"You can't do this. You'll kill him," Jake whispered.
"He'll die if I don't," Gideon snapped, then glanced at Jake and motioned toward his open jacket. "Give me that."
Jake handed him the big blue oversized pen he carried and watched as Gideon unscrewed it, tossed the guts onto the grass, then sliced off the end. He was about to object but something inside told him to keep his mouth shut.
Gideon put the piece of blue plastic on Delaney's motionless chest. Delaney grabbed at Gideon's shirt. Both men looked down. Delaney's eyes pleaded for them to do something. Anything, as long as it was not just to watch him die.
"Hold him down," Gideon instructed again.
"I can't watch you kill him," Jake whispered while shaking his head. His body felt weak, but still he could not shut his eyes or turn away. Jake found himself mesmerized by what Gideon was about to do.
"Just shut up and do as I say," Gideon snapped. He glanced up at Jake. "You ready?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Gideon glanced up. The look he gave Jake was his answer.
"Okay, I'm ready," Jake said, but in reality, all he wanted to do was get up and run.
Gideon wiped the knife as best he could, then at the base of the neck he pierced the skin. Pulling the skin apart with his forefinger, he stared at the blood seeping down Delaney's neck. Gideon remembered seeing this done once before in Vietnam. The medic had saved the man's life then. He tried envisioning what the man had done next. Gideon was not so sure Delaney would survive, but he had to try.
Sweat rolled down Gideon's forehead and stung his eyes. The mere thought of what he was doing ate at his insides. Then, as if it was yesterday, Gideon flashed back to that time. The fighting had been intense that day at Fire Base Alpha. When the gunfire ceased, the medics went to work and just as the medic had done that day, Gideon reached in with his forefinger, securing the air passage. He punctured the membrane with the knife; the red bubbles gurgled as Delaney gasped for air. It startled Gideon for a moment, the thin membrane slipped between his fingers, but then he secured it without hesitating.
"Hand it to me." Gideon motioned to the blue piece of plastic on Delaney's chest.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Jake asked feebly, as he handed the blue casing to Gideon.
Gideon slowly pushed the blue plastic into the hole he had just cut. It was the sound of air being sucked into the pen that told him it was a success. His hands shook. He dropped the knife and then wiped the perspiration off his forehead. Finally, he sat back on the pavement.
Gideon watched the color return to Delaney's face. He kept his trembling hand on the neck muscle while holding the plastic in place. For the first time that morning he could feel the penetrating cold as his body started shaking from the ordeal. His head throbbed. He leaned back and listened to the sirens getting closer as the city came alive.
"How did you do that?" Jake asked. He'd been unable to take his eyes off the whole procedure, yet still did not understand what just happened. He expected the man lying on the ground to die but instead of a motionless body, the man's chest heaved as life-sustaining oxygen pumped into his lungs.
"Don't ask," Gideon finally replied, then turned away. He had not realized he had it in him, but for some reason he just could not let Delaney die.
Something clicked inside Gideon that morning. For the first time in five years he was starting to remember bits and pieces locked away in his subconscious. He shook in fear at what it all meant and suspected Delaney was a part of whatever it was he was trying to forget. Gideon knew Delaney Conovers had to live so the pieces would all fit, and somehow he could come to terms with that time in his life. Maybe, someday, he would find the real person behind the picture of the sketch he carried.
CHAPTER 2
Not far to the south, down Fifth Avenue, just beyond the Memorial Arch, lay another oasis of green in a sea of concrete. Washington Square Park was its name. It was a smaller park in stature than the one that graced the heart of New York City, but still sought out just the same by students from the nearby university and tourists lost in the maze of streets that surrounded it.
At 5:15 that cool September morning, Jenny Hamilton had the park all to herself. Purposely, she'd set her alarm early to make the pilgrimage she made every year on that day, once more to celebrate another anniversary alone. She walked out onto MacDougal Alley. The iridescent glow of streetlights in the hazy hue gave an almost mystical quality to the buildings that lined both sides of the alley while a sweet dampness filled the air. The thrashing sound of an alley cat rummaging through garbage startled her at first, but then the mellow call to its mate eased her mind.
