A Timely Intervention 
Installment 3
by Polgana


“There’s no doubt about it,” Armstrong sighed as he dropped the forensics report in Steve’s lap.  “The remaining four bullets were custom loads.  Heavier grain than normal, which is why it knocked him so far off his feet.  And rigged to look like blanks.  The ‘cardboard’ plug at the end was just thin paper over a specially made slug with a flat tip.  From what the range master said, he’s lucky to still have a shoulder.  We found Oscar’s prints on the clip, but the bullets had been wiped clean.”

“That seems to rule out the accident theory, alright,” Lt Sloan sighed.  “Poor guy.  He has enemies he doesn’t even know about, probably.  We had a guy with us on an exchange program from China.  Sammo Law.  He said a Gary Hobson had been instrumental in breaking up a smuggling ring.  I didn’t connect the name, at first.  Then, when I spoke with him a couple of weeks ago, I asked him for more details.  Did you know there’s only one Gary Hobson in all of Chicago?”

“Thank God,” Armstrong sighed.  “One’s all I can handle.”

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

“I’d forgotten all about those guys,” Gary mused, absently rubbing at his throat.  Thinking back, he could almost feel the bruises which one thug had left on his neck.  The marks that little Henry Pagett had called ‘hickeys.’  “Aren’t they still in prison?”

“Two of them got out on early parole last month,” Armstrong told him.  “One reported to his PO right away, the other disappeared.  We have an APB out on him, now, for parole violation.  Given this man’s record, he’s strong on our list of suspects.”

Gary laid his head back with a sigh.  “I just can’t believe there’s so many people out there holding that kind of a grudge,” he murmured.  “I mean, yeah, I’ve stepped on a few toes in my life, but . . . I-I didn’t think I’d ever interfered with anything worth killing over.  At the time . . . yeah,  but later?  When there’s nothing to be gained from my death?  It just doesn’t make sense.”

“For some people,” General Hammond remarked, “revenge is a powerful motivation.  It can become an obsession.”

Gary turned his head to stare out the window as he considered their arguments.  They had teamed up to convince him to submit to at least one armed guard.  The young barkeep had been adamant that he did not need protection.  Now, he was not quite so sure.  What if this mysterious assailant went after his family, or his friends, to get at him?  Could he really afford to take that chance?

“All right,” he sighed.  “You win.  B-but only one.  I don’t wanna be leading a-a marching band everywhere I go.  And I don’t wanna be locked away in a ‘safe house.’  That leaves everyone else I care about . . . out in the cold.  I-I can’t do that.  If this . . . person wants me so bad, then . . . then the only way to draw him, or her, out is to . . . to dangle me out there like bait.”  He closed his eyes as the implications of his statement hit home.  “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I can,” Armstrong grinned, tapping his notebook with a pen.  “You have this bad habit of sticking your neck out.  Not to mention being in the oddest places when things just . . . happen.  Like that   Schlepprock character.  Except that all the bad things seem to be happening to you, lately. ”

“What, um, yeah,” Gary murmured.  “I-I’m no hero, Paul.  I’m just . . . just the guy who’s there when things go wrong.”

“That so?” the black detective snorted.  “Seems to me, a hero is usually just someone who cares too much to stand around doing nothing when things go wrong.  Sound familiar?.”

Reddening under what, from Armstrong, was high praise, Gary ducked his head with a shrug.  A sharp twinge of pain was a belated reminder not to do that.  It had now been a little over a week since the shooting and this was his first full day of consciousness.  So far it had been monopolized by the police and military as represented by his current visitors.  When would they let his family in, he wondered?

Looking over to see Dr. Fraiser, Dr. Sloan, and a Dr. Creek whispering by the door, he also wondered what it was they found so interesting.  They were leafing through a thick folder, pausing only to discuss some point they seemed to find fascinating.

“H-how . . . how soon can I go home?” Gary asked, just loud enough for them to hear.  All three figures turned in response to his stammered question.

“A few more days,” Dr. Creek told him as she approached the bed.  “You lost a lot of blood, then had to fight off a severe post-op infection.  That left you pretty weak, Mr. Hobson.  That shoulder is going to need some therapy also.  We have to ascertain the degree of nerve damage, if any.  From what Dr. Sloan tells me, you are one incredibly lucky individual.  If your bad leg hadn’t buckled when it did, that bullet could’ve gone straight through your heart.  As it was, you still came a little too close for comfort.”

When she mentioned his leg buckling, Gary had given Dr. Sloan a puzzled look.  ‘Was that what it looked like to everyone else?’ he wondered.  He hoped so.  That would save him having to come up with another explanation.

“What’s the matter, Hobson?” Armstrong asked, having caught his look.  “Isn’t that how you remember it?”

“N-not . . . I-I don’t . . . T-to tell the truth,” he admitted, “I don’t remember much.  My leg was sore, and I was starting to feel . . . really tired.  Th-then I flubbed my line, I-I started to . . . t-to say . . . something.”  He rubbed his good hand over his face, as if trying to recall that night.  “That . . . that’s all I can remember,” he added truthfully.  “Everything after that’s kind . . . kind of a blur.”  Which, for once, was the truth.  After he’d been hit, things had pretty much stopped making sense.  “S-so, um, could you, sorta, give me an idea of how much time we’re talking about?  B-before I’m able to go home, I mean.”

“This weekend sometime?” Mark suggested to Dr. Creek.  

“I would think so,” the tall redhead replied, leafing through Gary’s chart.  “His white count and vital signs are back to normal.  So are his hemoglobin and hematacrit. All his other labs look good, and he’s showing minimal nerve damage, so far.  I see no reason why he shouldn’t be able to go home by . . . Saturday.  Maybe.”

“Saturday?” Gary moaned.  “It’s only Tuesday!  That’s four more days!”

Dr. Sloan shook his head with a grim chuckle.  “Just four days ago, you were still fighting for your life,” he reminded his young friend.  “Don’t be in such a hurry to finish the job.”

“Mark’s right,” Dr. Creek nodded.  “Over the past several months, your body has been severely traumatized, repeatedly.  It’s barely had time to recover from one shock before it was hit with another, then another.  From what I can gather from your history, you have got to be one of two things.  Either you are the luckiest man that ever lived, or the most resilient.”

Looking down at the mass of gauze encompassing his chest, Gary made a rueful face.  “I’d vote for that last thing you said,” he grumbled.  “I sure don’t feel very lucky.”

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

“Gary?  Gary Hobson?”

Gary stopped massaging the yellow tennis ball long enough to glance toward the open door.  The man who stood there, a surprised look on his face, seemed familiar for some reason.  Then it hit him.  Two boys standing in the parking lot next to a brand new Lexus.  A man too angry to see straight. 

“M-Mason, isn’t it?” he asked hesitantly.  “Eric Mason?”

“Yes,” the man replied, stepping the rest of the way into the room.  A girl of about thirteen, with short brown hair framing an elfin face, walked in at his side.  “What happened?  The last I saw, you seemed in pretty good shape.”

“Someone slipped some live ammo into a prop,” Gary replied with a shrug, which he instantly regretted.  He grimaced as pain seared through his injured shoulder.  “I’ve, umph, gotta stop doin’ that,” he sighed.  He looked directly at the girl.  “Your daughter?  The one you were talking about?”

“Oh!  Yes, this is Kelley,” he responded distractedly.  Turning to the girl, his hands flickered in a rapid series of gestures in ASL. ‘Kelley,’ he signed, ‘this is the man I told you about.  Mr. Hobson.’

Smiling hesitantly, the girl gestured rapidly in response.  ‘Nice to meet you, Mr. Hobson.’

‘Nice to meet you, too, Kelley,’ Gary signed awkwardly in return.  His ability to sign was hampered by his injury.  ‘You look sad,’ he commented.  ‘Why?’

Glancing briefly at her father, she just shrugged and looked away.

“We’re just here for a few tests,” Mason told him with a shrug, as if it was something they did everyday.  “She’d rather be playing softball.  So you were the one in the paper?  I read about that, but never connected the name.”

Gary noticed that Mason didn’t sign unless he was speaking directly to his daughter.  That didn’t seem fair, so Gary tried to keep up a running commentary.  With only partial use of his right hand and arm, it wasn’t easy.  Then Kelley flickered a smiled at him, signing that she could read his lips.  Gary returned her smile before turning back to her father.

“What kind of tests is she having?” he asked, careful to keep his face turned so that she could see his lips. 

“There’s a new procedure they think might restore her hearing,” Mason said, giving the young girl a hopeful smile.  “Partially, at least.  She’d have to wear a hearing aid, but that’s got to be better than total silence.”

“Depends on what you’re used to,” Gary commented.  He knew that, given a chance, Marissa would love to see again.  From what Mason had told him that morning when they’d first met, Kelley had been deaf almost since birth.  How would she react to the sudden influx of a sense she had never really known? 

“That’s easy enough for you to say,” Mason grumbled.  “You never had to deal with such a serious handicap.”

“You’d be surprised what I’ve had to deal with,” Gary murmured, ducking his head slightly.  He saw no need, as yet, to drag up the events of the past year.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kelley’s lips twitch.  She had caught his mumbled response.  “Have you talked this over with Kelley?” he asked.  “Asked her what she wants?”

“Are you serious?” Mason snorted.  “She’s a child!  She depends on us to know what’s best for her.”  He glanced down at his watch, turning to face the girl.  ‘We have to go, Kelley,’ he signed.  ‘We don’t want to be late.’

The girl ducked her head and nodded, her expression unreadable.  Still, Gary could have sworn that, just before she turned for the door, she mouthed something at him.  As they waved farewell, he leaned back with a weary sigh.  Had she really said, ‘Wanna bet?’

