Discretion

by David Balzarini

  I witness the shot, the plunger undoubtedly bringing his death and these men are holding me hostage instead of stopping him.

  It’s then that an irritable noise begins. It’s like a hum at first, but it gets louder and bright lights around me contribute to the annoyance. What’s going on now? And why can’t I see anything?

  “Colin!”

  Who is that? Why can’t I see you?

  “Colin,” a female voice says.

  My eyes open in slow motion and blink a few times, adjusting to the surrounding brightness.

  “There he is,” she says, staring back at me. She sounds somber, as if she’s at a funeral. Natalie. I would know that face anywhere. Out of a crowd in a sea of thousands.

  My head hurts in three places. I’m not entirely convinced I can move. It feels as though I only have a head, the rest of my body gone or numb. And I think I’m vertical, on my back.

  “Can you hear me?” Natalie asks.

  Several faces appear around Natalie, hovering over me. Moving is a thought, but it’s useless. If I still have limbs, no one’s listening.

  “Yes,” I manage to get out, though it’s hardly audible. Two people help me sit up and I slowly look around, with support from behind.

  I am in a hospital room, on a bed. The room does not look like Jamal’s. This room is much smaller and no window. A heavy curtain is draped about five feet from the end of the bed, which runs from wall to wall across the cozy space. Fluorescent lights mounted to the wall shine on the ceiling. Two nurses leave quickly.

  A woman, mid-forties by the look of her, stands with a tablet PC cradled like a football and a pen twirling among her fingers with ease. She eyes me a moment, and then begins to punch buttons on her tablet, periodically glancing at the instruments. Without reading her mind, I can deduce that she has more important patients to attend to. This work here is the drab routine, I suspect. With few words, she introduces herself and explains what happened.

  She asks questions about pain and sensitivity, medical history, and then does several checks of no consequence. I have stitches in my back from the broken glass in Jamal’s room. I wait for her to tell me what happened to the mysterious doctor turned assassin, but she doesn’t. Nor does she say anything about Jamal.

  She may not know. I can only presume the assassin got away, having done his work. The security staff probably let him go.

  I find it hard to restrain my own emotions for the loss of my friend. And while a part of me wants revenge, I acknowledge silently it’s unlikely. Something beyond me—beyond this world chose to bring Jamal into it and chose to take him back. Why? I can’t answer and probably never will.

  Wouldn’t Christel know that I would refuse the job? Why give an assignment that she knows I won’t do?

  Questions, no answers.

  Natalie stands by, waiting patiently. The doctor explains in short that she’s done with me and leaves a clipboard of forms to review and sign. I’m free to go once I’ve released the hospital of all liability for whomever I may attack or kill next.

  “So…what happened?” Natalie says, as if she’s afraid of the answer.

  “Afraid for your life?”

  She takes a step back, watching me. “Maybe. You had a fight with a doctor?”

  “How’s Jamal?”

  She blinks and flinches at my question. “He’s…fine, all things considered. He still has a long way to go, Colin. He’s not through the woods.”

  “He’s alive?”

  “Yeah. Sleeping, as the nurse said. She let me see him a minute.” She pauses a moment to swallow hard. “Difficult to imagine, him like that.”

  “You could use a drink.”

  She snickers. “And so could you. Why are you attacking the doctor? He’s got a job to do.”

  “Not a doctor. An impostor. I was trying to stop him.”

  She doubts me—it’s clear by that tilt of her head, the lilt in her voice. “Colin, you’re either making a bad practical joke or you’ve lost it. I know it’s tough but—”

  “I don’t need this, really. What time is it?”

  “Eight thirty-four.”

  I move around on the bed, going slowly. Turns out, I have a body and it works, responds as it should. There’s a tenderness in the back, some definite bruising. “What happened with the doctor? The one I attacked?”

