Lois and Bernie were the first to burst through the ER doors, making a beeline for the admissions desk.  They were totally oblivious to the general air of urgency as doctors and nurses tried to deal with the aftermath of another Halloween, focusing, instead on the slender, lean-faced young doctor they were already so familiar with.

“Thank God you’re here,” Dr. Carter said, stepping forward to meet them.  “I was just trying to call.  They had to take Gary to surgery to remove the bullet and repair his left wrist.  He’s lost a lot of blood already, and our resources are a running little low,” he added laconically, looking around as a bloody ‘D’Artagnian’ was wheeled past them on a stretcher.  “His records show that you and he are a match, Mr. Hobson.  Think you could spare a pint?”

“Just show me where to go,” Bernie replied grimly.  “How bad is it?”

“As I said,” Carter responded as he led the way to the blood bank, “he’s lost a lot of blood, and his left wrist is a mess.  We have one of the best micro-surgeons in the state scrubbing up as we speak.  He believes Gary should regain full use of his hand.  The bullet in his right shoulder went in at such a steep angle, it missed any thing major, which is good.”  He paused just outside the door.  “Apparently, he was trapped under a dead body for almost two hours.  When they brought him in, he . . . he was already in shock.  And I don’t mean just physical.  When he comes to, he’s going to need every ounce of support you can give him.”

“That’s what we’re here for, Doc,” was Chuck’s grim rejoinder.

****************

Soft fingers swept the hair from his forehead in a gesture so familiar, it went back to his earliest memories.  Gary moaned quietly as it pulled him from his drug induced slumber.  No, he wasn’t ready yet!  Distant voices called to him, telling him to wake up.  The gentle touch on his cheek encouraged him to open his eyes. ‘Please!’ he begged. ‘I can’t!  I can’t . . . can’t face what I’ve done!’  He tried to bat at the hand with his right.  A sharp stab of pain pierced the fog in his mind long enough to remember he had been shot.

“Please!” he whispered aloud.  “Go ‘way.  Please?”

“Not until you open those eyes, sweetie,” Lois Hobson crooned to her child.  “Come on, Gary.  We need to know you’re going to be alright.”

“Never,” Gary murmured, almost too softly to hear.  “Ne’er be . . . right.  Hurts.  Go ‘way,” he sighed as he slipped once more into oblivion.

*****************

“Oh, dear!”  Lois Hobson sat back with a sigh.  “I was afraid of that.”  She turned to face her husband.  “He’s blaming himself for that animal’s death,” she explained tearfully.  “After everything that . . . that bastard did to our son, now he’s going to haunt Gary for the rest of his life!”

Bernie pulled her close, holding her as she strove to control her fear and anger.  Feelings he shared in spades.  He wished that it had been him in the loft with Savalas, instead of Gary.  While he would be just as remorseful as his son, he believed that he was better equipped to handle the emotional baggage.

“He’ll be okay,” he told her, holding her tight.  “Not at first, maybe.  And he’ll need all the help we can give him, but, he will get through this.  He’s too strong not to.”  He put a finger under Lois’s chin, tilting her tearstained face up to meet his gaze.  “He gets it from you, remember?”

“It’s just so unfair,” Lois sniffed as she snuggled into his chest.  “With everything he’s been through because of the paper, all the horrible things that have been done to him because of it, then that t-terrible accident.  Now this!  Where does it end, Bernie?  When does he get a break?”

*******************

Armstrong stepped aside to let the gurney pass bearing its grisly burden, watching as they navigated the stairs.  He and Savalas had been partners for several years before Hobson tripped up his little murder-for-hire setup.  As betrayed as he had felt that night, Paul still had not wished such an end for the renegade.

He entered Hobson’s loft just in time to be half-blinded by a flash of intensely bright light. The crime scene investigator apologized as he moved into position for another shot.  Nodding in acknowledgement, Paul moved in for a closer look at the scene.

The tape outline of Savalas’ body overlay the inner edges of two large pools of blood.  The gap itself formed a partial outline of another body, that of the still living man he had promised to protect.

How had this been allowed to happen?  Four armed, experienced cops, and the fugitive was taken out by the victim!

“It never occurred to you to check on him?” he asked Officer Davis.  “To, at least, see if he needed anything?  Like help!”

“We checked the perimeter twice after the party broke up,” Davis explained.  “Including the fire door in the back.  There was no sign of tampering.  The best we can figure is he must’ve slipped by the ID check somehow.  And, no, it never occurred to me to make a visual check on Hobson.  Any word on his condition?”

“None of his injuries were critical,” the big detective replied.  “He’ll even get to keep his hand.  No thanks to us.  Savalas really worked him over.”  He wiped a hand down his face with a sigh.  “This has been a mess from day one.  Savalas shouldn’t have been allowed to escape, and failing that, he never should’ve gotten within even ten miles of Hobson.”

Armstrong looked at the twin pools of half-dried blood that filled most of the space between the bed and the sofa.  He shuddered to think of Hobson being trapped for hours, unable to call for help.  If, as his mother had always insisted, the suffering a person endured on earth was rewarded in heaven, then Gary Hobson must have a reserved seat at The All-Mighty’s right hand!

“As soon as CSI has everything they need,” he told Davis, “get this place scrubbed down.  The man’s got enough nightmares.  He doesn’t need to come home to another one.”  He turned to go, adding, “And double-check that fire door.  My bet is, that’s how he got in.”

********************

It was late that afternoon before Gary roused enough to be aware of anything.  He could hear voices, low murmuring voices.  Mom?  Dad?  At least one other that was familiar.  Then came dull, throbbing pain.  In his shoulder, his face, his left wrist, as well as a lot more areas than he cared to count.  His mouth tasted like stale vomit.  Oh, God!  Hold that thought!

His whole body seemed to clinch as he lurched up from the bed, doubling over as spasm after spasm ripped through his body!  Every nerve ending on the right side of his body screamed in agony at the sudden movement!  A firm, but gentle hand guided his head as his rebellious stomach once again tried to forcibly expel its contents.  Unfortunately for him, it was a dry well.  All he could do was ride out each pain-filled wave as it crested.

When the violent bout of nausea finally ran its course, the same gentle hand helped him lay back, sweat-soaked and shaking, as exhaustion threatened to render him unconscious once more.  Gary fought it, fought to stay awake.  He needed to stay awake!  Needed to come to grips with what had happened.  With what he had done.

Needed to get that God-awful taste out of his mouth!

“Open wide, dear,” his mom’s voice entreated.  Obediently, he opened his mouth, feeling a painful tug in the right side of his face, and received a spoonful of ice chips as his reward.  They helped to ease the sour/bitter taste that seemed to have permeated every crack and crevice.  Swallowing that first blessing, he opened up once more in hopeful anticipation.  And the goddess of the frozen treasures answered his silent plea.  “That’s my boy,” she crooned happily.

Gary finally tried to pry open his eyes, only to find that the right one would open no more than halfway.  The left one finally peeled back to let him see a blurry image of his mother holding out another benediction in the form of crushed ice.  Which he gratefully accepted.  He blinked a few times to clear his vision and noticed how tired his mother looked.

“Tarred,” he mumbled around his mouthful of ice. “G’home.”

“I know you’re tired, sweetie,” Lois smiled wearily.  “But, I’m afraid you’re stuck here for a while.”

Gary swallowed the tiny amount of fluid the ice provided and tried again. “N-no,” he gasped.  “Not me. You.  Tired.  N-no . . . sleep.  Go . . . go home.  Rest.”

“Not until I’m sure you’re going to be alright,” she assured him.  “You do know that none of this was your fault?  That there was no way you could’ve prevented what happened short of divine intervention?”

Gary closed his eyes for a moment, lying to her with a slow nod.  ‘Let her believe that,’ he thought.  ‘It doesn’t matter.  Whatever it takes to get her to go home and rest.’  “I‘m okay,” he murmured aloud.  “Jus’ tired, a li’l sore.”  He turned his head slightly, spotting his dad.  “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, kiddo,” the elder Hobson smiled, although he was also sporting a few fatigue lines.  “You look like hell.”

“Sounds ‘bout right,” Gary whispered tiredly.  “Take her home.  Please?  You, too.  Both . . . both look tired.  I’m okay.  Really.”  ‘Please, God, just get them out of here,’ he silently prayed.  ‘I can’t sort this out with them here!’  He felt his own eyelids droop as his weary body made demands of its own.  “Make ya deal,” he offered. “You two go home . . . sleep.  I’ll do . . . do same here.  Promise?”

“Someone needs to be here, Gary,” Lois argued.  “What if you need something?  Or you get sick again?  How will you call for help?”

“I’ll just . . .”  He started to reach out with his right hand for the call button, only to find his arm was tightly strapped to his chest. Puzzled, he looked at his dad.

“You were shot, Gar,” Bernie reminded him gently.

Gary mouthed a silent ‘Oh’ as the information sank in.  He tried again with his left, only to find it heavily swathed in bandages.  “Wha . . . ?”

“They had to repair a lot of nerve and muscle damage,” Lois told him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.  “Those cuffs . . . He almost . . .”  Tears welled in her eyes as she tried not to imagine the grim possibility.  “They think you’ll regain full use within just a few weeks.  As soon as it’s had a chance to heal.”

Weeks?  Weeks of not being able to feed himself?  Of needing help just to bathe and change his clothes?  Of having someone else shave him and brush his teeth?  Having to depend on others to push him around in that damned chair? The list of humiliations kept growing as his mind replayed those first few weeks after his accident, before his hands had healed and regained enough strength to offer him a measure of independence.  To go back to that, now, after all he had worked so hard to accomplish . . .!

“He should’ve finished the job,” he murmured in an angry whisper as a single tear coursed down his cheek.  “I should’ve let him kill me.”

“Gary!” Lois exclaimed, springing to her feet.  “Don’t even think that!”

“Why not?” he groaned miserably.  “What use am I now, like this?  The paper sure doesn’t need me.  You two can handle that just fine. The bar?  Marissa’s been doing most of the work there for more than a year.  So what does it matter?  What good am I?”  Angry and dispirited, he turned his head so he would not have to see his pain reflected in their eyes.  “Just go.  Please?  I can’t . . . I can’t talk about this.  I can’t . . . just go.”

He resolutely kept his head turned, ignoring their entreaties, until he heard them leave.  Alone at last, he could let the hot, bitter tears of grief and anger find their release as his bruised and battered body shook with heartrending sobs.

*******************

“He’s given up,” Diane sighed, pacing the area in front of the doctor’s desk in frustration.  “I go into that room, we do the exercises, and he does his part, but . . . there’s no . . . no spark.  It’s like he’s just going through the motions.  He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look me in the eye.”  She finally plopped down in the armchair with a sigh.  “I’m really afraid that Gary has reached his limit.”

“I’ll think you’ll find that Mr. Hobson has depths even he doesn’t know about,”  Dr. Zimmerman replied.  “He’s had a setback.  A devastating one to be sure,  but not insurmountable.  Just be patient.  I intended to check in on him today, at any rate,” he added as he rose from his seat.  “I guess now is as good a time as any.”

“Good,” the young physical therapist remarked.  “Maybe you can get him to say something.  Just between us, the silence is creeping me out.”

****************

Dr. Zimmerman arrived as Lois Hobson was feeding her son his lunch.  The sight was almost more than the tenderhearted physician could take.  Gary just lay back against the upraised bed and let his mother shovel in each bite.  The expression on his face was one of hopeless resignation, and infinite sadness.  No wonder Diane was almost in tears.   He put on a reasonably cheerful face and walked up to the bed.

“Good morning, Gary, Lois,” he greeted them.  “How’re you feeling this morning?”  He looked at his patient as he spoke.

When Gary made no effort to reply, Lois favored the kindly physician with a strained smile.

“He’s eating a little better,” she told him.  “And I think his color’s improved, don’t you?”  She held out a spoonful of pudding, which Gary obediently opened his mouth to receive.  It was like feeding a child, only neater.  “He, um, he still hasn’t spoken since . . . Oh, and Diane said that he’s doing very well with his therapy.”

