by Edwin Dasso
“What’s that?” Amanda asked.
“Hell if I know.”
11
Jack stopped at the door to Dr. Stone’s office, his hand poised over the knob, staring at the polished brass. Is this really going to help…or am I going to suffer with this crap till I die? He wiped the sweat from his palm onto his pants, wrapped his fingers around the cool, smooth metal, then snatched his hand back as if he’d been shocked by a jolt of electricity. He stared absently at the door.
He’d been up most of last night after he’d had the nightmare. Contemplating. Reflecting. Jack was tired, and not just physically. The ongoing torments in his life—these jackasses who kept popping up randomly to try to destroy him and those he loved—exhausted him emotionally and psychologically.
He leaned a hand against the doorframe and took a deep breath. It was deathly quiet in the small foyer where he stood. He found it soothing—soon found himself wondering if this was what it would be like to be dead. A soothing quiet. Calmness. Free, at last, from always looking over his shoulder for the next hateful psychopath who wanted to torture him. No! You can’t go there! Amanda needs you!
The door in front of him flew open, and Jack jumped.
Dr. Stone stood just inside his office. “I heard the knob rattling, but no one opened the door.” He arched an eyebrow as he gave Jack an appraising look. “I thought it might be you.” He waved an arm into the office. “C’mon in, Jack. Let’s talk.”
Jack shuffled inside and stopped near the couch, standing mutely.
Stone held out a bottle of water. “Have a sip and start when you’re ready. Obviously, something’s really bothering you. I think it’s important we surface it and figure out how to deal with it.”
Jack nodded, took a sip, then held the bottle at his side.
Stone grabbed Jack’s arm, gently guiding him to the couch. “Have a seat.”
Jack plopped onto the couch then Stone took a seat at his desk and picked up his notepad.
“The nightmares…,” Jack mumbled, barely audibly.
“Not getting any better?”
“No. They’re as bad as any I’ve ever had…maybe worse,” Jack muttered as he stared blankly at the floor.
“It’ll get better.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, right. I thought I was done with them before…”
“It takes time. You probably remember that from before.”
“I suppose.” He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. “I-I don’t know if I can last much longer, though.” He held his head in both hands. “I almost wish my amnesia hadn’t resolved. Maybe I would be better off without any memories…”
“You don’t really mean that.”
Jack stared at Stone, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. “I’m not so sure I don’t, Dolion.”
“You know, Jack, it’s important to have a good circle of support when you’re struggling like this—are there people in your life you can count on?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Are they available to you every day…any time?
Jack shrugged and shook his head. “No, not really…except for my daughter and a friend, Hank Green.” He blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “Even they can’t be around all the time.”
Stone studied Jack a few seconds. “It might be a good idea if your daughter came with you to our next session.”
Jack snapped his head up and his muscles tensed. “No!” He shook his head hard. “I don’t want her to know how bad this is—she’s got school to focus on.”
“I can understand that, but I think it would be a good idea. I’d really like to talk to her…give her some ideas that could help you.”
Jack shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” He grinned wryly at Stone. “How about you give me some ideas that can help me? I could use some.”
12
Jack and Amanda tried to spend at least a few minutes together on the phone every day. As she had grown up, they had always had a bedtime ritual of Jack reading to her and discussing her day. Even though Amanda was at college, and often surrounded by friends, she never minded taking the daily call from her father, even looked forward to it.
“Wait a minute, Dad.” The student union was always loud and even more so now with a group of students joking and laughing. She stepped outside to hear better.
“That’s better. Now, what were you saying?” she asked.
Jack snorted. “I said this new guy I’m seeing—the one Brent Love referred me to—suggested you come with me to my next appointment.” He chuckled. “Crazy idea, eh?”
“Uh…no.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to bother you—you’re so busy with school and—”
“Dad! Stop. I’m your only child, and you’re my only father—you know better than to think it’d be a bother. Where and when?”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure…and don’t ask again. Where and when?”
“You remind me of your mother when you talk like that. She could bark out orders that really made staff hump it.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Jack sighed. “Okay. Next Tuesday at five o’clock. I’ll text you the address. Now, let’s talk about something more interesting.”
Amanda sat next to Jack during his Tuesday session with Dr. Stone. She was taking this seriously and made notes throughout the visit, caught off guard at times by what she was hearing. Occasionally, she’d frown at Jack and say, “First I’ve heard of that” when Stone asked her if she’d been aware of some of Jack’s recent issues. Her frustration with his over-protective habit of keeping her in the dark finally bubbled over.
“Dad! Why am I just now hearing some of this?”
Jack hung his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t want to bother you…”
She punched him in the shoulder…almost hard enough to hurt. “Sheesh! Really? How many times are we going to have that discussion?” She loved her father deeply, but he really annoyed her sometimes. She looked at Stone and lifted her arms, palms up, as she shook her head. “You see what I have to deal with?”
