Amnesia (10 page)

She was breathing heavily, the adrenaline from the anger coursing through her system, her eyes shooting fiery darts at the unwitting man, her posture straight and rigid as she delivered her verbal volleys. But most surprising to Bill at that time was the radiant beauty that shown from her face as she took back her dignity from whatever evil had taken it. It was frightening yet appealing to him, as he realized how badly he wanted to take her and protect her, something that went far beyond his training as a peace officer. But her eruption was far from over.

“I know how everybody sees Paul; in fact I used to see him that way. Tall, dashing good looks, he was the perfect teacher and leader. I remember sitting in the student ward listening to his Sunday School lesson and wishing that I were half as wise and scholarly. He is a very charismatic man and has everyone fooled. That’s why he will make such a good lawyer someday. He’s smart, funny, says all the right things and in the right way. But I learned quickly that what happens behind closed doors is what type of a man he really was. Not all of us have the luxury of the perfect life like you and Lacy had you know!”

He was so nonplussed by the statement that he couldn’t respond at first to the assault. Then his emotions so carefully held fast behind the tough police officer mask let loose, striking back at the offender.

“I have a perfect life do I? No one knows what it’s like. No one knows how I hate to sleep; the nightmares that won’t go away. Sure, everyone says how sorry they are and hope I’m doing fine, but they don’t really care, and have no idea what it’s like. I can still see the car, her car, destroyed, a crumpled heap off the side of the road. I can still feel the heat of the metal as I struggled to get them out. I’m a cop, trained to save
people’s
lives, yet I couldn’t even save theirs.”

He broke off, the anger turning to red-hot pain, the unwelcome tears streaming down his normally granite face. The cool breeze had stopped, the hot sun was streaming down on the two, fuelling the discomfort that each felt. It was as if the world had stopped, leaving only the two distraught companions sitting in a whirlwind of emotion on a sultry afternoon in a quiet, forgotten clearing. They could no longer hear any sounds but their hearts beating, breath heaving, and the roar of emotion in their ears. Time itself seemed to freeze as the two struggled with the pent up passion of heartache and pain. The world stopped turning for a moment to let two of her children lance their emotional wounds, bringing excruciating pain but long needed relief and eventual healing.

Bill tried to reel the anger back, anything to stop what he had suppressed for so long, but once loosed refused to be held bound. Deep inside him a dam burst and low sobs formed in his stomach, building up strength until it tore through his throat in a guttural howl of a wounded animal. He doubled over with the all too real pain ripping his insides apart. He cried hard and long, the grief he never allowed at the funeral finally surfacing before a petite and pretty woman he barely knew. Somehow it was safer this way, she held no bias, knew no differently, was only a bystander that came from nowhere and would probably disappear again. He was so caught up in his sorrow he didn’t notice that she, too, was experiencing her own catharsis.

Carrie had bent herself over entirely, clutching at her stomach as muscles used to years of cowering cramped together, mute testimony of the depth of her suffering. Her heart felt as if it would explode from the ache that had settled in so long ago and refused to leave. Her fears were still as intense as ever; the constant paranoia of wondering when the attack would come creating a hole she felt would never be filled again. She wept now, no longer the strong silent victim, stoically taking what she felt she must have deserved. Instead she now found herself a frightened little girl, searching desperately for a pair of strong arms to comfort her. Oddly enough, the stranger sitting across from her gave her the feeling of safety that allowed her to vent the feelings that no other would have witnessed. It wasn’t his career that promised the refuge, it was something entirely different that was too complex to understand in her current state. Strangely she found she didn’t care.

As one they spent their emotions, their energy draining with the deluge, and calm replaced the storm so recently raged. The sobs died out and breathing returned to normal, and both sat back exhausted from the experience. Bill again broke the silence, this time without the discomfort, or, strangely, the pain.

“It was late, that night, probably two in the morning or so, Saturday morning. Lacy called me, telling me that something was wrong with little Devin, that she thought he needed to see the doctor. Of course I was at work and didn’t want to rock the boat, you know, try to impress the boss and the co-workers, and told her to stay put, that I would come get her when my shift ended at six.

“But she felt that it was serious, that he needed to see the doctor immediately, and that I should just meet her at the hospital. I remember thinking that I needed to be there, that it was more important than my job, but then we got a call about some kids at a Maverick, and I completely forgot the conversation.

“I was with my partner, the policy at the time was for us to keep together on weekends for safety, and we got a call about an accident. We were the first on the scene, as it wasn’t too far from where we had just finished with the kids. I was tired and didn’t want to deal with it, because accidents are always a pain, trying to place blame and fill out all the paperwork. I asked my partner to take his time, so I could regroup myself.

