George Hartmann Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  "Dear God, and any other Powers That Be, I appeal to you on behalf of my wife, Ali, right this moment. I’m asking for you to save her life."

  Duke and Clara have finished, so Duke begins to wheel me to the dreaded private room. I continue talking out loud to a higher power, oblivious to what's happening around me.

  "I’d give my own life right now if I could trade places with her. I’d do it in a minute without hesitation. God, if we can make some kind of deal-- my life or hers-- consider it done. Take me," I say softly.

  Duke again puts a hand on my shoulder without saying a word. It's a kindness. And a comfort.

  "Use me any way you like, God,” I implore. “I will gladly do your bidding. I will become an instrument willing to work in the world any way you ask of me. Just save my wife. I'm not ready to lose her."

  For some reason, I almost feel worse now than I did a few hours ago when I thought Ali was dead. At least then, I thought she was at peace and no longer in pain. And I thought it was over and done with. The feeling of needing desperately to do something to help, yet being unable to do anything at all is horrible. It’s hellish, even. People talk about heaven on Earth. Well, this has to be hell on Earth. One version of it anyway.

  I decide I want some privacy, so I ask Duke to reel me into a bathroom adjacent to the waiting room. It's a unisex bathroom, much like the one Ali and I made love in the night little Will was born. A wave of sadness washes over me as I remember and think about the fact that I may never make love to my wife again.

  Duke pushes me into the little room. I flip on the light switch, then turn and lock the door behind me. The smell of hospital soap assaults my olfactory senses and again takes me back to the day Dad died.

  “Are you sure you're going to be okay in there?" Duke calls out from the other side of the wooden door.

  "Yeah,” I say softly as the overhead light flickers.

  I wonder if the light will go out, leaving me in the dark. I guess it doesn’t much matter. My life is in the dark anyway.

  "I'll be right here if you need anything, brother,” Duke adds, through the door.

  I look up at the ceiling as if I can see through it, right to the heavens.

  "Why is this happening?" I ask of whatever invisible force might be able to hear me. "Did I do something to deserve this? I can think of a few things that karma might want me to pay the tab for. But my Ali is as pure and good and kind as they come. Why is this happening to her? This is simply not fair. Not even close to fair.

  “It's not fair to our little boys. They didn't ask to be born into this world. They are completely sweet, innocent, and kind. They’re still learning about life and what it means to be human. They should be playing in the vacation rental house with their toys right now. They should not be in this hospital recovering from injuries and about to find out their mommy is either dead and gone or in critical condition... and nearly dead and gone. Either way, it's a nightmare for them. It's going to be a nightmare for them. There's nothing I can do to stop this from changing them forever.

  “You know, those three boys were not even supposed to be the end of the story. Ali and I planned to have another baby at some point. We haven't talked about it recently because little Will is still just a baby himself, but we’ve both always sort of figured that four kids will make our family complete. To think that-- if Ali dies-- there might be a spirit out there, meant to be with us, who can't even come to this Earth and be our child because of the monsters who did this to my family is downright maddening.

  “Why is this happening? I need to know why.”

  I sit quietly for a moment sobbing and contemplating the unfairness of it all.

  My body insists on functioning. Even though I don't want it to. I stand up and urinate into the toilet while supporting most of my weight with one arm leaned up against the wall beside it. It makes me sad as I relieve myself, because I'm not sure if Ali can urinate on her own right now, let alone come to a toilet and do it like a normal person. Every little thing looks different now. I see every mundane ritual through a different lense.

  I shuffle over to the sink and wash my hands, then splash some cold water on my face and wipe it off with a paper towel. It’s still the middle of the night. I wish I could get into bed and then wake up from this nightmare.

  I sit back down in the wheelchair and remain quiet for a moment more, until finally, I summon the courage to turn the handle and exit the bathroom. Duke is there waiting.

  "Hey," he says, lifting his head upwards to greet me. "Marjorie, Roddy, and Liam came downstairs and went into the room Clara set up for us. I guess your mom and Joe stayed upstairs with the boys. I get the idea your in-laws are here for each other, you know, to see to their daughter. But Liam and I, we’re for you, man. We’ve got you."

