I did a quick check and determined that I was fit to go.
Maggie slipped into that little black nightie with the fur around the edges that barely covered her --- well, it barely covered it.
My first encounter with this garment was on our honeymoon and Maggie had worn it infrequently since then, usually only on special occasions.
I sensed that she had planned the evening ahead of time and that she considered her husband’s return from oblivion, a special occasion.
When we hit the sheets, I could tell that Maggie was ready to go and so was I --- but Mr. Winkie was a no-show.
After a while, Maggie sensed that something was definitely wrong.
“Walt, are you OK. You’re usually --- uhhh --- more enthusiastic.”
It certainly wasn’t a lack of enthusiasm. Maggie had certainly done her best to whet my appetite, but something was holding me back.
Then it occurred to me. I remembered Mom’s comment, “Based on what I’ve seen, you and Maggie are doing everything just right.”
It was the ‘everything’ that had sent Mr. Winkie into hiding.
Somehow a man can’t do his best work if he thinks his mom might be in the room watching.
I hadn’t told Maggie about my experience while in the coma, and I figured this might be a good time.
I certainly didn’t want her to think that my lack of responsiveness reflected on her in any way.
We spent the next hour talking about the visit with my mom.
I have to give Maggie credit. Such a far-fetched story could have been met with skepticism and doubt, but Maggie was totally supportive.
When our discussion of things ethereal had concluded, Maggie looked around the bedroom.
“I have a theory. I’m betting that spirits can’t see in the dark any better than we can. Shall we give it a try?”
I turned off the light and crawled into bed next to my sweetie.
In the total darkness of the room, Mr. Winkie suddenly appeared. Maybe Maggie was right.
Later, as I lay back, exhausted, another one of those weird things that inhabit the deep recesses of my brain popped into my mind.
I remembered, as a kid, seeing Jimmy Durante, the comedian, on TV.
After every performance, he would sign off with the words, “Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.”
I thought about my mom and how much I missed her and my last words before dropping off to sleep were, “Goodnight Mrs. Williams, wherever you are.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t get my out-of-body experience out of my mind.
I needed to talk to someone with some insight into things beyond the realm of normal human experience.
My first thought was Pastor Bob, but I already knew what his response would be.
It was a foregone conclusion that he believed in something beyond the decay of our mortal flesh.
It was his Boss who had uttered the words that had brought comfort to the multitudes over the centuries, “In my Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.”
I had always been willing to go with that, simply because the alternative, that there is nothing more and than we are no different than road kill rotting on the highway, is totally unacceptable.
But I wanted a more analytic approach, not based on religious dogma.
The obvious choice was the Professor.
With a Doctorate in Philosophy and years of academic teaching, I thought he might have some valuable insights into my experience.
He listened quietly as I related my incredible story.
When I finished, I simply asked, “Was it real or was I dreaming?”
“I wish that the answer was that simple. The first question on which everything else is based is if there is life after death.
“Life after death can neither be proved nor disproved. This is because one would have to undergo physical death in order to prove or disprove it, and, by its very nature, disproving it would not be possible.
“One either believes or disbelieves and that is the basis of faith.”
“Very well then,” I said, “let’s go with the premise that there is something beyond the grave. How does my experience fit into that scenario?”
“Then it puts you in with a very elite group of individuals. You had what has been called an NDE, a near-death experience, and an OBE, an out-of-body experience. It is estimated that eighteen percent of individuals who had been resuscitated from cardiac arrest have reported the same kind of experience.”
“But don’t critics explain that away by attributing such phenomena to complex defense mechanisms of a dying brain?”
“That’s certainly one explanation. The human brain is the most complex and least understood thing in our known universe.
“As your hero, Dirty Harry, likes to say, ‘Opinions are like assholes; everybody has one.’ Well brains are like assholes too. Everyone has one, but no one really understands what it is capable of.”
“So are you saying that what I experienced was nothing more than screwed up neurons firing away in my cerebral cortex?”
“Quite the contrary. In 1991 in Atlanta, Georgia, Pam Reynolds had a near-death experience. Reynolds underwent surgery for a brain aneurysm, and the procedure required doctors to drain all the blood from her brain. The woman was kept literally brain-dead by the surgical team for a full 45 minutes. Despite being clinically dead, when Reynolds was resuscitated, she described some amazing things. She recounted experiences she had while dead -- like interacting with deceased relatives. Even more amazing is that Reynolds was able to describe aspects of the surgical procedure, down to the bone saw that was used to remove part of her scull.”
“So what does that prove?”
“It doesn’t ‘prove’ anything, but a brain-dead person should not be able to form new memories -- he shouldn't have any consciousness at all, really. So how can anything but a metaphysical explanation account for her experience?”
