Behind The Pines

by Lauren Brown

  “What in heaven’s sake are you doin’, Mr. Smith? I am not in the mood for nonsense tonight.”

  I slowly open my eyes and can feel Nurse Beatrice’s presence behind me. I see dark, ageless pine trees beneath a cloudy sky. They are towering over me like an unfairly oversized prison wall that doesn’t seem to sway despite that small breeze that carries the salty smell towards me. Speaking of salt, where is that smell coming from? I would start to complain, but it’s not worth it, not now. Plus, salt does mask that awful, musty smell that has annoyingly taken refuge under my nose.

  “Mr. Smith? Did you hear me? It is one in the mornin’.”

  Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I roll my eyes.

  Normally, I would be angry at this interruption, but tonight is different. I give the trees one last glance. I clear my throat and try to sound sweet and innocent, “Oh, sorry, Nurse Beatrice. I lost track of time. I meant to go to the bathroom and somehow I’m outside.” I force a laugh before continuing, “You know, relieving oneself outside used be normal practice of everyday life. My Grandpa Mill actually built a nice outhouse for my grandma, or Nana as we called her, back in 1920 when they lived on that Georgia peach farm. He called it her golden throne. You remember what going in the outhouse was like, don’t you, Beatrice?”

  I only get a glare followed by a firm finger pointing back to the lobby.

  “I thought you did. Well, I’ll be heading back now. It’ll just take me a little while with my arthritis n’ all.”

  “You better be on your way, or you’ll be written up tomorrow, or worse, I’ll call your brother.”

  I try to suppress a laugh.

  “Besides, where you tryin’ to run off to anyhow, Mr. Smith? Ain’t no paradise beyond those trees. Just the world as we know it. Go on to bed and stop dreamin’.”

  I fake a smile as she turns her round butt to me and waddles back into the frigid lobby. Her skirt is very unflattering.

  But, I comply and make my way back to the building, however I don’t return to my room, but rather sit in front of the TV in the lobby. I’m too afraid I’ll miss the broadcast tomorrow morning. I’ll sleep here until morning. I know Hue will find me on his normal coffee route to the kitchen.

  I close my eyes to the sound of infomercials and the whispering of nurses and begin to see the beach waves again. They’re gaining speed, and I desperately want to try and surf the waves, but the wind is blowing me so hard it keeps pushing me back. I try to push on, but suddenly, with one huge gust of air, I’m on my back and asleep.

  I’m awoken in the morning by Hue nudging my leg with his wheelchair, and I’m instantly worried I’ve missed it. I jolt up and, breathing hard, shout, “Did I miss it?!”

  “Nah. It’s 9:55, it’ll be comin’ on in about five minutes. You were sleepin’ hard.”

  I relax, but only slightly, and settle back into the chair.

  “Good.” I fix my eyes on the screen. “Don’t let LeRoy change the channel.”

  He rolls his wheelchair to the TV to defend the buttons. He turns the volume up loud, allowing the whole building to hear the end of Good Morning America. I watch him sip his coffee and I’m surprised by how at ease we both look. My back aches from sleeping in the recliner, and I shift to get comfortable. Several of the other residents have trickled into the lobby to watch the morning show. A nurse sits with us as she waits for her shift to end.

  Then it happens.

  Good Morning America suddenly goes to a black screen and is abruptly replaced by me, but not the Theodore me, the John Livingston me. The camera is focused on my scarred face and black hair. The video quality is similar to that of our local news station. I lean forward in my seat to see myself clearer.

  Hue looks at me with a battle-like seriousness.

  My hairs stand on end as I wait for the first phrase I practiced so many times to come forth from the speakers. I see the nurse look up from filing her nails at the sudden interruption of her TV show, while several of the confused residents glance around the lobby for answers.

  I, as John Livingston, clear my throat and look deep into the camera. I’m ready to make my confession.

  And then I begin. I begin telling the story of my life as John Livingston III. But this time, I tell the truth.

