Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  Mr. Duncan: It told me that he was going to die, and his life had amounted to nothing. He was a passionate man, but in the end, he was a selfish person. He had a hard time letting go of the violence of his life and the power he thought it brought—it was a false power.

  Mr. Silverstein: Interesting. And you saw all that through the brick wall?

  Mr. Duncan: I did.

  Mr. Silverstein: And was there anything else, or was that the extent of your interaction with Mr. Montoya at that time?

  Mr. Duncan: There was more.

  Mr. Silverstein: Oh, there was more besides the reading of his karma or his book?

  Mr. Duncan: Yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: And this additional interaction with Mr. Montoya—was it also through the brick wall that divided you from him?

  Mr. Duncan: It was.

  Mr. Silverstein: And would you mind sharing the nature of that interaction with us?

  Mr. Duncan: As I said, Dominic was going to die—right then and there. His life was going to amount to nothing. Another wasted soul, consumed by selfishness. I gave him a chance to make a different choice.

  Mr. Silverstein: You gave him a chance? How is that, Mr. Duncan?

  Mr. Duncan: Rather than dying right there, I made it possible for Dominic to at least have a chance to see his wasted life for what it was and to make a choice to change.

  Mr. Silverstein: I’m not sure I’m following you, Mr. Duncan. You made it possible? Are you saying you personally prevented Mr. Montoya from dying somehow? Through that brick wall that divided you from him as he lay there on the operating table?

  Mr. Duncan: I wouldn’t use the word “personally,” but, yes, I became the agent of choice that suspended his death so he could at least have a chance to choose to change. It was sort of a gift—if you want to look at it that way.

  Mr. Silverstein: And you did this all through that brick wall?

  Mr. Duncan: You are really hung up on that brick wall, aren’t you?

  (Courtroom laughter)

  Judge Nelson: Order in the court, please. Mr. Duncan, I would like to caution you to refrain from making such comments. You are to simply answer the questions as presented to you. Please continue, Mr. Silverstein.

  Mr. Silverstein: Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Duncan, while you were in the emergency room, did you ever hear the staff or anyone else talking about Mr. Montoya or the fact that he was known as the “miracle patient” that day?

  Mr. Duncan: I don’t recall hearing that, no.

  Mr. Silverstein: Well, it’s not every day that a patient is declared dead and then a few minutes later comes back to life, would you think?

  Mr. Duncan: Very rare, I’m sure.

  Mr. Silverstein: But you would like to take credit for that “miracle patient?” Is that it?

  Mr. Duncan: I didn’t say that at all.

  Mr. Silverstein: Is it just possible you did overhear someone talking about the “miracle patient” that day, and you decided to take credit for it yourself?

  Ms. Yates: Objection, Your Honor. This is clearly argumentative.

  Judge Nelson: Sustained.

  Mr. Silverstein: Well, Mr. Duncan, let’s talk about your second interaction with Mr. Montoya. It’s in the record that you visited his hospital room on the Critical Care Unit. Do you recall that visit?

  Mr. Duncan: Very clearly, yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: Earlier, Ms. Yates asked whether or not you physically touched Mr. Montoya in any way. Do you remember that question?

  Mr. Duncan: Yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: And remind us of your answer to that.

  Mr. Duncan: I said I didn’t physically touch him in any way, at any time.

  Mr. Silverstein: Well, let’s back up and start with how you got to Mr. Montoya’s room. Was it near your room?

  Mr. Duncan: No. It was on a different wing of the hospital.

  Mr. Silverstein: So to visit him, you had to leave your area and travel over to his. Is that correct?

  Mr. Duncan: That’s correct.

  Mr. Silverstein: And were you aware it was against hospital policy for you to go and visit with Mr. Montoya?

  Mr. Duncan: I was aware of that, yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: But you went anyway?

  Mr. Duncan: Yes, I did.

  Mr. Silverstein: And what made you think it was acceptable or all right for you to go against hospital policy and go to visit Mr. Montoya?

