Gifts and Consequences (13 page)

Every few seconds a gap opened between the medical personnel and Jonathan caught a glimpse of Allen’s pained face, bruised side, swollen hand or some other evidence of the horror he’d been through. 

A light sweat broke out on Jonathan’s forehead. 
Why is it so damn hot in here? 
His gut began to turn and he wondered if he’d throw up.

Maybe it was the eggs on the plane
.  But he knew it was something else. 
I couldn’t know this would happen.

Yet another person in scrubs pushed a machine of some sort into the room as Marcus walked up to stand next to Jonathan.

“Go ahead and say it, Marcus.” 

Looking into the room where Allen lay, Marcus said, “Do I have to?”

Before Jonathan could answer, a nurse with a clipboard came out and said, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“You mind taking care of this, Marcus?”  Reaching for an excuse to get away he said, “I’m going to check with Oscar.  See what he’s found out.”  He didn’t wait for an answer.

As Jonathan walked down the hallway he immediately felt relief from the nausea and hot flash.  He followed exit signs to the waiting room and outside into the chilly morning air and the queasiness passed.

You always knew there was risk
, he told himself. 
Eventually this was destined to happen and it could have turned out worse.

Lisa Knapp.  But with her he’d planned a backup.  True gifts and proving one’s self was one thing, but the image of bloody and bruised Allen tied to the tree brought the nausea back.

He’ll probably quit walking now.  And I’ll have to withdraw Yvonne’s treatments. 
Going back on his word was out of the question.

With no more answers than before, Jonathan went inside.  He was led to a smaller room where Allen was getting settled in.  The stitches above one eye and one ear weren’t as hard to look at as the cuts had been, but still stood out like accusations.

A police officer came in and Allen gave a description of George and Spider, and a brief account of the attack.  When he asked where Allen was walking to, Allen just told him the name of the hotel.

When a doctor walked in, he cut the interview short.  “I’ll have some more questions later, but I’m going to go put these descriptions out there.”

Looking more at the chart than at Allen, the doctor said, “In addition to the welts, ligature burns, and stitches, of which you are well aware, your hand is broken in two places and you have partial fractures to two ribs, what most people call cracked ribs.  Your ankle is sprained, but not broken.”  He glanced down at his chart and muttered, “Widespread ecchymosis, circumorbital edema…”

“Can I walk?” asked Allen.

“I’m sorry?” said the doctor peering over his glasses.

“Is there any reason I can’t walk long distances?”

“What you need is rest.  Don’t walk farther than to the restroom and back for at least a week.”

Allen nodded.  “Do you have an ankle brace that would help in case I do have to walk?”

“Where exactly do you need to walk so urgently?”

“Hypothetically,” said Allen.

“What you need is a comfortable couch and remote control.”  He signed Allen’s chart and said, “A nurse will be in to cast that hand.”

When the doctor walked out, Jonathan looked down into Allen’s bruised face.  Neither man spoke.  Worry showed in Allen’s grimace.

“So what now?” asked Allen.

“You tell me,” said Jonathan.  “We can have you back to Michigan this afternoon.” 
Here comes the begging.  So predictable.

Allen nodded and looked down at his hands.

Marcus might be shocked to hear it, but there was something else Jonathan had to say.  “I know it means very little, but I am sorry about what happened.  I’ll cover the medical bills and follow-up, of course.”

There was no reaction from Allen, like he hadn’t even heard. 
Must be screwing up the courage to ask if I’ll keep my end of the bargain even if he doesn’t keep his.

“How’d you find me?” Allen finally asked.  “How’d you even know I needed to be found?”

“The GPS transponder we attached to your pack started moving very fast at 10:18 last night.”

“Wait,” Allen interrupted.  “You sit around all night watching my progress?”

“Not me.  But I did have someone on it.  Anyway, the only explanations for your sudden speed were, one:” he marked them off on his fingers as he enumerated, “you were in a car or bus.  Two, you were sprinting at over seventy miles per hour.  Or three, someone else had your pack.  It moved in the right direction, which made us wonder, but I think that was just coincidence.”

“Let me guess, Las Vegas,” said Allen. 

Jonathan answered with a nod.  “Did they say something about Vegas?”

Allen shook his head.  “Where else would a couple of drifters with over a thousand dollars in cash go?”

"Anyway," said Jonathan, "we had the GPS route, and just had to backtrack from where they started moving fast.”

With a nod Allen said, “Thanks for coming.”  He looked at Marcus and added, “You too, Marcus.”

Marcus nodded and stood.  “Sucks you had to go through that.”  The frustration was clear on his face.  “Hey, Jonathan, I’m gonna run and pick up some pants and shoes.”

Jonathan nodded and Marcus walked out. 

“I could’ve used him about eight hours ago.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Jonathan.  “Marcus is my assistant, not my bodyguard.”

A petite nurse walked in with casting supplies and Jonathan stepped aside.  Within minutes she had the cast in place.

“See your doctor in four weeks to have this removed,” she ordered.  She handed him an ankle brace.  “Doctor Oxnard said you wanted this.  Unless you have any other questions I’ll be right back with some pain meds and your discharge papers.”  She turned to leave, not waiting to hear any complaints.

“How about a cane?” Allen asked as she walked out the door.

The nurse gave him a thumbs-up over her shoulder and left them alone.  Allen didn’t initiate conversation so Jonathan sat and waited.  A few minutes wait turned into more than half an hour with no sign of the nurse and no conversation.  If Allen felt like gabbing, Jonathan would oblige him, but he wasn’t going to force it.  No sense in driving in the failure that Allen had to have accepted already.

