Fear - 7

"Hey, Doc, to what do we owe the honor this time?" The older, gray-haired man swiveled in his old desk chair to look at Gene.

Gene smiled at Max Spitzer with a cocked eyebrow. "I can't just stop in to say hello?"

"Sure. But usually that's followed by, 'Hey, Max, I've got this strange rattle under the hood' and then you ask when we can take a look at it."

"It's an old car. What do you expect?" Chuckling, Gene shook his head. "I was on my way to my office and decided to drop in." He looked through the large plate-glass window on one wall of the office which let Max keep an eye on the garage. "Where's Shawn? Out to lunch?"

Max shot him a look. "Didn't know he was one of your patients, though sometimes I think he should be, as many 'accidents' as he has."

"So I've heard," Gene replied tightly.

"Yeah, I don't believe that one either. And to answer your question, he quit this morning. Said he was moving on."

"Alone?"

Max's mouth thinned in disgust. "Nope. I saw that truck belonging to his boyfriend sitting outside waiting for him. The boyfriend I mean," he added with a tiny smile. "In the truck."

"Damn it." Gene sighed, rubbing his forehead. "When are people going to learn?"

"Not to get philosophical, Doc, but not until they realize that being beat on does not equal love or caring in any way, shape, or form. Every time he'd go off on a bender, that bastard put Shawn through the wringer, which was too many times to count from what I saw."

"I wish… I don't suppose you know where they were heading?"

"Nope, not a clue."

"Or the boyfriend's name?"

"First name's Jared. Not sure about the last but Ms Johnson probably knows, since they were living at her motel for a while."

"Thanks, Max. I'll try her. Oh, and by the way"—Gene grinned a bit—"there's this strange rattle…"

"See, told you. You never stop by just to visit."

They both chuckled and then Gene took off, heading up the street to the motel.