Jenny slowly strolled onto Washington Square North while the sound of bristles hitting pavement got louder. She stopped and stood for a moment, staring at the park on the other side of the street as the mechanical sweeper slowly moved in front of her. Its rotary bristles scattered yesterday's debris into the gutter at her feet. The sweeping motion mesmerized her as it quickly passed. Jenny reached in her purse, took out a crinkled piece of paper, and read the words for what seemed the millionth time. But the words were the same as they always were, and tore at her heart.
"We are sorry to inform you that on March 19, 1972, Lt. John Hamilton was reported missing in action near Dong Ha..."
It was all she could read before her eyes glazed over. Not a day had gone by in the last five years that she had not read those words, and still the pain was as intense as the first day she saw them. Jenny slipped the yellowed sheet back into her purse, thinking back to that wonderful morning in September. It was for that reason she came to the park, not to dwell on the never-ending sadness that soon followed.
Till death do us part, those were the words that haunted her still. They were the vows exchanged on a warm September morning long ago, words that tied her for eternity to a memory.
Slowly she crossed Washington Square North, entering the park on the northern edge where she had a scenic view of all its surrounding beauty. A whisk of wind blew up the path. Jenny stopped for a moment. Fall was early. She could feel it in the air. So unlike that warm sunny day in ’71. Jenny looked up, spellbound for a moment by a lone leaf fluttering in the air, twisting and turning its way to the ground. Once a thing of beauty, now only discarded debris swept away with yesterday's garbage. It was a depressing thought, but one that would not let her rest.
The air chilled her, but not enough to discourage her persistent need to make the trip that morning. Jenny slowly walked across the dew-soaked grass to the bench she and John had shared near the statue of Garibaldi on their first meeting. She would wait there for the start of yet another lonely anniversary to begin.
In the distance sirens echoed closer and still she waited, for what she was not sure. Maybe in hopes it was all a dream, that John was not in some Godforsaken country listed as missing in action. Wishing that the MIA bracelet she wore with his name engraved was all a mistake. Approaching footsteps caused her to look up as pigeons fluttered around her and took flight.
"What are you doing here?" Jenny asked, and then leaned back on the bench, irritated by the intrusion. She wanted to suffer alone with her pain. She wanted to remember a time when she only knew happiness. Most of all she wanted the man she loved back, but that was an impossible dream and she knew it.
Benjamin would not allow his friend to suffer alone any longer. Too many anniversaries had gone by with Jenny's pilgrimage to this park. Someone close to him had endured a lifetime of pain and suffering in silence, and he was not allowing it to continue any longer, not without a fight.
Benjamin's thick black hair was in disarray from the night before. His soft brown eyes frowned at what he saw. Benjamin Schperio, artist, was not what one would call handsome in the classic sense of the word, but there was a presence about him that made you take a second look, a warmth in his nature that overshadowed the flawed face that nature had bestowed on him. He had a kind, giving heart that felt grieved by his frien
d hanging on to a memory.
"I thought you were going to stop doing this?" Benjamin said, hesitating for a moment as he brushed the long dark strands off his forehead.
"I couldn't stop thinking about him," Jenny replied, and then turned away.
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
Benjamin sat down on the bench. He stared up at the morning sky to catch a faint glimmer of crimson reaching through the clouds. The sky reminded him of another morning when they all had met there in the park, but he quickly put that thought out of his head. He would be of no use to Jenny if he allowed himself to dwell on the past.
"What do you want me to do?" Jenny glanced down, unable to look her friend in the eye. She did not wait for him to answer.
"Forget him too, like everyone else has?"