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

Later that same evening, Marissa came by for a visit.  His parents had dropped her off on their way to do ‘a few errands,’ promising to pick her up on the return trip.

“This is getting to be a bad habit,” she told her friend.  “You have really got to kick this hospital fetish, Gary.  You’re insurance agent is threatening suicide.”

“Don’t think I haven’t tried,” he responded with a lopsided grin.  “So, how’re you and Emmett getting along?  Has he popped the question yet?”

“Not yet,” Marissa chuckled.  “I think he’s thinking about it, though.  He’s suddenly developed a nervous stutter.  A lot like yours.”

Gary made a face he knew his friend couldn’t see, but he was sure she could sense.  She was uncanny that way.  “Don’t keep him dangling too long, if he does,” he cautioned her.  “He’s a good man, and he worships the ground you walk on.  He’s also one of the few people who doesn’t treat you like an object to be pitied.”  He felt safe in speaking so bluntly to his friend.  She had never had much tolerance for people who tip-toed around the subject of her blindness. 

“Don’t worry,” Marissa told him.  “I’ll have to at least let him finish the question, though.  I don’t want to seem too eager.  Seriously, Gary, do you think I’d be doing the right thing to accept?”

“Do you love him?” Gary asked simply.

“Yes,” she replied without a trace of hesitation.

“Then you’ve just answered your own question,” he told her.  “No one can tell you what to do in a situation like this, Marissa.  L-least of all me.  My track record in that area kinda . . . s-speaks for itself,” Gary added ruefully.  He shifted his arm more comfortably into the sling they had fitted him with that morning.  It was definitely a step up from having it strapped to his chest, but the darned thing was still a nuisance.  “All I can tell you is, you won’t know if it’s right until it goes wrong.  If you sit around waiting for a guarantee, you end up . . . well, l-like me,” he added dismally.

“Oh, Gary, I’m . . .”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,“ he cautioned her.  “If I learned anything from Erica, it’s that it wouldn’t be fair to go into a relationship knowing that I can’t commit myself completely to keeping up my end of it.  A wife deserves a fulltime husband.  Kids need a fulltime dad.  Anything less . . . I don’t think I can . . . I-it just wouldn’t be right.”

Marissa leaned in a little closer to the bed, disturbed by the despondent tone of his voice.  “So you just give up on ‘The Dream?’” she asked.  “A wife, home, kids, the whole deal?  You simply decide it’s not worth it anymore?”

“No!” Gary protested.  “You don’t . . . It’s still a great dream.  I just . . . I’m giving it to you and Emmett.  You two’ll make great parents someday.  Like Chuck and Jade.  Who’d ‘ve ever thought Chuck would turn out to be such a doting father, but look at him!  He worships his family!  Like he used to worship money.  He’s got ‘The Dream.’  Why shouldn’t you?”

“Or you,” Marissa insisted.  “Don’t give up just because you been burned a few times.”

“Burned!”  Gary laughed bitterly at that, his left hand pressing against his injured shoulder as pain shot through it.  “Marissa, I’ve been incinerated!  Marcia kicked me out weeks before the Paper ever showed up.  Emma was in love with the man I reminded her of.  Renee likes me well enough, but there’s obviously nothing more to it than that.  Erica wanted what I couldn’t give.  Total commitment.  Truthfully, I think I was more into being a dad for Henry than being there for her.  Brigatti?  I never know from one day to the next what she wants.  She’ll rip into me, calling me a worthless pest and a nuisance.  Then she’ll be all smiles and apologies just before she tears into me again.  I can’t live that way.”

“So you’re going to tell her to get lost?” Marissa sighed.

Gary shook his head slowly.  “I don’t think so,” he replied, his good hand now plucking idly at his sling.  “I think that, maybe, we can at least be friends.  I-I just don’t see much . . . happening beyond that.  N-not that I wouldn’t like something to . . . but i-it takes two.  You know?”

Marissa leaned back with a sigh.  “I guess I see your point,” she replied sadly.  “I just hate to see you condemning yourself to a life of loneliness.  You deserve happiness just as much as the next person, Gary.  More than some.  Yet you see yourself as being on the outside looking in.”

“Not if you let your kids call me ’uncle,’” he corrected her.  “Th-that would kinda . . . kinda make me a member of the family.  Wouldn’t it?”

 Gary’s voice sounded so hesitant . . . and hopeful.  Impulsively, Marissa stood up and stepped closer to the bed, then pulled him into a warm embrace.  “Of course it will,” she told him tearfully.  “You’ll always be welcome in my home.  Always.”

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

When Lois and Bernie arrived an hour or so later, they found the two chatting amiably about things of little consequence.  They did notice that Gary seemed a little pale and tired, but put it down to his tendency to over do things.

“You look exhausted, sweetie,” Lois sighed.  “If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’re only going to make yourself sick again.” 

“I’ll be good, Mom,” he murmured tiredly.  “I promise.”  By now he really was feeling a little sleepy.  “Everything go alright?  With . . .you know.”

“Just dandy,” Bernie grinned.  “Stopped a coupla traffic fatalities, a domestic dispute that was gonna turn ugly, and kept some kids from skinny dipping in the fountain in Grant Park.”

Gary shot his dad a strange look.  “Skinny dipping made the Paper?”

“No,” his mother chuckled, giving her husband a playful slap on the shoulder.  “He’s pulling your leg.  We did stop them from knocking some poor woman into the fountain and putting her into a coma.  So, how are you feeling, dear?  You really do look tired.”

“Diane put me through the wringer today,” he finally admitted.  “Wanted to make sure I did the exercises right after they turn me loose tomorrow.  Don’t,” Gary sighed as her face clouded over.  “She’s just doing her job.  She let me know right up front that, if I do some of these wrong, I could do more harm than good.  She also threatened to hang me if I don’t pace myself better.”

“She’s not kidding, either,” Marissa warned him.  “I have it on good authority that she intends to hold you to that promise to give her away at her wedding.  The only excuses she’ll take is a body cast or a death certificate.”

“I think I have one of those,” Gary quipped.  “It’s expired, though.”

“Keep it up, buster,” Lois growled, “and I’ll renew it.  That is nothing to joke about.  You’ve scared the hell out of me so many times in the past year, the pastor assures me that I have a reserved seat in heaven.”

Gary’s face fell as he squirmed uncomfortably.  He might joke about it, but the subject of death still made his skin crawl.  It also depressed him to be reminded how deeply his family and friends had been affected by his recent trials.

“Sorry, Mom,” he mumbled dejectedly, his good mood suddenly washed away by feelings of guilt.  “I-I didn’t . . . I-it was just a . . .”

Appalled at the sudden change in Gary’s demeanor, Lois sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around him.  Tears welled up behind her eyes when he put his left arm around her, burying his face against her shoulder.  They had been warned that his emotions would be all over the place after such a traumatic experience.  As if they had to be reminded.  He was still off balance from the triple whammy life had thrown at him in just a little over eight months. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she sighed.  “I was joking, too.  God knows, we all need a good laugh right now.”  Pulling back, Lois took a good look at her son’s crestfallen features.  This close she could see the puffiness and dark smudges under his eyes, clear indications that he wasn’t sleeping well.  “Gary,” she murmured.  “What’s wrong?  Are you . . . are you having those nightmares again?  The ones with . . .”

Wordlessly, he nodded.  Gary clung to her a moment longer, drawing strength and comfort just from having her so close.  Finally, he heaved a deep, shuddering sigh and released his hold. 

“Savalas is there,” he admitted.  “Sometimes he brings along a friend or two.  Th-then . . . then things get . . . I-it’s no big deal,” Gary stammered nervously, trying to dismiss her concerns.  “Th-they’ll pass.  They always do.” 

“I might believe that,” Bernie commented dryly, “if you could look one of us in the eye when you say it.”

A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of Gary’s mouth as he gave his dad a sideways look without raising his head.  “I’ll be okay, Dad,” he insisted.  “If it’ll ease your minds, I’ve already talked with Dr. Zimmerman.  He, um, he’s setting up an appointment w-with that therapist he was telling us about a coupla months ago.  Doc thinks he can get me in sometime next week.  S-so, I am getting help, guys.  Just . . . don’t expect miracles.  Okay?”

“Gary,” Lois sighed, tracing one hand over his injured shoulder, “everything you’ve done since last May has been one long series of miracles.  How can we expect anything less from you now?”

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

Early the next morning, Gary was awakened by a gentle massaging motion on his stomach which was accompanied by a soft purr.  Puzzled, he opened one eye and looked down toward his feet.  There was the cat, purring contentedly and kneading Gary’s abdomen with his front paws.  The Paper was lying across Gary’s knees.

Gary glanced down at his sling, then to the cane that leaned against the chair next to his bed.  Then he looked back at the smug feline.

“Y-you’re kidding,” he said, laughing nervously.  “You’ve gotta be kidding.”  Since his shooting, the Paper had been showing up at his parent’s door.  What could possibly need his personal attention so badly?  “One good arm, a bum leg,” he grumbled, “and I can barely stand on the good one.  Talk about expecting miracles!”

Fumbling for the controls, it took him a moment to raise the head of his bed.   Gingerly, he stretched down and grasped the periodical.  Lying back with a sigh, he glanced at the front page.  Nothing earth shattering there.  Just another debate about landfills and the ecology.   Some politician was going to get caught someplace that he shouldn’t be.  He used to try to stop those, but had finally given it up as a lost cause in this guy’s case.  The man would chase anything in skirts.  This time he was going to be in for a big surprise.  “Serves ‘im right,” Gary grumbled as he turned the page.  “His career is gonna end up in the landfill.  Fool shoulda checked for an ‘Adam‘s Apple.’”

