by Amelia L. Rodgers ©2001 all rights reserved
(this story is a sequel to part one, and makes clearer incidents that happened in Frozen, and other UFO stories I've written )
To Ed Straker. Enough said.
Not to be used without author's permission.
E mail author
The wind whipped and tore at his hair as he lovingly arranged some white daisies, her favourite, in a vase on top of the headstone, after disposing of the dead ones he'd brought on his previous visit. He visited the cemetery once a month so he knew every square inch of it. Perhaps this would be where he was laid to rest, when it came his turn to die. Not Arlington, as befitted a veteran of the United States Air Force, but beside her. It had been, remarkably, almost two years now. He didn't look back at where the hired car was parked, but he could feel Alec's sympathetic eyes on him. It was excessively hot in the first week of August, but he had insisted on wearing his Burberry trench coat over a black suit, and now he withdrew a gold charm bracelet from its pocket. It was a simple design, with a gold disc charm on it that said Horsepiss. It had been one of the only things he had left, to remind him of her. The other was her bright yellow Nokia. Everything else he had given to the grieving Yolanda and Ryoko and Margaret's other friends. They had been able to cry easily. He alone had not cried. Not at the news that she had been rushed to hospital, not at the quiet announcement from the somber doctor that she was dead, not at the funeral for her, nor the burial nor the wake. But he mourned. Merciful God, he mourned. He laid the bracelet almost reverently on her grave. He traced the letters on her marble headstone. Margaret Sakura Fielding Straker. Beloved wife. Requiescat In Pace. He sighed.
Sleep, darling. Sleep. I'm coming soon. I promise.
He resignedly turned toward Alec, who seemed relieved to finally be going, but the earth seemed to sway and his vision dimmed, and he blessedly went unconscious. Alec caught him as he plummeted down, before he could hit his head on her granite headstone.
"Dr. Constantine." Paul Foster forced warmth into his voice the way you'd try to stuff one last dirty towel in a washing machine. This bitch was tough. Even Jackson seemed to keep his distance from her. Hard as diamonds. But he wasn't going to wait any longer. Everybody knew Ed was washed up. Nobody talked about it, to be sure. But the death knell had been ringing a long time for him. And someone had to sit in Ed's chair. He was going to make damn sure it was Paul Foster. Oh, Alec kept tiptoeing around it, covering for Straker when he was late, fudging in the reports, feeding Henderson a line about how hard the Commander was working, when Straker wasn't even on duty. Oh, yeah, part of him felt sorry for the Commander. The rumour had it that Maggie had been drinking on the night she'd smashed up her yellow Fiat and died in the hospital, even that she and Straker were having trouble in the marriage, arguing on the very night she died. And Straker seemed to walk around in a haze half the time, staring into space, only coming back to life when there was a crisis in HQ. He seemed to have given up, and uncharacteristically he didn't seem to care who knew it. Somebody had to be the boss, and Paul figured he was the man for the job. He told Caroline Constantine as much. Was that a dark shadow that crossed her eyes? No, for it had disappeared and was replaced by a coy smile. Funny, too, because he never figured on her being shy.
"Before we can declare the Commander too instable to continue in his job, and present the commission with the idea of me as head of Shado, you'll need to write up a report on me. Can I get you to make it favourable, Doctor?"
"That depends."
Damn, what was this?
"On what?" he replied, trying to keep frustration out of his voice.
"On you and I having dinner at my place, tonight. I'll cook us something. Let's say about eightish? You can get my address from Miss Ealand."
He broke into a relieved smile. So she wanted him in her bed. That was easy enough. She was a beauty. Easy as pie, this was going to be.
"Count on it." He took her hand, and planted a kiss on it. He then left her office in Shado HQ. Constantine watched him as he slid past the doors. She grinned in pleasure, with supreme satisfaction. Then she picked up her phone and dialed Miss Ealand.
Ed Straker opened his eyes. Alec Freeman was understandably staring at him. Ed groaned.
"What the blazes happened to me this time?" Ed wearily asked, taking in his surroundings. He was vaguely aware that someone was sitting behind Alec, in one of the chairs, and that he, Ed Straker, was in hospital, for the-oh what did it matter how many times he'd awakened in an Godforsaken hospital room?
"Know that jet lag you kept complaining about? Guess what? It wasn't jet lag. You've got a fever. They took some blood while you were semi-conscious. You're at San Francisco General Hospital And you could at least attempt to look grateful that I saved that white skull of yours from connecting with hard marble."
"Alec, why did you even bother? Okay, I want to get out of here."
"And do what? Walk back to England? Okay, okay, I know that look. I'll go see what I can do to get you transported back to Mayland to recover. I'll go work miracles again and not be appreciated as usual. You stay in bed. I'll be right back."
"Quit feeling sorry for yourself and go do it," Ed told him, staring at the plastic bag that his wrist IV was connected to. He could hear the steady beep of the medical telemetry machines behind him. Alec sighed dramatically and turned to the person that was sitting in the room.
"You see? You see, Doctor? This is the thanks I get. I don't know why I put up with him. If he even moves to get up, pull the respirator plug out."
Ed heard a woman chuckle, and he adjusted his pillow with his free hand to try to see her. Alec was blocking his line of vision. He guessed she was a doctor or nurse.
"Mr. Freeman, Mr. Straker isn't even on a respirator. He's breathing normally." Ed heard her say.
"So put him on one, *then* pull the plug. Okay, I'm going now. I'm not needed Nobody loves me."
"Will you go, already, Alec?" Ed complained, but he couldn't help but draw his mouth into a slight smile at his friend's antics, which he knew were for his benefit. Alec sighed again, a sigh more dramatic than any actor at the studio could conjure up, and went out the door. Finally he could see the woman. She wore a white tunic embroidered with the hospital name and an ID on a lanyard around her neck. A stethoscope was stuck into one of her pockets, along with a pen. She had a mass of dark hair drawn away from her face with a wide black hairband. She looked to be in her late thirties, slightly overweight, not tall, with expressive brown eyes, thick black brows, and a perfectly shaped mouth. She smiled at his look of appraisal, and took her stethoscope from her pocket and rose from the chair. She wore a large turquoise ring on one hand and a thin jade band ring on the other, Ed noticed. Confidently, she approached his bed.
"How long have you two been friends?" she asked.
"Too long. Way too long. Too long than I care to try and remember. My memory isn't what it used to be. Who are you, by the way?"
"I'm Dr. Spencer, Claire Spencer. Call me Claire. Relax now, I want to listen to your heart." They tell you in classes to remain objective, not to get involved with a patient, Claire thought. But there's something compelling about this man, something that made me practically beg to be assigned to him, no matter how exhausted I felt after running around all day. Maybe its those beautiful blue eyes, that partially opened and then closed again when they brought him into the ER. Wonderful blue eyes, like blue ice. Is it my imagination or do I see pain in them? Ryan's always telling me I see things that aren't really there. Claire rubbed the end of the stethoscope so it wouldn't be cold for him. God, he was thin. Didn't he have a wife to feed him? Did any woman care about him the way the man with the Australian accent obviously did? He wore no wedding ring, no jewelry at all except for an Italian wristwatch they'd removed from him and put in the safe for safekeeping. And a pair of equally expensive looking aviator sunglasses, rimmed in gold, she remembered.
"With all those machines making noises behind me, how can you hear anything? Besides I hear that thump of the EKG. Regrettably, I'm still alive, take my word on it."
Claire frowned at him. Regrettably? Did he really mean he'd prefer to be dead? The way he'd said it sounded like he was serious. Shall I note that down on his chart, and let the psych department have a look at him? God, no, I don't want him to wind up their obedient little white rat, and shot full of all the lovely new drugs the shrinks were so found of these days.
