Author's notes and disclaimer in Installment 1.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Shadow On the Snow
Installment 3
by Kathleen Lombardo
Chapter Eight:
"Will you come with me to the mountains?
It will hurt at first, until your feet are hardened.
Reality is hard to the feet of shadows.
But will you come?"
- C.S. Lewis (The Great Divorce)
"Hey, slow down a little. I think I saw a body on the ground over there!" said the police officer to his partner who was driving.
They pulled over and got out of the car. Upon getting closer, they noticed a dull red stain of blood covered the front of the man on the ground. The man was Gary Hobson. The stain contrasted violently with the crisp white snow. One officer bent down and brushed snow from Gary's face, revealing lips that were already a dark blue color. The other officer radioed in for paramedics.
"Yeah, we think he’s still alive, but barely," answered the officer into the communicator on his shoulder as he glanced down at the man on the ground. He covered one ear with his hand, trying to hear above the howling wind.
"Sir … Sir, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?" asked the other officer as he gently shook Gary on the shoulder.
Gary's eyes opened slightly but were unfocused and glazed and closed again as he moaned softly. The first officer brushed the snow from the rest of him while the other went to the squad car to retrieve a blanket from the trunk. They carefully spread the blanket over Gary, including his face, in order to keep the blowing wind and snow off him. The blanket over his face would help keep some of the heat in his lungs. The officers had been trained to recognize hypothermia victims. It is important that they be treated with special care and moved as little as possible, so they dared not do anything more for fear of causing further injury.
Within a few minutes, a shrill siren could be heard over the howling wind. The paramedics made a quick evaluation of Gary’s condition before carefully placing him on a stretcher and putting him in the rescue. Immediately, they started to administer heated oxygen and checked his heartbeat. Frozen to the front of his sweater was the blood-soaked newspaper.
"Look at this? That newspaper may have saved this guy from bleeding to death," said the paramedic as he touched the paper. If they tried to remove the frozen paper to examine the wound, there was a chance that the bleeding would start again; so they decided to leave it in place for it to be removed at the hospital.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the emergency room, Gary’s clothing was quickly cut off and his pockets checked for identification. None was found. Heated IVs had already been prepared and ready to administer upon Gary's arrival and monitors for all vitals were set up. It was essential to raise his core body temperature before it dropped any further. Already his skin reflected the damaging effects of the cold. Warm packs were applied to his head, neck, chest, armpits and groin while painstaking care was taken of the abdominal wound.
Gary's muscles, because they were slowly beginning to warm, began to spasm
as the doctors were stitching the knife wound, and he thrashed about.
Suddenly, his heart started fibrillating. Medical staff rushed to defibrillate
his heart and restore a regular rhythm. It became necessary to intubate
Gary when he stopped breathing. The thrashing and defibrillating jolts
caused the wound stitches to burst open, and the doctors worked quickly to
stop the sudden hemorrhaging.
Chapter Nine:
"Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me, if this is the time.
Do it gently with a touch of a hand, or a look.
Every morning I wait at dawn.
That’s when it’s happened before.
Or do it suddenly like an execution.
How else can I get ready for death?
You breathe without a body like a spark.
You grieve, and I begin to feel lighter.
You keep me away with your arm,
But the keeping away is pulling me in."
- Rumi
"Gary? Gary, are you there? It’s me," said Marissa as she gently knocked on the door. Gary was late coming downstairs, and she had not checked on him earlier, unwilling to disturb his much needed sleep. Yesterday’s brush with death had taken its toll on Gary. When she did not receive a reply, she knocked harder but could not detect any noise from the apartment. Hearing footsteps on the stairs behind her, she turned in that direction.
"Gary?
"No, Marissa, it’s Chuck. Is Gary up yet?"
"He doesn’t answer and I can’t hear any noise in there. He hasn't come down all morning."
Chuck walked past her and tried the doorknob, which was unlocked, and he entered the apartment. When he surveyed the room, he noted that the bed did not look like it had been slept in and he told Marissa.
"Do you think he went out early, Chuck?" Concern was growing in Marissa’s voice. After a few seconds she asked, "Is the cat or the paper here?"
"No, I don’t see either. You don’t suppose … ?" Chuck started running down the stairs and Marissa called after him.
"Chuck, where are you going?"
"To buy a newspaper."
Marissa waited impatiently in the office for Chuck to return with a paper. Although he was back in less than five minutes, she felt that he had been gone longer. She fidgeted with her cane as Chuck scanned the articles in the paper.
"This has got to be the article he talked about last night - the guy that was mugged and left for dead in Grant Park. It says he was brought to Cook County Hospital, and the article asks that the hospital be contacted if anyone might know the identity of the victim."
"Oh, poor Gary. We should never have let him go out last night alone. He can be so stubborn! We’ve got to get to the hospital, Chuck." Marissa was in distress and stumbled against the desk in her haste to get to her coat.
"Marissa, calm down. Gary’s a fighter. He’s like a cat with nine lives." Chuck tried to be optimistic but Marissa could tell by his voice that he was as concerned as she was about Gary. This was a strange reversal of rolls because Marissa was usually the strong one when there was a crisis.
At the hospital their fears were confirmed. Gary was, indeed, the man in the article. The attending physician, Dr. Rosen, escorted them to Gary’s room in intensive care.
