Fractured Eden (12 page)

                                         
Chapter 17

On his way home that evening, Aaron passed Rocky Donnigan’s trailer home and spotted Rocky’s bicycle lying in a heap in the front yard.

“That’s not like Rocky. He takes good care of that bike.”

Aaron stopped his car on the right shoulder of the road and stepped out. He heard a faint humming, which seemed to come from behind the trailer. Aaron hurried to the back yard and saw Rocky sitting with his back against the trailer, drinking from a wine bottle.

“Rocky, it’s me. Are you okay?”

Rocky turned to Aaron. “Hey, Doc.” He sat forward and showed Aaron his bottle. “I wish I had some . . . to share . . . but it’s almost gone.” His words were slurred.

“Why are you out here?”

Rocky let out a loud belch. “Drinking my cares away.”

Aaron sat down beside him. Rocky drained the bottle, took a deep breath, and stumbled over a few words from a country song.

I know that song,
Aaron thought.
It’s ‘You and Tequila,’ by Kenny Chesney
.

Rocky sang a few more verses and stopped. “Doc, I’m no good.”

“You’re a decent man, a good mechanic. People in town like you. I like you.”

“Thanks . . . but I’m really no good. He dropped his head. “I’ve made a stinking mess of my life.”

       “Come on, let me help you to your bed. You need a good night’s sleep.”

Rocky pulled up his knees, hunched over, and began to sob. “My life ain’t worth a plug nickel.” He rocked back and forth a few times, then he grabbed the empty wine bottle and hurled it into the trees.

He put his head in his hands. “I killed … I killed my own son,” he said between sobs.

“What?”

Rocky moaned and resumed the rocking motion. “I was drunk one night. I came home . . . My baby boy was crying in his crib . . . I picked him up and hugged him . . . and put him in bed beside me . . . I woke up in the morning . . . and I was on top of him. He wasn’t breathing.” Rocky sobbed in his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“My wife couldn’t take it. She left me.”

Aaron put his hand on Rocky’s shoulder as he moaned and sobbed and rocked.

“Sometimes I wish I was dead . . . Then maybe I could see my son in heaven . . . and maybe he could forgive me.”

Aaron’s eyes welled with tears.
We all have our demons, my friend.

He sat with Rocky for a while, until the rocking stopped.

Rocky mumbled something. His eyes were closed. Aaron leaned closer and he heard Rocky whisper, “I’ve got to help Preston.”

A minute later, Aaron heard soft snoring. He lifted Rocky in his arms and carried him inside the trailer to his bed. Rocky didn’t stir as Aaron arranged him in a comfortable position, pulled off his boots, and slipped a pillow under his head.

He switched on a lamp and looked around the trailer. Automobile books and magazines were strewn about on chairs and tables. He walked over to a small model car on a nearby table and studied the shiny body.

I wonder if that’s a ‘64 Pontiac GTO.

Several minutes passed, and Aaron heard no sound except Rocky’s regular breathing. He covered Rocky with a sheet up to his chest.

As he stood by the bed, he felt a gnawing tightness in his stomach. He reached out and touched Rocky’s forehead.
Sleep well, my friend.

Aaron turned off the lamp and walked out into the night air behind Rocky’s trailer. He heard branches of the tall pines in the Big Thicket whisper in the breeze.

                                         
Chapter 18

Aaron was in and out of sleep all night. He woke up shouting, his hands above him, as he saw the machete swinging toward his face. He sat on the side of the bed in a cold sweat. It was several minutes before the alarm was set to ring.

The machete guy is in town. Juliana saw him in the clinic a few days ago. I’ve got to stay alert.

He stumbled to the bathroom to wash his face and then looked around inside the house.
Should I even go outside?

Aaron eased the back door open, stepped out, and tiptoed around the perimeter of his house in the dawn light, searching for anything unusual. He heard noises from inside a tree grove that bordered the western side of his property.

Aaron turned to sprint back to his door.

“Hey, you.” A figure emerged from the shadows, a man with long, flowing hair and a mustache and beard.

Aaron stopped in midstride. He recognized the silhouette. “Race Taggett?”

“Yeah.”

Aaron hesitated and then, despite shakiness in his legs, hobbled across the yard toward the trees.

Race’s eyes bore into him. “You’ve been to my house. Like I told you before, you’d best stay away from there. We don’t like visitors.”

Aaron’s voice trembled. “I’m just trying to help.”

“There was a doc before you,” Race hissed, baring his teeth. “He reminded me of a doc when I was a kid, when they all looked at me like I was a freak.” Race nodded. “I scared him off all right.”

“Your father is very sick.”

