Amnesia (37 page)

But he knew how he had ended up in the water, thrown in bodily when he ignored the promptings he had been given, and was not there for his family when they needed him most. Almost like he had been standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the water, and instead of backing away to safety, he had continued walking along the edge, risking falling in and….

Suddenly it hit him between the eyes. He sat up straight, grabbed the headphones and rewound the 911 tape. Impatiently he waited for the counter to wind back down to 1473, where the recording he was looking for began. He hit the stop button, then play, and closed his eyes, trying to picture the scene as witnessed by the caller.

Dispatcher:
911, what
is the nature of the emergency?

Caller:
This guy just fell out of the sky and int
o the water. I think he’s dead.

Dispatcher:
You said t
here is a man that is drowning?

Caller:
Yeah, he’s not breathing, and I can’t get him to wake up.”

Dispatcher: Do you know CPR sir?

Caller: Sorta, but it’s been awhile.

Dispatcher: Where are you calling from?

Caller:
My boat. I pulled him out of the water, an
d he’s layin’ here on the deck.

Dispatcher: Where are you at sir?

Caller:
Lake Cascade. My son is heading us back to the north shore, and we should b
e there in a couple o’ minutes.

Caller: Dispatcher:
Okay, sir, I have EMS responding to that area. Now about the victim, does
he have anything in his mouth?

Caller:
Hang on. John, toss me that fl
ashlight. Okay, no, it’s clear.

Dispatcher:
Okay, now you will need to be kneeling at his right side, perpendicular to his body. Then tilt his head back, so his neck looks slightly arched, then hold his nose with your left hand, and pull down his chin with your right hand. That should open his mouth. Then you will need to take a deep breath, cover his mouth with yours, and blow all the air into him that you can. You will need to do it twice. Do that, and then pick the phone
back up, Okay?

Caller:
Sur
e just a moment…Okay, now what.

Dispatcher:
Did y
ou see his chest rise and fall?

Caller: Yeah.

Dispatcher:
Good. Now what I need you to do is find his breastbone, can you do that? Yo
u may have to remove his shirt.

Caller: Got it.

Dispatcher:
Okay, now you will nee
d to lock the fingers on both….

An explosion interrupts the operator’s voice.

Caller:
Oh my gosh! The whole mountain just blew
up!

Dispatcher: Sir, are you all right?

Caller:
Yeah, but the whole mountain just blew up. You
better get someone over there.

Dispatcher:
Okay, I’m typing that in now, but I will need you to begin compressions
on the victim. Can you do that?

Caller:
Sure. I remember this part. Interlocking fingers, palm down, ri
ght between the nipples. Right?

Dispatcher:
That’s correct. You will need thirty compressions alternating with two breaths.
You will need to do about a hundred beats a minute and continue this until help arrives
. You can put the phone
down, but please don’t hang up.

Bill stopped the tape, the rest was mostly dead air anyway, just the quiet counting of the rescuer continuing the CPR. But it was the beginning of the call that interested him. He knew that the “side of the mountain exploding” was the plane crash, something about which Jack had some information.

But it was the first line that caught his attention. The fisherman said that the man “fell out of the sky,” then just moments later the plane had crashed….

Excitedly he picked up the phone and dialed Jack’s number. A moment later a tired voice answered. He delivered his findings to his mentor and verified he would be over at ten.

He hung up and glanced up at the clock. 3:17 AM. In just under seven hours he would be seeing Carrie. It was time to go home and get some rest. He wondered if he would be able to sleep at all.

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

The man currently known as Robbie listened disconnectedly to the wind whistling in his ears, struggling to discover the cause of the nagging in the back of his mind. For a moment he pushed the discomfiting thoughts aside and took in the beauty of the sunrise before him. A myriad of hues blended wonderfully together, beginning with yellow at the center, then darkening to orange, red, and on through the several colors of the prism, then ending with deep blue then black at the outer fringes of the dawns birth. He basked in the wonder of the natural beauty of God’s paintbrush, joy filling his breast as he gazed in awe at the sight. If only he could share it with the woman he was growing to love so much.

He turned to locate Lissa, but saw no one behind him. That curious nagging arose again to pester his consciousness. Something related to Lissa? He wondered, and then dismissed it, as that didn’t feel quite like it. No it was something more obvious, more tangible. He tried to dismiss the thoughts again, but this time they wouldn’t be ignored.

He tried to remember what was bothering him that brought him to this place. He couldn’t quite remember, but knew it was something quite disturbing. Something about someone he knew. He couldn’t quite place it.

His mind drifted back to the beauty before him and he became aware of the tangy smell of the ocean where he had spent many summers swimming, water-skiing, and even learning to surf, though he never quite got the hang of it. Many times he had simply walked up and down the sandy shores, spying out shells and treasures, allowing the soft roar of the cascading water to fill the background of his thoughts, allowing the foreground to focus intently on some problem at hand. Only this time it was the whistling of wind that filled his ears, and somehow the tangy smell of the water seemed much fishier, even a little musty, more like the scent of an inland lake.

Again that warning voice in his head told home something was amiss, and this time he forced his thinking to focus on what his mind was telling him. Something about the whistling wind and musty water. And that dull whine of an engine above him. He looked up trying to locate the origin of the motor and his heart leapt into his throat.