"Are you family?" asked the doctor softly as they stood at the foot of the bed.
"No, but we’re like family to him. We're all friends and work together. I’m his partner, Chuck Fishman and this is Marissa Clark."
"It would be advisable to get in touch with his next of kin. His condition is quite serious," said Dr. Rosen as he made a notation on a chart before hanging the clipboard on the foot of the bed.
"Gary’s parents live in Indiana. I’ll try to contact them; however, I seem to remember Gary saying that they were traveling south for the month in their camper. I wouldn’t even know where to try to contact them if they're not home," Chuck responded.
Chuck finally looked at his friend. The sight of Gary lying in the bed transfixed Chuck’s gaze, and he became silent. Medical equipment crowded the room - monitors, breathing equipment. Tubes, IVs and wires extended from under the blanket, which was pulled up snuggly around Gary’s chin. His facial skin was blotched and damaged from the cold.
What disturbed Chuck more than anything else, he realized, was the stillness in the room, the lack of movement and life. This was the worse that he had ever seen his friend, and Chuck felt the urge to run out of the room. It frightened him. Though Gary had his moments of indecision, Chuck had always thought of Gary as indestructible, strong in spirit, and full of energy. Chuck had a hard time seeing Gary so helpless.
"Is he going … will he be all right?" mumbled Chuck to the doctor while he stared at his friend. Marissa stood at Chuck’s side, clutching her cane for support.
"I won’t pull any punches. He is in bad shape. He was severely hypothermic, which has caused a host of problems. Added to that is the knife wound. On the other hand, the hypothermia may have kept him from bleeding to death - that and a newspaper. The blood on the paper froze, which acted like a seal and kept him from bleeding out. Quite fortunate for him. We’ve done all that we can for him. It is out of our hands. It’s up to him now." The doctor looked at Gary’s still form and watched the indicators on the monitors. He picked up the chart again and made more notations.
"For all the marvels of medical technology, life and death are ultimately out of the doctor's control. Many times it is the patient's will to live that is the deciding factor." The doctor looked from Chuck to Marissa. They silently glanced at Gary as the doctor said this.
"I’ll need some information about him now that he has been identified. Will one of you come with me?"
"Sure, I’ll come with you," said Chuck, trying not to sound too eager to leave the room. He really had a problem with hospitals and seeing sick people, especially when his friend was the patient. Before leaving the room, Chuck assisted Marissa to a chair that was beside the bed.
Now alone in the room with Gary, Marissa’s heightened senses fed information to her. She heard the overriding sound of the respirator, whooshing air in and out of Gary’s lungs. Its rhythm was steady, precise and so mechanical. The beeping of monitors next caught her attention. One must be a heart monitor she thought. Marissa found herself waiting in anticipation for each bleep, fearful that the next one would not come. Last to reach her heightened senses was the medicinal smell, all pervading and disturbing, and a reminder that Gary’s life lay in the balance. She felt her stomach tighten.
"Gary, please wake up. You’ve got to wake up. God, please don’t let him die," she sobbed and shook his arm lightly.
"I'm here with Chuck, Gary. We won’t leave you. Don’t give up. This has happened to you for a reason. There’s always a reason for everything in the paper. You know that."
Her voice trailed off into sobs as she started to doubt her own words. She placed her hand on Gary’s shoulder and rested her head on her outstretched arm. Shortly, she heard a gagging sound and felt him move.
"Gary? Gary?" She squeezed his shoulder harder and shook him slightly again. She heard another sound from Gary and felt more movement. His monitor’s alarm sounded.
"No, Lord, don’t let him die," she prayed earnestly.
"Doctor! Nurse! Anyone! Help him!"
Marissa heard footsteps approach and she stood to get out of the way. She shook her limp hands in frustrated helplessness as she backed up and collided into a nurse who had rushed in to check the alarm.
"What’s happening?" she pleaded.
"It’s okay. He has started to breathe on his own," said the nurse, suddenly sympathetic when she noticed that Marissa was blind.
"You’ll have to step out of the room for a few minutes while we tend to him."
Meanwhile, Chuck and Dr. Rosen entered the room, and Chuck guided Marissa out. A few minutes later the nurse told them they could go back in.
"So you have decided to rejoin the world of the living, Mr. Hobson. You had us all quite worried," said the doctor as he flashed a penlight into Gary’s eyes to evaluate the pupil response. He also checked Gary’s pulse.
Gary’s eyes flickered to adjust to the room light. He shifted his body slightly in the bed and moaned at the sudden pain that filled his abdomen. He was unaware of the people in the room. The intubation tube had been removed from his throat and he now wore an oxygen mask. His breathing was still irregular and ragged.
"Mr. Hobson, can you hear me?"
Gary slowly moved his gaze to focus on the doctor.
"Where am I?" Gary asked in a raspy voice, which was barely audible through the oxygen mask.
"You’re at Cook County Hospital. Can you tell us what happened to you?"
Gary stared at the doctor and did not answer. His eyelids lowered as he lost consciousness again. The doctor turned to Chuck and Marissa and motioned for them to leave the room with him.
"So, he’s going to be okay." Marissa’s voice was full of optimism.