"Hospitals are not the greatest place to be stuck in. I know the machines are annoying. And yes, I can see that you're alive. But I like to rely on good old fashioned methods too. And please, Mr. Straker, if you don't mind, I'd like you to stay alive as long as you're my patient." Claire patted his hand, and his face contorted for a moment then went expressionless. "God, did I hurt you? Are you in pain?" she said, alarmed.
"No, no. It isn't that. It's just that I haven't been touched in -no. Never mind. Hurry will you? Then go and see what's keeping my friend Alec. I've got to get back to England soon. I've got a lot of responsibilities. A lot. You're kind. You're very kind. What did you say your name is? I forget things, you know. I forget things sometimes." Ed's voice trailed off. He looked off in the distance, as she listened to his heart. But what he had said, what he had started to say, had touched a nerve in her.
I haven't been touched in so long. That's what he was going to say. Poor lonely man. I haven't been touched in so long. Didn't he have anyone to look after him? Oh, she was really going to be objective on this case, she scolded herself. But it would take a heart of rock not to react. How could such a strikingly handsome man in his late forties be so alone? She remembered in the ER, when he'd come in on the gurney, and they'd taken his clothes away routinely, cut off shirt, trousers, socks and shoes, and her shock at seeing the twisted scars on his body, particularly on his shoulder area and on one hip. One of the senior ER doctors had remarked this one's been through the wars, and had pointed to them. Those are bullet scars. Those are surgical scars. Claire remembered she'd been chilled to the bone at those words, uttered so casually. It wasn't like she'd never seen scars. She'd seen a whole lot worst than scars in that ER. It was the man, this man lying there. Oh, yes, I'm really detached on this case, she told herself. She listened to his heart. There were no irregularities she could find with her trained ear, and nothing out of the ordinary showed on the screen.
"Claire Spencer." she reminded him with a smile. He nodded faintly, looking tired. She folded up her stethoscope and put it away, then pulled his blanket up closer around him. He gave her a discerning look, almost like he wasn't quite sure what to do about her. On an impulse, she took his free hand in hers. That startled him, and he opened his mouth slightly, but nothing came out. What the hell am I doing, she asked herself? Is this for him, or is this for me? Oh God, Claire. What difference does it make if you show him some affection? God knows he needs it. Caring is what this profession is supposed to be all about, right? First, do no harm, the oath goes. Certainly to show this lonely man that for a few moments someone truly cared for him was not violating the Hippocratic oath? Besides, that fellow is going to take him away to England, and you'll never see him again. Oh shut up, Claire.
"Try and close your eyes and sleep. I'm going to stay with you until your friend gets back, and if I know hospital paperwork, and trust me, I do, it'll be a while. Besides, we're swamped today, and your bloodwork hasn't gotten back from the lab yet. So sleep, okay, Mr. Straker?"
"Ed." he responded after a few silent seconds. Claire smiled as his fingers closed gently around hers. He had such a marvelous voice. His hand was warm. His face was impassive.
"Ed then. Go to sleep, Ed."
He suddenly gave her the strangest, almost defiant stare. Not impressed, she returned it, but with the trace of a smile. Then his face relaxed and his eyes closed.
Paul Foster rang the doorbell. Caroline Constantine answered it. At Mayland hospital and HQ she wore business like trouser suits, and kept her hair pulled tightly back in a braided bun. However, the Caroline Constantine that stood framed in the doorway had on a flimsy brown silk negligee that didn't leave much to the imagination. Her hair was in loose curls, and the cloud of perfume that rose up around her was so strong, it probably would have been picked up on radar.
"Hello Paul. Right on time. Come inside, I'm all ready for you."
He handed her a bottle of wine. I just bet you are, he thought to himself.
"Brought the hostess some wine." he smiled.
She took the bottle, letting her hands linger on his for a moment.
"How thoughtful of you, Paul. Come inside, sit right down, I've made us a nice roast with vegetables."
Alec Freeman bounced into the room past Nathaniel Zouri with a sheath of paper in his hand, shoved his mobile phone back into a pocket, opened his mouth, and shut it quickly. The young gal they'd assigned to Ed was seated beside him, holding his hand while he slept. Alec smiled. In the aftermath of Maggie's death, he and Yetunde had played matchmaker to Ed, doing everything humanly possible to get Ed to go on with his life. But Constantine had told them that it was a long way off before Straker would ever consider looking at another woman. She told them that in her clinical opinion, Straker was coming close to what was loosely known in psychiatric circles as a nervous breakdown. Alec had actually guffawed at that thought, telling her it was preposterous. Ed Straker? Didn't Caroline know what they called Ed? Man of steel? Human iceberg? However, Alec had seen the signs himself. Nightmares. Memory loss. Staring into space. Coming to work unprepared. Neglecting studio conferences. Hardly eating. Never discussing Maggie, not even with Constantine.
Was it any surprise that Ed was so burnt out? The awful night of waiting with Ed at Mayland while Maggie was in surgery. The way Ed had gone completely white and just numbly dropped into the waiting room chair when the surgeon had told him I'm sorry, we did everything we could, but she's gone. The slight nod. The terrible effort to stay in control. Getting the manila envelope that held Maggie's things, including her wedding ring and mobile phone. Ed hadn't been the same since that night.
And to complicate matters further, the awful secret that Yetunde had told him about that night, one Alec intended to carry to his death. If anything would have finished off Ed Straker, finding out that secret would have. Ye Gods, hadn't the man had enough to endure, Yetunde had said? Alec sighed audibly. The intern heard Alec, looked up and gently freed her hand from Ed's. She led Alec outside the door, into the hall. She gave a polite smile to the giant Jamaican guard with the badge that read ZOURI on it who stood outside Straker's room. Alec nodded at him and he disappeared back into the room obediently.
"He's been sleeping pretty soundly for almost an hour now. His fever went down. The blood work came back from the lab, he had slight heat exhaustion, and he was depleted of essential vitamins and minerals. He seems to have lost a lot of weight, do you know anything about that?"
"Hell yes, he's hardly eating. Idiot lives on half a sandwich a day and endless cups of coffee. Won't listen to reason. I've got everything ready for him to be discharged and taken by ambulance to San Francisco International Airport. Plane's waiting to take him to Gatwick, to his own hospital in England as soon as he wakes up and is strong enough to be moved."
"Mr. Freeman, was it?" Claire flipped through the chart on Ed.
"That's right."
"You're acting as his next of kin?"
"If you have something to say, Doctor, spit it out." Alec said, more sharper than he intended. Why was he talking to this woman anyway?
"When I wanted to listen to his heart, he told me it wasn't necessary, that regrettably, his heart was still beating. Has he ever said things similar to that before? Has he demonstrated suicidal ideation?"
Alec sighed. Generally, he would have told her to go to hell, but there was genuine concern in her deep brown eyes.
"Look, I'm beat, let's grab some coffee. Unless you have rounds?"
Claire smiled.
"I got off duty hours ago. Your friend just seemed like he might need some extra TLC. I hope you don't mind."
"Hell no. If anyone needs tender loving care, its that idiot bastard sleeping away in that room. Come on, let's see how bad the coffee is in the cafeteria here."
"You're quite a cook, Caroline." Paul Foster purred. He could smell the leather of Ed's executive chair already. He made a mental note to have Ed's studio office completely redecorated. The HQ office too. First thing he'd do was throw that stupid paperweight on the desk into the rubbish.
"I have a lot of other talents, Paul." she assured him. God, it sounded like a script from one of the moronic soap operas the studio cranked out, the way they were talking to one another, Paul thought.
"Oh? Like what?" Give the woman what she wants, Foster, he told himself. A night to remember.
"Come into the bedroom and I'll show you."
"Lead the way, beautiful."
It didn't take him long to strip while she disappeared into her bathroom, and came out clad in a sheet held up to her chin. He smiled at her. He held out a hand and pulled her near him. It was then that someone jumped up from behind a screen, and flashbulbs popped in his face, one after the other, half blinding him.
