Deadline (55 page)

“Get away from me! Get away!”

In horror and revulsion Doc tried to escape the One who had finally consented to withdraw from him, but even then could not finally be escaped. God’s very existence was a mortal insult, an eternal slap in his face. It was not enough for God to withdraw. He must cease to exist. If only God were no longer God, this misery would be endurable.

Hell was merely heaven refused. Denial had always been Doc’s solace, and now that he could not deny the reality of the Other, his only solace was gone. Once you left earth there was no spin or twist on the truth, no angle on it, only the truth itself. As Finney’s heaven had started on earth, so Doc’s hell had started there. Now he was experiencing its final fruition.

No end. No sleep. No escape. Questions pointed their mocking bony fingers at him. Why had he been so sure about what he did not know? Why had he been so stubborn, insisting on being his own god, living by his own rules? He’d been a fool, and would remain a fool, for all eternity.

No, no, no! I am not a fool.
Finney
was the fool. It was Finney. Not me. Not me! Not me!

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

J
ake left the
Trib
at 3:30, December 23, not at all in the holiday spirit. He was bone weary of putting out fires, making explanations, and second-guessing everyone’s looks and glances. How could he focus on turning out decent columns when his mind was torn between the controversies springing up around him and the perplexing mystery of his friends’ murder? He decided to drive home the long way, the way that took him by Lifeline Medical Center.

He passed by the clinic where he’d talked with Marsdon, then drove in the hospital entrance about three hundred feet further, parking in the same row as when he came to meet with Mary Ann. Part of him wanted to drop by Doc’s old office and see her, to be with her, maybe ask her to dinner and then … who knows? He decided instead to go back to ICU, where his friends had spent their last moments on earth and where his life had taken such a wild turn from which it now threatened never to regain control. Maybe he’d bump into Simpson or one of two or three doctors on his list neither he nor Ollie had found time to talk with yet. Maybe fate would connect him with somebody, anybody, who could fill in the blanks, link him with just the right piece of information about Doc and who might have taken him out.

Jake wandered into the ICU waiting room, reliving in vivid detail all that happened there the day after the accident. He sat staring at the security door he’d sneaked through eight weeks ago, as if it might magically open and yield the missing pieces to the puzzle.

Suddenly two nurses burst out the door. Both seemed upset, one puffy eyed, as if she’d been crying. He thought he recognized her. Jake followed them out to the hallway. They turned a corner into a recessed area, where they stopped, thinking they were outside anyone’s hearing.

“I’m so tired of it, Laura! Wheeling in bodies right and left, pressured to make room for more. It’s starting to feel more like warehouse inventory than health care.”

“I know, I know. But that’s the way it is. It’s nobody’s fault. There’s nothing we can do about it, Robin.”

Robin. Of course. It was Doc’s ICU nurse, the one Dr. Simpson bawled out after Jake infiltrated the hallowed halls of ICU.

“The shift’s almost over. Call it a day, all right? I’ve got to get back in there.”

Robin said thanks, and the other nurse marched back to ICU, past Jake. He walked up to Robin as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping. The moment she recognized Jake, Nurse Robin froze.

“Why are you here? You came to talk?”

Jake looked at her, puzzled. She was nervous, suspicious, uptight. The stress of being an ICU nurse was taking its toll. “Uh, just taking a stroll, but if you’ve got a minute, maybe we could chat. Want to sit down somewhere?”

Just then two doctors rounded the corner, startling Robin.
She’s a basket case.
Jake recognized one of the doctors. Simpson.
That’s who I need to talk to. What a stroke of luck.

“Dr. Simpson?”

Simpson and the other doctor stopped and turned around, both busy, weary and in no mood to be waylaid in the hall. Simpson stared at Jake just a moment before the light of recognition turned on.

“Woods? Jake Woods. How are you, Jake?” The initial ice melted into warmth as Simpson seemed to take pride in introducing the well-known columnist to his colleague, making it sound as though he and Jake were old buddies. It helped that the other doctor lit up on hearing Jake’s name.

After the three chatted a minute, Jake remembered Robin. He turned to tell her he’d catch her some other time, but she’d already left. It was no surprise. Anyone that nervous wouldn’t want to hang around two doctors and a journalist.

“Dr. Simpson, any chance I could talk to you for just five minutes?”

Simpson said, “Okay. Sure.”

The other doctor (Jake had already forgotten his name) said it was good to meet him and headed off down the hallway. Simpson directed Jake around the corner to a reasonably private bench in the hallway. Once they were seated, Jake cut right to the heart.