"It’s still too early to say," responded the doctor. "The next 24 hours will tell. It is a good sign that he is breathing on his own, however. We are still trying to bring his body temperature up gradually, so he is in a very fragile state right now."
"Can’t you just wrap him in a heating blanket?" asked Chuck.
"No. If his extremities warm before his torso - his core - cold blood from his extremities would be pumped back into his heart along with toxins, which could cause his heart to stop and kill him. That’s why we use heated oxygen and heated IVs and blood in order to try to warm him from the inside out. But because we have to do it gradually, there is the chance that it won’t be quick enough to keep him stabilized due to the loss of blood from the stab wound. You may want to leave and come back later. He could be sleeping for a while. We'll call you if his condition changes."
"No, doctor, we’re not going to leave here until we know he will be okay."
Marissa was resolute in her statement.
Chapter Ten:
"I have lived on the lip of insanity,
wanting to know reasons, knocking on a door.
It opens. I’ve been knocking from the inside!"
- Rumi
The next day seemed to last an eternity for Chuck and Marissa as they waited faithfully in the hospital. Gary’s progress was very slow, but the doctor finally assured them that the worst was over. Dr. Rosen was concerned, however, that Gary had not woken up since he had started to breathe on his own, and remarked that it was as if he did not want to wake up.
At the insistence of the doctor, Chuck and Marissa went home for the night to get some rest. They checked at McGinty's to find out if the paper or the cat were at Gary’s loft, but found neither.
When they returned to the hospital the next day, they learned that Gary was awake but confused, despondent and quiet. He turned to his friends as they entered his room. Chuck stood while Marissa took a seat near the bed.
"Hey, Gar, how are you feeling?" asked Chuck upon seeing him sitting up in bed. Chuck was disturbed to find Gary still hooked up to a monitor, IVs and oxygen, but at least he was in a regular room, and there was less equipment around him.
"Gary, we were so concerned about you when you weren’t in your loft the other morning. Then we realized you must have been the man in that newspaper article," said Marissa as she sought to touch his hand. She was dismayed by his lack of response.
"Yeah, Gar, what happened? You were in really bad shape when they found you?" Chuck tried not to look at the fading blotches on Gary’s face.
"I aahh, I don’t know. What newspaper article are you talking about?" Gary’s concentration seemed to drift. His voice was so soft and still raspy that it was hard to hear him.
"Come on, Gar, you know. The paper. YOUR paper." Chuck’s voice reflected the growing concern that both he and Marissa felt. Gary’s face showed bewilderment and he turned his head slightly to look toward the window.
"You went to prevent some guy from being mugged and knifed in Grant Park two nights ago. You nearly died. We didn’t figure out it was you in the paper until the next day when you weren’t in your loft." Gary looked at Chuck with a blank expression and just shook his head.
"What loft? I don't live in a loft!" Gary was beginning to get agitated.
"You live in the loft over our bar, McGinty’s. Stop kidding around." Chuck did not think that Gary should be joking about this and became nervous about Gary's strange reaction.
"We don’t own a bar. We work at Strauss and Associates. What are you talking about?" Gary shifted in bed more agitated.
"Where’s Marcia? Will she be here soon?" he said after a minute of silence. Chuck looked to Marissa, hoping that she understood what was causing Gary’s memory loss.
"Gary, she’s not here. I doubt that she will be coming either." Marissa answered in a calm voice not wanting to upset Gary further.
"Why not? Call and tell her I want to go home. I don’t want to stay here any longer."
"But Gary, you’re divorced. Other than the other day when you saw her outside McGinty’s for a few minutes, you haven’t seen her in months," said Marissa.
"Maybe we should have your doctor come in. You seem to be a bit confused about things. I know you have had a rough few days, especially after what happened at the car dealership, and then this happening to you the same day … " continued Marissa. Chuck looked to the door, trying to decide whether or not to go in search of Gary’s doctor.
"Why are you lying to me?" Gary cut her off. He rubbed his forehead hard, trying to contain his growing anger.
Just then a hospital worker, who was carrying a tray of food to the room next door, dropped the tray, causing an explosion of sound as dishes and utensils hit the floor. Gary’s arms went up, and he covered his ears as if in protection.
"No! No!" he started to shout to no one in particular as he cringed in the bed. Just then Dr. Rosen entered the room and went to calm Gary. Chuck and Marissa felt helpless at Gary’s outburst.
"Get out of here. Leave me alone," he shouted at his friends. The doctor motioned to Chuck and Marissa to leave so that he could deal with Gary. After about ten minutes, the doctor joined them in the corridor.
"What precipitated that?" was Dr. Rosen’s first comment to Chuck and Marissa. "He kept asking me to call his wife Marcia. I thought you said he wasn’t married."
"He’s not," answered Chuck. "He’s been divorced for more than a year. He freaked out when that tray of food fell on the floor, and he started yelling at us.
"Doctor, something is very wrong with Gary. He doesn’t remember what happened to him. He doesn’t even remember that we own a bar together or where he lives now." Chuck started pacing as he talked to the doctor.
"It sounds like he may be experiencing post traumatic stress from the mugging, trying to block out the memory of what happened. But why would he block out more than a year of his life?" asked Dr. Rosen.
