339
American Dreams
By JT van Dahl
I
Medics hauled a bloodstained body up the steps to the Boston Hospimall. Once on the landing they planted him on a gurney and accelerated away; through the restored Victorian façade and into the vast glass-and-steel building that had been installed behind it. Skidding right on the polished floor inside they carved a wedge into the crowd of shoppers there like a bull on the streets of Pamplona, hurtling past the perfumery and the coffee shop, and through the sliding doors to Emergency Admissions.
Inside the waiting room they raced by the pokies and the big TV screen - which was showing iWitness footage of a shooting at the Manhattan Hilton that morning - and straight past the Admissions Desk: The waiting Ballpoint Noses and Begerbilled Recta heaved a collective sigh of frustration that they would be stuck here for God knew how much longer now that a real emergency had arrived.
Behind Admissions a narrow aisle bisected an assembly line of green-curtained treatment cubicles. A teenager, arm in a fresh DKNY cast, stepped out of her compartment to find the beast bearing down on her at speed. She scrambled back through her curtain to safety as it careered past, then cautiously leaned out to check that the coast was clear. As it scuttled away she could barely make out the patient between all the scrubs; but he obviously didn't have much time to get where he was going.
At the end of the passageway the next set of doors flew open and light flooded out. It swallowed up the slowing gurney, drawing it into an antiseptic room full of monitors and machines, where another team of medics in surgical masks was preparing for the emergency operation.
"Thank you people. Let's get him on the table." Dr. Brinks turned and approached the gurney, opaque hands held up in front of his chest.
"On three. One, two and hup!"
The stretcher crew heaved the man onto the metal slab, then retreated back out of the room, leaving only the paramedic to report the details to the surgeon in charge: "BP 70 over 40, hemoglobin 9 for 100 and HCT 28 percent. It must have taken him hours to get here."
"We have to get his volume up," Brinks ordered. "Do we know who he is?"
"Nope," the young man replied. "Nobody outside did either. Someone saw him collapse on the steps."
Brinks frowned. "Just the one shot?"
"Yeah, but it's pretty scrappy: shotgun. Cheek looks busted too. Maybe they whacked him around first."
The patient coughed, spraying blood into the respirator mouthpiece before the paramedic could pull it clear of the bruised, bulbous face.
"Hold him still!" Brinks ordered. "Thank you; that'll be all."
The anesthetist took over the breathing and the paramedic retreated through the door back to his coffee break.
Brinks took the number 7 tube from the nurse and inserted it into the trachea. "Start a jugular! Epinephrine. Type him and get 8 units in here. 20 CCs of adrenaline on the IV and keep hydrating him. We need 100% oxygen and a CT of the chest cavity."
The staff hurried about their work. One cut the bloody sweater down the middle, exposing a crescent of fleshy holes in the chest, and another rolled the mobile computer tomograph over. Moments later its rays were coursing through the victim's upper body and displaying the ugly facts on a flat screen monitor. Brinks surveyed the 3D image of the chest. It was speckled with white dots representing the shotgun pellets. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before turning back to the operating table to view the wounds live.
The patient was in his mid thirties by the look of him, dressed in the retroactive casuals that Ivy League graduates wore nowadays when they were slumming it: boat shoes, flannel trousers and a blazer with gold buttons. It was clothing designed to make a statement on private schooling and generations of wealth. Brinks didn't think they would have gotten along.
The gun blast had torn the left side of the blazer and sweater to shreds, but amid the perforations in the chest was a square patch of miraculously undamaged skin.
"We got his card?" Brinks inquired. There was no reply. "Card!" he insisted.
Nothing.
"Oh no, don't tell me. Nurse, find his Telemed card. Seconds may count here." He prodded around the wound and looked up to the face while others ferreted around between his arms. "Looks like we have fractures of three ribs and multiple lacerations of the left lung. Heart and right lung look okay."
"Pulse fading," the anesthetist warned.
"Nurse, where's his card?!" Brinks barked.
"I can't find anything."
"Keep looking! Try the back pocket of his pants!"
The nurse rolled the patient a little to get access to his back pocket, but it was just as empty as all the others.
"Blood B positive," someone said.
"You hear that, Sport? Be positive. Nurse?" But she was already on her way to get the replacement blood.
"Flatline!" Pulse zero".
"Damn! Gimme the paddles! Where the hell's his ID? Do we have anything on him at all?"
"Nothing Doctor."
"200. Clear!"
The patient's back arched at the shock from the defibrillator, then thumped back down onto the table.
Again no response but a brief fluttering of the eyelids.
Brightness. Cold. Heaviness. Discomfort and incomprehension. Blurred, unwelcoming shadows. First impressions, stored deep down.
"Nothing."
"Okay, stand back. Gimme 250. Clear!" The electric pulse slammed into the body again.
Stillness fell over the operating room. All stood observing the screen behind the patient's head - an electronic whine accompanied the green line along its bottom edge. They waited and watched. Brinks looked up at the wall clock. He was about to call it a night when a high-pitched beep broke the tone and the line jagged up to the middle of the monitor, then again and again.
"What about biometrics?" Brinks asked.
The nurse looked at him as if to say "You can't be serious."
"I'm clutching at straws Nurse. I can't send him to State in this condition: if the drive doesn't kill him the treatment there will. Okay, forget biometrics. A business card? Anything?"
"Not even a name tag in his socks Doctor. His shoes are called Guido Mantoni, if that helps, and his pants are Vêtements de Banville, but he's a mystery."
Brinks stood over the table, staring at the gaping wound and clenching his teeth. "Next time just get in the car and go home," he grumbled under his breath.
"Doctor?" The team had taken up their positions and were awaiting instructions. "Are you okay? His signs aren't stabilizing."
"I know, I know! What do you want me to do? You know the rules as well as I do." More troubled silence. "Nurse?"
"Yes Doctor?"
"Guido Thingamy shoes and designer pants right?"
"That's right. And the polo neck used to be finest Cashmere before it became a wash rag."