“That’s all well and good,” Zimmerman replied with a smile.  “But, I need to hear it from the guest of honor.  How about it, Gary?  Care to say a few words?”  His only response was a slight crackling sound as Gary swallowed his food and continued staring out the window at nothing.  “I see.  Lois, could I ask you to give us a few minutes alone?  I need to give my patient a thorough going over.”

Her face reddening slightly as she caught the doctor’s thinly veiled implication, Lois set down the pudding cup and gave Gary a quick peck on the cheek.  Promising to ‘be right back’ she made a quick exit.

For his part, Gary gave no indication he had even heard the doctor.  He simply lay there as Dr. Zimmerman went through the motions of pulling on a pair of latex gloves and laying the bed back.  For all the reaction he was getting, Zimmerman felt he could just as easily have been doing an autopsy.  He started his exam by peeling back the bandage over the bullet wound.  It had been almost a week and the wound was scarring over nicely.  No sign of infection.  Quickly replacing the bandage, he moved on to the left wrist.  In spite of excellent work by the micro-surgeon, the wrist would be encircled by a nasty scar.  The skin, as well as the muscle beneath, had been thoroughly traumatized by the metal cuff that had been clamped so tightly it had even left marks on the bone.  Very gently, he probed the livid ring of healing flesh, expecting to at least hear a mumbled curse, or a hiss.  Nothing.  No reaction at all.  Looking down into his patient’s face, Zimmerman was startled to see a single tear rolling from the corner of Gary’s eye.

“Is that because you can feel it,” he asked, “or because you can’t?”

“Can’t,” Gary whispered tonelessly, in a voice rusty from disuse.  “No pain.  Nothing.”

“Well,  well,” the doctor observed with a grim smile.  “Four complete words.  I’m impressed.  Here we thought you’d been so traumatized, you’d lost cognitive function.  Want to tell me why you’ve been giving everyone the silent treatment all week?  Diane is so upset, she’s thinking of turning you over to another therapist.”

“Sorry.”  For just a moment Gary’s gaze flickered to meet the doctor’s.  In that split second, Zimmerman believed he saw true regret.  Then the shutters closed once more.

“Talk to me, Gary,” the doctor pleaded.  “Anyone with one eye and half a brain can see that you’re suffering.  Let us help you.”  No response.  “Your parents said that you chased them out when you realized the extent of your injuries, and that you wouldn’t have the use of your hands for awhile.  Is that what has you so upset?  That’s only temporary.  Another couple of weeks and you’ll be back out there, terrorizing pedestrians again.”

Slowly, Gary shook his head in denial.  “Not that,” he rasped.  “Just desserts.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Got what I deserved,” Gary replied stonily.  “Life sentence.  No parole.”

“Life . . .”  Oh my God.  “You believe this is some kind of . . . punishment?  For what?  Surviving?  The man broke into your apartment, beat the living crap out of you, shot you, was threatening your life, and you feel guilty because he died by his own hand?”

“Not his hand!” Gary hissed, finally looking straight at the doctor.  “Mine!  It was my finger on the trigger!  I was holding onto the damned thing and my hand . . . slipped.  I felt . . . felt it move.  Then he . . . I killed him!  Me.  Not the law.  Not divine providence.  And not by his own hand.  It was me.  So, whatever happens,” he added, looking away once more, “it’s justice.”

All the pieces had finally fallen into place.

“I can’t believe you really think that,” Zimmerman murmured.  “Did you want to kill him?”

Gary shot him a horrified look.  “No!”

“Did you plan to kill him?”

“Of course . . . No!”

“Were you the one that brought the gun into the loft?”

“No,” Gary responded in a subdued voice.

“Then how is it your fault?  You were his prisoner,” the doctor reminded him.  “You were the victim of a terrible, violent crime.  That . . . animal was beating you senseless and torturing you.  What you did was a matter of survival.  You did what anyone else in your situation would’ve done.  You fought back.  God would forgive you for what happened.  Why can’t you forgive yourself?”

“Because I’m not supposed to take life!” Gary groaned miserably.  “I’m supposed to save it!  I should’ve found another way!”

Zimmerman leaned in closer, speaking earnestly.  “Gary, I’m a doctor,” he said.  “I take the Hippocratic Oath very seriously.  But, put into the same circumstances, I honestly have to say that I would’ve had no problem defending myself against someone as evil as this man was.”

“Savalas,” Gary whispered.

“Pardon me?”

“His name was Aristotle Savalas.”  He turned back to meet the doctor’s gaze with a sad half-smile.  “I try to remember the names, you see.  Have to be able to give a full account when it’s my time.”

************************

Dr. Zimmerman was pacing the floor of his office, right hand massaging the back of his neck, as he tried to put what he thought into words that would convey his concern, without unduly alarming his audience.

“He’s in what can best be described as a deep depression,” he told Gary’s parents.  “This has all been a terrible, terrible blow to both his conscience and his self-confidence.  Losing the use of his hands, however temporary, has reminded him just how precarious his situation is.  How easily something could happen to take away the limited freedom he had just gotten used to.  Add to that his feelings of guilt over that . . . Savalas’ death by his hand . . . He needs something positive, some reason to have hope.”

“Just tell us what we need to do,” Bernie told him.  “Whatever it takes.”

“And just how ‘temporary’ are we talking about?” Lois asked.  “With his hands, I mean?”

The doctor sat down to face them as he reported his patient’s physical condition.

“His shoulder should be ready for therapy in another week,” he told them.  “The hand may take a little longer.  All the torn tissue, nerves and blood vessels are healing nicely, although he’ll carry a scar for the rest of his life.  Still, there’s no reason he can’t start trying to use it within the next two weeks.  Sooner, if we can find some way to motivate him.”

“How about a little break from this place?” Bernie suggested.  “Weather’s supposed to be perfect tomorrow.  A gorgeous Indian summer day.  Why don’t I bring the van, we can fix up a picnic lunch, drive down to the lake . . . You know, just get out for a while.  No offense, Doc, but he’s spent more time here than he has at home.  That’s enough to depress anybody.”

“None taken,” Zimmerman grinned.  “You have an excellent point.  Gary’s been stuck inside way too much this year.  For someone who’s used to being outdoors most of the time, it’s like being in prison.”

“Then it’s settled,” Lois said with relief.  “Tomorrow, we’ll drag him out of this depression by the hair of his head, if we have to.”

***************

The next day dawned bright and beautiful.  A perfect day to spend outside.  Bernie and Lois arrived as planned, the van loaded for a day outdoors.  For his part, Gary raised no protest when, with the help of the nurses, his parents got him into his wheelchair and loaded him into the van. In fact, he showed no reaction at all.  It was just one more indignity to be endured.

They drove out to Lincoln Park, finding a spot near one of the piers.  Lois set out the blanket and the food as Bernie helped Gary from the van.  For nearly an hour, the two elder Hobson’s went through the pretense of it being just a normal family outing.  Except that Gary still had to allow them to feed him, to wipe his chin and, in general to treat him as a child.

Again, Gary made no objections.  He knew they were only doing what they thought was right, trying to cheer him up.  The problem was that everything they had to do for him only accentuated his situation.  Still, Gary endured it as just another facet of his ‘punishment’.  He was so deeply mired in his self-made prison of guilt, that he was unable to see how he was forcing them to share his misery.

Finally, Lois had to leave.  A young mother was going to be distracted long enough for her toddler to be abducted while they visited the nearby zoo.

“This shouldn’t take long,” she assured them, choosing not to see the pained look in Gary’s eyes.  She knew that he was feeling useless, a burden.  She would not fuel that misconception.  “You two use the time for a little ‘male bonding’.  Go watch those kids playing on the pier . . . or something.  Try to keep them out of trouble.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Bernie grinned.  “Don’t forget to call security.  Unh-unh!  Don’t give me that innocent look!” he added.  “I know how you feel about child abuse!  We want the guy caught, not castrated . . . yet.”

“Bernie Hobson, you spoil all my fun!”  With a smile and a wave, she hastened to the van.

Bernie waved back before turning to the task of packing up the leftovers.  When that was done, he placed the basket in Gary’s lap and rolled him towards the pier.  The younger Hobson still had not said ten words since leaving the hospital.  He had mostly spoken in brief, monosyllabic phrases, such as, ‘yes, ma’am,’ ‘no, ma’am,’ and ‘thank you.’  So Bernie did most of the talking.  A job he relished.  He parked the wheelchair beside a bench on the shore end of the pier, and proceeded to tell Gary all about the new RV he had his eye on.  He described it in such glowing detail, that Gary began to wonder if his dad was in love.  He kept on and on, calling it ‘she’ and ‘her’, referring to it as ‘sweet this’ or saying it had such ‘gorgeous’ something or other.  All the time he was talking, however, he kept yawning.  The huge meal and warm sunshine had ganged up on the older man, making him drowsy.  His voice got lower and lower, until he was talking in little more than an inarticulate mumble.  Minutes later, Gary was dismayed to hear loud, stentorian noises coming from his soundly sleeping father.

‘This is going too far!’ he thought to himself.  ‘There are some punishments no one should have to bear!’

“Dad.”  No answer.  “Dad!”  Still no response.  The man was snoring so loud, he was probably creating a radar blip!  “Aw, Christ, Dad,” he pleaded.  “Give me a break!”  That nice quiet hospital room was starting to look so good!  “I’m sorry!  Just wake up, please!  I promise to be good!”

His chair gave a sudden lurch as something struck it from behind. Startled, Gary looked behind him to see several teenage boys on roller-blades and skateboards circling another boy sprawled on the planking, laughing.  Apparently, his dad had neglected to set the brake, because his chair rolled several feet before slowing to a halt.  As he watched, another boy came barreling at him.  Gary quickly faced forward just as a second jolt sent him forward once more.  They were playing with him!

“Quit it!” he told the boys.  He tried to engage the brake, but could not get enough purchase with his bandaged hand.  The boys laughed as he was struck again.  Each impact sent him closer to the end of the pier.  “This isn’t funny!” he yelled.  “Stop it!  Please!”

“What’s the matter, dude?” one of the boys on roller-blades asked.  “Afraid of a little water?”   Laughing, he bumped the chair once more.

The kids ignored his pleas and continued to bump the chair with each pass.  Gary’s alarm grew with each impact.  If they kept this up, he’d end up in the water for sure!   In desperation, he tried to throw himself to one side, attempting to overturn the chair.  Another bump sent him to within just a few feet of the end.  One more and he was sunk, literally!  He quickly threw himself to one side, then the other, rocking the chair so violently that he finally succeeded in tipping the chair.  “Thank God!” he sighed in relief.

His relief was short lived as the youths continued to circle him.  Gary was reminded of a nature show where a pack of young wolves had stalked an injured elk.  Nervously, he tried to keep an eye on the young man who had spoken.  He seemed to be the leader.

“What do you want?” he asked.  “I don’t have any money.”

“We ain’t after your money, dude,” the boy snickered.  “We’re just havin’ a little fun.”

“Cute,” Gary remarked.  “Very funny.  Ha ha.  Now, could you please leave me alone?”

“Naw,” another boy replied.  “We wanna see how you get back in that chair, man.  Must be a pain with your hands messed up like that.”

“Please,” Gary begged them.  “Just go away.  I’m not that entertaining.  And I don’t have anything worth stealing.”

“He’s right, dude,” a third boy spoke up.  “This is boring.  Let’s go.”

“Not just yet,” the first boy replied.  He came to a halt, his roller-blades just inches from Gary’s face.  Reaching down, he started to remove Gary’s jacket.  “I’m curious to see if he has an arm under all this.”

Gary swatted at the boy with his left hand, only to have another boy grab it and hold it down with his knee.  Helpless, Gary watched the first boy pull a large, sharp knife.

With quick, deft motions, the boy sliced through Gary’s shirt, then the bandages strapping his right arm down.  While his friends kept the struggling man immobilized, the youth prodded the livid scars of the entrance and exit wounds with the tip of his knife.  Gary let out a pained hiss as the sharp point drew blood.