"Doctor, on the day he was mugged, Gary had a very close call in the morning. Do you remember hearing in the news about someone named Bowen who went to a car dealership and almost killed a man? Gary was the guy who was almost killed. If he hadn’t turned at the last moment, he would have been shot in the head." Marissa was careful about how much information she would give the doctor.
"So why did he go out that night, especially when the weather was so miserable?" probed the doctor.
"He was still very upset about what happened and said he wanted to go out. He was gone before we could stop him." Marissa had a hard time lying, but she did not want to tell the doctor about the newspaper article and Gary getting tomorrow’s newspaper today.
"That explains why he may have reacted so strongly to loud noises, but there must have been something else that happened to make him forget more than a year of his life. Usually in cases like this, the patient will block out memory of the incident or events that precipitated the incident. However, you say he still believes he is married. Has anything happened with his wife lately?"
"No. Not that we know of. He had a hard time dealing with his divorce and hadn't even been aware that his wife was unhappy when she locked him out of the house on his anniversary," answered Chuck tentatively. It was evident to Chuck that Gary was blocking out knowledge of the newspaper.
"I have to finish making my rounds. When I finish, I’ll go back in and talk to him again. I’ll also have a staff psychologist meet with him. Mr. Hobson may need some counseling and medication to get him through this time until he can come to grips with what has happened. Meanwhile, I would recommend that you leave him alone for the time being until he settles down." The doctor talked to a nurse at the station and wrote something on a chart. Before he walked down the corridor, Dr. Rosen turned to Chuck and Marissa.
"I noticed Mr. Hobson has a slight fever, probably the start of an infection, which is very common with an abdominal wound. I’ve ordered an antibiotic to be added to his IV. By the way, were you able to reach his parents? We may need them here to help him through this time."
"No, I haven’t been able to reach them," answered Chuck. "I’ll keep trying."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mr. Hobson, hi. My name is Dr. Valastro. Dr. Rosen asked that I stop by and talk with you." The doctor found Gary sitting up in bed, staring out the window. The patient looked depressed and pre-occupied, noted the doctor as he took a seat next to the bed. Gary turned to view his visitor and did not reply. Dr. Valastro cleared his throat and settled back in his chair. His friendly face and casual manner reminded many people of Jimmy Stewart.
"May I call you Gary?" A slight nod from Gary prompted Dr. Valastro to continue.
"Gary, Dr. Rosen asked that I talk to you because you seem to be having some confusion since you woke up here in the hospital … some memory problems."
"No … no, I … ," he replied in a slow, low voice and did not finish.
"Do you remember what happened to you, why you are in the hospital?"
"I, uhh …" Gary’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. His eyes reflected the confusion in his mind. "No, I don't, only what I have been told."
"The police believe you were mugged. You did not have any identification on you. They found you in Grant Park on Lake Shore Drive with a knife wound to your abdomen. Do you remember that or why you were in the park?"
Gary looked at Dr. Valastro with knitted brows and softly said "No."
"Why don’t you tell me about yourself." Dr. Valastro leaned forward. His friendly, casual manner relaxed Gary.
"I’m … I’m married."
"What is your wife’s name?"
"Marcia"
"Your friends told me that you have been divorced for over a year, that would make her your ex-wife."
"No, I don’t know why they would say that." Gary looked away and gazed out the window.
"Has she visited you, Gary?"
He turned quickly to look at the doctor. He did not like the direction these questions were leading to.
"No. She’s, she’s a lawyer and must be involved in a trial. There are days I see very little of my wife when a client’s case is being heard in court. It’s not unusual," he muttered almost to himself. Gary shifted his position in bed and folded and unfolded the top of the sheet, not wanting to make eye contact with the doctor.
"You’ve been here three days. Don’t you think she would have visited you by now?"
Gary did not respond. Dr. Valastro decided to take an alternate route of questioning.
"Gary, what do you do for a living?" Dr. Valastro asked as he made some notes on a pad.
"I’m a stockbroker at Strauss and Associates. I trade commodities."
"Do you enjoy your job?"
"I make good money. It’s very fast-paced."
"But do you enjoy your job?"
"I make a living from it."
"What can you tell me about McGinty’s?" continued Dr. Valastro.
"It’s a bar that I go to with my friends. What, what has any of this got to do with anything?" snapped Gary angrily, finally looking directly at the doctor.
"That's why I'm here, Mr. Hobson. You seem to have forgotten more than a year of your life, and I'm here to help you. I’ve talked to your friends. Mr. Fishman said he is your partner at McGinty’s, and that both he and Miss Clark work with you there. You live upstairs in the loft over the bar. Does any of this sound familiar to you?" Dr. Valastro stared at Gary for his reaction.
"No, no. Why did they tell you that?" Gary’s voice was getting louder as he became more agitated and shook his head no.
"That’s not true. I don’t own a bar, I’m a stockbroker … and I’m married. That’s not my life!"
Gary was getting physically agitated and shaking his head back and forth. He ran his hand through his hair, his glance darting about as if he were trying to solve a mental puzzle.
Dr. Valastro studied Gary and made additional notes. He noticed Gary’s eyes seemed to be glassy looking and his face was flushed. When he reached over to feel Gary’s forehead, Gary became startled by the doctor’s touch and pulled away in fear.