Benjamin turned to Jenny. "What is it, five years now?" Benjamin asked. He put his hand on her shoulder as if to reason with her. Then touched the soft strands and cupped her chin while forcing her to look up at him. All he saw were the sorrowful eyes of a woman who had known too much pain in her young life.
"Six," Jenny corrected. Her eyes misted, thinking back to a time that was precious to her, though short.
"Don't you think you would have heard something by now if he were still alive?"
Jenny looked away from Benjamin, no longer seeing the disappointment in his face. It was an argument they had every week for the past two years. Ever since the Americans had pulled out of Vietnam.
Aside from the day they told her John was listed as missing in action, the sight of people fighting to get into the Embassy, then being whisked away on waiting helicopters haunted her memory. She remembered watching all night with Benjamin as their worst fears were realized. They were leaving John behind and there was nothing either of them could do to stop what was happening.
Jenny turned to Benjamin. "I can't give up. I can't just forget."
"You have to try." Benjamin gently touched her hand, then reached over and took her into his arms.
"If I do, I might as well admit he's dead," Jenny whispered as she wiped away the tears.
"I can't live with that."
"You might as well be dead too, the way you're living."
"Let me be," Jenny wrenched between sobs.
She looked around slowly. Pigeons pecked at bits of food on the path while a squirrel flicked his tail in eager anticipation of a new day’s feast. Life around her went on as usual, while her life was at a perpetual standstill.
"No one said life was easy." Benjamin shook his head while looking into her eyes. "In time you'll meet someone. Then the pain won't seem so great, but you have to let it happen."
"That's like admitting..." But she did not continue, she could not; it hurt too much to say the words.
"No. It isn't."
Jenny laughed, but it was not a laugh at all. "Sometimes I just want to die, it hurts so badly."
"Don't say that."
"Why?" Jenny mocked. "Are you going to admit me to Bellevue for shock treatment? Maybe they can make the pain go away, or better yet..." she paused, looked up into the sky while fighting back the flowing tears. Jenny turned back to Benjamin. "Take away all the memories I have of him?"
"You loved once, you'll love again."
"I'd hoped in time the pain wouldn't be so great. But nothing changes. I love him more today than yesterday."
"I know," Benjamin whispered. "I'll walk you back to the apartment."
"I want to stay a little longer, remember again the feeling of happiness."
"No," Benjamin said. "You can’t keep pretending."
"I need to remember that day," she insisted, but Benjamin held her hand firm.
"What you need to do, is put it behind you and stop immortalizing him." Benjamin shook his head; he then let go of her hand and got up. Benjamin started to walk away but then turned back to Jenny. "Face it, he's not coming back." They were cruel words, but words he had to say.
The sirens in the distance interrupted their argument. Jenny got up from the bench, looked at the marble portals of the Arch, but then the noise vanished. She glanced around as if taking in the view, memorizing every detail. Benjamin walked up to her, wrapping his arm around her as he guided her down the path.
"How did you find me?" Jenny asked finally.
"Trish," he said, raising his bushy eyebrows.
"Tell me you didn't get her up?"
Benjamin shrugged his shoulders, and then rolled his eyes. "How was I supposed to know you’d left already?"
"She's going to kill me."
"Maybe if she came in at a decent hour."
"It's none of your business." Jenny watched Benjamin while waiting for his reaction.
"Well, it is when I'm working around the bags under her eyes."
"I don't know what the problem is with you two."
"I have no problem."
"Yeah, and she does?"
They stopped at the fountain. Jenny ran her hand along the edge and then dipped her fingers into the cool water. It felt good as the water trickled through her fingers. She looked down for a moment. Her wavy reflection stared back at her. Gone was the glow of youth and innocence. For over five years, her hazel eyes had been lost in a sea of tears.
Jenny was no longer naive about the world. She knew the bitterness of war and the scar left on families throughout the land. Her brother Paddy was one of those who'd come back from Vietnam in a body bag. It was a hard cross to bear, but the burden of John's fate was far worse. At least her family was allowed to mourn Paddy and accept his death. With John, it was different. There was the small ray of hope that, some day, he would return. But as time passed the ray flickered and got dimmer.
