“Nothing that respectable, Harry. I go by the name Eric Price today. If you don’t mind, that’s what I’d prefer to be called. If you’ve heard the name, I don’t need to explain how I make my living.”
“Eric Price!” Harry exclaimed. “You mean you’re the one I hear about on the news? The one who runs that Foresight outfit? Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch!”
“Don’t let our mother hear that kind of talk!” Eric chided Harry.
“How about that! Jesus, Eric Price is my little brother. Ya know, I hear about you on CNN all the time. This is really something! I’m proud of ya, kid.”
Eric suspected Harry would try to prolong the conversation about his career as long as possible to avoid talking about himself, so he allowed a few questions, then deftly shifted the focus. “Harry, how’re you doing?”
“Me? I’m all right. The food gets pretty boring and the company I keep leaves a lot to be desired, but I’m catching up on all those books I always wanted to read.”
“Harry!” Eric scolded his brother. “You hated to read! I was the bookworm. You always wanted to be hunting and fishing.”
Harry pulled away from Eric and sat down. “TV and books are about as exciting as it gets in here.”
“I want to help you, Harry,” Eric insisted as he sat beside his brother. “Did you appeal your conviction?”
“Hold on, Jason, er, Eric. Aren’t you even gonna ask if I’m guilty?”
Eric straightened. “What kinda question is that for one brother to ask another? Of course I’m not gonna ask if you’re guilty! From what Greg Hobson told me, you had inadequate representation. Now, let’s talk about appeals and pardons.”
“Well, for the record, I’m innocent. How do you know Greg?”
“I went to the old house on Wilson and they sent me to their realtor, Greg Hobson. I told Greg I was a relative and convinced him to tell me where to find you. Don’t be mad at Greg. He felt he was doing the right thing. He doesn’t know we’re brothers and I want it to stay that way. At least for now. Okay?”
Harry nodded, understanding Eric’s need for secrecy.
“Harry, I intend to get you out of here….legally. With your permission, I’m going to have my own attorney fly out here tomorrow and file a motion for a new hearing. Will you let me do that, Harry?”
Harry looked squarely into his brother’s eyes. “It won’t do any good, Eric. They had plenty of evidence to convict me first time round. If you think it’ll do some good, you can try.”
“Good. I’ll get right on it, Harry,” Eric assured his brother.
“Have you managed to pry outa Greg where he stashed Mom and Dad?” Harry asked.
“Nope. He’s a loyal friend, Harry. He told me I’d have to ask you myself.”
Harry’s gaze shifted around the room. “Well, I suppose you’ll just pester me until I tell you. They’re up in Ada.”
“Ada!” Eric gasped. Ada was another city whose name conjured up a single image. “The hospital for the criminally insane? What the hell are they doing there, Harry?”
Harry’s head sunk so low it nearly touched the table. In a hushed voice, Harry explained. “They’re both old and sick. There was no money for expensive private care and Ada is the only state facility that’ll care for both of them. They take terminally ill patients and some indigents at Ada now, along with the criminally insane. I know it’s not a great place, but they couldn’t take care of themselves any longer. I had to do something!”
“Their idea of care at that place is straightjackets, padded cells, and occasional bread and water!” Eric whispered excitedly.
“Don’t you think I know that!” Harry roared angrily.
Eric regained his composure quickly, not wanting to quarrel. “It’s not your fault, Harry. Look, I’ll make arrangements to have them transferred to a private facility. I’ll take care of them, okay?”
A lump formed in Harry’s throat. The thought of his parents living out their remaining days in an institution where the state dumped its basket cases was humiliating. Harry was more ashamed of failing his parents than he was of being a convicted murderer.
“Yeah, okay,” Harry agreed quietly. “I did the best I could.” Harry felt sorry for Eric, having to come home to such a mess. But, if Eric hadn’t been so greedy, if he hadn’t left the way he did, if things had just been a little different, maybe the family wouldn’t have wound up this way.
