by Lauren Brown
Now I was boiling. I interrupted him, “I know what I saw! Why else would you send me to that address!”
His expression hardened at my tone. He took another deep breath then readjusted himself.
“Oh, I see now. You think I had you go there to see the murder?” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Ugh. Rick was supposed to wait until after you got the envelope. He said he was busy last night until 11:00. You did get the envelope didn’t you?”
“Are you serious?”
“Look John, Martin was supposed to put an envelope in the mailbox for you, he owed me, well us actually,” he let out a breath, “but doesn’t matter now I suppose.”
My words were sharp. “You’re telling me right now that all you care about is some stupid envelope that you said initially Rick couldn’t even get, yet Rick did go there last night, Rick, a guy we’ve been working with for months, and killed a patient of mine? None of this makes any sense!”
I was breathing hard now. I put my hands behind my head and paced his office.
“John, do you need a Xanax or something?”
“No! I don’t want your damn drugs! I want to be done with them! Why? Why would Rick kill him? Did you tell him to?”
“Of course not. Martin hadn’t been doing what he was supposed to be doing for months.” He said this so nonchalantly, like killing someone for Adderall was moral and sane.
I kept pacing and shaking my head until it dawned on me that this man could kill me. My face turned white as I turned towards him. He must have noticed and stood. I backed away from his desk.
“John, calm down. Martin Murray was into other drugs, drugs that don’t concern you. Cocaine, heroin, ecstasy. It was between he and Rick and Rick was supposed to wait until after you got the envelope to address whatever issue he had with Martin. Don’t let something stupid like the death of Martin deter you from finishing the deal. Just let it go.”
“Let it go!”
He began shuffling papers together on his desk. “It’s how this business works.”
“That’s exactly why I want out. I can’t do another month of this, Richard.”
He shot his dilated eyes in my direction, irritated I had used his real name.
“You can’t. You made a deal to work with me until the end of December.”
“I know, but I didn’t sign up for murder! You killed an innocent man.”
He grew more agitated, his voice more forceful. “John, for the last time, I didn’t kill Martin. You did.”
“I did? Have you lost your mind!” My nerves had been washed in the acid of his words and were now firing uncontrollably.
He looked at me with fire in his eyes. “No, I’d say you have considering you claim to have seen someone wearing a bear mask that night. And yes, you did. If you had just signed him the script for, Adderall was it? Then he would probably still be alive.” He stacked some papers into a briefcase. “Look, you said you were going to back out if Martin was involved, now he isn’t. We got lucky. Now, I’m supposed to be meeting the mayor in half an hour for a meeting. Is there anything else that’s bothering you? I really thought you had stopped by to deliver that envelope and possibly shoot a round of golf.”
“Golf? With you? You’re absolutely psychotic. I’m done working with you.”
He gently closed his briefcase. Then stared into my eyes. “No. You’re not done,” he said, his words pithy and patronizing. “We had a deal and I have a deal with guys much more frightening than Rick killing Martin. You’ll finish your end of the deal.”
I was furious. “How can you live like this? This double life? Is it because of whatever it was you were mumbling about when I came in? About your parents?”
His face flushed red. “John, you are living the same life. You’re lying to your wife and those around you, living a double life just as I am.”
“Well, I’m done living that life.”
“No you’re not,” he said and shook his head, “You have another month.”
“Are you deaf? I said I can’t keep working with you. It’s not worth the money. How do I know someone won’t kill my family or me next? I’m not risking all that I love over some stupid ass pill.”
I waited for him to agree with me, to say how insane all of this was, to say I was good to go.
“He died because of you, John. All you had to do was write him the prescription.”
“You shot him! I know it! I should leave here and go straight to the police station and tell them everything!”
He grinned at my comment. “Oh, John, we both know that you could never do that, you’re too involved in this now. Besides, I know a coward when I see one.”
