Memories Never Die

by C Thomas Cox

  While he tended to his nose, Rollie grabbed my shirt and shoved me onto the bed. "Anita was right. You are dangerous."

  "It was an accident."

  "It's always an accident." He shook his head as he escorted his injured co-worker from my room and locked the door, leaving me sitting next to the blood stains on the floor.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The night I broke the man's nose was the loneliest night of my life.

  Minutes after the mental health workers departed -- which I guessed must've been eight or nine o'clock -- I noticed the pupils of a hairless man staring at me through the single one square foot window in my door. Due to the window's height, the door obscured the bottom of his face. Oak Ridge must've considered me too dangerous for video monitoring alone.

  I laid in bed for at least an hour, glancing at the man's eyes every few seconds. I was afraid to do more than glance, as I wanted to avoid anything that could trigger an adverse reaction. During the hour, every time I tried to digest what had occurred that day, my eyes were drawn back to his, making concentration impossible.

  I was pleased when, after an hour, he walked away. I assumed he just had to use the facilities, but he never returned. I guess Oak Ridge didn't have the budget to assign me a twenty-four-hour guard.

  Other than that hour -- and the delivery of a Styrofoam tray containing barely buttered pasta, rubbery chicken breast, and a plastic spoon -- no one else darkened my door. I can't say I was upset.

  Although I desired time away from Oak Ridge's staff, I wanted, more than anything, to find a sympathetic ear. Someone who would listen to me. Someone who would believe me. Someone who knew my heart -- who knew that, regardless of my PTSD, I would never intentionally hurt any person...or any animal.

  Claire was supposed to be that person. She was supposed to be my rock, the one who would trust me no matter what...and the one I could always trust. After a half century together, however, she appeared ready to throw all of that away.

  I still wasn't certain about her motivation, though. I was sure that my dangerous behavior played a part -- possibly the only part. However, I wasn't convinced that her relationship with Gene was as innocent as she made it seem. At least that's how I'd felt ever since I saw them together in the kitchen.

  Their conversation in the kitchen wasn't the only private time they shared. About a year before, I encouraged her to coordinate the baseball concession stand volunteers. Gene's calendar was already full enough when Sonya, the prior concession head, decided to step down. And since I didn't want him to have to tackle concessions in addition to the rest of his commissioner duties, Claire was the next woman up.

  As usual, Claire was more than happy to help. However, helping seemed to entail frequent evenings at Gene's place. Before I spied them in the kitchen, I had just chalked the meetings up to the complexity involved with running the stands at four separate baseball fields. But what if I was wrong?

  Regardless, she wanted nothing to do with me. And, although I wanted to understand her true motivation, I didn't expect her to visit anytime soon.

  In fact, I didn't expect anyone to visit. Other than Claire and Gene -- I was certain she told him about my confinement -- no potential visitors had heard about my new abode. At least that's how I felt that night. Lying alone on the bed and assuming that my marriage was over, I felt helpless...hopeless. Lying to protect Claire shoved her away, and telling her the truth separated us irreparably. With my best friend on her side, I didn't know to whom I could turn.

  Staring at the dimmed fluorescent light on the otherwise blank ceiling -- my room didn't include a switch to turn off the light -- I was certain I wouldn't be able to fall asleep. I couldn't get my pounding heart to slow, and the buzzing of the fluorescent tube was enough to drive any sane man crazy. Eventually, however, exhaustion got the best of me. I passed out, sure that I was stuck in Oak Ridge indefinitely.

  ***

  I awoke to knuckles rapping hard against the outside of my door. The mental health worker outside didn't wait for me to respond. He opened the door, backed out of the way, and let in a man whose presence transformed my outlook completely.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Charlie, my boy!" I cried as I hopped out of bed and embraced him. Although I didn't even have time to rub the sleep from my eyes, the joy of my son's presence woke me instantly. I was surprised -- and thrilled -- to learn he drove all the way down from Buffalo to see me.

