Fade to Black - Proof

by Jeffrey Wilson

  “Ok, Jack,” he said, “tell me about yesterday. I’ll give you a break for a minute, but we have more talking about death to do, I think,” he cautioned.

  Jack enjoyed the moment of control and started in on his day from yesterday. Lewellyn scribbled furiously as he spoke.

  Chapter

  18

  Jack left the office an hour later, feeling pretty good with himself. They had returned to the “death talk” as Lewellyn had promised, but had not really unraveled any great mysteries. They talked again about the idea that, to Jack, death represented separation from his family. Lewellyn seemed very interested in that for some reason. That Jack seemed not to have a great concern for what death was, where we go from here, what it all meant, also seemed to intrigue him. To Jack, the only real issue was leaving his life with his girls unfinished; not being there for them, watching Claire grow up, holding and comforting his wife. The rest seemed fairly petty and something that couldn’t be answered anyway, so why worry about it? Lewellyn pointed out that this all seemed to imply a young death for Jack, and Jack had considered that only briefly. He told him that maybe that was because of his empathy for all these Marines, dying far away from home and family at such a young age, their lives so unfinished. That seemed to satisfy Lewellyn.

  They agreed that Jack’s dream the night before, and the control he seemed to maintain over its course and outcome, showed real progress. Lewellyn reassured him that while they didn’t yet have the answers to what had precipitated all this “instability in his emotional and psychological life,” that they were getting very close. He also predicted that his progress meant that things should continue to improve for him over the coming days, and that the dreams might become less disturbing.

  “You may still have some setbacks, some intense emotional hallucinations or dreams,” the psychologist had cautioned, “but I think you have shown real progress in your ability to deal with them both intellectually and emotionally.”

  Jack had felt really good about that. Again he felt filled with a sense of hope. Lewellyn’s focus on finding the root cause was less important to Jack, who really just wanted the nightmares to stop and to return to his happy life with Pam and Claire. He realized he very much looked forward to going back to school on Monday, after what he hoped would be a relaxing and healing family weekend.

  Before he left Lewellyn’s office, he borrowed the phone to call Pam. He was now excited by the lunch they had planned. They decided to meet at an intimate little Vietnamese restaurant they both enjoyed, but rarely went to anymore, what with Claire being so young and the long drive downtown to get there. The restaurant sat just a few blocks away and Jack stopped by his Volvo to feed the meter. He decided the walk to Viet Gardens would help him relax and kill some of the time it would take for Pam to drive there to meet him. The parking meter’s hunger for coins having been sated, Jack started out towards the restaurant and passed by the Military Recruiting Station without a glance or thought.

  “You forgot your paper,” a familiar voice said from the alley he was passing.

  Jack stopped, forcing away the moment of panic at the sound of Hoag’s voice. There was nothing to fear here. Hoag was just his own mind trying to help him find things that he needed to find. Jack turned to see the Navy chaplain standing just inside the alley, again dressed smartly in his dress blue uniform with white hat. He looked a bit like an airline pilot in that uniform. Jack had always preferred the crisp green Class B uniform of the Marines, which he felt looked more military. The chaplain smiled and held out a folded paper in his hand. Just a part of his own mind, Jack reminded himself again. He was unconcerned at how ridiculous it should seem that his mind had fetched his forgotten paper from the receptionist and brought it a block and a half to an alley for him to pick up.

  “Thank you,” Jack said and took the paper, tucking it under his arm. Then he turned to leave.

  “You don’t really have a choice about leaving them, you know,” the commander said softly at his back. Jack stopped and turned to face his demon again.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Your girls,” the chaplain answered. He was cleaning his glasses again, a nervous habit, Jack thought. “Leaving our loved ones for death is not a decision any of us would make. We can only choose to love them fully while we’re alive. That’s what makes our lives mean something when we’re gone.”

  Jack felt anger grow inside him, a rage almost, and he stepped towards the ghost from his mind, his fists balled up. For a moment he thought he might take a swing at the chaplain, who his mind knew wasn’t really there.

