by Edwin Dasso
“Damn!”
He stomped on the gas again then hit Amanda’s number on his phone. It rang several times then went to her voicemail.
“Goddammit! C’mon, Amanda—answer!”
He mashed on the end-call button and immediately redialed. Again, he reached her voicemail. Jack ended the call and dialed 9-1-1.
“What’s your emergency?”
“I think my daughter’s been murdered!”
“I’m sorry, sir—could you repeat that?”
“I said, I think my daughter has been murdered! She’s a student at Furman University—I’m on my way there right now!”
“What makes you think that, sir?”
“She lives in the South Housing Unit on campus. Second floor. Send someone to meet me there!”
“But, sir—”
Jack ended the call button and threw the phone onto the passenger seat, squinting as he peered through the windshield. I don’t have time for that crap. I need to get to Amanda!
“I’ll be right there, baby! Please be okay!”
Jack only slowed to look both ways when he approached a stop sign or red light then blasted through the junction as soon as it was clear. He swerved onto the entrance ramp of the freeway so fast his car fish-tailed, and he nearly lost control. He quickly got the vehicle straightened out then pressed the accelerator to the floor. It was normally about an hour drive to Amanda’s college, most of it on a major freeway. His Corvette had a one-hundred-eighty mile per hour speedometer, and the last time he bothered looking at it, the needle had just passed one-hundred-fifty.
He swiped a sleeve at his nose and gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles hurt. Jesus Christ! This can’t be…can’t be! She had to be alive. He’d die if anything was wrong with her—have no reason to live!
“Somebody will pay if she’s been harmed,” he growled. He mashed on the accelerator, but the pedal was already pressed to the floor. Jack choked down a sob and shook his head slowly. “Amanda…”
Thirty minutes later Jack’s car tires screeched as it skidded to a halt in the parking lot in front of Amanda’s dorm. Normally, Jack wouldn’t dream of parking in a handicapped spot, but right now, he didn’t care if that’s where his car sat. He threw the door open and leaped out, not bothering to close the door before he sprinted up the short sidewalk and steps to the entrance of Amanda’s building. He grabbed the handle and yanked, but the door wouldn’t budge. His gaze shot to the security card reader next to the door, the red light blinking at him. He threw his head back.
“Goddammit!” He smashed his fists on the door and kicked at it with his foot. “Somebody open this goddam door!”
He cupped his hands around his face and pressed his nose against the glass, peering in to see if anyone was nearby. Two girls were in the hallway a few paces from the door, staring wide-eyed at Jack. He jabbed a finger at the door lock.
“Please! Open the door! I’m Amanda Bass’s dad, and she’s been hurt!”
The two girls exchanged a quick glance then one of them crept up to the door. She stopped next to it and leaned forward. “Who did you say you are?”
Jack ran his fingers hurriedly through his hair, wiped saliva from the corners of his lips, then took a deep breath. I’m probably scaring the crap out of these poor girls. His heart was racing but he forced himself to calm down—to speak in a rational tone.
“I’m Amanda Bass’s father. She sent me a text that she’s been injured.” He took another deep breath. “I-I got here as soon as I could.” He pressed both his hands against the glass. “Please…let me in so I can check on her.”
The girl backed away a step, chewing on a fingernail as she stared at Jack. Suddenly, her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. She jabbed a finger at Jack. “I remember you now.” She jumped to the door and twisted the knob, pulling the door open. “I’ve seen you here visiting her.”
Jack patted her on the back as he burst through the door then raced down the hall. “Thank you so much,” he called over his shoulder. He dashed up steps two at a time and threw open the door to the floor where Amanda’s room was located. He turned to run down the hall but skidded to a halt.
“Dad?” Amanda stood with three other girls in the hall, all of them looking at an open textbook Amanda held. Her face turned red, and she pointed at Jack, chuckling uncomfortably. “Uh…that’s my dad.”
Jack rushed to her and threw his arms around her, pulling her tight into a big bear hug. “Oh, my god—you’re okay!” He ran his hands over her back and shoulders then her head. “You’re not hurt anywhere?”
Amanda squirmed loose and pushed him away, shooting a quick glance at her friends. “Sorry.” She turned back to Jack. “Dad. What the hell has you so worked up? What are you talking about?”
He held her head in both his hands and examined her forehead intently. “I-it’s not there…” His shoulders slumped. “You-you’re okay.” He hung his head and sobbed.
Amanda wrapped her arms around one of her dad’s biceps and tugged on him. “C’mon. Let’s go in my room, and you can tell me what you’re talking about.”
She guided him into her room and pushed him onto her bed. He sat hunched over, his bloodshot eyes turned down toward the floor.
She took a seat next to him. He looks like he’s seen a ghost! Another nightmare? A bad flashback? She put her fingers under his chin and turned his head toward hers. His pale, gaunt face made him look a hundred years old.
“Dad! What happened? Tell me.”
He looked at her silently then ran a hand softly over her cheek before turning his face away. “You were dead,” he mumbled, barely audibly. “You had a bullet hole in your head…just like in that picture someone sent you of your mom…”
She put a hand on his shoulder and shook him softly. “But…Dad…you can see I’m fine. Someone must have Photoshopped a picture of me.” She pointed at the phone in his pocket. “Can I see? Maybe I can forward it to Cameron. See if he can trace it.”