  “The cops asked me a bunch of questions, since you were unconscious. The hospital isn’t pressing charges.” She pauses a moment, then sits down near me. “What were you trying to do, anyway?”

  “He was after Jamal with a needle. I was keeping him from using it.”

  She restrains herself from laughing. “Colin, he’s a physician’s assistant. That’s his job.”

  “Bullshit. He’s an impostor.”

  She studies me a moment and seems to contemplate what I’ve said, though suspiciously—like she’s watching a mental patient explain why it made sense to put glue on a hot iron and attach it to a wall. “Fine. Start talking.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Natalie is much like she was years ago when we were dating. Her feminine curves still pay dividends. She works for ASU, since graduation, teaching architecture and doing freelance design. She carries herself with confidence and speaks her mind.

  Marisa got along with Natalie in the early days, when Marisa had no knowledge of the past and no real connection to me. But once all the facts were laid out, Marisa developed a sour taste for Natalie, and she subsequently tore down any pictures I had on display with Natalie in them. I took it as a girlfriend’s jealousy of an ex, but as time waned, I learned that Natalie and Marisa went to war over abortion and Marisa’s child who never got a chance at life.

  Natalie watches me, and I wish I knew her thoughts. Christel, as I suspected, is silent. Is she really gone for good? I try to work out the discomfort. “Where to begin?”

  Natalie smiles, and her lip quivers a little, seemingly fighting emotions. That’s not like her. It occurs to me she never answered my text from last night. Does she love me? After all these years? Natalie is a close friend and I hate the thought of her walking away unsatisfied—being alone when it’s me she wants. I can’t be with two people, but wouldn’t my life be less dramatic with Natalie? Isn’t she the safe option?

  My hand rubs the side of my head, though it hurts. Life shouldn’t be this complicated.

  “Colin?”

  Our eyes meet and I sense that I’ve been contemplating awhile. It’s only my life.

  “Sorry.” I decide that my history, my dark secret, needs to be told. And I tell her about Christel. I leave nothing out. She sits and listens, focused. It’s not until ten minutes go by before I come to a sinking realization—she believes me. She accepts Christel as real. She seems at ease with the explanation, as if the news comes as no surprise.

  “That explains a lot, actually,” Natalie says.

  “What does?”

  “Well…from the boat. That day on the lake.”

  I wait in silence, watching her collect her thoughts and composure.

  “What happened at the lake?” I say. The forbidden question: taboo to discuss, once the investigation and interrogation were over.

  Natalie, nor anyone else, could explain how she got off our boat without detection. Without any screams, noises, or signs of a problem. The only explanation that occurred to anyone, including me, was this: Natalie left willingly. She must have been enticed to leave, having said nothing…so she must have thought, at the time, that it would be no big deal…meaning she expected the reason would be short-lived, a minute or two, not hours, not days…

  “I was insecure then…maybe you noticed. But I was getting this thought, when your dad fell asleep, that we could…” Natalie says.

  “Rock the boat.”

  She grins, mischievously. “Yeah. I kept having this strange thought that I would lose you if I didn’t. And I wanted to…but there was the inkling pressure, I remember. Not like what you described, but there was a definite
push. I was being encouraged to do what I wanted, while I felt pulled to be good, too.”

  I maneuver on the bed and Natalie leaps to her feet to help me. The short movement is uncomfortable; my muscles are probably still under strain from the fight. Natalie takes care of moving me. Her touch engulfs a tingle, a surge of emotions that I didn’t expect—as if it’s the first time all over again. I should push it aside, but I want it to linger. This newness is welcome.

  “How long did the doc say I’m going to feel like this?” I ask.

  Natalie laughs and takes a long moment to sit. “Maybe another hour, now. The glass cut you pretty bad.”

  “Can’t remember a thing. I was lunging for the doctor and the next thing was you calling my name.”

  She manages a short laugh. “Glad you missed it. The security guard hurled you into the wall, which is how you got cut by broken glass.”