Brinks pondered and the staff waited. For some moments the only sound was the regular beeping of the pulse monitor. Then he put an end to the suspense and again reanimated his waiting team.
"Alright, people. I'm probably going to regret this, but let's get to work anyway - we have a life to save. We'll do the chest and leave the face for later. Somebody with a free hand call my wife and tell her I won't be home for dinner."
Warmer and softer now, though no match for the way things used to be. The jostling ended and he was back near the familiar thudding; the incessant, cradling sound that had always been there before. Relieved, he fell asleep to process in his dreams all that had occurred.
"Yeah honey, I know." Brinks had a phone tucked between ear and shoulder as he picked little balls of lead out of the chest. "I was on the way home, but what could I do? They paged me in the parking lot before I made the car." Another piece of shot plinked into the pan. "Tough to say: gun-cleaning accident; Mafia. His wallet's missing - maybe someone just wanted his cash. Wipe, please nurse. Hon, I'll make it up to you. I gotta work. I'll see you later, ok? I'll be home as soon as I can. Kiss the boys for me."
Three hours later, Brinks was standing by a messy hole that went right down to the lung. Some pellets had scratched by the heart, making their extraction a precision task. The scar was going to be quite a conversation piece if the victim lived to tell the tale.
"Ok, Johnson, you want to tie this one up for me?"
"Sure Doctor Brinks."
"Careful of the ribs, and keep it as tidy as you can. If he ever does wake up, we want him to like the look of the goods when he gets the bill.
"Yes sir!"
The school grounds were cold and miserable, smothered in a November-morning gloom that swallowed up the contours of the prefab buildings. Once upon a time they had been painted in Education Board colors, but today, though only a child's kick of a ball away, they were almost invisible through the freezing murk.
Miss Bairns' pupils were wrapped up in the scarves, hats and jackets of the season. They played games with their visible breath as they milled around in front of their classroom.
"Children! join hands and march in two straight lines to room 21. Quickly please."
As the order came, the bustling started. Everybody had to link up with a classmate in the other line - one line of boys, one of girls - and the thought of it caused a furor amongst the six year-olds. The children at the front of the lines had been vying for position and quickly paired up. Their ski jackets had Power Raiders prints and their shoes were sheepskin-lined. They proudly held hands and stood tall like soldiers. The further down the lines the ritual progressed, however, the more unwelcome it became, and at the back the pupils wouldn't take the hand of their disagreeable opposite. As the line finally set off, the front was a firmly linked backbone, while the tail dangled loosely in its undesirability.
Behind them all a small, wiry boy with a mop of dark hair was in a class of his own. He trudged, head down, watching his feet scuff along the damp concrete, and sniffing repeatedly. From time to time he wiped the runny mucus from his upper lip with the handkerchief his mother had given him so he wouldn't smear it on his cuff. The handkerchief was soggy from overuse, but he didn't dare say anything. He just stuck his nose into it again and blew, then gingerly stuffed it back into his pocket before rubbing the residual slime off his face with his loose-knit mittens. The sticky plaster that bound the earpiece to the frame of his glasses was old and grimy. Its condition showed that it was not merely a temporary measure until the frame could be repaired - it WAS the repair job. He was cold too, despite his mittens and hand-me-down pullover, and he resented being stuck at the back with the other Unclean. He looked up only seldom, avoiding the eyes of the nearest girl, who in turn was ignoring him. He wasn't going to hold her hand at any cost - who could know what kinds of stinky diseases she might have?
As they crossed the courtyard, one of the pretty little girls near the front of the line looked over her shoulder. She was in the grasp of a well-dressed young man with a strict side parting. She had olive skin and bouncy auburn curls that matched the color of her impish eyes. She was beautiful. And she was good at everything too; especially at playing Alice in Wonderland and finger painting. All the boys wanted to hold her hand.
This little girl shot a glance up at Miss Bairns, who was in front leading the way. Seeing that the teacher was not watching, she freed herself from her bemused partner and barrel-rolled out of the girls' line and down to the sad boy at the back of the class. There she grabbed him by the clammy glove and pulled him up through the dawdlers to where the hands were still intact. A couple of kids turned around to see what was going on, and somebody at the front said "yuck!" But she didn't care. And neither did he. He was walking with the coolest girl in the whole entire class! He raised his head and peeked over at her shyly. She was looking across at him. They smiled.
Dr. Brinks left the changing room and wandered out onto the walkway suspended high across the main atrium. It was late and the retail sector of the Hospimall was all but deserted. With its fountain and arcade it looked more like an airport terminal than a hospital, he thought, although the word terminal probably wouldn't have pleased the architect, considering the medical context.
Brinks sighed as he reached the elevator: he had authorized the use of several American Med employees, valuable equipment and medical products for a patient who might not be able or willing to pay - there was going to be trouble. Still, what was done was done. It was Friday midnight and it would be Monday before the powers that be got wind of it: they weren't forced to work weekends. He was sure the man would be identified long before then, and he was definitely the insured type. It would blow over.
He waited for the glass elevator to arrive, listening to the sounds of night nurses and security guards resonate through the enormous shell. Down below, a one-armed cleaner steered a floor polisher along the Body Shop doors. Brinks watched the tiles go under the front of the machine and come out the back shining.
He was still deep in thought as he descended through the floor moments later. It was going to take a while tonight to shrug off Hospital mode and get into Drive Home To Wife, Kids And Beckoning Bed.
It was lunch break. The boys were playing basketball on the outdoor court by the flagpole, showing off to the girls. Alex sat on the bottom bleacher, watching and wishing he could join in. One of the players called to him. He sprang up eagerly. But the boy slung the ball so hard that it broke through Alex's fumbling hands and bounced off his face, sending his glasses flying. He scrambled to pick them up as the entire playground erupted in laughter. That was bad, but it wasn't the worst of it: the lens was cracked and Alex shuddered at the fear of what would happen when his mother found out.