“That’s a bullet wound, man!” the boy exclaimed.  “You a cop?”

“Home invasion,” Gary grunted.  “Now, get off me!”  He tried to swing at the boy with his now freed right hand, only to let it fall back with a pained cry as sore, torn muscles protested.  “Please,” he panted.  “Just leave me alone.”  ‘Please, Dad.  Wake up!’ he prayed.  He could still hear his father sawing logs at the other end of the pier.  Exhausted, he let his head fall back, his eyes closed.  “What do you want?” he asked.

“Nothin’,” the leader replied with a wicked smile.  He let go of Gary’s arm and rose to his bladed feet.  The boy let himself roll backwards as he motioned for his cohorts to release their prisoner.  “We’ve already got what we wanted.”

“Look out!”  Gary shouted as, horrified he watched the boy drift closer to the end of the pier.

Too late!  With a startled cry the boy disappeared over the edge.  There was a loud thunk, then a splash as the boy hit the water.

The other boys lost no time making their getaway.  Gary called after them to help their friend, only to suddenly find himself alone on the pier.  With Herculean effort, he managed to drag himself to the spot where he had seen the boy fall.  Peering down, he could still see the youth.  His brightly colored helmet bobbed on the surface.  The colors served as a beacon to mark the spot where the boy sank beneath the water.  Desperate, he cried out to his father for help, to no avail.  Without stopping to think of the consequences, Gary rolled his body off the pier directly over the boy.

As the freezing water closed over his head, Gary reached out to where he thought the boy should be.  Groping blindly with his right hand, he felt long loose strands of hair.  From there, he ran his hand down until he had a grip on the boy’s arm.  He pulled himself to the unconscious youth, wrapping his left arm around the young man’s chest.  Stroking hard with his right arm, he tried to propel them both to the surface.  Lungs burning, Gary put all his dwindling strength into the effort.  Lights danced before his eyes as his oxygen-starved brain threatened to shut down.

His hand brushed against a piling and Gary dug into it, frantically trying to haul his burden to safety!  Finally, his head broke the surface and he dragged in a huge, gulping lungful of precious air!  Clinging to the pillar, all of his weight, as well as that of the boy, rested on the strength of his precarious grip.  Desperately, Gary tried to keep both of their heads above the water.

“Help!” he cried.  “Someone help us!  Please!”  ‘Not again,’ he silently pleaded.  ‘Don’t let someone else die because of me!’

The cold water was quickly leeching the heat from his already weakened body.  How much longer could he hold on?  He continued to call for help, his voice, and his arm, getting weaker by the minute.  ‘So cold!’ he thought, his vision growing dark.  ‘So tired.’

His whole body was starting to grow numb and he could feel his hand starting to slip when he finally heard the sound of running footsteps.

“Gary?  Gary?  Answer me, son!  Where . . .?”

“Here!” he gasped.  “Help me!  He’s hurt!”  A moment later, his dad’s face appeared directly above him.  “H-help me g-get him up,” he pleaded.  “C-can’t . . . hold on.”

Bernie Hobson wasted no time shedding his jacket and shoes.  Jumping feet first into the icy water, he quickly surfaced next to his son.  He relieved Gary of his burden, dragging the boy through the water until he had him safely on shore.  Leaving him well above the waterline, Bernie immediately returned to the water.  ‘Gary doesn’t have much time.’ he thought.  ‘His lips were already turning blue!’  Looking back toward his son, Bernie was alarmed to see his head slipping under the surface!  No!  Cutting broad strokes through the frigid, polluted lake waters, he returned to the spot he had last seen Gary.  Wasting no time, he dove beneath the surface, eyes seeking to pierce the murky waters.  There!  Was that . . .?  It was!  Bernie beat at the water in long, powerful strokes until he could grab the sleeve of Gary’s jacket.  To his horror, his son’s body simply rolled as he pulled, almost slipping out of the garment.  Reacting quickly, he grabbed a handful of Gary’s thick, dark hair and kicked his way to the surface.

As his head broke the surface, Bernie thought he heard a double splash, but he was too exhausted to take much note of his surroundings.  Gary.  He had to save Gary.  His son, the fruit of his loins.  Bernie and Lois Hobson’s gift to the future.  He couldn’t . . . No!  Where . . .?

Dazed, he realized that someone had taken Gary’s limp body from his grasp and someone else was dragging him through the water!  An eternity later, he lay shivering on the shore as eager hands wrapped him in a heavy blanket.  Looking down, Bernie recognized the blanket from their picnic.

Coughing and choking, Bernie tried to clear the polluted waters from his throat and lungs.  When had he swallowed so much?  Gary!  Where . . .?

“Paul and Chuck are working on him,” Lois was saying, her voice trembling.  “Bernie, what happened?  Who’s that boy?”  She pointed to the still figure that two strangers were working over.

“Don’t know,” the elder Hobson gasped between chattering teeth.  “S-some f-fool kid, m-musta f-fallen off the p-pier.  G-Gary?”

Armstrong was straddling Gary’s prone body, pushing on his lower ribs in a rhythmic motion.  Moments later, water gushed from his mouth as his lungs gave up their unnatural burden.  Quickly rolling him on his back, Paul checked for a pulse.  Not finding one, he began CPR.

“Where’s that ambulance,” he grunted between compressions.  “C’mon , Hobson!  Breathe!  Don’t you dare die on me!”

“Please, Gar,” Chuck pleaded.  “Wake up!  You can’t do this to me!”  At Paul’s signal, he began to force air into his friend’s lungs.  ‘You got too much to live for!’ he silently pleaded.  ‘Don’t give up on me now!’

By the time the ambulance arrived, the boy was awake and coughing up his share of lake water.  He kept looking over at the place where the EMTs were now working on reviving the man who had saved his life.  Pulling the emergency blanket closer around his shoulders, he staggered over to where Lois and Bernie were anxiously watching the same scene.

“Wh-why’d he do that?” he asked them.

“Do what?” Bernie mumbled in a tired monotone.

“Dive in after me.  After what we did,” he added.  “Why’d he risk his neck for me?”

“Because,” Lois sighed, “that’s who he is.  It’s what he does.  He could no more let you die than he could . . . could his own child.  Every life matters to him.  Every life.”

A strangled cough drew their attention as the EMTs moved aside to reveal a weakly struggling form.  Lois helped her husband to his feet and they staggered over to kneel beside their son.  For his part, Gary was trying to focus on his surroundings, shivering uncontrollably.  “C-cold,” he murmured.  “D-dad?”

“I’m here, Gar,” Bernie rasped.  His chest still hurt from his own long emersion.  “Just take it easy, son.”

“Y’okay?”  Gary mumbled.

“I’m fine, son,” the elder Hobson replied in a gravelly voice.  “You get some rest now, okay kiddo?  I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Closing his eyes once more, Gary nodded weakly.  “S-sorry,” he rasped.  “Didn’t mean . . . t’be s’much . . . trouble.”

“You’re no trouble, Gary,” Lois assured her son, her hand automatically going to his damp forehead.  “You just seem to be in so much trouble, lately.”

*******************

The next several days were bad for both of the Hobson men.  Gary had been in the icy lake waters so long that hypothermia had seriously affected his immune system.  Bernie’s immersion, plus his age, had weakened him to the same level of susceptibility.  In spite of a hefty regimen of antibiotics, both quickly developed pneumonia.

Bernie tossed and turned as Lois tried to bathe his face with cold compresses.  One minute, he felt as if he were burning up, the next he was freezing.  And his lungs felt as if he were still underwater.  God!  He couldn’t breathe!  Wracking coughs tore at his body as his lungs tried to expel the fluid that flooded them.

At last, the day came when, weak and light headed, he no longer felt the heaviness in his chest.  His body was no longer bathed in cold sweat, or wracked by convulsive chills.  Blinking rapidly, he looked over at the sleeping figure of his wife.  She was curled up in an easy chair, one hand resting on his arm.  As he watched, she stirred and opened her eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart,”  Bernie croaked.  “How’s tricks?”

Lois snapped awake, both hands now gripping her husband’s arm.  “Oh, thank God!” she cried, tears springing to her eyes.  She put a cool hand to his clammy forehead, then caressed his cheek.  “Fever’s down,” she commented, smiling.  “How do you feel, sweetie?”

“Tired, mostly,” he murmured drowsily.  “How’s Gar?”

“His fever broke yesterday,” she reported glumly.  “But, he’s refusing any further treatment and the doctor’s concerned about a relapse.”  Lois looked away a moment, wiping her eyes with a tissue.  “He’s . . . he’s blaming himself for your being sick.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Bernie snorted weakly.  “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine!  I shoulda woke up sooner.  If not for the fur ball, I woulda still been sleepin’ while they both drowned.”

“What do you mean?”

Bernie explained how, while trying to drag some kind of response out of Gary, he had drifted off to sleep.  The next thing he recalled was feeling a sharp pain in his hand and waking up to find the cat getting ready to scratch him again.  That was when he heard his son’s cry for help.

“I tell you, Lois,” he sighed, “that was the worst . . . seeing that chair tipped over like that, not seeing Gary anywhere . . . I wanted to . . .”

“I know, honey,” Lois hastened to assure him.  “I know.  I felt the same way when I saw that headline appear.  I thought . . . we should have phoned in a warning about that monster at the zoo!  If I‘d been there, you never would’ve fallen asleep, those . . . those boys never would’ve had the chance to attack Gary and none of this would’ve happened!”

Bernie lay back with a sigh, eyes closing as his meager supply of strength was spent.  “No wonder Gar’s so good at these guilt trips,” he mumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lois asked in puzzled indignation.

“Look at us!  Both trying to take responsibility for something that neither of us is to blame for,” he told her.  “Gar gets a double dose of the guilts because he’s our son!  No wonder he’s such a mess.”

*********************

Paul Armstrong paused before entering the hospital room.  For once, he had good news.  Now, if he could just get Hobson to listen to it.  Steeling his nerve, the big detective pushed open the door.  Lois Hobson was trying to get her son to at least take a little water through a straw.  Gary just turned his head away with a tiny shake.

“Hello, Mrs. Hobson.”

“Hi, Detective,” Lois sighed, setting the cup of water aside.  “If you’ve come to talk to Gary, good luck.  He’s not being very co-operative this morning.”  Pausing briefly, she brushed at something on her dress that only she could see.  “So, how’s Meredith and your little girl?”

“Just fine,” Paul smiled.  “She took her first step yesterday.”

“Oh!   That’s wonderful!” Lois smiled.  “You must be so proud!”  She glanced over at her stony faced son.  “That . . .that’s always . . . You’re probably here to talk business, so I’ll leave you two alone.”

Lois patted Gary’s bandaged hand as she rose.  As she passed by the big detective, he thought he saw a suspicious glint of moisture in her eye.  Gingerly, Paul took her place next to the bed.  He took a moment to study the man lying there.  Hobson appeared thinner and paler than the last time he had seen him.  At least he was no longer flushed with fever.  On the downside, Gary was once again moody and uncommunicative.

“Finally got the forensics report,” Paul told him.  “What took so long was . . . they, um, they had to clean the . . . the blood away . . . without destroying fingerprint evidence.  Your fingerprints were not found on the trigger.  Do you understand me, Hobson?  You did not pull the trigger.”

“Are you so sure?” Gary rasped, head still turned away.  “What if I caused his hand to slip?”

“Then it was still his finger on the trigger,” Armstrong told him.  “He was there to kill you, Hobson!  All you did was defend yourself.”

“Shoulda found a better way,” Gary murmured with a slow shake of his head.  “I shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t ‘ve killed him.”

“What do I have to say to get through that thick skull of your’s, Hobson?” Paul sighed, leaning back in the chair.  “It was an accident!  You did not intend to kill him.  You did not pull the damned trigger!  If anyone is to blame, it’s us.  We never should’ve let him get near you.  We were supposed to be protecting you!”

“No,” Gary sighed.  “You warned me, offered to hide me somewhere safer, and I refused.  You tried.  I failed.”