“It wasn’t the first accident I had worked either, nor was it the most gruesome, but when I saw the car, I went berserk. I jumped out of the cruiser before it had stopped and nearly lost my footing, but was back up and running without thinking. I didn’t check on the other guy, didn’t even care, but went straight for the Metro. I still have the nightmares.

“It was completely destroyed. The front end was ripped almost off, the back smashed like an aluminum can. It was on its side on the shoulder of the road and I realized that the driver couldn’t have gotten out with the door pinned like it was. I ran over to the car and tried to tip it back on its tires, but the front-end was blocking it. I can still feel the burn as my hands touched the metal and I knew that the driver was
burning alive. I could even hear
her screaming something, but didn’t know what she was saying. It wasn’t until later that I finally understood—words that now haunt me.

“I decided to rock it, maybe get it over the hump of mangled frame, but then, I don’t know, it just all went wrong. The car started coming toward me and I couldn’t get it to go back. I braced myself to stop it rolling back, but it was so hot and my hands were burning so badly. I just couldn’t stop it. I just couldn’t…stop it.”

The tears were coming back now with the recounting and he started to cry again, but without the deep gut-wrenching sobs of earlier. He leaned over putting his face in his hands propped on his knees. He felt a warm hand on his bare shoulder, rubbing where the life-vest wasn’t covering. He felt strength in that touch, not of physical force, but of empathy reaching out and drawing out the hurt. The tears slowed allowing him to finish the woeful tale, avoiding any movement that may disturb the welcome touch.

“I found out later that the engine had been on fire, although we couldn’t see any flames. I still have the scars on my hands and probably always will. The coroner also told me that Lacy would have literally burned to death by the heat of the fire, but was saved when the car came down on the roof, crushing the top and breaking her neck. It wasn’t until after the funeral that I woke up screaming one night that I realized what she had been telling me, to get Devin out. The coroner said he was already dead anyway, the impact ripping the car seat carrier away from the base, likewise breaking his neck. That was the night my life ended.” He paused, reliving that awful moment again, as he had so many times since it had happened.

A moment later, he let out a small mirthless chuckle. “Oh, and as for the other driver, He walked away clean. Seventeen-year-old kid stole his dad’s car, got drunk, and was trying to get home quickly so his dad wouldn’t find out. He didn’t even have insurance. He’s still in jail and will remain there for a very long time.”

Fresh tears started down his cheeks and he looked back up at the lovely face above him. He could see the look in her eyes that always preceded a clichéd response of how awful his life must be. Surprisingly he didn’t care this time. He felt a closeness to her after sharing something so personal and felt sure she wouldn’t hurt him, especially since she seemed to have some pain of her own to deal with.

For a long moment she said nothing, only sat with her hand on his shoulder, studying his rugged face. Then she shocked him saying the one thing that he needed to hear months earlier, but no one was willing to say: “You’re lucky if that is your worst nightmare. There are millions of people out there that would trade your story with theirs in a heartbeat. I’m one of them.”

5

AMNESIA

Tawny Windham loved the cool air of the early morning hours and after this past week she needed to get out and dig her fingers into the rich soil of her flower garden. Behind her Table Rock Hill fell away, allowing the breathtaking view of the Treasure Valley below in the quiet of the Tuesday morning stillness. During daylight hours she could make out many of the city landmarks below, the Capitol rotunda, the Key building, St. Luke’s hospital, even the Micron complex was visible.

Yet it was in the darkness of night that the spectacular vista opened to view. She would stand at her balcony railing or sit at the romantic table setting and look out over the valley, feeling like the queen of the world. Lights from as far away as Nampa, perhaps even Caldwell, could be seen, filling her bosom with tenderness and exhilaration.

Greater still was the pathos when clouds sank below the crest of the hill upon which the Windham’s resided, blanketing Boise with dense fog. The lights of the city could not be seen, but instead gave light to the vaporous mass, setting it aglow. This was when she felt isolated above the rabble below, exalted like a goddess. She secretly felt at these times like Hera the Queen Goddess in Greek mythology, despite the fact her husband could never reach Zeus’s splendor. Yet Hera had spent her time with various lower consorts, so perhaps the analogy held promise after all.

However, it wasn’t the view that brought her the greatest satisfaction, nor was it the manicured lawns and bushes, or even her beloved flower garden; it was the happenings within the mansion that she lived for. Routinely she held large political parties in the “ballroom” where she played the beatific hostess, the wife of a famous senator, the daughter of a former governor. She would glide across the floor, hovering a few inches above it, dropping into and out of conversation with ease, never saying either too much or too little. She had taken the role of politician’s wife to a new level of art, her ambitions much greater than that of her husband.

