METROCAFE

by Peter Parkin

  She caught him looking. "Are you horny or something?"

  He rubbed his hand over her left breast. "Yeah, something like that." "How's your hand?"

  "Seems to have healed up nicely. It definitely won't affect my performance if that's what you're worried about." Mike flashed his best devilish smile.

  Cindy leaned up on her elbow and looked directly into his eyes. "What did you think of that tape of the news footage tonight?"

  "That was quite something. Nice to see people stepping up to the plate when others are in trouble. The girls sure had a good chuckle joking that it was me, eh? Especially Kristy."

  "How'd you hurt your hand again, Mike? I forget."

  Mike squirmed. "I tripped on the sidewalk and went down hard." "Wouldn't you have scraped your palm, then—not the knuckles?"

  "Not the way I fell."

  Cindy sat straight up in bed and Mike saw that familiar look of challenge in her eyes. He braced himself.

  "Why are you lying to me, Michael? What's going on? I know that was you in the video. Even with the images blurred, I can recognize my own husband, you know."

  Mike pushed himself up into a sitting position, then suddenly began to feel faint. He tried to answer Cindy, but his mouth wouldn't work. Her face began to look distorted and the room was swirling. He brought his hands up to his forehead and covered his eyes. He could hear the muffled words "What's wrong?" but he wasn't sure who was saying them. He pulled his hands from his eyes and a bright light flashed in front of them, just for a second, but brilliant enough to momentarily blind him. Mike heard loud explosions going off in his head, and he thought he was going to pass out.

  Then, in an instant, all became calm again. He could clearly see his pretty wife, with the short-cropped blonde hair sitting beside him on the bed, her face full of concern. He had to respond to her—what was that question again? Something about lying?

  Mike leaned toward her and took her hand. "I would never lie to you, Mandy."

  He had expected a gentle kiss, but was shocked to see the sudden horror in her eyes as she lurched away from him, tumbling not so gracefully over the side of the bed.

  Chapter 7

  Everyone loves a hero. Particularly an anonymous one. Such a fantasy always appeals to the masses, and provides a distraction to the rigors of everyday life. It gives hope that the 'good guys' are still out there, somewhere, and that once in a while they will swoop to the rescue and clean up the shit. Sort of like Batman or Spiderman.

  The mass media know this phenomenon very well. Toronto television stations all picked up the hero story, and the subway video was being shown over and over again. They appealed to witnesses, as well as to people who might recognize the hero, to do their duty and come forward. And they appealed to the mystery man himself to proudly step to the front and assume his throne.

  Predictably, the newspapers began a series of "subway violence" articles, digging into decades-old archives, chronicling the history of the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) from suicides, accidents and blackouts, to murders, rapes and muggings. After reading these articles it was a wonder anyone ventured onto a subway again. There were the predictable calls in the editorial columns for increased police presence on the subway trains and platforms, and surveillance cameras in all of the train cars.

  To Mike, all of this was unsettling. He knew now that he was the businessman in the train; he couldn't deny it any longer. And after watching the video, flashes of memory of what had happened came back to him. His brain had retrieved a vision of the incident, clearly seeing the thugs and seeing himself doing what he had seen on the video. But his memory included details that the video hadn't shown. So, in that respect he was relieved. It wasn't at all like the blackout he had experienced in his office. This time he could remember what he had done. The unsettling part was that he had needed the video to trigger the memory.

  The Baxter's phone had been ringing off the hook as a result of the constant media barrage. People had recognized him, or at least thought they had. It didn't seem like it was going to let up. Mike was convinced the press would not surrender the story until they had pressured the anonymous hero to identify himself. They were relentless and over the top, as usual with any story with the least bit of sensationalism.

  Friends, relatives and neighbors were calling and suggesting to Cindy that her husband was the hero. Even their eldest daughter Diana was getting calls from her friends. She was finally starting to give in to Kristy's assertions that their dad was the 'man of the hour.' Mike absolutely refused to answer the phone himself.