With a weary sigh, Armstrong pushed himself to his feet.  There was nothing more he could say.  If Hobson was determined to wallow in a sea of guilt, then his hands were tied.  ‘Maybe the doctor knows someone that can talk some sense into his head,’ he mused, as he left Gary to suffer in his self-imposed silence.

*********************

Polly Gannon strode purposefully down the corridor, a look on her face that would have done justice to a storm cloud.  Dr. Zimmerman and Diane had just been telling her of the difficulty they were having with Gary.  How his feelings of guilt were compelling him to refuse treatment.  The stocky tech was known to have struck up an easygoing friendship with the troubled man, and they wondered if she might be able to get through where professionalism had failed.  Polly had promised to try.

Oh, boy!  Was she gonna try!  She burst into the room like a clap of thunder.

“If you don’t beat all I’ve ever seen!” she snapped.

Gary looked up at the indignant woman, a startled, hurt expression on his face.  “It’s nice to see you, too, Polly,” he mumbled.

“Don’t give me ‘nice’ you back-slidin’ slacker!” Polly growled, bending down until she was only inches from his stunned face.  “What do you mean by refusin’ treatment?  Do you want to be sick?  Are you actually tryin’ to die?”

“N-no, but . . .”

“Don’t you ‘but’ me either, mister.  Then you must be tryin’ for ‘King of the Pity Pot!’” she snorted as she backed off . . . a little.  “Wallowin’ in it like a hog in slop.  Well, it’s time to you were dethroned!  You spend way too much time takin’ on blame that ain’t your’n and too little time tryin’ to deal with it!”  Her face softened as she took in the pained look on his face.  “Talk to us, Gary.  Talk to someone about what’s goin’ on in that fool head of your’n.  I don’t pretend to understand what’s happened to make your life so miserable, and nobody ever will if you won’t let us.  A life was taken and a life was saved.  And your daddy got sick because he couldn’t just sit back and watch you die.  He’s your daddy!  What did you expect him to do?  What if it was the other way around?  What if it was your son goin’ under that water?  Can you lay there and tell me you wouldn’t risk everything to save him?”

“Can’t tell you anything,” Gary replied in a low, raspy voice.  “You won’t let me talk.”

“Sure I will,” Polly promised him.  “Just as soon as you start talkin’ sense.  Now, tell me how I can help you,” she added, pulling up a chair.  “You might as well, you know.  I’ve got the night off, so I have plenty of time.”

In spite of his dark mood, Gary found himself trying to suppress a grin at her earnest expression.  Polly had a reputation as a ‘mother hen’ to most of the people who knew her.  She had no husband or children, and very few friends outside of work.  Yet, she was one of the friendliest people he knew.  Haltingly, at first, then with growing confidence as she sat there without comment, he began telling her everything.  The terror he had felt when Savalas dragged him from his tub, the shame of finding himself exposed and trembling under the fugitive’s amused stare.  How he had been humiliated beyond words to have the ex-cop watching as he struggled back into his chair.  The way he had been made to feel so helpless and alone.  How his hopes had soared when he had gotten the better of Savalas, only to have them come crashing back down when he woke up before Gary could get help.  Finally, the sickening horror as he realized what he had done . . . that he had killed a man.

“And . . . and I couldn’t even get to my hands to . . . to wash the blood off,” he stammered.  “So much . . . so much blood, Polly.  It was everywhere.  And . . . and then they tell me . . . tell me that . . . that they’ll have to . . . I’m a grown man, Polly!  I should be able to take care of myself!  To be reduced to that . . . again!  I just couldn’t handle it!  Then, when I saw what I was doing to Mom and Dad . . . what they were going through . . . I felt even worse.  Every . . . everything else happened so fast.”

“And you got to feelin’ guilty all over again when you found out your daddy was sick, too,” Polly finished.

“Th-that pretty much sums it up,” Gary agreed.

Polly leaned forward, fixing him with a direct, piercing gaze.  “I want you to run what you just told me through your mind,” she told him.  “Go back as far as you want.  Then, you tell me what you did to start any of this.  Just one thing you did that in any way justifies this load of crap you’ve buried yourself in.”

“I pulled the trigger,” was his immediate reply.

“Wrong,” Polly told him with a shake of her head.  “If you’d taken the time to listen to that Armstrong fella when he was here yesterday, he tried to tell ya that your finger was never on the trigger.  Just that Savalas character’s.  Try again.”

“That boy . . .”

“Shoulda known better than to be pullin’ stunts like that,” the portly tech snorted.  “Strike two.  One more.”

Strike two?  What was this, the World Series?  Thinking back, Gary ransacked his memory for the deciding moment when it all became his fault.

“Falling down . . .?”

“An accident,” Polly shrugged.  “Happens all the time.  You wouldn’t believe some of the crap we have to deal with everyday because of stupider stunts than yours.  Nope.  Sorry, son.  You’re all out of excuses.  Now, it’s time to give up your seat on the pity-pot and get on with puttin’ your life back together.”

After having all his arguments refuted before he could give them a clear voice, Gary felt strangely . . . deflated.

“That’s twice you’ve said that,” he grumbled irritably.  “Just what does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“When you called me ‘King of the Pity-Pot’,” he reminded her.

“Oh!  That.  It’s sorta from the days before indoor plumbing,” Polly replied with another shrug.  “To keep from having to go out in bad weather, folks kept a covered pot under the bed.  They always emptied it the next day.  My momma always usta say that some folks kept another one for when they was feelin’ sorry for themselves.  She called it the ‘pity-pot’.  Still a load of crap anyway you look at it.”

Gary gave her a steady look.  She returned it, a tiny grin flickering at the corner of her mouth.  In spite of himself, Gary could feel his own lips twitching.

“Are you telling me I’m full of it?” he asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“If the shoe fits, sweetie,” she replied, leaning back in the chair.

Gary stared back at her, but he was fighting a losing battle.  It started as a tightness deep in his throat that he tried to ease with a tiny cough.  At least, that was what he told himself.  The pressure built until he had to ‘cough’ again.  This one came out as more of a snort.  Polly just sat there, watching him as a slow smile crept across her face.  That was all it took. Gary began to chuckle, then to laugh.  God!  What an image!

“You’re a cruel woman, Polly,” he told her wiping tears from his eyes with the bandages covering his hand.  “And crazy as a loon.”

“But, you love me anyway,” Polly grinned.  “Feel better?”

“Much.”

“Ready to take your medicine again?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And your therapy?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Ga-ary!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Good!” she exclaimed, slapping both thighs as she stood to go.  “Then my work here is done.  I have a few other hardheads to terrorize before quittin’ time,” she told him.  “But, I’ll be droppin’ in on ya come mornin’ to make sure you do your part.”

“Quitting . . . You said you were off duty!”

“No. I said I have the night off,” she reminded him.  “I’m pulling a double so Casey can go to a mother/daughter thing at the kindergarten.  Then I’m off for the next three days.”

“But, you just said . . .”

“And I will,” she promised.  “Don’t even think of squirmin’ out of this!  You will take your medicine, and do your therapy.  And you most definitely are gonna work on gettin’ your life back together.  No excuses!”

“No excuses,” Gary promised with a grin.  “Do you bully all your patients like this?”

“Only the ones that’re strong enough to take it,” Polly replied.  “The ones that are worth it.   Like you.”

*****************

“I’m tellin’ ya Gar, it’s a great place!” Chuck was telling his friend.  “They have everything!  Horseback riding, nature trails, rock climbing, hot tubs, saunas, hot and cold running therapists . . .”

“Chuck!”

“Just kidding, sweetheart,” he assured his wife.  “Besides, it’s only for the handicapped, the ranks of which you are stuck in for the time being,” he added, speaking to Gary once more.  “By the time the next opening comes up, you should be out of this place and back home.  Think about it, Gar.  Fresh air.  Sunshine.  Women.”

Gary propped his chin on his hand, shooting Chuck an amused look.  “You do realize,” he said, “that people with one track minds are often derailed.  I don’t know that I’d be talking like that in front of the mother of my children.”

“Not if he plans on having any more,” was Jade’s pointed reply.  “Seriously, Gary.  Chuck is right about how wonderful this place is.  Not just the amenities,” she added dryly, giving her husband a fierce look.  “The scenery alone is worth the trip.  And they have an excellent group of counselors.  Group therapy meetings three times a week.  Private sessions anytime you need them.  Not to mention a fine stable of American saddle horses.  Please say you’ll go!  It would mean so much to us!”

They had been extolling the virtues of this camp to him for the last two days.  Gary’s parents were all for it. After a suitable period at home, of course.  Meaning their home. In Hickory.  Truthfully, that bothered Gary more than the camp.  For all his old neighbors, not to mention old friends, to see him . . . like this!  Still, he couldn’t see anyway around it.  He still had nightmares about the loft.  What was it going to be like to actually set foot, so to speak, back in the very place where it had happened?

“I’ll think about it,” he hedged.  “When’s the next opening?”

“Not until after New Year’s day,” Jade told him.  “So you’ll at least have Christmas with your family.  And don’t forget, you promised Marissa to be her guest at that Interdenominational Conference on Christmas Eve.”

“Are you guys gonna plan out the rest of my life?” Gary grumbled.  “I didn’t have this much of a social life when I was married!”

“Ah, don’t be such a grouch,” Chuck chided him.  “You love all this attention!  Everyone fussing and fawning over you.  Treating you like a king.  If it wasn’t for all the Hell you had to go through to get it, I wouldn’t mind being in your shoes, myself.”

“Chuck!” Jade exclaimed, shocked at his words.  “You evil little man!  He‘s your best friend!”

“Just being honest, love,” he shrugged.  “Any excuse to get to spend more time with you.”

“Nice save,” Gary murmured, too low for Jade to hear.

Jade stared at her husband indignantly.  He looked back at her, head slightly bowed, with sad, soulful eyes.  She held her stern expression for another heartbeat.  Then, letting out a laugh that sounded to Chuck like the clear tones of a crystal wind-chime, she threw her arms around him and gave him a toe-curling kiss!

“You are so evil,” she laughed.

*****************

The day finally came when Gary’s hand was pronounced healed enough to begin therapy.  The wound in his shoulder, in spite of the rough treatment it had received, had healed nicely and was almost back to full strength.

The scar around his wrist had gone from totally numb to overly sensitive, prompting Gary to request some type of padded band for his watch.  Otherwise, the chaffing threatened to drive him crazy.  His dad was only too happy to accommodate him.  Bernie, who had been pronounced cured and sent home a couple of days before, took the watch and had it fitted with a soft, wide leather strap.  He even went so far as to have a moleskin lining affixed to the inner surface.  Gary had to admit that it was the most comfortable band he’d ever worn.  Still, he often found himself worrying at it when he was nervous or distracted.

Diane and Polly ganged up on poor Gary, intensifying his therapy.  Polly came by twice a day to make sure he was doing the strength and dexterity exercises that the therapist prescribed.  She would engage him in conversation to take his mind off the monotony of the repetitive motions.  The determined tech also helped him with some of the resistance exercises.  Between her persistence and Diane’s expertise, Gary was back on the parallel bars in no time.

Two weeks before Christmas, Gary was released for the second time that year.  The first thing he did was to return to McGinty’s . . . and to the scene of his most recent round of nightmares.  It was all he could do to stay there long enough to help his mother pack a couple of bags.  The impressions hit him at the oddest times, in the worst places.  In the bathroom, when he was packing his shaving gear and other toiletries, a fleeting glance at the tub sent chills up his spine.  For just a second, he was under water once more, fighting for his next breath!  Then, his mother called from the main room and the spell was broken.

Coming back into the living area, he saw the bowling pin sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed.  Just looking at it, he could feel the weight of it in his right hand, as he slammed it against Savalas’ head.  Feel the metal cuff biting deep into the flesh of his left wrist!  Hear his own heart pounding with fear . . .!

“Are you okay, Gary?”

With a start, Gary jerked his mind back to the present.  It had taken him weeks to stop having flashbacks the first time around.  How much longer would it be before was able to sleep in his own bed without waking up in a cold sweat?

