Memories Never Die

by C Thomas Cox

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nevermind...I just think a psychiatrist such as you might be able to dig deeper than me. I can tell he's trying to shut me out."

  Oh, God, I thought. She was right, of course. I was trying to shut her out, but not for any of the reasons she may have suspected. I wasn't turning into the old me. I was merely trying to protect her, after all. I didn't want her to battle the fear that afflicted me, to live with the knowledge that, at any moment, a stranger might kill her husband.

  "Sure, ma'am. Be happy to. But you know that he'll need to cooperate in order for me to be able to help him."

  "I totally understand. I'm hoping that, if I leave you two guys alone, he'll open up to you. And that, if he does, you'll be able to help him -- to help us."

  "I'll try my best."

  Her light footsteps faded as she vacated the room and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  After what felt like several minutes of silence, I opened my eyes, assuming that I had somehow missed the shrink's footsteps as he followed Claire out of the room. Perhaps, when she mentioned leaving us alone together, she referred to a later time. I was wrong.

  Seated in the chair that Claire had previously occupied was a forty-something gentleman with a puff of wavy black hair situated above a pudgy face. Dr. Zimmerman was inscribed over his left lab coat pocket.

  "I hear you've had a rough day," he started after introducing himself. Although he mentioned he was a doctor, he didn't reference his association with the mental health community. "Would you like to talk about it?"

  Typical psychiatrist, I thought. Expecting me to pour out my stream of consciousness like the audio version of some Stephen King novel. I wasn't going to allow it.

  "Yep, I got myself pretty cut up." I held up my hands and pointed to my cheek. That was enough, I figured. He would have to ask -- no, beg -- if he wanted me to divulge more.

  "Hmmm," he said. "That's unfortunate." A papercut -- that's unfortunate. Maybe even a fishhook that a thrashing bass forces into your thumb. But a psychopath that tracks you to your house and nearly runs you over -- that's a little more than unfortunate!

  Although I wanted to throw what really happened back in his face, I sat stoically. "How'd you hurt yourself?" he asked.

  "Slipped and fell."

  "Must've been a bad fall."

  "Yep."

  "No one else was there?"

  "Nope."

  He looked down and tapped the tips of his thick, stubby fingers together. "And what's this I hear about a stick?"

  "You mean the one I used to play fetch with my Golden Retriever?"

  He sat silently, not knowing what to say next. I answered all of his questions, and he likely didn't know whether or not he should believe me. I liked it that way. "Claire worries too much," I added, hoping to lead him further away from the truth. To prevent him from asking any more questions, and to make certain he was aware that I knew Claire put him up to his interrogation.

  He shrugged and, with a wave, wandered out of the room. After I heard him whisper a few lines to someone in the hall, Claire, the apparent recipient of his message, walked in. When I saw that she had no food in her hands, I was certain that she had listened in on our entire conversation.

  "Why'd you lie to him?"

  I shook my head. "It's true, Claire. You do worry too much."

  She slapped my leg, and her saintly façade melted like a birthday candle lit by a blow torch. "What the hell's wrong with you, Jim? You think I'm too stupid to know that you've been lying to me ever since your episode in the backyard?" I was just happy she didn't realize I'd been lying ever since the ballgame. "An episode out of the blue must've been triggered by something, Jim. That's what all your psychiatrists said." She was right, of course. "Were you having another episode when you were clutching that stick? Did you think someone was coming after you?" I nodded sheepishly.

  My god, this is perfect, I thought. If she believed I was merely suffering from additional episodes, she’d never get close to the truth…to the danger that lurked nearby. Instead, I’d encourage her empathy. "That's why you didn't fish with Gene, isn't it? Another of your episodes was starting, and you wanted to handle it on your own."

  I nodded again and reached out my stiff and sore hand toward her. She shuffled over and pressed it against her soft cheek. "It'll be alright, Jimmy. I promise." A tear slid down her cheek and onto my fingers, the warm saline burning my cuts once it founds its way beneath the bandages. I didn't dare move, though. I didn't want to startle her or make her think I rejected her affection. She was, after all, the woman I considered my soulmate. I only withheld the truth from her for her own protection.

