by E H Davis
“Teddy, Teddy! Get the phone!”
The phone was still ringing, the spell broken.
With a sigh, Jens tucked his pen in his composition notebook and went inside to answer the phone. On the way, he considered how excited and intrigued he was by Cassie’s “appearance.” He wanted to know all about her. He wanted to stand alongside her in the shadow of evil and vanquish it, sharing her strength and fervor.
His step was lively, almost jaunty, as he went into the house and picked up the receiver.
“Corbin, here.”
“Hi, it’s me,” said the modulated voice on the other end of the line, his wife’s.
“Hi. Everything all right?”
He was irritated at being interrupted, and he knew she would pick right up on it.
“I could ask you the same question. You sound disappointed to hear from me.” Was she taunting him? Why? he wondered.
It seemed to him that their marriage could be summed up by this moment: bad timing and underlying incompatibility. It hadn’t always been this way.
“No, no. It’s just that I’ve been working. Something... interesting.”
He faltered, not wanting to bring scrutiny to his creation — and not with someone too self-involved to care. He wished it were otherwise.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to see how my two men were doing. Which mountain did you conquer today?”
He laughed in spite of himself. It allowed him time to consider how much to tell her about the events of the day. She would blast him if he told her that Teddy was nearly mauled by a bear.
“We climbed Black Mountain. You know it, it’s not far from the cabin.”
“Did something happen?”
Jens knew she could read him like a book.
“Will I have to pry it out of Teddy?” she went on.
“Ah, well, there was a little problem.” He cleared his throat.
Using his best editing skills, he launched into a sanitized version of the events of the day, beginning with their brush with the doctor at the convenience store and how Jens had shamed him into saving the cashier. The climax of the tale was the doctor’s rescue, when Jens’ ran the bear off with a club, making no mention of Daniel’s gun. Trooper Morrison handily failed to materialize in this account — no point in raising unnecessary concerns about the Law.
Jens concluded his “tale” with a forced laugh and a gulp of wine. Naturally, she failed to see the humor.
“Where was Teddy when all this was happening?”
He paused long enough to give her food for thought.
“He was with me. Safe.”
“You put our son in harm’s way?” she accused.
“Viv, it was nothing like that, believe me.”
“You’re lying.” She made no effort to hide her disgust. “Put Teddy on. He’ll tell me the truth.”
“Ah, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“He’s playing Xbox and can’t be disturbed. How was your day, darling? Did you paint?”
“Put Teddy on the phone NOW!”
________
After numerous attempts to get Teddy to come upstairs and talk to his mother, Jens decided to bring the phone, an older wireless model with a mobile receiver, to him in the basement game room. Jens ignored Vivian’s impatient patter coming over the receiver as she accused Jens of stalling.
Meanwhile, Teddy tried to finish the Xbox episode without getting his assassin killed and losing points. Finally, he took the phone from his father.
“Hi, Mom, sorry but I was in the middle of a game.”
Jens was about to return to the dinner he was making when Teddy clapped his hand over the receiver.
“Dad, can I have a little privacy here?”
Jens gave him a quizzical look, Teddy glared back, and Jens left, accustomed to Vivian and Teddy’s private conversations.
As he mounted the stairs to the main floor and kitchen, he couldn’t help overhearing Teddy answer her defensively.
“Dad didn’t do anything — if anything he was a hero. He saved me, Mom, and that poor man, not to mention the clerk at the convenience store.”
Smiling to himself, Jens continued up the stairs, proud of Teddy for standing up to Vivian on his behalf. He stopped when he heard a shift in Teddy’s tone. It was sharp, righteous and angry.
“Excuse me?” Pause. “So, you found the letters? Good.” Pause. “Oh, really?”
He spoke sotto voce, forcing Jens to descend a few steps to hear.
“How would you like me to tell Dad?” Pause. “I will if you have anything more to do with that bastard Laurent.”
Teddy laughed bitterly as he listened to her side of the story.
“You, you’re the one putting us in jeopardy with that ex-con. Not Dad.”
He hung up abruptly.
“Dad?” he called, checking to see if Jens had been listening. When Jens didn’t answer, he sunk back into the couch, thinking. After a while, he shrugged and went back to his Xbox game.
Jens slipped silently upstairs, closed the basement door, stunned and perplexed by what he’d overheard.
________
Jens and Teddy were just digging into their chicken-mango delight when the phone rang again. Jens expected it was Vivian calling back to deliver a few choice curses and remind him of his failure as a father.
Would she instead address Teddy’s reference to an ex-con named Laurent? What had he heard him accuse her of? Some sort of romantic involvement? Ex-con? Convicted of what? How much time served? Where was he now?
Jens, who’d been waiting for the right moment to question Teddy, thought maybe he’d misheard. Would a romantic liaison explain her coldness toward him? He decided to wait and see if she broached it. Coward, he chided himself. This was not something he could brush under the rug. Mentally, he prepared himself.
“Bon soir, dear. There’s something I want to —”
“Corbin?” Jens recognized Sgt. Morrison’s North Country nasals.
