The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  “I didn’t do that. I’m John Wayne.”

  “Same difference!”

  After letting out a loud frustration growl similar to the one Joe would release, John gave up. “You know what. I’m leaving. I’m not hanging out with you. I’ll check back.” He walked across the armory. “I’m just glad you aren’t here for long. And don’t touch . . .” The blasting ‘boom’ shook everything and John grabbed his ears.

  Frank innocently shrugged and replaced the weapon. “Sorry.”

  After another grumble, John walked out.

  ^^^^

  Duluth, Minnesota

  George Hadley made it to his base in near record time. But not quick enough to see Johnny Slagel before he slipped into emergency surgery and then it was a matter of waiting.

  He waited the hours, wondering what possibly could have taken so long. Questions galore ran through his head. A young man whom he had thought no less of a son was making his escape and was shot within inches of his life. He arrived in a Jeep almost dead, but he arrived alone.

  “He’s not quite stable,” the doctor informed George right outside of what George would describe as a barbaric hospital set up. “He’ll be there by morning.”

  “Then can I fly him back to Quantico?” George asked.

  “You have to fly him back to Quantico,” the doctor answered. “We did the best we could. Surgery was raw. The assistant I am training has good steady hands and that was the saving grace. We were able to remove the bullet by the spine and we think we did it without any spinal cord injuries. However, the swelling in that area will affect mobility for a while.”

  “He was shot in the back?” George asked.

  “It was more of a side shot where the bullet embedded itself in the tissue and he was hit in the thigh toward the front. That was what we believe to bre ‘the first shot’, perhaps to stop him, but when Mr. Slagel kept going, the second shot hit him in the side.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “No. He’s sedated,” the doctor answered.

  “Tomorrow, when he’s stable, will he be conscious then?”

  “I’m afraid not. We have to keep him heavily sedated.”

  “Damn it,” George said with some frustration. “I have so many questions. Including . . .” His eyes lifted up. “What the hell happened to my daughter?”

  ^^^^

  Joe Slagel knew what he was hoping for at that moment. He stood facing the far wall of the Quantum lab. The evening hours seemed later out there in the quiet. It seemed warmer than when he first walked in there and that was a good sign, but a lot hinged on his hopes and he’d have to face it sooner or later.

  He pulled out a cigarette out from his chest pocket. He stared at it with a chuckle, thinking how much the cigarette caused the final straw that led him to the decision. After a debate on whether to smoke, Joe lit it. Fair was fair. No one would know and with that in mind, he turned around.

  “Afraid of what you’d see?” Jason Godrichson asked.

  Joe exhaled not only the smoke, but relief and a huge smile on his face lit him up. He rushed to the thin doctor and embraced him. “Afraid of what I wouldn’t see.”

  Jason snickered. “I thought it quite humorous when you walked backwards through the Quantum Regressionator.”

  “You only nodded at me when I told you about the accident,” Joe said. “I thought, ‘his son of a bitch isn’t gonna heed my warning’.”

  “It took a lot of thought,” Jason replied and pulled out his own cigarette. “Then, you know, I thought about the argument you gave on how it was my machine and it was only right. While I was sitting in that warehouse, I decided. No, I am not ready to die.”

  “I’m glad you made that decision. It’s been a rough couple of weeks for me.”

  Jason smiled. “I was gonna ask you why you waited so long. But . . .” He shrugged. “When all that went down, I realized how much you had on your mind.”

  “You were never far from it.’

  “You weren’t this nice to me four nights ago when I beat your ass in darts.”

  Joe laughed. “I’m not gonna believe that, you know. You never beat my ass in darts. You have to tell me. I didn’t lose anyone I should have, did I?”

  “No. I was kind of hoping to find a way so Robbie wouldn’t lose his arm, but your stubborn son . . .” Jason shook his head.

  “How did you end up doing it?” Joe questioned. “I know that was a concern of yours, saving yourself without sacrificing another.”

