The Pain Nurse

by Jon Talton

  Chapter Nine

  The city rolled out beneath his feet, the bare, black trees thick on hills tumbling down to the Ohio River, the sky a dirty white blanket. Landmarks sprouted comfortingly: Carew Tower, a baby Rockefeller Center, dominating the jewel box of downtown skyscrapers, just as it had all of Will’s life, all his parents’ lives. The massive deco band-shell shape of Union Terminal stood against the Western Hills. The tower of St. Peter-in-Chains Cathedral. Closer in, the huge windows of the hospital solarium gave him a view of the crescent of tilting roofs of 150-year-old row houses, punctuated by all manner of church steeples. The vast rail yards connecting north and south ran along Mill Creek, and, beyond them, stood the old neighborhoods of the Germans and the Appalachian briars. All the green was drained out of the hills.

  Down the hill was Over-the-Rhine, the old immigrant German neighborhood. The Germans were long gone and it was one of the toughest ghettos in the Midwest, a fact barely belied by its impressive architecture and dense, mystical streets. Many of the buildings had been left to rot and drug dealers ran the street corners. The mentally ill homeless roamed the sidewalks and camped in decaying Italianate landmarks. Years before, the city had stowed most of the social services in OTR. Tote up all the calls, all the cases, and Will had spent years of his career there. Main Street and a few other places were being gentrified and celebrated in the newspapers. Soon all those grand old row houses would be restored and gleaming, they said. But Will knew something the white chamber of commerce types didn’t: OTR was defiantly black territory. Lots of hardcore Over-the-Rhine residents regarded the renovations and teardowns and Saturday night bar traffic by the westside white kids as an invasion. Cross Central Parkway south and you were in the white territory of downtown. But the north side of Central Parkway was an invisible boundary.

  Cincinnati was good at boundaries. Interstate 75 was the Sauerkraut Curtain: to the west lay Price Hill and, beyond, the neat houses to which the German families had moved in the 1930s and 1940s as they grew more prosperous. East, beyond downtown, ranged the once-grand neighborhoods of Mount Auburn and Walnut Hills, now decrepit and dangerous. Once-grand estates had been subdivided into a dozen rat-infested apartments, and the teenagers carried guns like white kids carried cell phones. Then, another boundary, and you slipped into the leafy affluence of the old gentry in Hyde Park and Mount Lookout and Indian Hill. It was a nice polite midwestern city on the surface. Anybody who paid attention knew better. Neighborhood was identity, and some of the neighborhoods were lethal.

  The leaves were all gone. Nothing could conceal Cincinnati: half its population decamped for the suburbs or the Sunbelt, leaving lovely old buildings and trees that had lost their leaves. His best friend from high school had left last year to sell houses in Arizona. The stubborn ones stayed and loved the city. Sometimes he felt that Cincinnati was a museum that was building new stadiums, a torn and wounded city without even knowing it, old money and denial being the camouflage, the best pain drug. Will knew better. Every place he looked he remembered trouble. It was the cop’s lot. In college, he had taken a course on urban planning where the books would inevitably talk about this or that city as a “contradiction.” Cincinnati was different. It was one reinforcement laid upon another, like the levees that held back the Ohio. Yet the great river still had its way.

  Still, to Will’s wonder Cincinnati looked luminous. Cindy looked luminous. He was alive. He had held her for long minutes. She was still as slender as the first day he had met her, and he could still touch his elbows with his hands when he embraced her. She kept trying to pull away gently and he knew he must smell rank, but he just held on, feeling her sharp shoulder blades, the firm warmth of her breasts. For those minutes it all went away, the hospital, the killing, the pain.