He pressed on. “What do you want, John Livingston? Your wife can’t get pregnant, and you expect to support your family when your pain clinic goes under? What makes you think that pulling out of this deal won’t piss off my guys, my buyers, all the people that are the crutch in your business and in your life. What makes you think you pulling out of this deal will save lives? If anything, more people will die.”
“My wife is pregnant. I don’t need your help paying off my debt anymore. You’ve got other crazy doctors willing to work with you, so you can tell your guys in Rio that I’m done.” I pointed a firm finger at his face.
I was about to turn and leave when he quickly pulled out a gun from his desk drawer.
I was furious. I couldn’t control the words that ran out from the deepest part of me. “I am a doctor for god’s sake! I said I. Am. Done!” I slammed my hands on his desk, breathing loudly, trembling with nerves.
He flared his nostrils and with one swing of his arm, he knocked the contents of his desk to the floor. “You are nothing without me!” He violently yelled as spit flew from his mouth like an angry animal. A strand of brown hair fell forward onto his face. The veins in his neck were bulging.
“You won’t shoot me Richard because I know a coward when I see one,” I snapped. I looked one final time into his dilated eyes and then left his office ignoring the sound of crashing glass behind me.
Chapter 14
November 20, 2004
I was gripping the steering wheel so tightly my fingers were blanched. I pulled over to the side of the road and parked under some trees. My hands didn’t leave the steering wheel. I let my heavy head fall on top of them. I was angry. Not just at the Bear but at myself.
I rocked my head side-to-side and felt my wedding band press into my forehead. I tried to rock the thoughts of Hope, of my son, of Martin out of my mind. I tried to block the thoughts of my balding mother, of my father sitting with his back to me with his third whiskey in hand, of him cheating on my mother. And then, suddenly, I was screaming and banging my hands on the steering wheel. I screamed so loud my neck cramped. I could see my mother’s flat chest barely moving in the hospital bed, my father drunk and unshaven in a chair in the corner. I let my chin fall to my chest, closed my eyes, and I stayed that way, head down and breathing hard, for a long time.
It began to rain, and the sound on my windshield slowly brought me back to reality. I took several deep breaths and ran my hands through my sweat-filled black hair. I looked in the mirror and saw tired, reddened eyes with fine wrinkles that had begun to grow from the corners of my eyes. The weight I had lost since my agreement with the Bear had exposed my cheekbones. I started the car and turned the radio up as loud as it would go.
I thought of Hope, of our unborn son. I still planned to tell her everything that night, to tell her that we could move west to start a new life.
I sat just a minute longer to let the red from my eyes dissipate then drove home.
As nightfall approached, it brought with it a late November chill. I rolled the windows down in hopes the fresh air would take away my worries. I expected the weight on my chest to be lifted after ending my work with the Bear, but it felt as if it had only grown heavier.
The days were getting shorter and by 7:00 p.m. it was dark. I could see Hope setting the table from the drive
way. I left my briefcase in the car and walked inside.
“Hi, love,” she greeted me.
“Hi,” I mustered.
“Oh, you look tired. Did you not sleep well last night?”
“No, not at all.”
“You should try and go to bed early tonight. You don’t look well.”
“Yeah,” I said, loosening my tie. Music played softly in the kitchen.
“Honey?”
“Yes?” she asked.
“I’m not very hungry.”
“Really?”
I sat on a barstool and put my head in my hands. She could sense something was wrong and walked over to me.
“John? What is it?”
She was standing in front of me with her hand on my shoulder. I turned to kiss her hand, and suddenly, I was shaking like a leaf.
“Oh, John, you’re working too much.”
“Who am I, Hope? Who am I?”
“John. You are John. My husband, a soon-to-be father, my best friend. You, John, are everything to me.”
I cried heavily in her arms for some time. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. The heaviness I felt was lighter in her arms, and I didn’t want to risk losing this peace. She slowly stood me up from the stool, reaching over to turn the radio up louder. She wiped my tears then grabbed my hands and began dancing with me.