"What the fuck?" he cried, hand reaching for his holster and a sheet. To his absolute horror, Colonel Virginia Lake put down the Leica that was strapped around her neck and pointed to his gun. Her expression was frozen, like it was encased in Lucite.
"You looking for this, Paul?" she asked calmly.
"Still think you're the right one for the Commander's job, Colonel Foster?" Constantine asked him, her tone poisonous. "The head of Shado" When you so easily put your head on the chopping block? Your sexual escapades are well known, Colonel. It didn't take much effort to lure you here, did it? I can't recommend you to General Henderson as someone who could fill Commander Straker's shoes. I don't think Henderson is going to be pleased when he sees the photos Colonel Lake just took, and he reads my report."
"You filthy bit-- wait a minute, you took off your clothes too! What will Jackson say ab--?
Caroline Constantine calmly dropped her sheet.
She was dressed in one of her usual trouser suits.
They were dragging him back to his cell, and the open ulcers on his legs bounced agonizingly against the hard, wet earth. It was unbearably cold, and they'd deprived him of sleep, it was one of their favourite things to do to make his, and every other man in the camp's life miserable. Angel's clear, beautiful voice singing "Nearer, my God to thee" and they dropped him into his cell, and handed him a bowl, and he gulped the contents down, close to starving. What did God have to do with a hopeless place like this? What did God care about a bunch of prisoners tortured on an almost daily basis? One guard laughed at him, saying something to him. Ed desperately clamped his hands over his ears, eyes squeezed tightly closed, teeth clenched in a rictus.
No, he didn't want to hear the words! Oh merciful God, no, don't let me hear the words!
You tell us everything, American! We spit on your code of conduct! You tell us everything! Now we shoot you and nigger. You told us all we want know! Nigger tell us how make you talk, and you told us all we want! ha ha stupid American!
Christ, no! I wouldn't have! You're lying! You filthy fucking son of a bitch, you're lying! But suddenly they dragged him out of his cell, and he could see the terror in Andy's eyes as the soldiers dropped Tank next to him in the pouring rain. "They're going to kill me Eddie, the gooks are going to kill me, Eddie! Don't let them, oh fucking shit, Eddie-- they promised me if I told them a way to make you talk that they wouldn't hurt me! Oh fuck Eddie, don't let them kill me! Don't let me die!"
"My God, I trusted you! How could you have done this to me, you fucking bastard? I TRUSTED YOU!" Ed screamed with the last bit of strength remaining in his battered body and soul. They shot Tank, and Ed watched the black man's brains explode right in front of him. Brain matter and blood still stained Ed's thin, tattered shirt, along with everything else. Ed raised his head and spit right in the face of the man with the rifle. The man yelled what must have been obscenities and put the gun's muzzle on Ed's head, but Ed was beyond fear. Let me die. Let me die. I broke the code of conduct. I told them all I knew. I betrayed my fellow prisoners, I betrayed the United States Air Force, I've brought shame on my mother. I deserve to die. Pull the trigger. Please. Just pull the trigger. I'm so sorry, mother. I haven't been worthy of the name Straker. I haven't been a good son. Goodbye mother.
Nothing happened. He heard them click the trigger, and nothing happened, and they laughed, and he screamed and screamed until he was something less than human. But it wasn't over yet.
Ed Straker moaned slightly in his sleep and turned his head from side to side, hands balled into fists. Nathaniel Zouri frowned and pulled out his mobile phone to call Alec.
They were dragging him again, just when he'd fallen into something vaguely resembling sleep. They dropped him on the ground, and he was too exhausted to even stand. Something was wrong, something wasn't quite right. Two men he didn't recognise were digging a deep hole in the earth, not unlike the one they used to dispose of the prisoners? bodily wastes. It looked to be at least five or six feet deep. One other man had refused to cooperate. Ed desperately tried to prepare himself for whatever method of torture they'd dreamed up this time. The one who had refused to dig was being whipped, finally they let up and the man fell to the ground but raised his head and spoke. He had a gentle face. He moved his hand in the sign of the cross over Ed.
"Q-tip, I'm so sorry. God bless you."
"Stanley?" Ed said in amazement mingled with hope. "Is that really you? Are you Angel?"
"Yes, son. God bless you. God keep you in His hands." Then the man sang Amazing Grace, leaving no doubt to his identity, and a peaceful feeling fell over Ed for the first time since he'd been captured.
It was then that one of the soldiers kicked him into the hole, and he screamed as he fell inside it. He retched up mud he'd involuntarily gotten into his mouth when he'd hit the bottom. Terrible realisation sunk in. The men started shoveling the dirt back in the hole and he screamed repeatedly, desperately trying to climb up, but there was nothing to hold on to. They were burying him alive. Dear God, they were burying him alive. He screamed and screamed for help, but none came. He was half buried, clawing at the mud, when one of them smiled at him, showing several missing teeth.
"You want out, American?"
"YES! HELP ME! OH GOD HELP ME!" Ed screamed, voice raw, face contorted in sheer horror.
"You tell us what we want know. Then we take you to cell, give you water, food, let you rest."
"No! The code of conduct--"
"Okey, American. You no tell, we bury you." The soldier shrugged and motioned for the men to start shoveling the cold mud in again. They complied. Huge chunks of it knocked Ed down and he scrambled to get up above it, his face completely covered with it, so that all that showed were his huge piercingly blue eyes, haunted with terror.
"NO! NO! I'll tell you! I'll tell you anything you want me to, for the love of God, I'll tell you, just get me out of here, please!" Ed sobbed. The soldier smiled. The men pulled him effortlessly out of what almost had been his living grave.
Later, back in his cell, and allowed to wash up after telling them all he knew, he drank the water and wolfed down the rice gruel with a precious few thin slivers of pork they'd given him. The guard laughed at, and mocked him.
"Now you like all the rest, American! You traitor to country! Where your code of conduct now, American?" Ed threw the bowl at the guard with all his might, a pathetic gesture as the guard slammed, and locked the door closed and it bounced harmlessly back at Ed. Ed screamed and screamed, and sobbed, and stuck his finger deliberately down his throat to throw up what he'd just eaten. He vomited for several minutes, bringing up blood with undigested bits of the gruel. He shuddered and rocked back and forth, sobbing. He sobbed himself to sleep.
They had broken him. Invictus was nothing but a lot of meaningless words.
Ed screamed and sat straight up in his hospital bed before Nate could finish the call.
"Commander, take it easy, you're okay. Easy now, you were just dreaming."
"Nate. Nate. Where's Alec?" Ed said in almost a wild manner.
There was something in Ed's voice that Nate did not like, not one bit. Straker seemed almost like a caged animal to him. He forced himself to keep the anxiety out of his voice.
"I just tried to call him to let him know you were awake. He was in the cafeteria, talking to one of your doctors. Soon as what-what are you doing, Sir? Sir.."
Ed yanked the IV out of his wrist, grimacing as a result.
"I'm getting dressed, Zouri. And then I'm leaving for England. Tell Freeman I'm going with or without him. His choice. Is that clear?"
Nate sighed.
"Crystal clear, Sir."
He watched as Straker dressed in a flash and practically flew out the door. And then he dialed Alec like his life depended on it.
"Alec, listen, if he's been that depressed since his wife passed away, you have to watch him every minute. From what you've described to me, he's been on a destructive course a long time." Claire took a deep swallow of the cafeteria coffee that was as bad as Alec had predicted. The two of them had picked without appetite at their dinners, and were on their third cup of it.
"You think I don't know that? Pinning Ed down is like trying to capture smoke in a fishnet. It just isn't possible. I know he's in deep trouble, we used to call it fubar, but there's not a whole lot I can do, besides be with him and pick up his pieces when he finally gets to the point where he can mourn his wife and try to have some kind of a new life."
"Fubar?"
