Gifts and Consequences (12 page)

With his head pulled back, mouth stretched open and the overwhelming odor, Allen had to concentrate to get enough air.

George nodded and said, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Spider, still shifting nervously, added, “Yeah, and may God have mercy on your soul.” 

He looked at George for approval, but his companion just scooped up Allen’s belongings and faded into the darkness.  Spider skittered after him, leaving Allen stripped, wounded, and half dead.

In his secluded location in the copse of mesquite trees, Allen had no hope of rescue from a passing Good Samaritan.

Jonathan drove home from the hospital to where his wife did not await him, did not even realize he was not there.  He used to savor his time at home.  Islands of calm in the raging storm of his schedule.

Dinner at home with Susan had always been the highlight.  One night Susan told him she had the cook prepare a special meal for the fifteen-year anniversary of their first date.  The best china was laid out and they even dressed up.  The wine was a special vintage, selected especially for the occasion. 

The cook presented trays with silver platter covers.  Jonathan had never been as anxious or curious about a meal at home.  In unison they lifted the platter covers to reveal Kraft macaroni and cheese, their old college staple.  

He burst out laughing, and the two enjoyed one of the most memorable meals of their marriage. 

When he arrived home, Jonathan went straight for the stairway that led to Susan’s room.  As he climbed the stairs he heard voices and wondered if Susan had made a rare excursion from her room.  He soon realized that the source of the voices was the two nurses at the near end of the hallway.  He glanced at his watch and saw it was time for shift change. 

Julia, a middle-aged woman who had just finished her shift, told him there was nothing new.  They continued their conversation as he stepped away and paused outside the door, gathering strength.

“How are things at Golden Horizons?” Julia asked.

“Oh, that’s right.  You used to work there, didn’t you?” answered Kiersten, a young RN who was new to Jonathan’s employ.

“Yeah, it’s been about a year though.”

“Do you remember an old guy named Sylvester?” asked Kiersten.

“Cute old guy with dementia?  Of course.  Does he still try to escape?”

“Yeah, he made it past the parking lot this week.  That’s the furthest I’ve ever seen him get.”

Listening to the light conversation helped Jonathan loosen up.

“Still trying to visit the grave?” asked Julia.

“Yep, swears he would never try to escape again if he could just go see it.”

Jonathan stayed at the end of the hallway, listening curiously until the ladies switched subjects, then went into Susan’s room.  Her haven.  She could leave and go anywhere she wanted with her nurse as a companion, but she never did.

Even after years of watching the progression, Jonathan was baffled by the disunion of her youthful beauty and old-lady behavior.  He gave her a white daisy, but no kiss on the cheek.  It had been a few weeks or more. 

Susan smiled politely, but it was obvious she didn’t recognize him.  Jonathan’s cell phone rang, startling Susan.  He saw it was Marcus, and silenced it. 

“Do you remember me?” he asked with a gulp. 

Susan looked at him blankly. 

His phone rang again and he silenced it without checking it.  “I’m your husband.  Jonathan.”

“My husband?”  Her eyes grew wide and she blushed.  “I, heh.  Oh my.  I don’t know about that.”  Her nervous speech was interspersed with laughter.

He kept his distance, not wanting to frighten her. 

The phone in his pocket rang again.  Marcus never persisted unless it was a matter of life and death.

“I need to run,” he told her.  “Is there anything I can get for you before I go?”

She smiled tensely and said, “No.  I—”  She laughed again. 

He offered his hand.  Susan clasped it and smiled. 

Fighting the urge to embrace her, Jonathan left the room and called Marcus.

Porter Lippi stared into the depths of the Ben and Jerry’s carton and wondered where the rest of the ice cream was.  It had been full a few minutes ago.  He checked his lap to see if he had spilled it.  No such luck.

The Pittsburgh Pirates were up to bat.  A little more than half way through the season they had no chance at the playoffs, but they were playing their in-state rivals, the Philadelphia Phillies.  In a season that was over before the All Star break, moral victories such as this counted for everything. 

The seventh inning was just starting and the game was tied.  With every pitch, Porter stuck his fork into the empty container without thinking about it.  The fork was perfect for digging into a hard-frozen carton, but left too much at the bottom.  He decided to hold out until the seventh inning stretch.

Two pitches later the stress of the close game was too much. 

I'll only miss a pitch or two,
he told himself.

With only one out in the top of the seventh inning he pulled himself to his feet and ambled into the kitchen.  He grabbed a spoon and turned back toward the hallway, but paused as he passed the freezer.

Might as well save myself the trip.

Without pausing to consider, Porter reached into the freezer and pulled out a Cherry Garcia that was calling his name.

Just a few bites to get me through the game
.

When he made it back to the couch, the Phillies were still up to bat and had taken a one-point lead. 

Porter cursed.  Up to that point the game had been a rare positive outing for his team.  With every pitch, every strike, and every out he shoveled more ice cream into his mouth.

The Phillies still led by a run with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning.  One man on base.  The Pirates’ lead-off batter stepped up for what might be the final at bat.  Porter reached for another scoop, but his fork scraped the bottom of the carton.  He stared in amazement into the tub.  The pitch came but Porter never saw it. 

Porter crumpled the container in his hand and threw it across the room.  He flung the fork after the carton. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d polished off two pints of ice cream, but it was the first time he had to fight the urge to go back for more.

Allen had to focus on every breath.  His jaw, stretched wide by his own socks, was now in the same category as the rest of his body.  Pain. 