  Diana had asked him several times now if he remembered anything at all. After all, Cindy had indeed warned Diana after Mike's lightning bolt accident that he might have periods of blackout. Cindy had decided not to talk to Kristy about this, as she was still too young and easily frightened. Diana however, was so mature for her age. But Mike didn't know what to say to Diana; he didn't want to confirm it, and didn't want to deny it. So he always just shrugged and left her in limbo. Not right, he knew, but he didn't know how to explain it to her because he didn't understand it himself. And she was still just a little girl, no matter how mature she was.

  His first day back at the office after the first news telecast about the incident, made Mike feel very uncomfortable. Walking through the office amongst the staff, he could feel, if not see, heads lift up from their desks and follow him. He could sense their eyes boring into him as he passed and he could hear the whispers.

  It reminded him of an unsettling experience he had had about twenty years ago when he had walked into a Burger King restaurant in downtown Toronto. This was around the time that the infamous Scarborough Rapist, AKA Paul Bernardo, was enjoying his reign of terror and the newspapers had published a sketch of the suspect. The sketch was posted in virtually every public place. Mike walked into the restaurant for lunch the first day the sketch had come out, and was stunned to see what looked like a drawing of himself on the wall behind the counter. Round face, blonde hair, boyish good looks— that was Mike in a nutshell when he was in his mid-twenties. All eyes in the restaurant were staring at him, or at least he thought they were. He noticed one of the employees nudge another worker, point at him, and then nod in the direction of the sketch. Mike felt so self-conscious that he turned right around and left without even ordering his Whopper.

  The looks from the employees in his own office now brought that self-conscious feeling back, although admittedly it was significantly different this time. Twenty years ago he thought people suspected him of being a monster. Now people were pegging him as a hero.

  It had been a tense few days at home since they had watched the video together. Cindy had insisted on talking about it the next morning, particularly the part where he had addressed her as 'Mandy.' Mike could only explain that away by saying that he had been thinking of Gerry and naturally had also been thinking about Amanda. Cindy had protested that the only one who had ever called Amanda 'Mandy' had been Gerry. It was his little term of endearment. So why had Mike called his very own wife 'Mandy?' Mike couldn't answer that, and didn't volunteer to her that she had actually looked like Amanda that night, at that weird moment. Sure, he remembered saying 'Mandy' and remembered seeing what he thought was Mandy right there in front of him on the bed, with her short blonde hair. Once Cindy reacted by falling off the bed in shock, it was like Mike was awakened from a trance.

  He was now quite scared, and his imagination was starting to conjure up an unbelievable and crazy scenario.

  Cindy had implored him to postpone his trip to Brazil and Mexico. Mike reluctantly agreed, and contacted Troy to change their travel plans to a couple of weeks later. Cindy made him promise that they would visit their family doctor together. Mike agreed to that as well. He knew he couldn't live in denial any longer about what was happening to him. He wanted this strange stuff to stop.

  The good thing about their family doctor was that he was also a longtime family friend who just happened to have been a psychiatr
ist years ago before changing to family practice. He told them that he had switched because illnesses in the minds of his patients bothered him so much that he had had to go see a psychiatrist himself for depression. He now practiced family medicine, but only for a few close friends. He was semi-retired.

  So because of their doctor's background, the psychological aspects of health issues could be addressed at the same time, something the Baxters had never availed themselves of before, and thankfully had never had to. Until now.

  Mike and Cindy were sitting in the plush office of Dr. Bob Teskey, facing out onto busy Yonge Street. They were lounging on the mandatory comfy leather couch, when Bob entered the room with a smile on his face and a coffee in his hand. "Hey guys, haven't seen you since your Christmas party.

  You should have popped by earlier than this though after that accident in Florida. Talking over the phone is not the same thing, you know."