  “My name is Dr. John Livingston III and this is my story. My story, like so many, was one in which I did not want to believe. How could I, a son of a well-known defense attorney, a loving husband, a physician, be so… careless. My story began as something simple but took on a disease that I was never quite able to recover from. Many of you are probably wondering, Who is this man? Where has my TV show gone? To a few of you, I am the pain specialist on that billboard, and to a select few of you, I am the man who is about to reveal the stories you dare not tell.

  “I was born to the well-known defense lawyer, John Livingston, Junior, in Chattanooga, Tennessee, on September 1, 1969. I grew up on Lookout Mountain as an only child and lived the life you might expect. I roamed the woods barefoot, I imagined, I dreamed. I lived a seemingly normal, simple life until my mother battled melanoma. My father, who I had deemed a strong man for most of my life, died with her with a bottle in his hand and debt up to his eyes. I attended medical school to fix the pain in the world, to cure the pain my mother had suffered. I took the Hippocratic Oath, swearing with a hand on my heart to treat my patients with a physician’s heart; a heart that would do no harm. And I truly believed this was what I was doing when I opened Living Well Pain Clinic here in Johnson City. I fell in love with a beautiful woman named Hope, we lived in a wonderful home, and I was helping people. How much better could my life get?

  “But the burning pain from my past, the debt that consumed my father began to consume me. There are no excuses for what next became of my life, but I cannot help but blame the pain that circulated within me. Little did I know that this pain would only intensify.

  “I began writing pain medication prescriptions to my patients in excess, as you can see proof of in my hand. I sold one of the most addictive and destructive drugs for cash in my office unbeknownst to my nurses and to my family and friends, in order to live a luxurious lifestyle. I, a man who had grown to be so much more than my father, had ultimately succumbed to the very thing I had tried so hard to avoid—greed.

  “I was not in this alone, however. My practice might have been just fine, my life might have been corrupt but at the very least salvageable, had I not made a deal with one of the largest opiate distributors here in Johnson City. A man you so value, a man all of us put our hope and trust in—Mayor Ringgold. Mayor Ringgold and his financial advisor, Richard Lyons, have been secretly and illegally running underground pain medication, not only here in Johnson City, but also from coast to coast, to Brazil, Mexico, and possibly other countries.

  “These men truly convinced me that money was the root of my problems, causing me to agree to a one-year contract to ship thousands of painkillers to South America. These letters are evidence of the beginning and end of one of the most terrible decisions I have made in my life. These news articles are evidence of the corruption Richard Lyons was born from and is made of. And I am evidence of a doctor who killed the Hippocratic Oath. After terminating my deal with them, Richard Lyons and Mayor Ringgold burned my house down with my pregnant wife inside. They murdered a man named Martin Murray in his home. They have not stopped their trade, their lives, even though my wife’s life, my unborn son’s life, Mr. Murray’s life, and all those inadvertently effected by the selling of illegal substances have come to a sudden halt. And my life will never be the same.

  “I do not know what possesses men to become so vile. Is it the loss of humility? The stealing of pride? Richard Lyons and his sister Hannah, who were physically abused by their father, a case my father served as defense attorney for, suffered a terrible crime. Was Mr. Lyons seeking escape from his past by investing his future in ill-gotten gains, in inflicting pain on others? Or is it a need for control when a man feels he lacks such in his own life,
as is the case for Mayor Ringgold who has yet to live up to the expectations of those that voted for him? Whatever the reason, these men turned me into a vile man myself, a man who lost his whole world and, most devastatingly, love.

  “But, with every night of seemingly endless darkness comes a relentless sunrise in the morning. I stand before you now not to cast light or blame upon these men or upon myself, but rather, I stand here to cast light upon those in pain. I may no longer be a practicing pain specialist, but I am a man, a once-beloved husband, a once soon-to-be father, a friend, a peer who can relate to your pain on some level. I can assure you that no matter how imprisoned you may feel, how betrayed or broken, how angry or lost, there is only one key to your freedom—hope.”

  Other residents start to cluster around the TV. Several of the nurses have picked up their cellphones to tell friends and family. Then I see Sarah, she is on her way to a patient’s room when the crowd stops her.