His ribs were the most painful, but the socks in his gaping mouth were suffocating.  On top of the pain was thirst, numbness, cold.    

At first he tried to free himself but it had proven impossible.  Every time he struggled against the tape and cords he felt a spear jabbed into his left side.  Breathing was enough of a struggle and it was the only thing that kept him conscious.

Allen couldn’t turn his head more than an inch or two because of the duct tape that held it to the tree, but his eyes flicked to the east craving the faintest brightening of the sky.  Breathe, look east.  Breathe, look east. 

He tried closing his eyes and thinking of Yvonne and of walking.  Uncountable minutes passed in agony, but eventually he reached a trance state in which he saw himself walking slowly and breathing without pain.  He didn’t arrive anywhere, and realized he must be walking in place, but it was better than sitting in the dark, tied to a tree in the desert.

With a jolt he came around and tried to suck in a breath but that just caused him to gag.

Don’t throw up,
he told himself, and controlled it by tightening his throat. 

When the urge passed, he looked for light on the eastern horizon but was disappointed.  Just as they had before he dozed, the headlights from the cars on the freeway deceived him repeatedly. 

He imagined hearing his name and visualized a Good Samaritan arriving to save his life.  For the first time he looked to the west.  It was the direction his attackers had gone, but his only thoughts now were for morning.  He could see only the faint glow coming from either the industrial park or restaurant. 

“Allen!”  He definitely heard it that time.  Pain shot into his side as he struggled to free his hands.  Fighting the gag only made the urge to gag return.

“Allen!”  The voice was closer.  Hope fought to rise through his despair.  Somehow somebody knew where he was, and was close. 

The stranger who had sent him on this Olympian quest burst into view, his face lit by a mobile device—a cell phone or GPS.  He was jogging, following a path only he could see on the miniature screen.

Allen looked on in horror as the man passed within ten feet without seeing him. 

“Allen!” the man yelled again.

Unable to move his hands, head, or body, he pounded his legs against the dirt.  Pain shot through his legs and chest and lights crept into his field of vision.  It was either stop moving or risk passing out.

The man didn’t even slow.  Allen listened to his name being called again, further away this time.  His hope sank until he saw a hulking figure following the other man. 

At first he thought of George, but quickly realized this man was black.  He was dressed in dark clothes and would have blended into the night if not for the light from an identical device shining up on his face.  But instead of focusing on it, he shone a flashlight from side to side as he jogged behind the other man. 

He saw Allen immediately and, despite his size, moved silently toward him.  He called out in a low, booming voice. “Jonathan, I found him.”  A pocket knife was in his hand in an instant and in less than fifteen seconds Allen’s hands, arms, body and head were free. 

Using his left hand, Allen tore the socks from his mouth and took a gasping breath, which caused him to double over in pain.  When he recovered from the shock he realized that closing his jaw was even more painful than keeping it stretched for so long.

The stranger, Jonathan, returned a moment later and asked, “What the hell happened?”

At first Allen didn’t answer.  Breath was too sweet, and he could only take it in small portions.  His first words were, "Thank God."

Jonathan waited patiently, looking over Allen’s injuries as thoroughly as he could without touching him.  The other man scanned the surrounding area with his flashlight revealing nothing but red dirt and desert trees.

“A couple guys beat me up, took my stuff.”

Jonathan turned to his companion.  “Would you mind, Marcus?”

The massive man bent and carefully cradled Allen in his arms.  As they walked toward the west, Jonathan asked, “How many were there and what did they look like?”

“Big tall guy.  Name was George.  Black hair, beard."  A recovering jaw slurred his speech, but it felt magnificent to be able to speak again.  "Spider was the other one.  Skinny as a stork.  Shaggy light brown hair.  Like a mop.  He had to be high on something.”

Jonathan dropped back a couple paces and dialed his cell.

Allen was uncomfortable being carried like a baby, but the pain of a slow walk would be more excruciating.  They reached a black Yukon.  Allen struggled to find a position of comfort in the back as the other men climbed into the front seats.  Jonathan hung up his cell phone.

They followed vocalized GPS directions to a hospital.  Marcus parked in the emergency room pull-through and went to retrieve a wheelchair while Jonathan and Allen waited at the car.  After helping Allen into the chair, Marcus got back in the car. 

As Jonathan rolled him into the ER doors, Allen saw the inklings of a sunrise on the eastern horizon. 

Thank you, Lord
, he thought, choking up. 

*****

Looking down at the top of Allen’s head as he wheeled him into the ER was much easier than looking at his bruised and swollen face.  The worry he had to endure since Marcus called him had turned his stomach sour, and looking at Allen just made it worse. 

At the reception desk, the nurse’s eyes grew wide momentarily, but she controlled her voice when she asked, “What happened to him?”

“He was assaulted and left outside overnight.”

Turning to another woman behind her, the nurse said, “Call the trauma team.” 

A door at the end of the desks opened and Jonathan aimed for it.  The first nurse wedged in to take his place behind the wheelchair and said, “You could have called 911.”

Jonathan trailed as the nurse guided Allen around a few corners and into a large room.  He watched from the hallway, leaving plenty of space for the people who continued to stream into the room.

Within seconds a dozen people surrounded Allen, each poking, prodding and examining.  The doctors and nurses listened to his breathing, cleaned wounds, drew blood, and asked a thousand questions.  His remaining clothes were cut away and a towel was placed over his groin area.