Turning the page one-handed, he scanned the headlines.  New construction projects on the Eastside leading to some derelict buildings coming down and a four-block area being rezoned.  Another TV series, which was supposedly still in the planning stages, was negotiating the use of one of the converted warehouses on Taylor St.  Wait!  Here it was on page four. 

‘FATAL FALL CLAIMS LIFE OF DEAF CHILD’

With growing horror, Gary quickly read the article.

“‘At approximately 7:45 yesterday morning, thirteen year old Kelley Mason apparently took her own life,” he murmured softly, “by leaping from the roof of Cook County Hospital.  Kelley had been deaf almost from birth and was reported to have been despondent over being told that she was ineligible for a new, as yet experimental, procedure.  It is not known as of this writing how the young girl gained access to the roof.  The only witness to her tragic death was Gary Hobson, a patient in one of the rooms below the spot from which Miss Mason chose to end her life.’  I-I can’t . . . this can’t happen.”  Gary grabbed his watch off the nightstand and checked the time.  It was already after seven.  Taking into account the time it would take her to work up the courage to take that lethal step, she was probably already on the roof.  As to how she had gained access to the roof, Rachel Greenberg had shown him how ridiculously easy that was.

Moving cautiously, Gary nudged the cat aside and then levered himself out of the bed.  He looked with chagrin at the IV that was due to be taken out just before his discharge that morning.  There was no help for it.  He would never get that pole up the stairs.  Having watched the nurses do it a few hundred times, Gary knew how to shut off the pump and clamp off the tube to keep from making a mess.  This he was able to do with his left hand.  He had to use his teeth to peel back the tape and pull out the catheter.  Blood poured from the wound until he was able to clamp down on it with his right hand and a washcloth.  It was awkward, but he managed to strap his watch around the makeshift bandage using his right hand and his teeth.  By the time he was finished his shoulder was throbbing unmercifully and he was bathed in a chill sweat from head to toe.  He checked the time again.  Almost 7:30!  He had to hurry! 

Putting a robe on over his pajamas and slippers on his bare feet, Gary grasped his cane and limped to the door.  He poked his head out, checking the hallway.  His police guard was talking to the nurse who was bringing the breakfast trays.  Both had their backs to him, but they might turn at any moment.  He needed a distraction!  At that moment, the cat came barreling out of his room.  With an earsplitting yowl, the orange tabby ran down the hall and past the softly speaking pair.  Startled, they took off after the intruding feline, giving Gary the break he needed.  Moving as rapidly, and quietly, as he could, Gary made his way to the emergency stairwell.  There was a bad moment when the nurse discovered him missing, and Gary had to hide in a utility closet until they took the search down another corridor.  The young barkeep seethed at the delay.  Time was running out!

Then he was on the stairs and struggling to climb the few floors to the roof.  ‘I shoulda took the elevator to the top floor,’ he told himself.  But that would have meant walking past the nurse’s station.  He never could’ve talked the nurses into letting him take a stroll on the roof, let alone explained why he took out his own IV.  Nope, it was the stairs or nothing.

Panting from exertion, Gary shouldered open the fire door at the head of the stairs.  Turning, he tried to remember which side his room was on.  The article said that Kelley had hurled past his window, so that would be where he would find her.  Once he found her, how could he get her attention without literally scaring her to death?  ‘Please, God,’ he prayed.  ‘Let her be looking my way!’

Kelley was standing at the edge of the roof, staring over the waist high parapet that ran the full circumference of the building.  The young girl looked so lost and alone, Gary could understand how she might feel driven to take her own life.  As he struggled to reach her before she jumped, the teen took a step back.  Placing both hands on the cold, dusty bricks, she started to push herself upwards.  Frantic, Gary glanced around for something, anything, to get her attention!  The rooftop was clear of debris.  Dropping the cane and reaching down with his left hand, he peeled off one slipper and hurled it with all his might at the rim of the parapet just beside her.  His aim was true.  The slipper hit the parapet and went sailing over the edge.

Startled, Kelley jumped back a couple of steps, then turned to see where the missile had come from.  Gary, white-faced and obviously in pain, was struggling to free his arm from the sling.  Instinctively, she took a step toward him, intending to help.  Then she remembered why she was there.  Her eyes narrowed as she took another step . . . backwards.

‘Don’t!’ Gary signed desperately.  ‘Don’t do this, Kelley!  Let me help you, please!’

‘How can you help me?’ she asked, her hands shaping the words with a speed he could barely keep up with.  ‘Can you get my dad to back off and leave me alone?  Can you make him and Mom just accept me for who I am?  I don’t think so!’

‘I can try,’ Gary promised her.  ‘I’ll talk to them.  I’ll make them see how all this testing is affecting you.’  He hesitated, trying to work past the pain ‘talking’ in ASL was causing him.  The strain was already showing on his face.  ‘I know that you don’t want these tests,’ he told her.  ‘I know that you see them as a nuisance and a royal pain.  But your parents are only doing what they think is best for you.  You have to help me convince them that you don’t want them.  And this isn’t the way.’  It was clear that the extra effort it took to put emphasis on a word was agonizing.   ‘Please.  Come back inside and we’ll find them right now.  I’ll tell them . . . ‘

‘They won’t listen!’ she replied, her anger and frustration evident in the snap of each gesture.  ‘They just turn their backs on what they don’t want to ‘hear’ and go right ahead with whatever they want!  It’s like I don’t even have a choice!  They make all the decisions and tell me about them when they’re ready!  I hate them.’

‘No you don’t,’ Gary returned.  ‘If you did, it wouldn’t hurt so much.’

Kelley paused in mid-gesture.  She seemed suddenly unsure of herself.  Gary chose to press his advantage.

‘It hurts because you want to love them,’ he told her.  ’You want them to see you as a person, not a handicap.  I know how that is.  I’ve been there.  I wanted to die, too.’

‘But you didn’t,’ she observed, her gestures hesitant.  ‘What changed your mind?’

‘I didn’t really have a choice,’ he admitted.  ‘When the urge to die was strongest, I was in no shape to do anything about it.  I couldn’t walk, and both of my hands were useless at the time.  I couldn’t even feed myself.  I was totally helpless.’  He glanced down at the cane he had dropped, and then at his injured shoulder.  ‘Not much of an improvement, is it?’ he signed with a rueful smile.

‘Not really,’ Kelley had to agree.  A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  ‘Do you really think they’ll listen?’

‘I’ll make them listen,’ he assured her.  ‘They may be able to turn away, but they can’t turn off their ears.  I can be a real pest when I have to be’

That brought a short bark of laughter from the hearing impaired girl.  It was the first sound Gary had heard her make.  ‘I’ll bet you can,’ she signed.  Kelley walked up to him and retrieved his cane.  Handing it to him, she signed, ‘Let me help you down those stairs.  You look tired.’

‘Exhausted,’ Gary admitted.  He reached for the cane, his hand shaking.  As he grasped it, all the strength seemed to go out of him.   The cane clattered to the rooftop as he sank to his knees.  ‘I’m not very good on stairs right now,’ he signed wearily. 

‘Let me read your lips,’ the girl suggested with an impish grin, as she helped Gary back to his feet .  ‘Your ‘accent’ is horrible.’

“You try doing this with a hole in your shoulder sometime,” he said out loud.  “On second thought, don’t.  It’s a royal pain in more ways than one.  Now, let’s go find your folks so I can chew their ears off.”

‘My,’ the girl signed, giggling.  ‘That’s a lovely picture.’

“Just what I need,” Gary sighed.  “A deaf comedienne.”

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

Kelley helped Gary down to the top floor, where they took an elevator to the ward where his room was located.  They had no sooner stepped out of the cab than a flock of nurses and orderlies descended on the hapless pair.  Gary was hustled back to his room where he was quickly, and thoroughly checked over by his nurse.  He’d hung on to Kelley’s hand during all of this, keeping her close.  He didn’t want her out of his sight until he had talked with her parents.  Still, he had to wonder how the nurse could hear anything through that stethoscope while she was chewing him out for his little disappearing act.. 

“We’ve had security combing this building from top to bottom,” the woman grumbled as she stuck the business end of a thermometer in his mouth.  “When I came in and saw you gone and all that blood, I just knew someone had snuck in and murdered you, dragging your body away for some nefarious ritual or something.”  She snatched the instrument from his mouth and checked the results.  “That young officer is going to have to answer for his dereliction,” she sniffed.  “I don’t know how you managed to sneak that cat in here, or where the little beast disappeared to, but I will find out.”  She turned her penetrating glare on the girl.  “And what were you doing out of your room, young lady, and what were you doing with our wandering boy, here?” she asked pointedly, as if she were certain they had been up to something they shouldn’t have been..

“She can’t hear you,” Gary told her.  “She’s deaf, so save the sarcasm.  Her name is Kelley and she was helping me back to my room.”

“She should be in her own room,” the nurse snorted.  “Her parents are probably looking for her by now.  Come with me, young lady,” she added, holding out her hand to the girl.  “We’ll find out where you belong.”

“No!”  Gary’s grip on Kelley’s hand tightened slightly.  “She wants me to speak with her parents,” he told the obnoxious nurse.  “I promised that I would.  Her name is Kelley Mason and she’s here for testing to see if she’s eligible for a new surgical procedure to restore her hearing.  When you find her parents, you can tell them where she is, but she’s not leaving this room until they get here.  I promised her.”

“Now, see here, Mr. Hobson . . .”

“I promised her,” Gary repeated firmly.

The two of them, patient and nurse, locked gazes in a battle of wills.  Gary’s eyes never wavered.  It was the officious nurse who finally looked away.  “Very well,” she sighed as she turned to go.  “I’ll let her charge nurse know where she is.  But you leave that door open.”

“Why?” Gary asked, puzzled by the order.  The nurse directed a significant look at the young girl, then to where their hands were intertwined.  Gary’s mouth fell open as the implication hit him.  “You’re sick, you know that?  Get outta here!”

