Charlie's Requiem: Democide (19 page)

Gerry dropped his shorts and flipping them up by his toes, caught them and handed them over to her.

“Nice,” his wife chided him. “Now go get clean.”

Gerry walked back to their master bedroom. The large, vaulted ceiling had skylights near the top of its peak. Barb had opened them, letting the hot air out as it rose above the cooler lower air in the room. The double French doors stood ajar, giving him a view of their large unscreened pool and the field behind their house. In the distance, a row of trees stood guard over a small lake, marking the end of his property. Their wooden corral fence ran the entire length of their long property line, allowing Caroline’s horses free reign of the back lot’s acreage. The two animals were now visible, grazing on the tall grass, lending to the illusion that all was right with the world.

“USE THE POOL SHOWER!” He heard his wife yell.

Of course
, he thought.
That’s connected to the solar water panels on the roof
. Water was directly heated by the Florida sun and circulated by a simple solar pump. The shower and its wooden stall were right next to the door that led from the master bathroom out to the pool area.

Dr. Kramer got into the shower’s enclosure and closed the door. He turned on the hot water and was rewarded with a steady stream. Although a bit hot for his taste, he never-the-less stood under the shower’s head and soaked his hair and body. It felt wonderful. The hot water loosened the week-old grit that had covered him; and it drained the stress from his back and shoulders. For a minute, he did nothing but soak his body in the steamy and luxurious stream of the sun-warmed liquid.

With his head immersed in the shower’s spray, he felt a slight cool breeze hit his back and heard the wooden door’s latch snap down into place. He turned to find Barb standing next to him, wearing only a smile and holding a washcloth. She reached behind him and grabbed a bottle of liquid shower soap. Squirting it in the small wash towel, she slowly rubbed the corners together, creating a foamy lather.

“Turn around,” She softly whispered. “I need to spend some time with you.”

Kramer smiled and turned as she had directed, quickly realizing once again that when he listened to his wife and did what she said, it usually turned out well.

He sighed.
It was good to be home!

Chapter 16

“The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”

— Albert Einstein

D
r. Kramer reclined on the leather sofa, a soft breeze floating through the open window and into the wood-paneled room. The smells of early spring still hadn’t appeared with the orange blossoms still fighting their way out of their waxy shells. Approaching dusk, the southern jasmine dominated the air, its sweet scent finding its way into his private study.

It had been a time for reflection and healing since he returned home. Finding his family safe with adequate food and secure through the efforts of his neighbors gave the cardiologist a great deal to be thankful for. He had spent the last four days recovering from the ordeals endured in the city. Time spent enjoying his wife and daughter provided the nourishment to feed his recovering soul.

His wife stole quietly into the room and stood to the side of the couch, enjoying the quiet of the man cave. It was his place; and although she would never admit it, there were many days while he had been missing that sitting in the room absorbing the smells and aura of her husband’s sanctuary had kept her sane. Waiting patiently for his return became overwhelming, but a few minutes in his den brought the smells and comfort that would allow her to go on, even if it was just for one more day.

Now he was getting restless. He had seen first-hand what the crisis was doing; and his moral compass demanded that he do something to help those that he could.

Barb could see it in his eyes, that look of commitment and concern that he would get when certain patients were not responding to his care. It was like he had a part of his brain that would churn on its own in the background, occasionally demanding his attention throughout the day.

“I swear, Gerry. You’re schizophrenic! I’ve just come to accept that.” She said, recognizing that he was once again thinking but not sharing.

“What?” He asked. “Why would you say that to me?”

She moved gracefully to the couch and lightly sat on the edge of the old leather sofa. Sitting against his reclined head and chest, she draped her left arm over the pillow he was lying against and twirled his growing lock of hair.

“You need a haircut!” She said, avoiding his question.

Wives were good at that
, he thought.
That’s why they always win an argument. They deflect when they are pinned down, and you can never hit a moving target
.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he prodded.

“Sometimes I lose you.” She started. “I can see it in your eyes. You go off in that big brain of yours and I can see the wheels turning. It’s like there are two of you thinking at the same time.”

Gerry smiled at the truth in her observation. His mind did work like that. He often got the strangest thoughts about things he hadn’t known he was ruminating about. Usually his inner thoughts dealt with something he was stressed about, and typically the answer to what had been perplexing him appeared.

“You know,” she continued. “They say that there is a fine line between genius and insanity.”

“Well, I haven’t fallen off the genius side yet. If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

Barb leaned down and snuggled her husband, wrapping her right arm over his chest.

She reflected on the fact that she was still concerned about his health. He had lost weight that he could ill afford to give up over the last couple of weeks. She could still feel the bones of his ribs as she draped herself over him. But he was eating well since returning home, and with better nutrition and a steady diet of manual labor around the house, he was actually starting to look pretty good.