  She had pulled away before he could kiss her. Now he wheeled the chair around from the big windows and faced her. She wore her new charcoal gray suit. She had come straight from work. Her blue eyes that were startling in their intensity, and her chestnut hair looked the same color as when she was twenty-two, because or in spite of those expensive trips to the salon that they had once bickered over. So much money for such a severe hairstyle. He loved her hair natural, parted in the middle, and slightly wild as it hit her shoulders. She had said she couldn’t look like a high school girl and be taken seriously at the bank. Just as she had said, after being promoted to senior vice president, that she would prefer to be known as Cynthia. He had squirmed when she wanted him to go with her to the symphony or the May Festival. Baseball bored her. It all seemed foolishly trivial now.

  “You look beautiful.”

  She patted his knee. He couldn’t really feel it.

  “Cindy, you’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He knew he had blurted out the words with too much desperation. He looked down, slowed his breathing. He laughed and spoke in a slower voice.

  “It’s been nearly two weeks. Now-a-days they kick people out in two days after major surgery, but I’m stuck here.” As he talked, he could hear the anxiety taking control again. “I feel like I’m in prison. I can’t sleep. I can’t get better.”

  He glanced up and she had an utterly foreign look on her face.

  “Let me come home, please.”

  “You don’t even like the house.” She gave a light laugh. “‘Out in Maineville, middle of nowhere.’ That’s what you used to say. What’s the first thing you did when we separated? Moved back here to the city. Do you know how dangerous it is? A girl from our department had her purse snatched by a black kid just yesterday. I was walking down Court Street and there was this group of young, black men ahead of me. One of them bent down and a gun fell out of his pants! He just picked it up like nothing had happened. I dread the drive in here every day. But somehow you like it.”

  “I say a lot of silly things.” Will smiled and looked down again, studying the bruises on his hands and forearms left by needles from IVs and blood tests. “My roommate needs constant care. Poor guy. They come in every hour to give him treatments. I can’t sleep at night.”

  “Honey, I can’t handle you. You can’t even walk.”

  “I’m going to walk. I stood up today.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “They rolled me onto this platform with parallel bars, and one physical therapist on each end, and I was actually able to stand. I’d almost forgotten I was tall. I thought about the movie where the mad scientist says, ‘It’s alive!’’” She didn’t laugh.

  He sat there remembering the strange triumph, of doing something people do unthinkingly, the feeling of a stranger’s legs lifting him, very tentatively, as if they could change their muscled minds at any moment and return to the stranger, leaving him with the dead weights attached to his torso and the long fall to the floor.

  “You’re doing great,” she said, not meeting his eyes. Her smile didn’t seem genuine. He used to kid her and call it her “sales smile” for the bank. Then even the sales smile vanished. “Julius came to see me today. At the bank. He said you’re trying to investigate the murder of that doctor.”

  “Did Dodds tell you that he missed the knife that was hidden in her office? Some well-meaning, hospitalized cop guided him to it. He might have found it the first time if he’d looked a little harder.”

  She didn’t meet his smile. Only he thought it was amusing that he had beaten the legendary J. J. Dodds at the game, and he was still a patient. He spoke in a serious voice.

  “Cindy, the knife matters. That’s the same MO as the Slasher. He would clean the weapon and hide it. We never told the media about that.”

  “Will…”

  “This guy also cut off her ring finger, just like the Slasher. Nobody knew that but the killer and the cops. Don’t you see, Cindy? It’s the same guy.”

  “Will! This is not your problem!” She shouted a whisper, then looked around to see if anyone noticed. They were nearly alone. Across the room an old woman
wheeled an old man. He had braces on his legs and looked miserable. He had once been young and virile. He had walked fast and made love to the young girl who was now old, too.

  Will looked back over his shoulder at the dense cluster of buildings on Mount Adams, rising just east of downtown. Even from the solarium he could pick out the row house where Theresa Chambers had been slaughtered. When he turned back, Cindy had her arms crossed.

  “I used to ask you not to tell me about your job.” Her voice was severe, impersonal, as if she were talking to one of her employees.

  “And I didn’t.” Will felt anger replacing his anxious fever to get out. He pushed it down, down into the seat of the cursed wheelchair. “I’m trying to make you understand that I’m not some hotdog trying to do Dodds’ job. I just need him to understand what he’s dealing with.”

