Authors: Steven Gossington
Chapter 31
Aaron stopped just inside the front door of his clinic the next morning. He took a deep breath and spread his arms. “It’s great to be here.”
“You look terrible,” Stella said. “Are you sick?”
“No, but I am lucky to be alive.”
“Were you in an accident? You’ve got bruises on your face.”
Aaron grimaced. His lower legs burned from numerous abrasions. “I had a battle with the Big Thicket last night.”
“What in the world happened in the Big Thicket?”
Aaron sighed. “I’ll tell you all about it someday. Right now, it hurts to talk, so I’ll speak in a soft voice today. If anyone asks, tell them I had a minor accident and that I’m okay.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Aaron nodded. “Oh, yeah. Things are much better now.”
“And just how are things better? You don’t look better.”
“Let me put it this way. Some bad things in my life are over and behind me now.”
Back in his office, Aaron counted on his fingers his good fortunes.
One, I probably didn’t endanger any patients back in Connecticut after all. Two, my lawsuit is over and my would-be killer has gone away.
He leaned back in his chair with his fingers together.
Three, I’m still alive.
A shiver passed over him as he walked to his window and looked out to the Big Thicket trees across the road.
But how do I deal with Race Taggett?
A swirling breeze flushed a flock of birds from the trees.
Maybe I won’t have to deal with him at all. Maybe he’ll just go away, or the police will catch him.
Race’s frowning face appeared before Aaron.
Why did he say to me, “It’s not your time yet”?
Near noon, Aaron heard loud talking in the waiting room.
“Our Cajun patient, Tucker Boudreaux, is in the lobby talking with the other patients,” Stella said. “I think they’re getting annoyed with him. His bipolar mania must be worse today.”
Aaron walked to the front of the clinic. Tucker stood and held a poster in front of him as he addressed the four people in the lobby. His words were rapid fire and his short hair danced on his head. From their chairs, the patients looked at Aaron with wide eyes.
Aaron walked up to Tucker. “Will you come back to my office where we can talk?”
“Sure, Doc. I want you to hear this, too. I’ve created a design for a rocket that can carry people into orbit and even to the moon. I’m looking for investors …” His words tumbled into each other and the sentences didn’t always make sense.
Aaron stepped toward Stella. “Try to find his mother.”
He led Tucker to his office in the back. Tucker paced around the room, flailing his arms and pouring out his theories about rocket fuel and hull construction.
I’ve never heard a person talk so fast,
Aaron thought.
He can’t get some of the words out. His brain is moving faster than his mouth can.
After a short while, Stella opened the office door and Tucker’s mother hurried into the room.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m so sorry. I can’t control him. His psychiatrist added a new medication last week, and it seemed to help at first. Since yesterday, though, he’s been like this.”
Tucker slammed his hands on Aaron’s desk. “What are you guys worried about? I’ll build the first colony on the moon, I know what food will grow there, I’ll organize moon sports leagues, . . .”
His mother stepped closer to Aaron and raised her voice so she could be heard over Tucker’s monologue. “He’s washed our car every day this week, and yesterday he came home with over twenty pairs of shoes. I had to freeze his credit card.” She took hold of Tucker’s arm. “As soon as we leave here, I’ll call his psychiatrist and drive Tucker over to see him.”
“
Lune, Lune,
moon, moon, lagoon, baboon. I wonder if baboons could live on the moon . . .”
She led Tucker out of the office and then stopped in the hallway and leaned toward Aaron behind her.
“Sometimes . . .”
“Yes,” Aaron said.
“I feel strange saying this to you, but sometimes when he rants on and on like this, he says something that makes sense.”
Aaron nodded and waited.
“What I mean is, sometimes he says something . . . that comes true later.”
“Like a prediction?”
She scratched her cheek. “Well, a prediction, or a warning, and he might remember what he said and he might not.” She cocked her head. “Have you ever heard of that?”
“No, but that is interesting.”
She hurried to catch up with Tucker near the registration desk.
Tucker darted over to Juliana, who sat behind the counter.
“Do you want to have sex?” Tucker said, a broad grin on his face.