  She cautiously laid my hand down and then settled back into the chair beside me. "Do you know what made the episodes return?"

  I took several deep breaths, hoping that the effort I put into each one would somehow convince her that I didn't feel well enough to address the issue head-on. "Take your time, honey. I'm not going anywhere." Of course she wasn’t.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "I first felt my chest tighten at the baseball game," I said.

  "I knew it!" she exclaimed -- as though she had just won a TV trivia gameshow -- before I had the chance to continue. "I knew you weren't telling me everything."

  Thinks she knows everything, doesn't she? It was getting easier and easier to use her overactive imagination to my advantage. "You're right, Claire. It was rough. I just wasn't ready to talk about it. I'm sorry." I forced a tear down my cheek. Though I hadn't performed on stage since a failed stint as a camel in my grade school Christmas pageant, I had always been able to cry on demand. This was the first time that skill came in handy.

  She nodded and I continued. "I know I played it off as though some parent went crazy. In reality, he didn't do anything wrong." I sniffled. "It...it was just that he was...Vietnamese." I coerced another tear out of my eye, and she bought it. "I know it's wrong to let someone’s race affect me so deeply, but out here it's rare to see anyone from that tiny country. Seeing a Vietnamese man just brought back so many awful memories."

  "Oh, Jimmy." She leaned in and, weaving around the IV, wrapped her arms around my chest and embraced me. I put my one unencumbered arm around her and patted her back, pleased that she believed my story. It was partially true, and it felt better than completely making something up. If she felt that the mere presence of someone of Vietnamese heritage could trigger my episodes, there's no way she'd suspect that anything additional had occurred -- which was exactly as I wanted it.

  Unfortunately, my admission prompted Claire to ask something for which I should have been prepared. "Did you like Doctor Zimmerman?" she asked. "I think he seems genuine...like a man that you might be comfortable talking to."

  I nodded, knowing exactly where this was going. I wasn't at all on board with what she was going to suggest, but I didn't see a better option. Although I didn't want to waste my time seeing a shrink, Zimmerman was probably a decent choice. He didn't seem to pry, so I could easily keep my secret where it belonged -- inside my mind.

  "Now that you've had two episodes in just the last two days, I'm going to insist you again start seeing a psychiatrist. And who better to see than a doctor you've already met."

  I shrugged my shoulders. "You know how I feel about psychiatrists."

  "Yeah, but..."

  "I'll do it."

  As though Pennywise arose from behind my bed, her face expressed a level of shock that I hadn't seen in years. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I actually surprised her. And that surprise caused the shock on her face to morph into something even better. First sympathy, then affection, and finally joy that I consented to her plan without arguing. A peck on my cheek confirmed her glee.

  She glanced at her vibrating smartphone. "Looks like our food's ready. I'm going to grab it from the café, and I should be back in ten."

  Once she exited, and after the nurse stopped in to check t
he level of saline solution remaining in my bag, the image from Vietnam flashed back into my mind. And, as the vision in my mind's eye came into focus, I recalled a detail that I hadn't noticed while lying on the driveway. Behind the irate farmer, a small boy emerged from the farmer’s quaint home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Resting in my living room recliner, I couldn't help shifting from side to side. Though I was pleased that my attending physician discharged me from the hospital on the same day I arrived -- after listing to several hours of me complaining -- I didn't feel much more comfortable at home. Being near the last place that I saw the man with half an ear, I was on high alert. From the squirrels skittering across the roof to Gene's tires running roughshod over the sticks and gravel that coated the driveway, every sound caused my neck hairs to stand on end. And Claire's presence made my anxiety worse. After all, I could not allow her to wander into the line of fire when Half-Ear returned. Therefore, I was pleased when Gene, himself a sturdy gentleman three years my junior, stopped by to check on me.