He looked up and was in the cramped hallway of his family's apartment. It was decorated in the colors you could have found in a Woolworth's bargain bin ten years before. To his left was his bedroom, which he shared with his big brother. It had been meant for one, but the best had been made of Alex's unwelcome arrival and space found for two.
Next to it was a bathroom in which the porcelain could no longer be made to look white. The water that dripped incessantly from the faucet had left a brown streak in the sink leading down into the warped plug hole. Above it hung a little medicine cupboard that you could pick the paint off with your fingers. The reflecting coating was peeling off the back of the mirror in its door too, so you had to get right up close to see your face in one piece; so close your pimples took on bubonic proportions. Alex avoided getting that close too often. It was too demoralizing.
A naked light-bulb hung off wires that sprouted out of the wall above the cupboard. The bulb's pale glow yellowed the bathroom making the toilet look like it might be made of cheese.
Alex skulked into the lemony kitchenette opposite. A thin streak of sky was visible at the top of the window above the neighboring apartment building. The TV blared at the end of the Formica dinner table. His mother stood with her back to it at the sink. She didn't notice him enter, so he sat down silently on the floor in front of the animal documentary, squinting to focus without his glasses and hoping not to be detected. The baby sparrows on the screen squawked incessantly in their nest. The biggest one trampled over the others with its knobby legs, and the runt in the back was dying of hunger.
Alex's father entered in greasy overalls. On his face was a shadow of dark stubble, and a bush of wiry chest hair made a desperate bid for air at his collar.
"How many times have I told you not to hang your wet things in the hallway?" his mother bitched, turning her head just enough for her husband to see the scowl on her face. It was also enough for her to spot Alex. "And you!" She was suddenly standing beside him, slapping him around the head once for every word: "I, told, you, to, look, after, those, glasses. We, can't, afford...". Alex shielded his head from the blows and ran crying to his bedroom. His father laughed.
Alex sat his bed, crying. His father appeared behind him, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back to the kitchen. "Set the table!" He grunted, and collapsed back down on his chair.
Alex’s brother Daniel entered the kitchen. He threw his dripping raincoat to the floor, twisted Alex's ear painfully and kissed his mother on the cheek. She blushed and flinched an almost smile; it was all Alex could do not to barf and drop the plates. A cloud of foreboding hung over him in anticipation of the evening meal: They would all be sitting around the same table; there would be trouble.
Daniel pushed past Alex, knocking him into the table. It slid away from Mr. Balatich, who roared angrily. Alex cringed. Someone grabbed him and hurled him up onto the dinner table, which had transformed into a big-time-wrestling ring. He looked up and saw Daniel jump through the ropes, and their father bound into the other corner. The two men flexed their muscles at each other and growled. Mr. Balatich leapt up and dropkicked Daniel, who crashed to the ring floor and smashed the plates Alex had left standing there. In a rage his mother leapt between the ropes. She charged at her husband with a blood-curdling scream and bowled him flat. Daniel hid behind her like the coward he was. The father struggled to his feet. Alex clambered out of the ring and when he turned around again the scene was back to normal and the family was finishing eating at the table.
"The dishes you little shit," Daniel ordered Alex. He thumped his fist against Alex's temple for good measure and added "Mom, Alex said shit."
"Alex! Do as you are told."
"But..."
His mother came after him holding the big knife. He ran to his room again to be safe. In bed he lay awake, wondering why... why everything. Just as he nodded off, the door banged open and the light went on. There was going to be pain. Daniel stepped on Alex's face with all his weight as he climbed into the top bunk. The light went off and Daniel started snoring. Alex lay and listened without the faintest hope of sleep.
He looked over at the clock. It was 7.00 a.m. on Sunday. Daniel descended via Alex's arm, swung his gear bag over his shoulder and left. Alex stayed in his room all day reading a book about computers, just happy to be left alone.
The next thing he knew, he awoke just before the Monday-morning alarm and turned it off. Maybe Daniel would oversleep - a victory to start the new week with! He put on his beleaguered glasses and dragged himself into the kitchen. It was much bigger today, and the table extended way into the distance. There were a lot of strange men there. They looked smart in their dark suits and slicked-back hair. They drank coffee and conversed in animated tones. Alex sat down and began eating a bowl of Fruity Tooties. He'd always wanted Fruity Tooties but normally his mother wouldn't buy them; they were too expensive.
"Alex? Is Daniel up yet?" His mother's voice cut through his observations.
"Am I my brother's keeper?" Alex replied.
The slap came fast and hard. "Go and wake him up! And don't you dare blaspheme when we have guests."
"But I'm eating my breakfast."
She swung back to strike again, but seeing all the men, stopped and stormed out herself instead.
"Darn!" She was going to wake him up, Alex thought, savoring a bite of rare buttered toast and feeling safe amidst the well-groomed men.
His mother returned to see the milk she had been warming for Daniel's oatmeal boil over and run down onto the stove. She screamed at the sight and ran to pull the pot off the fire, making a point of burning her fingers on the handle. She hurled the pot to the floor, spilling the milk everywhere. It gave everyone a rude shock, even the nice men.
Daniel appeared in the kitchen doorway, yawning broadly and scratching his stomach under his pajama top.
"Alex used up all the hot water in the shower again!" he whined.
Dr. Brinks crept into bed and gently spooned up to his sleeping wife. His mind was still racing with concerns about that last patient, but the 30-hour shift quickly took its toll, and he was soon dead to the world.
Alex was sitting in art class. He hated art. Anything he tried to draw came out completely different from what his brain had told his hand to do. The results were just as embarrassing for him as they were a source of mirth for everyone else. He was going to drop art next year and concentrate on subjects that made sense, like math. The only good thing about art class was that he had ended up sitting next to Laura Wagner.
He looked left: there she was - a wondrous girl. When she drew a face, it looked like a face. The teacher was always picking her work to show to the class. But that wasn't why Alex loved her; it was everything about her. He leaned over her shoulder, pretending to be interested in what she was doing, but actually just breathing her in. She didn't tell him to go jump either; she just kept on drawing. That hair. That skin. Did she really think he was watching her work? Surely she had noticed that he didn't care about art. Whatever. As long as she let him do this.