"Fucked up beyond all recognition. We used to use it during the war." Alec said, listlessly. Then his eyes widened in disbelief. Claire spotted the expression and turned in her seat to see what Alec was reacting to, just as Alec's mobile phone rang. Before she could even get her lips apart to express surprise, a thin, impatient, haunted looking Ed Straker came up to the table and glared at Alec. That look was all too familiar to the Australian. It meant Ed was angry enough at him to cut off his balls with a marmalade knife and stuff them down his throat. And that was being conservative.
"Do you have things arranged?" he spat at Alec. "You needn't answer that, it's Zouri, telling you I was on the way. Well, are you coming back to the plane with me, or am I going myself?" Ed demanded. Even in the din of conversation, his voice was loud enough to draw some attention from the rest of the people gathered there to eat. Alec's mobile finally stopped ringing.
Claire finally made a noise that was somewhere in the middle of clearing her throat and a squeak a doomed mouse would make. She tried to put authority in her voice.
"Mr. Straker, Ed, you are in no shape to travel anywhere, by yourself or with Mr. Freeman. You're seriously damaging your physical and emotional health. That's my professional opinion."
"Lady, I don't give a tinker's damn for you or your professional opinion. Well Freeman? I haven't got all night." Ed said sharply. Alec sighed, and Nate Zouri came hurriedly up, looking like he was being chased by the loas his mother in Jamaica would tell him about. Claire went on looking at Ed searchingly, but he either didn't notice or was beyond even caring. Ed Straker glacier man , was back, Alec thought sadly.
"Forget even reasoning with him when he's in this mood, Dr. Spencer. Yes, Ed, I've got the papers, I can sign you out if you insist on being a bloody minded idiot and ruining your health like this. Nate, bring the car around and tell the pilot to fuel up. We'll be at the airport in about an hour or so, depending on traffic. Goodnight, Dr. Spencer." Alec said.
"Goodnight, Alec. Ed, please take care of yourself when you get back to England, all right? You have people that care about you."
Ed marched off with Alec and a beaten looking Nate Zouri, and did not even look back. Claire stood there, tears running down her cheeks. She hoped no one noticed. Then she looked at her wristwatch. If she hurried, she could just catch the hospital chief of staff. She left the cafeteria in a determined fashion.
Ed Straker boarded the Shado jet and took off his trench coat and folded it while Alec was up front clearing things with the pilot, and going over the flight plan from SFX to Gatwick Airport in England. Something fell out of his coat pocket. It was his personal belongings envelope that the hospital had wisely put into a safe. He opened it and took out his sunglasses and wristwatch, put them on. Something remained, and it glittered as Ed shook it into his open palm. It was Margaret's charm bracelet, the one with the gold disc that he'd left on her grave. Alec must have mistakenly picked it up when the ambulance had come for Ed. He turned it around and around in his hand. He remembered.
He remembered like it had just happened.
"Now what is that look for, Maggie?" Ed said wearily, seated at his desk and making last minute notations in his black leather filofax. It was nearly eleven at night and he was bone tired. He felt like a watch that had been over wound, and any moment now his springs would give way.
"Damn you, what not paying attention to me. Horsepiss, Ed! You're having nightmares about Nam every night, and you won't talk to Caroline about it, or that freakazoid Jackson, or to Alec, or even to me! And I'm your wife! What happened to us? What promised to our vow to always talk to one another?"
"Maggie, I'm exhausted and I don't have time for this. I have a financial review with Henderson due at precisely eight o clock, and then I have a board member meeting at Mayland. After that I need to-Maggie, no." he told her firmly.
She had come up to him, kissing and licking the side of his neck, trying unsuccessfully to arouse him and tried to peel his Nehru jacket off him as he sat there. She glared down at him. He looked up at her impassively.
"Damn you, Ed, do you even know how long its been since you had sex with me?"
"Gosh, Maggie, I didn't know I was on a blasted schedule."
"You're being a sick shit!"
"Oh I am, am I? What about you, Maggie? You think sex is the answer to everything. Even if I did tell you about my nightmares, you have the attention span of a five year old. So what hell does it matter what I'm going through? You're selfish, and you've always been selfish. Now if you'll pardon me, I'm going to bed. Without you."
Mags reached over and slapped him across the face. Ed put his hand to his stinging cheek, staring at her in disbelief for what seemed like an eternity. Then he angrily knocked everything off his desk, startling her, and he stormed into the bathroom and locked it. She pounded on it, furiously. She kicked the door. She heard the sound of the shower come on and she screamed at the top of her voice at him.
"Damn you, Ed Straker, you aren't getting away with this. I swear to God I'll get on the first plane and divorce you and go back to live with Yolanda!"
"Be my guest," came his muffled voice from the bathroom. Mags picked up a large vase he'd given her as a present and hurled it against the door. It smashed into a thousand million pieces.
"You no good miserable piece of shit! I'm carrying your fucking baby!" she screamed at the closed door. The knob suddenly turned. Ed came out, drenched, dripping, wrapped in a towel. The water still was pounding down in the shower. He stared at her.
"What did you say?" Ed could barely get the words out. He was shaking, and it wasn't entirely from the cold.
"You heard me. Suddenly I rated your attention, isn't that right, Ed? Well you know what, Mr. High and Mighty Shado Commander? You know what? I'm going to
have an abortion. My last two pregnancies were ectopic and I'm not going through that hell again, not even for you."
"Pregnancies? For the love of God. You told me you couldn't have children. You told me--my God, Maggie. My God. Don't do this. Don't do this to me." Ed pleaded, voice unsteady.
"To you? Don't you understand? It's my body, Ed! I'm three months along. I thought it was just nerves or something. My period has always come like clockwork. I went to see a doctor that didn't work at Mayland, so you wouldn't find out. He confirmed I was three months gone. Don't try to change my mind, Ed. It won't work."
"Maggie, Maggie." There was utter suffering in his voice.
"No, Ed. No. No more. I can't be in a marriage with a man who cares more about his damn job than he does his wife."
Helplessly, he watched her grab her coat and her purse, and go out of the flat, out into the dark, out of his life. She slammed the door behind him. He heard her start her ignition up. He slid down the wall in a state of shock and sat on the ground, stunned, for almost a full minute. Then he jumped up, forced the door open and he looked out, shouted to the emptiness of the night. Her impossibly bright yellow Fiat was gone. He'd surprised her with it on the one year anniversary of their marriage. They'd been so happy. So happy. Why did it always end as badly as this when he let himself love? Why? He screamed, dissecting the silence of the night.
"MAGGIE!"
No answer came. He closed the door, wrapped the towel closer around him, turned off the shower, desperately punched her cell phone number on his mobile phone.
Please, God, let her answer. Please. Please God. Please. Maggie, please answer. Please. I need you, Maggie. I've been so scared. I need you. I don't know what's ahead of me and I need you. Please answer.
It kept ringing. He began to sob, shuddering, finding it hard to catch his breath, like something dark and moist was replacing the very air he was trying to breathe.
It had an oppressive, rank odor. Dirt. Mud. Pressing in on him. Sucking the very life essence out of him. He wanted to scream but he couldn't. He started to black out but then he heard her voice. His heart lifted.
"I know its you Ed. I need some space, okay? I feel like I'm losing my mind, okay? I didn't mean what I said. I love you. I'm just scared. I don't know if I want to be a mother. Horsepiss, Ed, I'm just scared."
"Jesus, Maggie. I love you too, don't you know that? We'll get through this, Maggie, sweetheart, I know we-"
And then that scream. And the sound of metal colliding. The breaking of glass.
In his heart, in his heart of hearts, he knew she was gone long before the exhausted looking surgeon told him she'd died on the operating table.
And his tiny, unborn son or daughter.
Ed Straker returned to the present, and saw his reflection warped in the gold disc as he looked down at it. He looked at it a long time. And then he stood up, and tossed it into the nearest rubbish bin on the jet.