Jens resisted explaining that he was expecting his wife’s call. Had something happened with “the unsub” Daniel?
“Not disturbing anything, am I?”
Jens decided that over the phone she seemed more genuine, sans the defensive armor that came with her job. Did the uniform do that to her?
He pictured her at home, in a small, tidy, modern apartment, in sweats and a jersey either from college or the police academy. He wondered if she had any art on the walls and if so of what? Or photos of her with lovers? What did they look like? Did she live alone?
He mentally chastised himself for making assumptions about her sexual orientation, which was none of his business. But he was curious, an occupational hazard.
He suddenly realized that she was the unconscious model for the character of Cassie in his story — full of intriguing contradictions, still a work in progress. He’d have to get to know Sgt. Morrison better.
“Would it matter if you were?” he sneered, intending to draw her out.
He felt their acquaintance had advanced enough to bear his prickliness, which was not unlike hers. His perception was validated when she stifled a laugh and then grew serious.
“It doesn’t look like the unsub is going to make it through the night.”
“Oh?”
“Thought you’d like to know.”
“Thank you.” He exchanged looks with Teddy, who could hear both sides of the conversation.
“Okay, that’s it.”
“One moment, Sergeant.” Jens held his hand over the receiver.
“He has no one,” he whispered to Teddy. Teddy nodded back. Jens resumed the conversation.
“Would I be permitted to visit him, even though I’m not next of kin?”
“It could be arranged.” The phone line hummed distantly. “Why would you want to do that?”
“It’s the right thing to do,” answered Jens unequivocally.
“I figured you to say something like that
.” She paused. “North Conway Presbyterian. Intensive care, west wing, second floor.”
“Get his last name yet?” Jens started to say, but the trooper, a woman of few words, he noted, had already hung up.
Chapter Sixteen
Winding the Subaru down Black Mountain Road through a fine mist of fog, Jens arrived at the hospital in North Conway shortly after 9:00 P.M. Teddy had asked to stay home, and Jens hadn’t had the heart to drag him out into the night, to watch a stranger die. As for whom Laurent was and what he meant to Vivian — he’d get back to that later.
In the west wing he took the elevator to the second floor. Silhouetted in a cone of light, distributing pills into plastic cups on a tray, the nurse on duty smiled up at him as he approached. Strands of reddish-blonde hair peeking out from her cap identified her to Jens as Irish, corroborated by the name on her badge, which read “N. Leary.”
He thought she looked vaguely familiar, deciding it was probably because she was a type. Now that he was standing in front of her, he noticed that she was pretty, very pretty, even without make-up.
She looked up at him, arching one of her dark eyebrows, flashing her green and brown-flecked eyes. He was staring and had to force himself to look away.
Like many naturally beautiful women, she was aware of her beauty’s power but did not flaunt it. If anything, she was demure.
“Where can I find a patient, ah, who ...” he fumbled.
“The man they brought down from Black Mountain?”
She blew a stray hair from her face. Jens guessed her age at about thirty-something, midrange.
He nodded, relieved that she had come to his rescue. What should he have said?
I’m looking for the man who was mauled by a bear? Who tried to kill himself? Who’s dying? In a coma? Whom I barely know?
“And you are?” she asked officiously, belying the twinkle in her eye.
“Jens Corbin.”
“Are you really?” she teased, switching gears.
“Excuse me? Want to see my ID?”
“Not necessary.” She glanced down at her notepad. “Trooper Morrison told me to expect you.”
She looked up at him, enjoying the upper hand.
“Besides, I know you; I took your ‘Literature into Film’ seminar at UNH, more years ago than I care to admit. Oh, and your Comp. Lit course, too. Really enjoyed your lectures.” She searched his eyes for recognition. “Probably don’t remember me, do you?”
Jens hesitated, not wanting to be impolite.
“That’s okay, it was a big class, and a long time ago.”
She smiled as she came out from behind the night desk.
“Follow me.” She set off down the corridor.
“Thanks, Miss Leary,” he said, recalling her name tag.
“Nola,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Was that a mischievous smile he’d glimpsed?
________
She deposited him in front of a private room at the end of a garishly lit corridor.
“Stay as long as you like. I told the staff that you’re family.”
“Thanks. I’m not, really.”
“I heard the story. You were brave.”
Embarrassed, he did not know what to say.
“Hey, I’m just around the corner.” She started back to her station.
“Shouldn’t someone be in here with him?”
She smiled wisely.
“You are. A team of surgeons operated to remove blood clots and relieve brain pressure. There’s a shunt draining off cerebrospinal fluids. Really, there’s nothing more we can do for him except monitor his vital signs. And pray.”
She flashed him an encouraging smile and went back down the corridor.
It was dim in the room, the rheostat turned down. He’d read somewhere that brain trauma patients have low tolerance for light. His eyes adjusting, he found Daniel’s hospital bed in the gloom.