Today's lesson was about abstract painting. The teacher had prepared a slide show. A couple of kids rushed around pulling the curtains to darken the room. The pictures began appearing on the wall. They were bright and weird and Alex couldn't understand why anyone would buy such garbage, but stealing a peek across at Laura he could see that she was enraptured.
Alex leaned back on the wooden chair and spread his legs wide. It was the best way to get some sleep during class. As soon as he was as comfortable as his desk would allow him to get, fatigue and boredom began weighing on his eyelids. Then, suddenly, quite unexpectedly, something happened that jolted him wide awake.
Was he mistaken? Perhaps he had fallen asleep and this was just a wonderful dream. He looked down. Her foot was definitely touching his. Pulse racing, he held as still as he could. Perhaps she just hadn't noticed. He didn't want to move and draw her attention to her mistake. Keeping his head still he strained his eyes and looked around the darkened room to check if anyone else could see what was happening, but they were paying attention to the teacher.
Then she moved, breaking the contact. Alex despaired and looked down again. Her foot lifted slowly, but not away. It hovered over his leg and set down again between his feet, her calf resting on his shin bone. Alex's mouth went dry. She was touching his leg intentionally, and the whole time she never took her eyes off the slide show! He looked over at her and swallowed. There was no mistaking it. His senses reeled and his pulse raced. He looked up at the screen, and as he watched, the shapes in the pictures grew and pulsated. Wild psychedelic oranges, pinks and greens spread out and spilled over the edge of the screen onto the wall and the ceiling and the floor, transforming the room into a kaleidoscope of bright flowing colors above him, below him, all around. He was flying.
Brinks hadn't slept nearly enough when something tickled his face. He rolled away but the tickle followed him. So he rolled back and opened one reluctant eye to see Sean, his two year-old son, stroking his cheek ever so gently with his little fingers.
"Hello Sean," he grinned, closing the eye again.
"Hullo," Sean whispered.
"That's Daddy, Sean. Remember?" Jenny Brinks was leaning against the doorframe in her dressing gown, her arms folded.
"Dada?" Sean repeated thoughtfully.
"Why don't you give him a tweak on the nose to see if he's real?" she said.
Sean looked over at her, puzzled, then back at his father. Brinks opened his other eye too and stared right into those of his son. "RAAH!" he roared as he grabbed the boy and bundled him up in the duvet. Mikey, the first-born, not wanting to miss out, jumped up onto the bed, picked up his mother's pillow and swung it into his dad's head.
"Uff! How's the weather?" Brinks inquired of his wife, ducking another blow and struggling to control his offspring.
"A perfect summer's day."
"Any plans?" Brinks now had both boys wrapped in the duvet and locked under his arms so he could converse. They wriggled and screamed.
"They want to play soccer and then do a BJ breakfast."
"That okay?" Brinks asked.
"With me?"
"Yeah, with you."
She contemplated for a moment. "Does that mean I have to spend the entire morning with my husband?"
"'Fraid so." Brinks nodded. "I'm not on duty until two."
"We all have to make sacrifices," she replied.
"Okay, boys!" Brinks let them loose and they came up giggling for air. "Soccer in the park in ten! Not dressed, don't go!"
Mikey jumped up shouting, "Yaaayyy!" And Sean followed him out without really knowing why.
Three hours later Brinks sat with his wife at the Burger Joint; grass stains on his knees, eyes on the kids in the plastic playground and mind on the patient.
"You okay?" his wife asked.
"Huh? Oh yeah, of course. I'm fine."
"Something at work?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well look at your wife and family: if it's bothering you it has to be work." Brinks smiled and looked her in the eyes. "I zapped into one of those news magazine shows on TV last night after the boys were in bed," Jenny continued.
"Yeah?"
"They were interviewing this woman in a wheelchair who said she was under-treated at an AM clinic on the West Coast."
"What did she have?"
"Dunno; I didn't see the whole interview. But now she's confined to a wheelchair."
"It's a witch hunt. Everyone hates a winner," Brinks reasoned.
"You're not serious."
"People forget what it used to be like before AM," he said.
"Yeah," she scrunched up her nose. "Not much good for the corporate image though, that kind of publicity."
"The emergency that made me late last night didn't have any ID on him. His wallet was missing," Brinks confessed.
Jenny sighed. "And you worked on him anyway."
"He would have died," Brinks insisted.
"What happens if you can't identify him?"
"I’m sure that won’t happen. I mean, he's a normal guy."
Jenny paused. "What's the worst that could happen?" she asked.
"If we never find out who he is?"
"Yeah."
"You know what Granger said last time." Brinks toyed with his plastic fork. "I'm turning into a risk factor."
"That's my boy."
"Weird, isn't it? It's like it follows me around. Or does everyone else just toe the line? I guess I could have let him kick it."
"But then what's the point of being a physician?" Jenny recited.
Brinks mimicked his boss's nasal tone: "It's a legally and commercially unassailable policy, Mrs. Brinks."
"So let them fire you. You get your own practice. Everyone's happy."
"My own practice? You ever go to a non-Telemed doctor in the last five years?"
"There are still practices around without Telemedicine. And anyway, you're different: you're a star."
Brinks looked skeptical. "Right now I'm just a resident emergency surgeon trying to survive. Medical practices without Telemed are history Jenn," he said.
"They have to leave some because of the monopoly or something, don't they?"
"Like I said: You ever been to a non-Telemed doctor with the kids?"
"Ah yes, the kids. Working for yourself you'd have time for the boys and me again. Ever since they shunted you into Emerge..."
Brinks interrupted: "I'd need accreditation. It's pointless without Telemed, honestly. And I don't think A-Med goes around handing out access rights to their holy grail to people they've just fired."
"You're so negative about this. It's always been about your own practice."
"That was before AM changed everything. This is a good job, Jenn - perhaps better than I deserve, even in Emergency."
