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I had a little girl like you once, John said.
What was her name? Debra said.
Piper. I wish I'd have gotten to know her like I know you, John said.
Was she pretty? Debra said.
Very pretty. I taught her a prayer to say before she went to sleep. Would you like to learn it?
Oh, yes! Debra said silently with emphasis.
Okay, repeat the words I say after me, John said.
'Kay, Debra said.
I love you, God, with all my might, John said.
I love you, God, with all my might, Debra said.
Keep me safe all through the night, John said.
Keep me safe all through the night, Debra said.
Amen, John said.
Amen, Debra said.
Goodnight Debra. I love you.
Goodnight John. I love you, too.
Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite.
Debra giggled and snuggled Aaron MacDonald's head on the pillow and fell asleep.
John Windom did not fall asleep. He didn't know why but he needed less sleep than his body mate. Poor little girl, she'd been so frightened, so lonely. But he'd calmed her fears; he'd chased away her loneliness. Helping Debra had given his miserable existence purpose.
At first, he'd helped her out of fear. She wouldn't eat, and the body they occupied had wasted away when it was under his control. The noxious smells emanating from dead experiments had sickened him, so he couldn't keep the food down that he'd eaten. If she didn't eat, he feared the body would die and leave Debra and him in limbo, a place he feared above all others. The new location where the PPs maintained the body they occupied was better. Neither he nor Debra could smell the rotting flesh.
He didn't know at what point he stopped helping her out of fear, but now he helped her out of love. He loved the little girl more than he'd ever loved his own daughter. Debra's happiness was more important than his own, so he spent all day everyday talking with her, helping her cope with the new situation she faced, providing small moments of joy whenever he could.
She'd told him about her mother and father, and her dog, Conk. They were gone forever, and she missed them, but she had him, and he had her. Together they reveled in those small moments of joy.
And he'd found God.
It was time for him to pray alone.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; when in the morning light I wake, teach me the path of love to take.
Amen.
After Debra learns the other prayer, I'll teach her this one, he said silently.
"What's the status of Aaron MacDonald, Brendon," Dr. Grant Breedlove said. The two men were enjoying an after-dinner brandy in Dr. Breedlove's den while their wives jabbered away in another room. "His case fascinates me. It isn't often that a person gets hit by lightning twice in one lifetime."
"He's eating now. I guess he became hungry enough to stop his hunger strike. It's a frustrating, confusing case, Grant. The pathology is all over the map. After the first lightning strike, he thought he'd been put in another body. He struck a nurse, breaking her nose, and hit an orderly with his fist. I questioned the personnel at County General who were involved in that altercation. I don't think he was violent then because he had violent tendencies. I think he was full of fear and was thrashing around and struck the nurse accidently. He hit the orderly because they were trying to hold him down to administer a sedative. The next day, Dr. Percy Stein placed a transfer request to ASH, but we didn't have a bed at that time. By the time we could admit him, MacDonald had ceased exhibiting any violent tendencies, and Stein rescinded the request. I spoke with Leah Mullen; she's the head nurse in the non-violent psych ward at County General. She told me that Aaron MacDonald did what he was told when he was told to do it. He was not a troublemaker, rarely even talked. Of course, they kept him heavily medicated."
"You say he's child-like now," Breedlove said, "was he regressed when he was under Mullen's care?"
"No, and from what I could determine, Dr. Stein's diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia was accurate during his stay at County General. Leah Mullen was beyond shocked when it was determined that MacDonald had raped one of her other patients. With the meds he took daily, she said that he should not have been capable of having sex. She believes he faked taking some or all of his meds for a brief time before the sexual assaults occurred. At County General he experienced hallucinations in the form of horrendous odors that made him sick. He vomited almost every day and was losing weight at an alarming rate. As you know, hallucinations are one of a number of indications of schizophrenia. Since he's been under my care, I've seen no evidence of any hallucinations, and he hasn't thrown up. When I first observed him, he was just plain terrified, Brendon, afraid of everyone and everything, but his fear has lessened every day. I can't communicate with him. At first he spoke three words: mama, papa, and conk. Now, he won't speak to me at all. He's like a child who's been taken from his parents and wants to go home but can't tell you where home is, or even his name. I still don't know what he meant when he said conk."