  "Thank you,” I manage.

  Duke wheels me around the corner, past the waiting area again, and into the dreaded private room. Just as he said, Marjorie and Roddy are here. Liam, too. Roddy has his arm around Marjorie and she's sobbing into his chest as he looks up at the ceiling. He's probably asking why this is happening, same as me.

  “Have you called Nicky and Luis yet?” I ask my in-laws.

  I’m sure Ali’s brother will want to know she’s been found alive.

  “Not yet,” Roddy answers. “They’re probably sleeping. We’ll do it once we see a doctor and find out more about her condition. It might be morning, New York time, by then.”

  I stand and get out of the wheelchair, then plop down beside my uncle, directly across from my in-laws. Duke folds the wheelchair in half and leans it up against a wall, then sits down nearby. The five of us nearly fill up the little room. One empty chair remains, but even so, it doesn’t seem like there will be space for a medical professional to come in and talk to us about Ali's condition. It’s so crowded in here. Part of me thinks that might be a good thing, to remain blissfully ignorant of whatever terrible news awaits us.

  "Marjorie," I begin, after taking a quick breath. I don't hesitate. "I've been having memories of Ancient Greece. Just like Ethan said."

  My mother-in-law raises her head and looks at me curiously upon hearing this. Duke, Liam, and Roddy also look at me, puzzled.

  It’s time to tell them. I honestly don’t care what they think right now. Life is raw and volatile in this moment. Maybe the unedited truth will somehow make things easier.

  "Really?" Marjorie asks.

  "That's right," I say. "Ethan was right. About everything. I remember the same stuff. And I remember you being there. The details are fuzzy, but I remember you taking care of Ali. You helped her deliver Ethan."

  Marjorie breaks down in tears again and begins to sob harder. She takes a tissue out of her purse and blots her eyes in what looks like an effort to push the liquid back in.

  “In Ancient Greece,” I clarify. “You helped us the night Ethan was born in Ancient Greece. He was our baby then, just like now. And I saw your face in my memory. Your eyes. It was you, Marjorie. I know that for sure.”

  It feels good to say it out loud.

  “Wow,” Liam says.

  I can’t tell if he believes me or not. I’d like him to believe me.

  "My dear, Marjorie,” I continue, leaning forward and taking one of my mother-in-law’s hands into mine. “I want to thank you for taking care of Ali like that. Both then and now. No matter what happens here today, you’ve done all you could."

  “Oh, George,” she blurts, her face wet with tears. “I haven’t done nearly enough. She’s my little girl, and...”

  “Don’t say things like that,” I reply. “You’ve been loyal when it has counted most. I don’t remember all the details yet, but I know that, in Greece, you were taking a risk by helping us. I had the distinct sense that you would have been in big trouble if you were found out. You see, Ali and I weren’t supposed to be together.”

  “Say what?” Duke asks, seemingly unable to hold himself back.

  “It’s a long, complicated story,” I
say. “And I only know fragments of it.”

  “That’s something, George,” Roddy says. “I’ve heard Marjorie talk for years about her memories of a lifetime lived in Ancient Greece. It’s remarkable to hear you and Ethan bringing it up now, too. I didn’t want to say anything when it was just Ethan reporting those memories because he’s awfully young for such weighty subject matter. But now that you mention it, I suppose it’s completely out in the open.”

  Roddy looks like he might actually believe me. I guess that makes sense, since he’s married to Marjorie. She is one of the most open-minded people I’ve ever known.

  I’m impressed by how Marjorie is willing to consider anything, yet she’s still grounded in a way which makes her believable. She doesn’t shun science or ignore concrete proof when it goes against what she may have hypothesized. But through it all, she maintains a faith in things we can’t yet explain from the limited perspective of our five senses. I find her credible. And I’m a trained professional with a Ph.D. in aerospace engineering. My education was all about proof and documentation. Plus, I’m a natural skeptic. I’ve become far more open to possibilities in the years since coming to know Alessandra Davies and Marjorie Dyer.

