DR. DEATH?
Carlos Escalante was a troubled young man. Addicted to drugs and with a long history of mental problems, he was just three days away from entering a rehabilitation program when he walked into the Boca Raton branch of Wells Fargo. On that fateful day, local optometrist Dr. Simon Spero shot Mr. Escalante, ending his young life before he could get the help he so desperately needed.
According to sources, Dr. Spero routinely brought a gun into his office without the knowledge of his staff. He carried it with him everywhere he went, and was a regular at a local gun range. It’s not clear what his intentions were that day, or what his relationship to Mr. Escalante was…
I couldn’t read any more. I slammed down the paper in disgust.
“My intentions?! I intended to make a fucking deposit!” I shouted at no one. I marched around the island in the center of the kitchen, waving my hands in the air as I protested.
“I had no relationship with that asshole! And he didn’t walk in, he blasted through the front door and started shooting up the place! What the hell?!”
Sara came running into the kitchen, a concerned look on her face.
“Simon, what’s going on? What is all the shouting about?”
“I’ll tell you what all the shouting is about. The media is trying to portray me as some kind of murderer!” I picked up the paper and waved it around. “Look at this shit! ‘Dr. Death?!’ Do you believe this?”
Sara took the paper from me and quickly scanned the article.
“No,” she said, shaking her head as she read. “I don’t believe this. You need to get William back here. We are going to sue the shit out of them.”
I plopped down into a chair at the kitchen table and rubbed my eyes.
“Just throw it away.”
“What? No, Simon. We can’t let them get away with this!”
I lifted my head and looked at her. “Sara, the last thing I want is a legal battle that will cost us time and money and attract even more attention. I just want this all to go away. We need to be patient and, in time, people will forget about me.”
“I don’t agree with you, Simon. We shouldn’t just let this go. This is not okay.”
I began to protest when the box Agent Stamper had left on the table began vibrating. I got up and went to the box. Inside, it was my phone that was vibrating. The Caller ID read WORK.
“Hello?”
“Oh, thank god. Dr. Spero, it’s me.”
Vera sounded more tense than usual. I understood the feeling.
“Yeah,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is we have a crowd in the parking lot just outside the office. They’ve been here for over a week, marching around, carrying signs, and yelling at anyone that comes in or out of the office.”
“I know,” I said with a deep, frustrated sigh. “I found out this morning. Sorry. It’ll be okay. I’ll figure something out. Hopefully they get bored and go away.”
“I hope you’re right. This is not good for business. When are you coming back?”
“I’ll be in tomorrow morning. We’ll do some damage control and start seeing patients as soon as possible. You can start booking people.”
“Oh good! How are Sara and the boys? Everyone okay?”
“Yeah, they’re okay, thanks Vera. See you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here.”
We hung up and I looked at my phone for the first time since the night of the shooting. I scrolled through the notifications.
147 missed calls.
326 text messages.
244 emails.
I didn’t have the energy to look at them right now. I stuffed the phone in my pocket.
“You know those protesters will probably be there tomorrow when you get to the office, right?” Sara asked. “They’re waiting for you.”
“I know. I’ll just avoid them.”
“Good luck with that.” She picked up the box by the door and opened it. “Boys, come get your phones!”
The sound of an approaching stampede could be heard in the distance and, as it grew louder, I moved a safe distance from their path. I headed to Sara’s and my room and threw my bag onto the bed. As Mandy raced around, excited to be home, I found myself wondering how long it would take for life to return to normal.
Chapter 36
The shots found their mark and the bullets exploded into his chest and head. He screamed in agony as blood poured from his wounds. An unnatural amount of blood spilled out, as if a spigot had been opened. The flood rushed toward me and suddenly it was up to my ankles. I ran for the exit, but there was none. The doors and windows were gone. I was sealed in, trapped, and the blood continued to rise. It was at my knees now, and I desperately searched for a way out. The blood was hot, and its pungent smell overwhelmed my senses. My nostrils burned and my eyes watered. I felt around with my hands and feet for something, anything, to stand on. It was up to my waist now, and I began clawing at the wall, trying to get higher. I dove down, hoping to find a drain or stopper on the floor, but it was no use. I couldn’t see anything and the rising blood was pushing me up. It continued to climb, up my chest and to my neck, just below my face. I tilted my head up, gasping for breath. And as blood filled my lungs, Carlos stared down at me from the ceiling, laughing. I tried hopelessly to scream as everything went red, then black.
I woke with a tremendous jolt as if I had been dropped onto the bed from above. Sara woke up, and rolled over. I sat up in an effort to catch my breath. My heart raced and I was drenched in sweat.
“My god, Simon. Are you okay?”
I said nothing, still horrified from drowning in Carlos’s blood. I wouldn’t tell her. I refused. I just sat there, trying to catch my breath.
“I’m finding you a psychiatrist today. I don’t want to hear any arguments.”
