by Bialois, CP
Horace paused, listening to the sounds of her dog sniffing and whining. Buster knew they were awake and he wanted to come out and join them. Picturing the lab waiting impatiently with his ears raised and tongue hanging out caused him to smile. He resigned himself to the fate of being licked and begged for attention until Janice came out of the bathroom.
As soon as the door opened, Buster did what Horace expected. Even being so small, Buster was able to push him back half a step when he propped his front paws on him and started licking Horace’s hands. Horace rubbed Buster’s ears, but the puppy wanted his mistress. Smiling and shaking his head, Horace went into the room and picked up the half empty water bowl. He thought it strange to leave Buster’s water bowl in the room with him at night. If he made a mess it’d stain the carpet and Janice would have to pay to have it cleaned. In answer, she put papers down for him to use. Buster was her dog, so he just shook his head and let the matter drop.
By the time he finished rinsing out the bowl and refilled it, Janice entered the living room/kitchen in jeans and a loose-fitting sweater while drying her hair. Buster playfully chased at her heels, sometimes crossing in front of her. Had he been a cat, Horace was sure he would’ve tripped her.
“You didn’t feed him yet?” She stood with her head down as she continued with her hair.
Horace stared at her. “It’s not my fault he chose you over food.”
“Oh really?” Finished, she lifted her head, tossing her hair back. “So you wouldn’t make the same choice?”
He recognized her coy expression for what it was. “Not if we’re talking about a steak.” She punched him in the arm. He was still amazed at the quickness and strength she had in such a small frame. “Ow.”
“Keep it up, mister, and I’ll let Buster take care of you.” At the mention of his name, Buster lifted his head from his empty food bowl and looked at her, wagging his tail. He knew he should be eating, but his food wasn’t out yet. Despite his best efforts to locate the food, he was forced to wait.
Janice couldn’t help but smile at him. “Maybe after breakfast.” Horace laughed, but Buster’s tail began wagging at hearing the B word. While Buster enjoyed his canned turkey and giblets, Janice and Horace sat down to uneventful bowls of cereal. Whenever he watched the puppy eat, Horace was astounded the dog tasted anything. Oh well. He settled in to enjoy his breakfast.
*****
Stephen Drake’s morning began as normal as possible in his house. The day before, his father lit into him like there was no tomorrow and left to look at the accident site with his friend Jerry and the sheriff. It was the usual torrent one would expect from an insurance agent-turned-father. “Why weren’t you paying attention? You know how much this’ll cost me? You’re lucky you still have your license.” And the always popular, “Do you understand how lucky you are you didn’t kill someone?”
Of course, there were other comments not befitting insurance agent or father. “How could you be so stupid? One mistake and I’m still stuck with you. You’re worse than a fuck up.” Through it all, Steve handled himself well. He planned on arguing back at first, but changed his mind after seeing the murderous look in his father’s eyes. Instead he sat there, nodding and responding only when he was expected to. He knew his father had a temper, but it never carried into the next day. He was adamant to make peace before they went to sleep or their separate ways in case the unthinkable happened. Steve thought he did so only to clear his own conscience..
Steve woke at about nine, when the rays of the sun shot through his bedroom window and settled on the head of his bed. Not a believer in alarm clocks, he relied on the bright morning sun to wake him. Of course, that also led to him being late for classes on an overcast morning. Considering such an event was a regular occurrence during winter, it was a mild surprise he never flunked out of school. His father’s hefty tuition to Tarken Heights booster club saw to that while Horace’s constant tutoring kept him in the community college.
When the bright light settled on his face, he twitched for a minute before opening his eyes. Morning wasn’t his favorite time of day. Steve struggled with himself for a few minutes; the decision to stay in bed was nearly overwhelming. It was a fight he was destined to lose.
Throwing off his covers, Steve slid his bare legs over until his feet touched the floor. The feel of the cool fibers beginning to warm at his touch sent the usual sensations coursing through him. While invigorating, the softness brought back memories of his blanket and bed. Irritated, he pushed the thought away and pushed himself onto his feet and stumbled toward the bathroom.
Once finished, Steve began the descent to the first floor and his father. No sooner did Steve’s foot hit the bottom step than he heard his father calling for him. “Stevie? Come on in here, Son.”
Oh great! Another lecture coming my way. Steve’s face twisted into a grimace at the thought of catching more hell. He started to wonder if his dad planned on carrying their arguments over and, if so, why’d he have to start today. Those thoughts and more worked their way through his mind as he turned right at the bottom of the stairs, then left, into his dad’s study/office. The sound his steps made on the hardwood floor didn’t come close to matching the beats from his racing heart. Resigned once more to his fate, Steve stepped into his dad’s study and froze. This was the last thing he expected.
Fulton Henry Drake sat behind his expensive and oversized hickory desk with a cigar clamped between his teeth smiling so wide Steve was surprised the top of his head didn’t fall off. “Come in, have a seat.” He motioned to the pair of chairs in front of his desk.