  “Will, the Mount Adams Slasher died in prison! It makes my skin crawl just to say that name. You and Julius drove up to Lucasville to see the body, God knows why. This terrible thing that happened to this doctor, it can’t be related. It’s just another awful city crime. It’s none of your concern.”

  “It’s not that simple, Cindy. I’m the one who screwed up with Craig Factor, me and Dodds. We’ve got to put it right. He’ll kill again. He’s got a taste for it. The next woman was killed just a week after Theresa Chambers. All his victims looked like Theresa, and so did this doctor! Now he’s at work again. Don’t you see? He’s going to kill again.”

  “No, no. Will, you’re sick. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “I’m still a sworn officer. I have a duty…”

  “Now stop.” She shook her head adamantly. “Julius asked me to talk to you. Stop this nonsense. Will, you’re not the same. You’re going to be…handicapped.”

  The word fell on him heavily. Handicapped. That wasn’t him. That was the person in the wheelchair on the street corner, pitiful, avert the eyes… Will was still himself inside.

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?” she asked harshly. “That means you won’t be a policeman anymore.”

  “I can use my brain. They need me.”

  “Is that what your commander is saying?”

  Will didn’t answer, recalling the conversation with Scaly Mueller.

  “I didn’t think so. You’re in denial, about a lot of things. That’s understandable, but I am not going to enable it.”

  “And I’m not going to argue with your self-help books.”

  Her eyes flashed, but then she just shook her head. “Will, Will… I never understood your world. But it seemed to me that within the police department you had a good job as a homicide detective. I never understood why you left it to go to internal affairs. The officers hate internal affairs.”

  “The chief asked me to do it.”

  “You went to the chief.”

  “It was a little bit of both.” His back was starting to throb. “I did it to make a better police department.” He had explained himself so many times.

  “You did it,” she said vehemently, “because of what happened between you and Julius, over Bud Chambers.”

  “That was part of it.” She was twisting time, twisting what really happened. She seemed so strange to him now, but, in reality, he knew that had been true for years. He fought those feelings. How did two people grow to be at such odds?

  “This is what Julius was afraid of. Your going off half-cocked. He’s really agitated about it. He was a good friend to you.”

  “I was his friend.”

  “Was.” Cindy shook her head. “You don’t make friends, Will. You don’t know how. You didn’t like my friends. I tried to open doors for you. You didn’t have to work in the sewer every day, making no money. I introduced you to people, my friends. But you wouldn’t even try.”

  Her words stung him into silence.

  Her gaze roved past him. “Will, you need someone to talk to. Doesn’t the hospital have…?”

  “A shrink? Oh, there’s one exclusively for neuro-rehab. Lauren something. She’s been watching me, waiting for the big blowup. I don’t feel that way. I just want to get my life back. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been wheeled down that hallway that night, hadn’t seen it. But that woman’s dead. And who will speak for her? J. J. Dodds? He just wants to be chief.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “Who spoke for Theresa Chambers? Nobody. We messed up. Bud killed her. He got away with it because he was a cop.”

  “Theresa Chambers was killed by Craig Factor, Will. You know that.”

  “Bud Chambers had been separated from his wife. She had a restraining order against him. He had beaten her up once, and the patrol guys let it go. We fucked this one up, Cindy.”

  She winced from his profanity, or maybe because he called her Cindy. He couldn’t tell which.

  “I understand how strongly you feel.” She touched his knee again. “But just because a cop is separated from his wife doesn’t mean he should be a suspect. We’ve been separated for more than a year.”

  He realized she was making a joke. He forced himself to laugh even as his stomach dropped. It was time to shut up.

  “I’ll try to do better. I won’t bother Dodds.”

  They sat quietly, more aware of the overhead lights as the city was overtaken by the early dusk.