She would get none from me. The nightmares were getting worse, and I couldn’t keep going like this. Sleep was hard enough to come by with the anxiety I’d been feeling. When I did manage to fall asleep, it was interrupted by horrific nightmares. I knew I wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
“Okay,” I said.
I was more than ready to go see someone. I didn’t know if talking about it would help but drugs might, and I hoped to get a prescription for something strong.
When my breathing slowed and my heart rate came down, I laid back and tried to relax. I closed my eyes and did some deep breathing, but all I saw was Carlos. All I smelled was hot blood.
It was nearly four in the morning according to the clock on Sara’s nightstand. I’d slept for just over three hours and planned to be at my office in less than five. Since sleep was out of the question, I decided to do something productive with the time.
Sara had already resumed her snoring, so I slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen. Mandy trotted after me, not quite sure why we were up. I grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter, along with a yellow legal pad and pen. I plopped down on the couch, Mandy beside me, and began scrolling through the hundreds of text messages and emails. I read every message and listened to every voicemail, taking notes as I went.
If I wasn’t wide awake before, I was now. Just about everyone I knew, and plenty I didn’t, had reached out. Some congratulating me, others condemning me. There were messages from representatives of the NRA, applauding me for showing the country that guns can be used for good, asking if I would agree to be their poster boy.
And there were messages from anti-gun activists, thanking me for proving to the country that guns serve one purpose: killing.
There were dozens of calls from different media outlets requesting interviews. Television, radio, magazines, newspapers… Everyone wanted to know “what really happened.”
I got calls and messages from people I talked to all the time, and others I hadn’t seen or heard from in years. F
riends, roommates, colleagues… They congratulated me for taking a stand, for stopping a bank robbery, and for saving the lives of the people in the bank. There were some unsupportive messages too, including a few death threats. I deleted them as quickly as I could.
People were divided, and it wasn’t surprising. Guns have always been a polarizing issue. But the world was changing, violence was spreading, and it had come to my hometown. I’d bought a gun to protect my family, nothing more. I never thought I’d need to use it. Certainly never wanted to. But I don’t regret buying it, and I don’t regret learning how to use it. As for that day in the bank, I did what I did because I had no choice.
My family was split as well. Joel, my older brother who lived just outside Atlanta, was my biggest fan right now. He owned a few guns himself, and had been extremely helpful as I was shopping for mine and learning how to use it. He showered me with praise in a voicemail, told me how proud he was. His little brother was a hero.
I definitely didn’t feel like one. My subconscious seemed to agree.
My parents, on the other hand, had an entirely different view. Americans love their guns, but that love is not shared by Jews. When it comes to guns, Jews are firmly planted on the left end of the political spectrum. They scorn violence, deeming it not a proof of strength, but of barbarism. The messages I got from my parents—and there were a lot of them—were all the same:
How could I?
Why didn’t I tell them?
Didn’t I know I was putting my family in danger?
I could have been killed.
Guns might not be part of Jewish culture but guilt was, and there was always plenty to go around.
I also received a number of calls from fellow optometrists. Mostly supportive, but still a somewhat mixed bag. Some were telling me I made our profession proud, but a few expressed how disappointed they were.
It had been nearly three hours since I sat down on the couch. I flipped through the pages of notes I’d taken and decided to do a quick count. The final tally was favorable. The majority of messages were supportive, congratulatory and positive.
So why was I so hung up on all the negative ones?
Because I didn’t understand. How could people be upset about what I did? I didn’t want to kill Carlos. I did what I had to do to stay alive. That’s originally why I bought a gun, and that’s what I did.
The death threats were hard to ignore. I would notify Agent Stamper of those later today. I decided I would no longer focus on the negative comments. I, alone, would have to live with what I did.
I jumped up from the couch and headed for the shower. The boys would sleep until noon if we let them, but Sara would be up soon. Hopefully we could have breakfast together before I headed out to the office.
I was not looking forward to what waited for me.
Chapter 37
Over eggs and toast, I told Sara about all the messages and the wide range of opinions. She wasn’t surprised either. “I couldn’t expect everyone to understand,” she said. Which was true. And since I had vowed to focus only on the positive from now on, I decided to drop it.
As we ate, Sara delivered more news.
“I hate to bring this up considering everything that’s been going on, but we’re supposed to leave for camp next week.”
I had completely forgotten. Sara had done such an amazing job last summer, the sleep-away camp had re-hired her for this summer. The boys had the time of their lives and couldn’t wait to go back.
My initial reaction was panic. I wanted them close to me, so I could keep an eye on them, protect them. But the more I thought about it, the more I started to think it was good timing. Christina was still out there. Despite Agent Stamper’s assurances, this was all just a little too easy. If she was planning something, it would be better if Sara and the boys weren’t around.
“That’s right,” I said. “I completely forgot.”
