by E. Clay
The officer placed his iPad into his briefcase and retrieved the Monday morning local paper. It covered my assault. He handed it to Kim. There was a pixelated picture of Marc standing over my unconscious body just as security arrived. Books were scattered everywhere. His eyes looked psychotic.
As the officer headed out the door he had one question for me.
“Mr. Thompson, what would make a guy want to cause you so much bodily harm?”
I didn’t answer. It was payback for what he witnessed on the videotape Monet made over 20 years ago. But, was he done? Or would he come back?
My only consolation was that he was locked up. I knew he couldn’t get to me while he was in jail. I couldn’t wait to escape on a plane to the UK.
“Kim, could you read the paper for me, the part that says he was arrested. He was arrested, right?”
I was looking for a sense of security. I needed to hear that he was behind bars.
“Sure, I’ve got it right here.”
An Evansville judge set bail for Marc Dawson at $9,000. He is charged with felony, aggravated assault and battery. His arraignment has been scheduled for July 8. Mr. Dawson’s bail was posted by...
Kim had to flip the page to see who posted his bail. I was beginning to panic all over again. Paranoia, fear and anger consumed me. I wanted to know who posted bail for this maniacal predator.
“Kim, does it say who posted his bail?”
“Yes, his wife did. Monet Dawson.”
TWENTY-SIX
* * *
The Unforgiven
The Next Day
Last night I had nightmare after nightmare. Marc leaping atop of the table and kicking a field goal with my face. Guilt was beginning to consume me day and night. I was mind-jacked and desperate for some respite.
Most of the time I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness because of the morphine drip. Around 11am I woke up and found a card on my lap. It was from Monet. I placed it on the night stand. I didn’t care what it said; there was no acceptable explanation for what she did. As much as I wanted to forgive her, I couldn’t. She made her choice and I had to make mine. She fooled me into thinking she was single and gave me hope. The trust was gone.
“Clay, you have a visitor. Are you up for entertaining?” Kim asked.
“Who is it?”
“Ms. Monet Dawson. If you’d rather not I can tell her to come back another time.”
“No. I mean… yeah. Send her in,” I said as I sat up in my bed.
Monet walked in behind Kim and she looked like she had been through hell. She had bags under her eyes and looked slightly unkempt. She looked like a broken woman compared to the Monet I’d known. My initial reaction was to comfort her but the closer she came the more I resented her. She kissed the unbandaged side of my face. I pulled away.
“Clay, it’s me Monet, baby. I am so sorry.”
I couldn’t look at her.
“Why did you lie to me?” I asked looking out towards the window.
“Lie? What lie?” Monet asked.
I faced her with contempt.
“I know you’re married. You should have just told me from the beginning.”
Monet closed the door and returned to my bedside. She was on defense.
“So who told you I was married?” she responded with a little too much attitude.
“It’s right here, in the paper,” I said as I handed her the paper-clipped article.
Monet immediately handed it back to me.
“So. I guess if it’s in the paper or on the internet that makes it a fact. That’s what Marc told police. I’ve been divorced two years now.”
The fact that she didn’t lie had little bearing on how I felt.
“Clay, I haven’t slept since Sunday and my daughter Michelle is missing. I don’t want to fight. I have none left.”
“Can you answer one question for me?” I asked holding up my right forefinger.
I didn’t wait for her response. I unloaded.
“Why did you post bail for Marc after what he did? I saw the tape, he tried to kill me,” I said angrily.
Monet began to weep by my side. I was unmoved.
“Clay, I had no choice. I had to. I was put in a tough spot.”
“Tough spot? I know about tough spots, look at me?” I said.
I opened my mouth to show her my missing tooth.
“Clay, I know this is bad, real bad but we can get past this if we want. Just tell me what you want from me, baby?”
I looked out the window and sighed. I knew exactly what I wanted.
“My things. Just get me my things, please. This shouldn’t have happened.”
“I know. Marc just went crazy. He lost his mind,” Monet replied.
“Monet, that’s not what I was talking about. We shouldn’t have happened. This is a nightmare and it’s time I woke up.”
“Huh?” Monet responded in confusion.
“We have to end this. This is too much to bear. If I stay with you, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life in fear.”
Monet responded in desperation.
“Clay, but it’s not like that. We can fix this.”
I wasn’t done. I needed to put the last nail in the coffin.
“Monet, how could I ever trust you? If you cheated to be with me, how do I know you won’t cheat on me?”
There was a solemn silence that fell upon us. I was hurtful and mean-spirited. It affected Monet, her actions said it all. She stared at me intently. I could feel the love she had for me slip away. She was divorcing me in her heart and in her soul. I watched our love die.
She left.
“Clay, you have another visitor, it’s Sergeant Barnett. Should I send him in?” Kim asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson. I have a few papers I would like you to sign before they release you.”
The thought of being discharged made me extremely anxious. I knew Marc was out on bail and I was worried he would hunt me down and finish what he started. As long as I was in the hospital I felt safe.