Claire carefully opened the door to the apartment, her wristwatch told her it was just after one am in the morning. Ryan McKay, her roommate, would be sleeping, he'd been overly tired lately, and she knew every time he got as much as a hangnail, it was sheer torture for him, since he was terrified of getting HIV. She didn't want to wake him up. Okay, that was a lie. She did want to wake him up. Her emotions were running amuck like a dog chasing his own tail around in endless circles. And talking to him always helped her put things in perspective. She could hear the TV blasting away, but that didn't mean anything.
The TV was his sleeping pill.
"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling your cell phone fifty million times. I ran out of tissue." Ryan yelled from the living room. She broke out in a relieved grin and closed the door behind her.
"And that was the emergency you were calling me for? Like you'd break something if you looked in the cupboard for a tissue box. Besides, I turned my phone off. You're such a helpless, self-centered gay geek, Ryan."
"Bitch."
"Baby."
"Moron."
"Freak."
They grinned at each other. It was an affectionate game they never got tired of playing.
"So did you work late tonight?" Ryan looked at the briefcase and purse she threw down on the couch.
Claire hung up her coat, grabbed a box of tissues from the cupboard and threw them at him. Then she hunted in the refrigerator for some grape soda, managed to find two cans, handed Ryan one and popped the tab of the other.
"I'm so tired." She settled next to him and kicked off her shoes.
"You're tired? I broke my ass running around all day delivering cubic zirconium jewelry to old rich women who have more money than they know what to do with." Ryan complained, flipping through channels on the remote control.
Claire grinned at him, and sipped her soda. He worked as a United Parcel Service delivery man, and complained all the time that the brown uniform didn't do him justice. The truth was, he was one of those men who would look good in a brown paper bag. There was only a little problem. He was gay. They'd met at a singles party she'd gone to as a first year medical student. She was determined to lose her virginity and he was determined to go straight. Neither goal had been reached. They'd danced, gotten to know each other, and gone off to drink overpriced coffee. What they'd actually shared was trust, and confessions. She didn't want to lose her virginity just to lose her virginity, and he didn't want to be straight just so his parents would take him back home. Ryan had offered her the chance to share his apartment, and they'd become friends.
"Ryan, have you ever met someone, and there was, oh I don't know, you felt a compulsion to take care of that person?"
"Besides you?" Ryan asked. She grinned at him.
"Yes, you dope. Now, come on, don't joke."
Ryan sighed. "Tom." He said the word lovingly. Tom had been his lover and significant other, and was dying after living a long time with full blown AIDS.
Claire frowned, nodded. She reached over and rubbed his shoulder.
"How is he?"
"He's dying, he's close to death. I went to see him this morning before work and he was out of it, screwed up with whatever they're giving him in that hospice he was so determined to go die in. He hardly recognized me. I couldn't help thinking I wished he'd just die and get it over with. I'm a selfish son of a bitch."
"Ryan." Claire said softly. Ryan suddenly broke into tears and she took his can out of his hand, set her own down on the coffee table and took him in her arms. They held each other for a long time. He finally smiled at her, and brushed away tears.
"Claire Spencer, all we are is a couple of misfits society wrote off. I'm a 26 year old flamboyant gay hypochondriac , and what a fifty year old virgin."
Claire giggled at him.
"It's worse than that, Ryan. I'm an unemployed fifty year old virgin."
"What are you talking about?"
"I went to the hospital chief of staff this evening, well, yesterday evening if you want to be technical, and I resigned. I gave up medicine."
"What have you been sniffing? Ether? Are you nuts?" Ryan's jaw dropped.
"Probably. Maybe. I don't know. He tried to talk me out of it, he said I was one of the best doctors that they had. I was determined. I quit. I'll have enough money to pay my half of the rent and food and utilities when my severance pay comes through, but after that, I guess I'm your gigolo until I find a job. I'm sorry I don't look like Richard Gere." she grinned.
"You're sorry? I'm sorry," he joked, and she laughed, then he was serious again. "Whatever got into you, Claire? Being a doctor is all you ever dreamed about."
Claire shook her head firmly.
"It's all my mother wanted me to do. She wanted me to follow in Dad's footsteps. I guess after Dad passed away, it was a way of still having him there. Except she never asked me what I wanted to do. And even if she had, I wouldn't have known. I haven't found where I belong, Ryan. If I ever do, I'll know it. I--" she hesitated.
"You what?"
A little reluctantly, she reached for her briefcase and took out a patient's file in a blank manila folder. She bit her lip, opened it, and ran her finger gently over the patient's name at the top of it as if it was an beloved animal she was petting .
"Hey, wait a minute. I thought you quit."
"I did."
"Then what are you doing bringing home somebody's file? Isn't that confidential?"
"It's not somebody's file. Well, not really. It's a Xerox of the file. I sort of borrowed the file and copied it. I had to, Ryan."
"You've snapped. You don't even step on cracks on the sidewalk, and now you stole a file from the hospital? What do you mean you had to? Claire, this isn't you at all."
"Ryan. You'll laugh at me."
"That's very likely. What?" Ryan said in exasperation.
"I had to. I was compelled to. Like a voice in my head." Claire solemnly told him.
Ryan groaned, picked up his soda, and rolled his eyes. "Not that hocus pocus, new age, metaphysical crystal garbage again?"
She glared at him. He sighed. He curled up next to her.
"Okay, that wasn't fair. That weird instinct of yours has saved my ass on more than one occasion. Okay, tell me."
"His name is Edward Straker. He was brought in semi-conscious, slight heat stroke, dehydrated. I happen to have been on duty in the ER when the paramedics brought him in. There was, oh, I don't know, something about him. Something extraordinary. Magnetic, almost. This man with a heavy English accent came in with him, looking really worried, giving us Straker's blood-type and telling us he was allergic to a lot of antibiotics, and telling us all Straker had had that day was coffee and aspirin. I found out later his name was Alec Freeman, and the big black guy with him was Edward's bodyguard, Nathaniel Zouri. Edward was so thin, Ryan. He looked so fragile. He opened his eyes once while we were working on him, the bluest, clearest eyes you ever saw in your life. So afraid. And so sad. So very sad. And his body was riddled with scars from surgeries. Alec said Edward had hip replacement, and his shoulder fused with pins. You know how the personnel get in the ER sometimes. The patients are all walking diagnoses to them. You know, the broken arm in exam room three and the gashed ear in room five. Like they weren't human beings, Ryan. This doctor was pointing out all of Edward's injuries gleefully like Edward wasn't even there."
"Edward? You get on a first name basis with this guy?" Ryan wondered.
"I took care of him in his private room a while, he asked me to call him Ed. I
started to get worried when he talked about reluctantly still being alive. So when he finally fell asleep, I stayed with him after my shift, and Alec came in, we left Ed with his bodyguard and we had something to eat in the cafeteria. He told me Ed's a widower, that he lost his wife in a car accident in England 2 years ago, and that Ed was headed for a nervous breakdown, but he was either too proud to ask for help, or too sick to. I told him I thought Ed was thinking about suicide. Ryan, it was heart breaking. I told Alec I was sitting with Ed and I held his hand, and it was like an electric shock had gone through him.
He started to say he hadn't been touched in so long, but he quickly changed his mind. Alec said Ed had pretty much been a recluse since his wife had died." Claire said softly.
"Then what happened?" Ryan said, interested in spite of his initial reluctance. Claire had always had a fey quality to her, that he never had been able to put his finger on, he mused. It was what made him spot her, and pursue her in the crowded room on the night of the party. That, and her luminous doe-shaped brown eyes, perfectly shaped lips and sweep of black hair. Maybe her hips and rear end and nose were not what they should have been, but she had something about her, a special aura, that made you easily overlook her faults. A special aura? What the hell was he talking about? He was beginning to think like her!
"I don't know, exactly. Ed came in out of nowhere, he was angry, he demanded to go, and nothing I said made any difference. So Alec thanked me, and they left. Ryan--?"
"Oh, oh, I don't like that tone at all. What are you getting me into?"
"You've always been good with computers. Hacking and all that stuff." Claire said hesitatingly, biting her lip.
