by J. Fritschi
He slowly walked down the hall to the ever distant door. When his father received the reply from Arianna that Father John left to continue his search for enlightenment, he must have realized his love affair with her was part of his journey and been pleased that he was moving forward. He couldn’t disavow him now that he was on the path to enlightenment again.
As Father John hesitantly reached for the door knob, he realized what happened in the past didn’t matter anymore. He would make amends with his dad. All that mattered now was that his father’s last days were peaceful. As he quietly opened the door, he knew with a clenched heart that he was visiting his father on his deathbed.
The room was dim with a faint smell of antiseptic and urine. His father lay motionless with an oxygen mask over his ashen face. His body was shriveled and barely made a noticeable ruffle in the covers, like someone lazily left the sheets crumpled after getting out of bed. There were prescription bottles on the side table next to his bed and an IV drip stuck in his frail arm. Father John’s heart sunk with despair. He couldn’t believe how much his father had aged since he last saw him at his graduation.
His father had been an imposing man with a rugged jaw, sharp nose and ridged eyes. He was so proud of Father John when he graduated from Baylor University with honors in religious studies and philosophy, but even more proud that he was leaving to go live with the aesthetic monks in the Himalayans to learn from the great masters. It was his father’s dream that Father John follow his path to enlightenment. He always told him he had a destiny and Father John always wondered what he meant by that.
“One day you will know why everything in your life happened,” he told him with beaming eyes. “You will know the end from the beginning.”
Father John pulled a Queen Anne style chair from the wall next to his father’s bed and quietly sat down. He looked at the old man with admiration and wished that he had spent more time with him as an adult. He felt as though he didn’t even really know him. What type of man was he? He knew what type of father he was, but he wondered what type of man he would have been if he met him as a stranger on his travels. Would he have been the type of person Father John would have been impressed with and want to spend time with?
He reached his hand out, gently placing it on his father’s concaved chest and he could feel that his heart was weathered and that he didn’t have long to live. There was so much that he wanted to tell him about his journey and he knew there wasn’t enough time. His father’s head stirred and he blinked lazily as he gazed at Father John with dark, glassy eyes.
“I knew you would come home,” he muttered from under his face mask with a raspy voice and a smirk of approval. “I knew you wouldn’t let me die without saying goodbye.”
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Father John said as his eyes welled with tears.
“Seventeen years isn’t too long,” his father replied as he reached his trembling hand out. Father John took his boney hand and leaned over, kissing him tenderly on forehead.
“I’ve missed you,” he said with a waiver in his voice and a lump in his throat as he sat back down next to his bed. “I wish I came home sooner.”
His father smiled affectionately as he reached up and fumbled with his oxygen mask. Father John reached over and gently pulled the elastic band from around the back of his head and set the mask on his chest. “You are always with me right here,” his father told him in a raspy whisper as he feebly patted the pajama pocket over his heart. “What have you learned all these years you were away?”
Father John paused and reflected. He couldn’t possibly tell him about his dreams of divine intervention and all of the lives he saved or about the dreams he was now having of raping and stabbing innocent young ladies. There was no way his father would understand in his current condition and Father John didn’t have the time to explain it all to him. It was too complex. He didn’t even fully understand what was happening himself.
“I have learned much from many wise people,” he replied with a hint of irony in his voice.
“That is good,” his father said squinting with discern. “What seems to be troubling you?”
Father John let out a sigh as he shook his head. “No matter how much I learn, I still don’t feel that I am any closer to becoming enlightened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Being enlightened is not something that can be taught to you. It has to be experienced,” he replied with a furrow of his brow. “Of all the wise men I learned from, none of them could tell me how to become enlightened or explain what it is like to be enlightened. These are holy men that have spent their lives in search of enlightenment and they know just as much about illumination now as they did when they began their search.”
“That is alright,” his father assured him. “You are on a journey to enlightenment. No one is born with it. One day you will know what it is.”
“What makes you so sure?” Father John asked with a defeated tone. “What if I search my whole life and never achieve it? Will my life have been a waste?”
“Your life will not be in vain. Nothing worth having comes easy. You know that.”
Father John sighed and shook his head. “You have always told me that I have a destiny. I feel as though there is something you aren’t telling me.”
His father’s face went blank like he had seen the coming of the end. “I cannot tell you what I know. There is too much at stake,” he said with a trembling voice. “One day soon you will know. Everything will be revealed to you.”
chapter 35
MIKE CAME TO much like he did when he woke up from a black out; not remembering how he got to wherever he was, except this time he was surrounded in pitch darkness. He attempted to look around for objects for his eyes to focus on, but there was nothing but infinite black space.
Where the hell was he? What was happening to him? It was cold and silent as he tried to get his bearings.
What was the last thing he remembered? He remembered canvassing hole-in-the-wall bars telling bartenders, managers and owners about the Sterling Killer and to keep their eyes open for anyone or anything strange.
