by Pat Bertram
Bob averted his gaze so he wouldn’t have to look at the doctor’s cheery face. He tried to think of the good things that had happened to him, but the memories surfacing through the pain were all unpleasant. Hadn’t there been good times? There must have been, but he couldn’t recall any.
“Maybe I won’t go back to Denver,” he said, suddenly feeling very tired. “But you still haven’t answered my question. When can I go back to the United States?”
Dr. Johnson raised his eyebrows. “You mean a medical discharge?”
“Yes.”
The doctor grinned. “There’s nothing seriously wrong with you.”
Bob shook his head slightly, trying to clear away the confusion. A bright white pain stabbed him behind the eyes. He lay still until it dimmed.
“If there’s nothing seriously wrong with me,” he asked finally, “why am I here?”
“I told you,” Dr. Johnson said with exaggerated patience, as if speaking to a small, not very bright child, “you had a minor head trauma.”
“I know, but why am I here in the Philippines? We were close to Qui Nhon when the truck got blown up. If I had such a minor injury, why wasn’t I taken to the American hospital there?”
“You were, but then they transferred you here. Head injuries can be very complicated, you know.”
It still didn’t make sense to Bob, but nothing the military did made sense to him.
“You’ve been unconscious for five days.” Dr. Johnson smiled broadly, as if telling joke. “We wondered if you were ever going to wake.”
“Five days! I thought you said there was nothing seriously wrong with me.”
“There isn’t. You sustained no major physical injuries, but because your brain had been jostled, it shut off your conscious mind to concentrate all its energies on healing itself.” Dr. Johnson smiled, looking beatific. “You might sustain minor memory loss, and you will probably be confused for a while, but other than that, you should be okay.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
Dr. Johnson shrugged.
“And they’re still sending me back to active duty?”
“It’s not like you’re being sent into combat. According to your records, you’re a supply clerk.”
“But still . . .”
Dr. Johnson’s brows drew together. “It’s out of my hands.” Then his eyes brightened and his voice reverted to its former cheeriness. “However, I did arrange for you to spend a few days at Nha Trang to recuperate before you return to Saigon.”
Patting Bob’s shoulder, he said in a self-satisfied manner, “You’ll do fine.”
Bob jerked himself awake. The headache he’d felt in the dream remained with him.
Chapter 25
Bob stood in line next to Kerry, ticket in one hand, bag in the other, waiting to board the plane for Denver. His head ached, making it hard for him to figure out what to do. Would their luck hold? Though long and tedious, the flight from Manila to Los Angeles had been without incident.
The line shuffled forward a few feet. He had to decide. Now.
He touched Kerry’s arm. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
Seeing the young man in front of them turn around and give him a sharp-eyed look, he said, “I need to make a phone call.”
Kerry gave him a penetrating glance, then stepped out of line. Together they walked casually away from the gate.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Another one of your feelings?”
“Not a feeling. I keep remembering that Sam and Ted were at the airport when I landed in Denver before. Luck saved me then, but I can’t count on things working out a second time.”
She drew in a breath. “Do you think they’re going to be waiting for us?”
“No, I don’t. I—” Pain stabbed him behind the eyes.
“We should find a place to spend the night,” she said briskly. “Or what’s left of it, anyway. You need to get some rest.”
She led the way outside. They climbed aboard a shuttle bus that took them to a nearby hotel where they got a room.
Lying in Kerry’s arms, feeling her fingers gently massaging his scalp, Bob fell asleep. When he woke in the morning, the pain that had been with him since Manila was but a dull ache.
***
Kerry took the first turn at the wheel.
“Not bad for a junker,” she said as she whipped the 1970 Volkswagen bug past a pickup truck. “But orange? Wouldn’t it have been better to buy something less conspicuous? Of course, with all the rust spots it’s more of a burnt-orange, but still . . .”
Bob smiled. “It’s less conspicuous than that red gas guzzler you picked out. Besides, the bug is the one car I know how to drive.”
“Do you still think this is necessary?”
“Not necessary, perhaps, but prudent. The power ISI has is too great for me to want to take any chances. And we have the time. I don’t want to proceed with my investigation until I’ve gone through Harrison’s papers, and it will be a few days before we get them.”
Kerry chewed on her lower lip. “It looks as if there was a conspiracy between the military and ISI.”
“Not a conspiracy. Business as usual. The government, including the military, works for the multi-national corporations, and the multinational corporations work for the people who lend them money to stay in business.”
“Are you saying ISI is part of the government?”
“It’s possible. Ever since the Freedom of Information Act, the most secret members of the intelligence community no longer work directly for the government, but for private corporations like ISI. Private corporations are not required to divulge information about their activities, and they are not subject to the scrutiny or control of the politicians.”
Kerry shivered. “My parents raised me to believe the government has our best interest at heart, but I guess it isn’t true.”
“Governments have no hearts, and our interests are at the bottom of the list of their concerns.”
A semi roared up alongside them, rocking the bug. Kerry gripped the steering wheel tightly until it passed.