“I’m fine, Mom,” he sighed.  “Just . . . trippin’ down memory lane.”

Lois turned from where she had two of Gary’s bags laid open on the bed.  “Oh, dear,” she sighed.  “I should’ve thought of that.  Bad?”

“Bad enough,” was his muffled reply. He was rubbing his chin with his right hand.  The left was beating a tattoo on the arm of his chair.  “I, um, I don’t know if I have anyplace left wh-where the flashbacks don’t kick in.  N-not . . . not all the time.  Just . . . just often enough . . . You know?”

Laying aside the shirt she had been folding, Lois Hobson turned and placed a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder.  “It’ll pass,” she promised him.  “You just need a little time . . . and distance.  This camp idea of Chuck’s . . . he could be on to something.”

Gary looked up into his mother’s concerned gaze.  “What is this, a conspiracy?  ‘Let’s send poor little Gary off to camp.  We’ll make him have fun if it’s the last thing we do?’  Mom!  Please!” he added, looking away.

“Oh, ‘please’ yourself, Gary,” Lois snorted.  “That wouldn’t be a conspiracy.  More like . . . oh, ‘Mission Impossible’, maybe?”

Shooting his mother a sour look, Gary propelled his chair to the kitchenette.  It was still one of the few places that were ‘safe’.  There, he rummaged around in the fridge until he found a couple of sodas.  Handing one to his mom, he quickly drained the other.  It did little to ease the dry, bitter taste of his fears.  McGinty’s was more than his business.  It was his home!  What would he do if he could no longer live in the one place that he was truly able to call his own?

“The paper!” he exclaimed suddenly.  “Who’s gonna handle the paper while I’m . . . while I’m away?”

“Marion Crumb,” was Lois surprising reply.  At Gary’s shocked look, she quickly continued.  “He does not know about the paper!  But, I did tell him that you sometimes have these . . . flashes . . . and that it usually means someone is in danger.  He’s promised to keep an open mind about it.  Then, after we get you settled at that camp, your dad and I can come back here and . . . well . . .”

“I haven’t agreed to that camp, yet,” Gary reminded her.  “I just . . . I don’t know that I can . . . It’s tough enough talking to you and Dad about anything, let alone a bunch of strangers!  To try to work out something like this . . .!  I dunno.  It’s just too . . . personal,” he finished in a low mumble, his head bowed until his chin touched his chest.

Lois knelt down and put an arm around her son’s shoulders.  “That’s why this is so perfect,” she told him.  “They are strangers!  Once you come home, you’ll probably never see any of those people again.  And you’ll have had the chance to get all the things that are bothering you out into the open.  Then you can take a good look at them and put them into perspective.  It’ll be good for you, sweetie.  I promise.”

Chin still resting on his chest, Gary looked up at her from the corner of his eye.  The look he gave her was the most vulnerable she had ever seen on a man.  “Cross your heart?” he asked plaintively.

“Cross my heart,” she promised, giving him a quick peck on the forehead.  “Now, let’s finish packing.  We have to get out of here before your Dad decides to build more than a ramp.”

***************

The trip down the stairs didn’t have anywhere near the impact it once had.  Gary could take it with little more than a shiver up his spine.  His mother, however, had no such problem, as she used the lift to send the bags down ahead of her.

Gary was balancing the heaviest bag on his lap as he rolled toward the back of the office, almost running into Marissa, who was coming through from the other direction.

“Oh!  I’m glad I caught you!” his partner said.  “You need to sign those renewal forms or we’ll lose our liquor license,” she reminded him.  “And, if you could go over some of these orders, I’d really appreciate it.  Also . . . “

“I get the picture,” Gary sighed, setting the suitcase on the floor.  He looked up at his mom, who was coming up from behind him with the other bag.  “Can you handle this, Mom?  I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on before we leave,”

Looking at the bottom of the bag he was holding, she asked, “That’s the one with the wheels, right?  No problem, sweetie.  I have to go back up, anyway.  We forgot to bring you a heavy coat. Oh, and I have to go pick up a few things for your dad.  I should be back by the time you finish.”  Grabbing the handle of the bag, she hurried around her son and out the door.

“And I have to go over tonight’s menu with Jake,” Marissa sighed, turning back toward the kitchen.  “He wants to add some God-awful Arabian dish he ‘discovered’ to the menu.  I made the mistake of trying a sample.  Whew!”  She made fanning motions in front of her mouth.  “It’s hot enough to qualify as a health hazard!”  Smiling, she disappeared through the door.

“That’s right,” Gary called out to the empty room.  “Abandon me to a mountain of paperwork!  Just remember where you left me!”  With a grin, he turned back to the office.

Half an hour later, Gary was wishing they had moved a little faster.  He had gone through two large stacks of forms, and was just starting on the third when there came a hesitant knock on the door.  “C’mon in,” he called out wearily, not bothering to look up.  He heard the door open and close, light footsteps, and the telltale squeak of someone settling into the chair on the other side of the desk.  “Be right with you,” he mumbled.

“That’s okay,” a familiar voice said.  “I’ve got lots of time.”

Gary froze, his pen halfway through another signature.  ‘It can’t be,’ he thought.  ‘Not now!  Not like this!’  Slowly, he raised his head to see bright blue eyes peering at him from a face he had been sure he would never see again.  She smiled at him in that same warm, open way that had always made his heart skip a beat, set his head to spinning.  There had been a time that he would’ve welcomed her back in a second, without reservation or explanation.  Now . . .

“Hello, Erica,” he greeted her neutrally.  “Life treating you right?  How’s everyone in Galena?”

Erica Paget’s smile turned into a frown at the coolness of his tone.  She had expected him to be a little hurt, even angry, after the way she had left him, but not cold!  This wasn’t going at all like she had hoped.  Suddenly finding herself on the defensive, she looked down at her hands.

“I guess I deserve that,” she acknowledged him.  “I, um, I suppose you’d like an explanation . . . as to why . . .”

“Oh, I think you made that perfectly clear at the time,” Gary replied sarcastically.  “You felt I was spending too much time saving lives, and not enough on saving us!  You wanted a full-time husband, a father for Henry.  How is he, by the way?  Did he come with you?”  He craned his neck to look behind her.

“He’s over at his dad’s,” she told him.  “We’re . . . we’re spending Christmas with him.  Give them a chance to get re-acquainted.”

“Th-that’s good,” Gary stammered, silently cursing himself for the show of weakness.  “No one should come between a boy and his dad.”  He, very deliberately, turned his attention back to his paperwork.  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Is there . . .?”  Erica couldn’t believe he was being so cold!  “You bastard!  The least you could do is hear me out!  Let me tell my side!”

Gary slammed down his pen, giving her a look that would melt steel.  “Your note pretty much said it all,” he hissed between clenched teeth.  “You were okay with what I do, so long as it left plenty of time for you!  And it would be just great if it worked that way!  But it doesn’t!  And what I do is too important to just toss aside.  N-no matter what the cost to me,” he finished glumly, looking away.

“Or to anyone close to you, apparently,” Erica replied, just as heatedly.  “You spend so much time running all over the damned city, into one scrape after another, that you lose sight of what’s going on right under your nose!  We could’ve had a life together!  Could’ve given Henry the family he needs!  But, no!  You have to go out and play ‘Batman’ everyday!  Or ‘Superman’, leaping tall buildings in a single bound!  Well, ‘Lois Lane’ got tired of waiting for ‘Clark Kent’ to propose!  And she moved on!”

“Then what are you doing back here?” he snapped, glaring back at her.  “I’m not ‘Batman’, ‘Superman’, or even ‘Archie’!  I’m nothing like Nick Sterling.  I can’t go out, save the world and sit basking in the adulation of my loyal fans!  I can’t even take credit for most of what I do!  One life!  Just one at a time is the best I can usually hope for!  It’s a dirty, thankless job that can’t be shoved aside just because my girlfriend is feeling neglected!”  He picked up his pen and pulled the next form out of the stack.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to catch up on.  You know the way out.”

Stung by the curt dismissal, Erica leaped up from her seat, slamming the door as she stormed out.  Gary made a pretense of reading the form in front of him, but couldn’t get his mind to focus.  Damn her!  Why now?  Why, when he was at his most vulnerable, would she choose to come waltzing back into his life?  Giving up, he tossed the pen down on top of the papers, leaning back in his chair.  He rubbed vigorously at his temples, trying to ease the burning ache behind his eyes.  ‘Aspirin,’ he thought. ‘I need a huge aspirin!  Or a double-bourbon!  No, can’t drink and expect Mom to let me drive.  Aspirin it is, then.’

Gary searched his desk for the necessary item, to no avail.  Nothing.  Not even an empty bottle or tin.  Great!  The pounding in his head was getting worse.  He knew it was probably just left over tension from his recent encounter, still . . . Maybe there was some behind the bar.  They usually kept some for the customers.

Rolling his chair back, Gary quickly turned and propelled it around the end of the desk.  A moment later he was opening the door, calling for Graham as he entered the barroom.  “We have any aspirin . . . left?”  The words stuck in his throat as he caught sight of the two women in front of the main bar.  Erica stood there, glaring daggers at Toni Brigatti, who was returning the look in spades.  At the sound of his voice, however, both women turned in Gary’s direction.

“Well,” Toni snorted.  “You certainly didn’t lose any . . . time . . .”  Her angry expression turned to one of uncertainty as she looked from Gary, to Erica, and back to Gary.  “Am I interrupting something, here?”

“No,” Gary replied tersely.  “She was just leaving.  Weren’t you, Erica?”  He ignored her stunned look as he continued up to the bar.  “Say ‘hello’ to Henry for me.  About that aspirin, Graham.”

Erica was having a hard time getting her mouth to work properly.  It kept opening and closing with no words coming out.  Stunned, she eased down into the nearest chair.

“Wh-what . . .?” she stammered. “I mean, when did . . .?  How . . .?”

“A flight of stairs,” Gary told her brusquely.  “Last May.  I lost my balance.  Any more questions?  No?  Good.  Have a nice life, Erica.”  He turned to his other visitor.  “Come for a few more digs, Brigatti?  Get ‘em while they’re hot, ‘cause I’ll be leaving town shortly.”  He looked at his bartender.  “The aspirin, Graham.  Do we have any?”

Wisely keeping his silence, Graham handed Gary the large bottle they kept behind the counter.   Gary dumped out a couple into his palm and dry-swallowed them, handing the rest back to his employee.  Turning to go back into his office, he was brought up short by a hand on his arm.  He looked up to meet glistening blue eyes.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to plead my case,” he told Erica in a flat, emotionless tone.  “In fact, you couldn’t get away fast enough.  As you said, you moved on.  So did I.”

“I’m so sorry,” Erica whispered tearfully.  “I didn’t . . .”

“I know you’re sorry,” he snapped. “Everyone I know is sorry!  Well, I don’t want your pity, and I don’t need you.  Now, you have a son to take care of.   I have a life to get on with.  Goodbye.”

Removing her hand, Gary continued to his office and closed the door.  Rolling up to his desk once more, he intended to finish the mound of papers still left to sign but, again, found it hard to focus.  Why today?  Why couldn’t he have a chance to start this new phase of his life on an even keel?  He looked up at a hesitant knock, to see Toni Brigatti peering hopefully around the door.

“What do you want?” Gary asked tiredly.

Toni eased into the office and pulled up a chair before she answered.  “Quite a show you put on out there,” she commented cautiously.

“Oh, did you like it?” Gary replied acidly.  “Thought I’d take a page from your book.  You know, get my licks in first, then leave?”  He scribbled his name on another invoice.  “Did you have anything specific you wanted to tear into me about, or are you just fishing?”

Brigatti had the grace to wince as his words hit home.  She had been a little rough on him the last time they were alone.  Thinking back, she realized she had been more than rough.  She had been brutal!

“I guess I deserved that,” she admitted.  “Did Blondie?”

“Yes,” was Gary’s curt reply.  “Anything else?”  Another paper joined the others he had attended to as he grabbed the next.