"Yeah, go on--?" Ryan said, and the phone rang, and he reached for it. She sighed and sagged against the couch, and started rubbing her finger against Ed's name on the photocopied sheet on paper. Edward, she thought to herself. Where are you? Are you all right? And if you are, how long will it be before- No, I can't think about that. Damn it, Claire, this is a wild goose chase. For this you are giving up your career? No, she answered herself. I couldn't still work in a field where people are numbers, and your boss insists you can't get personally involved with patients, and your emotions are always in turmoil, and they give priority to the patient with the best insurance, and they don't really see as human a crying, terrified child who just has broken his ankle, and a teenager holding your hand so tightly you think its going to come off, because she's screaming with agony in the throes of a contraction, working to push a baby out when she's still a baby herself. No more, Claire. You're not cut out for it. Even if you have to slave over a typewriter somewhere. Maybe Ryan can find me something at UPS, she thought hopefully.
She was relieved when the click of Ryan hanging up the receiver brought her out of her reverie.
"Tom just died." Ryan said quietly, tears pouring down his cheeks. He leaned against Claire and she stroked his head gently. "He died in his sleep."
"My poor Ryan. I am so sorry. He's at peace now, Ryan." Claire told Ryan.
"I know." Ryan said quietly. They held each other quietly for several minutes, with only the sound of the television cutting into their silence. On the screen a news announcer was saying something about a jet plane crashing on the runway at Gatwick Airport in England, killing all the passengers and crew instantly in a huge fireball.
Yetunde Folsade sat in the doctors lounge of Mayland Hospital, clutching an empty paper cup, silently weeping, as she watched the news of the aircraft disaster. How much more horror could they all endure? Margaret, poor Margaret, coming to her secretly, and asking her if she'd perform an abortion on Ed Straker's child. Ah ah ah! How could Margaret even believe she'd even consider it? How? Was the woman that much of a monster, that she would kill Straker's unborn child and never tell him? Women had lived through much worse than an ectopic pregnancy. Margaret had lied about being barren. And why? Because she feared giving birth, couldn't conceive of herself being a mother. A mother! Great Yemonja, was that not the finest thing that a woman could do? To deliver a child into the world? To make life with a man? Two years later, she admitted to herself that she still could not believe it, that Margaret had asked her. And she loved Margaret as her sister, as she would love any woman. But Margaret would deny Edward the joy of being a father again? Did she not understand there was no man in the world who loved children more? It didn't matter whether he had fathered them or not. She had seen too many times how he came alive around them. Even after Margaret's death, whenever Edward would participate in a charity event for Great Ormond Street Hospital, or for Childflight, and he'd been around the children, it was the only thing that could bring life into those eyes that had seen more pain than anyone could imagine. Had he not instantly loved little Chloe, when other eyes would have seen only her bald head? Had he not comforted little Patsy when even the very doctor assigned to her hadn't bothered to comfort her? Ye Gods! And Margaret would kill this sweet man's child? Perhaps it was that very thing that had been the cause of her death. Was Margaret's soul at rest, or did it walk between the worlds, attempting to correct the wrongs the body had done? Yetunde shuddered. As if that was not enough to bear, that imbecile Foster had decided he was capable of running Shado! Insolent little boy! Yetunde flashed a smile, for she knew well what Virginia and Caroline had planned. Foster had returned to Shado with his tail between his legs. Henderson, the old rotting bastard that refused to die, had been furious. So for the time being, her Alec was unofficially head of Shado. That was as it should be. She had cast the bones for Alec and Edward without telling them. Perhaps it was a strange thing to do, a woman who was a leading cardiologist in the UK, and yet she read the cast bones of animals much as her mother had before her. Perhaps she was no Lily Marsh, but it did not take that much skill to see what lie ahead for the most important two men in her life. Ah ah ah! That Edward had terrible darkness ahead of him was no revelation. But Alec! Merciful Yemonja! There was a horrible thing coming to him, that could not be undone! And what was she to do? Alec did not yet even know she practiced the magic of her mother, and her mother's mother. Yet there was a third aspect to the bones. The sign of the Undoing. A female warrior. A female warrior would clear the darkness. This did not make sense, but to know all was not for a simple woman, it was only for the Gods. Alec. How she missed him. She barely saw him. First, before Margaret had died, he'd been looking for his true father, and so their marriage had been delayed. And then Edward's nightmares had peaked, the old demon from Vietnam that was chasing him was coming nearer, and Alec had dropped his research into his true father's identity, and spent all his time with Edward. Ah ah ah! Would she never get to Nigeria and take him as her husband? Listen to yourself, Yetunde! Horrible woman! You think only of yourself at a time like this! A time like this, when little Devon had perished in that aircraft disaster. Merciful Yemonja take his soul to paradise. It was one thing after the other. Surely Edward would hear the terrible news, and then what? How could one man carry such wounds? Alec had called her, and told her he'd seen the coverage of the crash on the jet's television while Edward was getting much needed sleep, and Alec didn't know how he was going to tell Ed that Devon Culver, and Devon's new foster parents were dead.
Yetunde sighed. She must make her rounds. She crushed the empty cup and threw it into the rubbish.
Ed Straker looked moodily out the window at nothing, and crushed his paper cup and threw it into the rubbish. The pilot had informed them over the P.A. system that they'd have to detour to Heathrow, because of some problem at Gatwick. Alec was still in the nose of the jet, talking to the pilot. He had to have been in there at least an hour. What the blazes was keeping him? Ed drummed his fingers on the armrest, and right when he was about to get up and see for himself, Alec came out of the cockpit door with Nate, and toward him. He sat beside Ed somberly. Nate avoided looking at Ed.
"Ed, there's no other way to put this. I have bad news." Alec was saying.
"For Christ's sake, just spit it out."
"The change in flight plan. There was an aircraft crash at Gatwick, that's why we can't land there."
"Oh for crying out loud, Alec. Crashes happen all the time."
"The plane that crashed was a British Airways flight from Oslo Airport, Norway bound for Gatwick. Passengers and crew were killed instantly. A small terrorist group originating from the Islamic Jihad for the Liberation of Palestine have declared responsibility, saying they placed a bomb aboard the flight."
Ed's look of irritation turned to a look of disbelief. He shook his head slightly.
"No." he said softly. Then firmer, "NO."
"Ed if it's any consolation at all, no one aboard the plane would have suspected or felt a thing. It happened too fast. Ed, I'm sorry."
"I told you NO! I told you NO for God's sake! No! No! NO!" Ed flew up, and disappeared into the bathroom, and locked it behind him securely.
Alec's shoulders sagged, and he and Nate exchanged looks of helplessness.
A long, agonized scream of grief suddenly came from the bathroom. Then heavy silence. Nate jumped up, but Alec stopped him. Ante's eyes filled with tears, and he reluctantly dropped into his seat.
Ed sat numbly on the ground where he'd sunk, and slowly took out his wallet. He withdrew and unfolded a piece of stationery from it. It held both a feminine hand, and a child's labored attempts to form printed letters. Ed read it silently to himself.
Dear Mr. Straker,
What can I possibly say but thank you? My husband and I have been wanting to go back to Norway to visit our relatives for so long, but could not afford it. This will be such a wonderful experience for Devon, and a chance to play with many other children besides my son and daughter and baby on the way. Your cheque was indeed generous. I have no doubt at all that Devon will love this trip. My husband and I are privileged to have been chosen as his parents, and we have already begun to finalise the adoption. God be with you, Mr. Straker. You're a wonderful man, and we very much enjoyed touring your studio. Now Devon wants to show you how well he is coming along with his printing, so I will end this letter.
Hilde Daniels
DEAR ED HI!!! I READ GOOD NOW. I GET TO PLAY WITH LOTS OF KIDS AND THEY NOT MAKE FUN OF DEVON!!! DEVON LOVE YOU LOTS! BYE BYE!!!!