  Mr. Duncan: Dominic’s life was more important than hospital policy, I suppose, but I didn’t really think about it in those terms. Redeeming a wasted life is always more important than rules—who needs to think about such an obvious thing?

  Mr. Silverstein: We’ll get to that in a moment, but let’s continue on and talk more about your actual journey to Mr. Montoya’s room. Besides being against the rules, were you also aware you’d have to evade some pretty strong security to both leave your room on the Psychiatric Unit and travel to Mr. Montoya’s room on the Critical Care Unit?

  Mr. Duncan: I was aware that if they saw me they would stop me and return me to my room, yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: And yet, you were able to evade that security?

  Mr. Duncan: Obviously—I made it to his room.

  Mr. Silverstein: Yes, you did. And so, would you mind telling the court exactly how it was you were able to evade the tight security at the hospital and visit Mr. Montoya?

  Mr. Duncan: No, I don’t mind, but like I said before, words are inadequate in so many ways. It won’t make much sense, I promise you.

  Mr. Silverstein: Oh, don’t worry about that. Go ahead and do your best.

  Mr. Duncan: Well, it’s a general fact that people pretty much see what they expect to see and hear pretty much what they expect to hear. Like my answers—I could tell you the truth, but you would reject them if the words made no sense to you. The same goes for the security guards. They saw something they did not expect, and so they rejected it. They saw me walking where they would not expect a person to be walking, and so their minds rejected it. Just like truth, in general, when it can’t be accepted—it becomes invisible.

  Mr. Silverstein: So, you’re saying you became invisible, Mr. Duncan?

  Mr. Duncan: That’s a relative term. Something is only invisible to a certain observer from a certain perspective. I was invisible to the guards, at a certain time, from a certain perspective, yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: But you had to get around locked doors as well. Doors don’t have minds that accept or reject the “truth,” as you call it. They are either locked or unlocked, aren’t they?

  Mr. Duncan: Yes, they are.

  Mr. Silverstein: And yet you managed to get through locked doors, several of them, right?

  Mr. Duncan: I didn’t say that.

  Mr. Silverstein: So, how did you manage to get around or through the locked doors?

  Mr. Duncan: Here is where you will begin to no longer see my answers. They will become invisible to you, because they won’t meet your expectations for what is possible in the universe.

  Mr. Silverstein: Oh, again, please give us the opportunity. Explain to the court how it was that you got around the locked doors.

  Mr. Duncan: They became invisible to me. It’s just the reverse of the process I talked about before. I no longer expected them to keep me in or out, and so they didn’t.

  Mr. Silverstein: Did they just burst open, or did you walk right through them, or what?

  Mr. Duncan: People don’t walk through doors, Mr. Silverstein, nor did they burst open. That’s so melodramatic.

  (Courtroom laughter)

  Judge Nelson: Order, please. Again, Mr. Duncan, please only answer the questions you’re asked, and refrain from your additional commentary. Proceed, Mr. Silverstein.

  Mr. Silverstein: Well, what would it look like if a person was standing there, for example, and you were there as well and needed to get around or through one of those locked hospital doors? What would a person see?

  Mr. Duncan: That depends on who you are
and what your expectations are. Like I said, people see what they expect to see, and it takes a strong faith to change those expectations.

  Mr. Silverstein: Interesting. So if I didn’t expect to see you, I wouldn’t?

  Mr. Duncan: That’s close, but it’s also if I didn’t want you to see me and you didn’t expect to, you wouldn’t; otherwise, I’d just surprise you.

  Mr. Silverstein: And you didn’t want to surprise the security guards, is that right?

  Mr. Duncan: Of course not. They would have taken me back to my room, and I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to visit with Dominic.

  Mr. Silverstein: So just to make it absolutely crystal clear to this court—you’re saying that you essentially chose not to be seen and met the security guards expectations?

  Mr. Duncan: See how words are so tricky? You want to make it “crystal clear” to the court, but if something were truly crystal clear, it would be invisible. I happen to believe that it’s always the things that you don’t see in the universe that are the most interesting.

  Judge Nelson: Mr. Duncan! This is a final warning to you—answer Mr. Silverstein directly, or I’ll hold you in contempt of this court.