Marcus arrived before the nurse and handed a paper bag to Allen.  “Shoes, socks, pants.  It should all be the same as what you were wearing before.  None of it’s broken in, but it should be good enough to get you home today.”

“I won’t be home for a couple months yet,” said Allen.  The concern on his face didn’t match the confidence in his tone.

The muscles in Marcus’s jaw clenched and released.

“No one would blame you for giving up, Allen.” said Jonathan. 

Allen opened his mouth to say something but closed it when the nurse came back in and said, “Alright, sign my papers, get dressed and you can be on your way.”

Marcus said, “Jonathan, can I talk to you outside?”  If Jonathan didn’t know him so well he’d think Marcus was about to pummel him.

Jonathan followed his assistant through the doorway and down the hall until they were out of earshot.  Jonathan knew it would be more of the conversation they’d started on the plane.

In a low voice, full of indignation, Marcus said, “I don’t know what you talked about while I was gone, but this is exactly what I mean.  You’re gonna let him just keep walking?”

“Believe me, it was his decision entirely.  I was as surprised as you when he said that.”

“He doesn’t have much choice,” said Marcus. 

“Of course he has a choice.”

“Yeah, give up and let his wife die.  Perfect.  And you’d stand back and let her die right in front of him.”

“I didn’t give Yvonne Creutzfeldt-Jakobs,” said Jonathan.  “Bad things happen in life, Marcus.  You know that.  I’m not about to start taking responsibility for every one of them.”

“Is it really that black and white for you?” asked Marcus.  

“If I go back on my word I’m as bad as the people who don’t follow through with us.  I may be insensitive, but I’m not a hypocrite.”

Rubbing his face with his hands, Marcus swore under his breath and took a step back to lean against the wall.  “There’s gotta be something you can do, Jonathan.”

“Marcus, you have to know I won’t.  I’ve never wanted to make a concession as bad as I do right now, but I just can’t do it.  It wouldn’t be any different for anyone else.  Even you.  You have to know that if you throw a single punch I’ll fire you on the spot.  That’s our deal; I won’t break my end and I doubt you will either.”

It was clear by the resignation on Marcus’s face that he knew it was true.  “This is going to bite you in the ass someday, Jonathan, and it’s going to bite hard.”

Down the hall, Allen appeared from his doorway, leaning on the cane with each step.  He was dressed and ready to walk.  As he passed he handed Jonathan the papers and kept walking.

“Allen, wait,” said Marcus.  “How are you—”

“Stop,” said Allen, holding up one hand and still walking.  Jonathan and Marcus caught up with him and he said, “I’ve never taken a leap of faith in my life.  Never.  I don’t take a single step without knowing the next ten steps after that.  Twenty.  If I sit here thinking about it I’ll never go.”

They reached the door that led into the waiting area.  As Marcus opened the door for Allen, he said, “You don’t have a backpack or food or money.  And there’s no way you can keep to your schedule.”

Allen shook his head as he walked past Marcus.  He didn’t even look up at him.

“I like this guy,” said Jonathan as he walked through the open door.

Marcus cursed and took the lead into the parking lot.

In the parking lot, Allen was determined to start walking.  With some convincing from Jonathan he agreed to have breakfast and accept a ride to the spot where they’d found him.

 “Is there anything special you need?” asked Jonathan after walking with Allen and Marcus to the scene of the assault.  “Anything different from your original supplies?”

“How about some mace?” Allen asked, looking down into the red dirt where there were obvious signs of a struggle.

“Sure.”  Jonathan nodded.  “We’ll bring it with the other supplies in an hour or two.”

With that, Allen took a step, then another.  Barely audible, he said, “When the Lord has tried me, I will come forth as gold.”

The sun pierced the window, waking Porter where he lay on the couch.  Since purchasing the reclining sofa it had become more of a bed than his real bed.  It was easier to breathe at a slight incline, and he didn’t have to heft his girth out of the deep cushion and drag himself to bed.

As he tried to push himself up off of the sofa, his hand slid on something wet and plasticky—a collapsed carton of Chunky Monkey ice cream.  His binge the night before returned to his memory in an instant.  And the binge the night before that, and the night before that. 

As closely as he could figure, over the last five nights he had consumed five pints of Ben and Jerry’s, four pints of Haagen Dazs, two tubes of cookie dough, three full packs of Oreos, half a dozen candy bars (three king size), a bag of marshmallows and a tub of frosting.  And that included only his after-dinner treats.   

Porter stared at the melted banana ice cream and chocolate chips smeared on his hand. 

A small breakfast will make me feel better.

He labored to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, nearly brushing the hallway on both sides at the same time. 

Some yogurt and a piece of fruit
.  He reached for the refrigerator door, then remembered the sausage and egg Hot Pockets in the freezer. 

Without taking time to consider, he dropped his right hand from the fridge handle and reached for the freezer with his left.  As he did so he knocked a magnet with a note off the refrigerator door and onto the floor.  With some effort, he picked it up and read: 

Trevor

964-0025

That name had greeted him every time he had fed himself for the last four months.  Ignoring it was easier than taking the note down, so he got in the habit of not seeing it.  But he couldn’t ignore it as he held it in his hand.  It was rough around the edges, torn from a pamphlet at a meeting four months ago.

His eyes went from the name on the slip of paper, to the freezer door, to his enormous belly.  He looked at his hands then rubbed his substantive jowls.

He had waited long enough. 

Porter dropped the magnet, and hurried to the phone, refusing to consider what he was doing because he didn’t want to talk himself out of it. 

“Pick up, pick up,” Porter urged as the phone rang.  “C’mon you sorry son of a…”

“Hello,” came the voice from the other end of the line.