  “Well, that’s real fucking nice, Commander,” he said, his voice trembling with anger. “Especially from you. I notice you are the only one in this little passion play who isn’t fucking dead or dying, so what makes you the goddamn expert?”

  The commander replaced his round glasses on his face and smiled.

  “And what makes you think I’m not dead?” he asked.

  Then he turned and walked back into the dark alley. After a few short steps, he was swallowed by shadows. A moment later, in a flash of white light which made Jack blink and raise his hands to shield his eyes, he was gone.

  Jack stared for a moment into the empty alley, his anger replaced with fear and surprise. He had lost control again, he thought. Then he shook his head.

  It’s just my mind fucking with me, he thought.

  Then he turned abruptly, nearly knocking into a young woman dressed sharply in a grey suit, the skirt cut well above her knees.

  “Are you ok?” she asked, concern and confusion in her face as she glanced past Jack into the empty alley. He noticed she clutched her purse tightly to her chest.

  “Fine,” he mumbled as he stepped past her. “Excuse me.”

  Then he headed on down the block, fuming, his paper tucked under his arm.

  Chapter

  19

  The rest of the walk to Viet Gardens did little to settle Jack’s anxiety. He felt torn between a residual sense of fear that there was much more here than just voices from his own mind, and anger at himself that he had again lost control—not only of images that were supposed to be his own creation, but of his emotional response to them. Now he sat at a small, two-top wooden table by the window in the small café‐style Vietnamese restaurant and sipped on water with lemon, waiting for Pam. He watched the condensation on his glass turn to little streams that trickled down to form a darker maroon circle on the otherwise pink tablecloth, and tried for once not to sort things out. Lewellyn said he was doing very well, but would have little setbacks. Good enough for him. He gingerly fingered the Marine Corps Times which he had tucked under his leg in the chair. He thought about bringing it out and flipping through it while he waited, but Pam would freak out to find him reading it. So he waited and watched the maroon circle continue to grow.

  Pam arrived with a big smile and a wave from the door. She looked radiant and stylish in her khaki slacks and pink shirt with a sporty blazer. Jack felt suddenly underdressed in his jeans and sweat shirt. Pam bustled over to the table and kissed him on the cheek. Jack felt better instantly.

  “You look beautiful, Pam,” he said and meant it.

  “Thank you, Jack,” she said, but blushed. It had taken him years to get her to take a compliment well. How could she not know how gorgeous she was? “So,” she said, unfolding her napkin into her lap, “how did it go, sweetheart?”

  “Very, very well,” Jack answered, and was happy to find that he really believed that. It had gone well, and he refused to let the bullshit in the alley steal that from him.

  I might have little setbacks.

  “I had a dream last night that I didn’t get to tell you about.”

  Pam’s face clouded a little. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” she said and kissed his hand again.

  “No, no,” Jack said and caressed her cheek. “This was different. Or, I mean, the way it affected me was different.”

  Jack told her about his dream. He foc
used on his sense that he was in control and told her of his feeling that he had gone there on purpose, like his mind was taking him on a trip to find some answers.

  “What did Dr. Lewellyn say?” she asked when he was done. Her mood was still a little dampened.

  “Well,” Jack said, sorry that her spirits seemed a little deflated and determined to get her buoyancy back, “he said it showed remarkable progress in my ability to control my fears and emotional response to all this.” Jack wasn’t sure Lewellyn had actually used the word remarkable, but a little license was in order. For certain, Jack believed it was remarkable that he felt so much more in control after just a few meetings with the psychologist. “Suffice it to say,” he said, this time kissing her hand, “that I got a gold star on my attendance calendar.”

  Pam laughed a genuine laugh at that, and took a sip of wine the waitress had put in front of her while Jack talked.

  “Seriously, baby,” Jack said, “he is really optimistic that I have turned some kind of corner. He thinks that I should be getting better and better over the next few days. And,” he finished, “he thinks I’m okay to go to school on Monday.”