"Is he capable of doing harm to himself or others?"
"As frightened as he is sometimes, that's possible. He could strike out like a terrified, cornered animal."
"Have you tried hypnosis?"
"I have. In his regressed state, hypnosis isn't possible."
"From what you've said tonight and during our staff meetings, his pathology at County General came about after the first time he was struck by lightning, and his pathology now was the result of the second strike. Were MRIs ordered?"
"Yes, both at County General and at my orders at ASH. No lesions indicating brain damage from the lightning strikes were evident in either scan."
"Interesting. If you could communicate with him, his case would be the makings of an interesting monograph," Breedlove said.
"Yes, it would," Uris replied.
Sedona evolved from a small agricultural community into an artist's colony and a tourist magnet. I'd read somewhere that over 40 art galleries opened their doors to the tourists attracted to the fiery-hued rock formations surrounding Sedona, and I had yet to visit one of them. So, after I filled the grocery shopping list Mom had given me to replenish the larder at the inn, I decided to take a quick gander at a few galleries not only because I enjoyed looking at fine art but also with the aim of locating a gallery whose style my watercolor paintings might compliment. To that end, I drove to Tlaquepaque Arts and Crafts Village.
I parked in a lot located on the southwest corner of the village next to Oak Creek, and walked toward a narrow opening between two two-story structures than I assumed would give me entrance to the courtyard of the shopping village. As I approached the opening at an angle, a young woman ran out through the opening and almost ran into me. With a terrified yelp, she dodged to the right and ran like a frightened animal. That's when I saw an older man run out of the opening. Unfortunately when the woman darted right, she had narrowed the distance from the opening and the man chasing her, and in just a few strides, he caught her.
Don't get involved, I told myself. For all you know, the woman is a pickpocket. If he doesn't hurt her...
He hurt her. He slammed his fist into her stomach, knocking all the wind out of her. Gasping, she fell to the ground.
"Hey!" I yelled as I ran toward the man. "Stop that!"
He ignored me, reared back and kicked the woman. That did it for me. He didn't stop, so I stopped him. My boot to the side of his knee took him to the ground where he writhed in pain, holding his injured knee and cursing me, using the vilest language I'd heard since I took over Debra's body.
I opened my cell phone and dialed 911, gave the operator my name and location, quickly described what I'd witnessed and what I did, and asked her to send the police and an ambulance.
"You broke my leg! I'll sue you, you crazy bitch. I'll fucking sue you!" the man wailed.
I said nothing. The young woman had gotten her wind back and was sitting up holding her ribs. I walked over to her. "Are your ribs broken?" I asked.
"I ... I don't know. It hurts to breathe," she said.
She was drop-dead gorgeous, about my age, my age as Debra Oakman, that is. Dark hair and eyes, like me, and that's where the resemblance ended. She was a small woman, size four, maybe, with a killer little body, and a lot of her body was displayed. She wore a mini-skirt and a halter top that revealed her bellybutton. She wore jewelry in the bellybutton.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Marlene Heston," she said.
"And who is the man?" I inquired.
"Dale Tremont, my step-father," she said.
Argh, a domestic dispute. Just what I need. "Why did he assault you?"
She said nothing.
"I've called for the police and an ambulance," I said. "He assaulted you. I witnessed the assault. You can press charges and make them stick."
She shook her head. "I won't do that," she said.
"Fine by me. I'll press the assault charge, then," I said.
"Fucking bitch!" the man yelled. "I'll fucking kill you!"
I grimaced. "Your step-father, Marlene, has a limited vocabulary," I said.
She tried not to laugh but couldn't stop herself, and when she laughed, she gasped with pain.
A police cruiser entered the parking lot. No siren, no lights.
"The police are here, Marlene. Are you sure you won't press charges?"