  “Thanks for filling in the blanks. I should be getting back to Jamal. Just in case.”

  “Security is at his door,” Natalie says.

  “Oh…good. So they’re taking this seriously?”

  “They are taking you seriously.”

  I wait for a better explanation.

  “They are taking you, who attacked a doctor who was doing his job in Jamal’s room, seriously. So now security is there at his door.”

  “Well…at least that should help.”

  “Yeah, well. You shouldn’t be worried about Jamal. He’s safe from attack.”

  “Is he?”

  “Pretty sure. Now on this ghost…”

  “You think she’s a ghost?” I interject.

  “Well…the timing is strange, since I’ve not been able to remember anything from that day.”

  I say nothing.

  “So, just for the heck of it yesterday, I was sifting through pictures from high school and I saw photos from back then, on Mike’s boat. And I saw the railing, where it’s damaged on the one side…and it got me thinking from a dream that I had.” She pauses a moment. “And I remember. It’s not much, but a glimpse of it.”

  “It was always bits and pieces that you could remember, right?”

  She nods slightly. “Here and there, right. But that’s just it. The here and there fits. I remember a damaged rail on the boat from that day. I couldn’t place which boat it was, since I can’t remember anything else. So I presumed it was your boat or some other that I was on that day.”

  “So you remember Mike’s boat? The damaged side rail…you remember that?”

  “It’s there. I’m pretty sure I was on that boat.”

  “That means you were on Mike’s boat? But how could that be?”

  Silence lingers between us, as we are accessing what we’ve wanted to keep in secret from ourselves.

  Natalie continues, “That’s what I can’t understand. The memories overlap. It’s like I’m in two places at once and I remember them both.”

  Silence.

  It was Mike’s boat.

  And Christel is back? Just like that? The realization of this news weighs heavy on my mind—like a gravity of its own that pulls me down. Is Christel returning now to steer me in this direction for her own purpose?

  Mike and Mayra were at the lake that day. They helped search for Natalie when she went missing and for the subsequent seventy-two hours…they could be the boat she got on from my father’s. Jackson presumed it was Mike’s boat from the beginning, but Mike had no reason to lie—unless he was benefiting somehow, which no one could piece together. And Mayra was such a close friend to Natalie, I couldn’t believe that she’d be involved.

  Mike took her.

  But why does Christel reveal this information now, not years ago when it mattered most?

  “Do you remember anything else?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “That’s it. If it was Mike and Mayra’s boat…what does that tell us? Where does that lead?”

  “It’s a start to knowing what happened to you that day. If you got onboard with Mayra and Mike and went somewhere on the lake…anything could have happened.” I rub my head, though it hurts. “I’ve been chasing the truth for years, but I think now…I didn’t want to see it. It’s always been right in front of me.” I manage a short laugh. “It’s crazy because I’ve been hanging around with Mike for football games, parties, playing cards.”

  “I’m not so sure I want to know what happened,” Natalie says.

  “Wait now—if you remember, it’s for a reason. We should know the truth. And maybe the person who took you is still active, so what happened to you could be happening to others. Doesn’t that matter?”

  “It does, but there’s more to this and I think we’re getting to the heart of it.”

  “Which is?”

  Natalie says, carefully, “What Christel is. And what role she played.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Christel…How can Natalie presume to understand her? I’ve not considered this before, but Natalie could hear her, too, perhaps.

  “What is your theory?”

  “From what you’ve told me and what I know…Christel is evil. It’s not a dead lock, but I’m fairly sure.”

  “What gave you this idea?”

  “What you said about her. She’s deceptive. She’s manipulating you.”

  “She saved your life, helped me…uh, well.” Natalie studies me, waiting for the words to follow. “She helped me get you back, when you were abducted.”

  “Yes, and Riley Dasher, who got killed, was a pastor’s son.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Is that a coincidence? Significant even? “She has me help people. If she’s evil, she wouldn’t do that.”