  Cindy jumped up from the couch and gave Bob a hug. Mike waited his turn and shook his hand. Bob Teskey was a tall, lanky fellow, with a thick mop of hair. He always wore the strangest glasses that seemed to have double-thick lenses, making his eyes appear quite bug-eyed. Mike thought that Bob looked like the stereotypical psychiatrist the way a casting agent would envision.

  "I should have been in sooner, Bob, you're right. Cindy kept insisting and I kept delaying. But, better late than never, I guess."

  "Okay, well, let's all sit down. Cindy has been keeping me informed on what type of symptoms you've been having, and I understand she's been e-mailing Fenton down in Sarasota—a good man by the way. I know him from a few conventions."

  Mike jumped right to the core of the matter, anxious to get this uncomfortable process underway and over with. "Yeah, I've been having some blackouts—for relatively long periods of time during which I seem to be able to function: walk, talk, etc. Kind of what you'd expect from a sleepwalker, maybe. However, I seem to behave differently during those blackouts than I normally would, and I don't seem to have any memory at the time of what I've done—although a couple of times it has come back to me later."

  "Mike, I have to tell you, you look just like that guy who's all over the news right now. The subway hero? Come clean with me—was that one of your little escapades?"

  Mike was surprised by the blunt question, and the calm way in which it was asked. But then again, that's what this guy was trained to do. He looked over at Cindy and he could see in her eyes that she wanted him to be truthful, to get help for this.

  "Yes, that was me alright. I didn't remember it until Cindy showed me the video."

  "Are you going to go to the police?"

  Mike crossed his arms over his chest. "I hadn't planned to, no. I really don't want the publicity."

  "I didn't say go to the press. I said the 'police.' You probably have some descriptions of those two guys in your head right now that may help the authorities. And going forward with this may help you, knowing in your heart that you're doing the right thing. It's part of acceptance and closure."

  Cindy was nodding her head in agreement. Mike looked over at her and smiled, nodding as well.

  Bob continued. "That subway incident is several days old now. What prompted you both to come in to see me today? It must be something more recent?"

  Mike went over to the side-stand to get some water for him and Cindy. "I think Cindy needs to tell you this part, Bob."

  Cindy jumped in without hesitation, detailing to Bob the seven hour blackout that Mike had suffered in his office, the occasional trembling hands, and then what happened while they were sitting on the bed after viewing the subway video. Bob just nodded as he listened, while jotting down some notes.

  He looked at Mike when Cindy had finished her story. "What was happening to you while you were sitting on the bed? Any physical or mental symptoms? Can you recall?"

  "Yes, I can. A dizzy feeling, lights flashing, something like explosions in my head, stuff like that. Then it all went away and I saw Amanda, of all people, sitting in front of me on the bed. It seemed so normal and, well, it seemed right. I wasn't shocked or surprised to see Amanda's face. I could clearly see her short blonde hair. I wasn't looking at Cindy anymore. I was looking at Amanda. And it felt like she was my wife." Mike reached out and held onto Cindy's hand, squeezing it. She squeezed back and smiled at him, but he could see that all the color had left her face.

  Bob nodded, got up from his seat and started pacing the office, his hand rubbing his chin. "What explanation do you think goes along with this behavior, Mike?"

  "I honestly don't have a clue. However, I've been wondering, and this will sound really crazy, but is it possible that some brain activity of Gerry's connected with mine when our heads knocked, when the bolt hit?" Mike realized after asking the question, how stupid and supernatural it sounded. If Bob didn't think he was nuts before, he was probably convinced now.

  "Well, there's no scientific evidence for that at all, although it's highly unusual for two people to knock heads at the exact instant a lightning bolt hits. So I doubt there are any precedents for this, because it has probably never happened before. I'll do some research on it though, crazy as it sounds. But scientifically, I don't think it's possible. The real question is: do you think it's possible? Because if you do that may explain a lot. The brain can play tricks on us if we believe something fervently enough. It can make fantasy reality, and make an irrational fear become real."