She felt she had aristocracy in her veins, and considered herself the American equivalent to a Lady or perhaps Duchess. Perhaps, in time, if her husband continued to listen to her political insights and prowess, she would attain the White House, and truly be the Queen of America, the one goal for which she had yearned since the days spent wandering through the Governor’s Mansion as a child. Yes, if only her husband would cooperate, and give up his silly, usually naïve, ideas of right and wrong. If he could only see that what was really right was to do what he should to grow his family and career.

She thrust her gloved fingers deep into the soil, angry with the man she had chosen to take her to Washington. She had met him just after he passed his bar exam, a young ambitious lawyer set to leave his mark on the world. He was bright, cunning, and had the exact look—not too perfect, but very close, which ensured that he would be remembered. She had worked her way into his heart, promising him an exciting life of power and passion, eventually joining together a formidable companionship poised to take on the world.

At first it went exactly according to plan. She introduced him to all the right people, molding his persona using her political genius, until he was dropping the best name at the most appropriate instance, slowly working himself into the world she craved.

He made partner in his first law firm quickly, much faster than those lesser attorneys that surrounded him, due to his brilliance in the law, and more than a little bureaucratic clout from influential friends. Then he had moved into true politics as he aided smaller officials, then their more potent colleagues, until his first congressional race. The win was assured long before the election was held as the political machine started to turn in his direction. Naturally there had been many concessions along the way, but that was to be expected, and it was all for the greater cause. Surely any price was worth the ultimate goal the Windham’s shared.

Then came the senate, the committee appointments, the posturing, positioning, and triumphs as he steadily climbed the bureaucratic ladder. All of which would lead ultimately to the executive branch of government, with her at his side, all the way to First Lady. The dream was alive and coming true, until he committed the ultimate sin—he developed a conscience.

It was still incongruous to her, how he could have forgotten her, or rather, their goals and dreams. She was completely stunned when he had started second-guessing her maneuvering and outright angered when he began to back away from the deals that would assure her, or rather, them attaining the ultimate goal. They were aligned perfectly for what she, or rather, they wanted, and she couldn’t decipher what could possibly have gotten into him to throw it all away.

For example this whole Medical Czar issue with the wonderful and politically powerful Stantons. This was exactly what would catapult Gregg into the caucuses, landing him in the campaign trail, heading straight for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. If only he wasn’t so decidedly stubborn. Besides, it all made perfect sense to her, grant a small concession to them now and reap a huge reward later, not only in the form of campaign contributions, but also in political pressure when they needed it. It was all so simple, yet her husband just wouldn’t do it.

Again she thrust her angry fingers into the rich dark soil, pulling back a pile, leaving a hole large enough to fit the petunias
she was planting this morning. She carefully placed the purple flower into the hole she had made, then packed the black dirt around it, smoothed it out, and added some water, which the star-shaped plant drank up thirstily. One of the reasons she so enjoyed her flowers was because they were predictable, and her life centered on organization. She planted the seed, in this case plants, tended them carefully, ensured no weeds were pulling at them, gave them plenty, but not too much water and sunlight, and they bloomed beautifully, adding grace and elegance to her home. So unlike her only child, who had resisted every attempt to being groomed by her mother’s loving, even if gloved, hand.

Beverley was indeed a beautiful flower of physical attractiveness, but she was so unlike her poised mother. She cared not a bit for the political arena, instead eschewing it as amoral and corrupt. She just couldn’t seem to see the wonder that such power held.

Time after time Tawny had tried to pull her daughter into the fold, walking her through the socials, teaching her how to interact, coaching her on her speech, giving her the training that would befit someone of her stature. Together, she had told her daughter, they would build a political empire that rivaled the Kennedy’s and Bush’s, and as a family they would control the countries civics, and perhaps even the world. To her absolute horror, her daughter had not been excited and visionary, but rather was appalled and shocked. Beverley had stormed out of the room ranting about “evil designs” and “wicked pride.”

It wasn’t long after that Beverley had started attending Boise State University, in direct rebellion against her acceptance to Stanford, Tawny’s alma mater. She started spending time with some rundown, shabby boy that was tutoring her in some class, becoming even more distant and shunning to her family. Tawny started wondering if he was giving her drugs, you never knew with those people, and she decided to search her room.

She found no drug paraphernalia, but did find several religious tracts and a book the younger Windham had been reading. Aghast at the implications, she didn’t even bother looking at the material, just gathered up everything she could find and ran down the stairs to the fireplace, burning every shred, before anyone else would see what it was. The last thing her aspirations needed was her daughter getting caught up in some cult. There was a place for religion and that was when you needed to feign interest in their current travesty, so as to garner their support for the upcoming election. Other than that, it was a crutch, or worse, a weakness that could be exploited in a debate. There would be no “Holy Joes” in her home!

