In the Nick of Time

by Laveen, Tiana

  He chortled. “No I didn’t! This is my work phone and I didn’t see the caller ID. I’m on my way to a witness’ house. What’s up? How’d the doctor’s visit go?”

  “It went surprisingly well. Well, I have the infamous break up line for you. It’s me, not you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your boys are fine.”

  “My boys?” He laughed heartily. “Yeah, okay, they get first prize in swimming competitions… what else?”

  “My girls are fine, too.”

  “Well, that doesn’t leave much else, so what are we doing wrong?”

  “It’s my periods. He gave me a prescription to take, but it could take like six months before we conceive, maybe longer. He said around the third or fourth month after taking it is when we’d typically see results. It is supposed to help get my ovulation together.”

  “But you have periods. So, you’re not releasing eggs regularly, but they are healthy?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, got it. Well, that’s good. At least we have some answers now.” He sighed on the other end.

  “Yes we do, so.” She exhaled as she made her way to the parking lot and looked around, trying to recall where’d she parked her car. “So, anyway, we can talk about it more later. When will you be home? I won’t be there until after eight, that’s for certain.” She smiled in relief after finally spotting her black Mercedes.

  “Around the same time as last night unless something pops up…”

  “And it always does,” she hissed. “Alright, kisses, baby.”

  “Kissing you back! I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  And then she disconnected the call.

  She sat there in the car for a moment or two, reeling from the information.

  This could really happen…

  She looked down at the prescription, placed it inside of her purse, and started the car, on her way to Duane Reade to get the damn thing filled. She tried, oh how she tried, but she couldn’t wipe the damn grin off her face…

  He looked at his reflection in the tin soup lid, debating on whether to use the serrated edge to slice his own throat. The knives would be no good; they would leave even cuts, not torn flesh, and he wanted to go out in the most despicable of ways. No, he needed something jagged and painful… Something that would make it all the more wonderful as he took himself down.

  Oliver stood there for the longest in that cream and gray tiled industrial kitchen, registering the scent of freshly diced onion and green peppers that filled the air. He’d signed up to help in the lunch preparation—anything to take his mind off things… but it simply didn’t work. Nothing worked.

  Maybe it’s the medication making me feel this way…

  He’d told the psychiatrist he’d not been feeling well, but watched his words, for he knew the wrong sentence or declaration would land him in isolation on suicide watch, and he didn’t want to be surveyed, monitored, stopped… No, this needed to transpire without a hitch.

  He took a deep breath, untied his tomato sauce stained apron and marched towards the door. The guard gave him the once over.

  “I need to make a phone call,” he explained as he squeezed past the man and made his way down the short hall until he’d arrived at the antiquated silver and black pay phones, smudged with face oils and other gooey, disgusting things he couldn’t quite classify. He clutched the receiver and slid out the business card he’d been given long ago. His nostrils, reddened and raw from a recent cold, twitched as he sniffed with nervousness, looking both ways as people past him by, careful of how his voice may carry.

  “Detective Nick Vitale speaking…”

  “…Nick…. It’s Don…I mean, Oliver…”

  Things were quiet for a moment, almost as if he’d dialed the wrong number.

  “Nick?”

  “Yeah, yeah… Uh, you just caught me by surprise. Hold on a sec, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He waited through the sounds of honking and other hectic noises, a melee of urban instrumentals.

  He’s in traffic… I couldn’t have called at a worse time…

  “Okay, I was driving and I’m actually working right now. I’m pulling over to the side here… You in trouble? I get monthly reports on you, you know. Your therapist says you’re doing well. What’s going on?”

  I don’t know who else to call, who else can help me…

  “Well?” Nick questioned, his patience apparently running thin and they’d just begun.

  Stinging tears filled Oliver’s eyes up like goblets. Panic-stricken and out of his mind, a crooked grin split his face. “Nick, I think I’m done, man… I’m done.”

  “What do you mean, you’re done?!” The guy’s anger boomed through the receiver, almost as if he could reach through the damn thing and wring his neck through the earpiece. The not-so-distant memory flashed in his mind of the monster’s hands wrapped tightly against his coat collar, of him dragging him across the slick, shiny floor like a damn rag.

  “Motherfucker, we had an agreement!” Nick’s deep voice rang out, shattering any semblance of peace.

  “Yes, yes, we had an agreement, and I did my part. You don’t understand.”

  “Make me understand it then! What the hell is going on?!”

  “I don’t… I don’t want to live anymore!” His voice shook as he clutched the phone. “I’m tired, Nick!” he said in a whisper, quickly swiping away the tears that trekked down his face. His heart sank down to his damn feet, and the heaviness made him suddenly immobile. “I just want to die…”

  “How long have you been feeling this way?” His tone softened, and a shred of compassion coated his words.

  “Maybe a month or two… I tried yesterday morning, but… but I got interrupted. Nick… the medicine is making me sick. Why keep on living, huh? This isn’t the life I wanted but it’s too late to change it. I’ve done and seen too much, I’m damaged goods! I’m worthless!”