  “What does she tell you to do?” she asks.

  I ponder a moment. “Help people in need, in pain. She directs me. She…shows me things that no one else can see. Private suffering.” I tell her the story about Nadine and she listens with some surprise.

  “Why do you think she does that?”

  The muscles of my face contort on a will of their own. Natalie doesn’t move and shows no expression. I stare at her, contemplating. What does an angel want, exactly? “What are angels supposed to do, if not help people?”

  “There’s not much in the Bible about them. They help or bring messages.”

  “Isn’t that a little dogmatic to use only one reference?”

  “What other source is there? The Bible was written over hundreds of years, yet it works—it agrees. For the writers’ work to gel rather than contradict over that period is…divine.”

  “Okay, maybe. But how can something that’s evil do good?”

  “The same way we can.”

  “Huh?”

  “We do good things, yet we are evil,” she says.

  A demon? Can’t be. This being has done too much for others, for me, for good. How can an evil being do so much good? How can Christel, helping me all these years, be evil?

  “This can’t be true. I’m not evil. Murderers are. Rapists are. I’m none of those.” Rage starts building in me. It’s a choice. We all have a choice. Christel is a spirit that chooses to help. Who cares what she is?

  “I don’t want to fight about it. You told me about Christel, and I gave you my opinion. And you should know…that Mayra has some experience with what you’re describing.”

  “What do you mean? Mayra has nothing to do with this.” I’m trying to keep calm, but I can feel welling frustration within, like steam in pipes.

  “Colin,” she says in a soothing, almost motherly tone. “I’m on your side.”

  “Yeah. I bet.” I regret the words, but I’m unwilling or unable to take them back. How can she tell me Christel is evil? “How’d you know about the needle?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “What do you mean, you have no idea? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Colin, this fight is spiritual. So you might say, like Christel gives you ideas, knowledge, tells you what to do…God speaks in the same way if we’re listening.”

  T
hat is not true.

  “I don’t believe that. Seven billion people on the planet. He’s got better things to do.”

  She is trying to deceive you. Leave.

  “I’ve got to get going, Natalie.”

  I grab the papers and begin signing off for my release, skimming the print instead of reading.

  “Colin, where are you going?”

  I ignore her while I finish the papers. Natalie remains in her seat, watching me with a calm posture.

  If you love me, then why are you against me?

  The papers are finished. I come to my feet and release the edge of the bed, testing my ability to stand without support. My head feels off, uneasy, but I can manage.

  “I’ll take you home,” Natalie says.

  “Not going home, thanks.”

  “This isn’t you. It’s not the you that I know. This is stressful…”

  “It’s more than that.”

  She sighs. There’s nothing to say. I nod to her on my way out of the room, leave my papers at the front desk and get behind the wheel of my car. The silence inside is reassuring—calming. Just to be out of the noise.

  Then the thought crosses my mind: what if Natalie is right? Christel is deceptive? I think not. Natalie mentioned Mayra, that she shares a similar experience to my own.

  I know what I have to do. Jackson first. Then Mike and Mayra. If I find answers, I may not need Jackson’s source after all.

  FORTY-FIVE

  I stop for a coffee on the way to visit Jackson. No update on Jamal, but I don’t expect one. No doubt Natalie will fill in Joanna on the argument at the hospital and draw her own conclusions, which I’ll have to defuse later on.

  I dial Jackson and disregard the low-battery warning on my phone. No answer. It’s after eleven, so he might be home. The drive takes sixteen minutes.

  Jackson’s neighborhood is quiet and secure, complete with a guarded gate and video surveillance. Most of the homes are formidable, and have security of their own. Tall, full trees and perfect lawns, in sizable lots. No cars parked in the street and all the yards are well-lit. Jackson’s place is a single story with a wavy path of sandstones leading to the front door, and a stained-glass image of Saint Mary beside the heavy wooden entrance.