Above him stood an ape of a man in the doorway of a small plane, holding tightly to his collar. The man laughed raucously, spewing spittle all over his captives face. His bushy mustache was filled with rotting food and dripped with whisky recently swigged from a nearby flask. In his eyes was a wildness that defied description, lending a crazed look to the already frightening behemoth. Robbie was quickly convinced that his life was now forfeit.

“Well, ‘Robbie’
, it looks like it’s just you and me. The pilot has already bailed out, and as you can see I have my own parachute. You on the other hand have nothing but an old T-shirt and a ragged pair of jeans.”

He laughed again, nearly losing his
grip on the ripping shirt. “Robbie”
tried to grab hold of his executioner’s arm, but could find no grip, slipping free and flailing wildly in the air, all to the utter delight of the madman above. Panic gripped his chest, squeezing until he felt he couldn’t breathe, his mind suddenly paralyzed with fear. He blindly grabbed about for anything to save himself, but nothing was there. He was doomed.

“Good-bye ‘Robbie
,
’
” called the man, as if from far away, “you should have stayed dead.” The voice trailed off, echoing those last words “you
should have stayed dead.”  “Robbie”
realized he was falling. He wiggled his body around until he could see below him, to the water that he could smell earlier. Down he plunged, faster and faster as gravity pulled indefatigably at his defenseless body.

Time slowed for the doomed man as he moved inexorably toward his assured death in the merciless water below. Suddenly his mind became crystal clear. He realized he wasn’t afraid of death, only of being torn from the one person he so deeply loved. He cried out desperately for Lissa, unconcerned for what happened to him, but with a desire simply to bind him to her for all eternity before he returned to that God who gave him life.

He looked around again, then back down to the quickly approaching water. Tears sprang to his eyes as he realized that since he and Lissa had never solemnized their love in the Holy Temple, he would never have claim to it in the life to come. Sobs escaped his lips as he mourned for that loss more than any other. How could the afterlife ever be heaven if he were damned to forever walk alone without the woman he so loved?

His feet hit the water first, shooting pain through his system from the jarring of his legs followed an instant later by the rest of his body. Wildly he thrashed about trying to hold his head above the cruel liquid which sought to make him its own.

His arms seemed weighted and constrained as he struggled to free them of the fate that held him down. His legs too were caught in some sort of substance, holding him back, but allowing some movement; just enough to prolong the fight, but not enough to allow him his freedom. For a moment he pulled his head into the air, took a huge gulp of air, and screamed for Lissa before being dragged back down.

Struggling all the harder from his brief respite, he fought valiantly to once again regain the clear air. His chest ached from holding his breath, his strength ebbing and nearly gone, his ears and sinuses aching from the weight of water pressure clamping around his head. One last time he pushed against his binds, thrusting himself upward through his prison, giving his all to free himself if only for a moment. Finally he burst free of the water and with every last bit of energy and air he possessed he cried for the one thing he wanted more than life itself. “LISSA!”

“Robbie”
lay panting on the bed, his ears still ringing from his primal scream, sunlight streaming through the crack in the window slats crossing the bed at his legs. Sheets damp with perspiration wound around his arms and legs, forming makeshift binds tying him to the bed. An aching in his chest reminded him that he was still holding his breath and he exhaled the fetid air. He drew in sweet life-giving oxygen, filling his lungs to capacity, completely devoid of the musty liquid of his nightmare.

He sank back down into the pillow, grateful beyond belief that it was all a dream and that he was still alive, and that he was safe. At least somewhat safe, he realized, and only partially a dream. He realized now that it was more than a dream. The details were still fuzzy, but most importantly he now knew his name
—Drake Mannion
.

Slowly and carefully he extricated himself from the sheets and stood, staring out the window at the new day, another promising scorcher like the rest of this last week. The sun shone down hotly on the street three floors below him, and he saw that the morning commute was well underway. Realizing he was now more calm, but somehow more exhausted than when he went to bed, he decided that it was time to share his newfound memories with the woman he so loved.

His only hesitation was that he now knew that he was the target of the hateful messages not Lissa. He abhorred bringing her into this nightmare. For a moment he felt like running away from her as far and quickly as possible, to get her as far away from danger as possible. But he knew that it would do no good for either of them. For better or worse, they would fare far better together than apart. He dialed her new number and arranged for her to come over and pick him up.

He quickly showered and dressed, downed a quick bowl of Grapenuts cereal readying himself for the day, and then sat on the sofa in the living room to await Lissa’s arrival. He noticed that there was a well-used set of scriptures sitting on the end table beside him, and he reached down and picked them up, absently thumbing through the pages.

Suddenly a highlighted passage caught his eye and he stopped, opening the book wide. There before him, like a beacon on a foggy night, lay the answer that would guide the two of them through this, and any other ordeal. He read the entire chapter, than sat back, pondering on the widespread implications of the passage before him.

After a few minutes of reflection, he again opened up the scriptures to the New Testament, to second Timothy, chapter one and reread verse seven: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”

There before him, so clearly illustrated was the entirety of their situation; evil men inspired by evil plans sought to inflict fear, indeed even terror and horror, on those he held dear. Yet even with all their wicked pursuits, God stood offering peace and love to those who turned to him.