  “No you’re not…”

  “I am worthless! My family wants nothing to do with me since I’m here now. Everyone knows what I did! Everyone! That’s not the worst of it, Nick, not by a long shot. Anyway…” He shook his head like a maniac and clamped his eyes closed for a spell as he leaned against the wall. “I can’t leave, and I can’t go home. I’m already dead, so what’s the difference?!”

  “Oliver, home is where you make it. You are not worthless; you are mentally sick! You care about what you’ve done, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do! You know that I do or I wouldn’t want it all to end! The guilt is killing me, and I have no one… no one to love me, care about me. I have no friends and now no family, either.” He tried to push back the tears, but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes and raised his hand to veil them. His face ached as the tiny muscles beneath his skin strained while the emotions seized and locked him up. “I…I’m useless!”

  “Oliver, stop it. I have an idea. Here’s what I want you to do…here’s what I want to arrange. Are you listening?”

  “….Yes.”

  “What you’re feeling now, the pain, the anguish, I want you to channel it differently. I want you to use it, okay? Just like how they told us in rehab.”

  “That’s different! I don’t want to use; I just want to disappear! It’s not the same principles.”

  “It is the same philosophies, Oliver. Most of us used because we didn’t want to feel anything else; we wanted to be numb to the hurt and pain. Many of us also felt unloved and forgotten. You want to feel wanted, liked and loved, right? Well, I have the solution… help people, Oliver. I want you to speak at least once a month at some of the juvenile sex offender facilities in New York. I want you to tell your story!”

  He was suddenly snatched with panic at such a notion, but as quickly as that fear came, it left… opening the door to truth, and welcoming in the fresh breeze of innovative possibilities.

  “You said it yourself—people know who you are and wha
t you’ve done now. You might as well step completely out of the shadows so you can help others—kids and young men who still have time to turn themselves around, man. They’ve already been caught and stopped much earlier than you. If you catch this sort of thing early enough, sometimes, Oliver…and you know this…you can actually save some lives, stop people from going through what you’re going through. And you can save some victims, too. If you catch it when a kid is seven, ten, sometimes even in his teens, you can make a difference! That’s when the child is still moldable, impressionable. You’d be perfect for that. You’re a natural born teacher, and you know the psychology and drive behind your illness, too.”

  “Nick, I can’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “… If I tell the whole thing, any chance of my family accepting me back will be over!”

  “You must tell the whole thing, Oliver! All of that asshole attitude of yours was just an act. You’re not an asshole! You care, so prove it!”

  “But you don’t know what happened!” His damn bladder swelled. God, would it give out on him, make him lose his piss right then and there? He hopped about from foot to foot, feeling like a lost little boy, a troubled child with a broken heart. “I never told you. I ripped it out of the journals long before handing them over to you… I refused to let anyone know!”

  “I do know what happened, goddamn it! He was touching you! Your father molested you!”

  Oliver grew quieter on the phone, disappearing within himself while his knees grew weak. Then, wrapping the chord slowly around his hand, he leaned against the wall, lest he fall and never recover.

  “How… did you know?” he whispered, his eyes darting back and forth.

  “Sometimes, what we don’t say, Oliver, is more important than what we do say. It’s not too late for you to make a difference. There is still time.”

  He smiled into the phone, a huge weight off his shoulders, and he didn’t even have to utter a word.

  He knew my secret…he knew it all along!

  “You know.” He swallowed. “I denied it to the therapists, the psychiatrists, the counselors, all of them. They kept pushing me, but I refused. I wouldn’t say it, I wouldn’t hurt my father… he’d have too much to lose. He never acknowledged the abuse…but it happened.” He took a deep breath. “He’s also been sending me money, though he won’t speak to me.”

  “…It’s to keep you quiet, Oliver, not because he loves you. All he is concerned about is his reputation. He wants you to keep his secrets. He knows you need the income and that you’re afraid of him, always have been. He put you in drug rehabilitation, thinking that would set you straight, but your drug use was the least of your problems. The same thing probably happened to him, too… but we can’t worry about him. This is about saving your life, Oliver… and your life is worth living.”

  They were quiet for a moment or two.

  “You know what?” He smiled tentatively into the phone. “I think that’s okay, you know? I think I can do this and as far as the money my father sends me…” He shrugged. “I’ll find a way to make it, I suppose.”

  “You will, Oliver. You always do.”

  “Oh, I never got a chance to tell you, but you did a real good job on that Dollhouse case… I wish I could have seen the interrogation. I bet you were simply brilliant.”

  “Thank you, you really came through for me on that. I knew I could trust what you said to me, and it made a difference.”

  “Hmmm, that’s good to hear. I’m glad I was able to do that for you… pay you back for your help a little. Um, so, back to the program. How do I go about talking to these kids? How do we get started?”

  “Well, these are supervised groups. A police officer normally is in the room for your protection as well as the kids’. You’d be driven to the locations as a key speaker. I don’t know all the details right this second, but I can follow up with you this evening. Some of them even pay, and that obviously would benefit you as well since, after you go public with this, your money will undoubtedly be cut off. Your story is so powerful and relatable, Oliver, that you have no idea how you’d help people by sharing it.”