  “I let things happen naturally without thinking of my death,” Jason said. “I found myself to the right of Sgt. Ryder, yet he was still behind me. At that moment when you said he and I pushed people out, I realized he must have pushed them right by me for my body to be blown to . . . how did you put it, smithereens? Why didn’t I get pushed out with everyone else? I’ll never know. But I moved to his left, still stayed a bit ahead of him and when I felt him push. I pushed too. I was thrown quite a bit. The burns on my back are just starting to heal, but I lived.” Jason extended his hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “You’re welcome, my friend. And boy . . .” Joe whistled. “Do I need you now.”

  “You don’t have to fill me in. I was in the courtroom. Johnny. Frank.”

  “Amongst other reasons,” Joe murmured.

  “Excuse me?”

  Joe gave a wave of his hand. “How are you doing? I mean with Grace and all.”

  Jason gave a slow shake of his head. “I’ll do.”

  “Well,” Joe exhaled. “Do you feel like walking to town with me? I have to get home and I’d like to compare changes with you so I don’t sound like an idiot.”

  “I’d love to.” Jason walked to the door and opened it. “Only how do you know I’ll fill you in correctly?”

  Joe let out his typical grumble and walked out. But when he got outside, he smiled. Right or wrong in his decision to do so, it truly felt good to have his friend back.

  ^^^^

  Surprised was an understatement. Dean was floored when he heard the front door open to his home. Sitting in his little office, he checked out his watch, then set down his work, stood up, and walked out of his office. “Ellen?” He asked with such surprise.

  After hanging her coat on the tree, Ellen shifted her eyes around. “Um, yeah, it’s me.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Is there any dinner? I’m starved.”

  “Yeah, on the stove.” Dean followed her to the kitchen. “Why are you here?”

  “I live here.” Ellen took the covered dish from the stove top, and grabbed a fork. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I thought you’d be with Frank.”

  Ellen snickered. “Frank’s unconscious. I’ve seen him sleep. He’s pretty boring. Besides, you’re going back later, right?”

  “Right.” Dean nodded. “I just thought, you know, the last time Frank was in a coma you never left his side.”

  Ellen paused in her eating. “What? When?”

  “When we first tried the . . . when Robbie . . . you know what? Never mind.” Dean waved his hand. “The ripple.”

  Curiously, Ellen looked at him. “Must be something in the air. Joe’s being weird too.”

  “Joe has reason.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Frank and Johnny.” Ellen shook her head. “It just was weird,. He caught up to me right before I headed home and asked me if it had been revealed that I shot Bev.” She shrugged.

  “Joe asked you that?”

  “Can you believe that? As if he would forget.” Ellen took another bite of her food. “What time are you going back in to the clinic?”

  “I don’t want to be away from Frank too long. He’s too critical and I don’t want to rely on Andrea, She just came back.”

  “Which, by the way, is an argument of discussion for later. Mr. ‘I’m your husband, but I let you suffer thinking Andrea was dead when I knew she was alive.’ But like I said, an argument for later.” She pointed her fork at him.

  Dean just stared for a s
econd. He wasn’t going to push the issue.

  “Oh, just so you know,” Ellen changed the subject. “Joe is not wearing the sling. He’s not following doctor’s orders.”

  Dean raised his eyebrows with a murmuring voice, “I have a feeling Joe will never follow doctor’s orders.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” Dean shook his head.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. No. No I’m not.” Dean pointed backwards with his thumb. “Wanna make love?”

  Ellen laughed.

  “What?” Dean asked. “Was that a funny thing to ask?”

  “Out of the blue, yes. The kids can’t be asleep. It’s too early.”

  “Jenny has them. But if you don’t want . . .”

  “Sure. Why not?” After a shrug, Ellen walked by him.

  Mouthing the words ‘sure why not’, Dean followed her.

  “Dean?” Ellen stopped walking. “Just one thing. Please assure me that Frank will be fine.”

  “Ellen, do you really need reassurance from me?” Dean said. “You have a note from him written twenty years in the future. Frank will make it through this, rough battle or not. Why wouldn’t he?” Dean questioned. “He’s Frank.”

