Patient: Crew (The Crew Book 1)

by Hannah Kaplan

  “The month of a thousand deaths. You wrote about it.”

  “When? I don’t understand.”

  Kevin fumbled with the notebooks, picked one up and pointed at a phrase. “Right here—in that month of a thousand deaths. It’s started.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If I am right there’ll be more deaths after this. They’ll be more bombs and more deaths. I need to study the sessions.”

  “This doesn’t say anything about bombs.”

  “It’s in the earlier sessions. It’s in both books and the recent sessions are filled with it. I need to research,” Kevin said. He sat on the floor in front of the TV and started flipping through the notebooks.

  Four bombs had caused the elementary school in Forman, Oklahoma to implode. The school had full attendance that day for the fifth grade graduation. Three hundred and ninety-four people died. One hundred and eighteen parents, grandparents, siblings, and friends attending the graduation, and the rest were children, teachers and staff. If there were a hell, a special place is reserved for me if I didn’t do whatever it took to make this stop.

  The next crew session started an hour into our marathon news search for information about the school bombing. Kevin would write notes, research the Patient: Crew books and the writings since I had returned to Sunny. Thirty minutes after the first session ended another began. The crew and I had four sessions that night. I collapsed into a deep sleep within minutes after the fourth session ended. I slept through to the next afternoon and woke up to Kevin standing over me with a plate of eggs, toast and a big smile.

  “We have another visitor,” he said.

  I got out of bed and quickly dressed in the clothes from the previous night. “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Tim,” he said.

  I stopped and sat on the bed. I was afraid but why? I couldn’t understand what my hesitation was telling me. Why wasn’t I running to him with pure delight?

  “What should I do?” I asked.

  “You should hear what he has to say. You don’t have to follow his orders. You are capable of making your own decisions and I will keep you safe.” Kevin was trying to get me to stay with him. He wouldn't admit it but that’s what he was doing.

  “I can keep myself safe,” I said. “You keep your eyes open.”

  Tim was sitting in a chair going through the sessions that I had written the night before. He instantly jumped up to hug me. “What’s going on here Shanna? Who’s that thug and why are you living in this house? Are we safe?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We’re safe. This is was my mother’s house. That’s Kevin he’s a friend who doesn’t know anything. He’s just here to help me with the cable TV. No one has come to look for me.”

  “Is this the house they burned?” Tim asked. His tone was filled with suspicion. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his eyes darted around the room.

  “It was, maybe Pop rebuilt it. What happened?” I asked. “Where’s Marla?”

  “Who beat up my man? I sent him to find you, and now he’s in the hospital with broken ribs.” Tim stood up and closed the notebooks but didn’t set them down. “Who beat him up your cable friend?”

  “No,” I said. “That was Jim.”

  “You’ve established yourself.”

  “You told me to.”

  “So I did. Where are the rest of your sessions? Did you destroy them?”

  “No I have them in a safe place.”

  “Have you been reading them?”

  “No nothing’s changed with me. Where’s Marla? Is she ok?”

  “None of us are ok,” he said. He looked sad and I couldn’t think of a time in ten years he had ever looked sad.

  “Why?”

  “After you left, the Agency hit us hard. We were under constant surveillance and I was put on leave. I had to sweep the house for bugs. We didn’t even discuss the grocery list without turning up the radio. Two weeks later they arrested me. I was treated like a civilian. They held me for three days relentlessly throwing questions at me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “They want the source. They want you.”

  “The sessions, ten years of them?” I asked.

  “They have them, but it’s not enough. They want you. When I went home I tried to contact you. I thought they’d found you.”

  “I was moving into this house. It’s safer for me here. No one even knows it exists,” I said. I felt an immense guilt run through me. “Who killed your partner?”

  “The Agency. The CIA orchestrated the damn thing. It was supposed to be me in that car, but I saw him. I saw him take Marla, and I got out. The car blew and took Frank with it. They didn’t kill me so now they blame me. I ran and have been running since, running and searching for Marla. I need your sessions. They’ll tell me where to find her.”

  “So you believe what they say? You believe they tell the future?” I asked.

  “I’ve got nothing else. I have to believe.”

  “Who took her?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “Was it CIA?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I need to read your sessions. She needs our help Shanna.” His eyes fixed on mine as he held my hand with a tight grip. “If it’s the Agency, they won’t stop until they have us both. It’s just a matter of time before they get the ace of spades.”

  “The only way they’ll know who I am is if Marla tells them,” I said.

  “You can’t stay here and hide your affliction from everyone,” he said. “Do you really think these hicks will protect you? They’ll figure it out. You can’t hide forever. Even if Marla dies with your identity someone else will find out and give you up in a heartbeat.” He was right. If the CIA came to Sunny with a picture of me, people would stand in line to tell their stories. If they were offering a reward, they would kill each other to be first in that line.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “Mexico. Marla and I have an understanding. We have a house and she’ll know to go there when she’s freed. They can’t keep her forever. If they try, we’ll go public.”

  “What do you mean go public?”