They took simultaneous sips of their coffee. Jenny opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the call of their eldest through the glass wall to the play area.
"Mommy! Daddy! Watch this!" Mikey slid down the slide.
"Well done Mikey. Clever boy."
Jenny resumed. "They still owe you."
"A-Med doesn't feel gratitude too much anymore, babe."
"Help your brother up into the pipe please Mikey!" Jenny called.
"It'll be alright. We'll find out who he is, he'll pay the bills and things will return to normal."
"That's what I'm..."
They both jumped up. Sean had fallen over and banged his head on the giant plastic cheeseburger. They ran through the door to the playing area while Sean tried to take in enough air to wind up the claxon. Jenny picked him up and Brinks inspected his forehead. Mikey also came and looked on.
"Did you hurt your head on the naughty burger? Good thing daddy's a doctor isn't it? He'll make it all better," Jenny comforted her son.
"You're going to have quite an egg there, but you'll live." Brinks ruffled Sean's hair.
"It was time to go home anyway. Daddy has to go to work and it's time for a nice long nap."
Mikey didn't want to hear that. He stuck out his bottom lip: "I don't want to go home."
"But it's time sweetie," Jenny reasoned.
"Just because Sean hit his head I have to go home too. That's not fair," he stomped around in an angry circle.
"We've been playing all morning," his mother explained. "We have to go home anyway."
"But I don't want to!" Mikey was determined.
"You'd prefer to stay here?" Jenny offered.
"Yes!" Mikey grunted. Jenny looked at her husband for help.
"Oh, okay," he came to her aid. "I guess if you really want to, we'll see you some time."
"Yes," Mikey repeated, this time a little less decisively, and he turned away and climbed slowly back into the plastic pipe. "We'll miss you, but maybe you'll find some other parents to look after you." Silence from the pipe. Raised eyebrows from the Brinks adults. "Well Sean. Looks like Mikey isn't coming home with us. I guess that means you can have his Duplo and his drawing pad."
"Football!" Sean sobbed.
"And his football," Brinks shrugged.
Sean's tear-streaked face lit up instantly. Mikey stopped shuffling around in the pipe, and if they could have seen him they would have noticed how serious he now looked. Brinks and his wife exchanged surreptitious glances. In unspoken agreement she carried Sean out of the playground. Brinks followed.
"We're off Mikey. You coming?" No reply.
He put the child-raising equipment into the buggy as the door between them and their eldest son slowly closed.
"That's better. I knew you hadn't forgotten how to smile." Brinks tickled Sean, who giggled and cuddled up to his mother. Mikey poked his head out of the pipe and watched them through the glass as they made their way to the front door of the restaurant.
"He is going to come, isn't he?" Brinks asked.
"I hope so," Jenn replied. "We'll lose all our cred if we have to go back in and get him."
They put on broad smiles and waved to their bemused son as they walked past the windows of the playing area towards the car.
"Are you sure this is pedagogically correct?" Brinks asked.
"No. We'll have to bluff it out though. You didn't forget anything inside did you?"
"You mean the second chance?"
"Yeah." Jenny made a big deal of cuddling with Sean and buckling him into his car seat.
"Can you see him?" Brinks asked as they climbed into the front of the car.
"He's still standing there staring out the window."
"I'll start the engine."
"Yeah, back out. And say your prayers."
The car rolled backwards and Mikey disappeared from the window. A few seconds later he was pushing his entire body weight against the heavy front door that led to the car park. They stopped and Jenny got out to help him.
"Mommy!" he jumped into her arms. "I don't want Sean to play with my football."
"Oh dear. What a predicament. You'll have to come home then."
"I guess."
"It's not all that bad at home is it?"
"No."
She took him around to his seat and buckled him in.
"Nice to have you on board champ," Brinks greeted his son with gusto.
"You left without me," Mikey sounded hurt.
"We'd never leave such a great kid behind. You said you didn't want to come. We were very sad," Brinks reassured him.
"You can't really have my football," Mikey told Sean across the back seat. But Sean was already asleep.
"That's a nasty bump," Brinks said to his wife as they put Sean down for his nap back at home. "I'll write you a prescription when I get to work."
"Okay. Hadn't you better get a move on?"
"Yeah."
"Off you go then. Don't want you upsetting A-Med any more than you already have."
"Maybe I haven't. It's probably already sorted itself out."
"Hmm."
"See you tonight." He kissed her goodbye and left.
Alex sat at a computer in the math lab, where he always spent recess. He was safe there. He stood up and turned and was suddenly in the corridor looking into his locker. What was that roll of wire doing in there? And that severed head with the beany? Tony Mitchell approached in his football gear.
"Hey Jerkovich. You're doing my math homework for me tonight." He offloaded his books into Alex's arms. "And it better be good."
"Which chapter?" Alex squeaked.
"12. Bike stands. Eight a.m. tomorrow. I need time to put it into my own handwriting."
Out of the blue Laura was next to Alex. "It costs a buck," she said.
Neither Alex nor Tony Mitchell understood.
"Huh?" Mitchell frowned.
"A dollar," Laura replied.
"Since when?"
"Since I took over as his manager," she replied, with that touch of arrogance you needed when dealing with these people.
"I don't pay for this. He pays if he doesn't do what I tell him. That's the way it works."
"Do you want him to do your assignment or not?" she reasoned.
"Of course. That's what he's for."
"So cough up. I want my commission."
"Since when do you side with geeks?" Mitchell grimaced.
"Let that be my problem. Payment is in advance."
Mitchell paused, at a loss as to how to react. He looked menacingly at Laura, then at Alex, who was looking back and forth between them in horror. She raised her voice with a broad grin and sung out across the corridor for all to hear.
"YOU MEAN you can't afford ONE dollar, TONY MITCHELL?"
Scowling, Mitchell dug into his pocket and fished out some notes, slapping one of them into Alex's hand. Alex stood there staring at the dollar bill. He dreaded to think what would have happened if he had demanded money from Mitchell on his own. He would have shaved off his eyebrows or made him lick his cleats. But nobody would lay a finger on Laura. Tony left. Alex turned to her, still holding the magical dollar out in front of him.