  "You gave us quite a scare," he said after Claire ushered him into the room. I was glad that, as soon as he sat down, she left to take a walk. She needed the fresh air, and I appreciated the unintended privacy she gave Gene and me.

  "I'm fine. Just fine." I replied. I wasn't sure what I would say next.

  "You don't look fine." His jaw hung as he stared at the damaged side of my face. Since I had headed straight to the living room upon arriving home, I didn't have the opportunity to look in the mirror. After seeing his expression, I was glad. "Anything I can do for you?"

  I shot him a half grin -- the bandage covering the left side of my face didn't allow more. Though he likely expected me to request a drink or possibly even assistance walking to the restroom, I merely asked, "Do you mind staying here for a bit?"

  "Sure. Whatever you need."

  I wanted him to remain at the house for at least the next hour or so, as I believed there was a good chance that Half-Ear would return shortly after I returned from the hospital. The monster knew I'd be recovering at home, which is when I'd be at my weakest and most vulnerable.

  While I had Gene's attention -- and we had privacy -- I decided to divulge my second and final request. "After you leave, would you mind grabbing one of your deer rifles, plus a box of ammo, and dropping them off in my shed?" He cocked his head in puzzlement. "I'll pay you for the ammo, of course. And I'll eventually return the shotgun."

  I tried to keep my eyes focused on his, but he turned away. "You okay?" I asked, trying to ascertain what bothered him -- and to act like my request was completely normal.

  "Why the rifle? You've never hunted before."

  "I won't be hunting for food or sport, Gene. I could never get into that." I shifted in my seat. "But this critter's been coming 'round my property, and I need to protect Scout."

  He knitted his eyebrows. The only predators in the area large enough to harm a Golden Retriever were the black bears that occasionally wandered through. But, although a black bear had been caught a month earlier, York County wasn't exactly a hub of bear activity.

  He must've recalled the bear's presence on the Channel Eight news, though, because his expression quickly changed from bewilderment to one of shock. "Really? You've actually seen one in your yard?"

  I nodded. "But listen. I haven't told Claire about it. I'm afraid she'll be scared to death. So, if you don't mind --"

  "No worries, Jim. Your secret's safe with me." He placed his broad hand on my shoulder. "If you want, I can stay here overnight in case it comes back. Although I'm sure you can figure it out, I have more experience with the rifle."

  "Thanks for the offer," I said. "But one bear can't compare to thousands of Viet Cong."

  He chuckled. "I'm sure you're right." Although he had served as an Army Reserve, he was never on the front lines.

  My intent was not at all to denigrate his service to the United States. Therefore, I was glad that he took my comment in stride. In fact, I believe that anyone who serves the broader good is worthy of respect. That being said, fighting in enemy territory is an experience that I wouldn't wish upon any of my fellow Americans. Gene -- thankfully -- never lived through that experience.

  After updating me on the scattered Walleye that he heard were caught during the prior week, he grabbed me a glass a water and him a can of Budweiser. "I wish I could join you," I said. "But it probably isn't a good idea to mix alcohol with the morphine still chugging through my veins."

  He grinned. "You'll be back to being my drinking buddy soon enough." By drinking buddy, he didn't at all mean that we got drunk every weekend. Far from it. In fact, sharing more than two beers with Gene was a rare occurrence. After all, I realized decades earlier that the shelter I sought in alcohol was only temporary. It could never truly rid my mind of my episodes, and it threatened to shove Claire out of my life altogether. Therefore, I learned to keep my drinking to a minimum.

  After my recent experiences, however, I started to second guess that decision. I recalled with fondness the escape -- if only fleeting-- that beer could bring. A freedom from the constant fear and anxiety that otherwise plagued me.