Benjamin cupped his hand in the water, and then flicked it at Jenny.
Jenny shook her head, took out a tissue, and wiped the residue of water from her brow.
"You weren't with me."
"I can't help it." Jenny sighed.
"It will only make it worse if you continue this ritual."
"What am I supposed to do?" Jenny asked. She turned to Benjamin. It was so easy for everyone around her to say, go on with your life. But she took a vow six years ago, till death do us part. Until someone told her otherwise she was still tied to that vow.
"I don't know," Benjamin finally admitted. All he knew was Jenny could not continue in her present state. Life was passing her by, and he feared if she waited too long there would be no way back from the grief that engulfed her.
"I wish there was a pill I could take to make me forget."
"I'm sorry it happened. But I do know John would not want to see you go on like this." Benjamin released his hold on Jenny’s arm, and then reached up and cupped her face with both his hands. Benjamin Schperio, who could paint with such insight into people's souls, could do nothing to ease the pain his friend was suffering.
"How can you say that?"
"He loved you and your zest for life." Benjamin shook his head while continuing, "This isn't living."
Jenny broke away and ran quickly to the edge of the park. Benjamin grabbed her by the jacket before she reached the crosswalk.
Jenny turned on him. "You were his friend."
"Jenny, I'll never stop thinking about him, but after all this time..." Benjamin stopped, he did not say more, just stared at her.
"It's not fair," Jenny whispered, collapsing into his arms. "It's just not fair."
"I know, but promise you'll try?"
"There was so much we never got to do."
After a few moments Jenny gained control. She looked up into the sky, and then wondered what she had done to cause God's anger. But it was useless to blame anyone for the misery she felt, least of all God.
Benjamin held her in his arms. He glanced down into her sad eyes. "I'll walk you back to your apartment."
"You don't need to, you have the show to get ready for."
"There's time," he replied, tightening his grip on Jenny's arm for fear she would go back to the park and
dwell in her self-pity.
Jenny reached up, touched Benjamin on the cheek, and wiped the warm tears. "I remember the many nights we laid awake talking about when he would return."
Jenny wrapped her arms around Benjamin, and both wept for their loss. There was no way to make the pain go away or forget the man that had touched their lives so deeply. All they could do was offer each other solace.
* * *
As soon as the ambulance door shut and the sirens blared there warning, Gideon was encompassed by the demons from within. His breathing was labored, his forehead perspired, and his hands shook. But no one took notice of him sitting in the back corner while the driver sped down the street and the two men in white worked feverishly on Delaney.
Suddenly, through a sea of white motion, a hand reached to pull him back to the sterile world of disinfectant. It was Delaney reaching for him that caused him to focus on the present. Gideon leaned forward, but was shoved out of the way by the older of the two men working on Delaney.
Al had been an emergency technician for more years than he cared to think about. He saw it all: it was his job to pick up the pieces. He watched as Joe, his partner, fresh out of school, tried for a vein that was not there.
"I got to talk to him," Gideon said feebly, but no one listened or cared.
Al blocked Gideon for a moment, and then shoved him back on the bench. "Shut up or get out." He turned to the other man, barking orders. "Get the IV started."
Gideon sat back watching as Delaney eyed the two men working on him. Delaney turned to Gideon with pleading eyes, but Gideon could do nothing.
Finally, after the fourth attempt, Al shoved Joe aside, tightened the rubber tube, and tapped the tender skin. Within moments the needle was in place and the clear fluid dripped slowly into Delaney’s arm.
Al looked down at the blue tube in Delaney's throat, and then turned to Gideon. "Shit, who did this?"
Gideon did not reply. He did not have to.
"Did you sterilize anything?"
"There wasn't time." Gideon half smiled, half snickered at the question.
The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller Page 2