There he lay, underneath an oxygen tent, breathing strenuously. His head was bandaged, secured in an apparatus to keep him from moving it. Beneath the rippled plastic of the oxygen tent, he looked fragile, insubstantial. Bundled wires led to monitors on stands behind his bed. An IV dripped fluids into a catheter attached to his arm. A tube leading from his head trailed into a receptacle on a stand — the drain Nola had mentioned.
He placed a metal chair beside the bed and sat down in a crescent of shadow and light. His eyes wandering, he noted the absence of the customary artifacts brought by family and friends — flowers, fruit baskets, get-well cards, framed photos — to bind the ill to the hearts and minds of their loved ones.
It is what it is, he observed sadly, a place to die and pass on to the next place, if there is such a thing. He recalled how his mother used to threaten him and his brother when they were young, that if they didn’t show respect, she’d come back to haunt them.
He felt a twinge of bitterness, remembering how she’d half-heartedly forgiven him for surviving the hunting incident, instead of her first-born son, Nils, the joy of her life. She’d had to settle for Jens, the black sheep, whose emotional problems in the aftermath of Nils’ death and his financial difficulties launching his career as a writer had given her little comfort in her old age. In the end, she’d died alone in a hospital room just like this, feeling abandoned and unappreciated, unloving and unloved.
With an inward shiver he pushed back the memory of his breakdown so many years ago out on the West Coast when, overwhelmed by shame, he’d purposely cut himself off from everyone, to mourn belatedly for Nils. His inability to be with his mother on her deathbed had compounded his guilt.
He suppressed the sudden urge to cry, which welled up inside like a claw, gripping him by the throat. Silly, he told himself, as he talked himself down from a visceral despair he hadn’t felt in decades. Here I am feeling sorry for myself while a man lies dying. He had a momentary glimpse of the pervasive ironies of life, with its tragedies and joys, cradle to grave.
________
When he felt like himself again, he took out his android phone and called the land line at the cabin. Happily, mobile reception was strong here in Conway. The phone rang and rang until Teddy answered, breathless.
“Corbin residence.”
“Teddy, it’s me.”
“Hey. What’s up?”
“I’ve decided to hang in here, with Daniel.” As he said this, he realized how the man’s name personalized him, making him more human, deserving of sympathy. “To see him through.”
“Okay ...” Teddy answered, tentatively.
“Don’t wait up for me.”
“You sure?”
“You’ll be okay.” There was a long pause while static cleared from the line.
“Teddy, is there something you want to tell me?”
The silence became oppressive. Whoever spoke first lost.
“Can I play a little more Xbox?” Teddy giggled nervously.
Jens decided to wait until he was face-to-face with his son before asking about Laurent and his letters to Vivian.
“Haven’t you had enough for one day?”
“Just one more game, please?”
“Then lights out?”
“Night, dad.”
Jens glanced at Daniel. He seemed unchanged, his breathing ragged though steady.
What am I doing here?
But he knew ... he was doing penance. Still.
Chapter Seventeen
Dawn was breaking when Jens stirred. Sensing purposeful activity around him, he opened his eyes. Nurses just coming on shift hovered around Daniel, observing his monitors, changing the drain receptacle, adjusting electronic sensors. X-rays, CT, and MRI scans were displayed on a backlit case. An upbeat mood circulated.
Jens felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder and looked up to find Nola smiling at him. Feeling in the way, he stood and began to back out of the room.
“You seem to have had a positive effect on our patient,” she trilled, barely showing signs of her long shift. “The f
irst twenty-four hours are the most critical after head trauma. He’s made it this far. Who knows?”
Jens didn’t know what to say. He doubted very much whether he’d had anything to do with Daniel’s survival.
“I’ll take it from here, nurse,” said the IC doctor as he entered to make his morning rounds. He had a slight British accent. A dark-skinned man of thirty-something in a white coat held out his hand for Jens to shake.
“Choudhury, Chief of Neurology.” He shook Jens’ hand vigorously. Jens noted that despite a freshly perfumed shave, the doctor’s blue beard gleamed. “I’ve read your books. You’re a terrific writer,” Choudhury added, smiling. “I know a police officer identical to Honore Poulon — in Delhi, of course. Quite the ladies’ man, indeed,” he chuckled.
Flattered, Jens thanked him. Despite being a bestselling author, it was rare that he ran into anyone who had actually read his books, let alone knew them well enough to comment.
“Goodbye, doctor.”
And good luck to you, Daniel. I will not be passing this way again.
________
Jens went back to the nurse’s station to say goodbye to Nola, but she was apparently still on her rounds.
Just then the elevator opened, discharging Trooper F. Morrison, sans Smokey-the-Bear hat, revealing a neatly-jelled crew cut rising from her shaven fringe. Jens thought it fit her to a “T.” He was beginning to enjoy her abrasive looks and manner, which he found refreshing. Would he model Cassie after her? he wondered.
“You look like you’ve spent the night here, Corbin.”
“Is there something, Trooper? I’d like to get home to my son if you don’t mind.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Home alone, is he? I’m certain child welfare services would be interested in hearing about that.”