"You have a fever," Dr. Valastro said as he then pressed his fingers to Gary’s wrist to check his pulse.
"I’ll make sure the nurse brings you something to help you. Try to rest for now. We'll talk again later." Gary was oblivious to what the doctor said.
Dr. Valastro rose and walked toward the door. He glanced back at Gary, who was rubbing his face in his hands and shaking his head "no" as if to an inner question. The doctor pondered Gary’s statement of "that’s not my life." What an odd remark. Something happened to this patient that made him block out more than a year of his life. The question was "why?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gary could not lie still in the bed. His mind was in turmoil and the fever made him restless. Why did the doctor ask those questions? Why was everyone telling lies? Marcia would tell them the truth. She would clear everything up so they would stop asking questions.
"I’ve got to get out of here," he muttered out loud.
With his mind made up, Gary proceeded to remove the oxygen nasal prongs
from his nose and the IV from his arm. Dizziness overwhelmed him as
he climbed out of the bed, and his knees buckled. He grabbed the bed
to steady himself. He was glad his friends had brought him clothes
earlier that day, and Gary struggled to dress himself. His mind was
set on one goal - to find Marcia. He needed answers.
Chapter Eleven:
Gary made slow progress in his effort to leave the hospital unnoticed and to reach his former home. Although the weather had turned milder, he felt cold and walked with his hands dug deep into his pockets for warmth. Chilled perspiration on his brow from the effort of walking and a rising fever made him still more uncomfortable.
When he arrived at his former home and stumbled up the front steps, he realized he had no keys, so he rang the bell and called for Marcia. An elderly woman answered the door.
"Who are you? Where’s Marcia? " Gary looked at the woman, bewildered.
"There’s no Marcia here. Can I help you?" She was somewhat fearful of the strange man on her doorstep. The frail, white-haired woman held the half-closed door tightly in protection as she surveyed Gary.
"What are you doing in my home? Marcia!" he shouted as he tried to see into the house.
"But this is my home. I live here with my son and family." She tensed and backed up, not knowing what to do. She could see he was sincere in his belief that it was his home.
Gary pushed on the door and forced his way into the house. The woman held her hand to her mouth in fear and did not move as she watched him. Gary looked about the room and was startled to see furnishings that were not his. Feeling disoriented, he walked over to the doorway to the den and looked in, his eyes searching for his familiar sailboat models, which usually adorned the mantle. In their place were pictures of strangers and an anniversary clock. Walking back to the entrance hallway, he saw the woman had become frightened of him and he was suddenly embarrassed for his intrusion.
"I’m, I’m sorry. I live here. I mean I used to live here. My wife … " His voice trailed off as he shook his head in confusion and ran his hands through his hair and looked about the room again in hopes of seeing something familiar. A wave of dizziness came over him, and he had to grab the doorpost to keep from falling. The woman looked at Gary in concern, and felt pity for the handsome man before her.
"Young man, why don’t you come and sit down and rest a little. You look very pale. Maybe I should call for medical attention for you." She had noticed the hospital bracelet still on Gary’s wrist.
"No! I’ll be okay. I’m, I’m sorry for barging in here like this. I thought this was my home. I … " Gary did not finish and turned and left the house. His mind was flooded with images, especially one particular image of a suitcase falling out of the upstairs window, but he could not figure out what these images meant. He staggered down the street, preoccupied and with no destination.
Unaware of how he got there, he found himself at his favorite park bench near the lake. Gary sat with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, hands tucked beneath his armpits, trying to keep warm, as he rocked back and forth. Shivers pulsed through his body, and he became aware of a growing pain in his abdomen.
He stared at the ground while he tried to sort through the barrage of images that flashed in his mind. The steady movement of a shadow across the snow-covered pavement drew his attention, and he watched, feeling a sensation of deja vu. The shadow stopped before him. As he looked up and to his left, he saw the shape of a man silhouetted against the sun. Gary squinted in the bright light as he tried to see who it was.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" asked a priest in a quiet voice. He was short and slightly bent over, looked to be in his 60s and had a kind face that was deeply lined. His serene demeanor seemed to radiate calmness and peace. Gary shook his head to indicate he was welcomed to sit.
"This is such a wonderful spot. I love to come here," said the priest as he looked across the lake then back again at Gary. Something in the priest’s voice made Gary look at him. The man seemed familiar to him, but Gary could not remember how he knew him.
"Do I know you?" Gary finally asked.
"I don’t think so, but I do come here quite often to sit. Maybe you have seen me here." The priest surveyed Gary’s features, and a look of concern soon appeared on the priest's face.
"My name is Fr. Farley. I'm from Holy Cross Church," the priest said as he extended his hand to Gary in greeting.
"I’m Gary, Gary Hobson." Gary did not know why he felt an instant rapport with the man he had just met, but the priest seemed so familiar. Gary resumed his rocking back and forth in an attempt to get warm.
"Mr. Hobson, are you okay? You don’t look well," commented the priest. Gary looked at Fr. Farley and then looked out over the lake.
"No, I'm not. Everything is all mixed up, changed. I don’t know what has happened to me. I, I don’t know where to go." Gary looked about him, despair on his face. Normally a private person, Gary was surprised when he found himself talking to the stranger.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" urged the priest. Before Gary could answer, a passing car backfired, which sounded like gunfire.