“So are you saying that what I experienced was real?”
“Was it real to you?”
“As real as me sitting here with you right now.”
“And how did your experience make you feel?”
“It was one of the most beautiful and comforting experiences in my entire life.”
“Then that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”
After I left, I realized that the Professor had left me exactly as had Pastor Bob.
I had gone looking for answers.
True or not true?
Real or a figment of my imagination?
But instead, he had made me look deep within, and decide for myself.
I wonder who teaches these guys to do that?
CHAPTER 17
On the day that I returned to work, the captain called Ox and me into his office.
“There has been a new development in the Dr. Death case,” he said. “After our undercover operation went sour, we did everything we could to get a lead on the guy.
“There were no fingerprints, so we hit a wall there.
“We tried to strong-arm the four doctors that we suspected of referring patients to the guy, but none of them would talk, and there was no direct evidence tying Thanatos to any of them.”
“So what did you come up with?” I asked.
“The only concrete thing we had to go on was the video surveillance footage from the safe house.
“We got some good shots of Thanatos interacting with you, and we ran him through every facial recognition database that we could think of --- but we came up empty.
“Then one day, someone figured out that we were barking up the wrong tree.
“We had been searching databases of known offenders. We started operating on the theory that our guy wasn’t a criminal and was, most likely, a doctor.”
“So that’s how you found him?” Ox asked.
“Yes. We searched dozens of medical databases and found nothing, but then one of the
tekkies found an obscure database of doctors who had gone overseas on health-care missions, and there he was.
“His name is Morris Riker. In 2009, he made a trip to Africa to a little town called ‘Durban’ on the country’s Indian Ocean coast.”
“Once you had a name,” I said, “I’m guessing you were able to trace his recent activities?”
“We were. Credit card receipts showed that he had been in the Kansas City area for several months, then suddenly, about the time we thought he went underground here, there were charges to a Super 8 motel in Goodland, Kansas.”
Apparently, Mark Davenport had made contact with Dr. Death.
“So where is he now?” Ox asked.
“He’s back in Kansas City. A credit card charge just appeared at the Embassy Suites.
“Walt, this was your case. Do you and Ox want to bring him in?”
I had mixed feelings.
The man was a doctor, not a criminal.
He had done humanitarian work with the underprivileged in Africa, and, as far as I could see, his only crime was helping the terminally ill end their suffering.
But what could I say?
He had broken the law and if I didn’t bring him in, somebody else would.
I figured it might as well be me. At least I could afford him the dignity that he deserved.
“Sure. We’ll do it,” I said.
On the way to the Embassy Suites, Ox said, “How do you want to handle this?”
“As delicately as possible. This guy isn’t a scumbag.”
“Shall we go for the old ‘maintenance’ ploy?”
“It’s as good as any.”
When we arrived at the hotel, we showed our badges at the front desk and got Riker’s room number from the clerk.
We approached the door and knocked.
“Who is it?” came a voice from within.
“Maintenance!” Ox said. “We’ve had a report from the room below yours that there’s a leak coming from your bathroom. We need to check it out.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” came the reply. “I can’t come to the door right now. Maybe you could come back in a half hour.”
“Can’t do that,” Ox said. “It’s a pretty bad leak and it’s ruining the apartment below.”
“Well I’m afraid I can’t let you in just now. It’s terribly inconvenient.”
Ox looked at me and I just shrugged my shoulders. I knew what he was going to do.
Ox took a deep breath and slammed his number twelve’s into the door.
The jam splintered, the door flew open and what we saw was the last thing in the world that we expected to see.
Dr. Death was seated in an easy chair and a tube ran from the syringe in his arm to the Thanatron machine.
He was startled, but he didn’t move.
When he saw that it was me, he smiled and said, “Good morning, Officer. Or should I call you Ray Braxton? You look a lot better than the last time we met.”
“Dr. Riker! What are you doing?”
“I’m doing the same thing for myself that I’ve done for dozens of others. I am ending my pain and suffering and choosing to die with dignity.”
“Pain and suffering? What are you talking about?” Ox asked.
“I’m dying, Officer. In 2009, I contracted XDR tuberculosis when I was in Africa. Life expectancy is just two years and my time is about up.”
He doubled over in a fit of coughing.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ox said, “but we have orders to bring you in. You have broken the law.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that. I only have a few weeks or maybe a month. I don’t want to die in a cold jail cell or a prison hospital.”
Ox started to protest but Riker interrupted.
“Mr. Braxton, or whatever your real name is, do you know why I didn’t return that night to finish the job?”
“I’ve often wondered.”
“I have looked into the eyes of a hundred dying patients and without fail, I could always see the longing for the peace that can only come from being released from this mortal shell.
“When I looked into your eyes that night, I knew without a doubt that you were not ready to die.”
