I died three days ago.
I never saw it coming. It had been a difficult day at the hospital, shocking even-but when was it ever different? St. Benedict’s is one complication after another, especially in my line of work. There are too many patients, too many bureaucrats, and too few happy endings. Midday, I took a long stroll through the children’s ward just to hear the high-pitched voices raised in song or play. Even when there is great pain, the young always seem capable of mustering optimism and innocence, two qualities I see too infrequently.
“Dr. Thomas, you’re pretty.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.”
“My dad thinks you’re pretty, too.”
“I’m flattered.” And I was, genuinely. Compliments are sparse in my line of work.
“When I get better, do you think you could come over for dinner? Not for me. But I think my dad gets lonesome sometimes…”
“I’m married, Jonathan.”
“Oh…”
“But I’d still love to have dinner with you sometime.”
With innocence can also travel disappointment, but here at the hospital, time travels like quicksilver and long-term consequences are overwhelmed by the need for emotional satisfaction in the here and now. I was so accustomed to thinking of my patients’ immediate happiness, I never realized how quickly my own happiness could be curtailed.
This was not a day like any other. What I saw in the hot lab disturbed me, perhaps more than I was willing to admit to myself. I didn’t know how to respond. I did not perceive it as a tolling of the bell, as a sign that the End of Days was upon me. I climbed into my Land Rover and headed for home. The drive to Skiatook is almost forty minutes even if I don’t get caught in a traffic snag, and the drive down Lombard Lane is always dark. Too many curvy country roads with little traffic and no witnesses. Deep ravines on either side. Not the place to be driving after a long hard day’s work in the healing arts. A girl had to be careful.
All I saw was a flash of light and suddenly I lost control of the Rover. Heat, squealing tires, heart racing, eyes searching desperately for the road. The impact was sudden, shattering. The wheel wrenched out of my grasp, sending slivers of pain racing up my right arm. My Rover lurched off the road into a ravine, fell for what seemed an eternity, and crashed. Did I hit a tree? A house? I still don’t know. I only know it hurt. I blacked out. Not from the impact, though that was fantastic, unlike anything I had experienced in my life. I blacked out from the pain. And then I died.
I awoke many hours later, unsure of anything. Where was I? What had happened? I had no answers. Answers are for the living, not the dead. I tried to make an inventory of everything I knew, everything about which I could be certain. I could not move. Not an inch. Not so much as to scratch my nose. I was in excruciating agony-I would describe it as unbearable, except that I did bear it, I had to, I had no choice. I still have no choice.
There’s something sharp and metallic piercing my left leg! Please, God, is there no mercy? I’ve helped so many others cope with their pain, can no one help me? It’s bleeding and infected and I can’t move and I can’t even see and I just want this torture to be over. I don’t care how. It hurts so badly. Oh, God, it hurts, it hurts!
I catch my breath, inhale deeply, murmur my mantra, and try to block the agony out of my mind. No help has come. I have no reasonable expectation of rescue. Dennis and I chose to build out in the far reaches of Skiatook for a reason. We were on a spiritual journey, trying to nourish our souls and find a better way of life. We sought seclusion, the peace that comes from knowing that you have removed yourself from the bustle and impurity of the city. What I never realized was that we had traded one form of danger for another. No one would come out here, no one but my husband. He will never see me, and no one else will have any cause to come this way. I am off the navigational charts of the rest of humanity, dead to the world.
The accident was three days ago. Since then, I have remained trapped here, mired in my own blood and waste, scared and angry and filled with a bitter pain that blackens my tongue and my thoughts and makes every breath an ordeal. As a physician, I am all too able to assess my hopeless situation-and all too unable to do anything about it. For days, I ran the standard ER checklist through my head. Check for concussion. Rather difficult to do when you’re pinned down like a butterfly in a collector’s tray. What’s my white blood cell count? Who knows? Multiple lacerations, severe abrasions, internal bleeding-did this mean anything? They were just words, they had nothing to do with my body, with the life essence I could feel seeping away from me.
This much I know: My clavicle is broken in two places. At least two of my ribs, also. My shoulder is dislocated and something traumatic has happened to my left leg. I not only can’t move it-I can’t feel it any longer. That leg is gone; no science known to man could bring it back to me. I feel an aching in my gut that the scientist within recognizes as kidney failure, the sure product of dehydration. How long has it been since there was anything in my mouth other than the taste of my own blood? Too long. Far too long.
It was almost a year ago that I first expressed my unhappiness to Dennis, not with him, not even with our life, but with myself. I had once considered myself a spiritual person, but that spiritual side had been lost somewhere in the shuffle of quotidian duty, the drudgery of medical school, the internal ravaging that comes from watching so many people die, day after day. That was when I started attending the Shambhala retreat, where they taught me about meditation, hypnotherapy, Buddhism. Not a religion, they told me. A way of life. A way of incorporating harmony and balance and peace into your own soul. Initially, I wasn’t very good at it. What was the point of all the breathing and humming? Did it matter how I held my hands?