"I live with him and my mother, a living arrangement I was trying to end. I had a job." She nodded toward the village. "A sales clerk in a boutique. With the ruckus he made, the job is probably history. No money. No place to go."
"A friend's house? Somewhere, anywhere?" I said. "If you return home, he'll beat you again."
She said nothing.
"Are you a minor?" I asked.
"No, I'm eighteen," she said. "Who are you?"
"Debra Oakman," I said as two uniformed police officer's walked up to us.
"Arrest that woman," the man said, pointing at me. "She assaulted me. Isn't that right, Marlene?"
Marlene snorted. "Yeah, right," she said sarcastically.
The ambulance arrived, its siren dying with a forlorn sound as it entered the parking lot.
"I called 911," I said as I pulled one of the police officers a few steps away so I could speak privately with him. I told him my name, and what I saw, as well as what I did. "I feared for the young woman's life, Officer," I said, "so I stopped the bully by kicking the side of his knee. He might have a broken leg, but I doubt it. The young woman might have cracked or broken ribs from when he kicked her, so I also asked the 911 operator to send an ambulance. I witnessed the man assaulting the young woman, and I want him arrested for assault."
"Are you sure?" the officer said. "Do you know who that man is?"
"Marlene, the injured girl, told me he was her step-father. His name is Dale Tremont. He's a coward and a bully. That's all I know about him," I said. "I want to press charges."
He shrugged and said, "All right. Will his step-daughter press charges?"
"She says no," I said and then listed the reasons Marlene had given me to explain her refusal to charge him with assault. "You asked me if I knew Tremont as if I should. Why should I know him?"
"Do you live in Sedona?" he asked.
"I do."
"You don't keep up with local politics, do you?"
"I don't," I said.
"Mr. Tremont is on the City Council," he said.
I didn't like it that he referred to Tremont with the Mister honorific.
"So what? I'm a taxpayer. Mr. Tremont works for me," I said.
He chuckled. "You're gutsy, I'll give you that."
His partner walked over to us. He'd been speaking with Mr. Tremont. "Hal," the officer said, "Councilman Tremont wants this woman arrested for assaulting him."
"And this young woman wants to press assault charges against Councilman Tremont for assaulting his step-daughter," Hal said. "Did you talk to the step-daughter?"
"She's not talking," the other officer said.
"Then it's a he said/she said situation," Hal said.
"That's my take on the situation."
I laughed wickedly and said, "Afraid for your jobs, huh?"
"Watch your lip, young lady," the unnamed officer said.
"If Councilman Tremont doesn't press charges against you, will you do likewise?" Hal asked me.
"Let's talk to Marlene," I said.
The EMTs were busy with the councilman, but when he saw us approaching him and his step-daughter, he pushed one of the EMTs out of the way, and shouted, "Why isn't that bitch cuffed, Craig? I told you to arrest her!"
Ah, I had a name for the other officer. Officer Craig peeled off to talk with Tremont again, while Officer Hal and I stepped up to Marlene.
"Don't say a word, Marlene!" Tremont yelled. "Not one fucking word!"
"How did a man like that get elected to the City Council, Officer Hal," I said.
He said nothing, trying and almost succeeding to suppress a smile.
"I'd guess he fooled some of the people some of the time, and that along with a shit-pot full of money was sufficient to get him elected," I said.
Hal snorted to swallow a laugh.
"How ya doin', Marlene?" I said.
"I'm hurting," she said.
"These police officers are going to arrest me if you remain silent," I said.
She looked at Hal. "Don't arrest her," she said. "If you do, you'll be making a mistake."
"Shut the fuck up, Marlene," Tremont bellowed.
Marlene shut the fuck up. We couldn't get another word out of her.
Tremont didn't shut the fuck up, but the EMTs were ready to load him into the ambulance, which they proceeded to do. He continued to curse me while they pushed the gurney toward the ambulance.
"Don't press charges," Marlene said to me. "If you do, he'll press charges against you, and you won't win."
"I'd win if you told the truth, Marlene," I said.
She said nothing.
"The truth will set you free, Marlene," I said.
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