A long blast from the prison whistle signaled an end to visiting hours. Greg joined them briefly, but only had a chance to say hello before the guards started clearing the room. The three men rose from the table. Eric and Harry hugged again. Harry was lethargic, but Eric hugged with all his strength. Then Harry turned to Greg and they shook hands.
Greg said, “Hope you’re not angry with me for bringing Eric here, Harry.”
“You’re a good friend, Greg. How can I be angry with you?” Harry replied.
It wasn’t exactly the absolution Greg sought, but it was close enough.
Eric promised to keep in touch as things developed and they said good night.
Later that night, Greg repeated the events of the day to his wife in dramatic detail, swearing her to secrecy just as Eric had made him do during the return trip to Skyline.
Eric spent a relatively sleepless night in his room.
Harry York returned to his cell. When the lights went out, he cried for only the second time in twenty years. The last time had been the night he held the mangled remains of his wife and son in his arms.
CHAPTER 17
Although he taught himself to sleep on command while serving as a missile officer, Eric slept poorly after returning from his visit with Harry. He went to bed promptly after Greg dropped him off, planning to rise at seven, be on the road by eight, arriving at Ada State Hospital by ten. Eric’s imagination ran wild. He was sure the nurses had hooked his father up to a liquor dispensing intravenous unit to keep him quiet, while his mother’s pleas were answered with sedative-filled syringes. Several times Eric nodded off, only to awaken an hour later in the middle of a nightmare.
As the sun rose, Eric abandoned the notion of getting six solid hours of sleep. He shaved, dressed quickly, and grabbed a cup of coffee on his way out the door. At six-thirty, Eric was speeding toward Ada, dreading what he would find.
Eric stormed through the front entrance of Ada State Hospital the way Allied troops entered occupied French cities during World War II. He was mentally alert, prepared for enemy flak, and expecting to find grotesque horrors at every turn. The pleasant, friendly greeting of the receptionist took him by surprise, but he was not lulled into a false sense of security. His defenses merely grew stronger.
“I’m here to see Paul and Joanna York. Where are they?” Eric snapped.
The receptionist offered Eric a cup of coffee while she summoned a nurse to help him. When Eric did not budge from his position in front of the receptionist she asked, “May I have your name, sir? We like to maintain a log of our visitors.”
“What do you do with it? Send it to the state legislature when you beg for more funds to run this flophouse?”
The receptionist looked up from the visitor’s log. Her puzzled expression told Eric she was confused by his abuse.
“I’m sorry,” Eric apologized. “You don’t deserve my anger. You haven’t done anything wrong. My name is Eric Price. I haven’t seen the Yorks for many years. I was shocked to find out they’re here.”
In a forgiving voice, the receptionist said, “This must be difficult for you. The care here is really very good. I’m sure the Yorks are being well treated.”
“I hope so,” Eric sighed.
The receptionist extended her hand. “I’m Connie. Friends?”
Eric smiled sheepishly as he shook Connie’s hand.
“Now, how about that cup of coffee, Mr. Price? I know I could use one.”
“It’s Eric and I think I will have a cup, thanks.”
When Connie returned with the coffee,
they chatted a bit. Eric asked questions about her background, chiefly to avoid the same questions from her. He had mastered the conversational interview many years earlier to deflect attention from himself. It always amazed Eric how few people actually bothered to ask him questions in return. When Eric encountered a person who did, he was immediately impressed, because it signaled the person was either genuinely interested or was diverting attention to hide something, just like Eric. Either way, such people aroused Eric’s curiosity.
A prim, middle-aged nurse joined Eric and Connie, introducing herself as Carmela, the shift supervisor. Carmela suggested they talk during a tour of the complex. Eric was impressed by the professional bearing of the staff, the clean and healthy appearance of most residents, and state-of-the-art equipment. Eric conceded the state had truly done a marvelous job providing care for those left in its charge.
“I feel rather foolish now,” Eric confessed to Carmela. “I envisioned a place about a half step above a concentration camp. This is obviously a well-run, up-to-date healthcare facility. I should be grateful this place was available to care for the Yorks.”