Ed looked at it for a moment, and then methodically tore it into pieces, and flushed the pieces down the john. The extinguish cigarettes and put on harness light came on, and he briefly threw some water on his face, smoothed down his Nehru jacket, and waited until his hands stopped shaking. Then he left the bathroom and impassively sat in his seat, fastened his harness, and sat immobile, not paying the least bit of attention to the concerned scrutiny that Nate and Alec were giving him.
Claire was going through the employment notices in the Examiner with a glum look on her face when she heard the key turn in the lock. Ryan came in, still in his dark suit and wearing a multi colored carnation in his buttonhole along with a red enamel ribbon. He carried a wrapped package and a envelope, both marked RYAN.
"Hi." he said.
"Oh Ryan. How did it go?"
"It was a beautiful service. And we scattered his ashes from the Golden Gate Bridge, just like he wanted. I ate and drank way too much at the wake."
"Sounds like you." Claire smiled. "What's that you have there?"
"A bunch of us got them from Tom's lawyer, who was the executor of his will. It's a videotape of Tom and an envelope from him. I'm kinda scared to look at them. It will make his death real, you know?"
Claire sighed.
"I'll be right with you. You won't have to go through it alone."
"Yeah, I know. Okay. This is what he wanted, so the least I can do is look at it, right?"
"Right."
Ryan unwrapped the videotape, and stuck it in the VCR. Claire reached for, and held his hand. He smiled at her.
A young man grinned widely at them from the television screen.
"Well, if you're looking at this, it means I'm dead, and it probably means what sitting with Clairey watching it. I sure as hell know you wouldn't be sitting with your parents, right? I'm not going to take up much of your time, Ryan. I just want to say I love you, and I always will love you, and Clairey, thank you for helping him get through finding out I was sick. You would have gotten an envelope from Barry with this tape. At least I hope so. I sure paid him enough to do all this for me! And you never can tell with a straight person. Just a little joke, Clairey. Anyway, I'm leaving you a little something to remember me by. In all the time we shared a bed, I bet you didn't know I dabbled in the stock market, and squirreled away some cash. Now you know. I want you and Clairey to share it, and remember to follow your bliss. Don't spend your time grieving, okay? Live.
"Farewell, Clairey. Farewell, Ryan."
The screen went blank. Ryan was sobbing. Claire wasn't doing all that great either.
"I had forgotten he used to call me Clairey." she sighed, squeezing Ryan's hand.
"What am I going to do without him?"
"What he said to do, Ryan. Live. And follow your bliss." she said softly.
"He was way into that Joseph Campbell guy. More hocus pocus. No wonder you two got along. He was as freaky as you are." Ryan said.
"Calling him freaky isn't a wonderful way to remember him, Ryan." Claire smiled. Ryan grinned, he couldn't help it.
"I don't recall asking you for your opinion."
"Ryan, you can't even spell opinion."
"Shut up." Ryan said, starting to feel a little better. He took a deep breath, and then he tore open the envelope.
Frances Brisby moaned. There was nothing in the world as awful as Stanley Mitchell Brisby's snoring. She had long ago decided that trying to shut it out was impossible. But at least he was getting some sleep. She, Stanley and Beryl had been shocked at little Devon's death. And that poor couple, with a baby on the way and two other children. God moved in mysterious ways. She knew all of them were in heaven. Neal would be so glad to see Devon, she thought, and that made her feel better.
She got up, put on her robe and slippers, and went downstairs into the kitchen. If she thought about the tragedies of life too much, she'd go insane. And the way she dealt with all sorts of unfortunate occasions was by cooking or baking. Since Stanley was going to have to get up in less than an hour and get ready for morning services at Saint Stephens, she decided to start the tea and make some apricot and strawberry scones. That would be something solid in his stomach in this terrible weather. The lightning was flashing outside and the rain was steadily hitting their rooftop. She'd put the whistling teakettle on, and had started to sift the flour when the doorbell rang repeatedly. Now who in the world could that be after five in the morning? It would wake up her poor husband, and Beryl, and little Susan, Beryl's daughter by Neal. The doorbell ringing turned to loud, incessant pounding on the door. Goodness!
She looked in the peekhole and gasped. Quickly she opened the door, letting in a blast of cold rain and wind. Ed Straker stood there without a coat, clad only in turtleneck and slacks and boots, drenched to the skin, the rain had made his clothing cling to him, plainly showcasing how thin he had gotten since Margaret's death. She closed the door behind him.
"Edward! You poor thing, come in, come in, I've just put the-"
"Where's Stanley? I want to see him." Ed spat out.
"Why, he's asleep. Why? Oh dear, you poor thing, you want him to say prayers for Devon and that poor fam-"
Ed pushed past her, and went up the stairs two at a time, nearly knocking her over. She gazed after him, stunned. Beryl sleepily came out of her bedroom, carrying Susan, who was sucking her thumb.
"What's going on, Frances? Who was knocking?"
"Beryl, dearest. Go back to bed. I'll bring you-"
"You fucking bastard! You LIED to me! You told me a hundred times I never broke. But I broke. I broke! Didn't I? DIDN?T I? Say something, you self-righteous bastard. Is there nobody in this world I can trust? Not Margaret, oh no. Margaret lied. Our marriage was a lie. Tank lied. You lied, Stanley. You said I didn't break. I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul. What a crock! I betrayed everybody. I'm nothing. I'm no good. I couldn't stop Mary from leaving, and I couldn't save Johnny, and I lost Lily and our baby, and then Margaret- and my baby-"
Frances froze, and little Susan started crying. They could hear Ed yelling, he was yelling so loud and so hysterically that probably the whole village could hear him. Frances grabbed the phone and desperately rang Alec's home phone number. There was no answer, and then his machine came on. She hung up and tried his mobile number. To her immense relief, he answered.
"Oh Alec! Edward's here and he's yelling at Stanley, I swear the poor soul has gone mad, oh please come at once."
"Jesus Christ, I've been ringing his mobile forever, and he wasn't in his car, it was still parked at his flat. Hold on, Frances. Try to keep him there. Nate and I will be there within minutes."
Frances shakily hung up and went upstairs. Stanley was standing there, somber.
"Answer me! ANSWER ME! You lied to me! Everyone lies to me! I broke and you lied to me!" Ed was shouting, red-faced. "I broke!"
"Q-tip, there wasn't one man in there that didn't." Angel said softly. "Not a one. It was no shame, what happened. I saw what they did to you. They exposed you to your greatest fear. It's no fall from grace that you broke. We all had our limitations. All of us. You held out the longest. Even my mate Quentin said he'd never seen an American like you. The other men in the camp looked up to you. If Bell hadn't told them how to get to you, you would never have broken."
"I'm nothing, nothing, nothing. I never was. I broke. I've let everybody I ever loved down. I'm worthless. Worthless. Why did you lie to me, Stanley? How could you do that?" Ed sobbed brokenly. Frances stood in the corner and hid her face in her hands, in grief. Tears swept down Angel's cheeks.
"Q-tip, Edward, son. I love you like as if you are my own. I couldn't stand to tell you. I knew it would break your spirit. I knew how much Invictus meant to you. So, yes, I disobeyed the laws of God and man, and lied. And now I see what it's done to you, it's torn you apart. Can you ever forgive me, Edward?"
Ed Straker suddenly stopped sobbing. Frances took her hands away from her face and looked. Ed had no expression. No expression at all. He stood there for what seemed an eternity. Stanley and Frances exchanged worried looks. Frances mouthed the words Alec's coming. Angel nodded. Downstairs, the teakettle began to whistle. It made Frances jump, her heart pounding.
"Nobody will ever lie to me again." Ed said suddenly, in an eerie tone.
Frances and Stanley were startled by his words, and stared, momentarily caught off guard.
Suddenly he turned and walked calmly down the stairs, past Beryl and Susan, unseeing, and Stanley and Frances rapidly came after him, but he disappeared out the door, into the storm.
