by Meg Lelvis
“That’s a heavy burden of guilt to carry around for ten years, Jack. I think some day you’ll be able to let yourself off the hook for it, for being human. It’s in our nature to think distant adversity won’t happen to us.”
“Yeah, it’s taking a long time to convince myself it wasn’t my fault. Blamed the relatives for a long time, but finally got over that.” Jack straightened his legs. “Banbridge was only ten miles from Dunmurry where we visited an uncle for a couple days. Then we headed to Omagh to see another cousin. I’ll despise that name forever.”
Jack continued to tell Clemons about driving the scenic route around Lough Neagh, a huge picturesque lake, and later reaching Omagh, a town known for its parks, cathedrals, and shopping, sixty-eight miles west of Belfast. Spent Thursday and Friday sightseeing with his cousin’s family, and Saturday afternoon, he, Karen, and Elizabeth went on their own to the town centre. The day was balmy with blue skies, the town bustling with tourists and local shoppers buying clothes and supplies for their children in readiness for the new school year.
The three strolled along hand-in-hand, browsing in shops, riding the ferris wheel and merry-go-round at the annual carnival, their little blue-eyed girl screeching with joy. Around 2:45 they found a pub where Elizabeth wanted ice cream, Jack and Karen a cold beer. Elizabeth held up a bright purple plastic bracelet on her wrist for them to admire. She’d won it at the carnival.
Jack stood at the bar waiting for their order. He overheard the bartender telling a customer that everyone was being evacuated from the courthouse. Several men at the bar talked on cell phones about threats, but Jack only heard random words. He asked the bartender what was going on. The guy said he just heard about a threat at the courthouse, and police were sending people the hell out of there toward town centre. Warnings were not unusual, he told Jack, but of course Banbridge got bombed two weeks ago, even though the IRA was trying to broker a cease fire. Anyway, the pub was a good distance from the courthouse.
Jack told Karen what he heard, and they decided to head home. He asked Elizabeth if she needed to use the restroom before they left. He remembers her words, “No, Daddy, I don’t have to go potty, but you can.” Jack chuckled. “How did you guess, sweetheart?”
They stood and pushed back their chairs. Karen said, “We’ll wait for you outside, honey.” Those were her last words to him, forever engraved on his heart.
When Jack headed for the men’s room in the rear of the pub, his watch read 3:12 PM.
Three minutes later he dried his hands and opened the door to leave.
At first it didn’t register. Crashing, unearthly boom, bang, walls cracking, floor shaking, plaster crumbling. He floated above himself, looking down. Nothing computed. Everything gray. He opened his mouth, nothing came out, a silent scream. Then gasping, grasping, hands out, legs anchored to the floor, then quicksand. Why couldn’t he run? All the gray, where was the door, the bar, tables askew. Several men inching themselves up, bloody, yelling.
Had to reach Karen and Elizabeth. Why couldn’t he run? Was that him screaming their names?
Piles of concrete, wood slabs in the way, go around, jump over, everything slow motion. Shit, he tripped, something tore his leg, sliced the side of his calf. Red with blood, who cares. Gotta run. Had to get to them. He tripped over wood planks. Landed on all fours. Scrambled up, hands and knees cut by shattered glass. It registered. The bomb.
Oh god. The bomb.
After an eternity of hell, he stumbled out of the crumbled facade of the pub. Oh god, where were they? The stench hit him, acrid smell of burned rubber, cordite. Looked around. Heard screams from behind, on all sides. A fucking war zone, a black and white news reel of the siege of Berlin. A man bleeding from his nose grabbed Jack’s arm, “have you seen my wife?” Jack brushed him off, madly stumbling, scrambling, searching. Oh Christ, bits of bodies, limbs—
His stomach lurched. Nooo— a small white arm with a purple bracelet rested alone on a concrete slab. Everything went black.
. . . . .