"Wow!" he stammered, bright red. "Thanks!"
"Don't sell yourself short Alex," she replied. "If you let these guys push you around they'll never stop. And don't bother saying thanks, just pay my commission."
"Commission? Yeah of course, what do you want?" Alex held out the bill as if offering her a lick of his ice-cream. She looked him straight in the eye.
"You'll think of something," she said, and strutted off.
Alex watched her go, dumbfounded. But before she even turned the corner, another kid turned up in front of Alex, then another, and another. At first he was frightened. Had Mitchell sent them to do him over? In seconds he was surrounded by kids handing him their homework and their money.
Brinks made his way up to Intensive Care as soon as he arrived at the hospital.
"Good afternoon nurse, how's the shooting from last night?" he inquired of the nurse behind the counter.
"Good afternoon Doctor. Let's see." She flicked through the clipboards in a box on the counter. "Here he is. Mr. X."
"Still no name?"
"No."
"Oh," Brinks said, visibly disappointed. "Has anyone been able to get anything out of him yet?" he asked.
"Well no Doctor, he's still in a coma."
"Coma?" Brinks asked, incredulous, but then thought better of asking when that happened. "What about his insurance company? Any news there?"
"There doesn't appear to be. There's an X next to Insurance Company as well."
This was not the way Brinks had planned to start the day's work. "You gotta be kidding! It must be possible to find his damn insurance company! He's ..."
The nurse dared to interrupt him before he got even more upset. "It's only been one night, and it's the weekend."
But Brinks wasn't to be placated. He grabbed the clipboard and swung around to the observation window where his dilemma slumbered. The patient was lying on his back with his eyes closed. Hoses and cords ran from his body to various machines.
"The police were here this morning," the nurse said. He turned back, clapping the chart back down on the counter. "They took all his belongings with them. They said that's the routine when there's suspicion of foul play."
Brinks let a deep breath hiss out between his lips. "That was quick," he replied, almost apologetically. "Hopefully they'll have more luck finding out who he is than we have."
"Hey Itchy!!" A powerful boy swerved and jinked between the other kids in the corridor. It was Shane Macnamara in that apey school sweater. Alex had only grown upwards in the last two years of junior high. He just kept getting ganglier. So try as he might, he couldn't get his puny arms and legs to negotiate the people-slalom quickly enough to escape the confrontation.
"Hey Itchy," Macnamara repeated as he grabbed Alex's arm from behind and spun him around. "How's it hangin'?"
Alex wasn't normally privileged with the cool-kid greetings, so he knew he was about to be told a favor. Of course, this in itself was a step up from the old days – his status had definitely improved since becoming the Homework Nerd – but it didn’t make the situation much less ominous.
"It's not," he replied, looking down to avoid eye contact.
"Yeah dude."
If it wasn't hanging it could only be standing erect, so the answer should have been the cue for a tirade of derisive comments, but Shane really did want a favor.
"Itch, I'm in a bind," he admitted.
"My friends call me Alex." A lifetime of being who he was had taught Alex that it didn't matter whether he was lippy to these jerks or not; they would always pick on him anyway. He was out and there was no way for him to get in. The contempt riled Shane. He had to re-establish the balance of power fast. He put his hand around Alex's neck and pushed him up against the lockers.
"Cut the crap Itch. You're walking a fine line." The warning was clear enough; Alex shut up. "I have to train long tonight. You have to do my math for me."
"I don't have time tonight," Alex replied, trying to look as though he meant it. Macnamara puffed out his chest and glared at him.
"I don't think I heard you right," he said, slapping the palm of his hand against Alex's forehead. "Say that again douche bag!" and he smacked him up against the locker again for good measure.
"How much is it?" Alex croaked through his squashed windpipe.
"That's better."
"But I really don't have time." He tried to sound desperate, sensing a business opportunity.
"You'll do it, you little fuck! And it better be good."
"Ten bucks," Alex ventured. A cold shiver ran down his back.
"Huh?!?" Shane replied in disbelief.
"Ten." It was almost a question now.
"What happened to five?"
Alex was dying to say "inflation" but he felt that he had pushed his luck far enough on this occasion.
"There's a physics paper due in tomorrow that I have to do for half the defensive line. I'll be up all night if I have to do your math as well. For ten I guarantee you a B, okay?"
Shane bent down so he could make himself clearly understood with a whisper. "Itchy, I'd hate to see this homework scam of yours get busted, if you know what I mean. If I don't get a B, I'll kick the ten bucks out of your ass, you understand? With interest. Don't get to believing your weird girlfriend can protect you forever."
Alex seethed. "You can call me whatever you want, but leave Laura out of this." He knew the risk level was high but he couldn't resist testing the envelope, even if he put his health on the line doing it. And Laura was Laura after all.
Fortunately the school bell rang right at that moment and Shane took off. Alex rubbed his throat. He was starting to get away with things like that more and more nowadays. He walked deep in thought into the math lab, which morphed into his bedroom. Schoolbooks were piled up on his bed in the dark. He sat down at his desk - counting - counting the money he had made. It had been a good two years since Laura had earned him his first dollar. So much money, and top grades besides. No wonder; he did all the schoolwork several times over. Things were finally starting to go his way. Under the poor light of his table lamp he entered the sums into his accounting book and hid the wad of notes in his cash box. Laura poked her head around the door. Alex felt her presence and turned to her.
"Don't forget my commission Alex," she said, and disappeared. He jumped up and ran out to stop her leaving, but she was way down by the water fountain by the time he made it through the bedroom door and into the school corridor.
"I'll do your assignments for you!" he called out. "For free!"
She turned and smiled at him, before being swept down a side corridor by a bunch of her girlfriends.
"You can have a percentage! How much do you want?" But she was gone. She kept saying commission but she never took it. He couldn't figure that out.
"Judas H. Priest! Stop the car! Turn around!"