"Dear God, dear God. Frances, go after him. We can't allow him to leave in that state of mind. He won't come to me. Go after him!" Angel cried.
Frances didn't even bother to put on a coat. She rushed obediently out the door. At first she couldn't see him, and then she saw him going up the side of the hill, the shortcut toward the road that led to the cottage. She rushed after him, but one slipper got caught in the mud, and she nearly tripped. Finally she steadied herself. And then she reached the top of the hill, saw him heading away from her in the middle of the road and screamed at him with everything she had in her.
"EDWARD!"
He turned. He actually turned. He looked at her, a confused, lost look. And then the car came from nowhere, illuminating him with its headlights, speeding like toward him, and the driver frantically honked.
Ed turned toward it slowly. There was a fraction of a second where she clearly could see that he could have made a dive to safety. But he stopped. He deliberately stopped. He waited.
And it struck him.
Frances screamed repeatedly as she saw his body knocked several feet into the air, roll down the hill and land back down in the mud. She felt someone beside her. It was Angel. His mouth was opening and closing but no sound was coming out. He didn't move. She ran back down to where Ed lie in the mud. And the driver screeched the car sideways to a stop, jumping out of the car, half running, half sliding down the hill, to where Frances held Ed's hand, weeping and crooning to him softly. Ed was making a moaning sound. His hair was dark with blood, there seemed to be blood all over him. His eyes were glazed over.
The driver saw Ed's face and uttered a broken cry, and from behind him came his passenger.
"Oh my Gods. Oh my Gods. It's the Commander. You've hit the Commander." Nathaniel Zouri gasped. Alec Freeman was shaking like he was a wind-up toy.
"Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. Going too fast. I didn't see him until it was too late. Nate, get an ambulance up here. Get the medi-chopper up here from Mayland. Tell them to clear an operating room for him. Tell them Ed's been injured. DO IT!" Alec shouted. Nate pulled out his mobile and started giving orders and directions. Alec knelt next to Ed and took off his coat and put it over Ed. "Ed, can you hear me? Ed, what going to be all right. Do you hear me, Ed? You're going to be all right." Alec repeated, his voice breaking with anguish.
Commander Ed Straker's eyes rolled back in his head and his moaning stopped.
"I don't believe it. I fucking don't believe it. I don't believe it."
"Ryan, what on earth are you talking about?" Claire asked.
"Look. Look." Ryan handed her the check that had been inside the envelope. She looked at it.
Pay to the order of Ryan McKay the sum of 500,000 Five hundred thousand dollars. Thomas L. Drake
"No. That can't be right." She counted zeros. She counted them again.
"Half a million fucking dollars. I've inherited half a million dollars." Ryan muttered. Claire shook her head.
"This isn't real. This can't be real." Claire repeated. Ryan grabbed the phone and practically attacked the buttons, punching a number in. Claire looked at the check. Yes, it was still there. Made out in Tom's strong handwriting. Ryan was talking to someone on the phone, and when he finally hung up, the check was still there.
"Claire Spencer?"
"Ryan, what is it? Who did you call?"
"Barry. He says it's legit. Tom left me half a million dollars to share with you. That means you just inherited two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Claire was silent for a long time.
"You okay? Did you faint?" Ryan asked.
"England."
"Huh?"
"England. That's where I want to go. Ed is there, somewhere."
"You still obsessed with that guy?" Ryan said as he gingerly accepted the check back.
"Ryan, I was going to ask you to help me find him. But even if we did find out exactly where he was, we didn't have any way of going. Now we do. It's meant to be, Ryan, can't you see that? I'm meant to find him. And help him. It's what I have to do. Ryan, you were grieving for Tom, and so I didn't have the heart to ask you for help. So I went to the library after you left to attend Tom's funeral. Look what I found on microfiche!"
Claire pulled a sheaf of papers from her purse, and showed Ryan a photocopy. It appeared to have been taken from a newspaper, and had the headline MIRACLE ESCAPE FOR US COLONEL. It showed a close-up of a blond Air Force colonel. Then she showed him another photocopy of an article taken from a newspaper, of a scowling platinum haired man in a tuxedo holding a gilded statue. FILM EXEC ACCEPTS AWARD was the caption. Claire had circled Harlington-Straker Film Studios in the body of the article.
"That's Straker?" Ryan asked. Claire nodded enthusiastically.
"That's the most current story on him I could find. He was in some kind of accident involving a Rolls Royce, and he quit the service and bought and rebuilt a film studio in England. He's rarely photographed, he seems to hate the press."
"You should have told me this guy was that good-looking. I would have helped you find him a lot sooner. Maybe he's gay." Ryan wise-cracked. She laughed.
"So you'll help me?"
"Maybe I can date some handsome guard at Buckingham Palace instead or something. Yeah. I'll help you. We'll need to get shots and passports and visas and cameras and all that kind of stuff. But you know what? Before I do all that, I'm dialing my boss at UPS and telling him I've delivered my last package, and he can stick his- Claire, what is it?"
"I don't know, I just got cold. I have a bad feeling, Ryan. I have a really bad feeling." she shivered.
Alec Freeman sat in the hallway outside operating theatre four, and took a flask out of his coat, and poured the contents into his coffee cup. He drank the contents in one gulp. He looked at his wristwatch. Four hours. Ed had been under the knife for four hours. As soon as Yetunde had gotten the call, she had come in and scrubbed up. At least she was in there with him. He had lost a lot of blood from a deep gash in his head, had broken several bones, and his heart had stopped twice. The paramedics had shocked it back into beating on the way to the hospital. Frances and Angel were in Ed's private room with Nate, waiting for news, briefly napping on and off. Alec stared into space. What if Ed died? What if he died? What if he turned out to be Ed Straker's murderer? How would he ever forgive himself? Not even the news from the hotel had lightened his heart. What good was the news about Devon when Ed might die? For Christ's sake, when would they come out? How was Ed? Had he died already and they just weren't telling him?
"He's sleeping. I called everyone I could think of. I feel horrible, I didn't even think of what it would do to them. Do you know how close we came to dying? All of us? My God, David. If he hadn't had that tantrum and refused to-oh God, David. We would have all been dead, like everyone else in that plane."
David Daniels nodded gravely. "I know, Hilda, I know. Thank God Straker told us what a special child he was. Or else we would have never taken him seriously when he said the plane was a bad thing. Speaking of that, did you reassure Mr. Straker that we were all right, that we didn't take that doomed flight to England but chartered a plane instead?"
"I called Mr. Freeman. He was very disturbed, he told me Mr. Straker was in a bad car accident of some kind, and he was keeping vigil, but as soon as Mr. Straker was well enough, he would tell him little Devon was alive and well."
Alec had buried his face in his hands. He heard the door swing open. Doctors and nurses filed out of the room, looking exhausted. He spotted Yetunde pulling off her booties, latex gloves, mask, gown and cap, putting them into a sterile container, and then she came out.
"For Christ's sake," Alec began.
"He's still alive, Alec, he is alive. But I'm afraid there are . . complications."
"Yetunde.."
"He lapsed into a coma. The CT scan showed a right acute subdural hematoma, which we treated with irrigation and trephination therapy. In layman's terms he was bleeding inside his brain. We managed to stop it. But he may have brain damage, Alec. We won't know until he comes to. When he comes to, if he comes to, he might not be the Ed Straker we know."
"You're saying he could be a mental vegetable, aren't you, Yetunde. Fubar. Fucked up beyond all recognition. Aren't you?"
Yetunde sighed. At that moment, nurses slowly wheeled Straker past on a gurney. His head was heavily bandaged, he had several I.V.s attached to his body, and he looked white and drawn. Alec's eyes followed Straker all the way to the lift, and then when they disappeared into the lift, Alec began to sob heavily and uncontrollably. Yetunde held Alec tightly.
The end of Fubar but the story will continue in Fall From Grace part 3: Unconquerable Soul.
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