“Sarge, what if Marc is waiting for me to be released? He must know where I am. Everyone else does,” I said as I pointed to the get well cards.
Sergeant Barnett reminded me of Kojak with his bald head and his east coast accent. I saw him as a buffer between Marc and me. I told him the whole story.
“Clay, there are few cuts as deep as infidelity. I’ve seen several double murder cases over this kinda thing. But you can’t undo what is already done. You need to forgive yourself and move on, pal.”
“I can’t forgive myself. I screwed up big time and even though I lie here in my hospital bed, I don’t feel my debt is paid.”
Barnett shifted responsibility to Marc.
“Well, Mr. Dawson broke the law. You can’t take the law into your own hands. There are consequences and a judge will decide his fate.”
Sergeant Barnett handed me documents to press charges. I handed them back.
“The thought of seeing Marc again is too much. I’m not pressing charges. I started this mess and I am sorry for it. But the sooner I get back to England the better. Have you ever had someone try to kill you?”
Barnett paused and reflected.
“I’ve been on the force over twenty years and I know what you are going through.”
Barnett pulled on his shirt collar and showed me where he had been shot in the neck.
“Clay, I’ve seen the shrink more times than I care to mention. But there are coping mechanisms that have helped me get through some terrible decisions. Decisions I’ve made with the best intentions.”
Barnett was empathetic and compassionate.
“Coping mechanisms? Like what?”
“Write it down, exactly what you’ve told me. Even if you don’t mail it, just say it on paper. Trust me, it will help alleviate some of the pent up guilt and consternation.”
Barnett placed his hand on my shoulder and gave
me a pen.
We talked for a few more minutes but before he left I had one last request.
“Sergeant Barnett, can you drive me to the airport?”
He stopped in his tracks just outside the doorway.
“Just kidding.”
I wasn’t kidding. I was serious as hell. Every worry I’d ever had was insignificant compared to my extreme paranoia about losing my life.
Two days later I was signing my discharge papers at the front desk. I was nervous. My face looked like I did ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Every black guy over six feet scared the shit out of me. I subconsciously superimposed Marc’s face over theirs.
Kim greeted me at the desk as I was checking out.
“Kim, if you ever come to England, look me up. It would be nice to see a friendly face. Thanks for all you’ve done.”
“Clay, I just might take you up on that. Could I bring my boyfriend along?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about all those cards? You didn’t forget them did you?”
“No, I have them all, except one. The big red one,” I replied.
Kim gave me a sincere hug and I was kind of sad to say goodbye. I considered Kim a person I could be good friends with.
As I proceeded toward the elevator my paranoia was momentarily interrupted. I passed a cancer ward and I stopped for a second when I saw a woman that reminded me of Jo. She was bald and looked emaciated. My heart went out to her and I felt pity.
While standing outside her room an old cleaning lady with drab clothing walked by me and spoke in a foreign language. I thought it was Spanish.
“Deus succurro nos totus,” the old lady whispered.
“Sorry, no hablo español,” I replied.
As she walked by I felt a chill that was most noticeable on the back of my neck. I dismissed it.
My paranoia returned as soon as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. I was operating on survival instinct. I quickly scanned the faces in my immediate area. I frantically made my way outside looking for a cab to the airport. My heartbeat was thumping in my chest. I felt impending doom. I knew someone was watching me. I was right. Someone tapped me on my shoulder from behind. I gasped. I didn’t turn around.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Officer Barnett?” I responded, relieved.
“I’m officially off the clock; call me Jeremey. Need a lift?”
I started to settle down. I got into his Ford Mustang and we merged into traffic. I was so thankful for his kindness and concern. We didn’t talk much on the way to the airport, but he did have a question for me as he dropped me off at the departures terminal.
“Clay, you got that letter?”
Not only was Jeremey a compassionate person, he was astute and perceptive.
“Yeah, I got it. Can you mail it for me?”
“I’ve got an even better idea. How about I deliver it to him in person. I think he will be happy to know that you’ve decided not to press charges. Have a safe flight, Clay.”
I took a mental snapshot of Jeremey getting back in his car and driving off. I would remember him for his kindness.
When I saw the large monitors for departures I quickly spotted my flight to Heathrow. I needed to get my garment bags checked and through security as soon as possible. I was almost home. My nerves were fried.
“What are you carrying, Mr. Thompson? Do you have any excess baggage?”
Excess baggage. I had a lot of excess baggage; guilt and paranoia and the price for that baggage was extortionate.
I got into the security line. I couldn’t wait to pass through x-ray, that was my safe zone. I knew Marc couldn’t get to me there. It seemed like an eternity.
“Step right on through,” said the TSA representative standing on the other side of the x-ray booth.
I was home free.
I looked behind me and saw my soul mate on the other side. My heart broke and I stood still in despair.
It was Monet. She was standing in front of the Starbucks on the opposite side of security. She was in a black tracksuit and her hair was covered in a yellow scarf. She looked sad.