Stone chuckled. “I think I do.” He glanced at his watch. “Looks like our time is up. Thanks for coming with your dad, Amanda.” He set his notepad aside and stood.
As Jack and Amanda stopped at the door, Stone put a hand on Amanda’s arm. “Maybe you could stay a couple minutes longer…so you and I can have a private chat.”
Amanda looked at him, searching his eyes, then nodded slowly. I hope this isn’t more bad news. “Sure.” She turned to Jack. “I’ll meet you at the car, Dad.”
Jack grunted and shook his head. “You two are going to conspire against me, eh?” he mumbled. “Okay, I’ll wait in the car.” He left, and the door closed behind him.
“Maybe I should give you my cell number so you can notify me if your father is having a problem you’re concerned about.”
Amanda smiled. “Sure. That sounds like a good idea.” She entered his number in her contacts list then turned to run out to Jack’s car.
Stone shouted after her. “Send me a test text when you get a chance. Just to be sure.”
“Will do, Dr. Stone.”
13
Amanda had finished her homework and was feeling restless. She decided she’d go for a jog then see what was happening at the student union. She threw on her running outfit, warmed up, and then headed out. She stopped just outside the front door, looking both ways up and down the sidewalk. Which way to go? She always chose random routes—something Hank had convinced her she needed to do…because she was the daughter of Jack Bass.
She stretched and pushed off, her gaze constantly moving around the passing landscape. It was another habit Hank had taught her—always look for a possible ambush. How many people my age have to think this way? She snorted and shook the thoughts from her head. Hank was right, and there was no sense dwelling on it. She refocused on enjoying the run. She loved to run. Loved the effort an
d the endorphin rush at the end of a rigorous outing, always sprinting at the end to assure she reached that natural high.
Her route tonight meandered through the old neighborhoods surrounding the university. She loved passing under the trees that lined the streets, listening to the birds as her feet pounded across old, uneven sidewalks. She gazed at the stately homes she passed, wondering who lived in them and what their lives were like. I bet you’ve never had to worry about someone trying to kill you.
She glanced at her Runkeeper screen. Wow! Five miles already? That was how far she usually ran, unless she wanted a particularly challenging session. She checked her position on her GPS and routed herself back to campus. I think I’ll swing by the union before I go back to the dorm. See what’s hopping.
A few minutes later, she stopped on the patio outside the student union and stretched, looking at the students milling about. Her gaze fell on one of the billboards where people posted various notices. PTSD? She squinted at the poster tacked onto the cork board then shuffled closer. She leaned in close to the billing, squinting at the black, block print. Entrepreneur Frederik Osher speaks about helping Veterans who suffer from PTSD. She arched an eyebrow and straightened. Huh. Might be interesting…
She pulled out her phone and Googled Frederik Osher as she wandered back to her dorm. His bio stated he was a self-made multi-millionaire and a generous philanthropist. He’d recently been funding the development of a new support program for Veterans with mental health issues, especially those who had ended up homeless because of those challenges. She tucked the phone back into her pocket. Seems legit. Maybe I’ll go and hear what he has to say.
Two days later Amanda sat in the rear of an auditorium. She gazed around at the sparse crowd made up mostly of men who appeared a little older than the average college student and a few women of similar age. I’ll bet most of these people are Veterans. She sniffed and shook her head. It’s a shame more of the general public doesn’t have an interest in this topic.
Frederik Osher was soon introduced to lukewarm applause and floated onto the stage, smiling and waving at the crowd. As soon as he began speaking, his energy engaged those in attendance. Amanda smiled. He’s good. He could probably talk about doing laundry and make it interesting. She scooted forward in her seat, focusing intently on his words.
“And to quote a movie character I greatly admire,” Osher quipped. “That’s all I have to say about that.” He stepped to the edge of the stage and ran his gaze over the crowd. “Any questions?”
Over already? Amanda glanced at her watch then gazed back at Osher. It’s really been forty-five minutes already? She jumped when somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around, raising her fists in a defensive position.
“I-I’m sorry,” the handsome young man said as he stepped back and held his hands out in front of him. The jacket he wore had Osher Industries embroidered on the breast. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Amanda smiled. “No worries. I can be a little jumpy sometimes.” She arched an eyebrow and cocked her head. “What’s up?”
“Mr. Osher has asked that we invite some attendees to meet with him backstage for a private discussion. Would you be interested?”
She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so…but tell him I really enjoyed his presentation.”
The young man shot a glance toward the stage then leaned closer. “Please! He really wants to hear from young people.” He leaned in closer. “And I don’t want to have to go back to him empty-handed.” He cocked his head and gave her a look like a puppy begging for a treat.
What can it hurt? Maybe she’d learn something that would help her dad. “Okay.” She stood. “I guess I don’t have anything else going on.”
The man bobbed his head, smiling broadly. “Thank you! Follow me.”
He led Amanda down a dark hall behind the stage, stopped at a door, and knocked. Frederik Osher opened the door and smiled then stepped back and waved them into the room. “Please, come in and join us.”