But the ruminations he was torturing himself with were so strong, she could almost feel it. Like a wall of pressure pushing him down, Barb was mostly concerned with his mind and the awful things he must have seen.

Gerry hadn’t spoken much about his weeks in Orlando, other than a rudimentary accounting of the time spent getting home. She saw the pain in his eyes when he spoke about his experience at his medical office and escape from the city. He was holding back, and she was afraid it would eat away at his mind.

“You’re pensive,” she finally said. “I can tell you have something bothering you.”

“You could always read me,” he answered. “I can’t hide a thing from you.”

“Is it about your office? If it is, you can tell me.” She said.

“Not really,” he replied weakly. “But I guess that’s part of it.”

Kramer wiggled himself out from under his wife’s arm and sat up straight. His wife continued to recline against the oversized pillow they had both been using.

“Talk to me,” she quietly said. “You know it helps to share with me.”

Dr. Kramer sat thoughtfully for a moment and turned to his loving spouse.

“Well,” he started. “There are three things I’m struggling with.”

She sat up straight and turned so they could hold hands.

“First, my greatest fear is for Claire. I need to know that she’s alright. I just don’t know how to do that.” He confessed.

“Secondly,” he continued. “I need to do something to help. I have skills that too many need right now and I feel useless sitting here.”

“You’re not useless!” She protested. “We need you too.”

“I know that, sweetheart. But you know what I mean. I can help people. With the medications I salvaged and my skills, I can make a difference.”

Barb stayed silent. Truth didn’t require a response.

“Finally,” he confessed. “I need to speak with Rabbi Vetter.”

“Whatever for?” Barb asked. “You, of all people, need no confession.”

With a silent husband sitting next to her, Barb became concerned. What could have caused him to feel the need to recite his sins?

“What aren’t you telling me?” She demanded softly.

“I killed a man,” he finally admitted.

“
You killed a man?
” She asked incredulously. “I thought you said that your group had to kill some rapists. But it was you?”

Kramer admitted to the act, including the details of why and how he did the deed.

Barbara sat back stunned. She looked at her husband, reevaluating the man she had married. Never could she have seen in him the ability to end someone else’s life. He spent decades healing; but now she realized that within him resided the ability to stick a pipe through another man’s skull. It was sobering.

“I’m so sorry for that,” he continued. “But I didn’t have a choice. He would have killed all of us except for a couple of the younger staff members. They had other plans for them.”

Barb looked into her husband’s eyes and saw the pain and resolve within. She slowly realized that this man would do anything he needed to do to protect the innocent, including ending another man’s life.

And then, she remembered the Book of Habakkuk, the eighth of the collected twelve minor prophets. “Lord, you have made them your instrument of judgment. Protector, you have appointed them as your instrument of punishment.”

All of God’s men were called to be the instrument of his will, and her husband was one of them. He had been chosen to implement God’s punishment on obviously evil men.

“You were called to be there, Gerry. God’s hand worked through you.”

“So you say,” he countered. “And as I have reflected on that these last few weeks, I have come to the same conclusion. But I need to hear it from Rabbi Vetter.”

He moved to the window, staring out at the brilliantly colored sunset. Shades of orange blended seamlessly into a rainbow of green and blue. The slow descent of the sun’s rays finally blinked away, leaving the sky to be lorded over by the rising moon and stars.

Barbara saw that her husband needed the peace that only the synagogue’s scholar could provide.

“I figured that I could head into Clermont and see if he’s still there. That’ll also give me a chance to check on Rich and offer him some help.”

“Rich” was Dr. Richard Chase, a friend from the synagogue and the chief of staff at the local hospital. If anyone would know what was going on with healthcare in their area, he would be the one.

Barb got up from the couch and moved to her husband’s side. She intertwined hands with her husband and stared out at the enveloping darkness.

“Just don’t let me lose you,” she finally said. “I need you here as well.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do too much,” he replied. “With no power, It’ll be back to the old days. Herbs, salves and a pat on the back.”

“Don’t forget the leeches,” she joked.

“I suppose I could do that,” he replied with a smile. “I’m sure there are any number of lawyers in need of work about now.”

With a hug, Barb left her husband and went outside to begin preparing the house for the evening. Hanging on a clothesline on the side of the house were eight neon green collapsible camping lanterns. Her daughter Caroline had run across these little devices during a weekend camping trip. The iMarky lanterns turned themselves on when snapped open, providing a remarkable amount of light for the house. Yet, they were small enough to fit in the palm of her hands, and lasted all night if needed. Plus, they put out enough light to read and were small enough that it didn’t wash out your vision.

Barb snapped one open, using it like a flashlight, and placed them strategically around the house.

“Caroline!” She called out.