Then he recalled going to Buschini’s and meeting Denise. What an exquisite woman she was and the fact that she was Axe’s friend was quite the coincidence. He couldn’t wait to talk to Axe about running into her.
How did his night with her end? He remembered holding her jacket for her as she slipped it on and then walking her to her car, but he couldn’t remember anything after that. Why couldn’t he remember? He didn’t have that much to drink.
He recalled kissing Denise’s soft lips and mouth. It was a warm memory and then he remembered, with clenching terror, her eyes bulging wide at something behind him before he felt a blunt force slam into the back of his head. What the hell happened to him?
And then with dreaded reality, it all came rushing back to him like a sand storm; the Sterling Killer attacked him and probably abducted Denise. He relived the whole horrible incident again in his mind with sinking despair.
The ambulance ride was like a distant shadow. Did he make it to the hospital or was he dead? He couldn’t be dead or he wouldn’t be able to hear himself think. He must be unconscious or was he sleeping? Was this the after affect of the hospital putting him under for surgery? How long had he been there and what was happening to him? What was his prognosis?
He wished he could hear something or someone so he would know where he was. The silence was pure torture. He felt alone and scared like a lost child. He thought he might cry. How did he allow this to happen to himself?
He always knew that one day his lifestyle would come back and bite him in the ass, but he always figured it would kill him and he would not suffer because he would be dead. He never figured it would be like this; alone and scared, trapped in a strange dark place.
How long had he been like this? Was he in a fucking coma? The thought jolted him with bone tingling fear. What if he was in a coma? Would he ever get out
of it? How does one awake from a coma? He didn’t have any idea how long he might have been in a coma, but maybe since he now had cognizant thought, he was coming out of it?
What if he wasn’t coming out of it? What if this was just the beginning. What if he was going to be stuck in the blackness alone with only his thoughts for the rest of his life? It would seem like an eternity. He could think of nothing worse; trapped in silence alone with nothing but his thoughts to torment him.
This was 10 times worse than when he would wake up at three in the morning and lye in his bed not being able to get back to sleep because he couldn’t turn his mind off. At least then he could distract his tortured thoughts by reading a book or having a drink or taking a pill. There was nothing he could do now to stop his thoughts from swelling into monumental anxiety.
There was no one to blame, but himself. People tried to warn him that if he kept living fast and hard that this could happen. He knew in the back of his mind that it could, but he never acknowledged the thought or at least didn’t think it would ever be like this. He always assumed things like this didn’t happen to him. They happened to other people. What a fucking fool he was.
He was an unappreciative child of privilege who took his life for granted and who always just assumed that he was entitled to the luxuries he was born into and the talents he was born with. Everything came easy to him. It never dawned on him that everything could be taken away because of his careless behavior.
This couldn’t really be happening to him, could it? It had to be a dream. He just needed to wake up. It was like any other nightmare. Eventually he would wake up and everything would be alright.
But what if he didn’t wake up? What if the Sterling Killer knocked him into a coma and raped and killed Denise? If that was the case, then he deserved his fate. Death was too easy of a sentence for a fuck up like him. If he wasn’t such an asshole, none of this would have happened. Mike hated himself and wished he could spit on his own face. He could never forgive himself.
He would do anything to make this all go away. If God would get him out of this coma he swore he would change his life. He would stop his reckless way of living and devote his life to God and helping others. It was the least he would do for a second chance. There was too much left to live for so he began to pray. Not to a traditional Christian God of Divinity or a super natural omnipresent God of intelligent design, but rather to the one and only God that mattered; the God that was within him; the God that had always been within him. His inner will. Not some ill fated faith in a never appearing deity. No, that wouldn’t do. He never believed in God in the heaven above sense. If he was going to survive, he was going to have to count on himself, just like he always did. He came into this world alone and he knew that he would be alone when his last breaths of mortal life escaped from his ever shriveling lungs and so he talked to the God within him.
“Please don’t let me die. I want to live.”
“You do want to live?” a voice within him responded somewhat surprised.
“I will do whatever it takes.”
“Are you really willing to do whatever it takes?” the voice responded skeptically. “What are you really willing to do? Don’t make any promises you can’t or won’t keep.”
“If I make it out of here, I promise not to be so selfish. I will make an effort to think of others before I think of myself.”
“Really?” the voice responded incredulously. “Is that so much to ask? You aren’t really promising anything out of the ordinary. What are you willing to give up that is important to you that would be an actual sacrifice?”
This was a tough question and he paused to think about the ramifications.
“Are you willing to give up your destructive partying ways?” The voice asked earnestly. “Is your life important enough to you that you are willing to make the tough and drastic changes to the way you live?”