The next thing Jack knew, Clemons was patting his shoulder. Then he handed him a glass of ice water. Jack choked, sweat and tears rolling down his face. He he gasped for breath and gulped the water.
“Not too fast, drink slowly. Here’s some Kleenex.” The doc’s voice soothing.
Jack wiped his eyes and brow. “Fuck, doc, what happened?” He took a couple deep breaths and was silent for a minute. “Sorry for bawling. My old man always said Bailey men don’t do that.”
“Jack, I’ve seen tough hardcore veterans break down and cry profusely. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s a healthy release.”
“Can’t go on anymore. Can’t do it.”
“But you did, Jack. You relived most of that day. Almost to the end.” Clemons smiled.
Jack felt like he’d been through a wringer. He stood and walked to the wall of windows and gazed at the rooftops and buildings. He rubbed his eyes and face and turned toward Clemons.
“Christ, doc, gotta admit I feel kind of relieved, like I got released from something. Dunno, can’t explain it.”
“That’s good, Jack. It means the process is beginning to work for you.”
“I’m wiped out. Can’t do any more today.” He returned to the sofa and sank down.
“That’s fine. I think the hardest part is over. I’d like you to come back Monday.”
“Yeah, maybe the worst is over. Only thing left was finding—ah—”
“I know, Jack. We’ll talk next time. Meanwhile, go home and relax. You did well today.”
Jack felt Clemons was pleased with his work even though it was a bitch to get through. He was proud of himself, unusual for him. He willed himself not to think of that horrific day ten years ago.
He’d face the rest soon enough Monday.
Chapter 32
The next morning Tilford poked his bald head in Jack’s office. “Good morning Jack. Got a minute?”
“For you, always.” Jack clenched his jaw.
Tilford lumbered toward a chair and plopped down. “I’ll get right to the point, Jack.”
“First time for everything.”
“You know that domestic me and Hector got called to a couple days ago?”
“Where’s that point you were getting to?”
“Yeah, well you know the wife, a Ms. Hale, husband beat the crap out of her for the third time in eight months. Never pressed charges.”
Jack shrugged. “What else is new?”
“So her eye’s gettin’ more purple by the minute, has a fat bloody lip, she’s holding her arm that’s bleeding, and there’s a little kid standing in the kitchen doorway peeking out.” Tilford loosened his tie around his rumpled neck. “Could feel myself getting really pissed, so I take the wife into a bedroom down the hall while Hector’s dealing with the prick of a husband.”
“I tell her we’ll keep comin’ over until the bastard kills her unless she agrees to press charges.”
Tilford cleared his throat. “She knows there’s help out there, and finally I tell her she’s a lousy mother sending her kids the message it’s okay to beat your wife, and they’ll grow up, do the same damn thing.”
“Did it sink in?”
“Something must’ve cuz she agreed to charge him. He’s in custody now and social services is workin’ with the lady, so hope it pans out.” Tilford eased himself out of the chair.
Jack nodded. “Gotta admit, Tilford, ya done good.” Maybe the geezer wasn’t so bad after all.
Tilford grinned. “Thanks, Jack. Only compliment I’ve ever gotten outta you.”
“Don’t push your luck. Nice work. Later.” Ja
ck waved him out the door. Good for Tilford.
Those domestics usually don’t end well. Jack never understood women who let themselves turn into punching bags for some sleaze ball. They’d say they still loved the guy. That’s love? Gimme a break.
His cell buzzed. Terri. Maybe a lunch invitation? “Lieutenant Bailey,” he answered.
“Aren’t we formal. Good morning, Lieutenant.” Jack could visualize her smile.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Couldn’t be better. I have a proposition for you.”
He smiled. “You have my attention.”
“Got plans for Labor Day weekend?”
A loaded question. “Maybe.”
“I have a friend who owns a beach house in Galveston, she’s gonna be gone, and she said I could use it. We used to go there when the kids were little. Anyway, quiet neighborhood, not a lot of other houses.” Terri paused. Jack didn’t speak. “No one would know us around there; we’d be alone, just us and the beach. We could stay a couple nights, Friday and Saturday.”