“Yeah, Dad?” Steve’s voice was at its usual pitch, no need in letting the old man know he suspected a turn away from the norm. No sooner had he sat down than Steve regretted it. The chairs were solid oak without a cushion or comfortable fiber in their design. Similar to the chairs one often found in high school libraries where they still thought they could head off the self destructive paths teenagers chose. His father was one to never allow others to have comfort. In many cases the “others” were Steve or one of his friends his father wanted to lecture. Steve always thought his father kept the comfortable chairs at his actual office off route ten just to torture him. Lord, how he hated those damn chairs.
Unaware of his son’s discomfort, or aware enough to be proud, Fulton began. “Son, I have some wonderful news.”
Oh? Realizing he wasn‘t going to be punished Steve, brightened at once. “What’s that, Dad?”
Fulton’s smile broadened, if that was possible. “After the hassle from yesterday, I called around to a few clients and I got you a job.”
A what? Steve felt the color bleed from his face. At no time had he ever been told to get a job. He always thought his father would pay him to stay out of the way. It took some time until he was able to speak again, but Fulton beat him to it.
“I knew you’d be as excited as I am. The best thing, Son… you get to work with the government. How about them apples?”
“A job?” It took numerous attempts, but finally Steve managed to find his voice. “But… what about school?”
Some of the luster left Fulton’s face, but the smile remained. “I didn’t say nothing against school. You’ll still go and work on your free days.” He paused to chew on his cigar before continuing, “Son, you need to start learning to fend for yourself. I thought you’d grow up if I let you be, but…” His voice trailed off.
Fury rose in Steve, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His father’s mind was made up and Fulton Drake never went back on his word. Besides, he knew his father was right. Until then he’d been a fat and lazy SOB. He had hoped judgment day would’ve waited a little longer. With his mind conceding defeat, Steve raised his eyes to his father’s. “What kind of job?” For the first time in as long as he could remember, Steve saw his father’s eyes shine with pride. He only wished he deserved to share the feeling.
Chapter 7
Although his shift didn’t begin until eight,
Doctor Townsend liked to get to the hospital a little early in case something happened en route so he wouldn’t be late, and to take some extra time to read over the night shift notes. He enjoyed the quiet the hospital provided, something which his daughter was forever teasing him was the reason he went into medicine. The quiet a small town like Tarken Heights offered also allowed him to get to know his patients.
He hated the business practicing medicine had become, where patients were faces or, worse, insurance claims. How could anyone hope to help someone under such terms? No, he was a family doctor at heart who also specialized in head trauma. Tarken Heights Memorial became the perfect place for him to be and, so long as he had a say in the matter, he’d retire there.
Everything in his life was going as well as he could’ve hoped. His daughter was dating a good, if nervous, young man and neither of them wanted for anything. His day got better when he read the notes on his newest patient. Aside from some apparent anxiety and restlessness, Franklin Bowen checked out on his tests and observation period, meaning a clean bill of health for the boy. By everything he was reading, the young man would be leaving later that day. The thought of which bothered the doctor, for he had the feeling something was wrong, but there wasn’t any scientific proof. The MRI of the patient’s cerebrum showed very little swelling, so the medication was working. After a momentary delay, he closed the folder and rose from behind his desk. For all accounts it appeared the young man had suffered a blow to the head, but nothing serious enough to cause a concussion. Strange, but entirely possible. Doctor Doug had other patients to worry about first.
After closing the office door, Doug walked down the hall toward another door that would lead him to the nurses’ station on the first floor. He didn’t expect to literally run into the night shift doctor, Doctor Forbes. “I’m sorry.” Doug let out a laugh. “It wouldn’t be good if we put each other in here.”
Emerson Forbes let out a laugh of his own, albeit a little more forced than his colleague’s. “None the worry, I have the utmost trust in our staff.” Without another word, Doctor Forbes walked past Doug and toward the office they shared.
Doug raised his eyebrows and shook his head. No matter how hard he tried, Doug never understood why a person like Forbes went into medicine. Sure, the man was brilliant, but he was about as warm as a wet blanket. The man’s personality, or lack there of, was something he’d grown accustomed to over the years and he was curious how the patients took to him. He never asked out of professional courtesy, but he couldn’t help imagining the responses he’d get. Nearing the nurse’s station, he recognized the red-dyed curly hair of dayshift’s head nurse, Phyllis Reed, as she handed out assignments to the other six nurses in the building. He knew through experience the same actions were being carried out throughout the land.
He couldn’t help but smile at the scene before him after some of his experiences elsewhere. He often wondered how they’d handle a real emergency, and thanked the Lord they never had to. Doug held back until Phyllis was finished with her task at the command hub of the hospital.
“Good morning, Phyllis. Glad to see you could make it in today.”
The cheer and warmth in his voice was a part of the mystique behind Doctor Doug and Phyllis wasn’t immune despite all of their years together.
She turned to face him with a smile, her nicotine-yellowed teeth looked like pegs of gold behind her cherry-red lipstick. The casual observer would’ve noticed the bright lipstick made her hair look orange in comparison, but Doug stopped noticing years earlier.
“Good morning, Doctor Doug. You know me, only the end of the world could keep me away.” Her voice had, at one time, been melodic but forty years of smoking and two throat surgeries left it sounding raspy and riddled, but the pleasantness and good nature still pushed through.
