The smile melted off her face, and I knew I had her.
Agent Hamilton had me tell her my entire story again. The abduction, the weeks of torture, the places they took me and the things they made me do with the men there. She tried hard to maintain her professionalism, but I saw the sheen in her eyes when I told her some particularly gruesome detail, and it spurred me on. Most of my story was pre-scripted with Patrick, but I also made up a few flourishes as I went along, because all great artists follow their intuition sometimes. I focused on things that I thought would really get to someone like her, like how I would comfort myself at night by quietly humming the tune of a lullaby my mother used to sing to me long after I forgot the words. She actually teared up when I said that.
It took more than an hour for Hamilton to finish with me, and then I was passed off to another agent. It was clear to me now what they were doing—testing to see if my story would change at all as I told it over and over again. They were probably doing the same thing with Patrick, making sure our stories aligned with each other’s as well.
Agent Willis took me to his office for our interview. He was in his sixties, a gruff and grizzled man who walked with a limp I was willing to bet was the result of an injury on the job, either with the FBI or in the military. I took a quick look at the two framed photos on his desk that were angled enough for me to glimpse them. A staged family photo with a couple of kids and a couple of grandkids, and three men in camouflage in a deer stand. Vulnerable and emotional wouldn’t work with Willis the way it had with Hamilton. It would make him uncomfortable, and he’d start looking for holes in my story as a way to keep his distance from it. So with Willis I went tough. Danny Tate was defiant in the face of what had been done to him, angry and ashamed of his victimization.
When Willis asked, “What can we do for you, Danny?” I looked him in the eye and said, “You can find those bastards and kill them.” And Willis nodded.
When Willis was done with me, he clapped his hand on my shoulder and said I was a damn brave kid and those sons of bitches wouldn’t get away with this. Then he passed me on to the next person.
Interviewer number three introduced himself to me as Sean Graves, and I knew even before he told me—from the way he shook my hand and the soothing tone of his voice as he asked me to call him Sean—that he was a psychologist.
This one was going to be a little bit trickier.
Sean took me to a different kind of room, one with a leather couch and armchair and a ficus that needed dusting.
“So, Danny—do you mind if I call you Danny?” he said.
“Everyone does,” I said.
His grin was sharp around the edges. “That’s not what I asked.”
Shit.
“Danny’s fine,” I said.
“Okay then, that’s what I’ll call you,” he said. “First, I just want to make it clear that I’m not here in any law enforcement capacity. The agents just wanted me to talk to you and see how you’re doing.”
“You’re not FBI?” I asked.
“I’m a consultant,” he said. “Do you want to tell me a little bit about how things have been since you returned home?”
Sean was hard for me to nail down. He was a young guy, probably early thirties. He wore no wedding ring. His suit was nicer than the ones worn by most of the agents—the result of not being on a federal salary—but it wasn’t particularly nice either. His expression was pleasant but bland, and it never wavered. It was a mask as unmoving as the plastic ones kids wore at Halloween and only slightly more lifelike. He was smart and observant, but beyond that he was a cipher. Without knowing who he was, I didn’t know who I needed to be for him, and that made me uneasy.
“Things have been okay,” I said. Without knowing what role to play, I decided not to play one. Something told me Sean would see through theatrics anyway. “It’s been hard, but it’s good to be with my family.”
Sean just nodded. “How has it been hard?”
“Well, it’s a lot of adjustment,” I said. “Even normal things, you know, seem new to me.”
“What about your relationships with your family members?” he asked.
I thought of Mia throwing herself into my arms, trusting completely that I would catch her. Nicholas watching me across a crowded courtyard. Lex trying to get me to take second helpings of food and ruffling my hair as she passed my chair. Jessica haltingly asking me about school and Patrick laughing at my terrible attempts to shift gears in the Jag when he took me to drive in an abandoned parking lot. They were the best family I’d ever had, and it was all total, total bullshit.
“They’re good,” I said. “Everyone’s been so supportive, and—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Danny,” Sean said. “Let’s try that answer again, but this time, tell me what you really feel instead of what you feel like you should.”
Shit shit shit.
This guy was good. I had no choice but to be as honest as possible if I wanted to get out of this interview without arousing any more suspicion than I already had.
“I . . . it’s hard,” I said. “They are supportive, but I know I’m not the same boy I was when I was little. It’s like . . . it’s almost like we’re strangers sometimes.”
“That does sound difficult,” Sean said.
“It is . . . ,” I said.
“But?” he prodded. “It sounded like there was something else you wanted to say there.”
I swallowed around the sudden, very real lump in my throat. “But . . . I love them. And I want them to love me, not wish I was the boy who disappeared six years ago. I want them to know the me I am now.”
“You’ve changed,” Sean said.
“Yeah.” I rubbed a hand across my forehead. “Yeah, I have.”
It was the best damn performance of my life, because for once I was telling the truth.
? ? ?
Morales came to collect me from my meeting with Dr. Sean. She told me they were done. Patrick was waiting for me in the lobby, and we could go. She escorted me back to the front of the building.
“I’m sorry we had to bring you in again,” Morales said. “I know it can’t be easy for you to relive.”
“I would have thought that was the point,” I said.
She looked taken aback, which was pretty satisfying. “Excuse me?”
“Well, the reason you brought me back is you wanted to see how I’d respond to the stress, right?” I asked. “If my story would change at all?”
She smiled slowly. “Well, you never know what pressures or different approaches might cause a breakthrough, and that’s all we’re after here.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I thought you would,” she said. “You’re a very clever young man. Very perceptive.”
Morales opened the door to the lobby for me. Patrick was waiting.
“I had to be,” I said, and Patrick and I left.
? ? ?
Patrick drove me home. When I asked him on the way what Morales questioned him about, he dodged.
“Just the usual stuff,” he said. “You hungry?”