Jack was caught off guard. Wasn’t sure their relationship was on that level yet. “Well, I could see, ah, check my work schedule.”
“Really. I thought you made the schedule.” She sounded taken aback. “But if you’d rather not—”
“No, sounds great, just let me check things out. See what I can come up with.” He was stalling and figured she knew it.
“Okay, Jack. Have a good one.” She clicked off before he could respond.
Great, now he’d offended her. A weekend at the beach with Terri. Why didn’t he jump at the chance? A freebie house. Was he frickin’ nuts? Maybe it was too soon after purging his guts at Clemons’s office yesterday. Last night gauzy thoughts of his wife and child floated in his brain, and this morning fragments still remained. He told himself not to rush anything. Wait awhile. Call her later.
Jack headed down the hall toward the exit. Time for lunch at home and a walk with Boone, even though it was hotter than Dante’s inferno. He ran into Denise dragging a young black girl toward the interrogation rooms, followed by fellow cop, Kathleen Nolan, and two other rowdy girls tugging at their handcuffs and cussing.
“You watch your mouth, sister,” Denise yelled as she held the girl’s arm in her grip. “Get moving.”
Jack approached them. “Young ladies causing problems, officers?” He suppressed a smile.
Denise stopped, shoving the girl toward Jack. “You bet, Lieutenant. Here, you wanna deal with these so-called young ladies, and I use the term, ladies, loosely.” No question Denise was pissed.
He looked at Kathleen. “Shouldn’t they be in school?”
She tossed her blond ponytail back. “Inservice day. They were caught shoplifting at the mall.”
Denise said, “Yeah, I have my way we’re gonna throw the book at ‘em.”
A skinny girl, long bleached corn rows down her back, said, “You cain’t do that. Our first offense.”
Jack took a step toward her, his face close to hers. “You telling us what we cain’t do, missy?”
The girl raised her eyebrows, defiant look still on her face.
Jack was tempted to stay, see Denise in action with the little bitches, but he wanted to get out of there. “Carry on, officers. Keep me posted.” He held up his hand in salute. The girls stared at him.
The group continued their way toward the interrogation rooms. Denise said loudly, “I told you, don’t give people a reason. You just perpetuate the stereotype. Don’t act the stereotype. Hear me?” Her voice faded down the hall.
Jack smiled. She told it like it is. He’d always thought Denise was an excellent role model for young black girls. So she wasn’t always politically correct. Good for her.
The rest of the day and weekend passed without incident nor interest. He spent an hour changing three light bulbs for Baumgartner, including one inside a ceiling fan globe. High level engineering for him. Lucky he knew which end of a hammer to use. She rewarded him with a substantial slice of strawberry pie after his labor and wrapped some up for him to take home.
. . . . .
Monday Jack arrived at the station, and mid-morning called Terri. He needed to quit procrastinating and give her an answer about the beach house. After much deliberation, he decided he’d go for it. He’d suggest driving separately, he arriving later. Give him an open window for escape if he wanted to leave early. An entire weekend may prove too much.
After four rings, Terri picked up. “Hello, Lieutenant. Have time to check your schedule?” He detected a distinct note of sarcasm.
Jack gave a short chuckle. “Yeah, guess you caught me off guard. Not every day I get an offer of a weekend at the beach.”
“Maybe you’d rather stay home.” She sounded pissed. Did he wait too long to call back?
“I’d rather be with you.” He paused. “Think it’s best if we drive separately?”
“Yeah, easier to meet there.” Her voice changed abruptly. “Oh, this’ll be exciting, Jack. Can’t wait. Haven’t had a vacation for months.”
“Me neither. Tell me the plan.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. He felt upbeat.