A two-time cancer survivor, Phyllis was closing in on her fifty-eighth birthday, but looked ten years older. She’d been the dayshift’s head nurse for so long she was close to being an institution in Tarken Heights. No one wanted to be the one responsible for her “retirement” and no one that worked with her would allow such a thing. Doug was a firm believer that she’d work until the day she died. How was open to speculation since cancer failed to change that twice. She still refused to quit smoking after her experiences and the death of her husband five years earlier from lung cancer, much to Doug’s dismay. Given all of that, she never missed a day of work aside from a funeral or her own surgery.
Doug laughed shaking his head. “I wouldn’t wager against you on that one.”
Phyllis eyed him over the rims of her glasses. “You’d better not, if you know what’s good for you.” Her lecturing tone was lower than her normal speaking voice, but it carried more power than most, even when she was joking
Doug raised his hands in defeat and, smiling, picked up the clipboard listing the five patients under their care. “Looks like an easy enough day.”
“Just like any other, doll.”
Satisfied the nurse’s reports matched those in his office, he replaced the clipboard and made his way to his first patient. The walk wasn’t more than a dozen yards or so and a new day began for Doctor Doug.
*****
Franklin remained in his bed, holding the pillow close to him for several hours. He needed it as a safety net, for his world was changing faster and beyond anything he would’ve expected. Never overly gifted at anything, Franklin led a somewhat charmed life and didn’t want for anything aside from his father’s acceptance, he was finally accepted by someone. Seeing those worlds and feeling the peace emanating from them filled him full of hope but, after being forced back into reality, the acceptance he sought was still so very far away.
More than once since he’d been brought there, he wished for things to be different. He thought he was sane, Tanok told him he was sane, but did a sane man see the things he did? Did a sane man hold onto his pillow and cry all night long? He didn’t think so and that became yet another thing to be heaped onto his pile of woe. The simple days when he only had to get along with his father were gone. This new world he found himself in was filled with more beauty and horror than he could’ve imagined.
Time and again, his mind focused on his father to offer a stark contrast to the new visions he’d been given. While Franklin’s life wasn’t as difficult as he chose to remember, most of the easy times were punctuated by moments of anger and frustration when he crossed paths with Winfield Bowen.
As head of a branch of Military Intelligence, General Winfield Jackson Bowen demanded much from his wife, Nancy, and his son, but far more from himself. With a family bloodline that could be traced back to the American Revolution, Winfield enlisted at eighteen and served his country in any way she needed. Through the years, his expertise led him into the intelligence arm where he made a mark as large and impressive as his entire heritage. The day Franklin was born he held his son with the pride only a new father could feel, already envisioning the greatness his son would have.
The next twenty years would see father and son embroiled in a private war where the only casualty was their sanity and love for one another. Throughout the most bitter of fights, Nancy Bowen somehow walked the line between the battling by supporting each when they were right and chastising them when they were wrong. Over time, the one many thought was the weak and timid member of the family proved to be the strongest and often held the splintering group together by the force of her will. Both Franklin and Winfield listened to her counsel and tried to refrain from fighting around her. Their peace became permanent when she suffered a stroke and subsequent seizure a year earlier. Refusing to give in, Nancy showed steady improvement even to that day, but the relationship between father and son was damaged from their visiting devils. Each blamed the other for Nancy’s condition, despite her regaining much of what she initially lost. Franklin felt his father would forever look on him as being unworthy of the Bowen name.
The sound in the hall stirred Franklin from his thoughts, but he refused
to move. Thinking it was another visit by Tanok to further torment him, he planned to resist in the only way he could. When a nurse entered to ask what he’d like for breakfast, he almost burst into laughter from relief. She waited patiently for his answer, which came after a minute of incessant giggling he was unable to stop.
Ham and swiss on rye with mayonnaise and mustard. Not an odd combination when eaten later in the day, but it was Franklin’s favorite. Watching her leave, he couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to him. First he was depressed about returning from his vision and now he didn’t want another one. By all rights, it should be difficult to be forced to wait to have another and experience the peace it engendered. Nothing made sense to him anymore.
“That is because you are learning, my friend.”
Franklin closed his eyes against the coming vision. “Leave me alone. Please.” He spoke the final word in a pleading tone.
“I cannot do that. You have been chosen. To stop now would sacrifice all you hold dear.” Tanok’s voice echoed in his mind.
He knew his “friend” was there with him whether he wanted him to be or not. Adding to it, Tanok’s words struck a cord in him and he knew he was lost but Franklin wouldn’t give in without a fight. “There’s nothing I hold dear anymore. You’ve chosen the wrong person.”
“You are wrong. There is more at stake for you than you know.”
Franklin rolled onto his back as his arms and eyes opened wide in frustration. “What the hell do you want from me? What the fuck did I ever do to you?”
Silence remained in the room following his outburst. Franklin thought he could see Tanok off to the side but when he turned to look at him, there was nothing there. It’d been the first time Franklin’s temper came out since the early visions he had with Tanok, and it felt good. He also carried a weight of sorrow for losing control of himself in such a way. He was ashamed.