  Mike shifted in his seat. He didn't know what he believed. "No, I'm not saying I believe that at all. I'm just throwing it out as a question. You're the scientist—you know what's possible and what isn't."

  "Well, for example, Mike, if you lost yourself in a daydream or self-hypnosis about Gerry and began to believe Gerry was with you or in you, that might explain why in that dream-like state you saw Amanda instead of Cindy." Bob paused and then continued, slowly for impact, "But that wouldn't explain you turning into a ramrod hero on the subway. You've certainly never been a fighter, and I'm sure Gerry wasn't capable of running around beating people up on subways!" Bob laughed at the image he had created.

  Mike rose from his chair. "C'mon Cindy, it's time for us to go."

  Bob put his hand out in the stop symbol. "Whoa, I don't think we're finished yet. Don't be in such a hurry."

  "I'll be back, Bob, don't worry. But I've had enough for today. This is all too unsettling for me."

  Cindy opened the office door as they prepared to leave, but suddenly Mike turned around and faced Bob again. "That's just the thing Bob—Gerry was capable. He was a champion boxer during his university days and was even invited out to the Olympic team. He continued to develop his fighting skills while he was in the military. He could handle himself real well, trust me. He could have easily gone pro."

  *****

  The next day, Mike walked into the central police precinct and asked to see one of the detectives in the violent crime unit. He only had to wait about fifteen minutes before he was ushered into the office of a Sergeant Bert Stevens. Mike didn't waste any time. He told the detective that he was the businessman on the subway, but that he didn't want any publicity. Stevens promised him that he would keep him anonymous.

  Mike filled out a report form that Stevens handed him, including his name and address. Then he gave a description of the two low-lifes he had beaten up and thrown off the subway. His description included nose rings, ear rings, studded lips and eyebrows, scars, tattoos, orange hair, and ass-cracks. He left nothing out—his memory of the details was remarkable considering he had been in basically a blackout state.

  Stevens thanked him for coming in and promised again that he would not be identified. He asked Mike if he would agree to attend a private ceremony if he was nominated for a citizen bravery award. Mike said no. Stevens accepted his decision without protest; in fact Mike thought that he detected a look of respect in the man's eyes. He guessed it was probably a rare thing for citizens to do good deeds without expecting something in return, and maybe because of that the de
tective saw Mike as a breath of fresh air.

  He shook Stevens' hand and left through the unit's outer office area, an area filled with clerical personnel. They were busy clicking away on their computers, no doubt trying to track down sordid histories on countless perpetrators.

  Mike didn't notice the eyes following him; he was too intent on thinking about whether or not he had left anything out of his descriptions of the thugs. Nor did he notice the camera phone in the hand of one of the secretaries, extended above her cubicle wall, catching his full frontal image.

  Chapter 8

  "Daddy, you lied to us. Why? You always tell us not to lie."

  "Diana, I didn't really lie, I just didn't know how or what to tell you. I was ashamed of having you see me on TV beating people up. That's not how I wanted you to see your dad."

  "See, Diana. I told you, I told you!" Kristy was pointing at her sister, and barely able to contain her enthusiasm. Mike could see she was clearly taking the news better than her sister.

  Cindy intervened with her motherly touch. "Diana, your dad and I went to the doctor a few days ago and talked about this. Do you remember we told you when we got back from Florida that dad might have some blackouts and do things he wouldn't remember, due to the lightning bolt?" Diana nodded, but kept a stern unforgiving look on her face. "Well, that's exactly what happened here. I know it's hard to understand but your dad didn't remember, at first, doing what he did. Doctor Teskey is going to try to help us. After that visit we decided to tell you girls the truth."

  Diana seemed to lighten up a bit. Cindy continued. "And, your dad has already gone to the police and told them what happened. He described the bad guys and hopefully now they'll be caught. The police even want to give your dad a heroism award. What do you think about that?"