“Old reputations die hard, Mr. Price. We’ve made great strides in providing healthcare for the indigent in the past generation. Now that you’ve seen the facility, I’m sure you want to know something about the Yorks’ history with us. I’ve asked Dr. Curtiss, the physician assigned to the Yorks, to join us in a conference room on the fifth floor. Why don’t we head that way?”
Eric and Carmela met Dr. Curtiss as he was striding briskly down the hallway toward the conference room.
Conversational preliminaries consumed a few minutes, then Dr. Curtiss opened a manila file, studied it briefly, closed it again, and looked Eric straight in the eye. “We believe in candor at this institution, Eric. Both Yorks are on life support. Quite honestly, we can’t figure out why they’re still alive. When they came to us, they were both near death. Paul was in the terminal stage of alcoholism. His liver was bloated, his immune system had shut down, and a simple cold turned into pneumonia. Joanna was suffering from dehydration and malnutrition. She had trouble walking. A complete set of x-rays revealed a number of broken bones, which had gone untreated. The bones mended themselves improperly over a number of years. It’s impossible to determine if these injuries were the result of physical abuse or accidents. She hasn’t spoken a word since her arrival…..”
“That’s not totally accurate, Dr. Curtiss,” Carmela interrupted. “For several months after Mrs. York was admitted, she called out names when someone entered her room. When we asked her for clarification, she became agitated, so we assumed she was confused. She hasn’t said anything for almost a year now. I believe you’ll find that information in the front of the chart, Dr. Curtiss. It was before you were assigned to the Yorks.”
“Do you remember the names she called out?” Eric asked.
Carmela shook her head. “Men’s first names I think.”
“To continue,” Dr. Curtiss said after a throat-clearing exercise, “Paul York appeared to regain some of his strength after we cleared up the infection, got the alcohol out of his system, and put him on a healthier diet. As expected, he was very docile and slept most of the time. Gradually, he began to move around a bit. He asked to see Joanna, so a visit was arranged. At his request, the two of them were left alone for almost an hour. A nurse peeked in to check on them and found Paul holding Joanna’s hand. They appeared to be staring at each other, but neither was speaking. The nurse asked if Paul wanted to spend some more time. When he didn’t respond, she sent for an orderly and they took Paul back to his room. That was about the time I took over. According to their charts, neither of them has spoken or shown any interest in anything since. They quit eating and assumed sort of a catatonic state. They’re fed intravenously now, given sponge baths daily, and have special beds with powered overlays to prevent bedsores. There isn’t much more we can do for them. We’re stimulating vital organs with drugs to keep them functioning, but we can only do that so long. What I’m telling you, sir, is that we’re facing the decision to artificially prolong their lives or allow their bodies to follow their natural course.”
“Their natural course?” Eric mimicked wistfully. “That’s not a very candid way of saying die, is it Dr. Curtiss?”
Dr. Curtiss squirmed in his chair. “I try to be direct, but even I have a tough time with that word.”
It was Eric’s turn for compassion, so he let Dr. Curtiss off the hook. “Guess I’d be a little worried if you were too cavalier about death.”
Dr. Curtiss smiled appreciatively. “Actually, Mr. Price, I’m glad you contacted us. We may need permission to remove artificial life support systems. Just exactly what is your relationship to the Yorks?”
“The Yorks raised me, but I haven’t seen them for twenty years. I spoke to their son Harry yesterday. He’s in prison and very concerned about his parents, so I promised I’d do what I can for them.”
Dr. Curtiss and Carmela exchanged quick glances, trying to remain expressionless despite their surprise. Uncertain what to say, they waited for Eric to continue.
Eric rubbed his jaw thoughtfully for several moments. “I can afford a team of doctors, nurses, and technicians around the clock. I don’t mean to discount the care the Yorks have received, but you have limited resources. I want to move them near my home in Minneapolis and hire my own staff to care for them. Since Harry has power of attorney for his parents, I’ll get a written statement from him authorizing their transfer to my care, assuming they can be moved. May I see them now?”
