Fade to Black - Proof (16 page)

Chapter

19

The rest of the walk to Viet
Gardens did little to settle Jack’s anxiety. He felt torn between a residual
sense of fear that there was much more here than just voices from his own mind,
and anger at himself that he had again lost control—not only of images that
were supposed to be his own creation, but of his emotional response to them.
Now he sat at a small, two-top wooden table by the window in the small café‐style
Vietnamese restaurant and sipped on water with lemon, waiting for Pam. He watched
the condensation on his glass turn to little streams that trickled down to form
a darker maroon circle on the otherwise pink tablecloth, and tried for once not
to sort things out. Lewellyn said he was doing very well, but would have little
setbacks. Good enough for him. He gingerly fingered the
Marine Corps Times
which he had tucked under his leg in the chair. He thought about bringing it
out and flipping through it while he waited, but Pam would freak out to find
him reading it. So he waited and watched the maroon circle continue to grow.

Pam arrived
with a big smile and a wave from the door. She looked radiant and stylish in
her khaki slacks and pink shirt with a sporty blazer. Jack felt suddenly
underdressed in his jeans and sweat shirt. Pam bustled over to the table and
kissed him on the cheek. Jack felt better instantly.

“You look
beautiful, Pam,” he said and meant it.

“Thank you,
Jack,” she said, but blushed. It had taken him years to get her to take a
compliment well. How could she not know how gorgeous she was? “So,” she said,
unfolding her napkin into her lap, “how did it go, sweetheart?”

“Very, very
well,” Jack answered, and was happy to find that he really believed that. It had
gone well, and he refused to let the bullshit in the alley steal that from him.

I might have
little setbacks.

“I had a dream
last night that I didn’t get to tell you about.”

Pam’s face
clouded a little. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” she said and kissed his hand again.

“No, no,” Jack
said and caressed her cheek. “This was different. Or, I mean, the way it
affected me was different.”

Jack told her
about his dream. He focused on his sense that he was in control and told her of
his feeling that he had gone there on purpose, like his mind was taking him on
a trip to find some answers.

“What did Dr.
Lewellyn say?” she asked when he was done. Her mood was still a little
dampened.

“Well,” Jack
said, sorry that her spirits seemed a little deflated and determined to get her
buoyancy back, “he said it showed remarkable progress in my ability to control
my fears and emotional response to all this.” Jack wasn’t sure Lewellyn had
actually used the word remarkable, but a little license was in order. For
certain,
Jack
believed it was remarkable that he felt so much more in
control after just a few meetings with the psychologist. “Suffice it to say,”
he said, this time kissing her hand, “that I got a gold star on my attendance
calendar.”

Pam laughed a
genuine laugh at that, and took a sip of wine the waitress had put in front of
her while Jack talked.

“Seriously, baby,”
Jack said, “he is really optimistic that I have turned some kind of corner. He
thinks that I should be getting better and better over the next few days. And,”
he finished, “he thinks I’m okay to go to school on Monday.”

“Well,” Pam
said tensing a little, “let’s just see Jack. I just don’t want you to lose any
ground. Besides,” she said, pulling her hands away from his to make room as the
waitress placed their spring rolls in the center of the table and put a little
plate in front of each of them, “would being at home with me and the Bear for a
few more days be so horrible?”

Jack smiled at
that. It sure as hell would not be bad to have a few more family days. On the
other hand, he was worried about what the folks at work would start to think if
he missed any more time. Stomach flu didn’t last but so long, and he had sure
as shit acted weird in front of a lot of people. High schools were such vicious
little rumor mills.

“Being around
you is never, ever anything but wonderful,” he answered.

“Flirt,” she
said with a wave of her hand. Then they dug into the steaming spring rolls with
relish.

As they
enjoyed their appetizer, Jack finished telling her about the rest of the
session. He also told her about seeing the image of Hoag again, but emphasized
that while he had gotten upset and lost a bit of emotional control, he still
did much better than only days ago. Pam had stopped eating and was listening
intently. She seemed worried.

“Jack,” she
said taking his hand again, “when does Dr. Lewellyn think you will stop seeing
these ghosts, or whatever you two are calling them.”

“Images.” Jack
squeezed her hand tightly and tried to sound reassuring. “And I don’t know,
baby, but soon I think.” He stopped, unsure what to say next. “Pam,” he sighed
and paused again. What could he say to her? What would make the hell she was
going through for him okay? He thought for the thousandth time in eight years
that he really didn’t deserve such a wonderful woman. “Baby, I know how hard
this is on you, and I am sorry. But today was progress, not a setback. I really
think this is all going to resolve over the next few days.”

Pam smiled a
sad little smile. “Oh Jack,” she said, and dabbed beneath her eye with corner
of her napkin, trying not to let the tears smear her mascara. “Don’t worry
about any of that. I am with you forever, through whatever, for life. Okay?”
She looked at him pleadingly and he nodded. She held his gaze. “It is not about
me, sweetheart. I’m just so worried about you. I love you so much.”

 “Jack,” Pam
continued. “I’m your wife. I’m not going anywhere. The only suffering I have is
my worry for you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be better. I need you
to tell me how I can help you. Marriage is about being a team, don’t you
think?”

“I love you
too, Pam,” he said. “I wish I could tell you how to help. You already help more
than you could know. I’m miserable that you need to worry about it at all.”
Jack thought for a minute. Was there anything more he could ask of his partner
and best friend? If so he’d be damned if he could think of what it would be. He
couldn’t begin to tell her how much strength he gained just having her with
him. “And I am doing much better. So…” He took a sip of beer and stabbed some
chicken and vegetables with his fork, then reached it out to her for a bite.
“Let’s enjoy our lunch and have a great family weekend, okay?”