  ^^^^

  “I am” Frank spoke with arrogance. “But . . .” He lifted a finger to the bearded, grey haired man who sat on a crate across from him. “But not in the same way God is ‘I am’. I’m just I am. Understand? What did you say your name was again?”

  “Sigmund Freud.” He spoke with an accent and made a note on his tablet. “Now tell me . . .”

  “Are you named after the dance?”

  Dr. Freud tilted his head in wonder. “I do note know of zee dance.”

  “Yeah. The Freudian slip?”

  Dr. Freud blinked. “Zee Freudian Slip is no dance. It is zee term ven vun makes comment vis-out zee sought. But day meant what day say.”

  “Like when I’m angry and I say ‘fuck you’ without thinking.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean?” Frank asked.

  “Forget it, Frank. Ve vil move on.”

  “I’m not a bad dancer. Is that why you won’t explain it?”

  “Vat does dancing have to do vis zit.”

  “The Freudian Slip.”

  Dr. Freud grunted, then tried to remain calm. “Now, let us get back to zee God complex you have.”

  “I don’t have a complex about God. I like God. He has attitude, but I’d fuckin have attitude too if I had to deal with everybody. I think it’s cool he looks like John Wayne.”

  “Vat I am trying to get at is, complex. Do you see yourself as God?” Freud asked.

  “No,” Frank explained. “I look nothing like John Wayne. God does.” Frank winked. “Am I moving too fast for you?”

  “Frank, God does note look like John Vein.”

  “Yeah, he does,” Frank argued. “I saw him. Did you?”

  “God? No.”

  “So how do you know? God was here.”

  “No, Frank. John Vein vas zeer.”

  “Same difference,” Frank argued.

  “You sink John Vein is God?”

  Frank grumbled, “Man, aren’t you paying attention? God looks like John Vein, I mean, Wayne. Fuck, you’re trying to confuse me.”

  “No, I am trying to help you.”

  “With?” Frank asked.

  “Releasing your inner rage before you leave limbo so sat you can live a peaceful happier life.”

  “I live a peaceful, happy life. I have no inner rage.”

  “You shoot people. No?”

  “You make it sound like I go out fuckin deer hunting,” Frank defended. “I shoot people that are bad. Yeah. Ok, I’ll admit that chasing a fuckin SUT and feeling the power you have in the palm of your hand when they are so stupid they don’t even see it coming. That’s enjoyable. I live peaceful because I do that. I am happy.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  “I’m not?” Frank questioned.

  “You carry anger toward your father.”

  “I do?” Frank asked shocked. “Man.” He stood up. “I didn’t even know that. About what?”

  “Your childhood. How your father, perhaps, did not lick you much.”

  Frank laughed, “I don’t remember my father doing that to any of us kids. Was he supposed to?”

  “Yes.”

  Frank nodded in thought. “Is this something I should deal with when I go back?”

  “Yes, you must. Approach you father and ask him what zit was sat you did dat caused him not to lick you.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t sweet enough.” Frank scratched his head.

  “Sink back Frank. Ver you sweet. Vood you lick you if you ver your father?”

  “No, but I can’t do that to myself.”

  “Yes, you can,” Freud insisted. “Everyone has zee ability to lick zem selves. You can’t lick ozers until you lick yourself.”

  Frank blinked long. “You mean like a dog?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Frank asked. “Is there a reason for it that I don’t know about?”

  “Licking yourself vil help your life be more satisfying.”

  With a tightly closed mouth, Frank gave a nod of understanding. “I’ll keep that in mind. I just hope El doesn’t see me doing it.”

  “Perhaps if she did, she too could lick you a lot better.”

  “Ok, now that’s a pleasant thought. Thanks.” Frank smiled.

  “And you’ll bring up in lang-zee discussion to you father about licking you.”

  “Absolutely.” Frank gave a thumbs up. “First order of business.” He sat back down on his crate. “What else are you here to help me with?”

  “Much.” Freud smiled. “I must tell you. You are much ea-zee-are zan I had sought.”

  “Thanks.” Frank arrogantly grinned. “Didn’t I tell you? I am Frank.”