Beverley had been incensed when she got home and found out, and Tawny had tried to explain it to her, but the child just would not listen, so Tawny just laid down the law, trusting that someday her daughter would finally understand. As a mother she had given the child everything that she wanted or needed, even if she were a little stand-offish. But then again, her mother was that way with her, and look how she turned out.

She had tried to bring her up like her flowers, giving her rich soil, wealth and social graces, kept her weeded, keeping away people like this Peter somebody, and gave her the right amount of water and sunlight, private schooling and exposure to all the right people. Yet she just would not bloom, becoming a vegetable or fruit instead of a beautiful flower.

Tawny sighed, wiped her perspiring brow with the back of her gloved right hand and sat back to admire her work. Beautiful as always, she decided. She took a deep breath and sighed again, imperceptibly shaking her head at the comparison. If only her house were really in such perfect order.

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

Lissa opened her eyes before the 5:30 alarm went off without a trace of tiredness. The day already had a much better start than last few days, but of course they were a nightmare no one should have to endure. Although as she thought about it, the afternoon and evening had gone remarkably well, mostly because of a certain patient. It was absurd, she knew, that she should be drawn to a patient, although in actuality she wondered more about her own motives than about the ethics involved. She knew she would need to face the ethics question as well at some point, perhaps Dr. Cliffe might have some insight there, but mostly she just marveled about what she was feeling.

Come to think of it, she really had no idea what she was feeling. All she did know was that there was something in his face, no, his countenance, that appealed to her. And then his eyes had opened and they seemed to reach out to her, partially in fear, but more in…gratitude? Yes that was it, he was grateful to her for something, but she hadn’t done anything. She wasn’t even his physician really. Perhaps it was just the Florence Nightingale syndrome, where the patient falls in love with his nurse, or in this case, doctor. In any case it had left her feeling lighter, somehow more at peace, and she had come home and slept well for the first time since she could remember.

She hopped out of bed, followed her morning routine, and found herself at work early, ready to meet her patients with a smile. She got more than one raised eyebrow from her co-workers, but felt so good she didn’t care. She breezed through her well-patient visits, worked through the typical immunizations, and found herself caught-up and ahead by three o’clock, several hours before quitting time. She headed to the receptionist to see what else needed to be done.

“What’s next Carla?”

“Nothing, Doctor Brandon, you’re all caught up,” the woman answered.

“There must be something I need to do,” she countered, almost hoping for more work, afraid that simply sitting might ruin her mood.

“Well, Gretta Schownwitz has been hospitalized at St. Luke’s downtown. Her asthma kicked up overnight and her parents took her into the ER. Apparently they’ve given her some bronchodilators and they seem to be working. They admitted her anyway, to keep an eye on things. She’ll probably be released soon, but if you want….”

“Sure, I can do that. If you don’t need me…” She was surprised herself at how excited she was at the prospect of visiting St. Luke’s, but knew it had more to do with a patient on the seventh floor than in pediatrics on the fourth floor.

She took the elevator down four levels and then out to the parking lot to the maroon Chevy Carla had loaned her, unlocked and opened the door. The weather was noticeably cooler today, but still in the high nineties. The air inside the car was much warmer, so she stood outside the door for a moment, allowing the heat to dissipate a few degrees.

She looked around at the familiar scene, the small trees planted on the berm along the building fronts, their green leaves shiny in the bright sunlight. The buildings themselves seemed brighter beige than normal, she thought, less staid than usual. She glanced up at the cloudless sky noticing that there were indeed different shades, even with no clouds. This section was paler, approaching white, while that part was deep, like a lake or ocean. Everything was brighter today, though not necessarily just because of the sun.

Across the berm she could hear the passing cars and trucks, motors revving after sitting at the intersection, some just getting moving again, others racing to beat the next light. She could distinguish between the typical passenger cars and SUV’s today, something she realized she had never done before. She also realized that she had never noticed how many different sounds could actually be heard in the parking lot. There were birds chirping, hoping from limb to limb among the trees. There were voices, too soft to understand, but clearly human. Doors were opening and shutting, car doors and entryways to the building announcing the completion of their assigned tasks. She could even hear a distant bark of a seeing-eye dog warning its charge of impending danger.
Funny how things seem so different today,
she thought.
Sometime I’ll need to figure out why, but right now I just want to enjoy it
.

Unrolling her window she turned the ignition over, reached over and turned up the A/C that she had left on low from the morning commute, and pulled out onto the road. It took a few moments but soon cool air was pouring out of the front vents. She cranked the driver-side window back up, now that she no longer needed the air to keep the temperature down.