“There’s an investigation into Greg Lowell’s death. It wasn’t an accident.”

Simpson turned pale. “What? What are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you somebody murdered Greg.”

“Murdered him?” Unnerved, Simpson stared at Jake, making him reconsider his tactics. Maybe he had been too blunt.

“Yes. That’s right.”

“But … how do you know?”

“Somebody cut the tie-rods on his car. The police are certain it was deliberate.”

Simpson caught his breath, and finally started to relax. “That’s terrible. But what can I do for you?”

“This isn’t for a story. I’m helping out a police detective, who’s a friend of mine. I’ve talked with a few other doctors. Can you tell me about anyone who didn’t get along with Doc?”

“Well, I got along with him as well as anyone. He was strong willed, for sure, but we all are. You had to let some things slide and focus on his positive side, which far outweighed the negatives. His skills were incredible. He was maybe the finest surgeon I ever worked with. We did a few transplants together, and when something would start to go wrong, you could hear panic in other doctors’ voices, but never his. The guy was unflappable. People who didn’t get along with him? Sure, I can toss out some names, for what it’s worth. Not that anyone who works at this hospital would sabotage somebody’s car!”

Simpson came up with now familiar names, with similar assessments to those he’d gotten from Mary Ann and the others.

“Then there was Dr. Marsdon.”

“What about Marsdon?”

“There’s a guy who hated Greg’s guts. Major conflict. All the time. Marsdon’s a bureaucrat at heart. Greg was the type to do what was necessary. Get the job done. He was my kind of doctor.” He looked at Jake. “You come up with some other leads outside the hospital?”

When Jake mentioned abortion, fetal tissue research, and RU-486, Simpson really lit up.

“Now I think you’re on to something! Those people couldn’t stand Greg. You just look at those picket signs. You think they’re not happy he’s dead? It’s hard to believe anybody would kill him, but if anybody would, it would be them. Listen, Jake, I’ve got to run. Hope you find the guy that messed with Greg’s car.”

“Thanks, Dr. Simpson.”

“It’s Barry. Glad you’ve recovered so well, Jake. You look a lot better than when I last saw you sneaking around ICU!”

“Don’t remind me. And thanks again.”

Jake caught a whiff of morning coffee, saw the light peeking through his bedroom miniblinds, and took his first blurry-eyed look at the big red digits of the clock. 8:42
A.M.
About two hours later than he expected. It was December 24.

Every year with the
Trib
, Jake had worked on Christmas Eve day. But this year he said no. He recycled an old holiday column and left it at that. His thoughts had returned to childhood and how special this day had been. And how special it had been for three women in his life, none of whom he shared the holidays with any longer—Mom, Janet, and Carly.

In his childhood, this had been the big day of the year for the Woods family, with turkey and stuffing and potatoes cooking all day, and the big dinner about four or five o’clock. Aunts and uncles and grandmas and grandpas were joined by single people with no family around, who were adopted for the day. Presents were opened at six, because they couldn’t fend off the begging children any longer. It was a day of conversation, laughter, and game playing, especially Parcheesi and Monopoly, and for the adults, Pinochle.

Jake recalled his brother Bryce throwing a handful of snack mix in his face after Jake had put a hotel on Park Place and Bryce landed on it and went broke. Jake reached for the nearest thing to retaliate with, grabbing his glass of Byerly’s orange soda. Jake’s initial thrill in watching Bryce’s white T-shirt turn orange turned to horror when the rest of the splash soaked into Mom’s white and red Christmas tablecloth.

Jake and Bryce were not close, as brothers go, but having been in the trenches together, having killed and rescued each other in war games in the ten acres of wheat behind the house, there would always be a bond. Jake thought about Bryce and his wife Carol, and kids Jennifer, Brian, and … what was the youngest one’s name? Jake was embarrassed he couldn’t remember, and it nailed home how much he’d lost touch with family.

Ever since Mom’s Alzheimer’s had flared up, family contact had become rare and perfunctory. Bryce called occasionally. He’d ask, “How’s Mom?” Jake would say, “Not much change,” not volunteering he hadn’t visited her for two months. Of course, Bryce hadn’t seen her for a year. A thousand miles away, sure, but he flew on business trips all the time. He could come see Mom if he wanted to. Living in the same city, though, Jake knew his excuses were lamer than Bryce’s.