  He wrapped his arms around me, but I could tell he was careful not to squeeze too hard. "I'm fine, buddy," I said. "Been a couple long days, but don't worry about hurting me."

  After setting down a suitcase filled with a week's worth of my clothes, he placed his hands on my shoulders. "You sure you're okay, dad?" He glanced around at our suffocating surroundings. While he did so, couldn't help recalling how much Claire said he looked like I did at his age. His well-defined jawline. His oversized nose. The mop of black hair.

  "I'm fine," I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and yawning. He lowered himself into the immovable chair.

  "Mom's really worried." I shook my head. "She told me what happened." Concern was the only emotion I could glean from his soft brown eyes.

  "What did she say about Scout?"

  He looked away and hesitated for a few seconds. "She told me that you...you k-killed him."

  I reached my index finger under his chin and pulled it up. "Look at me, Charlie. Look at my eyes. Do I really look like I would kill my own dog?"

  After staring at me for a bit, he shook his head. "Never, dad. You loved him." I grinned. "Mom seems so convinced, though. She said you've been seeing things."

  I bit my lower lip. "She's right...I did have one episode." I shrugged. "But that was it. Just one. And that was triggered by the guy who killed Scout."

  "You mean the guy who mom says you’ve been imagining?"

  Though it wasn't really funny, I couldn't help chuckling. "Yep, that's the one."

  "Why don't you tell me everything that's happened so far?" I thought that was a reasonable enough request, seeing as how Claire obviously polluted his mind with her theory that I was losing mine.

  Starting with Half-Ear's abuse at the baseball game, and ending with him nearly running me over in the driveway -- and then returning to finish off Scout -- I laid everything out. I even acknowledged my lies in my failed attempt to shield Claire from the fear that I was certain the truth would instigate.

  "This guy's pure evil. He has it in for me. He killed the dog, and now I'm terrified that he's going to go after your mom."

  "Did you tell her?"

  "I told her I was trying to protect her, and I told the cops that Half-Ear is going to try to hurt her. I told my shrink, too. But no one listens. No one believes me." I tried to keep my composure, but I couldn't reign in the sobs...the tears. Regardless of how Claire treated me, I could never deny that I still loved her.

  "It's going to be okay, dad," he said with a pat of my shoulder -- and a patronizing tone that reminded me too much of his mother. As I looked into his wandering eyes and saw him fidget with his pocketed keys, I could tell he was ready to go -- and that he wasn't quite sure that he should believe me.

  "I know it's hard, but you've gotta trust me. If only there was a way I could prove everything to you."

  "I just need some time to process everything," he said as he rose to his feet.

  If only there was a way to convince him. To show him some undeniable proof. As I played back the interactions with Half-Ear in my mind, I searched for a way. And, as I did so, I recalled one piece of evidence that he might have left behind.

  "I've got it!" I shouted as I nearly leapt to my feet. "I know a way to prove that he was at our house." I grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and held him in place. I couldn't let him leave without telling him. "When I bashed in the Pilot's headlight, pieces of the bulb and its plastic housing fell onto the driveway. Up near the street, right by where mom found me unconscious. I bet they're still there."
/>   Although I could tell he was skeptical, I believed him when he said, "I'll look for them."

  "Thanks," I said. I was happy to latch onto that tiny bit of hope.

  "Just take it easy, dad." And, after a quick embrace, he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  After I finished off the eggs and toast that one of the workers delivered for breakfast, someone must have decided that I wasn't quite dangerous enough to keep in isolation forever. Rollie barged in and said, "Let's go." This time, I wasn't about to protest.

  As he escorted me down a cream painted cinder-block hallway that reminded me of my high school's corridors, I didn't dare ask where he was taking me. On top of my fear that any wrong move could keep me confined indefinitely, I wasn't sure I wanted to know our destination.