Race looked down. “Mom’s taking care of that.”

Aaron took a deep breath.
Maybe he’s right. I should just forget about this screwed-up family.

Race stepped forward and pointed. “Don’t come around my house.”

Aaron turned and hurried away. He reached the door and looked back. He could make out the figure of Race in the trees.

His hair. He’s the guy that ran in front of my car and jumped the fence a few days ago
.

“Are you all right? You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” Stella said as Aaron walked into the clinic.

“I’m worried about Rocky Donnigan,” Aaron said.
Among other things,
he thought.

“Did anything happen to him?”

“He was really down last night. I’m afraid he might get suicidal.”

“Usually he’s okay when he sobers up.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’ll phone him this morning and talk with him.”

“Good idea.”

Later in the morning, Marley carried Cristal into the clinic. “She’s not acting right,” she said to Stella.

“What’s wrong, Cristal?” Stella said.

Cristal opened her eyes. She stared up toward the ceiling.

Stella’s brow furrowed. “Follow me.” She led them to the first empty patient room. “Lay her down on the table. I’ll get the doctor.”

Aaron walked into the room. Marley stood beside Cristal, who lay motionless on the table, her hand resting on the plush Genie at her side.

“She looks sick,” Aaron said to Marley. “When did the symptoms begin?”

       “She said she felt bad yesterday afternoon. She normally doesn’t complain much.” Marley stroked Cristal’s hair. “She had 102-degree fever last night, and she didn’t sleep well.”

“She’s got a rash. Was it there yesterday?”

“I noticed it on her forearms this morning. I think it’s spreading.”

Aaron examined Cristal, who stared off into space.

“Cristal, do you feel bad?”

She looked at him with glassy eyes. Her voice was weak. “I’ve got Genie.”

“Yes. I’m glad.” He turned to Marley. “Has she been around any sick kids recently?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“How about mosquito or insect bites?”

“I don’t know of any insect . . .” Marley touched her cheek. “Well, wait a minute. I did pull a tick off her stomach.”

“When was that?”

“I believe it was a little more than a week ago.”

“We’ve got to get her admitted to the hospital. She may have an infection that requires IV medication.”

Marley put her hands to her temples. “Is it that bad?”

“It can be. But I think we’ve caught it in time.”

“What kind of infection is it?”

“It might be a tick-borne infection, possibly Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.”

Marley covered her mouth. She had tears in her eyes.

Aaron put his hand on Marley’s shoulder. “We’ve got treatment for this. I think she’ll be all right.”

Aaron stepped out of the room and jogged over to Stella. “Call for an ambulance. I’ll finish up here and meet her at the hospital. Please tell any patients waiting that I had to leave for an emergency.”

Fifteen minutes later, an ambulance pulled up to the front of the clinic. Aaron briefed the two medics about Cristal’s illness, and they loaded her on a gurney and into the ambulance.

As Aaron walked out of the clinic toward his car, the air felt hot against his skin. He turned up the air conditioning but left the radio silent as he sped to the hospital. Along the way, he stayed alert for police cars and any other suspicious cars following him.

He pulled into the emergency department parking area and saw the ambulance near the ER entrance doors. He hurried into the ER registration area and found the triage nurse.

“A little girl named Cristal just came by ambulance. I’m her family doctor.”

She checked the patient log. “Yes. Cristal Brighton?”

“That’s her. Can I see her?”

“I’ll take you back to her.”

They walked through the main ER, passing by patients on stretchers in rooms and behind curtains. Aaron was led to a room with several hospital personnel clustered around Cristal’s stretcher, one nurse placing nasal oxygen and another preparing an intravenous line. Marley sat in a chair in the room with Genie in her lap. An ER doctor at the side of the stretcher looked up as Aaron and the triage nurse entered the room.

“This is Dr. Rovsing, Cristal’s family doctor,” the nurse said.

“She’s incoherent at times,” the ER doctor said to Aaron. “She has a febrile illness with a rash.”

Aaron walked up beside the ER doctor. “Her mother pulled a tick off of her recently. I wonder about Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.”

“Yes, that crossed my mind,” the ER doctor said as he bent over and examined Cristal’s skin. “The rash is consistent with that. I’ll order the appropriate antibiotic IV.” He rushed out of the room.

Aaron walked to the head of the bed. Cristal’s eyes were closed. She opened and closed her eyes when the nurse inserted the IV needle into a vein in her forearm.

Marley walked up beside Aaron. Her eyes were reddened. “In the ambulance, she was out of her head, talking crazy,” she said.

       Aaron put his arm around Marley’s shoulders. “She’s where she needs to be.”
I hope we’re in time,
he thought. Queasiness gnawed at his stomach.