"Ahhhhh!" Gary moaned and wrapped his arms about his head. His mind filled with the images of a gun pointed at his face and the look of hate-filled eyes that bored into his brain. Memories poured into his mind as he sat rocking back and forth in misery.
"Mr. Hobson, Mr. Hobson, what's the matter?" asked the concerned priest.
"I don't want to die. He almost killed me!" Gary's face was tormented in fear and tears streamed down his face.
"Who almost killed you, Mr. Hobson? What happened to you?"
"At the car dealership, Bowen, he was going to kill others there. I had to stop him, but I froze in fear. I couldn't do anything. It's been too much lately." Disconnected memories bombarded Gary at the same time, and he found himself blurting out whatever thought was dominant at the moment.
"My wife … my wife left me. This is not what I wanted!" Gary became more distressed, and the priest sat quietly to let Gary give vent to his anguish.
"Why did she leave me? And Marley, he … " Gary turned to face the priest. When he did so, Gary remembered how he knew the priest, from a dream, wasn't it?
"I want things to be the way they were. It's too much for me! I don't know who I am or what I am supposed to do."
"Mr. Hobson, you can't change the past. But you CAN change the future. This suffering you are going through now, look beyond it. Listen to your heart. It will lead you to the truth and where you should be."
Gary listened to the priest. The words sounded familiar. He lowered his head while tears continued to pour down his cheeks. His mind flooded with memories, tumbling one over the other, each demanding his attention. Then he remembered the newspaper, tomorrow's newspaper that he got today. That was the reason he was at the car dealership. Why did he get the paper? The burden, the weight of that now remembered responsibility pressed upon him, and he felt overwhelmed. After a few minutes, he turned to the priest.
"I … " The priest was gone. Gary had not even heard him leave.
Where did he go? Gary looked about him and searched the faces of those
that passed by. Confused and feverish, Gary rose from the bench and
started to walk.
Chapter Twelve:
Marissa and Chuck sat in the office of McGinty's going over bills and mail that had been neglected during their hospital vigil with Gary. It was amazing how quickly things had accumulated when not tended to on a daily basis.
"Chuck, did you remember to place the order for the new menus with the printer?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry, Marissa, what did you say? I've been sitting here thinking about Gary. What are we going to do? He doesn't remember any of this," he said picking up some of the bills and indicating the whole of McGinty's. He then remembered Marissa was blind and didn't know what he was pointing to.
"Do you think the doctors will be able to help him get his memory back?"
"I don't know, Chuck. I hope so. They seem to think that with medication and counseling he'll improve."
"But, Marissa, it's obvious Gary doesn't want to remember anything to do with the paper. He doesn't believe anything we tell him, and we can't tell the doctors about it. Should we even tell Gary everything about the paper? Lately, he's always complaining he doesn't want it. I have to agree. Look what it's gotten him into!"
"The paper comes to Gary for a reason. I don't think it's something we can decide for him," answered Marissa.
"Both the paper and the cat haven't shown up since he got mugged," said Chuck as he started pacing back and forth in the office.
"Maybe the paper won't come any more and we won't have to tell him anything about it. I'm sure he is better off not remembering some of the things that have happened to him with the paper, and now these latest incidents. He could become a normal guy again," reasoned Chuck.
"I don’t' think it's that easy, Chuck. There's no guarantee that he won't remember the paper. What happens when he remembers? We will not have helped him. We can't hide the truth." Marissa tilted her head to the side, trying to hear where Chuck was in the room.
"Maybe we should wait until he is better, but we can't hide the paper from him forever."
Before Chuck could respond, the telephone rang.
"McGinty's. May I help you," answered Marissa.
"Yes, this is Miss Clark. No, we haven't. How long ago?"
Chuck walked over and stood by the desk as Marissa talked to the caller, impatient to find out what the call was about. Marissa's face was full of worry and Chuck found himself growing more concerned.
"Yes, we will. Thank you, I will." Marissa turned her head to face Chuck as she nervously hung up the phone.
"Marissa, what happened? What's wrong with Gary?"
"He's gone. He left the hospital. They don't know where he is. Chuck …"
"Marissa, we'll find him. We've got to think. Where would he go? If he still thinks he is married, maybe he'll go to where he lived. Do you think we should call Marcia in case he tries to contact her?"
Before Marissa could respond, they were surprised by the sound of the cat meowing. It was standing by the door that leads to the stairs to Gary's loft. It was sitting upon a newspaper.
"Marissa, it's Cat and the paper!" Chuck walked over and picked up the paper, quickly flipping through the pages of the paper. He stopped when he found an article about Gary.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disoriented from fever and pain, Gary wandered the streets aimlessly as he was bombarded by memories. He recalled a dream, at least he thought it was a dream, about Marcia. In it he was still married, but things happened in the dream that disturbed him. She was not the Marcia he had loved so much. She was different, harder, or maybe he had just seen what she was really like for the first time. He was becoming overwhelmed by the memories.
He felt himself growing weaker as he walked. Occasionally, he had to stop and rest against a wall or pole to keep from falling down. As he walked down a side street, he glanced in an alley and saw two men in the process of mugging another man.