  Marjorie wipes her eyes once more with the tissue in her free hand, then leans forward to meet me. She gazes intently into my eyes. I don’t know what she’s going to say next. But I can tell that whatever it is she wants to ask of me, she’s not going to take no for an answer.

  “Tell me more,” she says. “I want to know everything you remember.”

  “Here?” I ask. “Are you sure? It’s a lot.”

  “Yes,” she replies. “Why not here and now?”

  The guys shrug their shoulders and gesture for me to go ahead. I’m glad. I want to get it off my chest. I’m not sure what possessed me to start talking about this in the first place, but it’s spilling out.

  “Okay,” I say. “Well, the memories began when I went to see Dr. Epstein in January. Before John Wendell died.”

  “The day I went to his office with you?” Liam asks.

  My uncle doesn’t mention the fact that the doc hypnotized me. Liam knows he did, but he’s letting me share the details as I choose.

  “That’s right,” I say. “It was during hypnosis. I wanted to tell all of you. And Ali. I especially wanted to tell Ali.”

  “Then tell us,” Roddy says, waving his hand as if to keep me from getting bogged down in despair.

  “Yeah, there was a lot going on that day,” Liam adds. “Your mom was acting strange. John Wendell was sick, and then…”

  “I know,” I say without letting him finish his sentence. “That’s exactly why I didn’t mention it. I was going to, but then John Wendell passed away.”

  “But not before little John William was born,” Marjorie chimes in, almost cheerfully.

  Her tone reminds me that there’s always goodness and beauty in our lives, even during the darkest times. I’m grateful to have people around me who appreciate such things.

  “Right,” I say. “That was beautiful. I’m really pleased with how it turned out. I think John Wendell was, too. Watching Ali place our baby boy on my grandfather’s lap and then seeing the look on his face when he learned the baby was named after him was one of the best moments of my life.”

  “I know John Wendell was pleased,” Liam says, shifting his mouth into a sad smile.”No question.”

  “Sure does sound beautiful,” Duke inserts. “I heard about it not long after, when Ali told Jen the story. I was touched then and I’m touched now. Sounds like a real cycle-of-life moment.”

  “Right,” I continue. “So, with all of that going on, I didn’t have a chance to mention what happened during hypnosis.”

  “I want to know,” Marjorie repeats, pressing me to continue.

  “It began when Dr. Epstein… I mean, Joe,” I say, snapping my fingers in the air to remind myself about our new, closer relationship and the new name that goes along with it. I try again. “It began when Joe suggested we do some hypnosis to see how I’d respond to it. We’d been discussing Dad’s death and unresolved grief. I’d told him about my anger issues, like the road rage incident where I almost fought a man in the street.”

  “Yeah,” Liam says, remembering, too.

  “So,” I continue. “Joe had me go to the hypnosis room, where he pipes sound in while you lean back in a recliner and cover yourself up with a warm blanket. I knew hypnosis had helped Jen to quit smoking, so I didn’t have any real fear or apprehension about what the experience would be like. I settled in right away and felt comfortable.”

  “Oh, it definitely worked for her,” Duke says. “Like a charm.”

  “That’s great,” Liam adds.

  “It really is,” I say, as I forget for a moment how somber this occasion is. It feels good to think about something else.

  “When did Ancient Greece come up?” Marjorie prompts.

  I remember my mother-in-law telling us about her memories of a lifetime lived in the Wild West and how they spontaneously surfaced during a massage when she was in her twenties. It’s long past time that she and I compare notes. Come to think of it, I also remember her mentioning her stance that everyone should remember past lives on their own, rather than being told by someone else who was there with them.

  “I first went to childhood memories, as prompted,” I explain. “Dr… Joe was talking over a speaker system. He was in his office and I was alone in the hypnotherapy room. He counted backward and told me to see myself going down in an elevator in order to get me deeply relaxed, then he told me I could remember everything I’ve ever experienced. I moved effortlessly from childhood memories to the Ancient Greek scene. It just appeared.”

