An Unlikely Romance Ch. 04

She did not turn her head in his direction.

"Nina was from an immigrant family. Her parents barely had enough to sustain themselves. She grew up in soup kitchens and homeless shelters all around the city. It was her sheer determination and willpower that got her into the Academy. She was very good at her job. In fact, she was offered promotions and transfers on multiple occasions, but she turned them down. Do you know why? She grew up on the streets where sadistic pimps and customers have their way with helpless hookers. She empathised with them like no one I have seen."

"I am so sorry for your loss."

"It's not my loss I'm worried about."

His heart dropped to his stomach.

"If there was one thing she did wrong, it was marriage. She married a total asshole. That guy frequently got drunk and beat her. They had two kids. About a year or so back, she finally had enough and kicked him out. She was taking care of the kids on her own. They were all she had and she was all they had. They are just 3 and 4 years old. Now she's dead and they're orphans. They'll go into the infamous foster care system."

He looked away unable to hear any more, feeling lower than the Dead Sea.

"What about their futures? Do they get some money from the state?"

Monica looked away wistfully.

"The usual that a cop's family gets. It would have been much more had she taken those promotions and transfers."

No more, no more, make it stop. Please.

She turned to him. Her cheeks were tear stained and sallow. Tiny rivulets had formed from her eyes to her cheek. She had been crying for some time now.

"Why are people like the butcher even born? Why can't everybody be like you?"

Taken aback slightly Simon replied, "Like me?"

She nodded gently.

Unsure of what to say, he looked towards the rising sun.

He would become the man she knew him to be. He didn't care what it took.

Monica went downstairs to prepare breakfast. Now that she had her head straight, she could think clearly on the case once again. He came down to breakfast, holding two envelopes.

"Mon, I have something I need to give you."

She turned towards him as he handed her the first envelope.

"Look, I have more money than I can spend. My bank account is just south of seven figures. Those poor kids on the other hand could use some. Here is a cheque for their college funds. Could you please anonymously add it to their compensation?"

Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope and looked at the figure Simon had put. Her eyes went wide with shock.

"Wow. That's more than triple of what......." The words remained lost in her mouth.

Unassumingly, he went on.

"This other envelope contains the name and details of a friend of mine from college, Norah Hoffman. She and her husband Sebastian are the nicest couple you can hope to meet. Unfortunately Norah is too busy in her professional life to be pregnant, but they love kids. You will never see them at a park without seeing them showering affection on some toddler. They have tried to adopt multiple times in the past but the Social Services was too 'busy' to get back to them. It would mean a lot to me if you could see to it that both kids end up with Norah. I can guarantee you; they will not find better parents anywhere."

Monica still seemed to be in a state of shock from what had just happened. Still clutching the envelopes, she walked over to him and put her arms around his back. She didn't say anything, just held on lovingly. His back still hurt but he didn't care. He was on the road to redemption.

Finally she detached herself from him. Taking a few steps back, she looked upon him with a look of reverential awe. He sat down to have breakfast.

"The one decent man left in New York, and he's in front of me."

He grinned, but he knew there was something important to be done. If he was to truly ever stop killing, he would have to get to the root cause of his urges. He had a pretty good idea where to start.

Dr. Shannon Hart was a busy woman. As one of the leading psychoanalysts in the state, she had a steady stream of clients spilling their guts out on her couch. But she sensed something different about her four 'o' clock client.

"Good evening. I'm Dr. Hart."

"Good evening. I'm Simon."

"Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

"I was adopted by a foster family when I was five. I basically have no idea about my life before that. Is that normal?"

"Different people start forming memories at different ages."

"Well, I don't think my memories weren't formed, I think they were umm........ buried."

She shifted her glasses.

"Repressed memories. Our conscious mind sometimes buries things it can't adjust to. Things that provoke extreme emotions--usually bad memories. Sometimes it's an indicator of early childhood PTSD. What makes you think you have repressed memories?"

"Well, ever since I was a kid, I've had recurring nightmares. Sometimes I hear strange voices. Also, I have these burn marks on my arms and shoulder I can't explain."

I graciously left out the part about my little hobby.

She took down some notes.

"They are classic signs of repressed memories. So what do you want to know?"

"Can they be umm...... unrepressed?"

She looked at me for a long time before replying.

"It is a relatively simple medical procedure. I can book an appointment for you day after tomorrow at my clinic. But I have to warn you."

"Warn me of what?"

She sighed, "You are talking about memories so terrible that your conscious mind blocked them out. Only your subconscious mind can reach them. Do you really want to awaken them?"

"I have to."

Lives depended on it.