Amanda peered around him. There were a few people milling around—many of whom she’d noticed in the audience—chatting in small groups or filling plates at a buffet table. Amanda shuffled past Osher, her gaze darting around the room. The man who had brought her turned and departed down the hall.
“Help yourself to some food,” Osher said, pointing at the buffet. “I don’t have any alcoholic drinks”—he held his arms up at his sides in apologetic gesture—“but there are plenty of soft drinks and water.”
Amanda turned toward him and smiled. “Thank you.”
He locked gazes with her then smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Frederik Osher. What beautiful young woman do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
Amanda’s face flushed warm, and she tried to avoid his gaze but found herself quickly looking back into his eyes. “Amanda Bass.”
She held out her hand, and he took it in both of his, the skin on his hands amazingly soft.
This guy is definitely charismatic. She could understand how he’d become a self-made man. He exuded confidence and warmth.
“I very much appreciate you coming to listen to me tonight…and coming back here to meet me.”
Amanda slowly withdrew her hand from his grasp. “Your presentation was interesting…and thank you for inviting me to meet you.” She couldn’t pull her gaze from his eyes. They seemed to be searching hers, as if he was trying to look into her mind.
“So…what is behind your interest in the topic of Veterans with mental health challenges?” He stepped back and ran his gaze up and down her body. “You’re obviously too young to be a Veteran, so I’m guessing someone you know is suffering?”
Amanda turned her head, wringing her hands in front of her.
Osher put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “It’s okay—I know it’s a sensitive topic for anyone who’s dealing with it.”
Amanda nodded then turned back to him, hesitant to share details. But maybe this program can help Dad. She pressed her lips tightly together. I owe it to him to at least check it out—especially with what’s happening with him now. She blew out a long sigh. “It’s my dad. He’s had bad PTSD for a long time.” She shrugged quickly. “He’s having another relapse recently.”
He cocked his head and frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He put a hand on her arm and turned her toward the buffet table. “Let’s grab a bite, and I’ll tell you about my new program…maybe it could help him.”
Amanda let herself be guided by him, peering at his face as they strolled toward the food table. They filled their plates, and Osher explained the program, smiling often, like a proud father describing his all-star quarterback son. He drew Amanda in, captivated her with his energetic speaking.
This guy really gets animated when he talks about this. That’s cool!
After a short time, Amanda glanced at her watch. Wow! I’ve been listening for half an hour. She frowned. I need to go get started on my lab assignment, though. She smiled at Osher and set her empty water bottle on a tray. “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Osher. It’s been a pleasure meeting you and hearing about your program, but…I need to go get some work done.”
He grasped her hand and shook it gently. “The pleasure was mine, Amanda.”
She smiled again and stepped toward the door.
“Amanda.”
She turned back toward him. “Yes?”
“Would you be interested in becoming involved in my program? As a volunteer I mean, not a patient.”
Amanda rocked from foot to foot then shrugged. “I-I don’t know—I’m so busy with school…”
“You’d set your own schedule…decide how much you wanted to do.” He flashed her a quick smile. “It would mean a lot to me…a lot to the Veterans we’ll be helping.” He stepped toward her. “Please.”
Amanda pursed her lips. I don’t really have enough spare time for this. She opened her mouth. Think about Dad and Hank. She blew out a long breath and closed her mouth the
n nodded. “Sure…I’d love to.”
Osher nodded eagerly. “Great! Hey, I know you’re in a hurry. Why don’t you just give me your phone number, and I’ll text you the details?”
Amanda nodded slowly. “Okay, sure.”
She gave him her number and stepped to the door, her sweaty palm slipping on the knob as she twisted it. She glanced back at Osher, who stood smiling at her. “Thank you, again, Mr. Osher. Have a good night.”
“You, as well, Amanda Bass.”
14
“No! No! No-o-o! Jack screamed as he dropped his morning cup of coffee and vaulted from his desk chair, staring with wide eyes at the screen of his smartphone.
Say good-bye, Bass
The text wasn’t making his heart thump and twisting his guts, but the picture of Amanda—his beautiful, talented daughter—with the red dot of a bullet hole right in the middle of her forehead tore him to pieces inside. Her lifeless eyes stared into nothingness.
Jack sprinted toward the garage, ripping his keys from atop the door-side stand as he tore by. He jumped into his car, not even bothering to buckle up before starting the engine and throwing the vehicle into gear. The tires squealed and smoked as the car zoomed backward out into the driveway, barely clearing the rising garage door. He hit the dip at the end of the drive so hard his phone flew from his hand and bounced onto the floor. He jammed the car into drive and floored the accelerator as he felt on the floor between his knees for his phone.
He let out his breath in a gush as he wrapped his fingers around his phone. He scrolled through his contact list with his thumb as his gaze darted back and forth from the phone screen to the road his car was careening down. He looked up, spotted the stop sign, and his eyes shot wide. He slammed on the brakes, skidding through the intersection, barely missing the semi that crossed his path.
