Blowout

a Kevlar vest, but even so, I think it would splatter me from here into the next block. It would make an awful mess.”
    Martin stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, I don’t want to think what it would do to you.”
    “I hope you never have to see it. Now, I want you to listen to me carefully, Martin. Are you hearing me?”
    Savich waited. Slowly, Martin nodded. Savich saw his fingers ease off the trigger, saw he was holding the shotgun more loosely now. Good, he had his attention.
    “You’ve already done a very violent thing in firing that shotgun, but no one was hurt. Now concentrate, focus your mind. I want you to look inside yourself, Martin. Look at the powerful feelings that made you do that. Examine them, ruminate on each one of them. Look at them like you would something you want to eat, something you’re not really sure of, but you’re hungry, you have this compulsion to eat everything in front of you. I want you to ask yourself where those feelings are coming from.”
    Martin looked bewildered. “I don’t know. I don’t want to look at them. I want them to go away and stay away, but they won’t. They get all heaped up in my head, and I can’t see clearly, can’t separate them out. They’re there all of a sudden and make me crazy, they just—happen, like this morning, everything just popped. I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t stop it, just couldn’t.”
    “You’re a strong person, Martin. You’ve survived what many men would never survive, so I know you can deal with this, too. I’m not a physician to give you drugs or tell you to meditate to stop the feelings from overwhelming you.
    “What I know is this—you and I are standing right here, you’ve got a shotgun in your hand, the police are outside, and your family is frightened. This is real, Martin, and it could turn tragic. You have to deal with this right now. Without violence, without any more loss of control. I want you to focus your mind on the most real thing in the world to you—your wife, Janet, who’s scared even though she’s hiding it really well. You don’t want her to be frightened any more, do you?”
    “I—I, no, I don’t. I hate it when this happens because I can see she’s afraid, afraid of me. And she’s afraid even more for the girls. Oh God, I love Janet.”
    “I can see why.”
    Martin shook his head, as if coming out of a fog. His voice was shaking as he said, “I’m sorry. I understand. I think I’m feeling better now. Those feelings seem to be backing off, I’m more in control again. Really, I’m not just saying that. Please, Agent Savich, sit down.”
    Martin paused, his hand loosening even more on the beautiful black walnut stock of the shotgun. He said, his voice curiously childlike, wistful, “I’ve never met an FBI agent before.” He turned to his wife, and his voice was easier now, less frightened. “Janet, did you hear what he said?”
    “Yes, and it makes a lot of sense to me, Martin. You didn’t want to see a doctor before, but now that’s what we must do.” She glanced at Savich, and quickly again at the shotgun.
    “Janet, did you hear what he said to me about my mother?”
    She nodded. “Yes. He said your dead mother came to him, then she came to him again in his dreams. She spoke of you, her precious boy. She wants him to help you.” She touched her husband’s shoulder. “Martin, please put down that shotgun. I never want to see it again, ever. I want to throw it in the river.”
    He nodded and grinned at her, actually grinned. “It’s going to cost us a fortune to repair the wall.”
    “Forget about the wall. Agent Savich is going to help us, Martin.” She held out her hand. “Give me that thing. I know it’s beautiful. I know you paid a bundle for it, but it frightens me. It destroys. I’m going to unload it and lay it beside the front door. Okay?”
    “Here,” was all he said, and handed her the shotgun. She paused a second, because she really didn’t want to touch it, but she took it and did exactly what she’d said she would. She walked to the front door, unloaded the shotgun, and laid it on the floor.
    Us, Savich thought, Janet had said us, not just her husband. And that may have been the right thing to say. When she returned, he said, “Please, both of you, call me Dillon.” Odd how so few people called him by his first name, but somehow, in this circumstance, he knew it was right. He smiled at both of