  “Did you feel like you were tipping forward out of your body?” Marjorie asks.

  “Not exactly,” I answer. “But, sort of. It’s hard to describe. I remember what you recounted to us about your Wild West memory. Didn’t you say that you saw the scene and felt pulled into it?”

  “That’s right,” Marjorie replies. “Was it the same for you?”

  ‘Yeah, but I’d describe it more as being sucked then pulled. It was intense. Definitely a visceral experience. The word “pulled” sounds a bit too gentle.”

  “Sounds essentially the same to me,” Marjorie says. “Pulled, sucked, or whatever. Which childhood memory did you go to first?”

  “Oh, that part was incredible,” I say, remembering it again. “I was a young child, laying in bed between my parents on a snowy winter night in Brooklyn. I was wearing footed pajamas. I felt completely safe and secure there. All was right with the world.”

  “Huh,” Liam says.

  “Yeah, I guess you remember me at that age, right, Uncle?”

  “I sure do, buddy,” he replies. “You were a cute kid. Adored by everyone who knew you.”

  “That’s really nice, you guys,” Duke adds.

  I smile. It feels good.

  “What struck me was how I felt like I was really there. It was more than a memory, if that makes any sense. I could smell the smells and feel the sensations being experienced by my young body. It was vivid.”

  “I know precisely what you mean,” Marjorie confirms.

  “When I floated up and away from my childhood bedroom,” I continue. “I gave myself permission to reconnect with anything my subconscious mind wanted to show me. The next thing I knew, I was in a dark hallway. I quickly felt drawn to one particular door which had bright light coming out from around the edges. I opened it and was sucked, or pulled, into the ancient scene.”

  “Fascinating,” Roddy says, rubbing Marjorie’s back gently as she leans forward towards me.

  I decide to get down to the important parts. A doctor should be here soon to update us on Ali’s condition and I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to talk about this again. Plus, I still need to tell my uncle and in-laws about the motorists who identified Dad as having flagged them down last night to save Ali. I can’t wait to see
the look on their faces when they hear. I try to speed up my telling.

  “In Ancient Greece, we lived in Ithaca, or Ithaki,” I say.

  “Whoa,” Duke says. “That’s freaky. Ithaca then and now.”

  The others smile. They can’t help themselves. I wonder if they feel guilty for smiling right now. I don’t think any of us are really sure how to act.

  “Yeah,” I continue. “And I was a soldier.”

  “What?” Duke asks, flabbergasted.

  “So you’re Ithaca’s soldier.” Liam says matter-of-factly, crossing his hands in front of him around one knee.

  “Funny,” I reply. “That’s exactly what John Wendell called me the day we moved into our house. We ate lunch with him at The Cupboard Kitchen in downtown Ithaca. He showed off the write-up in the newspaper and said I was Ithaca’s very own soldier.”

  “Like I’ve always said,” Liam replies. “John Wendell was a smart man. We had a history of agreeing on things.”

  “You sure did,” I say with a chuckle. “I always knew to listen when both you and John Wendell gave me the same advice.”

  “I take it that happened a lot?” my uncle asks.

  “It did,” I concur.

  Marjorie is eager to hear more about Greece. I can feel her looking at me and wishing I would get on with it. She, too, probably realizes our time for this discussion is running out.

  "George," Marjorie says, very seriously. "Tell me."

  "Right," I say.

  Marjorie's intensity is scaring me. I suddenly wonder if she does remember our life together in Ancient Greece. It seems like she has something to say, but that she's waiting on me to tell my part of the story first. Maybe she has answers which can fill in the blanks of my memories. That would be fantastic.

  "Do you remember it, too?” I ask her.

  I figure we might as well get right down to it. I don't see any benefit of withholding information from each other right now. Perhaps the two of us together can put pieces in place and find out who the hell is after us.

  Marjorie shifts in her chair against Roddy’s outstretched arm then leans her head back against the wall as she closes her eyes.