The police car was cruising down a deserted country road lined on both sides by giant conifers. Two men in their late twenties sat in the front seat listening to the country music channel. They were both strapping examples of humanity, with blond hair and matching moustaches, and they wore their heavily starched uniforms with great pride.
"Huh?" the driver grunted, continuing down the road at unchanged speed.
"Turn the car around! I saw something!" The man in the passenger's seat was doing his best to maneuver his broad shoulders around inside the seatbelt so he could look out through the rear window.
"What'd you see?" The driver eyed him annoyed. "Stop jigglin' around!"
"Just turn the goshdang car around and don't ask stupid questions!"
But the driver was unyielding. "If you can't tell me what you saw, why should I turn the car around?"
"Can't you just for once do something I tell you? I am your superior officer after all."
"Superior officer, superior officer," the driver mimicked, spreading out his elbows and bobbing from side to side. "I'm your superior officer. It gives you a real kick to say that don't it."
"Would you turn the car around!" The officer on the passenger's side was finding it difficult to contain himself.
"When you tell me what you think you saw!" The driver made no attempt to slow or turn or do anything to appease his elder brother. They were in a deadlock, and the police car kept driving further and further away from the spot in the forest where sergeant Lynch had seen something.
"A WOMAN, alright?! It was a Caucasian woman, about five two, brunette and wearing a frilly red nightdress!"
"Now you're playing me for a fool. Did they teach you to do that at your fancy superior-officer's school?"
"Oh Jesus. I'm serious! Turn the goddamn car around and go back!"
"A red frilly nightdress, huh?" The driver was too smart to have his leg pulled like this.
"Would you turn...!!"
"Alright! Alright already. Keep your shirt on! If it means that much to ya, I'm turning around. I'd never dare be insubordinate to my superior officer." Then, disgruntled, he muttered: "Woman in a frilly nightdress." And then: "Why can't you take me seriously for once? You and your two years older."
"Three."
"Two and three quarters!"
The car slowed to an infuriatingly gradual halt and executed a painfully sedate three point turn.
"Do you think you could do that a little faster? There's a half naked woman back there that we're supposed to protect and serve. Today if possible."
"Right! That does it!"
The driver slammed on the brakes and the police car stopped square across the middle of the road. He shoved the door open and climbed out.
"WHAT THE HELL YOU DOIN' TOBY? Get in the goddamn car!" his brother ordered. But Toby was in a huff and had decided not to hear anything.
"We're in the middle of the road! What if somebody comes? A juggernaut'd run us flat as a possum."
"You know darn well no one ever comes down this road," Toby replied. He leaned up against the back door of the car and folded his arms. His brother climbed out of the passenger side. His lips were pursed together like the spout of a kettle.
"Look, would you...!?" He had to remain calm. He took a deep breath and begged between clenched teeth. "Would you just turn around and look down the goddamn road."
"Why should I?" Toby pouted.
Josh's patience was coming to an end. He pulled himself together one last time and spoke in as calm a voice as he could muster before exploding.
"Because if you look down the motherluvin' road, you'll see an itsy bitsy red dot that needs our help on what is now the distant horizon."
"Alright. If that's what you want, I'll play your juvenile little game." Toby turned around and cast a fleeting look down the woody channel. Sure enough, there in the distance was a red fleck. He did a double take. It was a long way away but it contrasted so strongly with the verdant light filtering through the pines that there was no mistaking it. "You mean that's a woman?"
"Haven't I been trying to TELL YOU THAT THE WHOLE TIME?"
"Alright! There's no need to shout! Jeez! Come on, we better go and see what's goin' on!"
Toby leapt into the car and started the engine again. His elder brother clenched his fists, kicked the tire and climbed in his side. The car completed its turn in one screech of rubber and the siren went on as if anybody could be within a ten mile radius to hear it.
They sped down the road full of anticipation; not too much happened in their jurisdiction. It was a peaceful area inhabited by simple country folks. The Lynch mob, as people in town liked to call them, usually filled their working days with visits to farmhouses, drinking lemonade. Their excitement knew no bounds as they pulled up alongside the disoriented woman stumbling along the side of the deserted road.
Toby turned off the siren and wound down the window. She kept staggering away from them down the road. He halted the car and the brothers climbed out, hands on their handguns.
"Let me do the talking Tobe," Josh commanded.
"Why should you do the talking? I'll talk to her if I feel like it."
Josh glared at his brother and stomped his foot in the dirt, but he let it drop. He was the older brother and somebody had to be adult here.
"Miss?" Toby grabbed the woman's arm to stop her walking away. She spun around in a fury, yanked her arm free and affixed him with a satanic glare. Toby pulled back and turned to his brother for help.
The woman had on a fiery red negligee that barely covered her crotch. It was torn and filthy as if she had been in the forest for days. She was shivering with cold and her feet and arms were scratched and bleeding. Her long dark hair stuck to her smeared face in dirty strands.
Toby resumed carefully. "I'm sorry miss. I didn't mean to startle you, but..."
"Ma'am? Can you hear the officer ma'am?" Josh shouted. But she just stood there, staring at them, and then fainted dead away onto the verge of the road.
"Toby, start the car."
Toby didn't hesitate for a second. Josh bent down and scooped the woman up like a baby. Toby opened the back door so his partner could place her on the back seat, and as he gunned the car to life Josh fetched the first aid kit out of the trunk and sat down next to her.
"Let's roll!"
Toby put his foot down and the car swung around 180 degrees, wheels smoking. Siren back on, they sped away.
"Susie? This is Tobias. Susie, do you read?" Toby was on the police radio.
"Hey there Tobias. Mrs. Anderson called. She says she was expecting you a half hour ago..."
"Don't have time for that now Susie. We have a disoriented Caucasian with us we found down the old South Road. We're gonna have to take her to see the Doc in a hurry. Can you call him and tell him we'll be there in four minutes."
"Oh my. Really? What should I do?"
"Nothin' Susie. Just what I said. Call the Doc and tell him it's an emergency. We'll take care of the rest."