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Her daughter favored the outdoors and likely was in the barn with her horses. She walked out back, noticing once again that the St. Augustine grass that had been planted around the house was beginning to reach ankle height. She was going to have to add this to her list of things to address. The field beyond their formerly manicured back yard was tall with Florida Wiregrass, its shoots springing over a foot from the sandy soil. The horses would eat that nuisance plant, but the St. Augustine grass would be a different matter.

Barb had begun writing down a list of items they were going to need, along with a tally of chores that were affected by the loss of power. With normal services gone, they were going to have to maintain their own pool and yard. The pool was not too much of a problem since the service people used a supply of chemicals they already had on property. She wanted the pool full in case their well’s solar pump failed. It was an invaluable backup water source.

One of the nice technologies she was grateful for was their solar-powered well pump. It recharged their water tank during the day; and if they were judicious in their water use at night, it provided them with enough to have minimal disruptions. The key was to take daytime showers, and that was no inconvenience at all.

How their system survived the EMP was beyond her. But Gerry had insisted that they install the best surge protector they could get; and he had placed some of the sensitive components in a metal cage, all because of the severe thunderstorms and occasional hurricanes the area received. To date, they hadn’t lost power from the panels.

The solar panels on the roof were tied to the grid, but they hadn’t gotten around to setting up a backup system like her husband’s office had. She cursed herself for not pushing Gerry to follow through on that project. He had installed the solar panels at the same time their new office had been built just over three years ago. But construction delays at the office had pushed the solar installation back, and with other jobs lined up in the solar company’s work schedule, they didn’t have the ability to do anything at the house other than put up the panels and tie them to the grid. After six months attempting to reschedule the busy corporation for the backup installation, she had put the idea aside. Now, it would have been great to have those batteries to run the house at night or during times of cloud cover.

As she continued to the barn, looking for her daughter, she glanced longingly to the Grafton house. He had a backup solar system he was using to power his garage. With the machinery idle, the excess power was being routed to the house. To say that the place was lit up like a Christmas tree was a bit over the top, but seeing real lights shining from the windows made her long for regular power, and she vowed to speak with her husband the next morning.

As she made her way up the beaten path, she could hear her daughter talking to the animals. The light filtering from the building was from a larger kerosene lantern, its warm glow diffusing out of the large barn door onto the corral outside.

“Caroline. It’s time to get back to the house.”

“Just one more minute, mom.” She replied as she finished brushing out the tangles in the horse’s mane.

Barb looked around at the stable, proud of her daughter’s attention to the space. If Gerry had his man cave, and she had her house, then Caroline had her barn to call her own. The tack was stored and leather polished. The floor was cleaned of any manure and fresh hay was scattered in the stalls, and the troughs were filled with clean water. Most of the floor was dirt, but a wooden platform covered about a quarter of the barn’s floor. There, she had a desk with leather tools and polish neatly stashed in a large, oaken desk’s cubby hole. The lantern hung on a support post, cantilevered out off of a metal hinge. Both horses were calm and bedded for the night.

Caroline finished brushing out her mare; and after putting her supplies in their appropriate bucket, she hugged her mom and they left, closing the doors for the evening.

As they walked slowly back to the house, there was a sudden movement to their left, just beyond the fence. That property was owned by the Raymond family, but they were out of town when the power went out. They had taken several weeks off to travel to their kid’s house up north, planning to spend Thanksgiving with their grandchildren.

Suddenly, they heard a squeal and the sound of two animals fighting.

“More hogs!” Caroline said with some relief in her voice. “I’ve heard them out there for a few days.”

“You should have told me,” her mom replied. “They can be dangerous.”

“I know, mom. But they’ve stayed on their side and they won’t charge you unless you challenge them.”

“That’s not true, Caroline.”

“Sure it is!” she replied.

“And how do you know this?” Barb asked sarcastically.

“Rob told me!” She quickly shot back. She suddenly regretted saying anything about Robert. They had been spending more and more time together and her mom was the last person she wanted to know.

“Rob?” Barb asked with raised eyebrows. “And when did you see him?”

Caroline stuttered as she tried to come up with a convincing story to extricate herself from the quicksand she had just stepped into.

“I, uh. I guess when I went over to watch them work on daddy’s car.”

Barb immediately recognized her daughter’s passive, aggressive answer. Using the phrase “daddy” was the tell, the verbal giveaway that she was doing something she shouldn’t have been.

“Well, I’ll bet “daddy” will be happy to hear that you are spending time with that boy, learning all about the Florida outdoors!”

“NO!” she cried, grabbing her mother’s arm. “I mean, don’t tell him anything. It’s nothing.”

Barb should have seen this coming. With nothing to do other than clean the barn and read books, it was inevitable that two young people would find each other and spend time together. She just hoped it hadn’t progressed beyond spending time.