  “We’ll tell the media she’s being unlawfully held,” he said. “The whole damn country believes she’s a holy messenger. They want Marla to write more books, and she can’t do it locked up. It’s become a religion to some people. Everyone wants to know who patient crew is. The only safe place for you is with us. We are the only ones you can trust.”

  “What will stop the CIA from following Marla to Mexico?”

  “Nothing, that’s why we have to do this right. I know how these guys work I can make it happen but not without you.”

  “When do we leave?” I asked.

  “Good girl,” he seemed relieved. “Tomorrow. I’ll go back to Abilene tonight, and we will meet at the airport tomorrow at seven PM it’s the last flight out. It would be easier for you to come with me now, but it’s not safe.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “This is your confirmation for the ticket. You’ll need your license and passport. Do you have them?”

  “I’ve got them.”

  “You’ll be there?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He handed me the notebooks. “Bring them with you, everything since you’ve been here. Don’t forget them,” he said and left.

  I heard a loud diesel engine.

  “Eighteen wheeler,” Kevin said.

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” I said.

  “Are you leaving with him tomorrow?”

  “I have to go to out,” I said and grabbed my bag. “I’ll be home in time to clean up for dinner at Jim’s.”

  The folks on the street turned away as I drove down Main Street. I was sure they’d heard all about the Bradley fiasco. I parked in front of the bank and went inside. It was a tiny room with one teller and a table off to the side for people to prepare their transactions. I filled out a withdrawal slip at the table. Not wanting
to cause suspicion I left a few dollars in the account. A man joined me at the table, but he wasn’t filling out any slips.

  “Good afternoon Shanna,” he said.

  “Good afternoon,” I said. I turned to greet the teller. She kindly gave me the money and I left.

  “Excuse me Shanna,” the man was following me, but I didn’t recognize him.

  “Do I know you? What’s your name? Do you live in town?” I rattled off the questions.

  “No I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I’m a Caleb,” he extended his hand. “Joshua Caleb.”

  I didn’t want to appear paranoid so I accepted his hand. “How do you know my name?”

  “I knew you when you were just a tiny baby,” he said, and looked at me as if I were a dream that could quickly vanish. “I knew your Momma. I knew her very well, and you are the spitting image of her.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me,” I said. “Unfortunately the only thing I know about you is your name.”

  “If you would be so kind as to give me a ride home I’d be happy to tell you all about me and my people,” he said.

  “Your people wouldn’t happen to be government people would they?” I asked.

  “The government don’t give a hoot nor holler about us, and we in turn don’t have anything to do with the government. I think you know us as those people who keep doing shit to you,” he smiled. “Most everyone in town calls us the hill people.”

  “You brought me breakfast, and notebooks. Did my Momma trust you?”

  “Ruth Ann didn’t trust anyone after those townies got ahold of her. She relied upon us though, and I like to think she held a certain amount of affection for us in her soul. She helped us, and now we’re here to help you. It’s the least we can do.” On our way out of town, Joshua Caleb told me things I’d never heard about Momma, and not one of his stories was vaguely similar to the gossip. He said she was full of sweet kindness and forbearance.

  “I was told she was possessed by evil and that she told men their futures to get them to sleep with her.”

  “That couldn’t be further from the truth. She was shunned by the town but continued to help them the best way she knew how. She was convinced her writings could help people. She hoped that in return they would accept her and welcome her into their fold. Her father,” he said.

  “Pop?” I cut him off.

  “Yes. He got enough of the situation. He moved her to the house hoping everyone would leave her alone but that didn’t stop Ruth Ann. She fought back even harder. She would sneak into town in the middle of the night leaving notes on people’s doors, giving them solutions to problems that were private. She was trying to help these people. Her writings revealed too much of their secret lives. They couldn’t figure out who was telling this girl their private business. They accused her of spying on them, peering in their windows while they slept. I’m not sure how they thought she could do that so often without a single soul catching her in the act.”

  “Is that why they burned the house?” I asked.

  “They were trying to silence her, and they succeeded. She didn’t deserve what they did to her. She wanted their acceptance and would have done anything to gain it. The people she had left notes for started the rumors about her being a witch and consorting with the dead. They set up a meeting with her father and demanded a solution. They wanted him to take her to a sanitarium and have her locked up.”

  “Pop refused?” I asked.

  “Two days later they showed up with torches and fuel, burned the fields. It had been a dry year so the fire quickly spread to the house. It didn’t take long for the mesquites to go up in flames. Ruth Ann tried to put out the fires in the field. When she noticed the house had caught she panicked and went inside to save you. No one in town knew you existed until that fire. She was able to get you out the door before she collapsed from the smoke in her lungs. No one lifted a finger to help her. They saw her on the ground and left satisfied with their justice. By the time we got to her she was gone.”

  “Why did she hide me?”

  “She was fearful they would take you away from her. Your grandfather cried over your Momma. He came to my father asking that we respect his decision to take you and raise you as his own. My father agreed.”

  The question was burning in my gut. The words were hard to form in my mind and even harder to say out loud. “Do you know who my father is?” Joshua Caleb was silent, but I could tell the answer was a resounding yes.