I was so confused and distraught. I was walking away from the love of my life. A million emotions raced through my mind but one particular thought reigned over all. I told Marc I would leave Monet alone. I turned my back on her and proceeded to my gate. It was one of the hardest things I had to do. I left a piece of me on the other side of security. I turned around with the intention of seeing her face one last time.
She was gone, again.
TWENTY-SEVEN
* * *
The Departed
Heathrow Airport. London, England
Good morning passengers, the time in England is 10:15 in the morning. We will be landing very shortly, thank you for flying British Airways.”
Yawn.
I looked out the window as we descended. Dark gloomy clouds obstructed my vision of London’s beautiful landmarks and historic architecture.
I left England feeling invincible and so focused. I had everything. I returned with a gap in my teeth and a hole in my soul. I had many thoughts during my nine-hour flight. I saw repeat flashbacks of leaving Monet standing in front of the Starbucks. My nerves were beginning to settle and I questioned my judgment while in the hospital. I couldn’t get over her posting Marc’s bail. I felt betrayed as I saw no acceptable explanation. I was so confused emotionally and I knew why. I was missing Monet and everything reminded me of her, particularly the phone in my shirt pocket that she bought for me. As we taxied in I took a deep sigh and switched my phone on. I glanced at my screensaver. It was picture of Monet and I during happier times.
My phone blew up with messages alerting me that I was back in the UK and at least 13 missed calls. They were all from Jo, but strangely it was her home phone and not her cell. I was almost sure that she told me she had it disconnected.
It had to be news of her scan results. Jo and I had a bond that transcended normal human interaction. Our session bonded us in a profound way. The session transformed her life but more importantly I wanted it to save her life. I will never forget the time when she heard me cite the Lord’s Prayer as if I said it aloud. How did she do that?
For years I entertained hundreds with my psychic routine of channeling my thoughts, and on the smallest stage with no witnesses it really happened. Jo and I had a bond that opened my mind as well as my heart. I really missed her company.
While waiting in the baggage claim area I flashed back to my stay at the hospital. I remembered passing the cancer ward and that old lady whispering to me.
Deus succurro nos totus.
It was the way she said and how it made me feel. Like she was trying to tell me something. I wished I knew Spanish so I could’ve interpreted what she said.
Home at last. I love it how cats are so emotive and expressive when you’ve been gone awhile.
“Missy, I’m home,” I said as I dropped my bags in the doorway.
She walked right past me and sat in front of her food tray in the kitchen. No eye contact at all. There is an old saying that summed up the difference between cats and dogs.
Dogs have masters, cats have staff. I was Missy’s personal servant.
The trip was exhausting and I was super-tired. I checked my Hotmail to see if I had any new emails. I had two.
We’ve adjusted your timecard. Get well soon. Ann.
Clay, my book signing is 7 August at the Milton Keynes shopping mall. Jo.
Hmm, no mention of her scan. Maybe she hadn’t received the results yet.
As I was about to log off I decided to use a Spanish online dictionary to translate that enigmatic message from the mystery woman in the hospital. Here we go.
Sorry, we did not find any matching results for Deus succurro nos totus. Please try our other translators.
After trying French, Italian, German and Portuguese I started to doubt if I’d spelled it correctly. I googled it. My spelling was in fact corre
ct. The result troubled me. It was a prayer.
God help us all.
The message was just as disturbing as the tongue in which it was spoken. It was Latin. In all of my fifty years of living I never knew anyone who spoke Latin in conversation. I tried to rationalize the encounter in my head, but it didn’t fit. It really bothered me. It may have been a message, but from whom and for what?
My head started to hurt. I took a nap with Missy at the foot of my bed cleaning herself.
The Next Morning
I was awakened by the beeping of a removal van reversing into the drive. I snatched my robe off the bedpost and investigated from my window. The van was reversing into Jo’s drive. Two movers jumped out and opened Jo’s door with a key. I put on my slippers and made my way to the drive as fast as I could. I followed one of the movers into Jo’s house.
“What’s goin’ on?” I asked tightening the robe around my waist.
One mover was Polish and the other English. The English guy responded.
“Just following orders, mate. We’re packing everything and putting it into storage for now.”
“Where’s Jo?” I asked.
“Dunno, mate.”
The Polish guy picked up the aquarium and started to empty it in the toilet. I almost lost my mind.
“Hey, wait! Whatcha doin’?”
“Relax, it’s dead. It’s just a fish.”
I couldn’t call Jo fast enough on her cell. I wanted to know why she was moving and why she never told me. My call was booted straight into voicemail. I found a Ziploc baggie and put Nemo inside. I knew Jo would be distraught but she would be more upset if she found out Nemo was flushed down the drain.
On my way out the door, the mailman placed Jo’s mail through the letter box. I picked it up. There was a letter from Hinchingbrooke Hospital. My hands trembled knowing I had Jo’s fate in my hand. I knew how important the letter was so I placed it in my robe pocket. As curious as I was I dare not open the letter. I needed to respect Jo’s right to be the first to know.