks over at
her and sees she’s asleep and his relief is palpable. He slips off his suede
jacket and lays it across her, leaving his hand lightly on her chest for just a
moment; he feels her breathing in and out and it is nourishing. A gush of
relief, like a cleansing, washes over him and his emotions are so raw his whole
body feels swollen and pulpy. He is obscured sitting in the front seat behind
the windshield of the car and so he allows himself the luxury of resting his
forehead on the steering wheel, closing his eyes, and letting go for a bit, a
little deserved relief - a shudder and a few tears of gratitude.

Walking toward his police car Officer Thomas glances over.
He sees Alison Kraft crashed-out, head back, mouth slightly open and he thinks
she looks child-like. Hank, too, seems to be asleep hunched over the steering
wheel. Thomas doesn’t like things to get too complicated. Help the good guys.
Kill the bad guys. Follow the law. Simple logic and a definitive direction
works for him. He likes the lines that society draws clearly. It is when the
victims enter his world that his hands feel too big and his mind clumsy. He
feels all stuffy and dense, like his brain is soaked and packed with
insulation. Victims make it all so messy. You cannot afford to feel for them
because that will cloud your judgment. He is thankful that it worked out for
these two. He never can figure out what makes one couple survive and go on to
live their lives and another wind up chopped into pieces and scattered around
in trash bins. There is no way to guess in advance which of the ones in that
little fishing group on the island were going to leave, and which of them would
end there. Years of police work has taught him there is no rationale for what
happens, no predictive tool. He has found it is just as well not to wonder
about the why of it all because it is no different from wondering about God, or
about what makes a joke funny. Hank looks up suddenly sensing someone watching
him. He sees Thomas a few feet away through the windshield. Their eyes meet.
Thomas nods. Hank nods. It is the period at the end of their sentence. Thomas
moves on. Hank starts the car.

Jimmy and Hank tiptoe around Alison for the next few days as
she sleeps nearly continuously. Deep in a flooded slumber, she dreams she is on
a down-filled raft in a blue swimming pool of warm water, gently floating with
the hot fingers of the sun kneading the tight muscles on her back, and the
backs of her legs, and with a gentle cool breeze skimming her face. She is
unaware that several times her little boy has sneaked in, his bare feet padding
silently on the gold carpet, and he has knelt by the side of her bed when no
one was watching and just stared at her face, the face of his mom that finally
looks normal again. The two sharp strain lines between her eyebrows have
softened and the tightness around her mouth has let go.

Jimmy Kraft knows things about life that no nine year old
should know: evil is alive. He knows this because it physically grabbed him by
the shoulder and dragged him outside the lodge. Evil is a corporal presence
with actual blood and bones and muscles to pull you, cut you, tear off your
skin. It is not an imaginary spirit or fallen angel or apparition. It is not an
ideology like they teach him in social studies class. It is not an empire, or a
religion. It is human. It lives. It breathes. It spoke to him. And while that
is terrifying to know, it also makes him feel like he can get it, reach it,
hurt it, maybe kill it, and this is where the core of his healing comes from.
Evil isn’t invincible if it has a shape, a head and a spine. He likes knowing
that, likes thinking if he’s strong enough, and smart enough, he can defeat it,
likes thinking that he can get his hands around the neck of evil and suffocate
the life out of it when he grows up. When the police arrived on the island,
Jimmy took some good hard looks at the dead Burne brothers. Others tried to
shield him from the view, but they didn’t understand how badly he needed to see
Kent with a hole in his chest the size of a basketball, Theo with his skull in
two neat pieces, and Gravel stabbed, shot, completely pale and drained of
blood. Jimmy has sublimated the visceral horror of that night and he has done a
good job fitting himself back into the before time. A few of the games they
play on the schoolyard seem dumb to him now, and all the injuries, the simple
bumps and bruises that bring tears to the eyes of his schoolmates seem silly.
Doctor Cartwell has warned Hank that there may be residual evidence of trauma
as Jimmy grows. It could come in a lot of different forms. They would need to
be alert and ready to help. Nevertheless, the doctor felt the prognosis was
very good based on Jimmy’s ability to do his schoolwork and interact with his
friends. They would need to wait to see what comes up.

On the fourth day, Alison wakes to voices downstairs. She
looks over at the clock. It’s six-thirty, dinnertime. The fog in her brain
clears. Music? Music is playing and there are clearly a lot of people
downstairs. She picks up her cellphone by the bed and dials the house phone. It
rings and Hank picks up, “Hello?”

“Could you come upstairs?”

A few moments later, he comes into the bedroom.

“Great. You’re up! Are you hungry?”

“What‘s going on?” she asks.

“It’s Sunday. Family dinner night.”

“What? No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You don’t have to do a thing.”

“I can’t.”

“Everyone brought something and the older cousins are going
to clean up.”

“Oh, Hank, your family? No.”

He closes the bedroom door, walks over, and sits down on the
side of the bed.

“You shouldn’t have invited them, Hank.”

“They wanted to come. They want to see you, to see us.
They’re our family, Alison. They may be nuts and chews, but they’re our nuts
and chews.”

“I can’t deal with it. And I feel responsible for their
safety and it doesn’t feel safe having them all here near me.”

“It’s perfectly safe. I promise you.”

“There is no such promise.”

Hank feels a flash of anger because he knows this is true.
He sends his true feelings into his gut and speaks with the kindness he knows
she needs.

“Everyone in our lives has been affected by this. Try and
think about how you would feel if something like this had happened to your
dad?” This is exactly the right thing to say to her. She knows how she would
feel. Yes, it helps her understand that others in the family have been injured
in some minor way, certainly Carolyn who had a son and grandson to think about.
Yes, it makes sense.

“Okay, I’m going to stay up here. I’m not ready for
company.”

“Not company. Family. And everyone is hoping you’ll come
downstairs. They want to see you, Alison.” He leans over kissing her, “Throw on
some jeans and come on down. Aunt Beth just told Jill she’s adopted.”