The nurse left in a huff, only to be replaced by one thoroughly chagrined police officer.  The young cop set his chair just inside the door and plopped into it, giving his charge a suspicious glare.  An hour later, Gary’s parents showed up to take him home.  He quickly explained that he couldn’t leave until he had spoken with Kelley’s parents. 

Eric Mason and his wife, whom he introduced as Irene, finally showed up around ten o’clock.  She was quick to explain that they had been on the phone with a clinic in New York about yet another ‘miracle cure’ for their daughter.

“She doesn’t want it,” Gary told them before Mrs. Mason could finish talking.

It took her a moment to shift gears.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Kelley,” Gary explained, indicating the girl huddled protectively against his mother.  “She does not want it.  She’s tired of all the tests, and the surgeries, the doctors poking and prodding.  She wants to know when she gets a say in any of this.”

“She’s always . . . I mean, we’re doing this for her!” Eric stammered.  “What kind of parents would we be if we didn’t exhaust every possibility to make her well again?”

“She’s not sick,” Gary told them, keeping his head angled so that Kelley could understand what he was saying.  “She’s deaf.  An illness may’ve caused it, b-but it is not an illness anymore.  It’s a condition.  Her hearing was damaged, not her brain.  I-I don’t understand you people.  You . . . you learned to sign so that you could communicate with your daughter, then you ignore what she has to say!  She was a baby when she lost her hearing, and she doesn’t miss it!  What she is missing is the way other parents treat their kids: like people.  Kelley likes softball and ice skating.  She likes picnics in the park on a sunny day and flying kites.  She likes lying outside on a warm night and picking out the constellations.  She doesn’t like being treated like a lab rat.  She loves you two so much that she was willing to kill herself rather than put you through another disappointment.  How . . . how much do you love her?  Enough to stop looking for a ‘cure?’  Enough to actually discuss her options with her instead of making all the decisions for her?  Do you love her enough . . . enough to let her make up her own mind, even if she disagrees with what you think is best for her?  I guess what I’m really asking is . . . do you love her in spite of the fact that she isn’t perfect?”

Stunned, the Masons looked over at their daughter, who was staring anxiously back.  “Is that true?” Eric Mason asked, signing as he spoke.  “Did you . . .did you try to . . .”  He couldn’t bring himself to even finish the thought.

He didn’t have to.  Tears streaming down her elfin features, Kelley nodded.  ‘I couldn’t get you to listen,’ she signed.  ‘I was so tired of it all and I didn’t know what else to do.’

Irene Mason turned frightened eyes on Gary.  “H-how. . . I-I mean . . . wh-what was she . . .?”

“She was on the roof,” was all Gary had to say.

All the color drained from the couple’s faces as their minds filled in the silence with nightmare images.  Eric stepped forward and pulled his daughter into a crushing embrace.  They could hear him whispering, “Oh, my God.  Oh, my God!”  He finally let her go, signing rapidly.  ‘I promise, no more tests unless you agree to them.  I love you so much!’

‘I love you, too, Daddy,’ Kelley replied.  She wiped the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand, then added, ‘Can we go home, now?’

‘Of course we can, sweetheart,’ Irene signed.  Then she turned her tear streaked face to meet Gary’s concerned gaze.  “To answer your questions, Mr. Hobson, we really do love our little girl. We just didn’t realize she was already perfect, just the way she is.”  She, too, gave her daughter a warm hug.  “Just the way she is.”

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

After dragging the whole story from Gary and their daughter, the Masons thanked him profusely before taking Kelley back to her room.  As they disappeared out the door, Gary lay back with a sigh.

“You’ve had a busy morning,” his mother observed as she took the chair Kelley had vacated.  “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” he admitted.  “The hardest part was getting to the roof.”  He shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust his arm in the sling, and ease the throbbing pain in his shoulder.  “She didn’t really wanna die,” he murmured.  “She was just tired of feeling like a lab rat.”

Bernie was looking at the Paper in Gary’s lap with such longing that Gary had to chuckle.  His mom usually got to it before his dad could and doled out ‘errands’ carefully. 

“It’s okay, Dad,” Gary told his father.  “Everything’s taken care of,” he added with a sidelong glance at his bodyguard.  They had to be careful what they said so long as Gary was being watched this closely.  He looked over at his mother.  “We’re just waiting for Dr. Creek to make her rounds and discharge me.  She’s gotta give me a whole list of instructions and probably read me the riot act for this latest escapade.”  He glanced at his watch, which no longer covered his makeshift bandage.  Earlier, the nurse had cleaned the results of his clumsy extraction of the IV and covered the wound with a thick bandage.  “It shouldn‘t be much longer.”

“Good,” Lois smiled as she stood up once more.  “I’ll pack your things while you get cleaned up.  We brought you a change of clothes,” she added, indicating the carryall at Bernie’s feet.  “As soon as you change, we’ll just toss everything into one of those plastic laundry bags and blow this joint.” 

“Blow this joint?” Gary repeated as he swung his legs off the bed with a groan.  “You been watching those old Bogart movies again?”

“The Mystery Channel is having a film festival,” she admitted.  “It’s addictive.”  She was looking under the bed, one bedroom slipper in her hand.  “Bernie, can you see his other slipper on your side?  I can’t find it.”

Bernie bent down until he was looking at his wife from the underside of the bed.  “I don’t see it, hon,” he told her.  They both raised their heads, looking straight at Gary with a wordless question.

“Oh!  Um, I, ahm, I think it’s i-in the parking lot . . . or-or someplace like that,” he stammered.  He straightened with an effort, returning their chagrined stares with a slightly indignant one of his own.  “Well, I had to get her attention somehow!”

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

The young officer helped Gary from the van, then held his hand out to assist Lois.  Bernie handed Gary’s carryall to Lois before stepping out onto the sidewalk himself.  As he closed the heavy door,  he glanced over at the ‘handicapped’ sign in front of the van.  Hopefully, they wouldn’t need the special parking permit much longer.  In spite of recent set backs, Gary was showing definite progress.  His physical therapist seemed to think he could be back to one hundred percent by the end of May.  She certainly seemed determined that he would walk her down the aisle in a few weeks.

“We should get you straight upstairs and into bed,” Lois was saying as they entered the bar.  “You don’t want to over do it your first day home.”

“Mom!” Gary sighed in exasperation.  “I’ve been in bed over a week, now!  C-couldn’t I just . . . just sit at the bar for a little while?  Go over the books?  Something?  Anything but climb those stairs!”

Lois Hobson started to argue the issue, but the pleading look her son gave her at that moment stopped her.  He was right.  This was his first day back home after yet another life-threatening injury, he was a grown man, and he should be allowed to make these decisions for himself. 

“You’ll let me know when you’re ready to tackle those stairs?” she asked, her tone saying that he had better say yes.

“Of course I will, Mom,” he sighed, looking around at the light dinner crowd.  There were few within hearing distance, fortunately.  “I thought you weren’t gonna . . . I mean . . .”

Lois winced as she caught on to what he was trying not to say out loud.  “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” she murmured.  “Sorry, sweetie.  It’s hard to remember, sometimes.  Motherhood doesn’t come with an ‘off’ switch.”

Bernie set the carryall down at the end of the bar and took his wife by the elbow.  “I’ve got a wonderful idea, Lois,” he said, leading her away from the counter.  “Why don’t you and I go for a little drive, have a nice quiet lunch for two, before we have to go look at another house.”  He leaned in close to whisper in her ear.  “He’s being watched like a hawk,” he told her quietly, nodding his head toward the officer.  “Let’s cut the poor kid a little slack.”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “I keep forgetting about that.”  Lois turned and went back to the bar, stepping up to the police officer.  “I know you’re only here for another hour or so, but I’d like to remind you that my son’s life is in your hands.  Don’t fumble the ball.”

“Mom!”

Lois threw both hands in the air and took a step back.  “That’s all I’m going to say,” she promised.  “We’ll go, now.  Gary, please don’t wear yourself out.  When you feel tired, at least stretch out on the sofa in your office for awhile.”

“I will, Mom,” he promised, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.  “Now, go on.  I’ll be fine.”

As soon as they were gone, the officer took up residence by the front door while Gary retreated to his office to catch up on a week’s worth of paperwork.  Marissa joined him for just a few minutes.  She was dressed especially nice, and wore a sweet, but subtle perfume.

“You look great,” Gary complimented her, taking an appreciative sniff.  “Smell nice, too.  Special occasion?”

“Emmett is taking me out for a late lunch,” Marissa explained.  “He was sounding very nervous, and more than a little mysterious,” she added with a strained laugh.  She sat across from her partner and reached out to take his left hand.  “I think this is it, Gary.  I think he’s going to propose.  What should I say?”

“What do you want to say?” Gary asked her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Yes!  I want to say yes,” she replied, her words coming out in a rush.  “Oh, Gary!  I love him so much!  I’m . . . I’m actually terrified of losing him!”

“Then you’ve answered your own question,” he told her, his voice soft and low.  “He’s a very lucky man to’ve found someone like you, Marissa.  I hope you two have a wonderful life together.” 

“Thank you,” she sighed.  “Oh!  What if he doesn’t propose?  What if he wants to break up with me and just wants to let me down easy? What if . . .?”

“What if you both get snatched by UFOs?” Gary interrupted her with a wry chuckle.  He released her hand, reaching up to caress her cheek.  “The guy is nuts over you.  He was over at the hospital a coupla times.  Every time your name was mentioned he got this . . . look of . . . rapture on his face.  That’s the only way I can describe it.  Just relax and let Emmett have his big moment.  If he does propose, he’s probably been working up to it for weeks.  It took me over a month to work up the nerve to propose to Marcia.”

