None So Blind (9 page)

As he leaned over the bed and slipped his hand into his father’s pale, unresponsive one, he found he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could only squeeze, and hope.

For what, he wasn’t sure.

F
or
once Archie Goodfellow was on time — early, in fact. The VIA train from Kingston didn’t arrive until 3:22, but he wanted to snag a good handicapped parking spot at the side of the station with a clear view of the platform. He left the van with the air conditioning running to combat the sweltering afternoon heat. Late May could be unpredictable in Belleville, with rogue snowstorms one day and blazing heat another. Even with the air conditioning running full force, sweat trickled down his back and soaked his shirt.

As he waited, he fiddled with his cellphone, ostensibly responding to neglected voice-mail messages, but really keeping his anxiety at bay. He’d gone out on a limb to persuade James Rosten’s parole officer to let him go unaccompanied to his medical appointment at the Kingston General. During the month since his release into the community, Rosten had barely been outside Horizon House. He had participated only reluctantly in a couple of the organized house excursions, during which he had barely spoken to the other residents, but in the main he had remained sequestered in his room with his books and his new laptop.

The house staff regarded him as a snob, but Archie had learned to see through that months ago. James was overwhelmed, and when he was overwhelmed he retreated behind his pedantic professorial façade. Archie suspected the world inside his head was much more manageable and comforting than the chaos outside.

Archie had been trying to encourage brief forays out into Belleville, which was a small city with modest commercial and retail strips within easy reach. However, James had been reluctant to go beyond the local library and the community medical clinic where his health needs were managed. Archie was more surprised than anyone when James asked his parole officer for permission to travel on his own by train to his specialist appointment in the larger city of Kingston. A forty-minute train ride.

James had argued that the trip was simple enough and that surely it was time for him to take full charge of his medical care. If this consultation went as hoped, he would be making frequent trips to Kingston in the months ahead for further rehab. During his years in prison, James had shown little interest in his rehabilitation, and Archie regarded this newfound determination to increase his independence as a positive sign. After planning and reviewing every step of the trip with him, Archie supported the request.

His small frisson of concern be damned.

A whistle blast jolted him from his ruminations. He looked up to see a pinpoint of light approaching along the track from the east. He switched off the engine and clambered down from the van, groaning as he stretched the kinks from his back. He limped across the walk behind the shiny new station to the platform just as the train clanged to a halt.

He knew James would be among the last to disembark, because he required the assistance of the station staff and a hydraulic lift. Nonetheless, he watched with increasing apprehension as the trickle of passengers made their way across the overhead walkway and out through the station. There was no station attendant waiting by the first-class car and no sign that preparations for a wheelchair exit were being made. Archie’s small frisson of concern grew to full-fledged alarm. Where
was
he?

James’s consultation with the spinal cord specialist had been at ten o’clock. A return trip ticket had been purchased on the one o’clock train back to Belleville. As agreed, Archie had waited at the station until that train pulled away from the station before returning to his office. He had not been worried. He and James had discussed the possibility that the appointment with the doctor might run late, that he might order additional test or consults, or simply that James might be in the mood for a taxi tour of Queen’s University, where he had earned his undergraduate degree.

His unsupervised pass from Horizon House had accordingly been granted until four o’clock, so that he could catch the later train if need be. Now, however, that train had also come and gone. Archie stood staring at the empty platform in disbelief. James was now in clear violation of his unsupervised pass. The next train was not until 9:00 p.m., well past the time for any acceptable excuses such as delayed medical appointments.

James was supposed to phone Archie if he encountered any obstacles. He had not phoned. Archie’s fingers hovered over his cellphone, as he considered checking with Horizon House in case James had somehow missed him at the station and made his own way back. Archie stalled. By all rights, the house would be obligated to report his breach of parole. Before Archie made his absence official, there were a few simple places to check.

His first phone call was to Dr. Ansari at Kingston General Hospital. After multiple frustrating attempts to break through the hospital’s automated phone system, he was connected to the receptionist at the neurology clinic, who refused to divulge any information. Throwing all confidentiality to the winds, Archie explained James’s violation of his day pass.