  “I talked to the woman in charge of rehab today,” Will said. “She said you could talk to her about starting the process to get me out of here, bring me home.” He laughed. “Everything’s a ‘process’ now.”

  Cindy sighed and nervously tugged at her skirt.

  “It would be nice to come home for Christmas.”

  “This is too soon,” she said. “I see how you need help to even get into your wheelchair. We’d have to modify the house with ramps…”

  “So I’ll get a couple of big cops to wrestle me into a car.”

  “And what about when you’re home? I can’t even begin to…”

  He reached over and took her hand. “You won’t have to. I can be very self-sufficient. You’d be amazed at what I can accomplish just here in the hospital. I won’t be trouble. Pretty soon I’ll be walking.”

  Her gaze moved past him, again. “We haven’t lived together in a long time.”

  He felt a paw grip his insides. He said quietly, “I know.”

  “Your doctors say you’ll need a lot of physical therapy.”

  “I’ll get it. I’ll do a lot better on the outside. God, I can’t even sleep. Can’t you talk to them? Please, Cindy, get me out of this place.” He knew he was pleading. He couldn’t stop the urgent cadence of his voice.

  “I brought your stuff.”

  He could tell she was managing him.

  He was too tired to fight her. Too scared. After a moment, he looked through the bag she had brought. Another two pairs of sweatpants and some T-shirts, a CD player and CDs, small packets of Kleenex, his wallet with cash inside.

  “Thanks. I haven’t even been able to buy a Coke.” He paused. “I feel bad that I wasn’t able to get you a Christmas present. Remember, the doctors wouldn’t let me drive once they found the tumor.”

  “It’s okay.” Her voice was barely audible. She was carrying the Coach handbag he had gotten her for Christmas two years before, meant as a peace offering as their marriage was coming apart, piece by piece. The room had emptied out completely. They were alone with the hospital smell and the Christmas garlands.

  “Will, I can’t…”

  He suddenly felt such heaviness. She could have just stood and walked away, simple movements that were both miracles in his new life. But she sat there and spoke.

  “I’m not like you,” she said quietly. The harshness fell from her eyes, replaced by tears. “I’m not noble. I have a job. You have a…calling.” She didn’t speak the words like a compliment. He gripped her hand but she pulled it away. “I can’t put my whole life on a shelf to, to…put it right for the dead. I’m not a damsel in distress anymore, so what am I to you? I’m not a mu
rder victim.”

  “Cindy…”

  “I can’t…” She waved him away, pulled into herself. Her face became red and tears streaked her cheeks.

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not!” Her eyes were red and fierce. “You’re always so goddamned reasonable! It’s not okay. None of it is. And you know it! You’ve never even forgiven me…”

  “That’s not true.” He felt a sucking hole in his middle. He reached for her again, but she pushed away.

  “Wait, Will. Please. I’m not…I can’t. You and I, we’re just too different. I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “I thought I could. I had thought it all through. I wanted to wait for all this to be over. I prayed you would be all right, and I’m so glad you came through the surgery. But this is never going to be over. Don’t you get it? Will, I can’t do this. I can’t take care of you, be your nurse.”

  “I don’t need a nurse!”

  “I can’t give up the rest of my life. I’ve given up so much already, for you, for Sam, and he won’t even talk to us. I have a career. I’m still young. I’m entitled to a life, you know.”

  He had met her at a bank robbery. She was a teller and he was a young patrolman. Somehow he had found the courage to come back and ask for her phone number. She had been a young woman with a shy smile and a two-year-old baby. They had married six months later. It had all happened too fast. Eighteen years had happened too fast. He now recalled how, two days after his surgery, a nurse was helping him from the bathroom back to the bed. He had been constipated for a week, and suddenly he shit on the floor. Just shit on the floor. He couldn’t move fast enough to get back to the toilet, or even take a step. He could just move enough to see, in the mirror, the horrible brown cord snake out of him onto the floor, and to see Cindy’s expression of disgust. He knew she was thinking: I had married this?