Marissa sat back with a sigh.  A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  “Have you noticed that you can talk about her a lot easier, now?” she asked her friend.  “All the . . . bitterness seems to be gone from your voice when you mention her name.  Do you think that, maybe, you’re finally over her?”

Gary fingered the sling confining his right arm as he pondered the question.  “I think so,” he finally replied.  “I-I guess I’ve been hanging on to . . . to the idea of . . . of what we had for so long . . . Then all this . . . stuff kept happening.  I-it happened so fast, too.  Suddenly I just don’t see the sense in brooding about the past anymore.  I mean, yeah, I’m having to see a therapist a-about these . . . these dreams, but that’s still a positive step, don’t you think?  It’s . . . it’s getting things in perspective, sorta.”

A hesitant knock on the door, and a muffled, “Marissa?” cut off whatever reply she was going to make. 

“Just a moment, Emmett,” she called out to the man on the other side of the door.  As she rose to go, she turned her sightless eyes to face Gary, saying, “Maybe it’s time we both got our happy endings.”

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

A little while later, Gary returned to the barroom.  He suddenly felt the need to have people around him.  His conversation with Marissa had left him feeling a little melancholy, yet oddly at peace.  It was as if he had passed some hurdle, and could now get started on the rest of his life.  He managed to carry some of the invoices he had been working on into the main room and spread them on the smaller of the two counters.  Doing everything left handed was a little awkward, but he found that he could manage.  He just hoped he could read his own handwriting later.

Gary wasn’t sure how much time had passed when something hit the countertop with a loud bang.  Almost simultaneously, his ears rang with a familiar cry.

“Hobson!”

Startled, he spun around, almost falling off his stool.  A strong hand reached out quickly to steady him.  Breathing fast, his heart racing, Gary looked up to see Marion Crumb scowling at him with what could be a look of concern.  Or irritation.  It was hard to say, with Crumb.

“Christ, Crumb!” he gasped, his left hand pressed to his injured shoulder.  The sudden motion had sent a sharp pain through his wound.  “I just got out of the hospital!  Don’t be in such a hurry to send me back!”

“Recognize this?” the big detective asked, indicating the object he had slammed on the counter. 

Gary looked down to see that the object which had hit the counter so hard was a shoe.  Not just any shoe.  He winced slightly as he recognized his missing slipper. 

“Y-yeah,” he stammered.  “Um, wh-where . . .?”

“I had to take a buddy of mine to the ER this morning,” Crumb told him.  “His appendix was actin‘ up or somethin‘.  They had to operate, but he’s fine.  Anyway, I’m walkin’ back to the parkin’ lot when somethin’ klonks me on the back of the head.  I look around,” he adds, acting out the scene, “thinkin’ I’m bein’ attacked.  Nobody in sight.  So I look down to see what hit me.  What do I find?  A shoe!  Some bozo has hit me . . . in the head . . . with a freakin’ shoe!  So I pick it up.  Look for something to identify the owner.”  He picked the slipper up, pointing to a piece of tape across the heel.  “G. Hobson.  Now, do you know that there was only one G. Hobson in the hospital at that time?  If I hadn’t already been late meetin’ a client I woulda turned right around and returned it to ya right away!  God forbid you should have to walk around with only one shoe!”  He leaned in until he was practically nose to nose with the younger man.  “So tell me, Hobson, what you were doin‘ throwin‘ slippers outta yer window?”

“I-it wasn’t out my . . . my window,” Gary told him nervously.  “Th-there was this . . . this girl . . . on the roof.  She was . . . she’s deaf and she was . . . I had to . . . I-it’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it.”

Gary’s mind raced as he tried to come up with an explanation that his friend would believe.  Or one that at least sounded plausible.  “C-could I get you some . . . some coffee . . . or something?” he asked, stalling for time.

“Sure,” Crumb shrugged, settling onto the stool next to Gary.  He turned to Jimmy, who was manning the counter.  “Black.  Now give.  What were you doin’ on the roof in the first place?”

 “I-I wanted some . . . some fresh air?” Gary stammered lamely. 

“So you rip out your IV,” Crumb filled in, “ditch the guy who’s there to keep you outta trouble, climb three flights of stairs, leaning on a cane all the way, just to take a stroll on the roof.  Do I look stupid?  Don‘t answer that!”

“H-how’d you know a-about . . .?”

“You’re the talk of the floor,” Crumb grunted.  “They don’t mention you by name,” he hurried to add, “but I knew who they were complainin’ about as soon as they mentioned the cat.  You ever think there’s somethin’ weird about that cat?  He ‘s always showin’ up at the strangest . . .”

“H-he’s just a cat,” Gary stammered hurriedly.  “All cat’s are a-a little . . . strange.  A-anyway, um, I saw this girl.  She was . . . was standing there, looking over the edge like . . . I-I recognized her a-and knew she was . . . was deaf, so I . . . I had to . . . She looked like she was gonna . . . So I . . . I told you it was complicated.”

“You really expect me to believe that malarkey?” Crumb snorted derisively.  “I’ve heard better fairytales when I was a kid.  You knew that girl was up there,” he insisted.  “You knew she was gonna jump.  So how . . .?  Never mind.  I don’t wanna know.”

“Then why do you keep asking?” Gary grumbled.  “You . . . you do this to me every time!  Push me into a corner, then throw your hands up and walk away!  If you don’t think you’ll like the answers, why bother with the questions?”

“Cause I love watchin’ you scramble for answers,” the ex-cop chuckled.  “You always get this ‘look’ on yer face.  Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  Besides, it’s good practice for ya.  Ya gotta learn ta keep a poker-face, kid, or people’ll see right through you every time.”

Gary leaned against the counter as Crumb paused to sip at the steaming cup Jimmy had finally set before him.  “S-so this is kinda like little . . . what’ll we call it . . . life lessons?” he mused.  “You got me in some sorta training program to make me a better liar?”

“Mostly just tryin’ to keep you alive,” Crumb shrugged.  “You got a good heart, kid, but your survival instincts are lousy.  What if your leg had given out halfway up those stairs?  We’d be pickin’ up pieces of you . . . again.  And that little girl would be dead.”

“There wasn’t any time to get help,” Gary mumbled, picking distractedly at his sling.  His gaze was fixed on some spot on the floor, but he wasn’t really seeing it.  “It takes too long, sometimes, to get people to believe me.”

“So, you do know . . . things,” Crumb sighed.  Gary just nodded wordlessly without meeting his eyes.  “I’m not sure I wanna get into this kinda mumbo-jumbo,” the ex-cop shivered.  “Gives me the creeps.”

“You could try just trusting me,” the young barkeep murmured dismally.  “I-I know I’ve led you on . . . on some wild chases s-sometimes, and I know I don’t do everything . . . right, but have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Not on purpose, no,” Crumb agreed.  He looked around, as if just noticing that something was missing.  “Aren’t you supposed to have a bodyguard until this mess is cleared up?”

“Um, y-yeah,” Gary stammered.  “H-he had to, um . . . He made the mistake of asking Jake for something hot.  Then he made the mistake of eating it.”  He glanced at his watch, calculating the elapsed time.  “He should be out soon.”

“Poor guy,” Crumb chuckled.  “I thought you were gonna have a talk with your cook about toning it down?”

“Oh, I did,” Gary sighed.  “Now he uses the stuff that doesn’t start burning until you’ve finished about half the meal.  I think I’m gonna have to let him go.  Too many customers are starting to complain.  And I’m worried that the health department might step in.  Thing is, except for this incendiary hang-up, he’s a great cook.”

“So tell ‘im to hang up the flame thrower or hit the road,” the ex-cop shrugged.  “You’re the boss.  Act like one.  You didn’t have any trouble firing that Patrick kid.”

“But I knew he already had another job offer,” Gary shrugged, wincing.  “He had that teaching position in Oregon.  H-he just had a bad case of cold feet.”

“God!” Crumb shivered.  “That gives me the creeps.  That airhead influencing’ young minds.  Brrrr!”

“No, no!” Gary hurried to his ex-employee’s defense.  “Patrick is doin’ great!  He can really relate to young kids, and he has a good heart.  I called and checked on him while I was in L. A.  They love him up there.”

“Is that what he told you?” Crumb asked suspiciously.

“No,” Gary grumbled.  “I talked with the principal and his secretary.  They spoke very highly of him.  He’s still as ditzy as ever, but that just makes the kids love him even more.  And he’s very creative.  H-he’s even got a girlfriend.”

“You’re kiddin’!” the detective exclaimed.  “Who . . .?”

“Another kindergarten teacher,” Gary explained.  “They’ve been dating for a few months, now.  It sounds pretty serious.”  His tone had changed.  He sounded almost . . . wistful, sad.

Crumb slapped him gently on his good shoulder.  “Well, I’d better get goin’.  I gotta meet with another client,” he explained.  He studied his young friend.  Gary had just nodded without saying a word, lost in his own thoughts.  “It’ll happen to you, too,” he promised as he rose to go.  “You won’t be alone forever.”

As the big detective disappeared through the front door, Gary’s eyes rose to take in the light afternoon ‘late lunch’ crowd.  They were mostly young couples who gazed longingly into each other’s eyes, laughed at little jokes, and mainly seemed to be enjoying being with someone they loved.  As he had once done with Marcia.  A feeling he had sought to recapture, first with Meredith, then with Emma.  Once in a while, he was almost sure that he and Brigatti would click, but they had mostly clashed.  As he saw a young man reach over to give his girl a gentle kiss, Gary turned in his seat so that he wouldn’t have to see, Crumb’s parting words echoing in his mind.  “Wanna bet?” he sighed.

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

Gary had finally finished his paperwork and told the long suffering officer that he was going to be in his office if anyone needed him.