"Hey! Hey! What are you doing? Let him alone." Something in Gary overcame his weariness and he felt a sudden surge of energy and desire to help the man who was being mugged. He stumbled closer, one arm on the wall for support as he walked, and tried to persuade the two muggers to leave the man alone.
While Gary drew their attention, the intended victim ran off down the alley the other way. Gary suddenly realized the situation he had just put himself into. The two muggers walked toward Gary and slammed him up against the wall.
"So, you want to be the hero. I guess we'll just have to be happy taking your money instead."
Flashes came to Gary's mind of a similar scene - night, by the water, Grant Park. He looked into the face of the taller assailant and recognized the purple scar on the man’s face. He also realized this man wore the jacket they had stolen from him the night of the attack.
"You are the men that attacked me!"
The man with the scar punched Gary in the midriff to silence him. Gary collapsed to the ground in agony, writhing upon the ground and clutching his abdomen. Just then Chuck appeared in the alley along with Crumb and a policeman.
"Put your hands up, punks!" shouted Crumb as he aimed his gun at them. One of the men started to run down the alley but was quickly apprehended by the policeman while Crumb handcuffed the scar-faced man. Meanwhile, Chuck had raced to Gary.
"Gar! Gar! Are you okay? Speak to me, big guy. It’s Chuck." Chuck knelt down and lifted Gary's head onto his lap. Gary moaned in pain. Chuck took off his coat and wrapped it around his friend.
"How …?" asked Gary as tears streamed down his cheeks. His body convulsed in deep shivers. He was astonished to see Chuck and very pleased.
"The cat. We haven't seen the cat or paper since you were in the hospital. But today, just a little while ago, Marissa and I were talking in the office. The hospital called to say that you were gone, and Marissa and I were trying to figure out where you could be when the cat and paper showed up. There was an article about you that led us here."
He spoke softly while glancing around to make sure no one else would hear him talk about the paper and the cat. When he looked at his friend, Chuck was dismayed to see Gary had grown progressively worse in the few minutes that he held him.
"Chuck, help me," Gary pleaded as he sobbed into Chuck’s chest. "Help me."
Chuck looked at Gary and saw a broken man, a little boy lost and alone, and knew it was not only physical help that Gary asked for. Chuck could feel his own eyes fill with tears.
"Crumb, hurry up, he needs medical attention!" yelled Chuck.
Chapter Thirteen:
"Finally home. It feels like a lifetime since I've been here," Gary said as he slowly climbed the stairs to his loft on his first day out of the hospital. When he entered his loft, he turned to Marissa and Chuck and looked at them in silence.
"I don't know how to thank the both of you for being there for me. I probably wouldn't have been able to get through these past couple of weeks without your help and friendship." He took a deep breath before continuing.
"And I apologize for how I acted toward you in the hospital. Things were a bit mixed up for me. "
"Hey, Gar, we're friends! We understand, don't we Marissa? You've been through a lot." Chuck did not handle conversations like this well, and he looked about the room a moment before heading toward the door.
"Well, Gar, I better go downstairs and make sure everything's running smoothly. I'll come back up a little later. You know how the staff is. They need someone to lead them all the time, make those snap decisions, keep things in line."
"Sure, Chuck, no problem." Gary walked over to his chair by the couch and sat down and rested his head on the back of the chair.
"Gary, how about a cup of tea?" Marissa asked cheerfully as she crossed the loft to the kitchen area. She had been in his loft so often, she was as familiar with the location of everything as if it were her own home.
"That would be nice. Thank you, Marissa." She started to prepare their tea while Gary sat quietly. When he heard the clink of spoons and cups, he walked over and put the tea bags in the hot water filled cups and carried them to the coffee table. She followed him and sat on the couch while he sat in the chair. She sensed he wanted to talk, but she did not want to push him to open up. He had only just recently started acting more like his old self after days of in-hospital therapy and medication.
"Whew, I'm tired," Gary finally said to break the silence. "I haven't done anything except climb the stairs, and I already feel exhausted."
"Gary, you have been through more in a few days than some have in their whole lives. I would be amazed if you weren't exhausted." She took a deep sip of her tea and cradled her cup in her hands. "You've been pushing yourself too hard and not giving yourself enough rest. You've got to take care of yourself."
There was an uncomfortable pause of silence. Gary wanted to talk about things that only Marissa would understand, but he was having difficulty voicing what he wanted to say. He respected her and was constantly amazed at her insight and sensitivity and valued her opinions, wisdom and guidance.
"Marcia called me at the hospital. She had seen an article about me and the capture of the muggers in the newspaper." Gary looked at Marissa to see her reaction.
"Oh? And what happened? What did you say?" Marissa questioned. Gary rubbed the back of his neck and shifted nervously in his chair.
"I told her it was over, that I'm not interested. It's best that we keep things as they are."
Marissa's mouth fell open slightly and she was at a loss for words. She had not expected this answer.
Again they were silent. Gary was still uncomfortable talking about what happened and Marissa was afraid of upsetting Gary.
"Marissa, when I was in the coma, I had a really strange dream. I told you about some of it, remember?" Gary nervously rubbed the back of his neck again.
"I was still married to Marcia. We had never been divorced. It was sort of odd. She was so different from how I remembered her. She was hard, superficial, and cold. I saw a side of her I never saw before. Now I don't know which is the truth."