  “What is going on?”

  “There’s this man named John Livingston, and he’s on Channel Four telling some story.”

  “What?!”

  She pushes through to the front and stands next to my recliner. Her mouth is agape, her hand on her forehead.

  “I know, crazy isn’t it? Some pain doctor saying Mayor Ringgold is a drug dealer.”

  Sarah drops her coffee to the floor.

  “Sarah!” Nurse Beatrice yells as she runs to the kitchen to get a towel.

  I look away from the TV to look at Sarah. Tears immediately begin to stream down her pale cheeks. Up to this moment, I had been so confident, so ready to share my story, but I suppose I hadn’t considered what my story entails, who else it involves. I already know the pain, I already know the lies, but Sarah doesn’t, and now, I’m more ashamed than ever. Hue looks at both of us then calmly returns his focus to the TV.

  My voice is filling the ears of those in the lobby, filling all the viewers’ ears in Johnson City and the rest of America, and yet the people around me don’t know that the sinner they gasp at sits and lives among them.

  I hear the ending approaching, and I know that my time is limited.

  Hue rolls his chair away from the crowd so he can wait on me. He agreed to sit with me the rest of the day. He didn’t say why, but I think we both instinctively knew that by nightfall there would be repercussions for the video.

  “I am only a man. A man that loved and lived and sinned. Mayor Ringgold and his so called ‘Bear’ may have taken my Hope and my heart, but they will never take my purpose, my soul.”

  And just like that, my face disappears from the TV. Instantly, my face is replaced by a black screen, then a commercial. I don’t know how we pulled it off, but we did.

  Everyone sits in silence. I’m assuming the press and news stations are trying to make sense out of everything, scrambling about in their offices. I bet Mayor Ringgold dropped his coffee and immediately dialed the Bear, while the Bear probably cursed wildly at the TV. Tears fall from Sarah’s eyes as they remain fixed on the TV. I reach out to touch her hand but am stopped by Nurse Beatrice.

  “All right, everyone go on back to your rooms! I’m not sure what that was and I know everyone is curious, but it’s gettin’ too crowded in here. Not safe. Turn on the news in your rooms.”

  I can hear residents mumbling in disbelief, “Can you believe that Mayor Ringgold? I supported him.”

  Beatrice shoos residents until only Sarah, Hue, and I remain.

  I see Beatrice turn her attention to us. “Hue, you need to go back to your room.”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t. I’m fine right here.” He crosses his arms and lifts his chin.

  “I said, go back to your room. The physical therapist will be here in five minutes.”

  “Oh, shove it, Beatrice.”

  Sarah still hasn’t moved.

  “Sarah, tell him to go back to his room.”

  She still doesn’t move.

  “Ugh! What is going on this morning!” She walks over to Hue, grabbing the handles of his wheelchair.

  “Hey! Stop it! I said I’m not going! I have to be out here! I have to be out here!”

  I don’t look at Hue. I know I should beg Beatrice to let him stay, but I’m too focused on Sarah. I want to comfort her.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I finish my physical therapy! Don’t worry!” Hue yells as Beatrice rolls him to his room.

  I keep my eyes on Sarah. She sits down and rests her head in her hands. After some time passes, I stand and make my way to her. I place my hand softly on her back and am about to tell her who I am, to make my last confession, when she looks at me teary eyed.

  “Hope—the lady that man talked about—she was my sister.” She’s looking at me with wanting eyes. Eyes I’ve seen before. Pained eyes that scream, “help me.” I want to tell her I know how she feels, that I understand her pain. I want to tell her how lovely Hope was, how much that man, John, loved her, but I can’t seem to open my mouth. Beatrice tells me to leave the lobby as she passes by to tend to other residents down the hall, but I ignore her. We stay there for a half hour before Sarah takes in a deep breath and meets my gaze.

  She looks deep into my eyes and then squints her face as if she’s just put the puzzle together. Her mouth begins to form the name, “John” when a nurse at the front desk screams.