“And I’m really sorry about . . . Jake gets a little carried away sometimes,” he explained by way of apology. 

“I’ve had worse,” the officer assured him with a wan smile.  “I guess we should both be glad nothing happened while I was . . . indisposed.”

“Yeah,” Gary chuckled.  “You’re right about that.  Um, I-I’m gonna stretch out for a bit, then maybe I’ll feel like tackling those stairs.”

“My relief should be here any minute,” the other man shrugged.  “Lt. Armstrong is going to bring him by.  I’ll let them know where you are.  Just give me a minute, first, to make sure you’re not gonna be disturbed.”

After a quick check of the office and the back rooms, Gary was allowed to go back into his office.  Once the paperwork was safely stacked on his desk, the lure of the couch proved irresistible.  With a heartfelt sigh, he stretched out to his full length, his left arm across his eyes to block out the light.

It felt as if he had just laid down when he heard a brisk knock on his door.  ‘Now what?’

“Who’s there?” he wearily called out.

“Changing of the guard, Hobson,” Paul Armstrong replied.  “Time to meet your new roommate.”

With a weary sigh, Gary tried to sit up, then decided it was too much trouble. “C’mon in,” he said, just loud enough to be heard through the door.

The door opened to admit the big detective, closely followed by General Hammond and a young man in casual Marine uniform.  Struggling upright, Gary swung his long legs off the sofa so that he could face the three men.  He almost fell back, but was saved by a quick grab from Armstrong.

“Graceful, Hobson,” the detective grinned as he helped Gary to sit up.  “I see we caught you at a bad time.”

“I haven’t had too many good ones, lately,” Gary grumbled good naturedly.  He held his good hand out to the Air Force officer.  “You’re looking good, General.”

“Wish I could say the same for you, son,” Hammond chuckled.  “How do you feel?”

“I-I’ve been better.”  He looked to the young gunnery sergeant who was standing ‘at ease’ one step behind the officer.  “My new babysitter?”

“Yes,” Hammond smiled.  “Sergeant Jason Curtis, here, is one of the best in my command at hand-to-hand combat.  He’s also an expert marksman.”

“You make it sound like he’ll be leading an assault behind enemy lines,” Gary chuckled.  “Nice to meet you, sergeant.  Have a seat.  Can I get you guys anything?”

The general shook his head as he settled into Gary’s desk chair.   Armstrong perched on the corner of the desk, while the sergeant remained standing.  Gary hoped the young man was able to loosen up just a little once they were alone.

“We just came by to introduce you two,” Hammond told him.  “Sergeant Curtis has been instructed to not let you out of his sight for a moment.  No matter where you go, or what you do, he’ll be there to watch your back until this mystery is cleared up.”

‘Oh, joy,’ Gary sighed to himself.  ‘Things keep getting better and better.’  “Th-thanks, sir,” he said aloud.  “A-and I mean that sincerely, but I can’t help but think that this was all some kinda mistake, ya know?  After all, I’m just . . . just a barkeep!  Who’d wanna . . .?”

“I thought we’d compiled a pretty good list at the hospital,” Armstrong reminded him.  “Whether you believe it or not, Hobson, you have enemies.  At least one that hates you bad enough to kill.  There was half a clip of live ammo in that gun that was specially made to look like blanks.  That was no accident.”

Gary sat back with a sigh, having to concede the point.  Just the idea that someone had put that much thought and effort into ending his life saddened him.  It wasn’t like he went out of his way to tick people off, after all.  Somehow, it just seemed to . . . happen.

“So, how long are we gonna keep this up?” he asked dismally.  “Until they’re caught?”

“Exactly,” Hammond replied.  “No other conclusion is acceptable.”  He placed both hands on his knees as he met Gary’s harried gaze.  “When we first met, you had already proven yourself a very determined and resourceful individual.  Through no fault of your own, you ended up in a highly classified facility.”

Gary shot the general, then Armstrong, an alarmed glance.  Should they be talking about this in front of the detective?

“I’ve been cleared for limited access,” Armstrong informed him dryly.  “Nothing specific.  Just enough to know that you have this amazing talent for ending up in places you don’t belong.”

“Yeah?  Well, when you figure out where I do belong,” Gary grumbled, “let me know.  I’m still working on that, myself.”  Turning back to the general, he asked, “So, you still think this could have something to do w-with what I stumbled onto last year?”

“Until we know for certain who’s behind this attack,” the officer nodded, “we have to act on that assumption.  Granted, Mr. Hobson, you are by no means under my command.  Still, I feel that I would be derelict in my duty not to extend my resources to include you.”

“Makes me sound like an oil well, or something,” Gary sighed.  “Have you guys been able to narrow down the suspects?” he asked Armstrong.  “Just a little?”

“Not by much,” the detective admitted ruefully.  “The APB on that smuggler drew a blank, locally.  Word is that he took off for Canada the day he got out.  Baylor is on Death Row.  The only way he could get to you is to hire someone.  He has a cell right next to the fellow who framed Ricky Brown.  The two hitmen that you and Miss Carson apprehended are keeping them company.  No word, yet, on the embezzler that you and Miguel caught.  I believe he was able to plea bargain his case down to a lesser sentence, but I don’t have enough information to know for sure.  Not one of my cases.  Our two terrorists got out about a week before the shooting.  Some technicality.  They immediately skipped the country.  Last we heard, they were on a plane headed for the Middle East.  The turncoat D.A. you and Brigatti put away is in a federal penitentiary.  He may get out before the end of this century.  And the gentleman Crumb told us about is still awaiting his next appeal.  That pretty much eliminates your average grade of killer and leaves us with the . . . covert variety.”

“Which puts you right back in my hands,” Hammond told him.  “For your own safety, I’m tempted to sequester you at the Complex.”

“No!” Gary stated firmly, alarmed that the military officer might insist on just that. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I do know that,” the general nodded solemnly.  “That’s why we have Sgt. Curtis here.  We will do everything in our power to keep you alive, Mr. Hobson.  If for no other reason, than because we still don’t know how it is you do whatever it is that you do.”

“Good luck!” Armstrong snorted.  “I’ve been trying to weasel that out of him for over two years now.”

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

As Armstrong was preparing to take his officer back to the precinct, Gary noticed the young policeman holding a whispered conference with Sgt. Curtis.  Whatever he was saying seemed fairly urgent, with an occasional sidelong glance toward Armstrong.  When Curtis cast a startled look in the direction of the kitchen, however, Gary knew what was going on.  The officer, Davis, was warning Curtis about Jake. 

‘I’d better have another talk with him,’ Gary sighed inwardly.  He had a lot of respect for the cook’s abilities, and really liked him as a person, even though he could be a bit stand-offish and arrogant.  The man definitely had a high opinion of himself, and could be as stubborn as a mule when it came to ‘his’ kitchen.

“We need to talk, son,” Hammond told him as they watched the big detective lead his officer away.  “As you are well aware, our . . . project is about as highly classified as they come.  Still, I have no fear that the Russians, or any other foreign country, is out to kill you.”

“Th-that’s comforting to know,” Gary winced.  That was an aspect he hadn’t even considered until Paul had mentioned the word ‘covert.’ 

“The thing is,” the general continued, ignoring the sarcasm, “we’ve had some trouble in the past with a splinter group.”

“A-a splinter group,” Gary repeated.  “As in a, ahm, a faction within our . . . our own ranks?”

“Essentially, yes,” Hammond sighed.  “They think we should be using the device to, shall we say, better advantage.”

“In other words,” Gary murmured, “to rip off everyone in sight.”

“You have a . . . pretty good grasp of the situation,” the general admitted.  “They’ve caused us considerable trouble in the past.  We thought we had managed to cripple them, but recent events indicate that such might not be the case.”

“General Hammond,” Gary sighed.  “I’ve been to college and consider myself at least marginally well educated.  But all this verbal dancing around is giving me a headache.  Could we, possibly, just . . . skip the waltz and get to the point?”

Hammond fought to suppress a grin at the younger man’s outspoken attitude.  In many ways, he seemed a cross between both Daniel Jackson and Jack O’Neill.  Right now, he was definitely leaning toward the O’Neill perspective.

“The point is that this attack on you could be revenge on us,” he finally replied.  “These people are not rational, however they may see themselves as looking after the best interests of our country.  They will do whatever it takes, make any sacrifice, to accomplish their goals.  Even to the point of killing an innocent civilian to prove how defenseless we are.  We are not defenseless, Mr. Hobson.”

“Mr. Hobson is my grandfather,” Gary murmured absently.  “Seeing as how you’re providing one of my babysitters, you can call me Gary.  S-so these guys would kill me just to show they could do it?  Are they . . . never mind.  Of course they’re nuts.”  He hung his head and sighed.  “Lord help me!  What have I gotten myself into, now?”

“As I recall,” Hammond chuckled, “you didn’t exactly initiate ‘first contact’ with our project.  You were kidnapped, beaten, and smuggled into the complex in a crate.  You were then thrown through the . . . device . . . like a rag doll.  I don’t see you as having brought any of this on yourself.”

“Then . . . wh-why do these things keep happening to me?” Gary asked plaintively.  “I try to be a good person!  To do the best I can . . .”

“Mr. Hobson.  Gary,” Hammond interrupted him.  “I don’t have any answers for you on that score.  From what I’ve seen and heard, you don’t deserve any of the terrible things that you’ve been through over the past year.  Still, because of what’s happened to you, you’ve been in the right place, at the right time, to affect a great deal of good.  If you hadn’t been on that airliner last December, it would’ve crashed during the landing.  Or, if successfully rerouted, it would have collided with another aircraft when that surge hit our base.  Which you couldn’t have prevented if you hadn’t been aware of the project.  There, alone, you saved over two hundred lives.  If not for being practically run out of your home town, and then unable to sleep in your own apartment, you would not have been there to save that little boy.  For every bad thing that has happened to you, you have accomplished at least as much good.  If not more.”

