In Limbo

by E. C. Marsh

“Oh yes.”

  “What about Sandy?”

  “Let's get hold of her sister.”

  We just stood in the kitchen, holding each other. I felt cold -- so terribly cold. I curled deeper into Tom's embrace, shivering.

  *

  Sandy was running cold water over her hands and wrists. Ahh, that felt so good. She stared at her image in the mirror, not really seeing anything. Her mind was adrift and far, far away as she let the water run. A nurse opened the door and said “Mrs. Holtzer?” It startled her, and she splashed water all over her front.

  “Yes, that's me, what is it?”

  “You need to come with me, quickly. There's been a problem with your husband.”

  They rushed back to the ICU. There, amid the white walls, beige curtains and assorted equipment, a young doctor took her aside.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “I am so very very sorry.”

  She stared at him, her ears hearing what he said, her mind not believing. The doctor's voice came to her as if through a wall of cotton balls, in slow motion, fighting to overpower the buzzing in her head.

  “Your husband developed unexpected heart problems,” he said. “Certainly related to the massive infection present in his body.”

  She tilted her head to one side, what was he saying? The buzzing in her head was getting louder and louder.

  “We tried some very powerful antibiotics, but the infection did not respond to them at all.”

  WHAT ARE YOU TELLING ME? Her mind screamed.

  “Your husband's heart just gave out. We tried to resuscitate him, but we were not successful. I am so sorry. Is there someone we can call for you?”

  But Sandy just stared at him, not comprehending what was being said.

  “Mrs. Holtzer?”

  Finally she responded, “Yes? What are you saying?”

  “Mrs. Holtzer, your husband passed away. Is there someone we can call? Someone to come and be with you?”

  “Ralph, dead?”

  He nodded patiently.

  “No, no, no.” Sandy cried out. “You must be mistaken! It's not possible. Marty is dead. Not Ralph! NO!”

  A nurse gently hugged her.

  “I want to see him.” Sandy sobbed, pulling away.

  “Of course,” said the nurse. “Come dear, let's go see your husband.”

  They walked over to his bed. Sandy stared at him, not believing. There was a tube in his throat, IVs snaking across the sheet covering his chest. Slowly, she sank to her knees beside the bed. The nurse turned and pulled the curtain around them.

  Sandy sat there on the floor beside Ralph, feeling so very lost, not knowing what to do or say. She felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

  Then the tears began to flow.

  “You were the only man I have ever loved”, she whispered. “I know I have been such a bitch and treated you so badly. I just don't know how to love without fighting. You were always so patient, putting up with me. And now you are gone, and I won't even be able to tell you that I love you. What will I do without you?”

  She reached out and took his hand out from under the sheet. Oh God, she thought, he feels so warm. He looks so peaceful. This cannot be happening. Surely he'll wake up and get mad at me for making such a fuss. She gently stroked his hand. He didn't wake up, and she buried her face in his hand, letting her tears flow.

  The nurse quietly stepped around the curtain.

  “Mrs. Holtzer, would you like to speak with a minister? One of the local clergy is here.”

  “No.” Sandy almost shouted, feeling rage at the interruption.

  “No, I don't want to speak with anybody. No minister will bring him back to me, and I don't want to hear that God knows what he is doing. Do you hear me? No, I don't want anyone. I just want my husband back!”

  She buried her face in Ralph's hand.

  But the nurse did not leave.

  “Mrs. Holtzer” she said gently “I know that this is a terrible time for you, but there are some things that need to be attended to. Would you give us permission for an autopsy?”

  Sandy stared at her through tears and red rimmed eyes.

  “What? What things? Autopsy? Cut him open? Why?”

  “It would tell the doctors what happened to your husband.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence. Then Sandy responded in a firm voice.

  “Cut him open? NO! The damned doctors didn't want to cut on him when he was alive, and I won't permit anyone here to cut on him now that he's dead. Just help me get him home. I know what happened to him. We have said it all along. The damned army shot him, that's what happened to him and now he's dead and gone and now you want to cut him open so that you can tell me yes, he got shot and that's why he died. Well, fuck you all. No I will not give you permission.”

  A hospital social worker helped Sandy with the funeral home. Sandy was present, heard what was said, but did not comprehend anything.

  Appearing calm and collected on the surface, but inside in a burning rage, she made the necessary arrangements with the funeral home. She politely refused their offer to ride home with Ralph.

  “No, I need to be alone for a little while. You go ahead. I'll catch up with you.”

  She returned to the little waiting room, taking some comfort in the familiar surroundings, and retrieved a notebook from her purse. Her first call was to her sister. She was crying when she told her of Ralph's death.

  She didn't notice the janitor, also present in the little waiting room, washing the same window, over and over.

  The next call was more mysterious at first, but then she addressed the other party by name and that name was the name of a well-known TV talk-show host. The janitor gave up all pretenses, and just stood by the window, listening to her.