"Well, you know, Gary, sometimes you don’t see the forest for the trees. We all knew you and Marcia were not a good match. She was drying up your soul by trying to make you into what you weren’t. You were the only one who didn’t recognize that, and you’ve hung onto the misconception that things could have been different between you. It sounds like this dream of yours made you look at your life and see the truth about her."
"It made me see a lot of things. It didn't seem like a dream, though. It was much more vivid and logical, not like other dreams. The priest I told you about, the one in the park, he was in the dream, too. The things he said to me, well, I keep thinking about what he said. It's all still confusing to me." Gary was frustrated and ran his hand through his hair.
"Marissa, do you, do you think that the paper controls my life - that I'm just a pawn being moved about?" Before she answered, he chuckled to himself. "I really couldn't discuss any of this with the therapist, you know."
"Gary, I don’t think the paper controls you at all. I think you are who you are. The paper," she paused as if she had just made a discovery. "The paper seems to focus who you are. It focuses your strengths and your purpose into a particular direction where you can do the most good." Gary weighed what she said but did not comment.
"Do you remember how you had to choose between trying to save the planeload of people and the 6-year old child? You chose the 6-year old child. Why?"
"I, I, I don’t know. I can’t explain it myself," Gary stammered after trying to recall the incident clearly. He replayed the scene in his head.
"There was a tugging in my gut that I couldn’t resist. I had to save the girl. I, I didn’t have a choice."
"Gary, that’s what I mean. It’s not the paper. It never has been. It has always been YOU." Marissa became silent as her words surprised even herself.
"The paper is a tool that helps you to fulfill who you really are. That's why you felt out of place in your own life when you were married to Marcia." She took another sip of her tea and thought for a few seconds before speaking again.
"You lost perspective on your life and haven't stepped back to see the larger picture. That's why things built up and built up until you couldn't handle it anymore.
"First it was your divorce. You couldn't understand why Marcia left you, yet you never allowed yourself to think about it much because it was too painful for you.
"That terrible situation with Marley is another thing you have not completely reconciled! I don't know that anyone would ever get over something like that! But you never talk about it to relieve yourself of some of that stress. You keep everything bottled up inside.
"Then you almost got killed by Bowen. Instead of seeing that you helped save the lives of six people, you think that you did nothing. You are human, Gary, with human strengths and weaknesses. You don't think you did anything to stop Bowen, but who else would have put his life in jeopardy for others? You froze. So what! Apparently, you still did what you were supposed to do. You were there when you were needed. You did not fail!" She surprised herself by her strong tone of voice.
"Why do you always assume personal responsibility for things you can't control? Some things are just fated to happen. They are not caused by your failure to help. People have free will and sometimes bring about their own fate, and you will never be able to change those things. Life is a mystery. We may never understand it. You can't take responsibility for everything." Gary sat with his forearms resting on his thighs and stared at his hands as he listened to Marissa. His tea sat untouched on the table.
"Maybe the paper, or whoever sends it, knew you were having a hard time right now dealing with everything and allowed this situation to bring you to rock bottom so that you would be forced to look at your life and gain perspective to find yourself."
"So you think the paper caused what happened to me, you know, the mugging?" Gary slowly lifted his eyes to look at Marissa.
"Well, yes and no. The paper shows you whom to save. This time YOU were the one who needed to be saved, and it was only you who could save yourself. That's why the paper put you there. Maybe your dream was not a dream at all but a sort of different reality that allowed you to help yourself. You don't know where the paper comes from or why, so anything is possible.
"I do know one thing for certain though, Gary. You have a gift, a gift that comes with a tremendous burden that very few people are capable of handling. You had that gift before the paper and will have it if the paper never comes again. It is part of who you are. You truly care about others and are leading the life you are meant to lead, difficult as it may be at times."
"You know, Marissa, you have been more helpful than the therapist. Thank you."
Just then they heard the familiar "Meeoooww" at the door. Gary started to get up to go to the door.
"Sit, Gary, I'll go." Marissa went to the door and let in the cat, which ran across the room directly to Gary and jumped onto his lap. She tapped with her cane to find out if there was a paper.
"Hey, Cat, where have you been? I missed you, fur ball." Gary was delighted at the arrival of the cat and smiled as he gave the cat a quick hug and scratched its head. For the first time in quite a while Gary smiled. The cat placed its paws on Gary's chest, rubbed its head against Gary's chin and purred loudly. After a minute or two, the cat circled into a ball in Gary’s lap.
"So, Marissa, do you have the paper?" asked Gary wearily as he watched her sit down on the couch.
"No, there was no paper. It probably wants you to recover first. The cat came back. I'm sure the paper will come back too. Give yourself the freedom to heal. When you're ready, it will be back."
Marissa waited for Gary to say something and got nervous when she did
not hear a reply. Then she heard the soft sound of Gary's snore.
He had fallen asleep in the chair. The cat, curled up in his lap, had
fallen asleep too.
"Life and the ideal are hard to reconcile.
To try to make them follow the same path is a life’s work."
- Leo Tolstoy
THE END
Email the author: ktlombardo@hotmail.com
Back Home to McGinty's |
Stories by Title |
Stories by Author |