Juliana’s eyes widened, and she pushed her chair back. “
Que diablos?
”
“Tucker, that is not appropriate,” his mother said as she grabbed his arm. “Come with me now.”
After they left, Aaron collapsed into his desk chair. Stella walked into his office.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “He needs help.”
Aaron wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “I imagine he’ll crash at some point. Probably sometime after I do. My brain hurts.”
Stella chuckled. “I’ve heard he can be like this for days at a time.”
“I hope his psychiatrist can calm him down,” Aaron said.
After work, Aaron drove to his happy hour bar for dinner and drinks. Red straightened the chair next to him and waved Aaron over.
“I’ve become a real happy hour fan of this place,” Aaron said.
Red smiled. “Just like me.”
“I think of it as my ‘sane’ place.”
“It’s my sanctuary, for sure.”
Aaron glanced up at a TV near him on the wall behind the bar. Someone had just homered and was rounding the bases in a Major League baseball game.
He turned to Red. “Are there any other decent bars like this?”
“Sure, but I like this one best.”
Aaron ordered broccoli cheese soup and wine.
“You never order much food,” Red said.
“I snack at the office and eat larger dinners most days when I’m off work.”
“Sensible.” Red sipped his brandy. “I had to patch up my fence. My dog got out for a while, and I like to keep him in the yard. My previous dog loved to roam around in the Big Thicket.”
“I’ll bet he had a field day in there catching critters.”
“Yep. He brought a few of them back. Sometimes I couldn’t even figure out what kind of animal it was. Strange things live in that place.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Aaron sampled his wine.
My taste buds must be learning. I can taste hints of blackberry and licorice, I think
.
He leaned toward Red. “I’ve been reading up a bit about World War Two. I didn’t realize it sure could’ve gone the other way.”
“You’re right about that. Why, I was on a ship at the surrender of the Japanese. We expected they’d pull something funny and start another battle right there. But they surrendered all right.”
“I guess you guys were happy with that.”
“We celebrated, big time.” Red studied his brandy. “There aren’t many happy people in war these days. No one surrenders anymore. Everyone loses.”
At least some of my battles are over,
Aaron thought. A vision of Race Taggett’s glinting eyes appeared to him.
Chapter 32
Constable Keller Greevy winced with certain movements of his head. He sat in his office chair, sipping from a mug of steaming hot coffee, a large white bandage on the right side of his neck and a head wrap securing another bandage over his left ear.
He glanced at caller ID as the phone rang. It was the ME’s office.
“Those pills from the Taggett’s house look so far to be just vitamins and nutritional supplements, nothing unusual.”
“That was quick work. Anything else?”
“We have some preliminary autopsy results for you.”
Keller sat up and put his mug down on the desk. “Go ahead.”
“It seems the two women died from strangulation. There were bruises on their necks consistent with choking.”
“Were they sexually assaulted?”
“There is no evidence of that.”
“Well, at least he’s not a rapist.”
“There was something strange. Both corpses had the letter ‘W’ cut into their upper chests, apparently with a knife.”
“So Race did torture them.”
“I don’t think so. The condition of the blood in the wounds and the appearance of the wound edges indicate that the knife was used after they were dead.”
Chapter 33
Buck Bogarty jumped as the doorbell rang. He and his mother, Sandra, were lounging in their living room, watching evening TV.
Sandra went to the door and peered through the peephole. “It’s a policeman.” Buck walked up beside her as she opened the door.
“I’m Officer Perkins. Is Lee Bogarty here?”
“No, he doesn’t live here anymore,” Sandra said. “Why do you ask?”
“We need to speak with him.”
“What about?”
“The death of a woman.”
Sandra put her hand over her mouth.
“He’s on the run, and he might show up here,” the officer said. “We think he’s armed.”
“If he comes, you’ll be the first to know,” Sandra said. She closed and locked the door.
Buck collapsed back onto the living room couch. Sandra sat beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.
Buck rubbed his eyes. “What really happened to him?”
“Your father was a good man once, until he lost his job. He always blamed some of the people he worked with. He never got over that, and he wasn’t able to get decent work again.”