After a short while in the ER, Cristal was admitted to a bed in the ICU.

Aaron and Marley sat at her bedside. Several minutes after the ICU nurse left the room, Aaron nodded off. He woke to see Marley standing over him, her hand on his shoulder.

“You should go home and get some sleep,” she said.

Aaron stretched, and then stood and looked at Cristal. “Her vital signs are stable, and she’s getting the treatment she needs.”

Marley blotted her eyes with tissue.

“I know how worried you must be,” Aaron said. “But we should stay hopeful about this.”

“I will.” She looked up at Aaron. “There’s something else. I’m concerned about Forrester. I think he’s in trouble, and I don’t know where he is.”

“Forrester? What kind of trouble?”

“He called me yesterday, and he’d had another memory lapse. When this happens, he doesn’t remember what he’s been doing or how he got to where he is.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Not yet.”

Aaron shook his head. “You have a lot on your mind.”

“I’m sorry to burden you with all of it.”

“It’s not a burden. That’s what I’m here for.” He touched her arm. “Can I do anything for you?”

“No, but thanks.” She sighed. “This has happened before with Forrester, and it’s worked out. I’ll be fine.”

Aaron frowned as he studied Marley’s face.
Forrester is dragging her down, and she’s really stressed. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it.

Aaron yawned several times but managed to stay awake during his drive back to the clinic. His car wasn’t followed.

“Everything’s good here,” Stella said. “How is Cristal doing?”

“She’s got a bad case. I hope we’re in time.”

“Well, you did what you could. I’ll pray for the little angel.”

Aaron nodded and turned to walk away.

“I called Rocky Donnigan’s auto shop and he’s at work today, so I guess he’s okay,” Stella said.

Aaron took a deep breath. “I’m glad to hear that.”

After work, Aaron drove to the happy hour bar he’d visited the week before. He smiled as he saw Red Relford in his usual place and the chair next to him leaning against the bar.

As Aaron walked toward him, Red straightened the chair. “I saved the seat for you.”

“Thanks.” Aaron ordered his cabernet and sat down.

Red swirled his brandy. “Do you like any particular cabernet sauvignon?”

“I’m learning as I go. You can’t go wrong with California wines, but I’ve found some good prices for South African cabernets, and they taste good, too.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Aaron sipped his wine. “What kind of dog do you have?”

“A black Labrador retriever. I just got him a few years ago. He’s three years old.”

Aaron had bread and a bowl of chicken noodle soup with his wine. Red was quiet for several minutes.

Aaron turned to him. “Is everything okay?”

“I got a letter from the widow of a friend of mine. He died a few weeks ago. We served together in the war.”

“I’m sorry.”

Red nursed his snifter of brandy. “I haven’t thought about the war in a while.”

“Which war?”

“The Second World War.”

“Which branch were you in?”

“Navy, Pacific Theater.”

“That must have been an interesting experience.”

“Well, I’m glad I did it. I learned a lot about battleships, and war.”

Aaron stared at his wine glass. “World War Two sure turned this country around.”

       “We had a lot of pride. You could feel it. The day after Pearl Harbor, lines at recruiting stations went on for blocks.”

“Did you see combat?”

“I sure did. My ship got hit by a kamikaze once, starboard side. Killed a lot of good men.” He sighed and looked down. “We shoveled bodies and arms and legs overboard. There was blood everywhere on deck.”

Aaron sat in silence, but Red said no more. After a few minutes, Red swallowed the last of his brandy and looked at his pocket watch. He turned to Aaron. “It was nice talking with you.”

Aaron stayed alone at the bar for a short while and finished his wine. As he walked out of the bar, he didn’t notice the man who stood up from a nearby booth to follow him.

On his way home, Aaron thought about his discussion with Red and paid little attention to the rearview mirror. As he drove into his garage, the street behind him lit up.
That must be the car headlights of one of my neighbors.

At his office desk, Aaron turned on the laptop computer and began to scan email titles. He opened the first message, which was a medical information update from his Family Practice Society.

He read from the top story: “Is there evidence-based research to support the medical use of marijuana? If so, what are the indications and what dose—”?  

“Yikes.” He lurched back as someone pounded on the front door.

Aaron’s heart raced as he ran to the door, switched on the porch light, and peered through the peephole. No one was outside. He pushed the door open and walked out, scanning the yard and street and nearby trees. He spotted nothing out of the ordinary—no movement—and the only sound he heard was his own rapid breathing.

He turned around and then froze with his hand on the front doorknob. A piece of paper was taped to the door. Aaron peeled it off and read the message: “You won’t know when or where, but I will get my revenge.”