“Not really,” Toni shrugged, beginning to tire of this game.  “Just came by to see how you were doing.  Wish you a ‘Merry Christmas.’  Stuff like that.”

“I’m fine,” Gary told her without looking up.  “’Happy New Year’ to you, too.  Have a nice life.”  The stack to his right lost a little more height while the one on his left grew by the same margin.

“Are you gonna keep this up forever, Hobson?” Brigatti finally asked.  He just glanced up at her, then returned to his paperwork without speaking.  “You are one hardheaded son of a . . . How does someone go from being Mr. Nice Guy to such a jerk?  I’m tryin’ to say something here, and I’m beginning to wonder if you’re worth the effort!”

“Have you forgotten so soon?” Gary muttered as he signed another form.  “I’m not.  So go.  Have a ‘Merry Christmas.’  Get on with your life and I’ll keep trying to get one.  Goodbye.”

Having her own callus words thrown back at her so effectively was a new experience for Detective Toni Brigatti.  Left without a defense, she rose from her chair and turned to go.  As she opened the door, she looked back one more time, a scathing rejoinder on her lips.  What she saw quickly changed her mind. Gary sat with his elbows on his desk and his forehead leaning against his fists.  His shoulders shook as if . . . Embarrassed, Toni eased the door closed without a sound.  She owed him that much dignity, at least.

*******************

As soon as Lois returned from her errands, Gary moved into the driver’s position and practically peeled rubber in his haste to leave.  The aspirin did little to alleviate his headache, and his foul mood was beginning to spill over into his driving.

“G-Gary!” Lois exclaimed, as he took another turn just a hair too fast.  “If we get a ticket, you’re on your own!  Slow down, or let me drive!”

Startled, Gary glanced down at the speedometer, easing off the accelerator control as he did so.  Wrecking the van was not in his holiday plans!  “Sorry, Mom,” he sighed.  “I’ve just been having a bad day.  Had a little visit from an old . . .‘friend’ . . . while you were gone.”

“Anybody I know?” his mother asked.  “Or want to know?”

“Brigatti, for one,” he murmured grudgingly.  “She said it was to wish me a ‘Merry Christmas but, I don’t know . . . Never did find out what she really came for.  She got there as my first visitor was leaving.  You remember Erica Paget?”

“The one with that cute, red-headed boy?” Lois asked cheerfully.  “Such a sweet little guy!  How are they?  I’m so sorry I missed him!”

“You didn’t,” Gary replied tersely.  “Erica came alone.  And she left alone.”  He glanced down at the speedometer again, slowing once more when he noted his speed.  “It was . . . tense.”  With a sigh, he turned onto the expressway.  “M-maybe we’d better save this for later.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” Lois sighed.  This was going to be a very long trip.

***************

The sun was just touching the horizon as they reached the outskirts of Gary’s hometown.   The headstones in the local cemetery cast long, thin shadows as they drove past.  For a brief moment, he was once more lying on that tiny mound, looking at his own name graven in stone.   The images faded as the graveyard passed from view.

Driving by the hospital recalled that tearful instant when his memory returned, his parents catching him as he fell.  Not to mention one of the last clear memories he had of being able to walk . . . sorta.

The darkening streets brought to mind that awkward chase to the cemetery.  Had he really driven his dad’s old mustang like that?  Wild!

It was well into the evening by the time they pulled up to the Hobson homestead.  Expecting to find Bernie still up and just a few lights on, they were surprised to find several cars parked in the driveway and the house lit up like a runway beacon.  Gary was forced to park on the street, which only made it more difficult to get to the ramp Bernie had installed.  Especially as he had to maneuver around a big sedan parked across the entrance to the driveway.  By the time he finally negotiated the yard and the ramp, his temper had grown noticeably worse.

Crossing the porch in his wheelchair, Gary couldn’t help but compare it to his struggle to cross the same distance on those blasted crutches!   While the chair was much easier, he’d have given anything to be able to use those crutches again.

Eager hands held the door open for Gary and his mom to enter.  The main room of the house was filled with wall-to-wall people.  Mostly old ‘friends’ that Gary could barely remember, as well as friends of his parents.  Many, Gary felt, were probably there out of morbid curiosity.  Hickory was such a small town, handicapped people, of any sort, were so rare as to be an oddity.  Everyone seemed to be watching him.  Even the people who weren’t talking to him, or looking at him directly, appeared to be peering at him from the corner of their eye.  He felt like a freak of nature, the human equivalent of a two-headed calf.  At one point, he even caught a group of teenage girls casting sidelong glances his way, and giggling.  When they saw him looking back, a few of them had the grace to blush, giving him a pretty good idea of the subject matter.

Some of them seemed to think that one handicap automatically led to another.  As he tried to navigate the crowded room, he heard whispered comments about his last visit home.  About how ‘oddly’ he had been acting then.  Some wondered how he could’ve known where the convicts had been hiding, and why had they chosen his room?  And what about all those strange stories out of Chicago?  Being accused of murder twice in less than four years!  Wasn’t he a suspect when that little Walker girl disappeared?  What a ‘coincidence’ that he was the one to find her!  There was even rumors of mob connections!  Where there was smoke . . .

Feeling hurt and, to some extent, betrayed, Gary tried to leave the area before his accusers saw him.  He had grown up around these people!  How could they choose to believe all the lies and ignore the retractions that had cleared his name?  Turning, he almost ran over his ‘old friend’ Terry Bishop, who had just taken over editorship of the tiny local paper, the Hickory Gazette.  He had been listening to the whispers, as well as watching the play of emotions on Gary’s face with each barbed comment.

“Care to tell your side of the story?” he asked neutrally.

“Why?” Gary responded in a dismal tone.  “So they can twist whatever I say around to make me even more of a lunatic?  No thank you.”  He pushed his way past the newsman, trying to find some way to escape this crowd of gawkers.  “I’d better leave before they find some way to blame me for the Crucifixion,” he sighed.

However, Gary soon found himself surrounded by well-meaning people pushing food and drink at him, asking how he felt, if he was okay.  Could they get him anything?  Was he comfortable?  So sorry about your accident.  Sorry to hear about your hand.  Did you really kill . . .?   Sorry.  Sorry.  SORRY!

“Please!  Just stop it!” Gary finally cried.  He couldn’t take it any more!  “I know you’re sorry,” he snapped into the suddenly silent room.  He pointed to the last man who had spoken to him, one of his high school teachers. “You’re sorry.  And you’re sorry,” he added, indicating his old track coach. “Everyone is sorry for me!  Don’t be.  These two people,” he said, waving his hand at his parents, “have spent a lot of time getting me to stop feeling sorry for myself!  I don’t . . .”  He clenched his hands into fists, trying to get control of himself.  In a much-subdued tone, he continued.  “I don’t need anything, except a little peace and quiet.  Now, I appreciate you all coming over, and I apologize for sounding off like this, but I’m really . . . really tired right now and . . . and I think I’d better turn in before I say something incredibly . . . stupid.  Goodnight.”  Pivoting his chair quickly to hide his embarrassment, Gary propelled himself into the den.  There was a loud ‘click’ as he locked the door.

Embarrassed, Lois and Bernie herded their guests out the door, apologizing for Gary’s abruptness as they did so.  There were a few mumbled comments of ‘How rude!’ and, ‘That boy needs help!’  Some of them, however, seemed to understand.  In just a few minutes, the last visitor had gotten in his car and driven off.  Bernie turned to his wife, a concerned, irritated expression on his face.

“What’s got his dander up?”

“He’s had a rough day,” Lois sighed.  “That old girlfriend of his, Erica, showed up.  I think there was some kind of argument, but he won’t talk about it.  And Brigatti was just leaving as I got there.  That’s never good news.  Then coming in to that . . . that mob . . . ”  She looked toward the locked door.  “I’d better go see if he’s okay.”   Stepping quickly up to the door, she raised a hand to knock.  Muffled noises from inside made her pause, listening.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she finally recognized the sounds for what they were.  Stepping back, Lois bumped into the hovering shape of her husband.  “Oh, Bernie,” she whimpered, turning to bury her face in his chest. “He’s crying!  Gary almost never . . .  Not out loud!  Oh, God!  I feel so helpless!”

“Gary’s been through a lot,” Bernie reminded her, wrapping his arms around her protectively.  “He’s had to endure more . . . more misery these past few months than most people can even imagine in a lifetime.  All we can do now, is to be there for him.”

*******************

Gary sat in his darkened room, staring across his bed to the moonlight flooding through the curtained window.  That word kept coming back to haunt him.  Sorry.  Everyone was feeling ‘sorry’ for him, and none more so than himself.  All things considered, he felt like one sorry excuse for a human being.  Dr. Zimmerman had told him several times that there was nothing wrong with his spine anymore.  So, why couldn’t he walk?  Why was he unable to rise from this chair and put one foot in front of the other, like in the song from that Christmas show they kept running on TV every year?  Was he not trying hard enough?  Was his faith not strong enough?  What?  Or, as Marissa kept insisting, did he have some ‘task’ left to be finished before the ‘block’ would be removed and he could resume a normal life again?

Was it possible that he had already accomplished his ‘task’ without being aware of it?  If he just tried harder, could he eventually walk again?  Or was he to be confined in this plastic and steel prison for the rest of his life?  He had to know!

Rolling his chair up to the bed, Gary grasped the trapeze bar, pulling himself onto the edge of the bed.  Without the parallel bars, this was going to be difficult, but he had to try!  He reached out with his left hand to grasp the top of the dresser.  Pushing himself up, using just his arms, he balanced himself between the bed and the dresser.  Now, if he could just move that left leg . . .!  He slid his hand along the top of the dresser, hoping to find a better grip, only to feel it slip off the edge!  With a startled cry, Gary tumbled to the floor!

“Gary?  Son, are you okay?” Bernie called through the door.  “Answer me, son!”

Stunned, the wind knocked out of him, Gary was unable to respond to his father’s urgent pleas.  The next thing he recalled was the rattle of a key in the lock and the door being flung open, letting in a stream of light.  A second later, the whole room was illuminated as the overhead lights were switched on.

“Oh my God!  Gary, are you hurt?” his mom asked.

“No,” he grunted, trying to push himself into a sitting position.  “Just . . . just a little winded.  Could you help me up, please?”

Bernie grasped his son by the shoulders and helped him turn onto his back.  Then he and Lois each grasped an arm, letting him use them as leverage to get his back up against the chair.  For just a split second, all three froze as a sense of déjà vu swept over them, like a mild electric shock.  Then, the moment passed and Gary pushed himself back into his chair.  Puzzled, he looked at his parents.  Had they felt it, too?  From their stunned expressions, he would have to say ‘yes.’

“That was . . . odd,” Lois remarked.  “It was like we’ve done this before, only . . . only it was, somehow, different the last time.”

“Yeah,” Bernie agreed.  “Didn’t we catch him before he fell?  Or did we fall with him?  I couldn’t sort it out.”

“I . . . I think we hugged,” Gary told them.  “I was falling, and you caught me and . . . and we all ended up . . . But, that wasn’t real!  Th-that was part of the hallucination I was having on the stairs!  While I w-was . . . It wasn’t real!”

Confused and troubled, Gary turned away so that he would not have to answer the questioning looks his parents were giving him.  It wasn’t real!  It couldn’t be!  If that had been . . . then the rest of it . . .!  Suddenly, Gary was more afraid than he had ever been in his life!

*******************

It was fairly early the next morning that Lois answered the door to find a familiar uniformed figure on her porch.

“Joe!” she greeted the young police chief enthusiastically.  “How are you?  C’mon in.  We were just sitting down to breakfast.  Would you like some coffee?”

“That’d be great, Mrs. Hobson,” Joe Frawley replied with an easy smile.  “Mostly, though, I came to see how Gary was doing.  I, um, I heard he let off a little steam last night.”

Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, Lois stepped outside, closing the door quietly.  She led Joe toward the front steps.