Gary sat back with an explosive sigh.  He’d never looked at it like that, although he had been dealing with the ‘Domino Effect’ since the first time he’d gotten serious about the Paper.  It had just never really sunk in, until now, that the force behind the mystic periodical might set him up to be where he needed to be with such elaborate, and painful, machinations! 

“If you extend that to include recent events,” he observed dryly, “then I was shot just so that I could be in the right place to stop a suicide this morning.”

“Excuse me?” the general asked.  “What suicide?  I wasn’t . . .”

Gary quickly filled him in on the events of that morning, then elicited a promise that no action would be taken against Officer Davis.  “The guy was just trying to do his job,” Gary assured him, “but I’d ‘ve never been able to explain it in time, so I had to give him the slip.  Man, I hope he doesn’t get in Dutch with Armstrong over that.”

“I’ll see what I can do to run interference,” Hammond promised.  “But that just illustrates my point.  Bad things happen to you, so that you can do good things for others.  That doesn’t mean you’re not still in danger from the person who put the live ammo in that clip.  He, or she, went to much too much trouble to doctor those rounds.”

“That’s comforting to know,” Gary snorted.  “At least I’m not dealing with an amateur.”

“Actually,” the officer chuckled grimly, “that is a good thing.  Amateurs can be much more dangerous.  A pro has developed patterns and signatures that can ultimately trip them up.  An amateur is like a tornado in a trailer park.  Totally unpredictable.  You just don’t know which way to run.”

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

When the general had finally gone, Gary decided it was time to do something about Jake.  He spent a good hour on the phone before calling the volatile chef into his office.  Sgt. Curtis stood near the door as the wiry, sandy-haired man plopped into the chair in front of Gary’s desk.

“Hope this doesn‘t take too long, boss man,” Jake grumbled irritably.  “I have to get ready for the evening crowd.”

“No,” Gary sighed.  “You don’t.  Jake, my patrons don’t come here to get turned inside out . . . in a gastronomical sense.  They come to relax, have a light meal, maybe, and a few drinks.  Lately, in spite of repeated warnings to tone it down, your . . . creations . . . have gotten more and more . . . inflammatory.”

“Are you telling me to stop it?” Jake snorted.  “Again?”

Gary bit his lip as he tried not to react to Jake’s arrogant tone.  “You, um, seem to be under the impression that our roles are reversed here, Jake,” he told the man evenly.  “That you don’t have to listen to me.  Well, I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but you’re sadly mistaken.  I’ve had numerous complaints about how hot some of your dishes have become.  At the very least, you could’ve done as I suggested and had the foods rated on the menu.  Give people a choice as to whether or not they want their intestines sand blasted.”

“But, these are great dishes!” the chef insisted, suddenly unsure of himself.  “People need to discover for themselves . . .”

“People don’t come to a sports bar for new culinary experiences,” Gary reminded him bluntly.  “They come to relax and unwind, not to keep the emergency rooms in business.  Now, I’d be well within my rights to just fire you and get it over with.  However,” he hurriedly added at Jake’s stricken look, “there’s a new restaurant over on Lakeshore that specializes in just the type of cuisine you’ve grown so fond of creating.”  He handed Jake an envelope with a hastily scrawled address on the front.  “I set you up with an interview for tomorrow at ten.  They seem real anxious to talk to you.”

Numbly, Jake took the envelope from his ex-bosses hand.  “Y-you didn’t . . . I’m really fired?” he stammered.  “Who’s gonna cover the dinner crowd?”

“Carlos is working out quite well,” Gary replied with a tired smile.  “I’ll be having a talk with him shortly.”  He leaned back with a sigh, waving his good hand at the envelope.  “There’s a letter of reference in there, and a severance check for three weeks pay.  This is for a head chef position, Jake, and they could really use you.”

Jake’s expression brightened at the news.  He stared at Gary, then at the packet in his hands.  “That’s . . . that’s more than generous,” he murmured numbly.  “Head chef.  Wow.  You . . . you didn’t have to . . .”

“I have this thing about adding to the unemployment line,” Gary replied with a quiet chuckle.  He stood, holding his good hand out to Jake.  “Good luck on your new job, and keep in touch.”

Still reeling from the suddenness of it all, Jake stood and shook the proffered hand.  “Sure, Gary,” he murmured.  “I-I’ll stop by . . . once in . . . I’m really . . .?”

“Yes, Jake,” Gary told him.  “You’re really fired.  Honestly, I think you’ll be much happier in your new job.  The manager said his last candidate was a wuss in the spice department.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” the fiery chef chuckled.  “Thanks, Gary.  It’s been . . . interesting working here.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gary murmured as his former chef disappeared out the door.  Jake was on duty the day hitmen had shot up the bar.  For some reason, what he recalled most clearly about that day was lying on top of a towel-clad Brigatti.  With a shake of his head, Gary dismissed the image and got back to the pile of paperwork that seemed to grow whenever he wasn’t looking.

“That was pretty smooth,” Sgt. Curtis commented from his position by the door.  The man had yet to sit in Gary’s presence.  His lips did twitch in an amused half smile as he stared straight ahead.  “You’d make a lousy drill instructor.”

“I’m saving my voice for rehearsal,” Gary chuckled.  “Would you please sit down someplace?  I-it makes me nervous you standing over me like that.”

“Sorry, sir” the young Marine told him, “but I’m supposed to be ready for trouble at all times.”

“I’m not an officer,” Gary sighed, “so don’t call me ‘sir.’  It’s Gary, and you might as well get comfortable.  Unless you plan to stand around like that for the next coupla days.”

Curtis finally lowered his eyes to meet Gary’s amused gaze.  Almost reluctantly, he relaxed his rigid stance and took a seat in a chair near the door.

“Thank you,” Gary nodded, returning to his unending task.  “You think I was too easy on him?”

“Easy!” the young NCO snorted.  “You practically rewarded him for disobedience.  Got him a nice cushy job at another restaurant.”

“For one thing,” Gary replied, not looking up, “there’s nothing cushy about running a kitchen.  It’s hard work.  For another, I hate to see talent go to waste.  He’s good at what he does, but he’s just got this hang up about peppers.  The hotter the better, as far as he’s concerned.  I take it you don’t approve.”

“Not up to me,” Curtis shrugged.  “It’s your place.”

“Yes,” Gary sighed.  “It is.”  He slid the last invoice into a folder with a sigh.  “I think I’m ready to go upstairs, now.  C’mon and I’ll show you where to hang your hat.”

Leading the way, Gary stumbled once going up the steep staircase.  He grabbed for the handrail with his good hand, only to miss.  A firm hand at the small of his back, and another under his right elbow, saved him from a nasty fall. 

“You okay, sir?” Curtis asked as he steadied the injured man.

“I-I’m fine,” Gary assured him.  “Just more tired than I thought, I guess.  Thanks.”  Without another word, he regained his balance and continued up to his loft.  “You can bunk on the sofa.  It folds out into a bed.  And there’s plenty of room in the wardrobe to hang your jacket and hat.  Did you bring anything to change into?”

“I left my bag downstairs, sir,” Curtis told him. “I’ll fetch it later.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Gary sighed as he lowered himself onto the bed.  “One more thing.  You call me ‘sir’ one more time and I won’t answer.  It’s Gary, Gar, pal, kid, kiddo, mac, buddy.  I even answer to Hobson, on occasion.  But I’m not an officer, so don’t call me ‘sir.’  It’s not appropriate.  Not to me, at any rate.”

Having said his piece, and without waiting for a reply, Gary stretched out flat on his back and closed his eyes.  Moments later, he was sound asleep.

Sgt. Curtis stepped up to the bed, looking down at the man he had been assigned to guard.  Gary Hobson did not look all that important, and he certainly didn’t act as if he were.  Still, the general had made it very clear that this man’s life was every bit as important as any head-of-state or visiting dignitary.  Perhaps more.

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

The next few days were pretty uneventful for Gary.  Most of what he had to deal with for the Paper were traffic accidents, a couple of robberies, two more suicides, and a publicity shoot gone wrong.  Sgt. Curtis had proven helpful in stopping the stunt car before it could plow into the camera crew. 

Gary’s biggest worry was getting to the Paper each morning before the young Marine.  For once, though, the ‘Powers’ behind the periodical were cutting him some slack.  He had been waking up to a rough, dry tongue rasping against his cheek, and the Paper lying under his left hand.  At first, he had been both alarmed and chagrined that, in spite of the sergeant lightly dozing just a few feet away, someone could get that close to him unnoticed.  He had then decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.  At least this way, he was able to conceal his ‘source’ from the ever-watchful soldier.

It also amused him, just a little, that Curtis was so irritated at not catching the ‘delivery boy.’  Or had even heard Gary get up to answer the door. 

“How am I supposed to protect you if someone can slip by me that easy?” Curtis growled.  “In the field, I wake up if a gnat sneezes. Here, I can’t even hear the stomping around of a wounded man!”  He shook his head sadly, his expression despondent.  “Maybe I better call in for a replacement,” he suggested with a sigh.

“That won’t be necessary,” Gary assured him distractedly as he scanned the headlines.  “If the next guy watches over me any closer, I won’t be able to blink without it ending up in some report on the general’s desk.”  He spared his young watchdog a rueful glance.  “Got a call from Dr. Fraiser last night.  She said I needed to take it easy and watch my diet better.  Seems someone thinks I don’t eat enough.”  Turning back to the Paper, he mumbled, “Now, how would she know that all the way out in Colorado?  And after only three days on the job!”