He felt great.
Maybe the key was to just never be away from Pam. No goblins dared to visit him
when they were together. If he could carry this feeling with him, he would be
perfect. He decided that the rest of the weekend they would all stick together,
and maybe by Monday it would all be over.

They enjoyed
each other and their grown‐up lunch. They left the serious shit for later and
Jack relished in the familiar comfort of talking about mostly nothing. They sat
and chatted for twenty minutes after they had paid the check and then Jack
walked Pam to her SUV, holding her hand. He kissed her deeply, embarrassed her
with a playful grab of her firm butt as they embraced, and then headed for his
own car a few blocks away.

On his way Jack
passed a small florist, and stopped for a moment.

Why not? His
wife deserved more than just a bunch of flowers, but he guessed she would love
the gesture. He went into the little shop and picked out a nice bouquet of
mixed flowers in a pretty painted porcelain vase. He paid the smiling older
woman and realized he was grinning himself.

“Must be
someone pretty special from the look on your face,” the lady said, handing him
his change.

“My wife,”
Jack said, still smiling and pocketing his change. “And she is. Very special.”

“Lucky girl,”
the woman said with a wink.

“I’m the lucky
one,” Jack replied.

He left the
shop and continued down the block to his car, holding his flowers and grinning
like a high‐school senior on prom night. When he reached the car he saw a red
flag on the meter, and checked his windshield for the inevitable ticket. None.
This day was getting better and better. He unlocked the car and slid into the
driver’s seat.

Jack set down
the bouquet and gingerly lifted the newspaper that sat in the front seat. He
stared at in disbelief.
Marine Corps Times
it yelled back at him in
bright red print. His mind raced. No, he had definitely not put it there. He
had left it in the psychologist’s office, he was sure of it. Hoag had given it
to him in the alley, and he remembered setting it beside him in the restaurant.

Goddamnit, not
again.

Jack sat there
with the paper in his lap and searched his mind for an explanation. Maybe he
had actually taken it with him from the office and placed it in the car when he
fed the meter? That would make sense, a hell of a lot more sense than having it
delivered to him by a hallucination in an alley. Maybe he had put it in the car
and then forgotten somehow, and the rest was just his battered mind playing
tricks on him. That had to be it.

But why the
trick his mind was playing? Why the elaborate hallucination about Hoag and
carrying the paper around? There must have been something there he was supposed
to see. He flicked at the corner of the paper, contemplating opening it up.

No, goddamnit!
Enough of this bullshit!

Jack balled
the paper up viciously and angrily popped open the door to the car. He got out
and scanned the street for a trash can. He saw one by the shop with the neon
sign reading “Electronic Miracle.” Jack strode over to the trash can and tossed
the paper in. As it disappeared through the slot in the green lid, Jack’s eye
caught a banner tag line over a row of small composite‐style pictures. “The
Human Toll,” it read. He was two steps into his retreat when it registered and
he stopped.

The Human
Toll?

Jack dashed
back to the can and pulled off the slotted green lid with so much zeal he
nearly tipped the can over. As he pulled the paper out, he stabilized the trash
can against his leg and replaced the lid. Then he unfolded the wrinkled paper,
standing next to the wobbling receptacle, oblivious to the stares of passers-by.
He smoothed out the paper as he stepped back against the wall.

On the inside
page was a half-page spread called “The Human Toll,” under which it announced
the confirmed deaths in Operation Iraqi Freedom. There was a long list with
names, branch of service, age, and place of death. Above the list was a row of
pictures of some, but not all, of the dead. At the end of the list of names was
the total number of deaths and wounded for the week and a separate tally of the
total since the war started. Jack ignored the tallies and nervously scanned the
list of names. His heart pounded and beads of sweat formed on his forehead and
upper lip.

Then his face
turned cool and he sucked his breath in. He felt as if his heart had stopped.

Richard O.
Simmons, USMC, 20

Fallujah, Iraq

Jack felt
himself sway and thought he might pass out. How was this possible? Lewellyn had
said it was all an elaborate creation of a confused mind. How in the fuck did
his demon from a nightmare get a fucking byline in the paper? Jack looked at
the row of pictures, but Simmons’ face wasn’t there. But another familiar face
was.

The second
from the last picture was of Johnny Bennet smiling in a high‐school graduation
cap. Jack scanned the list again and found it.

Jonathan S.
Bennet, USMC, 21

Fallujah, Iraq

Bile burned in
his throat and made his eyes water. Jack felt his stomach rise again and bent
over, the paper clutched in his balled up fist, heaving. Somehow he kept the
Vietnamese food where it belonged, but was rewarded with a second taste, much
less enjoyable than the first. He fought for control and struggled upright,
straightening the paper to find the final name.

The paper
rattled in his hand, whipping back and forth in a sudden and violent wind. Jack
tried to readjust it, but it was torn from his hands and tumbled down the
sidewalk. He dashed after it, bent at the waist, his fingers grabbing
frantically at the paper. His shoulder met with the dark suit-covered legs of a
man who shrieked in pain as Jack crunched into his knee, dropping the man
cursing to the pavement. He was on his own hands and knees now and struggled to
get a hand on the paper that somehow stayed intact, but skirted away each time
his fingers caressed its tearing edges. Then the paper disappeared into a huge
dark hole that appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the sidewalk. Jack
skidded to a halt, the skin from the heels of his hands peeling away on the
rough sidewalk. He felt the knees of his jeans tear, but managed to stop just
at the edge of the black hole, teetered for a moment, then steadied himself,
his head and shoulders leaning out over a dark abyss.