  “Well,” Pam said tensing a little, “let’s just see Jack. I just don’t want you to lose any ground. Besides,” she said, pulling her hands away from his to make room as the waitress placed their spring rolls in the center of the table and put a little plate in front of each of them, “would being at home with me and the Bear for a few more days be so horrible?”

  Jack smiled at that. It sure as hell would not be bad to have a few more family days. On the other hand, he was worried about what the folks at work would start to think if he missed any more time. Stomach flu didn’t last but so long, and he had sure as shit acted weird in front of a lot of people. High schools were such vicious little rumor mills.

  “Being around you is never, ever anything but wonderful,” he answered.

  “Flirt,” she said with a wave of her hand. Then they dug into the steaming spring rolls with relish.

  As they enjoyed their appetizer, Jack finished telling her about the rest of the session. He also told her about seeing the image of Hoag again, but emphasized that while he had gotten upset and lost a bit of emotional control, he still did much better than only days ago. Pam had stopped eating and was listening intently. She seemed worried.

  “Jack,” she said taking his hand again, “when does Dr. Lewellyn think you will stop seeing these ghosts, or whatever you two are calling them.”

  “Images.” Jack squeezed her hand tightly and tried to sound reassuring. “And I don’t know, baby, but soon I think.” He stopped, unsure what to say next. “Pam,” he sighed and paused again. What could he say to her? What would make the hell she was going through for him okay? He thought for the thousandth time in eight years that he really didn’t deserve such a wonderful woman. “Baby, I know how hard this is on you, and I am sorry. But today was progress, not a setback. I really think this is all going to resolve over the next few days.”

  Pam smiled a sad little smile. “Oh Jack,” she said, and dabbed beneath her eye with corner of her napkin, trying not to let the tears smear her mascara. “Don’t worry about any of that. I am with you forever, through whatever, for life. Okay?” She looked at him pleadingly and he nodded. She held his gaze. “It is not about me, sweetheart. I’m just so worried about you. I love you so much.”

  “Jack,” Pam continued. “I’m your wife. I’m not going anywhere. The only suffering I have is my worry for you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be better. I need you to tell me how I can help you. Marriage is about being a team, don’t you think?”

  “I love you too, Pam,” he said. “I wish I could tell you how to help. You already help more than you could know. I’m miserable that you need to worry about it at all.” Jack thought for a minute. Was there anything more he could ask of his partner and best friend? If so he’d be damned if he could think of what it would be. He couldn’t begin to tell her how much strength he gained just having her with him. “And I am doing much better. So…” He took a sip of beer and stabbed some chicken and vegetables with his fork, then reached it out to her for a bite. “Let’s enjoy our lunch and have a great family weekend, okay?”

  He felt great. Maybe the key was to just never be away from Pam. No goblins dared to visit him when they were together. If he could carry this feeling with him, he would be perfect. He decided that the rest of the weekend they would all stick together, and maybe by Monday it would all be over.

  They enjoyed each other and their grown‐up lunch. They left the serious shit for later and Jack relished in the familiar comfort of talking about mostly nothing. They sat and chatted for twenty minutes after they had paid the check and then Jack walked Pam to her SUV, holding her hand. He kissed her deeply, embarrassed her with a playful grab of her firm butt as they embraced, and then headed for his own car a few blocks away.

  On his way Jack passed a small florist, and stopped for a moment.

  Why not? His wife deserved more than just a bunch of flowers, but he guessed she would love the gesture. He went into the little shop and picked out a nice bouquet of mixed flowers in a pretty painted porcelain vase. He paid the smiling older woman and realized he was grinning himself.

  “Must be someone pretty special from the look on your face,” the lady said, handing him his change.

  “My wife,” Jack said, still smiling and pocketing his change. “And she is. Very special.”

  “Lucky girl,” the woman said with a wink.

  “I’m the lucky one,” Jack replied.