  Mr. Silverstein: Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Duncan, let me rephrase my question. You claim you evaded the security guards by choosing not to be seen and meeting their expectations of you not being there? Yes or no?

  Mr. Duncan: Yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: Then you admit, by whatever means you found, you intentionally evaded both the security guards and the locked security doors in order to visit Mr. Montoya. Is that true?

  Mr. Duncan: That is true, yes.

  Mr. Silverstein: And so once you made it to Mr. Montoya’s room, could you please describe for us exactly what you did or said to him during your visit?

  Mr. Duncan: I sat down by his bed, and he was, of course, very surprised to see me. To him I was a stranger, at least at the start. But I opened my heart to him—showed him the book of my life, so to speak, and he then knew me. If there was a way that I touched him, I suppose this was it, but it wasn’t a physical touching. He knew that he’d been given a second chance, and if he was going to go on living, he needed to choose a different path in life—a less violent, less selfish path. If he was to go on living, he needed to change.

  Mr. Silverstein: What do you mean by that expression, Mr. Duncan—“if he was to go on living?” Wasn’t he living at that moment?

  Mr. Duncan: He died on the operating table. He knew he was given a reprieve from that fate. It was a temporary reprieve. To continue to live or to die would be up to him, but he would only live if he could find it in his heart to change.

  Mr. Silverstein: So, are you saying you gave Mr. Montoya some choice to live or die? Did you threaten him?

  Mr. Duncan: Threaten? Hardly. It was a choice and a chance, and it wasn’t I who gave him that. I was simply a messenger—a vessel to deliver the message that Dominic Montoya had the chance to give up his violent and selfish life and choose a different path.

  Mr. Silverstein: Mr. Duncan, did you or did you not go to Mr. Montoya’s room that night, evading security and against hospital rules, to tell him he had the choice to live or die?

  Mr. Duncan: That’s exactly what I did.

  Mr. Silverstein: And how did he react to your giving him that choice?

  Mr. Duncan: He was quite upset.

  Mr. Silverstein: And so, did you believe as you went to Mr. Montoya’s room, that as a result of your delivering that “message,” Mr. Montoya would possibly die?

  Mr. Duncan: No, that’s not what I believed. Remember, he had died already. This was a second chance. It wasn’t my delivery of the message that would result in his life or death, but his response to my message. It was his choice, completely. He chose his fate.

  Mr. Silverstein: Are you telling this court that it is your belief that Mr. Montoya caused his own death?

  Mr. Duncan: Sadly, yes. Many are lost by (inaudible)

  Judge Nelson: Are you okay, Mr. Duncan? Please take a moment, if you need.

  Mr. Duncan: I’m fine now, thank you.

  Mr. Silverstein: I have just a few final questions for you, Mr. Duncan. We heard in earlier testimony that you leaned over and whispered something into Mr. Montoya’s ear just before the security guards arrived. Do you remember doing that?

  Mr. Duncan: I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday.

  Mr. Silverstein: You are, of course, not required to tell us what you said, but if you choose to, would you mind sharing with us what those last words were that you said to Mr. Montoya?

  Mr. Duncan: I told him I loved him and hoped he would choose life and unselfishness.

  Mr. Silverstein: And my final question—how was it that the nurse and security guards could suddenly see you, though they couldn’t before?

  Mr. Duncan: That’s easy, my task was done, and it was time for me to go back to my room. More importantly, if they hadn’t seen me, I wouldn’t be here speaking with you today. It’s exactly where I need to be at this moment. I guess there are ears meant to hear these words right now or, perhaps, eyes meant to read them—later.

  Mr. Silverstein: Interesting answer. I’m not sure I understand, but thank you anyway, Mr. Duncan. I have no further questions, Your Honor.

  Judge Nelson: Ms. Yates, a re-direct of the witness?

  Ms. Yates: No, I have no further questions, Your Honor.

  Judge Nelson: Are you prepared to call any further witnesses?

  Ms. Yates: No, Your Honor. The defense rests its case.