“I think we should leave Saturday. The traffic will be a bitch on Friday with the long weekend. We’ll get there around noon, give or take, stay two nights, head home Monday morning. If we leave early enough, traffic should be okay.”
“Sounds like a plan. Haven’t done the beach since the nineties; need to get new swim trunks.”
“Don’t forget sunblock.” Terri laughed. “You can rub some on me too.”
“That can be arranged.” He heard a knock on his door. “Gotta run. Catcha later.”
He clicked off, annoyed at the intrusion. “Yeah,” he called.
The door opened and Hector stuck his head in. “‘Morning, Jack. Just ran into Murphy.”
“Come on,” Jack said. He hoped the captain didn’t want anything.
Hector sat across from Jack. “He asked about the Kaplan case, pissed nothing’s new. He knows it’s a dead end for now anyway. Said he’d see you later.”
“Shit,” Jack growled, “just what I need. Don’t know why we can’t just put the fuckin’ thing on the back burner and go on.”
“He’ll probably tell ya to do that. You going to Moose’s barbeque next weekend?”
“Nah, got other plans.” He looked at Hector. “None of your damn business.”
Hector held up his hands in mock defeat and chuckled. “Hey, I’d never stick my nose into your life.”
“Yeah, right, like nobody else around here. You going?”
“Yeah, we’ll go. Getting together with family too.” Jack knew Hector had a large extended family in the Houston area. Couldn’t keep ‘em all straight.
Hector stood. “See ya later, Jack.”
“Right.” Jack turned to his computer and checked his email. Nothing but crap. He hadn’t thought much about his appointment with Clemons this afternoon. He knew he needed to talk about the rest of that nightmare day, but at least he’d opened the door. Maybe today wouldn’t be as wrenching as last time.
. . . . .
Jack managed to escape his office without Captain Murphy accosting him, and at 3:10 was seated comfortably on Dr. Clemons’s plush leather sofa.
“Gotta tell ya, doc, I am feeling better. More in control or something. Still can’t explain things very well.” Jack took the glass of water Clemons offered and set it on the glass-topped coffee table.
“I’m glad to hear that, Jack. You made good progress last time.”
“Guess I should start where I left
off.” Jack waited.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Clemons reached for the water glass on his end table.
“How was your weekend?” Good of the doc to start off easy.
. . . . .
“Didn’t do much, relaxed, helped my housekeeper with home stuff. Finished my book about the Lusitania. What a fucked up mess that was.” He cleared his throat. “You probably won’t like this, doc, but I’m getting together with Terri next weekend. Labor Day, you know.” Brilliant observation.
Clemons smiled. “Yes. I can see you’re a little conflicted about that, but you need to make your own decisions, of course.”
“That means you won’t tell me what to do?” Jack knew the answer. Don’t know why he said it.
“That’s right, Jack. You’re in charge.”
“That’s what worries me.” They sat in silence for a moment. Jack reached for his glass and took a gulp. “I think it helped reliving that day of hell, even though it was miserable to get through. Almost feels like I’m paying tribute and respecting their lives, Karen and Elizabeth. Why should I bury them in my mind? I’ll never forget them no matter how my life turns out.”
Clemons nodded. “Good insight, Jack. I agree.”
Jack shook his head, looked down. “Parts of that day are a blur, others I’ll never forget. Seeing her arm, unspeakable enough, but knowing it was hers. Felt like a tunnel of blackness, the light getting narrower and narrower, all black. Then someone was shaking my shoulder, saying “wake up, come on, wake up, buddy.” Jack shifted around on the sofa. “I looked up and this young guy stared at me, helped me sit up. The stench hit me again, gasoline, burned rubber. I must’ve been blabbering, the guy asked who I was looking for—”
Clemons listened as Jack talked, as if in a trance, of the guy, this nameless stranger talking to him when he spotted Elizabeth’s body a few feet from her arm, blue sun-dress drenched in red blotches, other arm reposed above her head as if she were napping. He must’ve held her, carried her.