  We jerk our heads to the door and Sarah jumps up from her chair in fear. We stand and look at Richard, the Bear.

  He looks distressed and worn. He’s in a suit but looks disheveled. He’s holding his revolver, angry, hot in the face.

  “Where the hell is he?!” he yells at the nurses thrusting his gun in their direction.

  I watch the nurses fall to the floor.

  I lift my hands as a gesture of peace. “You don’t need to do this here. Let’s talk outside.”

  “Talk!” He let’s loose one of his psychotic, angry laughs. “You want to talk? I think you did plenty of that on there!” He flicks his gun in the direction of the TV. “Ringgold called me as soon as it started. I got in my car before it ended, not to talk, but to kill you son of a bitch!”

  Sarah cowers behind a recliner.

  “Wait,” I say as I move a few steps away from Sarah, trying to coax his gun away from her.

  “Don’t you dare move! Do you know what you’ve done? All you had to do was finish out the deal. I should have known that if you couldn’t do it once you couldn’t do it again! But you owed me! You owed me, and I was nice enough to let you out of everything, to spare your life!”

  I look at him differently now, knowing his past.

  “You tried to take everything from me, Richard Lyons. And frankly, I pity you. I feel sorry for what your father did to you and your sister and your mother. And I’m truly sorry that my father is the reason he walked.”

  “Pity for me! I don’t need your pity. Have you forgotten who I am, John?”

  “You’re a man. Just like me. You are not the Bear and you are no longer a drug lord.” I take a step towards him.

  “You aren’t as powerful as you think you are. And you know why? Because you didn’t take the most important part of me. You didn’t take my freedom. Even after all of this, after everything you put me through, I still have the freedom to tell the truth, to walk away, the freedom to forgive you, and the freedom of choice as to whether or not I will. And you know what… I do forgive you. That, Richard Lyons, is all I have ever owed you, and now you have it.”

  “I don’t need your forgiveness!” And then, in slow motion, I see him raise his gun in my direction. I feel my insides jolt as if they know what’s about to happen. I take several steps backwards.

  And then I feel it.

  A piercing pain shoots through my side, my ears ring with the sound of the gunshot. I can see Richard, his darkened face like that of the bear in his office. I stumble, then fall on the floor holding my bleeding side. I can’t breathe. I hear Sarah scream out and then fall to the floor, holding her mouth in fear.

  My body sta
rts to feel cold, like I’m wading inch by inch into the Bering Sea.

  The Bear makes his way to me, slowly now, and stands over me, pointing the end of the gun in Sarah’s direction. I can feel my mind drifting as my wet hand pushes deep into my side, trying to save myself from death.

  “You know what you owe me? You owe me your life, John Livingston. And I have the choice to take that from you. No one controls me, not you, not my father. I’m going to kill Sarah just like I did her sister and this time you’re going to watch!”

  He holds the gun right at Sarah’s trembling body. I try to lift my arm but I’m too weak.

  “No!”

  BAM!

  I hear a thud at my feet and open my eyes. I feel warm blood splattered on my face. My ears ring from the gunshot. I look through hazy eyes at Hue is standing weakly from his wheelchair with his rifle in hand. Richard Lyons is staring at me lifeless. The man that ruined my life is dead at my feet. Sarah runs to my side, falling on her knees.

  She yells to the nurses to get a tourniquet and call for an ambulance. She is pushing into my side. I can feel the blood running from my wound. Hue sits back into his chair and wheels over to us.

  I strain to keep my eyes open, to look at both of them.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah,” I utter, beginning to shake.

  “I didn’t know it was you. I wish I would have known, I wish I could have helped you.”

  “You have helped me. Both of you have helped me.” I look to Hue, and he gives me a look of pride mixed with empathy.

  I hear the whirling sirens growing louder outside. I can smell the salt in Sarah’s tears. My legs are getting progressively colder.

  A ringing noise fills my head, and I can’t hear very well, but it sounds like she’s saying, “Don’t go.”

  And then, with a deep breath, everything goes black.

  Chapter 26

  2008, 2.5 years later