Mom was the glue of the family. Not Dad, who could take or leave Christmas, never remembered a birthday, didn’t even know which presents were from him since Mom had picked them out. Not Jake or Bryce, whose lives revolved around friends and sports and school activities, then later military and college and getting started in business and having their own families. Even after Dad had died, Mom always got them together for Christmas and made phone calls on birthdays. But as her health failed, especially her mind, the glue lost its adhesive, and the Woods family gradually broke out of Mom’s orbit.

Mom was Christmas. Dad’s only job was to bring home the tree. Even that Mom picked out because Dad didn’t have the taste or the patience to make a good choice.

I’ll never forget that pathetic noble fir he brought home one year.
A smile came to his lips as he remembered Mom trying to find a few branches that would hold up the ornaments.

She had no help in the kitchen. No help with the dishes. Dad sat all day reading the paper and swapping stories with the old folks, Jake and Bryce coming in and out with their muddy tennis shoes and playing games and tossing snacks and orange soda.

Mom was always cheerful on the holidays. She hummed “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” and a few sacred songs as well, but Jake couldn’t remember which ones. Except “Silent Night.” Jake was surprised he could remember as many of the words as he did. They’d sung it in grade school choir, and it stuck with him, though church had never been part of his Christmas.

Still lying in bed, Jake realized he’d been singing. “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright, round yon virgin, mother and child, holy infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.”

There was something calming and reassuring about these words. But something profoundly disturbing as well. Who was this “holy infant” to offer heavenly peace? To promise calm in a world full of turmoil, abuse, and death? How could he expect anyone to believe him? Yet there were those who did believe, with all their hearts. People such as Finney and Sue. Finney.

Where are you now, old friend?

Jake had no plans for the day. Mom was in no condition to make plans, hadn’t been for three Christmases now, and without her none would be made. Sue had invited him to join her and Little Finn and Angela and the extended family later that night, but his day was free. He’d been looking forward to sitting around, doing nothing, catching up on his reading, maybe watching a movie or two on tape. He’d looked forward to not shaving, getting dressed, or leaving the house.

But now he was in the bathroom shaving and humming “Silent Night” and thinking about the words. After a long hot shower, he put on some casual clothes, grabbed his wallet and keys, and headed for the door.

I wonder if Mom will recognize me.

It was Christmas Day now, and Jake was alone. His time with his mother yesterday morning had been difficult at first, but the longer he’d stayed the more at home he’d become. He even met a few of his mother’s friends, which he’d never had time to do before.

Last night he’d been with Sue, Little Finn, Angela and her husband Bruce. Their first Christmas without Finney. There had been tears, but lots of laughter. The laughter in that family came from deep inside. They celebrated Christmas as if they had some inside knowledge of what it really meant.

The investigations shadow hung over him. Perhaps Jake would spend the rest of his life speculating on who killed his friends and why, never knowing for sure, and never seeing the killer brought to justice. To think that someone could get away with this. Where was justice in this world? It was frustrating to be out of control, to not be in charge, to know he wasn’t calling the shots. Maybe nobody was. He was tired of it. He wanted answers and he wanted them soon.

He sat back in his frayed blue recliner, molded perfectly to his shape and sitting position. The surround sound and big screen of his home entertainment system presented impressive reruns of the new starship Enterprise blasting through space, with Captain Jean-Luc Picard at the helm, accompanied by his trusted friends and advisors. The journey into the unknown, the exploration of the undiscovered country appealed to something deep inside Jake. It wasn’t just his desire to escape, but his longing to understand the universe, to know what if anything lies beyond, to discover and interact with worlds and peoples far greater than his own. To find a planet, perhaps a whole galaxy, untainted by the ravages and ruin of earth. It seemed a childish fantasy, but it was a fantasy he would gladly choose over the reality he knew.

Two more hours of television left him hungry for something that satisfied. Jake opened Finney’s Bible for the second time. He flipped his way through it, like a pioneer hiking through virgin territory, seeing new terrain from every new viewpoint. He was amazed at all the underlining, circled words, lines connecting words and verses to each other. He read the notes and the verses, seeking to understand. Often he was pleased he could, though he suspected Finney saw deeper and more profound connections than he. He looked at each page as if it were an ancient treasure map, with the scrawlings of Magellan in the margins.

Jake’s mind drifted, holding Finney’s Bible triggering thoughts of his old friend. He was awakening to the crackle of an early morning campfire. He crawled out of his Cutter’s-scented sleeping bag and stuck his head out of the tent to get a deeper whiff of the savory smell of frying bacon. Finney looked and laughed.