“I want to avoid getting the police involved,” he said. “I don’t need to know any medical information, just whether he showed up for his appointment and what time he left.”

The woman muttered something indecipherable and put him on hold. After an interminable delay, she came back on the line. “He arrived at 9:50, saw the doctor at 10:40, and left at 11:30.”

“Did he have any further appointments that morning? Can you tell me that at least?”

“One moment please.” On hold again, another long delay. “No further appointments.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“He …” She paused, probably weighing legalities again. “He didn’t say anything.”

“How did he seem?”

“Pardon?”

“His mood.”

“Mood?” The woman sounded incredulous, as if this were a requirement well beyond her job qualifications. He heard a man’s voice in the background followed by a muffled exchange before a clipped male voice with an English accent came on the line.

“This is Dr. Ansari. To whom am I speaking, please?”

Archie identified himself and explained his involvement and his predicament, with heavy emphasis on his concern for James’s well-being. “This is Mr. Rosten’s first excursion on his own and he’s still easily overwhelmed. He had a lot invested in this consultation. What was his state of mind when he left? Angry? Depressed?”

There was a long pause. “I can tell you this. Mr. Rosten impressed me as an intelligent, knowledgeable man. He was not pleased with my conclusions, but I do not see him as at imminent risk for self-harm, if that is what you are asking.”

“So you did not give him good news about further treatment?”

There was a sigh. “There are no new avenues of treatment.”

“Did he argue?”

A faint chuckle. “You know him well.”

“Did he mention anything that might give me a hint where he’s gone?”

“Not to me. But you must understand, Reverend, that this type of bad news takes time to absorb. Often patients take a few hours to themselves and wander around the city, sit by the lake.… Sometimes time slips away.”

“Do you know if he took a taxi from the hospital?”

“No, but there are only a couple of major companies.” After Ansari supplied the names, Archie thanked him and signed off, feeling marginally reassured. Perhaps James had merely taken time to regroup. It was a glorious spring day. Lunch at an outdoor café or in a lakeside park might easily have stretched to three hours, causing him to miss even the later train.

Archie was even prepared to drive to Kingston to search for him, but before he did so, he phoned the taxi companies. This time he did not explain the violation of the day pass, but instead portrayed Rosten as a potential victim of foul play. This netted him the information he needed on the first call.

A middle-aged man in a wheelchair had been picked up outside the main entrance of Kingston General at 11:58 a.m. At the passenger’s request, the taxi had driven him through the Queen’s University campus and along the lakefront, stopping at Macdonald Park and at the Tim Hortons drive-thru beside the ferry dock. Forty-five minutes later, it had dropped him outside the Kingston train station off John Counter Boulevard.

Archie knew he was now out on a very fragile limb. It was well past time to report Rosten as unlawfully at large. But once done, there would be no going back and no predicting what the parole office would do. Ken Vogel was a tough, by-the-book PO who did not cut his charges much slack for personal lapses or failures of character. Rosten could find himself back in Warkworth.

Archie, on the other hand, understood perhaps too well the struggles that ex-cons endured and their tenuous grip on success. He knew he was a soft touch. He knew he sometimes got played. But he refused to harden himself.

Fortunately, in his years as chaplain he’d built quite a network of friends, and he used it now as he went inside the Belleville train station. Bypassing the ticket booth, he approached the lone station attendant who was sneaking a cigarette around the back of the building. Freddie and he had volunteered at many a pie- and jam-judging contest over the years, and, like Archie’s, his girth now told the tale.

They exchanged greetings and Archie asked after his wife and family. Freddie produced pictures of his new grandson and Archie detected a hint of sadness beneath his pride, for the grandson lived in Calgary. Twice yearly visits were all he could hope for.

Freddie had helped Rosten board the train that morning and Archie was able to jump in without much explanatory preamble. “You know that fellow in the wheelchair this morning? I am supposed to pick him up but he hasn’t come back on the train from Kingston yet. Can you check with the attendant in Kingston to see if anything went wrong at that end?”