He stared at her a few seconds. “I-I don’t think so—it’s not something you’d want to see.”
“I won’t look at the picture, just the number.”
Her dad didn’t move or respond. After a few seconds, Amanda reached into his shirt pocket and slowly slid out his phone. Still, he didn’t move. She opened his texts and searched through the recent ones. She arched an eyebrow then turned to her father.
“Dad…I’m not finding anything like what you’re describing.” She slipped the phone into his hand. “Can you find it and show me?”
Her dad looked down at the phone then fumbled through the screens until he got to his recent texts. He shook his head as he scrolled the texts up and down.
The door to Amanda’s room flew open. Two state police officers rushed into the room, guns drawn. Amanda and her dad both jumped.
The officers exchanged a quick glance then both slowly holstered their guns. One stepped forward.
“Jack Bass?”
Yes…that’s me.”
“You called about your daughter possibly being murdered.” He frowned and pointed at Amanda. “Is this her?”
Jack nodded.
“She looks fine to me.” He put his hands on his hips and glowered at Jack. “Wanna tell me what the hell’s up?”
Amanda stood, stepping between her dad and the cop. “I’m sorry, Officer. Someone was playing a terrible prank on my father. It was all a bad joke.”
The cop’s gaze darted from Amanda down to Jack. He smacked a palm against his forehead and shook his head. “Goddam college kids!” He narrowed his eyelids to slits and looked at Amanda. “Who did it? We’ll go pay them a little visit?”
Amanda shrugged. “We don’t know who—it was an anonymous text.”
The cop held out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Amanda’s dad opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out as his gaze shot between his phone and the cop.
“We, uh, can’t seem to find it…” Amanda muttered.<
br />
“I-I saw it! It was right there,” her dad said, jabbing a finger at his phone. “I swear!”
The cop turned and waved his partner toward the door then followed him, stopping at the opening. He turned back, scowling at her dad. “Damn nut!”
15
Amanda called Dr. Stone the next day and he’d suggested she come by his office to discuss her concerns about her father. On the drive to Stone’s office, she called Hank to see how her dad was doing. Hank had come to the campus and had taken Dad back to the house. Amanda gripped her phone tightly, pressing it against her ear.
“How’s he doing?”
“I dunno…okay, I guess.”
“What’s he been doing?”
“Just sitting in a chair. Not saying a thing—just staring straight ahead…like he’s somewhere else.”
“I’m really worried, Hank. I’ve never seen him this bad before.”
“I’m with you, Amanda. I just don’t know what to do about it.” He blew out a long sigh. “I shudder just thinking about trying to get him to Stone’s office…I’d probably have to carry him.”
“That’s where I’m headed now. I’ll call you and fill you in after I’m done chatting with him.”
Hank grunted. “I hope he has something helpful to offer.”
Amanda scooted to the edge of the couch in Stone’s office and threw her arms into the air over her head. “But, Dr. Stone, he swears he got a text.”
“Did he show it to you?”
No...but, I don’t care. I believe him. “No…he couldn’t find it on his phone.”
“Could you?”
“No.”
“And what do you think about that?
Amanda shrugged. “I-I don’t know… I want to believe him.”
“I’m sorry, Amanda, but…it sure sounds like it was a hallucination—a significant one. That’s not good,” Stone said. He chewed on the tip of his pen then pointed it at her. “Sounds like he’s starting to struggle with differentiating reality from imaginations.”
“B-but…he seemed so convinced it was real.
“Of course he did! It was real…to him.”
“I still don’t think he was just hallucinating.”
Stone stared silently at her a few seconds then slid back in his chair, his hands on the armrests, then he brushed some lint off his tie. “Or do you just not want to admit something about your father?”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at Stone, jutting her jaw. “Like what?” she demanded.
“Sorry, Amanda—I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just that…before it was delusions, now it’s becoming hallucinations.” He leaned his head back and rubbed at the back of his neck. “That’s not a good development.”
“Why can’t you do something about this? I know my father—he’s tough. These problems aren’t just some random happenings.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Something—or someone—is causing this behavior, and you need to figure out what!”
Stone rolled his head around then focused his gaze on her. “Now, you’re starting to sound delusional.” He scooted forward in his chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. “This sort of thing is always tough for family members.” He laced his fingers together. “Anything is possible, I guess, but…there is a reality here, Amanda. One you’re in denial about.”
She locked gazes with him. “And what’s that?”
“Your dad has had a tough life. Ever since his childhood, his psyche has been battered by one horrific event after another.” He made a note in the chart on his lap. “Like it or not, things that get battered for a lifetime eventually break. Nothing—and no one—is immune to that fact.”
Amanda swiped at the tears flowing down her cheeks then wiped her nose on her sleeve as she shook her head. “N-not my dad…”
“Yes…your dad. I’m afraid he may have finally broken—badly.”