I took her in. All of her, from her smile to her free flowing hair. We slow danced our way from the kitchen to the bedroom. I knew tomorrow would come, decisions would have to be made, truth would have to be spoken, but in that moment with Hope, tomorrow was centuries away. That moment was truth enough.
It took me longer than usual to get out of bed the next morning. I didn’t want to open my eyes and face the day. After some time, I placed one foot on the floor, then the other. I got out of bed and dressed for work. I kissed Hope before leaving.
“Love you,” she called to me as I grabbed my keys
“Love you too,” I repeated before closing the front door.
I waved to Beth and Marty as I walked into the office. To them, it would be just another day at the office. For me, I was determined it would be a new day. I convinced myself I had done the hardest part and, once the nausea settled and the coffee kicked in, I was ready to start from the beginning.
“How you holding up, Dr. Livingston?” Beth asked.
“Much better, thanks for asking.”
“Good to hear. I sent the Murray family flowers from the office.”
“Oh, I’m glad you did that. Thank you.”
“It was the least we could do. Your first patient should be here soon.”
I walked into my office and flipped on the lights. A part of me was expecting a letter at my feet from the Bear, some of me even expected him to be waiting in the corner of my office. But there was nothing. Just my desk, my safe, my dying plant in the corner.
I sat in my desk chair and, for the first time in months, I didn’t read the “Right to Know” section. I drank my coffee and began tackling a stack of papers that had been sitting dormant in the corner of my desk for months.
Marty knocked. “First patient canceled. Next patient will be here around nine thirty.”
“Sounds good.” Normally, a no-show would have upset me, but not that day.
I tried to keep my thoughts calm and collected, focusing on the work at hand. I could feel the safe staring at me. If I wanted to get rid of the past, I needed to get rid of those pills. I locked my office door and opened the safe.
I emptied the pills into a small trash bag and slid it under my desk. I picked up the phone to call Allyn, tell him I wouldn’t be needing any more pills. He didn’t answer, so I left a message for him to return my call and went back to signing the papers.
I upset a lot of people that morning, but I didn’t care.
“I’m not selling anymore. End of story,” I firmly told two previous buyers.
They huffed and stomped their way to the front desk.
“What is with the patients today? They’re all in a bad mood,” Marty said as I read over a chart.
“Holiday season makes people edgy,” I said.
The day went by slowly since I wasn’t selling pills or writing prescriptions. I sat in my chair and thought about Mr. Murray. I opened my safe and checked my gun to make sure it was loaded, you know, just to be cautious, then tried to shake such negative thoughts.
Around 5:00 p.m. I finished signing the last paper on my desk, packed up my briefcase, told Beth and Marty goodbye, and got in my truck to drive home. Thankfully, Marty didn’t notice the garbage bag of pills I carried with me. I threw it into my passenger seat and drove to a nearby dirt road that lead to the power lines.
I got out and walked about half a mile under the setting sun to a remote spot untouched by humans. I knelt down and began to dig. I dug with my hands until my nails began to bleed, then tossed the bag full of pills into it. At the time, covering everything with dirt made me feel momentarily lighter as if everything was over. Besides hiking out to the power lines, the day felt as it had when I first opened my clinic two years before—boring. And this time, I was fine with boring.
I made my way back to the main road and drove home. I thought about how I would tell Hope the truth. Moving west wouldn’t work, I knew that. My practice had essentially just begun, and with time, I was sure my business with the Bear would disintegrate like the fallen leaves outside.
I looked in my rearview mirror and saw bright blue and red lights, and instantly the image of Martin Murray came to mind. My stomach sank. I put on my blinker and made my way to the side of the road. The cop whizzed past me and I let out a sigh of relief.
I turned into our subdivision and was stopped by four police cars barricading the street.
I stopped my car and rolled the window down as an officer walked up to my truck.
“Sir, the road is blocked.”