  ^^^^

  Robbie grinned his boyish smile, flashing it across the dinner table to Katie, who sat prim and proper in her perfect dress. “How do I look?” Robbie asked her as he ran his hand down his tie.

  Katie giggled. “You’re funny.”

  “You look handsome.” Andrea laid her hand on Robbie’s face then set the bowl of salad on the table.

  “This is really cool having us get dressed up. Thanks for doing my hair. But, uh, how much longer do we have to wait for Dad? I’m really hungry.”

  At that moment the door opened.

  Andrea smiled and walked to Joe. “We’ve been waiting. We have a special dinner planned.”

  “You do?” Joe asked. “For?”

  “Just . . . just for.” Andrea sang the words. “How are you, Joe?”

  “Good. Good. Better.”

  “Wash up.” Andrea darted off to the kitchen.

  Joe walked straight to the table.

  “I’m telling,” Robbie said. “You didn’t wash up.”

  “Quiet.” Joe grabbed his napkin. “Why are we dressed up?”

  “I am dressed up. You are not.” Robbie nodded. “Not that you ever dress down, but . . .” He reached and picked up his glass of milk and stared at it with a smile. “Milk. Man, it’s good to have Andrea back. How come you never put milk on the table?”

  “Shut up, Robert. Where the hell is you arm?” Joe looked at the empty sleeve

  “Uh, Dad? I lost it in the explosion.”

  “Not that. Your prosthetic. You have to wear it.”

  “Andrea took it off,” Robbie answered.

  “Were you having a reaction?” Joe questioned.

  “To?”

  “Christ, Robert, do I have to call you Frank? To the prosthetic. Were you having a reaction, an irritation?”

  Robbie shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  “Then why did she take it off?”

  Andrea returned from the kitchen. “He looks better without it.”

  “Andrea, Danny said . . .”

  “Joe, it’s so unnatural. God made R
obbie one way.”

  “That’s right, with two arms.”

  “Oh, Joe, it was so rubbery.” Andrea gave a fling wave of her hand and smiled at Robbie.

  “It is rubbery, Andrea. It’s a goddamn rubber arm!” Joe snapped.

  “Shh.” Andrea held her finger to her lips then pointed to Robbie.

  “What!” Joe barked. “He’s not deaf. I’m sitting right next to him. He can hear me.”

  “Joe Slagel, may I see you in the kitchen?” Andrea asked and walked away.

  Joe remained seated.

  “Now!” Andrea blasted.

  After grunting at a snickering Robbie, Joe stood up. “Wipe that damn milk mustache off your face.” In a huff, he went to the kitchen. “What?”

  Andrea shut the shutters, then the kitchen door. “I know this is a bad day for you,” she spoke calmly. “Everything with Johnny. Frank getting shot. You getting shot and where is your sling?”

  Joe grumbled and waved her off.

  “But is this a reason to be snapping at everyone.”

  “I’m not snapping at everyone, Andrea. I’m merely bitching because my son is supposed to be wearing that prosthetic so he gets used to the weight for when he gets his bionic arm.”

  “I understand that.”

  “So why did you take it off of him?”

  “It’s not helping him. Him, Joe.” Andrea saw that Joe wasn’t understanding her. “Answer me this. How long after that boy . . .”

  “Man,” Joe corrected.

  “Boy,” Andrea stayed firm. “How long after he lost his arm did you and Frank have him out and about?”

  “Right away. As soon as he could.”

  “And, how long after that did Danny hook him up with the prosthetic?”

  “Not long,” Joe answered with a shrug. “Where are you going with this?’

  “You tossed him to work. You put on a rubber arm to make him feel and look normal. When in all this did Robbie grieve? Was it when he came home and took it off? Or maybe when he sat in Tracking? He lost a limb, Joe. He has to grieve that loss. Robbie never fully grieved for that. If he doesn’t, no amount of powerful prosthetic is gonna work for him,” Andrea explained. “His body will not accept the artificial limb if his mind doesn’t accept the fact that he lost an arm in the first place.”