  “Ruth Ann was a beautiful woman. Any man in his right mind could see it. She was a quiet girl, but her beauty was loud. My brother was the moth to her flame. He protected her from the goons that came from town, banging on her door, demanding to be told their futures. The funny thing was when she told them what they wanted to know, and even when she put the notes on their doors as warnings it all came back on her. They blamed her for everything right down to the drought. If someone got hurt, sick or died they’d say she did it, manipulated it, or put a curse on them to make it happen. Any and everything she predicted came back on her in the most negative way.”

  “I’m just like her,” I said.

  “Spitting image,” he said. “There’re a lot of people out to get you—same as it was with her.”

  “I know.”

  “There’s a lot of people you can trust just the same,” he said.

  “Can I trust you?” I parked the car a few feet from the house and shut off the engine. “The problem is I owe the people who helped me in Dallas, but I’m not sure loyalty is the best course of action.”

  “Doing what’s right isn’t always the easiest path to follow. Your Momma learned that the hard way,” he said and got out of the car. He walked to the side of the house, and I went to the front door.

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “In the hills,” he said. “If you need us just follow the path and call out my name. There’s a good bunch of Calebs, someone will be sure to respond.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Joshua Caleb.”

  “You’re mighty welcome Niece Shanna.”

  13.

  Five cars were in and around Jim’s driveway, and the owners were saying their final goodbyes to fellow mourners as I turned onto his street. I stayed at the curb and waited until I saw the last of the visitors leave. I wasn’t in the mood for confrontation. A newfound confidence brought about by meeting family had given me strength. I wanted to know more about them more about my father. I wanted to meet the other Calebs to become one of them, one of the hill people. I faded into the memories of Albee tending the garden behind the fields. I must have been five or six years old. She tended that garden daily, but I never once saw her pick or use any of the foods it produced yet the ripe vegetables were always gone the next day. I gained an ounce of respect for her that day.

  The sister’s house was filled with the aromas of food. Pilly was in the kitchen up to her elbows in dishwater suds. I gave her a quick hug and offered to help. She had me fill the tea glasses while she put the food in the center of the table that was beautifully adorned with antique china, Granny Parker’s Sunday best crystal tea goblets and freshly polished silver. The centerpiece was a platter stacked high with fried chicken. The usual sides of black-eyed peas, fried okra and mashed potatoes with gravy were placed around it. We all sat around the table, held hands and Jim said the blessing. He had become the head of the house and recited his father’s prayer word for word.

  “God our heavenly father bless this food which we are about to partake to the nourishment of our bodies. Forgive our sins. Guide, guard and direct us until in heaven we see your face. In Jesus name we pray, amen.”

  Oh warrior dark warrior guide, guard and direct her. It was Kevin’s song; it was also the prayer Jim’s father said before every meal. I’d heard that phrase more times than I could count in my life, yet it didn’t impress me in the least when Kevin sang his song. Chills ran down my spine. My brain searched for a purpose or meaning and came up with nothing.
Pushing the thought aside I filled my plate and started eating while the others discussed the funeral and how good Polly looked. Jason was more than a little sick of the light conversation about his mother and her demise. He was distant and no one seemed to notice—if anyone did they didn’t show it. He picked at his chicken for a few seconds and then got up to put his plate in the sink.

  “Where are you going to Jason?” Pilly asked. “You hardly touched your supper.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Jason said. “I’m going outside for some fresh air.”

  “I don’t see how smoking a cigarette is getting fresh air but go on,” Pilly responded.

  “Leave him alone Ma,” Jim said.

  “I suppose you’re right. We all have to grieve in our own way.”

  “He’s planning his escape,” Jima said and everyone’s eyes went to her. “That’s the way I hear it at least.” She continued to eat and the rest of us waited until she had swallowed. She was getting ready to take another bite when Pilly slapped her hand down.

  “You can’t say something like that without further explanation young lady now tell us exactly what you know,” Pilly said.

  “He was talking to Mike Murrow and said now that his Momma was gone he’s going to join up with the air force,” she said and took a drink of tea. “He said there was nothing for him here and he might as well cut his losses and move on. He said nobody needs him for nothing anyhow.”

  “Oh Jim oh no Jim,” Pilly cried. “You have to talk to him he can’t just go off and leave us like that. You must talk to him.”

  “I will, but right now I’m eating my supper. Let him cool off a bit. It’s good for a man to be alone with himself to get his thoughts straight.”

  “You know best,” Pilly said. “Don’t you let him leave and for heaven’s sake don’t let him join up with the military. Lord help us. Where’s Picky when you need her? She’ll slap some sense into that boy.”

  “God almighty something smells good. I hope that’s your fried chicken I smell Pill. I’m about to starve to death,” Picky yelled from the living room after slamming the front door.

  Pilly yelled back, “It sure is and it’s still hot. Come in here, fix yourself a plate and sit down. Was the hospital busy tonight?” She used her hand to fan herself and looked up to whisper a “thank you” to Jesus.