  After a minute or two, he opened a solid oak door to his left, nodded to indicate that I should enter, and slammed it behind me. "Please have a seat, Mr. Richmond," a deep female voice boomed. Its owner -- a woman who I was sure I saw in a recent heavyweight mixed martial arts fight -- sat behind a gray steel desk and glowered at me. I sat. "Name's Angela White. I supervise the mental health workers on the Blue floor." Her fake smile was impossible not to see through.

  When she didn't immediately strike up a conversation, I took a few seconds to glance around the sparsely furnished room. Though her office wasn't much larger than my living quarters, it was filled with the chairs we occupied, desk, computer, three matching filing cabinets, and a small table on which sat a blooming white lily. Behind the lily, a window covered in wire mesh let in in a beam of sunshine that illuminated her cratered face.

  "So, you spoke with Dr. Spangler last night?" She glanced down at a paper resting in front of her.

  I nodded, but remained intentionally silent.

  "And how did that go?"

  I felt like laughing, as she was clearly baiting me. I struggled to keep the laughter in check. "Probably could've gone better."

  She nodded. "I think that's an understatement, don't you?"

  I shrugged. "Maybe."

  "And then, after she left, you assaulted one of our mental health workers?"

  "Accidentally."

  "That's not how this report reads." I furrowed my brow. "And I'm not one to trust patients over our highly-trained staff."

  "Can I explain?"

  She shook her head. "Maybe later." I knew there wasn't going to be a later, but what could I do? "Let's discuss the terms of your confinement, shall we?"

  When I didn't move, she said, "Good. Glad we're in agreement." She turned to the computer monitor and clicked her mouse a few times. "As you might know," she said, still staring at her screen, "we're only allowed to keep involuntary commitments for an initial one-hundred-twenty hour evaluation."

  I didn't know this. Although I'd seen my share of psychiatrists, I had no experience with inpatient mental health treatment. Regardless, it was great news. "So I get to go home in four days?"

  "Not quite." She read further. "I'm just looking for...oh, there it is." She looked up from her screen. "I was just confirming that Anita filed the certification for extended involuntary treatment.” I held my breath. “She did." My quizzical look prompted her to continue. "Per the Pennsylvania Mental Health code, for patients with a history of dangerous conduct, we can request to add twenty days to your stay for Extended Emergency Involuntary Treatment. Your conduct obviously falls into that category."

  "But --"

  "Of course, you will have the opportunity to argue against extended treatment this afternoon during your brief hearing before a Mental Health Review Officer. A public defender will be assigned to represent you, while an attorney from the County Law Department will represent Oak Ridge."

  I was stunned. They were now angling to keep me confined for nearly a month! In the meantime, Half-Ear would be free to hurt Claire. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It was all too much to bear. "When can I meet this defender?" I needed to figure out a way to get out.

  "He's actually waiting for you."

  She rose from her chair, ushered me out of the room, and walked me across the hall and through an open door. Inside, a thirty-something man in a navy pinstriped suit sat. He leapt to his feet as soon as we arrived. "Jonas, would you mind paging the mental health team when you're done? They'll escort Mr. Richmond back to his room."

  "Yes, ma'am." He allowed his outstretched hand to be engulfed by hers before she exited and shut the door behind her.

  Jonas gestured for me to sit, and I did so eagerly. My legs felt like they were ready to give out. "So, Mr. Richmond --"

  "You can call me Jim."

  "Okay, Jim. Did nurse White tell you about this afternoon's hearing?"

  "Just the basics."

  "I'll fill you in on the details, but first I want to make one thing clear. I'm on your side. Although I work for the government, your interests are all that concern me."

  I nodded. Though he seemed genuine enough -- his slight southern drawl didn't hurt -- I doubted he had the wherewithal to help set me free.

  "That being said, what are your interests? I mean, we both know that you're an ace or two short of a deck. Do you really want to leave Oak Ridge? Do you think that's what's best for you?"