Curtis bit back a smile at the implied rebuke.  It was Gary’s idea of a back-handed compliment.  It irked the civilian no end to be under constant scrutiny.  The fact that Curtis was also under orders from the tiny physician to see that he at least ate properly hadn’t helped matters.

“Don’t forget you have that appointment with the psychiatrist this morning,” Curtis reminded his charge, as he cleared away the dishes.

“Yes, Mother,” Gary sighed.  Fortunately, there was nothing in the Paper until that afternoon.  That left him a little time to set up a little surprise party for Marissa and Emmett.  The young lawyer had, indeed, proposed Saturday and they had set the date for late July.  Gary had been delighted for his best friend and confidante and wanted to do something special for the both of them.  His mother had agreed . . . so long as they kept it tasteful.  Which meant that they couldn’t let Bernie make any of the arrangements.

Curtis poured Gary a fresh cup of coffee before sitting across from the man he was charged with protecting.  “So,” he murmured in an overly casual tone.  “What else have you got planned for today?”

Gary cocked an eyebrow at the thinly veiled reference to his ‘extracurricular activities.’ as Curtis liked to call his ‘errands.’  “Nothing this morning,” he advised his bodyguard.  “Don’t make any hot dates for any time after two, though.  And don’t plan on getting to bed early.”

Setting his cup down with a sigh, Curtis looked over at his assignment.  “How, exactly, does this work?” he asked.  “You know what the day’s gonna be like as soon as you wake up?”

“Something like that,” Gary mumbled distractedly.  He took a sip of his coffee, then looked at his watch.  “I’d better get cleaned up if I’m going to make that appointment.”  He looked ruefully down at his sling.  “I’ll be glad when I can take showers again.  Trying to keep these stitches dry is a pain.”

To make matters worse, Gary had to have Sgt. Curtis help him bathe, shave, and get dressed.  It was almost as if he were still in the hospital.  At least Curtis didn’t stick a thermometer in his mouth every time he sneezed.  Instead, the sergeant used one that could be stuck in the ear canal. 

On the plus side, Gary found that he was becoming less dependent on the cane.  It was a small victory, all things considered, but a victory nonetheless.

***********

The address Dr. Zimmerman had given Gary proved to be a brownstone on the west side.  He had been told that, like himself, the doctor lived above his place of business, although he also taught classes at the university three days a week.

“What do you know about this guy?” Curtis asked as they approached the steps.

“Not much,” Gary shrugged.  He winced slightly as the movement caused him a twinge of pain.  “Dr. Zimmerman trusts him and believes in him.  I trust Dr. Zimmerman.  It’s not like I’m looking forward to this, but I’ve gotta get a handle on these nightmares or lose what little I have left that passes for sanity.”

Recalling that first night, when Gary had abruptly sat up in the middle of the night with a choked cry, Curtis had to agree.  Instantly alert, Curtis had rolled out of bed, his weapon in hand and ready for trouble.  What he had found was the man he was there to protect, sitting straight up in bed, his chest heaving, eyes staring at horrors only he could see.  It had taken Curtis only a moment to determine there was no physical threat to Gary Hobson.  It had taken over an hour of talking and pacing to get him calmed down enough to go back to sleep.  A scenario that was repeated pretty closely the last couple of nights.  As much as he distrusted ‘shrinks,’ Curtis had to admit that something had to be done, or Gary Hobson was in serious danger of losing his mind.

Curtis made it a point to enter first, checking out the entryway and the adjoining rooms.  When he was sure it was safe, he allowed Gary to enter.  A middle-aged blonde woman seated at a desk in the first room on the left smiled indulgently as Curtis escorted his tight-lipped charge inside.

“You must be Mr. Hobson,” she said.  “Please have a seat.  Dr. Griner will be ready for you in just a few minutes.”

Hesitantly, Gary took a seat on the sofa she had indicated with a negligent wave.  “No insurance forms to fill out?” he asked.  “Medical history and all that?”

“We get all that information from your doctor as soon as the appointment is made,” the secretary replied, her voice soft and well modulated.  Did she have just a trace of a southern accent?  “The consent form Dr. Zimmerman had you sign was to give us access to your records.  We find that saves us a good deal of time as they have to be transcribed.”

“Transcribed?” Gary asked, puzzled.  “Why would they . . .?”

At that moment, the intercom on her desk gave a soft buzz.  A masculine voice said something too softly for the two men to hear.  “Yes, Dr. Griner,” she replied.  Standing, she stepped to the door behind her desk.  “Right this way, Mr. Hobson.  Just Mr. Hobson,” she added as Curtis also moved to rise.

“I-its okay,” Gary assured her.  “Sgt. Curtis has to . . . to . . . h-he’s just looking out for my . . . my safety.”

Stepping aside with an amused gleam in her eyes, the secretary held the door for the young Marine.  Curtis stepped through, one hand on his sidearm, only to step back out a moment later, a look of chagrin on his youthful features.

“I think you’ll be okay,” he murmured, resuming his seat on the couch.

Puzzled, Gary allowed the blonde woman to lead him into the office.  The figure seated behind a moderate sized oak desk looked up as they entered the room.  Rather, he raised his head, turning it in the direction of their footsteps.  It took Gary only a moment to understand Curtis’ sudden reticence.  Dr. Griner was a tallish man in his early fifties, his dark hair flecked with gray.  Startled, Gary couldn’t help but notice that the older man bore an uncanny resemblance to himself.  They even had the same color eyes.  The biggest difference was that . . . Dr. Griner’s eyes were blind.  The older man stepped out from behind his desk, his right hand extended in Gary’s direction.

“Mr. Hobson.” he said as Gary took his hand.  “It’s good to meet you at last.  Dr. Zimmerman has told me a great deal about you.  Please have a seat,” he added, indicating a vacant easy chair.  “I’m William Griner, as you may have gathered by now.”

“Yes,” Gary murmured as he settled gingerly into the chair.  He now understood the secretary’s accent.  She had probably picked it up from her boss.  While hers was barely noticeable, his spoke of a lifetime in the south.  “Y-you’re not from Chicago,” he observed carefully.

An indulgent smile flickered across the psychiatrist’s pleasant features.  “Old Fort, North Carolina,” he replied.  “Nor are you a native of Chicago, Mr. Hobson.”

“Gary,” the younger man responded automatically.  “And I’m from Indiana, originally.  I-if you don’t mind my asking . . .”

“I lost my sight in ‘Nam, Gary,” Dr. Griner replied evenly.  “That’s one of the things that gives me a better . . . insight, if you would, into how to deal with your problem.”

“Y-you’ve been there,” Gary murmured.  “The whole . . . Post Traumatic Stress and all that.  You know a-about the . . . the nightmares a-and such.”

“And you know something of dealing with the blind,” Dr. Griner chuckled.  “You’re the first new client I’ve had who didn’t try to overcome my lack of sight by raising his voice.”

“My business partner is blind,” Gary told him, his own lips curving upwards just a bit.  “She saw fit to see that I was well educated on the subject.  Not to mention that I’ve had a-a little firsthand experience.”

Dr. Griner traced his fingertips over the Braille transcript in front of him.  “So I see,” he nodded.  “You seem to have undergone a great deal of trauma, Gary.  No wonder you’re having trouble sleeping.”  He popped a CD into a recorder on his desk.  “I hope you don’t mind.  Saves me from having to have someone else in here to take notes and it gives excellent playback.”

“Not to mention that they’re harder to erase than tapes,” Gary chuckled.  “No, I don’t mind.  S-so, um, where should I begin?”

“Let’s start with the dreams,” Griner advised.  “You’ve apparently had a great many traumatic experiences, but only certain ones seem to be plaguing you.  How do these dreams usually begin?”

Over the next hour, Gary described his dreams in gruesome detail. He then tried to trace some of the distorted images back to the events that gave birth to them.  This wasn’t like previous ‘testing’ he had undergone in the past, when a judge had entertained serious doubts about his sanity.  Dr. Griner listened to more than just his words.  He almost seemed to be looking into Gary’s soul.

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

“So, how did it go?” Curtis asked as they left an hour later.  “Think you accomplished anything?”

“I dunno,” Gary sighed as he slid into the passenger seat of the van.  “It was kind of a relief to talk about it to someone without an ax to grind in any of this.  And, well, you may’ve noticed that there was a strong resemblance . . .”

“Strong!” Curtis snorted.  “If you ever wanted to know what you’ll look like in the next twenty years, you can quit wondering.  He’s a dead ringer for you.”

“Anyway,” Gary continued, “it was kinda like talking to myself, only I didn’t have to feel like a head case doing it.”

Curtis nodded his head thoughtfully as he guided the van onto the road.  “I can see how that could be a plus,” he murmured.  “Still what would some college educated civilian know about the kind of real trauma that triggers PTSD.  Has he ever even been shot at?  Let alone shot.”

“Your prejudice is showing, Sarge,” Gary chuckled.  “I would’ve thought your people would’ve checked him out before letting me go to him.”

“They may have,” Curtis grumbled.  “Obviously, I wasn’t given access to that report.”

“Well,” Gary sighed, glad to be able to educate the younger man, “first of all, please remember that I’m also a ‘college educated civilian.’  I’m also the one waking up in a cold sweat almost every night.  Second, Dr. Griner wasn’t a civilian when he lost his sight.  The G. I. Bill and disability is what paid for his diploma.  He was blinded in Viet Nam.”

“Double ‘oops,’” Curtis winced.  “I’d forgotten why we were here.  Obviously.  And I should’ve checked into him myself.  So.  Where do we go from here?”

Gary looked at his watch.  It was still fairly early.  Not much past eleven.  “I need to go by the florist on Lower Wacker,” he replied, “then we can take an early lunch and go see a movie.  I haven’t seen a good movie in ages.”

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


Continue to Installment 4

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 
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