“What do you think? Should we go?”
“I think you should. I don’t want to deprive the boys of the experience, and it might be a good thing for you guys to be tucked away in a remote part of Maine for a couple of months.”
“That’s kinda what I was thinking, too. Okay. The boys will come up with me a week earlier than usual. I’ll work it out with camp. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“You gonna be okay by yourself with everything that’s going on?”
“I won’t be by myself, I’ve got Mandy to keep me company,” I said with a wink.
As if on cue, Mandy jumped onto my lap and began licking my face.
Sara smiled, then pushed herself away from the table. “Well, I better start packing.”
“Yeah. And I need to head over to the office. It’s gonna be an interesting day.”
From the moment I stepped foot outside my house, my head was on a swivel. It was like a timer was running somewhere and it could go off any minute. Christina was out there. Where she was and what she was planning, I had no idea, but I couldn’t accept that she had just let it go. I walked quickly to my car and jumped in. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I started the ignition waiting for a bomb to go off. I’d seen too many movies.
I drove fast and about a quarter mile from my office, I had to stop the car. Stopped in the middle of the street, I sat up tall in my seat and took off my sunglasses. I needed to get a better look at what I was seeing.
“Holy shit...”
The parking lot of my office building was overflowing. Not with cars, but with people. Hundreds were gathered outside, but there were a lot more people than Vera had said on the phone. I rolled forward, surveying the scene. There were signs and banners. People were shouting into megaphones. There was even a makeshift podium. Was someone going to address the crowd? Were they expecting me to address the crowd??
I fell back in my seat, and put my head against the rest. Now what?
The simple solution was to keep driving, just go home. I knew that wasn’t a real solution. This wasn’t going to end. If I didn’t face the music today, they’d be back tomorrow.
Who told them I was coming? Certainly not Vera. Although, the article in the paper did say my staff was unhappy about me bringing a gun into the office without telling them.
Someone’s been talking. But who?
I picked up my phone and dialed. He answered on the second ring.
“William? Small problem…”
Chapter 38
Plan A was a no-go. My office was surrounded on all sides. Even the back door was covered. Sneaking in unseen was out of the question.
Plan B also bombed. I sat in my car for over an hour hoping to wait them out, thinking they’d get tired or bored, maybe both. But the crowd never lost steam. If anything, it got bigger and more animated.
That left Plan C. The one I was hoping to avoid, and my least favorite of the three William and I discussed.
I parked my car in the closest spot I could find, which turned out to be not so close. I slung my bag over my shoulder, put my head down, and marched toward the office. As I neared the outskirts of the crowd, I went unnoticed. But as I began to push my way through, people started to recognize me. Word quickly spread and the crowd shifted in my direction.
People cheered, shouted, and some cursed as I slowly made my way through. I did my best to ignore everything and everyone. When the media realized I was there, they swept through the crowd and fired a barrage of questions in my direction.
When I started to get annoyed, I used the line William had fed me. “I respectfully decline to answer on the advice of my attorney.”
That prompted moans and groans from the reporters, and I grinned.
The gun-control activists were also out in force, hitting me with questions of their own.
“How does it feel to take a life?”
“Do your pat
ients know you’re a murderer?”
“Who else have you killed?”
That last one was hard to ignore, but I kept my head down and pressed on. William would have been proud.
Some of the NRA folks were actually trying to help me move through the crowd. They pushed people out of my way, sang my praise, and lauded my actions. As we angled away from my office, I realized they were steering me toward the podium. I pulled free and veered back in the direction of my office, then someone shoved me hard in the chest, nearly knocking me over. I looked up and a woman stood directly in front of me.
Oh, shit, I thought. It’s Christina. This is it. This is where I die.
But it wasn’t, and I didn’t.
“You killed a man, but you act like nothing happened!” she shouted. “That was someone’s son! Someone’s brother! Guns kill! That’s all they do! And now you’re a killer!” Tears rolled down her face as she glared at me.
I didn’t know who she was, but it was obvious she’d been a victim of gun violence. The sadness in her face and the despair in her voice struck a chord with me. I let my emotions get the better of me, and I did exactly what William told me not to.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. But if I didn’t have my gun that day, who knows how many people would have died?”
“Exactly!” she snapped back. “Who knows?! But because you did have your gun, someone did die!” This was an argument I wasn’t going to win. I apologized to her again and pressed on, but the crowd got thicker and my progress slowed. Soon I was completely surrounded, packed in like a sardine with nowhere to go. The shouting continued and reporters urged me to take the stage, to stand before their cameras and answer their questions. I looked toward the podium and saw the bank of microphones waiting for me.
For a moment I was tempted. Maybe if I answered their questions and just got it over with, I could put it behind me and move on. But I knew better.
“Stick to the plan,” William had told me. “Let them waste their time and energy; give them nothing in return. Let them realize their efforts are wasted and you’re not talking.”
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