  I shook my head. I had to rid my brain of that horrible thought. Alcohol nearly destroyed me, I told myself. But I wasn't convinced. I wanted...needed...an escape from reality. Freedom from the devil that tormented me. I stared at Jim's can, and I felt a drop of saliva run out of the corner of my mouth and onto my chin. A drink may be my only way out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I fell asleep while Gene was talking and woke to an empty room. The muted television displayed a Penn State football game, and I heard voices coming from just inside the kitchen. I turned my head slightly, and my half-open eyelids allowed me to observe the conversation between Claire and Gene without their knowledge.

  "What do you make of him?" she asked.

  "Not sure. Still seems out of it. He nodded off after twenty minutes."

  She shook her head. "I just don't know if I can deal with this again."

  He held out his arms, and she laid her head against his chest. He rested one hand against the center of her back, and held the back of her head with the other. Why was he touching her? I involuntarily clenched my fists, sending a blade of pain into my wounded palms. I suppressed my desire to scream.

  Although I know that comforting a friend of the opposite sex isn't unheard of, for some reason Gene's action ignited a fire that I hadn't felt since my earliest years of marriage. It wasn't the act of holding Claire itself, but rather the way he did so. It was caress more than hug, affection more than comfort.

  "It'll be alright, Claire. It'll be just fine."

  "But...these episodes," she said, stepping back. "They're becoming more frequent, causing him to say things…to do things he wouldn't otherwise." I felt confident she was referring either to throwing Scout such a large stick or to injuring myself so easily.

  "Have you told him?" Gene asked.

  She shook her head, revealing that my assumption was entirely wrong. But what had she not yet revealed to me?

  "You know, you need to tell him."

  She nodded. "I know. I will. I'm just hoping he remembers on his own. I don't know that I can break it to him." I was confident that I hadn't forgotten any aspects of my encounter with Half-Ear. Perhaps something occurred after I lost consciousness?

  "Do you want me to be there?"

  She looked up at him with an appreciative grin that I previously thought she reserved for me. My fists clenched again, and the pain returned. "Thanks, Gene, but I can't let him question why you’re here. Not now. It'd be too much."

  "I'm sure you're right." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "Just holler if you need anything."

  She nodded. He patted her shoulder and left, leaving us alone again. As soon as she started to turn toward me, I shut my eyes. Her footsteps drew closer.

  She stopped, and I felt her cheek against my forehead. I didn't feel feverish, but it didn't hurt to chec
k. Besides, I was able to pretend her touch woke me.

  "How do you feel, honey?" she asked as I fluttered my supposedly sleepy eyelids open. Her usual sincerity, however, was replaced by a rigidity bordering on indifference. She appeared as though she was only asking out of a sense of obligation.

  "Much better," I said. Just better would have been more accurate, as the pain in my hands and face were more bearable. But I wanted to convince her I was healthy enough for her to divulge the secret that she had thus far kept hidden. And to show her that I was strong enough to beat the tar out of anyone who got too close to her -- even if it was one of my friends. She was my best friend, and I wasn't about to let Gene steal her from me. Or to let him convince her that I wasn't mentally or physically stable enough to continue to be hers.

  When she turned toward the kitchen without another word, I gingerly pushed off the arms of the chair with my palms, knowing full well that I'd be in a world of pain. It didn't matter. I needed to get some fresh air. I couldn't stand to be trapped inside with Claire any longer.

  Once I applied pressure against the arms, though, the chair creaked and Claire spun around. "Where do you think you're going?"

  I climbed to my feet. "Just out to the patio. I need fresh air."

  She shrugged. "Okay, fine." She reached her hand under my elbow and helped me amble out the door and into one of the sling back patio chairs. I didn't have the patience to explain to her that I had no trouble walking -- that I hadn't injured my legs.

  After I sat, she started to head back inside. "Can you let Scout out?” I asked. “I'd love to see him." I was far from ready to confront Claire regarding the Gene situation, but I still desired company. Company who loved me unconditionally. Company I could trust.

  When she didn't immediately respond, I turned and realized that she had stopped in place. Still facing away from me, she began to sob softly. She covered her mouth with her hand, but she was unable to contain the sadness that had apparently escaped from within.