“Please don’t bring that up,” she begged him.  “Gary’s already feeling bad enough about what he said.  I don’t think he slept a wink all night because of it.  Between that, and all the awful nightmares he‘s been having lately, I don‘t know how much more he can take.”  Lois looked back toward the door.  “I was sort of hoping a friendly face might help him out of this black mood.”

“I promise to behave,” Joe assured her as he turned to go inside.  “Although, since I locked him up the last time he was here, I’m not sure he’ll consider me as being all that ‘friendly’,” he joked.

They went straight through the house and into the dining room.  Bernie sat on one side of the table, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.  Almost directly across from him, Gary sat staring moodily at a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, his chin propped on one hand.  As Joe quietly entered the room, he paused to study his old friend for a moment.  Gary looked as if he had not been sleeping well for quite some time, he decided.  The dark smudges under his red-rimmed eyes were accentuated by the prominent five o’clock shadow that darkened the lower half of his face.

“To tell the truth, ol’ pal,” Joe quipped, “I’ve seen guys with killer hangovers that looked better than you do, right now.”  He continued up to the table and pulled out a chair.  He spun the chair around and straddled it, resting his chin on his arms.  “I’d ask how life was treating you, but that’s pretty obvious.  So, how are you handling it?”

“Not very well,” was Gary’s grudging admission.  He pushed his plate over.  “Help yourself,” he muttered.  “I’m not really hungry.”

“S’okay,” Joe pushed it back with a shake of his head.  “I’ve already eaten.  Want to talk about it?”

“Not much to talk about, really,” Gary shrugged, not lifting his eyes from the table.  “I made a jackass of myself, is all.  Nothing new.  How’s the family?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Joe sighed.

Bernie looked up from the paper, as this scintillating conversation seemed to be going nowhere.

“Why don’t you two go into the den?” he suggested.  “A little privacy might help you clear the air.”

Gary pushed himself away from the table.  “Sounds like a good idea,” he mumbled.  “I need to get cleaned up, anyway.”  He led the way back to the main room, then into his new sleeping quarters.

The first thing Joe noticed was the orthopedic bed by the window.  A chest of drawers had been moved down from Gary’s old room, as well as a bedside table and a lamp.  The adjoining bathroom had also been modified for his use.

“Just have a seat,” Gary told his friend, indicating a comfortable looking chair.  He crossed over to the chest and began rummaging around for clean underwear.  “Getting complaints about me, already?”

“Not really,” Joe replied evasively, taking the indicated seat.  “Heard a lot about how rude you were last night.  Getting a little cranky in your old age?”

Shooting him a grim half-smile, Gary continued to lay out his clothes.  “I had a bad day,” he replied evenly.  Thinking back, he added, “A very bad day.  You know, the last time I came home, you were so jealous of my life.  And, all things considered, I still haven’t figured out why!  God, Joe!  You’ve got everything I left Hickory to find!  All I’ve got is a bar and a cat.”  ‘And more responsibility than you’ll ever know,’ he added to himself.

“After those escaped cons almost killed me,” Joe replied with a nod, “I began to realize that.  You never did tell me how you knew where they were.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Gary shrugged.  “As long as no one was hurt.  So, how soon do they want me gone?”

That caught Joe completely off guard!  “Excuse me?  How soon does who want you gone?” he asked, puzzled.  “What are you talking about?”

“I’m pretty sure I ticked off everyone here with my little speech last night,” Gary replied.  “At least everyone who wasn’t already mad at me from my last visit.  And since two thirds of the town council was here, I figured they’d been in to see you by now.”  He pulled a pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt from the closet, laying them out on the bed.  “I can almost hear ‘em.  ‘We don’t need some lunatic loose in our town.  Even one in a wheelchair.’  Or, ‘He’s your friend, Joe.  You go talk to him.’  That would be the one’s I didn’t tick off.”  He finally looked up to meet his old friend’s downcast eyes.  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“No,” Joe sighed.  “You got pretty close to the mark.  Two or three want you kept under surveillance, just in case your recent ordeals have left you a little ‘unhinged’.   A few, though, really want to know if there’s some way they can help.  Oh, and Mrs. Callahan wanted me to let you know that Renee couldn’t make it for Christmas, but she should be home in time for New Years.  Seems she practically rules Silicon Valley these days, at least to hear her mother tell it.”

Gary winced at this news.  He had figured that Renee would come home to visit, but had hoped to avoid seeing her.  They had parted on friendly enough terms, both realizing that the attraction between them was not as strong as their mothers had hoped.  Still, the sympathy factor could tip the balance for Renee.  And that was not what he wanted.

“I’ll try to be gone by then,” he sighed.  “Don’t get me wrong, Renee’s a really sweet girl, and can kick butt with the best of them.  But, she’s also too . . . She’s got too big of a heart for me to deal with right now.  I’m still trying to sort out the mess in my own head.”

“Put it to her just like that,” Joe said with a grin, “and she’ll be your friend for life.  So, what are your plans?”

Gary just shrugged.  “Nothing much, really,” he replied evenly.  “Just hang around the house, for the most part.  Go back to Chicago to hear a friend sing in an interfaith choir.  Come back for Christmas, then head out to Los Angeles to visit Chuck for a few days before they pack me off to some camp for the physically challenged.  Or is it mentally?  Probably both.  I forgot to ask.  Anyway, I‘ll try not to wear out my welcome.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as both men wondered what to say next.  Finally, Joe stood up and sauntered over to Gary’s nightstand.  He picked up a framed photograph of the two of them in their football uniforms, holding a huge trophy between them.

“What exactly is it, that you do in Chicago?” he asked almost casually.

Gary shot him a puzzled look.  “I run a bar,” he reminded his friend.  “McGinty’s, remember?  Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you do a lot more than that,” Joe murmured distractedly.  “I’ve been a little . . . curious since the last time you were here, so I did some checking.  You’ve been . . . busy.”

Pivoting his chair so that he was facing the young police chief directly, Gary studied his friend, looking for some clue as to what he was getting at.

“Wh-what, exactly, have you been looking at?” he asked nervously.

“Newspapers, police reports, things like that,” Joe shrugged, setting the picture down as he turned to face Gary.  “Imagine my surprise to find a sealed Secret Service file on you!  And that it was cross-referenced with President Tyson and someone named . . . Marley?”  Hoping to startle his old friend into some kind of revelation, Joe was nonetheless unprepared for Gary’s reaction.

The blood seemed to drain from Gary’s face as he tightened his grip on the chair-arms until his knuckles were white.  His eyes were wide open and staring, a lost, haunted look on his ashen features.  For a moment, it appeared as if he had forgotten how to breathe!

For Gary, it was as if a door had been flung open, releasing memories that refused to stay buried.  Of ‘Dobbs’ asking him how he got his information.  The words ‘voices’ and ‘visions’ echoed loudly through his mind.  Along with that hated word ‘delusional’.  Images of that plastic-shrouded room on the thirteenth floor of the Randolph Building, of Marley standing in the window, taking aim.  Of himself handcuffed and helpless, talking desperately, trying to buy just a little more time!  He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of a shot ringing out!

Suddenly he was back in Dallas, struggling to reach an impossibly distant goal.  Flash!  He was begging Lucius Snow to flee before it was too late.  Flash!  Marley and Oswald were arguing just a few feet from his prone body as he dragged himself toward a beckoning doorway . . .

Alarmed, Joe reached out a hand and grasped Gary’s right shoulder, only to jump back as his friend opened his eyes with a startled gasp!  Looking around with a panicked expression, Gary sat back, gasping like an Olympic sprinter at the finish line.

“Wh-where did you . . . did you find that?” he asked, unable to hide a slight tremor in his voice.

“Are you kidding?” Joe snorted.  “You can get into anything through the internet!”  He watched, concerned, as Gary got himself under control.  “Was it that bad?”

“Do you like getting a good night’s sleep?” Gary asked in return.

“Sure.  Who doesn’t?”

“Then let’s drop the subject,” Gary advised him.  “It makes a lousy bedtime story.”

“But, it’s morning,” Joe pointed out.  “You’ve just gotten up.”

Gary looked him straight in the eye, saying, “Wanna bet?”

********************

Joe left while Gary was in the shower, promising to return that afternoon.  When Gary finally emerged, feeling somewhat refreshed in body, if not in spirit, he found his parents talking in the living room.  They were discussing plans for a Christmas party the following week.

“I don’t think we should invite the Wilkerson’s this year,” Lois was saying.  “George kept making passes at those young girls and I thought Phyllis was going to kill the lot of them!”

“Then we can’t invite Paul and Clarice, either,” Bernie told her.  “They’re pretty close.  Play bridge every Tuesday.  What about . . . Oh, there you are!  Feeling better?”

“Loads,” Gary mumbled.  He continued into the kitchen, where he poured himself a cup of coffee.  It was a poor substitute for the breakfast he had passed up, but it was all he had the stomach for at this time.  He was still bothered by the flashbacks which had been invoked by the mere mention of that hated name.  After all this time, how could they be so strong?  Shouldn’t he be able to put all that behind him by now?  Marley was four years in his grave, for Christ’s sake!  Why did that . . . sorry son of a . . . still have so much more of an effect on him than, say, Savalas, who had come in and out of his life much more recently?  What kind of power had that manipulative psycho possessed that could make him such a menace even after he was dead?

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Gary turned to see his father standing in the doorway.  With a sigh, he pushed away his half-empty cup of cold coffee. How long had he been sitting there, lost in his morbid reverie?

“Save your money,” he murmured, propping his elbows on the table.  “Besides, inflation’s raised the price.  It’s up to a quarter, last I heard.”

Bernie sauntered over and refilled his own cup.  Leaning against the counter, he studied his son over the rim.  If possible, Gary looked even more haggard than before he’d cleaned up.  What had he and Joe talked about?  And why did it have such a negative effect on the younger Hobson?  One thing for sure, letting him mope around the house all day wasn’t going to help.

“I have to run a few errands,” he casually remarked.  “Care to go along?”

“Why not?” Gary sighed.  “I can’t sit around here all day, getting Mom all depressed.”  He looked up at his father’s pained features.  “You didn’t think I noticed?  My legs are paralyzed, Dad, not my mind.  I know this is wearing you guys down, and . . . and I wish things were different.  I wish I was at least handling this better.  For your sake.  But, it’s like I’ve let everyone down.  You, Mom, Marissa, the Paper, even the cat!  Then, just when things start to even out, when I begin to think I can get on with my life, something happens to drag me right back down.  It’s like there’s some kind of . . . of force at work to keep me off balance.  And it’s doing a damned good job.”

“Then let’s see if a little fresh air won’t help to bolster your defenses,” Bernie suggested, setting down his cup.  “I have to run to the bank and the hardware store.  Plus, your mom has some library books due back today.  Not to mention some old clothes she wants me to run over to the high school for their annual rummage sale.”

Gary gave him a hesitant smile as the list continued to grow.  “The ‘Honey Do’ list?”

“The ‘Honey Do’ list,” Bernie acknowledged with a sigh and a nod.  “I didn’t really retire.  Just switched bosses.”  He pushed himself away from the counter and headed for the door.  “C’mon.  We’d better get out of here before she remembers something else.”

***************

Bernie’s intentions may have been good, but their little excursion could have been equated with the maiden voyage of the Titanic.

Their first stop was the bank, where Gary decided to cash a check.  As soon as he entered, he knew he was in for a difficult time.  The teller’s windows were all situated on very tall, almost antique counters, which put them so far above Gary’s head, the tellers couldn’t see him.  Before submitting himself to that kind of humiliation, he rolled over to the ATM, only to find that it was situated so high, that he could not see the screen.  He was finally forced to ask his father for help.  Gary did not hang around to renew old acquaintances.

A few blocks down, at the hardware store, he had difficulty getting through the narrow, cluttered aisles.  He ended up waiting in the van.

At the library, too, he ended up staying outside by the van.  This was because the library sat atop a steep set of stairs, with no wheelchair ramp.  It was the same at the high school.  A place that once held such wonderful memories for him, was now effectively inaccessible.  So many places in his hometown presented the same, or similar, obstacles.  The church, even the movie theater, presented difficulties, unless he wanted to sit in the very back, behind the top row.