  “The more I stand here and think about it, the more it feels like this is what I should be doing.” He took a deep breath. “I am what I am, you know? I’d like to help people though. I don’t want anyone else hurt and to suffer. Thank you, Nick. Please sign me up. I want to do this. I need to do this.”

  “I believe if you knew you were going to speak to kids on a regular basis about what you endured, you’d feel like you have purpose and worth. You’re right; everyone needs to feel worthy and wanted. I get that, I do. You are the type of person that needs to teach, but you also need to learn. Stop trying to protect that monster, and start learning to forgive yourself and make a change.”

  “Consider it done. Once again you’ve saved my life… someone that everyone else gave up on…” He hung his head. “I wanted to die because I believed I had nothing to live for…and I’m fighting depression…and I’m on a bunch of medication that helps me in one way, but makes things worse in another…”

  “If you die, that doesn’t undo what you’ve done. The relief for your victims will only be temporary. I’m going to be real with you, Oliver. Most people are thrilled that you’re locked up in this facility. You already know that, but the reason I bring that up, even during this vulnerable time in your life, is because yeah, you are physically incapable of getting to any children. Still, your soul will always be free, and it can do things you never dreamed possible. The world may never forgive you and I can’t make them. But all you need to worry about is, can you forgive yourself? Right now, you can’t. This right here, what you’re about to embark on, is a way to eventually say, ‘Yes, I can.’”

  “You’ve taught me that it’s never too late, Nick.”

  “It’s not. As long as you are still alive, still breathing, then there is always time to make a change for the better…”

  Chapter Forty

  Nine months later…

  He looked at her out the corner of his eye before bursting out in a guffaw as she held up the tiny dark brown pants, turning them to and fro.

  Why is it we always have cake? We must really love cake…

  He smirked as he thought to himself. He slid his fork into the moist chocolate delight, and took another bite.

  “Oh no! Here she comes!” someone screamed as Vicki approached with a roll of toilet paper.

  “We have to measure her stomach!”

  “This is embarrassing!” Taryn protested as she set her cup of punch and the tiny pants down, and raised her arms high in the air for yet another game at the large co-ed baby shower. “I’m huge! Can’t we just all agree on that and let it go?”

  “Nooo!” a bunch of women screamed, causing a ruckus.

  Nick stayed a ways off in the distance, stuffing his face, while some of his colleagues cracked jokes and laughed loudly at the stories shared. He took another bite of his cake, then tossed his plate into the trashcan. Visions of the day she’d left him in treatment crept into his mind. That had been one of the worst days of his life, no doubt. The scene almost looked the same, but boy did it have a different ending this time around…

  He hadn’t lost his best friend; rather, he’d gained a happy and healthy wife, and a little girl on the way. Much to their surprise, after only three months on the medication, Taryn became pregnant. She’d raced to the precinct after taking a test earlier that morning, and then receiving the confirmation from her doctor. She was told to wait, that miscarriages were common, but she simply couldn’t contain herself. Spilling through the doors, bustling past his colleagues, she’d barreled towards his cubicle with full steam ahead. He was clutching his damn phone, while staring at photos of a recent shooting outside an apartment complex on his computer screen when the woman, her cheeks plumped so high they looked as if they’d been taped into place, had rushed to him. Before he could say a word, she’d blurted…

  “We
’re pregnant!”

  He was certain he’d never forget that moment for the rest of his life and those who’d overheard her erupted in applause. After the grand announcement, though, he was certain his wife had started to hate him. He called her constantly, checking to make sure she was okay, had everything she needed. He couldn’t believe he was behaving in such a way, but he should have… for everything he wanted, everything he coveted, he became obsessive and possessive about.

  And now, here they were, only a couple weeks away from his daughter’s due date. He’d almost been rendered to tears when the obstetrician told them the date—the same as his mother’s birthday…

  He watched as woman after woman surrounded his wife as if she were a magical lantern, laughing, measuring her with the white cottony paper, and dancing to upbeat music. This proved a jovial, happy time, the kind of elation that couldn’t be duplicated or faked. He leaned against the wall, close to the vast gift table with no more room for one extra, tiny little present. Then, they met eyes. She cast a glance his way and waved him over. Initially, he shook his head, enjoying the sight of her from afar, of getting a bird’s eye view. But she insisted…

  He went to her and drew her in a hug, smiling at all of her friends who bounced around them and shared in their joyous occasion. And then, he paused. He simply looked at her, relishing this moment. He’d attempted to tell her on more than one occasion, but he knew the woman could never understand the gift she’d given him. She was pregnant with his child, and all of his anticipations and aspirations grew within her womb. He’d seen nothing but death his entire life, and continued to live by the right side of the Grim Reaper, this time by choice. His world revolved around post mortem situations, but in the near future, his life would start again post partum.

  And that future smelled sweet.

  Together, they created a new reality. She blew fresh vitality into his mind; his chi was nourished from the power of a listening ear and a soft kiss. In turn, he made her abandon her own shattered life by first embracing the truth that death had come and grabbed her old world, balled it up tight and tossed it over its shoulder… And she did understand, finally, no longer looking back. For she had to let go, release the coffin that confined her in order to obtain that which spilled over with renewed potential and innovation.