“Wait, why? My house is at the end of the street. Just down that hill. I live here.”
“There’s a house on fire, we’re trying to put it out as fast as we can. We’re going to need you to wait here.”
I could see neighbors standing in their yards, trying to look down the street.
“Oh my God, a fire? Whose house?”
“Sir—”
The blood drained from my face. I flung open the door.
“Sir!” the cop yelled as I started sprinting. I pushed through the police cars and neighbors.
As I came down the hill, I saw it. It was our home, and it was in flames.
I saw firefighters frantically trying to put out the roaring fire. Men were yelling. News reporters were filming. I was shouting as loud as I could, but the fire was louder.
“Is my wife in there?!” I screamed sprinting towards the massive ball of red flames. I shoved a reporter out of the way.
Someone called out to me, “Sir! There’s a fireman in there now trying to get her! Sir!”
I ran straight inside and was engulfed by flames. I felt a large body jerk me back outside, causing me to fall with a thud onto my back. Suddenly, I was being rolled around in the dirt. But I fought them and immediately threw myself up and off the ground. I ran back into the flames. I felt a man grab my arm, but I shoved him off. I felt a pull from the other side. The fire was roaring so loud I could barely hear myself calling out her name.
“Hope! No!” I was crying and screaming through the firefighter’s arms. I broke free again.
“The man’s on fire! Help!” I heard the man yell to the others.
“No!”
I was crying and screaming for her when suddenly a third firefighter reared back his arm and everything went black.
I opened one eye, then the other to the sound of constant, annoying beeping. I blinked a few times. Through blurry eyes, I slowly realized I was in a hospital bed. My head was pounding and my right leg felt hot, too hot. It felt as if it was taped to a cooking skillet. I felt hard plastic taped under my eyelids. I reached up to feel my fa
ce. The pain in my nose suddenly overtook the hot. I cried out when I touched it.
“Hi, John.” I heard a whisper.
“Hope?”
I looked up to see Sarah.
“Shh. It’s okay, John. Don’t move too much.”
“Sarah? Where’s Hope?”
I saw her eyes fill with tears. “John, we’ll talk about that later.”
“Where is Hope, Sarah? Where is Hope?”
“John you have to be still. You’re suffering from some bad burns. John! Nurses!”
“Where is she? Where is she?!”
Two nurses rushed in followed by a male resident in scrubs. He pushed on my legs, trying to hold me down. I felt a sharp pain in my leg and then all went black again.
I awoke some time later feeling heavily drugged. I heard Sarah whispering with her parents in the corner of the room.
“I can’t even recognize him. The doctors said it could take weeks to heal.”
They saw me stir and walked over to the bed. Sarah took my hand.
“Hey, John. It’s okay, we’re here.”
“Where’s Hope, Sarah?” I croaked through tears. I felt as if I was suffocating.
“John, Hope isn’t here, she died in the fire.” I looked into Sarah’s pale complexion and bloodshot eyes. Hope’s mother and father weren’t strong enough to watch. They hung their heads as they left the room.
“John, I know it’s a lot to take in right now.”
“Oh, Sarah, no. Please tell me it’s not real, please God!” I began to sob.
She hugged me tight.
“John, I wish I could. I would give anything to say it was all a nightmare.”
We cried together until I succumbed to the medicine’s power again and fell asleep.
The next day a dermatologist and an attending resident visited me.
“You had some bad second and third degree burns,” the dermatologist stated. He motioned to the resident to examine my skin. “The lower half of your face and your left side are the worst,” he continued, “You’ll need a small skin graft for that area,” he pointed to my jaw, “and you will probably have some major scarring. As for your nose, Officer Gomez had to knock you out or else you would have died. If it weren’t for that broken nose, you might not be here.” He reached out to touch my leg under the thin, hospital sheet. He held it there for a moment giving me an empathetic look before removing his hand and continuing, “Your nose was reset as soon as you arrived and should be better in a few weeks.”