  Sandy's back was turned to him, but she would not have noticed him either anyway. Her mind was on the story she was telling. She told of their camping trip, how Marty died, how the world around them had changed. She told how they had learned of this big corporation, SERPAC, conducting testing without concern for the people in the area.

  She talked for a long, long time. She did not notice when the janitor left without his cart. She was very, very angry now, and someone was finally paying attention to her. She did not reveal her friends' names. “No,” she said firmly when asked. “No, I can't do that. I need to talk to them first.”

  Finally, without so much as a glance at the ICU, she walked out of the hospital, climbed into the battered old truck and drove off. She didn't notice the man in the janitor's uniform, as he got into his car and followed her. She stopped for gas and a soda, then headed for home.

  Sandy was not familiar with the way home. Holsum had never really been part of her scene. When she set out, the highway was nice and straight. A few miles out of town, it became narrow and curvy. It had no shoulder, and certainly not designed for high speeds. Sandy didn't care about that at this moment. Her mind felt empty. She sipped her soda and turned the radio's volume up as high as she could stand. Between sips, she sang along with the radio. The noise helped her drown her thoughts.

  She drove faster and faster. The man in the car following her had an increasingly harder time keeping up with her. But keeping up didn't really matter to him. He knew where she was going. Sandy rolled down the window, letting the wind play with her hair and dry the tears that had started to flow again. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings and of her speed. She took her foot off the gas. When she stepped on the brake, the pedal went to the floorboard without resistance and without any braking action.

  It felt as if she were stepping into gelatin. No matter how much she pumped the pedal, nothing happened. Sandy reacted automatically, barely realizing what was happening. It didn't matter, she didn't care. When the brake didn't work, she just stopped pumping the pedal. Keeping her right foot off the gas pedal, she entered a tight curve at high speed and lost control of the truck. Her mind never registered the vehicle tumbling into the ravine. She was numb and void of feel
ings.

  The old pickup came to rest on its rusty top with Sandy dangling in her seatbelt. Then, out of nowhere, a man appeared. She saw him out of the corner of her eyes as he walked closer.

  “Help me, please,” she begged. “Please help me get out of here before the truck blows.”

  He did not respond. He stayed out of her full field of vision as he inspected the interior of the truck's cab. He saw how she was suspended by the seatbelt. She had a cut above her left eye. She must have hit the rear view mirror or something. Blood was trickling across her forehead and into her hair. Otherwise, she seemed okay. He finally spoke to her.

  “I'll help you, just wait a moment.”

  “Thank you, thank you. Please hurry! I'm all tangled up in this damned seatbelt and I can't get it loose. Do you have a knife? I need to get home to my kids.”

  But the man already had walked to the back of the truck. He picked up a small red canister of gasoline, and systematically poured it over the exposed underside of the truck. Then he stepped up to the driver's side of the truck and splashed Sandy and the inside of the cab with more of the fuel from the canister. He backed away and struck a match.

  Sandy's screams were drowned by the roaring flames. The man ran back to his car and slowly backed up into the road, careful to stay in Sandy's tire tracks. A mile or two down the road, he pulled into an entrance to a field and dialed a number on his car phone. A male voice answered.

  “Ron here.”

  “Tell me what I want to hear.”

  “Your problems are over.”

  “You are indeed a good man! Be sure to check with your bank later on.”

  Next, he dialed a local emergency number. He didn't have much to say. He just reported a car on fire, somewhere down Highway ZZ.

  “No, I don't know exactly where. I'm headed into Holsum. I guess about ten minutes or so outside of Holsum, west bound.”

  He drove casually on. Not a bad day's work, he thought. Six figures in eight hours. He would need to return to the retreat to collect his baggage, but that would take all of five minutes. Then he would be off to a well-deserved vacation.

  *

  When the Holsum Volunteer Fire Department arrived, the overturned pickup was still smoldering. They had no trouble locating the fire. The black column of dense smoke led them. In the vehicle they found the charred remains of what could have been a person, and decided to get the Highway Patrol involved. The first trooper at the scene radioed for the County Coroner. The fire had been so intense that it had destroyed any identification on the vehicle. It seemed obvious that it could be a long time, in this rural county, before the charred remains in this truck would be identified.

  Then one of the junior volunteers found a small brown handbag in the grass, just far enough away not to have been damaged by the fire. He opened it. There was a wallet, maybe ten or twenty dollars in assorted small bills, and some coins There was a check book with a debit card, a driver's license, a cell phone and assorted pictures of kids and grown-ups.