“I can’t stop thinking about the poor guy in the locked room. It must have been horrible for him, being forced to endure who-knows-what.” She shuddered. “That Rutledge person is a nasty piece of work.”
“He didn’t act nasty,” Bob said, remembering. “He seemed more like a bluff and hearty Boy Scout leader than a Svengali.”
A confused look darted across her face. “What are you talking about? You told me you didn’t know him.”
“That’s what I thought.” The dull ache in the back of his head throbbed with an insistent beat.
She laid a hand on his knee. Her warmth seeped into him, and the beat slowed to a more manageable cadence.
“What happened to you in Manila? You were fine when we checked into the hotel, but ever since then you’ve been a bit distant.”
“I had a dream that night.”
“The jungle?”
“No. The hospital after the incident with the mine. Every detail was so clear, it seemed real, and I recognized the doctor. I knew him as Dr. Johnson, but he’s the man pictured in the newspaper article Dr. Willet showed me in Omaha. Dr. Jeremy Rutledge.”
“Rutledge? Oh, no!” After a moment she said, “It was a dream. Maybe your subconscious was playing a trick on you. Or maybe your headache muddled you.”
“I wish that were true, but the fact is, Dr. Johnson and Dr. Rutledge are the same man.”
She stared at him a fraction of a second too long; the VW strayed into the next lane. She yanked it back into place and focused her eyes on the road for several miles.
When she spoke, her voice was almost inaudible. “What do you think he wanted with you?”
“My memories, of course.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about your other self. I don’t get it. How could he steal your memories and give them to someone else?”
“Drugs, I imagine, and hypnosis. T
echnically, he didn’t steal my memories since I still have them. He borrowed them.”
“You act so blasé about it. Aren’t you angry? I sure am.” She pounded the steering wheel. “What right did he have to do that to you? Who made him God?”
Bob stared out the window at the barren hills. “I suppose I should be angry, but I don’t remember any of it. Besides, this headache is sapping all my energy.”
“He probably did that, too,” Kerry said darkly. “I bet he gave you a post-hypnotic suggestion or aversion therapy or something to make you sick whenever you thought of going home and to make you horribly sick if you went.”
“You could be right.” Bob massaged his temples. “Now that I think about it, I started getting headaches even before I left Thailand, but the headaches I got in Denver were debilitating at times. I’ve never in my life had headaches that bad, not even after the mine incident.”
She drew a long, sobbing breath. “He stole your family from you.”
Trying to elicit a smile, he said, “Maybe he did me a favor.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you defending him?”
“You have to admit my family isn’t worth much.”
“But they’re still your family.”
“Actually, Jackson is all the family I have left. Lorena, Robert, and their children aren’t related to me.”
“True, but—” She slammed on the brakes and barely avoided rear-ending a Mustang that cut in front of them.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes against the pain. When he opened them again, it was dark, and he realized he had slept the day away.
He took over the driving while Kerry dozed. The miles slipped mindlessly by.
In the grayness of the pre-dawn world, Kerry awoke. She glanced around with an unfocused look in her eyes, then her gaze met his.
The first smile of the morning broke across her face, and he felt as though the sun had risen.
***
Bob raised his head and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Did you have a nice nap?” Kerry asked.
“It was okay. I didn’t dream.” He stared out the window at the narrow mountain road. “Where are we? This isn’t the interstate, is it?”
“I turned off the highway past Grand Junction. I thought we could spend the night at my uncle’s cabin. He’s not using it right now, so we’ll be alone.”
The road wound higher into the hills. The right shoulder ended in a sheer drop. Feeling a sickening lurch in his midsection, Bob quickly shifted his gaze from the view to Kerry.
“Maybe I should drive for a while.”
She chuckled, sounding not at all offended. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my driving?”
“Let’s just say if it was me at the wheel, we’d be going slower.”
The Volkswagen shuddered as she hurtled around a tight S-shaped curve.
He sucked in a breath. “A lot slower.”
She tossed him a laughing glance. “Don’t worry, I’ve driven this road a thousand times and never had an accident. Anyway, we’re almost there.”
She spun the wheel sharply to the left and veered onto a graveled lane snaking through the woods. The car rattled and bounced, and pebbles smacked against the undercarriage. After about a quarter of a mile, she parked in front of a weathered log cabin in a small clearing.
Bob climbed out of the car. Stretching out his arms, he inhaled deeply.
“Oh, come on,” Kerry said. “I’m not that bad a driver. Next thing I know, you’ll be kissing the ground.”
He smiled at her. “Can’t you smell it?”
She sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”
He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and inhaled again. A faint metallic odor rising from an outcrop of sun-warmed boulders mingled with the scent of pine, dry leaves, and melting snow. He felt a heaviness inside of him loosen. All at once a sense of exhilaration percolated to the surface.
“Is something wrong?” Kerry asked, giving him a strange look.
“No. Something is very right.”