I knew what he was talking about. I had seen that look in the eyes of the patients in the Kevorkian documentary. It was something that couldn’t be mimicked.
“Look into my eyes, Officer, and tell me what you see.”
I looked and I saw his desperate cry for relief.
“Please,” he pleaded. “If you would have been just thirty minutes later, it would have been done. Must I spend weeks in pain and agony for a mere thirty minutes?”
I looked at Ox and I know he could read my mind.
“It’s your call, partner,” he said.
“Dr. Riker, I know that you believe with all your heart that what you have been doing is right. I wish it were that easy for the rest of us.
“We’re officers of the law and the law requires that justice be served, but justice can be served in many ways.
“Fate has dealt you a strange hand in that it has brought you to this moment where you will experience exactly what you have been giving others.
“If what you have been doing is righteous, then you will rest in the peace it brings. If not, you will know soon enough.
“Either way, I believe justice will be served.”
“Thank you,” he said. “That is all I ask.”
“Then go in peace,” I said.
We left the Embassy out the back entrance to avoid the desk clerk and drove several blocks away.
Ox parked and I took my pen and pressed it against the valve stem of the back tire.
As the air left the tire, I thought of the life leaving the body of Dr. Riker.
“Damn,” I said to Ox. “Looks like we’ve got a flat tire. You’d better call it in.”
Forty-five minutes later, the tire had been repaired and we were again standing at Dr. Riker’s door.
We pushed it open and saw that the incredible saga of Dr. Death had come to an end.
The man that had called himself Thanatos had gone through the same portal as those who had sought him.
I wondered if he had found the peace that he so longed for.
I stared into his still face and saw that his lips were curled into a smile.
Maybe he had.
EPILOGUE
The capture of the two men that had tried to bring my law enforcement career to an end, along with our elderberry caper, focused new attention on the collusion between greedy corporate executives and corrupt public officials.
While our form of government is head and shoulders above any other, its success or failure is determined by the moral character of those elected to represent us.
When, out of greed and the lust for power, the public trust is violated, the very fabric of our society is put at risk.
Often, the battle against the rich and powerful seems futile and it is much easier to just look the other way, but sometimes the mighty are brought to their knees by the seemingly insignificant.
The classic illustration of that principle is H.G. Well’s novel, War of the Worlds.
The story is of a Martian invasion of the earth. Human weapons had proven useless against the powerful invaders and just when it appeared that all was lost, the Martians fell to microscopic bacteria to which humans were immune.
One can only hope that maybe something as simple as an elderberry could be the catalyst that initiates the reform that will bring an end to the corruption and collusion that put our way of life at risk.
While the distinction between right and wrong is perfectly clear in some cases, it certainly isn’t in others.
My encounter with Dr. Death is a case in point.
To some, he was an angel of mercy while to others his acts were those of a cold-blooded killer.
So many things in our lives beg for answers. Is it right or wrong? Is it good or evil? Is it true or false?
Euthan
asia is just one of the conundrums of life.
Should we support gun control or every citizen’s right to bear arms under the second amendment?
Should abortion be banned or should we support the right to choose?
What about gay marriage?
The thing that makes these choices so difficult is that there are men and women of goodwill who champion both sides.
A French author once wrote, “The only constant in life is change.”
Less than a hundred years ago a black man couldn’t drink from the same water fountain as a white man.
Today, we have a black president.
It’s as certain as the sun coming up tomorrow, that public opinion on such issues will change.
Only history will decide if that change represents moral decay or moral enlightenment.
In the meantime, each of us has to make tough decisions in our daily lives.
Is it right or wrong for a man to take the life of another?
Every cop, every day, must make that decision when he buckles his gun belt around his waist.
The cop that pulls the trigger to save the life of a pregnant mother is a hero.
The cop that shoots a teenage boy whose cell phone was mistaken for a gun is a villain.
Same act, different circumstances.
I have taken a man’s life in the performance of my duty, so I guess you could say that I have crossed that line.
The thing that allows me to sleep at night is Pastor Bob’s words, “Circumstances alter cases.”
I choose to believe, like Pastor Bob, that everything is not written in black and white, but in a thousand shades of gray.
Life would be easy if everything was absolute, but it’s not.
Ox and I made the decision to walk away from Thanatos.
Was it the right thing to do?
Some would say not, but under that particular set of circumstances, I believed it was the right thing to do and I acted according to my heart.
Lady Justice is depicted wearing a blindfold and holding a balance scale.
Our lives are much like that of Lady Justice; we are blinded from knowing the absolute truth and yet, by the decisions we make every day, we try to maintain a balance between right and wrong.
[Lady Justice 06] - Lady Justice and Dr. Death Page 13