Dr. Curtiss nodded, stepped into the hallway and summoned an orderly, instructing him to take Eric to see the Yorks. “Stay with Mr. Price and show him back here when he’s finished,” Dr. Curtiss told the orderly.
The hospital had only one intensive care unit, able to accommodate up to fifteen patients. The orderly led Eric to the ICU nurse, and she escorted Eric to the Yorks. Curtains separated each of the fifteen beds, except the two occupied by Paul and Joanna York.
The myriad of life support systems in the brightly lit ICU generated a great deal of noise. The nurse told Eric to yell if he needed anything, then she returned to the workstation by the entrance. The sterile, cool environment and the maze of wires and tubes surrounding the Yorks gave Eric an eerie feeling. He would have preferred a family reunion at a busy airport or a chic restaurant. Instead, he found himself in some healthcare technician’s fantasyland, seeing his parents for the first time in twenty years.
Eric gazed first at his father, then at his mother. He had imagined this day for many years, but not in an ICU. Eric’s joy collided with his sorrow. He loved them both so much. Unable to decide which one to touch first, he tried to reach them both from a position midway between their beds, but it was useless.
Eric moved to his mother’s side and placed his right hand on her cheek. Her hair was totally gray, lines creased her face, and liver spots speckled her forehead. When Eric had last seen his mother, she was a vibrant woman of fifty who looked thirty-five. Her beautiful chestnut hair didn’t have the tiniest trace of gray then. Her skin had been smooth and fair. Despite the changes, Eric still recognized the woman on the bed as Joanna York from her regal nose and high cheekbones.
He turned to his father, whose transformation was even more startling. Eric laid his hand on his father’s skinny forearm. The man before him didn’t weigh any more than a hundred pounds. A fringe of matted gray hair ringed Paul York’s head. His cheeks were sunken and he had no teeth. The wrinkles on Paul York’s face resembled a map trying to portray too much detail. Only his nose and ears seemed to have increased in size.
Eric remembered his father as one of the toughest men he had ever known. Paul York was a construction foreman from a family of blue-collar workers. Four generations of Yorks had built homes, office buildings, apartment complexes, railroads, and other structures across America. They were laborers. They delivered a day’s work for a day’s wages. Paul York developed a barr
el chest and powerful arms doing heavy labor. He smoked and drank heavily like most of his buddies, but he was proud of his work, his country, and his family. It was difficult to believe the frail, shriveled shell of a human being Eric saw was the same man. The tubes penetrating his arms and legs and the wires connecting him to machines made Paul York appear to be little more than a pathetic marionette. Eric wept for his father, knowing Paul York would never approve of his son’s tears.
As carefully as he could, Eric leaned over his father and kissed his creased forehead. “I’m sorry it took so long to get here, Dad. Looks like my family has taken the rap I so neatly avoided. I wish…..I wish it could have been different. I know it might be too late to help you and Mom, but I won’t rest until I know the others are all right. I’m not afraid anymore. I love you…..all of you…..so much. And, I forgive you.”
Eric lingered a few moments, then turned to his mother. He bent low and kissed Joanna’s pale, wrinkled cheek tenderly. Then he wrapped both his hands about her frail left hand while he whispered to her. “Mom, I know you and Dad are both just barely hanging on. Is it because you want to tell me something?” Eric caressed her hair gently, desperate for the right words. “Mother, this is Jason! I’m back, Mom. I’m sorry it took this long. I’m here for you, Mom. If you can hear me, give me a sign. Move your fingers. Blink your eyes. Something. Anything! Please, Mom.”
As Eric stood by his mother’s bed pleading, he felt her hand twitch. He thought it might have been an involuntary movement, but her grip tightened and loosened repeatedly. Excited, Eric whispered, “That’s right! Come on, Mom, open your eyes and talk to me! You can do it. Tell me what you tried to tell the nurses. What was it you tried to tell Carmela?”
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