"Okay. Should I call Mrs. Anderson?"
"Yeah. Tell her we're sorry but some urgent policin' business came up."
"Okay Toby. Over."
"Over and out."
Minutes later they raced into town, siren screaming. They ran the lone traffic light without slowing and came to a halt in front of the old colonial house that was the town medical practice. Doctor Lovell, a venerable old gentleman with thinning white hair, a white coat and a knowing expression, was standing on the patio awaiting their arrival. Josh carried the limp body inside.
"Let's have a look at her," Doctor Lovell said. He raised her eyelid and flashed a penlight at her pupil. The policemen stood back and watched.
"She was down the old South Road. Lord knows what she was doing there in that getup. She was mighty disoriented."
"It looks worse than it is I think boys. Good you were out there doing your rounds though. She's suffering from exposure."
Toby considered the flimsy negligee: "You can say that again."
Josh couldn't believe Toby had said that.
"If you give us a bit, we'll get her warmed and cleaned and fluids in her. I think she'll be up and running in a few hours."
"Is there anything we can do Doc?" Toby asked.
"No my boy. We'll take care of her. I'll call Susie as soon as she's in a state to receive visitors."
"Good, 'cos we'll have to question her you know."
"I understand. Was she able to tell you anything?"
"No sir," Josh interjected before Tobias could say something else stupid. "She took one look at us and collapsed onto the ground. Pure relief I'd say."
"Yeees," the Doctor said doubtfully. "Now if you'd leave us to it, we'll be in touch."
"Right Doc."
"Right. You'll call Susie?"
Doctor Lovell gently nudged them out of the room and closed the door before they had the chance to turn around. When they did they faced the closed door and then turned to each other.
"Good work Sarge," congratulated Tobias.
"Yep, but there's still some coming with that one."
"Shall we go back and look for evidence?"
"Yeah. We should look around. But let's eat something first."
"You're right. It's time for lunch anyway."
They smiled and nodded as they made their way out. The diner would be full, and they would all have heard the siren.
They didn't make it out to the scene again that day. Lunch lasted until suppertime, despite the fact that they were “not in a position to divulge details at this stage of the investigation”.
Susie phoned them at the diner in the early evening to tell them that the Doc had called. They drove across the road to the practice and went inside to visit their prize.
"And don't keep interrupting me this time when I'm asking her questions," Josh instructed his little brother.
"Maybe I got some questions too."
"Well just wait till I'm finished with mine. I'm the superior officer and I ask the questions. It's important I have the peace to develop a theory and work towards it during the questioning. So just leave it to me until I tell you. That's an order!"
Toby snarled. This superior officer stuff got on his gumption ever since they had been boys playing policemen in their back yard. His brother couldn't punch him anymore if he didn't obey, but that didn't make his rank-pulling any less exasperating. They strode into the practice.
"Well she's ok boys, but she's not talking." Doctor Lovell brought them up to date.
"Don't worry Doc. We'll get her to talk." Tobias tried to sound competent.
"She's not a suspect Tobe, she's a victim. We can't go in there and beat it out of her," Joshua said.
"Of course not. I'm just saying we'll talk to her," Toby replied.
"Tobias," Doctor Lovell intervened, "I'm not sure if it will be that easy. There are signs she may have been raped, and she’s been so frightened by something that she hasn't uttered a word. In the interests of the patient, I'm afraid I'll have to keep you from questioning her until she's in a condition to withstand the stress. I'm sorry boys but you'll have to come back tomorrow."
"This is important police business Doc," the elder Lynch insisted.
"I know, Josh, but she can't tell you anything right now anyway. She's as good as catatonic. Anything taxing could set her back even further. You'll have to wait."
"Can't we even go and see her?" Toby implored.
"Sorry boys, I can't allow that. Perhaps after church tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. This kind of thing can take days. I'll let you know. But she's been through a trauma. Who knows what ghosts are spooking her."
It was a beautiful summer night. Alex was biking to the movies beside Laura on his rusty ten-speed. It was already their seventh date, not counting all the other time they spent just hanging out together. They chatted and laughed as they cycled. Alex couldn't keep his eyes on the road with that little dress fluttering high up her thighs beside him. Perfect.
As they stood at the traffic lights a convertible of kids from school pulled up beside them, radio rapping loud. Alex knew who it was and didn't dare look over. He fixed his gaze to the front, hoping they would be too occupied with their own coolness to notice him. Suddenly the laughing in the car subsided. The music stopped. He knew from experience that it had something to do with him - something ominous. They had recognized him.
The scene changed and it was two years earlier. Alex was biking again, but this time alone through the cold night. And he was standing up, going up and down as he pedalled. They had taken off his seat and he could feel the nipple of the condom they had slid over the saddle pipe touch his bare ass every time he descended. A car was crawling along behind him, its headlights lighting up his bare moon. They were hooting and honking the horn to make sure no one missed the show. Don't sit down! Don't let them see you cry!
Then he was back with Laura. The convertible laughed again and the wheels screeched as the light turned green. Alex watched them go, expecting them to turn around any moment and come back to have their sick fun with him. They were planning something. God how he hated them.
"Hey, it don't get any greener!" Laura was already half way across the intersection. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and heaved himself up onto the pedals. He looked down and was relieved to see the seat and his jeans, both where they should be. He watched the road for the convertible but it didn't come back. He caught up to Laura and realized that they had decided leave him alone tonight. This had to be his lucky day.
"Let's go down to Kennedy Mental," Laura said. It was how the kids used to refer to their elementary school.
"Kennedy Mental?" The kids at elementary school hadn't spoken to Alex much.
"JFK. Our old school! Oh Alex. Come on."
But the gates were closed.
"Bummer," Alex shrugged. "Summer vacation."
But Laura had decided to take a trip down memory lane, and no vacation was going to stop her. She climbed over the fence.
"Come on!" she insisted.
"Are you sure we're allowed in there?" Alex whispered, looking around apprehensively.