  “Mr. Bodine,” he yelled toward the group of adults gathered by the side of the road. “Mr. Bodine, look at this here.” He held up the purse. They emptied the contents onto the hood of the Highway Patrol cruiser. The officer was on his belly in the grass, studying the interior of the charred vehicle from the passenger side. Curious, he joined the group

  “It's amazing,” he said to no one in particular. “This guy must have been unable to get the seatbelt off. It's buckled, but in the wrong place. He buckled into the connection of the passenger side. What do you have there?”

  “Jimmy, here, found this in the grass, over there by the driver's side of the truck.”

  “Oh man, I think I know who this is.” A young sheriff's deputy had just joined the group. He held the driver's license and checkbook in his slightly trembling hands.

  Without saying anything further, he returned to his patrol car and started talking on the radio. He was pale and moving slowly when he returned to the group.

  “Man, you are not gonna believe this. The other day we got a report from the hospital in Holsum that they had a man with a gunshot wound. The man had reported it himself as an accidental shooting. Him and the old lady were out in the woods, you know, foolin' around and the rifle goes off. Well, I just checked. He's dead. Just up and died. Complications, the hospital said. But guess what his name was?” He looked around. Nobody answered. Although they had seen the driver's license, nobody had paid attention to the name.

  “His name was Ralph Holtzer, and he had a wife named Sandra Holtzer.

  “This driver's license is made out to Sandra Holtzer.”

  Chapter 41

  I read about Sandy's death in the newspaper the next evening.

  My supervisor had been nice enough to forgive me for not showing up at work two days in a row, and I owed her. So I found myself having to do a double shift. It was pretty busy at first, with lots of kids and adults playing ball and lots of kids and adults getting hurt. It was well after eight PM when I finally had a chance to take a break. Of course the cafeteria was closed by then. This always happens to me. I was stuck with having to eat one of those horrible vending-machine sandwiches, old and soggy.

  Someone had left a newspaper on a table and I grabbed it. I almost choked when I got to page two. There was a picture of an overturned, burned-out pickup truck. The headline read, “TRAGEDY STRIKES AREA FAMILY TWICE. The story said that a local couple, Ralph and Sandra Holtzer had gone on a camping trip. Then the man accidentally shot himself and subsequently died of complications at a Holsum hospital. The wife was driving home, when she ran off the road for unknown reasons. The truck rolled and burned, and Mrs. Holtzer died in the fire.

  The couple had two young children who will stay with relatives. A bank account has been set up for donations on their behalf.

  My hands were shaking so hard, I could not hold the paper any longer. I sat there, with my hands folded in my lap to keep them from shaking. Marty dead, Ralph dead, Sandy dead. Only Sam and Tom and I left. I dug my cell phone out of my uniform pocket and dialed home. Tom had also seen the paper. He said there had been a story on the evening television news as well.

  “Get hold of Sam,” I said. “Let's meet him tomorrow, please.”

  I didn't have to beg. Tom had already contacted him, and Sam and his kids were on their way over. The grown-ups would provide pizza and movies for the kids. All would spend the night, and we would have plenty of time to talk. I went back to my supervisor, claiming a horrible migraine and cramps. I was able to talk my way out of that night shift.

  I had wondered why nobody had called to tell us of Sandy's death. But then, I had never met any of Sandy's or Ralph's families. They wouldn't know us, or be aware that we had been together that weekend.

  When I got home, Sam and the kids were already there and, so was the pizza. The delicious smell hit me when I came through the door. I was lucky, the guys had ordered three large pizzas and had plenty left. The kids were spread out in front of the TV watching some Disney movie. They had sleeping bags, and each had a special pillow. They all wore big smiles and had pizza sauce smeared on their happy faces.

  I looked at Allen. I just love that kid. The emotions were simply overwhelming, and I retreated to the bathroom, just to be alone.

  CHAPTER 42

  The kids were sound asleep before we even gathered at the kitchen table. I had hoped they would be. My thoughts were racing in all sorts of directions. I deal with assorted crises every day at work, and I think I handle them well. I have learned to stay calm and focused. Tonight, though, was completely different. This was too close to home. When it comes to home, it's a completely different situation. Tom made one of his infamous pots of coffee, designed to resurrect the dead. And the three of us sat down at the round kitchen table.

  “Well, guys.” Sam looked at both of us. “It's just the three of us now. Sort of like we started out a long, long time ago.”

  “I just want to stop whatever is hap
pening and get my life back.” I blurted out. I felt tears filling my eyes. Tom held my hand.

  “I've been doing a lot of thinking,” He said slowly. Tom can talk real slow -- slow enough to drive you nuts if you let it.

  “I've been thinking about everything that's happened and what we should be doing from here on. Rather, what we could do. I see lots of different possibilities here.”

  He took a deep breath. Sam knows him and just waited. I was nervous and tapped on the tabletop with my spoon.

  “Chris, quit beating up on the table.” Tom looked at me. “As I said, I have given this a lot of thought. I don't have an answer, just a theory.”

  “Come on, Tom.” I made a face at him.