He turned around slowly. The bright yellow aspen leaves shimmering against the lapis lazuli sky seemed to cherish him and nourish him with their energy. The air he breathed seemed to become a part of him, and he a part of it.
When Kerry gazed at him, shaking her head, he noticed how her hair gleamed in the alpenlight.
“You’re acting as if this is the first time you’ve been here,” she said.
“It is.”
“I don’t mean here at my uncle’s cabin.” She made a sweeping gesture. “I mean here in the Rockies.”
“I know.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re from Denver, and you’ve never been in the mountains before?”
“Not that I remember. It’s all so different, the way the air smells and tastes and feels. And the sounds.”
“What sounds? It’s absolutely still. For once there’s not even any noise from a chainsaw.”
He smiled at her. “Sound is everywhere. I can hear the meadow mice and the deer moving in the thicket over there.”
She fixed her gaze on him. “You’re making that up.”
“If you listen you will hear them, too.” He took a breath, released it. “I lived so long in Southeast Asia where it’s steamy and overpeopled that I got used to it, but I feel as if I belong here.” He lowered his voice. “A raccoon in the pine tree is staring at us.”
She flicked back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. “I thought I knew you, but I don’t. I’ve never seen you like this.”
He held out his palms, wanting her to see he had nothing to hide. “I’m the same.”
“No, you’re not. I sense a . . . a change.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Of course not. It’s just not what I’ve gotten used to. Should we see about getting something to eat? It won’t be anything fancy, but I’m sure we can find cans of chili and stew in the cupboard.”
He flexed his fingers. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to paint first, try to capture this light before it fades.”
“I don’t mind.” She smiled at him, but reserve tinged her voice. “I’m not very hungry.”
***
Bob rolled over and reached for Kerry in the dark, but her side of the bed was empty.
He grabbed the patchwork quilt, which was so old it felt as soft as flannel, and padded through the deserted cabin to the front door. He stepped outside. Kerry sat on the stoop, knees pulled to her chest, head tilted back. Wearing the over-sized tee shirt she’d slept in, she shivered in the cold mountain air.
Bob wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and sat next to her. She rearranged the quilt to envelop both of them.
She glanced at him, then quickly averted her gaze.
He held her hand. “You’re not afraid of the change in me, are you?”
“No.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “I’m afraid you’re going to grow away from me. I mean, I’m a waitress, but you’re rich, you had a book written about you, and one day you’re going to be a famous painter.”
“I’m not there yet. Besides, as I recall, you’re not a waitress anymore. You’re my agent.”
“That was a joke.”
“Not to me it wasn’t. And I’m not going to grow away from you. If anything, this lightness of being I feel is making me more attuned to you.”
Her tone sounded almost breezy, but not enough to hide the note of apprehension in her voice. “That’s what’s scary.”
“I know.”
She leaned away and looked at him. “You do?”
“The first time I visited the Mulligans, Scott told me he didn’t know what was worse, being under-stood or being misunderstood.”
“He’s right. I thought that’s what I wanted, someone who’d be attuned to me and to notice things like me being cold, but it’s . . . I don’t know . . . intimidating, I guess.”
“It might be a temporary change because of being here in the mounta
ins.”
“I don’t think so.” She relaxed against him. “I forgot how many stars there are. When I was a kid, I’d go outside at night and moonbathe—lie under the stars, looking up. If I watched long enough, I felt as if I were looking down on the stars, then I’d get dizzy, thinking I would fall off the earth. Sometimes I feel the same way when I’m with you.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good. Definitely good. I love the stars. I love being out at night. Maybe that’s why I liked working graveyard. Living in the city, though, I didn’t get to see many stars.”
Bob stared at the sky. Mesmerized by the white swathe of the Milky Way, he felt a sudden touch of vertigo.
“I see what you mean,” he said.
“My family ranch is about three miles from here, so this is the sky I’m used to. You’ll have to meet everyone when you get ISI off your back.”
Not wanting to think about meeting her folks, he searched about for a change of subject. “How did you know the cabin would be empty?”
“My cousins are away at college, and my uncle’s gone.” She paused. “A hunting accident. He ran into a renegade band of deer, and they blasted his chest with a shotgun. We found his body but not his head. We’re pretty sure it’s hanging on the deers’ trophy wall, but we haven’t found their hideout yet.”
An unexpected feeling of love welled in Bob’s chest. “You’re teasing me.”
She laughed. “A little.”
“I’m going to have my hands full with you, aren’t I?”
“You have no idea.”
She pulled his head down and planted a kiss on his forehead. Then, eyes closing, she touched his lips with hers.
Later, much later, he asked, “What did happen to your uncle?”
“Nothing. He and my aunt go on vacation to Las Vegas this time every year.”
***
Bob turned onto Kerry’s street and drove slowly, searching for a place to park.
Kerry frowned. “Crossing and recrossing the date line has got me confused. I thought it was Monday, but look at all these cars—it must still be the weekend.”
“It is Monday.”
“So why aren’t people at—oh, I know. Colum-bus day.”