To add to his discomfort, everywhere they went he got the same pitying looks or rude stares.  It brought back that familiar ‘freak show’ feeling from the night before.  Trying to conceal his discomfort, Gary cheerfully greeted several old friends, only to have them hem, haw, and fidget until they could make a graceful exit.  That, alone, was enough to break Gary’s heart.  Fighting back tears of pain and frustration, he asked his dad to please take him home.  Once there, he headed straight for the den, saying only that he was ‘tired,’ and needed to lie down for a little while.

“It was awful,” Bernie sighed.  He was sitting at the kitchen table once more, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.  “Nothing in this town is designed with the disabled in mind.  Until today, I never even realized that there’s not one handicapped parking place in the whole town!  He couldn’t even cross the street without my help because the curbs were too high!  Isn’t there some kind of law about that?  The Equal Opportunities Act, or something?”

“You mean the Americans With Disabilities Act.  I don’t think it’s ever been an issue before, hon,” Lois replied.  “The Post Office is required to be handicapped accessible, but, without anyone pushing to have it done, they’ve been taking their time about finding a contractor.  Gary’s the first to ever need those kind of accommodations here.”

“That can’t be true!” Bernie protested.  “What about Seth Watkins?  He’s in a wheelchair, and no one treats him like a freak!”

“He’s eighty-three years old with a heart condition,” Lois reminded him.  “He never leaves his house.”

“Oh, yeah.  And Mrs. Greenberg had both hips replaced last year,” he mused.  “She doesn’t get out much, either.  But, I bet she would if they’d make this town a little more ‘disabled friendly’!  Did you know there’s not one Braille sign in Hickory?  Not one!  What if Gary decides to bring Marissa for a visit?  How will she find her way around?”

“Ask directions?  Seriously, Bernie,” Lois sighed, “these changes need to be made, but it’s not going to happen overnight.  I’ll bring it up at the next ‘Ladies Auxiliary’ meeting, but don’t look for anything to happen until someone else’s child is put in the same situation. As terrible as that sounds, the only way people around here will understand, is when it becomes personal.”

“In the meantime,” Bernie grumbled, “Gary’s left on the outside looking in.  With everyone treating him either as a freak, or as so fragile he’ll break if you breathe on him too hard.  I tell ya, Lois, it’s enough to make a statue cry.”

**************************

Later that afternoon, Joe showed up with his wife, Deb, who gave Gary a warm hug and asked how he was doing.  Was he feeling well?  How about a piece of this delicious apple pie she had just brought?

“Maybe later,” he told her with a guarded smile.  “I was just going outside.  C’mon in.  How are the kids?”

“Just wonderful,” Deb replied enthusiastically.   “They’re over at my mom’s right now, going over last minute additions to ‘The List.’  It’s become a tradition,” she giggled.  “They give us this huge list just before Thanksgiving.  Then, about a week before Christmas, they come up with another list of things that have just come on the market, hoping to get at least half of what they want.”

“Sounds like a couple of smart kids,” Gary commented with a wry grin.  “You must be really proud of them.”

“We are,” Joe nodded.  “So, how did your day go?  Any problems I can help you with?”

Gary just shook his head, not wanting to ruin the mood with a recitation of his troubles.  “Not that much to do in a small town,” he shrugged.  He held up the basketball he had been carrying in his lap.  “I was just going out to shoot a few hoops.  See if I can’t work up an appetite.  You’re welcome to join me,” he added hopefully.

Deb looked skeptical, knowing how much higher the basket had to seem from that chair, but Joe just shrugged.  “Why not?  If you promise to spot me a few points,” he grinned.  “You creamed me the last time we played.  By the way, I hear you’ve been coaching at a youth center back home.”

“Well, yeah.  Tell ya what I’ll spot you five,” Gary agreed.  “And the first one to reach twelve wins.”

“You’re on,” his friend quickly accepted.  “Just let me say ‘Hi’ to your folks and I’ll be right out.”

Deb shot her husband an anxious look as Gary went out to warm up.  Basketball?  What were they thinking?

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked in hushed tones.  “What if he figures out you’re going easy on him?  You don’t want to upset him!”

“What’s upsetting him,” Joe told her, “is people treating him like it’s more than his body that’s disabled.  We’re just going out there to play a friendly, honest game of one-on-one.  Nothing fancy.  And, on his worst day, Gary could whip the pants off of me.  No way am I going easy on him!”

Which was just as well, as Gary scored two three-pointers in the first five minutes.  It quickly developed into a heated match.  Joe soon learned that letting Gary get control of the ball was almost the same as handing him the basket.  His superior upper body strength meant that he did not have to get anywhere near the basket to score, forcing Joe to extend his defensive range and really work for each point.

Gary easily won the first two games.  By the third, however, he was finding it harder to concentrate on scoring.  He kept getting distracted by the constant flow of passersby that just had to pause at the end of his parents’ drive.  Most just stood there, watching for a few minutes before scurrying off with embarrassed looks when he turned their way.  Others made whispered comments, just loud enough for him to catch his name now and then.  Along with a few thinly veiled references to how well he played . . . for a cripple.  And wasn’t it just a shame . . .?

It was when he overheard one girl giggling and asking another, “I wonder if he can still, you know . . .?” that his frayed temper finally reached it’s limit.  He slammed the ball down on the concrete drive so hard that it almost shot straight up.  The ball came down to circle the rim of the basket four times before dropping in.  Angered and embarrassed Gary pivoted his chair to face his ‘audience’.

“Whether I can ‘you know’ or not isn’t really something I prefer to discuss in public,” he told them acidly.  “And if your parents had taught you any manners at all, neither would you.  Now, it’s feeding time at the zoo, ladies.  The show’s over.  Have a nice day.”

Stunned at this uncharacteristic display, Joe watched his friend pivot around and head inside, leaving him to gather up the ball.  Shooting the two startled young women a disgusted look, Joe followed him into the house.  He found Gary sitting in the den, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“You okay?” he asked with concern.

“Oh, yeah,” was Gary’s muffled response.  He leaned back with a sigh, unable to meet his friend’s troubled gaze.  “Th-that was smart,” he added, wiping suspicious traces of moisture from his face.  “I imagine you’ll be getting a few irate phone calls tonight.  Sorry.”

“For what?” Joe snorted.  “Beating my butt at the hoop?  Nothing new there.  Although, I still think I could’ve won that last match if you hadn’t slammed that rim-shot past me.”

“In your dreams,” Gary sniffed, a wry grin turning up the corner of his mouth.  “I meant about those girls.  I should know better than to lose my temper like that.  You’d think I’d have gotten used to the . . . the whispered comments, the way people look at you without looking at you.  Or-or how they try to avoid looking at you altogether.  We grew up with most of these people, and I feel like a stranger!”  Raising his eyes, he finally met Joe’s troubled frown.  “Last time I was here, you were the only one, outside of my folks, that was totally honest with me.  You thought I was a mental case, but you came right out and said it.  This time, you’re the only one that’s treated me like I’m still halfway human.  Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Joe told him evenly.  “Does that mean you’ll give me a re-match?  Spot me another three points?”

Gary let out a choked laugh, shaking his head.  “What do you want me to do?  Give you the game?”

*********************

Gary proved to be more of a prophet than either of them had thought.  Not only was Joe Frawley’s phone deluged with calls, so was the Hobson’s.  Lois and Bernie found themselves defending their son’s heated outburst to people they had not spoken more than ten words to in years.  It seemed that the two girls, and their parents, had a lot of influential friends.

All that evening and for the next several days, someone would call to complain about Gary’s ‘behavior’ towards ‘those two innocent girls.’  He was reported to have been openly profane and accused of making lewd suggestions.  Even when Joe tried to set them straight on what had really happened, the callers would try to twist it around so that it was still ‘that Hobson boy’s’ fault.

For days, Gary refused to leave the house, or to see anyone other than his parents or Joe.  Which meant he spent most of each day alone in his room, as his parents had an almost constant influx of holiday ‘well-wishers.’  At first, he had attempted to be cordial and polite, hoping to undo some of the damage he felt responsible for, but the cold, even fearful, looks he often received soon drove him to seclusion.  Which only caused more idle speculation among the townsfolk.  Many of the callers suggested he seek ‘professional’ help.  Several hinted at a possible ‘breakdown’ as the reason for his rude behavior.  Soon they could not even sit down to a simple meal without having to listen to caller after caller leaving irate, or ‘concerned,’ messages on their answering machine.

Finally, a few days before Christmas, he’d had enough. After about the tenth time their dinner was interrupted, Gary excused himself and went to his room.  His mother followed a few minutes later to find him packing his things.

“What are you doing?”

Gary looked up without pausing as he continued to stuff clothes into a bag.  “What does it look like, Mom?” he sighed.  “I’m just a visitor, now.  You and Dad still have to live here.  It’ll be a lot easier on everyone if I just leave.”

“A lot easier for us,” she asked, “or for you?”

“Both, I hope.” he murmured as he zipped the first bag closed.  “It’ll be okay.  I’ll just drive on back to Chicago tonight, watch Marissa sing in a couple of days, and catch my flight to L.A. Christmas night.  It’ll go like clockwork, you’ll see.”  He stowed his shaving gear in the second bag and zipped it shut.  “It’s for the best, Mom,” he told her, unable to meet her tearful gaze.

“No, it’s not,” she sniffed.  “It’s Christmas, Gary!  Families are supposed to be together at Christmas!  Not driven apart by small-minded, mealy-mouthed, spiteful, fat-heads!”

Gary looked up, giving his mother a lop-sided grin.  “Holding your feelings in like that isn’t good for you, Mom,” he joked.  “Go ahead, let it rip.”

Her answer was to pop him on the shoulder, then gently cup his cheek with the same hand she had hit him with.  “I’m serious, Gary,” she told him gently.  “Those girls had no business starting this mess.  All you did was put them in their place.  Please don’t let some local, high-minded, ill-mannered snobs drive you out of your home!  You belong here, with us!  Not all alone in that empty apartment!”

“I’ve been alone before, Mom,” he sighed.  “It won’t be any different than it was right after Marcia kicked me out.”  He turned his head just enough to kiss the palm she had pressed against his cheek.  “Really, I’ll be alright.  As soon as I get settled in, I’ll give you a call to let you know I made it, okay?”

*********************

Lois and Bernie stood on the front porch and watched their only son drive off to his self-imposed isolation.  As the van disappeared from sight, she turned and laid her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“It’s not fair,” Lois sniffed.  “He’s never done anything to harm them!  Never!  And they treat him like a pariah!  All on the word of two bored little hussies with way too much time on their hands!  They live all the way across town!  What were they even doing walking by our house?  And why does everyone have to take their word as gospel, when the Chief of Police was right there as a witness!”

“They’re afraid,” Bernie mumbled as he gently rocked her from side-to-side.  “Somewhere deep inside, everyone of them knows that what happened to Gary could just as easily happen to one of them.  So they try to fix some kind of blame, make it some sort of divine punishment.  As if Gary wasn’t doing enough of that on his own.”

About that time, the phone rang.  Even from the porch, they could hear a friend of Lois’ voicing her opinion of Gary’s ‘unreasonable behavior.’  Furious, Lois struggled free of her husband’s grasp, and dashed inside, grabbing the phone before the other party could hang up.

“You can tell everyone to rest easy, Millicent,” she snapped.  “You’ve all finally succeeded in driving my son out of town!  And I wish you all a very ‘Merry Christmas!  What?  No, I will not be coming to your party!  Tell the rest of your pack of harpies that mine is cancelled.  Good-day!”

Slamming the phone down, she turned quickly, only to bump into Bernie.  Heart-broken, Lois buried her face against his chest and wept angry, bitter tears.

*********************

Go on to Installment 5                       Return to Installment 3
Installment 6
Installment 7
Installment 8
Installment 9

Email the authors: Polgana54@cs.com
 

Back Home to McGinty's

Stories by Title

Stories by Author