  Oh, damn, I thought. The cards were stacked against me. But I had to give it a shot, right? Claire's life was at stake. However, up to that point, the truth had only done me harm. "Sure, I've had a couple PTSD episodes recently. But I had similar episodes forty years ago. I didn't require inpatient treatment back then."

  "I see your point." As he adjusted his tie and leaned in close, I noticed the camera in the corner of the room. I wondered if anyone could hear our conversation -- and later use it against me. "But you know that this time's different, Jim. You're dangerous now."

  "I'm sure that after a few weeks of outpatient appointments I'll be good as new."

  "Maybe." He pulled a page out of the portfolio by his side and laid it in front of me. "This is the likelihood you'll be able to win your case, even with me in your corner." I looked down at the two-column bar graph. "This one," he said, pointing to the column on the left, "represents the number of cases won by the Oak Ridge." The column he indicated was nearly ten times the height of the other. "As I'm sure you can guess, the other column represents the number of cases won by patients seeking their release."

  I sighed audibly. I couldn't catch a break! "So, Jim, do you still think we should contest Oak Ridge's certification?"

  I had two choices, of course. I could fight the certification with little to no chance of winning, or I could comply with their decision and rot inside Oak Ridge for the next three plus weeks. Neither was acceptable, but both would likely end the same way.

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "I don't think we should contest the certification. Perhaps they're right. Perhaps I am best served by staying at Oak Ridge and working to get better."

  "That's admirable of you." He called for a mental health worker to escort me back to my room, and then stood up and reached out his hand. I followed his lead. "I wish you the best of luck, Jim."

  "Thanks." And I meant it. Although I wasn't happy with the lack of options, it was better that he told me the truth. I'd hate to piss off Angela, Anita, and the rest any more than I already had. I was afraid that if I did so, I'd find myself locked inside even longer...with even more surveillance.

  Besides, I figured, fighting the certification wasn't the only way I could escape. Maybe there was another option.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Although I sat silently in my room and tried to devise some way to get out, my mind was as blank as my high school composition book. It wasn't until much later in life that I learned that I could write...a little.

  Regardless, I'm not James Bond. Heck, I'm not even Inspector Gadget. As soon as I would attempt to leave my room, I was certain that mental health workers of the larger variety would charge like the bulls in Pamplona. I second guessed my decision not to ask Jonas to
attempt to fight my extended stay.

  I laid my head against my thin, hospital-grade pillow and stared at the fluorescent tubes. Although doing so made my eyes burn, for some reason I couldn't resist. As strange as it may seem, the brightness drew me to the light, like I was an insect about to be zapped. Then, without warning, the light appeared to transform from the hollow tube I initially saw overhead.

  The fluorescent tube didn't turn into a bug light, however. Instead, flames replaced the artificial light that illuminated my room. Ferocious flames. Flames that unnaturally shot out of the ceiling toward me, licking at my clothes, my skin. Fire that threatened to devour me.

  Instead of moving, I stayed still, letting the heat radiate pummel me. I felt the burn. I enjoyed the burn. I needed it. The pain…the cleansing.

  "But after death they undergo purification," is how the Catholic Church describes Purgatory. Purgatory, in essence, is a supernatural cleansing of the soul that occurs before God admits one into Heaven. Author Dante Alighieri, in the second act of his Divine Comedy, describes Purgatory as a seven-tiered mountain through which the deceased rid themselves, one-by-one, of the seven deadly sins. Dante’s Purgatory, however, isn’t focused on fire. Painter Ludovico Carracci, on the other hand, depicts purgatory as a fiery pit that burns away the imperfections lingering after death. Carracci's purgatory is the one in which I found myself.

  As the flames began to burn blue, I felt heat the likes of which I had never before experienced. Not like campfire or fireplace flames, I felt as though I was in the middle of a burning building. My flesh wasn't merely hot -- it felt like it was melting. I tried to lift my head to see what was happening to me...if I really was burning to death. But my neck muscles had lost all their strength. I was helpless!