  Judge Nelson: Very well, then. We will take our lunch recess and plan to start again this afternoon at 1:30 with closing statements. Members of the jury, please remember my admonishments about discussing this case with anyone at all. Court is in recess until 1:30 p.m.

  Agent Westmore placed the document on the table and looked outside at the fading orange sky over the mountain range to the west of Cottonwood. Main Street was empty of traffic, and there was only a scattering of a few pedestrians. For a passing moment, he forgot all about the Dead Zone, and he thought how odd it was to see no headlights at dusk on the major thoroughfare through a town. A voice to his right brought him back.

  “It looks like you’ve come to a stopping place with your reading. Mind if I join you?” asked Akash.

  “Please,” said the agent, motioning to the empty bench across from him. “I thought maybe you’d already solved your mystery and left town—along with my suitcase.”

  “No such luck,” said Akash as he slid into the seat. “I’ve been sitting over at the counter eating my dinner. It looked like you were intensely involved in some important reading, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Agent Westmore glanced down at the court transcript on the table. “Oh, I don’t know how important it is anymore. My man’s been caught. I was just passing the time.” He glanced out the window. “I was just thinking, how odd to see such an empty street.” He looked back at Akash. “Anyway, dig up any clues today?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve had a very productive day,” Akash said, holding up the global positioning unit. “I’m ready to start compiling my first data points, and I thought I’d do it over dessert. Have you had dessert yet?”

  The agent smiled. “Oh, yeah, several times.”

  “Any recommendations?”

  “It’s all good—trust me, I know.”

  The waitress, an older woman with graying hair and a pleasant though plump face, came and took Akash’s order—a piece of blueberry pie with a scoop of ice cream on the side. The agent ordered a chocolate shake.

  “You know,” said the agent, gathering the case papers scattered about the table and putting them into his briefcase, “the way I look at it, we’re in similar fields, really. You study things of science, things that can be quantified and measured, and I sort of study human behavior. Both are equally complex, and both require keen observational skills.”

  “I would agree with that,” replied Akash
. “Accurate observation is the cornerstone of many endeavors.”

  “And so I’ve observed that you seem especially engrossed with that device you’ve been fiddling with. What is it?”

  Akash held up the small electronic device. “This is a portable global positioning unit—really more of a global positioning computer. I’ve been using it to chart out the size and shape of the Cottonwood Dead Zone.”

  “Really? So that’s where you were all day while I was eating hamburgers, stuffing my face with pie, and reading until my eyes were blurry?”

  “Didn’t you also meet with your escapee?”

  “I did,” said the agent with a blank stare.

  “And was he surprised to see someone from Washington State here to pick him up—Dead Zone and all?”

  The agent paused for a moment. “No…he really wasn’t…strangely…he wasn’t.”

  “The local authorities must have alerted him that someone was coming.”

  “Yeah,” replied the agent. “That must be it.”

  Akash only nodded in response. He rested the electronic unit back on the table and began pressing a few buttons. “I’ve been on every road around here, in every direction you can go, and I’m just getting ready to plot out my first graphical analysis. You and I will be the first people to see an actual plot of the Cottonwood Dead Zone. I just need to first run a brief subroutine….”

  The agent watched Akash’s fingers move quickly across the buttons on the unit as the waitress came with the pie, ice cream, and milkshake. Akash didn’t look up from his button pushing.

  “Thank you,” said the agent to the waitress. “And thanks for not ringing that cowbell anymore.”

  “Don’t thank me,” said waitress. “Business is slowin’ down for the evening, and we haven’t used as much milk and stuff. But if you order as many shakes as you did slices of pie, I’m sure we’ll ring it some more.” The waitress winked and smiled as she walked away. Agent Westmore shook his head and took a sip of his shake, watching Akash’s fingers continue their frenetic dance across the buttons of the unit.

  “All right,” Akash said a minute later, his fingers coming to rest. “The first look at the Cottonwood Dead Zone. I just need to push compute and…” Akash struck one last key and stared at the screen, his eyebrows furrowed.