16
Amanda needed something positive in her life after arriving back at her dorm from the visit with Stone. She’d mulled over Stone’s assessment of her father on the drive back but was still unwilling to accept it. She hung her head, ignoring the confused looks of passing students when she didn’t respond to their greetings. I’m going to talk with Frederik about this. Maybe he’ll know someone better than Stone. She glanced at her watch and rushed down the hallway toward her room
She dashed into her dorm room and dumped the books from her ruck onto her desk then gathered a few things she’d need for the meeting she was going to attend. Today was only the second time she’d meet with the Veteran support group Frederik had asked her to join, but already, she was impressed with the work she saw them doing. She glanced at the time on her phone screen.
Damn! I’m going to be late…and Frederik is supposed to be at this meeting! I don’t want him to think I’m not committed to this.
Twenty minutes later, she rushed into the coffee shop near campus where the group had decided to meet. She stopped just inside the door and scanned the interior, soon spotting a few students sitting in a nook in a back corner. Frederik sat in the middle of them, facing her. He smiled broadly at her and waved her over. The students next to him moved off the bench seat as Frederik slid across it then stood next to the table, his arms spread wide. Amanda neared the table and Frederik waved her toward himself.
“Thanks for coming, Amanda. How about a hug?”
She stopped a few feet from him, arching an eyebrow as she appraised him. She shrugged. “Sure. Why not. I could use one about now.”
She shuffled over to Frederik, and he threw his arms around her and pulled her in tight. It wasn’t as good as a hug from her dad. but still, it felt good to be held.
“You’ll have to tell me what’s behind that comment,” he whispered into her ear. “Sounds like something is bothering you.”
She pulled away and gazed into his eyes then looked down to the floor. “Nothing I want to bother you with…” she muttered.
He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “I wouldn’t consider it a bother at all.”
Amanda flashed him a tight smile and nodded slowly. She didn’t know him well and was always hesitant to share personal things with friends, let alone strangers. “Maybe…if you have time.”
“I’ll make time.” He cocked his head and gazed at her. “After all, I didn’t start this group just to ignore the problems people are dealing with.”
She smiled at him again, this time a little bigger. “Thank you, Frederik. You’re such a kind, giving person.”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I try.”
“After the meeting, maybe we could chat a few minutes?” she asked.
Frederik nodded. “Absolutely. We’ll talk as long as you need to.”
17
Jack had spent two weeks at home after receiving the text with the picture of Amanda with a bullet hole in her forehead. Stone had called him several times during that period to suggest Jack needed to come in for a visit but Jack hadn’t been interested. He’d told himself nobody else was going to solve his problems but him. He needed to work this through on his own.
He drained the last of his morning coffee and set his empty mug in the sink then looked at his watch. Time to get back to work, Bass. Seeing patients will help get your head back in the game.
Twenty minutes later, Jack was moving along the main hallway of the first floor of the hospital where he practiced part time. The familiar smell of disinfectant, musty old building, and sick people tickled at his nostrils. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant odor, but…at least, it was familiar. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I hate to admit it, but it’s good to be back.
The buzz of multiple, muffled conversations mingled with the moans of patients being wheeled past him on gurneys or in wheelchairs. Some gazed at him, that familiar look of forlorn hope on their face. Jack wished he could fix them all…but that wasn’t the way this life worked. His gaze wandered over the throng of people as he worked his way down the crowded corrido
r toward the ER. His eyes shot wide when he saw the long, flowing, slightly wavy hair of a woman about fifty feet in front of him. Wow! Her hair looks just like Janice’s. He walked on his tiptoes, trying to see her better over the heads of people. His heart twisted in that too familiar way whenever he thought about his murdered wife Janice and their unborn child who had died with her.
He shook his head hard. No, Bass. Don’t do this! Don’t get your hopes up. She’s dead—and you know it.
He forced his eyes away but was soon looking in her direction again. He couldn’t stop gazing at her. She turned slightly and Jack’s heart jumped. Oh my god! She’s got a baby in her arms. Just about the same age our baby would have been!
Jack squinted, his gaze glued on the woman as he quickened his pace, moving closer to her so he could get a better look. She disappeared around a corner. He apologized as he pushed through a group of people surrounding an unconscious patient on a gurney, several dabbing at their eyes with hankies.
As Jack neared the intersection where the woman had turned, he skidded to a halt. His mouth fell open. A familiar-looking man on the far corner of the juncture shot Jack a quick glance then ducked into the hall, shoving his way through the mass of bodies. Jack’s gaze darted between the man and the strawberry-blonde woman he’d been following.
“Olgent!”
Dick Olgent had been the president of Southern Medical Center when Jack was chairman of the anesthesia department there. Olgent had been the ringleader in an embezzlement ring that was pilfering research grant money. He and his cronies had tried to frame Jack for a murder and had then tried to kill Jack when he’d uncovered their plot. He’d thwarted the attempt, and the involved crooks had either died when Jack fought back or had gone to jail. Olgent had somehow gotten released from incarceration after only a couple of years and had sought out Jack to exact revenge. As part of that payback plot, Olgent had been responsible for the murder of Jack’s pregnant wife, Janice. Olgent then tried to murder Jack, but Jack had killed him in a scuffle…at least, he thought he had.