Buck shook his head. “You’ve told me all that before, but I know there’s something else.” He looked at Sandra. “He was like his father, wasn’t he?”
Sandra dropped her head and covered her eyes to hold back the tears. “I’m . . . so sorry,” she said between sobs.
“Why did they beat up women?”
She shook her head and blotted her eyes with tissue. “I don’t know.”
Chapter 34
Aaron’s patient list was growing, and his Friday clinic schedule was packed. Folks with diabetes, hypertension, heart disease, arthritis, obesity and other ailments were added weekly. A litany of the common afflictions of the American way of life showed up at Aaron’s door . . . including mental illness.
Near noon, as Aaron was about to open the door to a patient room, he stopped and smiled as he heard the strumming of a guitar.
Ah, Cam, my schizophrenic guitarist.
“How can I help you today, Mr. Fillmore?”
Cam’s hair swayed as he strummed a few chords on his guitar, then he looked up. “I can’t find my medicine. I must’ve pitched it out by accident.”
“So you’ve not taken your medicine recently?”
“Not for a while.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here for a refill.”
Aaron checked Cam’s heart, lungs, and pupils and performed a mental status exam. “That’s good. You seem to be thinking clearly.”
He handed Cam a prescription. “Take care of yourself. Remember to take this as directed.”
“Thanks, Doc. You’ve been good to me, so I’m watching out for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll let you know of any enemies closing in.”
“Your beam blockers signal you, right?”
“That’s right. They help me spot any suspicious folks driving around.”
As Cam strolled through the clinic, he stopped to play his guitar a few minutes for the surprised patients in the waiting room.
Aaron lifted his head. “That sounds a little like ‘Friends in Low Places,’ by Garth Brooks.”
Early in the afternoon, Aaron closed his clinic, and he and Stella drove to a small Baptist church nearby to attend the funeral of Rocky Donnigan. Brad Benningham had organized the funeral.
Stella turned to Aaron in the car. “I made some phone calls. At the hospital, they found thallium in Sid Taggett, and Wanda was charged with his attempted murder.”
“I guess we could say she’s guilty by reason of insanity?” Aaron said.
“That’s what they thought at the hospital. She was diagnosed with severe chronic schizophrenia and transferred to a long-term state psych facility.”
Aaron nodded. “Good. I guess the DA made a quick deal. Anyway, that’s where she needs to be.”
Aaron approached the church.
Wow, no empty parking spaces
.
He pulled his car onto the grass next to the paved parking lot. They walked into the church just in time for the start of the service. Several people scooted and squished together in a rear pew to make room for Aaron and Stella.
A minister talked about Rocky’s attributes: his marvelous mechanical skills and the quality of his friendship to those who were close to him.
After the minister’s prayer, Rocky’s coworker at the garage stepped up to the podium. “As most of you know, Rocky was real good with cars.”
“Amen,” several people said from the audience.
He said he felt lucky to have worked with Rocky, and he gave a few examples of Rocky’s expertise. “I could go on for hours. Everyone in town knew they could trust their cars to Rocky. He was also one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. He had a kind heart.”
Next, Preston Benningham walked up to the podium. He read from a piece of paper, mumbling his first few words. He looked up and saw that some people had leaned forward and cupped their ears to hear him. With a strengthened voice, he started over again.
“I’ve had trouble the last few years with drug addiction. It almost ruined my life. Rocky talked with me all the time about it, offering me hope, giving me support. He wanted to help me recover.” His voice broke. “And then he gave me . . . the ultimate sacrifice . . . the greatest gift of all . . .” He took a deep breath. “A few nights ago, he shielded me . . . and he died instead of me; he saved my life.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “He died for me . . . I’ll never forget him, and I’ll think of him every day . . . for the rest of my life.” He wiped his eyes and face with a handkerchief and looked out over the audience. “And thanks to Rocky, the addiction demon is gone from me, forever.”
“Amens” erupted from the audience, and Aaron saw many people in the pews blotting their eyes with tissue.
After the service, Aaron motioned to Brad outside the church.
“I looked around for any of Rocky’s family. Did his ex-wife come today?” Aaron said.
“No. She wasn’t interested.”