He thought about what that meant. Could he enjoy life without all of the mind altering chemicals that numbed him to the pain that hid deep inside? Was he ready to face his demons without the help of the substances? Could he forgive himself for all of the pain and suffering he had caused? Could he live with himself after all the death and destruction he had seen? Would he be able to find peace and let the memory of his father’s blood splattered brains go? Could he forgive himself and accept himself for the flawed person that he was?
Surprisingly, his answer was yes. He was willing to let it all go. He realized he didn’t have control over the things from his past and could only control the future. He wanted a chance at a new life; a better life; a life that wasn’t a constant internal struggle. He wanted to wake up with a clear head and fresh spirit. He was tired of his old life of medicating with drugs and alcohol to avoid dealing with reality.
“Are you really willing to do the hard work and sacrifice that it will take or are you just saying that to save yourself?”
“I’m willing to really try,” he told himself half heartedly even though he knew he had to change if he was going to live. “If I get another chance, I will make the most of it.”
“That wasn’t very heartfelt. That sounds vague, like you’re leaving yourself an out. In order for this to work, you have to be all in.”
“I’m pretty sure I can do this,” he tried to assure himself. “I want to, but I’m scared. I don’t know if I have it in me. I always grow weak and find excuses to go back to my self destruct ways, but I want more than anything to live a normal life. I am determined to make it work this time.”
“And why should I believe you. What makes this time any different than before?”
“Because this time I know that if I don’t, I will die.”
“That’s good Mike. I think you might be ready. I think we can do this together. Now we just need to get out of here and start living our life.”
Mike swore to himself that if he got another chance, things would be different. But before he would do anything else, he vowed that he would hunt down the Sterling Killer and cut off his head like the slithering snake that he was. He would make him pay for all of the innocent lives he took and for all of the suffering he caused the friends and family that survived their loved ones deaths.
Then he felt a euphoric sensation in his soul as if the hand of God came down and lifted him to green pastures to lye beside quiet waters and even though he was trapped in a coma, he no longer feared his fate.
chapter 36
FOR THREE DAYS Father John sat by his father’s bedside in his dark room tending to him and telling him stories about the places he went, the people he met and the things he learned over the last seventeen years. His father was enthralled and would listen for a couple of hours before he would get worn out and fall to sleep with a satisfied smile on his sunken face.
When his father slept, Father John would sit in the arm chair next to his bed with his legs crossed, Buddha style and meditate. He did not want to sleep for fear of what might happen in his dream, so he fasted and prayed.
His brothers stopped by one at a time to check on their father, but even more so to gawk at their strange brother who they had not seen since he was a young man. At first the encounters were awkward, but soon Father John was regaling his brothers with the tales of his adventures in the Himalayans and counseling them about their lives. He did not do so by preaching to them about right and wrong, but instead by telling parables that were relative to their lives. His brothers were amazed at his wisdom and by the time they each left, they were at peace with themselves.
He was happy to be home with his family, but when he was alone as his father soundly slept, he was apprehensive about why he was having his dreams and what they meant. He knew that he could only stay awake for so long before he would unwillingly fall asleep.
On the third night of his vigil, after fasting and not sleeping for over 60 hours, as he sat with his legs crossed in his robe meditating, Father John slowly drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke, he found himself in a dim ho
spital room where a patient was lying in a bed hooked up to life support machines. He was relieved not to have woken in a sanctuary with another naked body lying on an altar. As he approached the bed, he could see that the patient’s face was badly bruised and swollen and that his head was wrapped with a bandage. He knew instinctively that it was Detective McCormick.
It was all becoming clear to Father John now. He was there to save Detective McCormick and he was having the dreams so that he could help him catch the killer. It was all part of God’s grand plan.
“You cannot die now Detective,” he thought to himself. “God still needs you to fulfill your role in his grand scheme.”
Next to the bed, in a fold down chair, lay an elderly woman with an undersized blanket haphazardly spread on top of her curled up body. He knew it was Detective McCormick’s mom. His heart ached for her.
Father John placed his hand on Mike’s chest. He could feel the cold resignation in his heart. He then placed his hand on his head and began the process of divine intervention. His force entered Mike’s cerebral cortex and traveled through the maze of tunnels, past barely sparking neurons and axons, healing the massive damage done to the tissue.
From the cerebral cortex he traveled down the cavernous river of Mike’s blood stream and entered his heart and soul. It was dark and empty. The love and compassion that once filled this sacred vessel were now gone. Father John breathed light into the man’s dark heart, filled his soul with power and virtue as he prayed to God.
“The LORD is his shepherd; he shall not want. Maketh him to lie down in green pastures; leadeth him beside the still waters. Restoreth his soul. Leadeth him in the paths of righteousness for your name’s sake. Yea, though he walks through the valley of the shadow of death, he will fear no evil, for you are with him; your rod and your staff, they comfort him.”
chapter 37