Freddie pulled out his cellphone, flipped through his contacts, and placed the call. “This is a new guy,” he said to Archie as he waited. “I let him know personally about your man’s arrival and departure, so he should have been prepared. Plus it should all be on his computer manifest.…”

He stopped as the phone was answered. Archie listened as he explained the problem. There was another break, during which he looked back at Archie. “He remembers your guy. Remembers him getting back on the train. He’s just checking what time.”

Back to the phone. “Okay. Okay … about an hour ago, you think?”

He hung up and turned back to Archie to repeat that message. Archie frowned. “That would be the 3:22 that just went through. But my guy wasn’t on it.”

“Maybe he fell asleep and slept through the stop. I can call ahead to the crew on the train and they can check if you want.” Freddie’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re really worried.”

Archie nodded and stood by, gazing anxiously down the track at nothing in particular while he waited for Freddie to connect with the staff on the train, which was now hurtling toward Toronto. A big place if someone wanted to disappear.

After a brief conversation Freddie hung up. “No sign of your guy on the train. No sign of anyone in a wheelchair.”

Archie felt a sick dread in the pit of his stomach. Something was terribly wrong. “Maybe they’re mistaken about the time. About which train.”

“I can phone Kingston again and get them to double-check.”

“Please.” Archie was already moving away, too anxious to do nothing. “I’ll go back to the house. Maybe I missed him. Maybe he’s already there.”

The moment he walked through the doors of Horizon House, however, he knew Rosten wasn’t there. The man on the front desk looked up sharply.

“Where’s Rosten?”

“He appears to have missed his stop.” Archie held up his hand. “Sometimes things don’t move smoothly when you’re in a wheelchair. I’m trying to track down —”

The man was already reaching for the phone. “We gotta report this.”

“Give me half an hour.” Bypassing the elevator, Archie was already halfway up the stairs. He didn’t wait to see whether the young man had agreed or was already placing the call. Inside Rosten’s room, Archie worked quickly. Rosten had brought only a small day bag with him that morning, presumably to contain his wallet and supplies for the day. The staff had seen no reason to search it, but now Archie moved efficiently around the room looking for telltale signs. Rosten’s clothes, what few there were, were all folded in drawers or hanging in the closet as usual. His pyjamas were folded on top of his pillow, his shampoo, soap, electric razor, and skin lotions all in their place.

Two items were missing, however, and their absence quickened his pulse. Rosten’s toothbrush and toothpaste.

At that moment of revelation, even as he was pawing frantically through drawers in search of them, his cellphone rang.

Freddie.

“Mystery solved,” he said, but he didn’t sound pleased. “Your boy didn’t catch the train back to Belleville. He got on the 2:22 in the opposite direction. To Ottawa.”

Green was already on the Queensway on his way home when his cellphone rang. He glanced at the call display, which read
A. Goodfellow
, and debated whether to answer. He was going to be home on time for the first time since his father fell ill, but even so, the schedule would be tight. It was Tony’s night for Beavers and Green’s night to do the car pool. He had cancelled at the last minute too many times to have any goodwill left with the other parents.

But Archie never phoned without good reason. Steering into the right lane for the next exit, Green punched the talk button.

Archie’s voice was taut with panic. “He’s gone.”

Green nearly drove off the road. “What do you mean, gone?”

“He went on his own to a medical appointment in Kingston and on the way back he hopped a train to Ottawa.”

“What the fuck!” Green wrestled his car down the exit ramp and pulled onto the shoulder, fumbling among the gas receipts and empty coffee cups for his Bluetooth. “Have you reported it?”

“Yes, and your guys have all the details. But I thought you should know. I don’t know why he’s gone there.”

“What time was the train due in?”

“4:20.”

Green glanced at his watch. 4:45. There was a very slim chance Rosten might not have left the station yet, if the train had one of its very frequent delays or Rosten had trouble disembarking or finding an accessible taxi.