  He left the shop and continued down the block to his car, holding his flowers and grinning like a high‐school senior on prom night. When he reached the car he saw a red flag on the meter, and checked his windshield for the inevitable ticket. None. This day was getting better and better. He unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

  Jack set down the bouquet and gingerly lifted the newspaper that sat in the front seat. He stared at in disbelief. Marine Corps Times it yelled back at him in bright red print. His mind raced. No, he had definitely not put it there. He had left it in the psychologist’s office, he was sure of it. Hoag had given it to him in the alley, and he remembered setting it beside him in the restaurant.

  Goddamnit, not again.

  Jack sat there with the paper in his lap and searched his mind for an explanation. Maybe he had actually taken it with him from the office and placed it in the car when he fed the meter? That would make sense, a hell of a lot more sense than having it delivered to him by a hallucination in an alley. Maybe he had put it in the car and then forgotten somehow, and the rest was just his battered mind playing tricks on him. That had to be it.

  But why the trick his mind was playing? Why the elaborate hallucination about Hoag and carrying the paper around? There must have been something there he was supposed to see. He flicked at the corner of the paper, contemplating opening it up.

  No, goddamnit! Enough of this bullshit!

  Jack balled the paper up viciously and angrily popped open the door to the car. He got out and scanned the street for a trash can. He saw one by the shop with the neon sign reading “Electronic Miracle.” Jack strode over to the trash can and tossed the paper in. As it disappeared through the slot in the green lid, Jack’s eye caught a banner tag line over a row of small composite‐style pictures. “The Human Toll,” it read. He was two steps into his retreat when it registered and he stopped.

  The Human Toll?

  Jack dashed back to the can and pulled off the slotted green lid with so much zeal he nearly tipped the can over. As he pulled the paper out, he stabilized the trash can against his leg and replaced the lid. Then he unfolded the wrinkled paper, standing next to the wobbling receptacle, oblivious to the stares of passers-by. He smoothed out the paper as he stepped back against the wall.

  On the inside page was a half-page spread called “The Human Toll,” under which it announced the confirmed deaths in Operat
ion Iraqi Freedom. There was a long list with names, branch of service, age, and place of death. Above the list was a row of pictures of some, but not all, of the dead. At the end of the list of names was the total number of deaths and wounded for the week and a separate tally of the total since the war started. Jack ignored the tallies and nervously scanned the list of names. His heart pounded and beads of sweat formed on his forehead and upper lip.

  Then his face turned cool and he sucked his breath in. He felt as if his heart had stopped.

  Richard O. Simmons, USMC, 20

  Fallujah, Iraq

  Jack felt himself sway and thought he might pass out. How was this possible? Lewellyn had said it was all an elaborate creation of a confused mind. How in the fuck did his demon from a nightmare get a fucking byline in the paper? Jack looked at the row of pictures, but Simmons’ face wasn’t there. But another familiar face was.

  The second from the last picture was of Johnny Bennet smiling in a high‐school graduation cap. Jack scanned the list again and found it.

  Jonathan S. Bennet, USMC, 21

  Fallujah, Iraq

  Bile burned in his throat and made his eyes water. Jack felt his stomach rise again and bent over, the paper clutched in his balled up fist, heaving. Somehow he kept the Vietnamese food where it belonged, but was rewarded with a second taste, much less enjoyable than the first. He fought for control and struggled upright, straightening the paper to find the final name.

  The paper rattled in his hand, whipping back and forth in a sudden and violent wind. Jack tried to readjust it, but it was torn from his hands and tumbled down the sidewalk. He dashed after it, bent at the waist, his fingers grabbing frantically at the paper. His shoulder met with the dark suit-covered legs of a man who shrieked in pain as Jack crunched into his knee, dropping the man cursing to the pavement. He was on his own hands and knees now and struggled to get a hand on the paper that somehow stayed intact, but skirted away each time his fingers caressed its tearing edges. Then the paper disappeared into a huge dark hole that appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the sidewalk. Jack skidded to a halt, the skin from the heels of his hands peeling away on the rough sidewalk. He felt the knees of his jeans tear, but managed to stop just at the edge of the black hole, teetered for a moment, then steadied himself, his head and shoulders leaning out over a dark abyss.