And now it seems that’s all I have left. I cannot block out the pain, but I can distract myself. I can’t have a moment of tenderness, but I can breathe, and hum, and try to clear my mind. The Paramhansa Yogananda taught his followers to outwit the stars, that we may be guided by these heavenly sentinels but needn’t be controlled by them. This is what I must do, at least until I become one of them. If nothing else, I can ease the passage.
The last drop of life may not have seeped away from me, but I am truly dead, just as surely as if my heart had stopped beating and blood had stopped circulating through my veins. Death, I remember hearing a yogi say, is not an ending. It is when the soul separates from the body. This ordeal is so intense, so intolerable, it pierces my spirit and leaves me unable to feel anything else. I miss my life, my work, my husband, the children I never knew. But I can no longer feel that aching, because the new one is so intense, so overpowering. When existence in the body becomes intolerable, the soul seeks other lodging, safe havens, snug harbors.
I can see the sky at night and it fills me with regret. So much I could have done, so much I never did. So much I needed to tell my husband. That is perhaps the greatest pain of all. Can I find another path, another way? Can I wring something positive out of this bitter ending? My teacher said it’s all perfect, that things happen for a reason, that we are capable of turning poison into medicine. But what good can come from the suffering?
My meditation may save my sanity, but what will save my soul?
Physician, heal thyself. I must find a way to triumph. I will find a way to make this matter. I will remain on my path. I may not have planned this, may never have seen it coming. But I am stronger than the rippling tide of human happenstance. I can still make my life count for something. I can outwit the stars.
Dennis Thomas took the proffered chair beside Detective Sentz’s desk. Could it possibly be? Had he finally found someone who would listen?
“I understand you’ve filed a report.”
“Yes. A missing person.”
Sentz pressed his lips together. “Who is it?”
“My wife. Joslyn Thomas.”
“Why do you think she’s missing?”
Dennis looked at him, desperation etched in every line of his face. “She hasn’t come home for three days.”
“Anything else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Well, frankly, no.”
Dennis gripped the armrests tightly, trying to contain himself. He’d been fighting this bureaucracy for days. Three days now he’d come to the Tulsa Uniform Division East station and the Skiatook police station. Three days he’d tried to motivate the police to take action. Without success. The only person doing anything was him. He had talked to all of Joslyn’s friends, all her co-workers. No one knew anything. He’d searched the hospitals, called her relatives, driven back and forth over the roads she normally traveled, all without success. He had done everything he knew how to do and he still hadn’t found her. Couldn’t the police help? Wasn’t that why the police existed? So far, he had not been successful at getting anyone to do anything. He’d filed a report the first day-a COS (Check Own Satisfaction) call issued-and he was told it was forwarded to a police detective who would decide what action, if any, would be taken. He’d come to the downtown Detective Division to see why nothing was happening.
“My wife wouldn’t disappear for no reason. Certainly not without telling me.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been married to her for seven years!”
Sentz made a grunting noise. “Seven-year itch.”
“You don’t know her.”
“No, friend, I don’t know her, but I have been at this desk for eighteen years. Two years and I can take early retirement. I’ve seen many guys like you walk through the door complaining that their wives have disappeared. It’s always the same. Girl decides she’s had enough, has to get out, doesn’t have the guts to tell you face to face.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“You’ll probably get a call in a couple weeks, once she’s safely settled into what she’s running to. Parents, boyfriend, whatever.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Hey, don’t kill the messenger, pal. I’m just telling you what I’ve seen. Over and over again.”
“That man at the front desk-Sergeant Torres-he said you’d help me.”
“I am helping you. You just can’t see it yet.”
Dennis felt his jaw tightening, felt the sinking feeling that told him this was just another false hope dashed, that there would be no more action now than there had been before. “I demand that you do something! I’ve reported a crime.”
“But that’s just it, buddy-you haven’t. All you’ve reported is that your wife hasn’t come home. And not coming home is not a crime.”
“What about kidnapping? Is kidnapping a crime?”
“Do you have any evidence that she was kidnapped?”
“She’s disappeared.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Dennis reached across the desk. “Please. There must be something you can do. They told me in Skiatook you could initiate an investigation once she’s been gone twenty-four hours.”
“Only if special circumstances are present.” Sentz cleared his throat. “There aren’t any here.”
“How many days must she be gone before you take action?”
“It’s not a matter of days. It’s the absence of a crime. She could be gone a year and there still wouldn’t be any evidence of a crime.”
“She’s disappeared!”
“Do you have any evidence of foul play?”
“She wouldn’t not come home without a reason.”
“But you don’t know what that reason is.”
“Something must’ve happened to her.”
“Does she have any special vulnerability?”
“Like what?”
“Well, I gather she’s not a minor.”
“She’s thirty-two.”
“Or elderly. Does she have a mental condition? Dementia?”
“Of course not. She’s a doctor!”
“Like that proves anything. Is she off her meds?”
“The only thing she takes is omega-three.”
“Suicidal?”
“No.”
“History of drug abuse? Alcohol?”
“No.”
“Depression?”
“No! I mean-she works in a cancer ward treating women with inoperable diseases. It’s not exactly a good time. But she isn’t mentally ill!”
“Then I can’t-”
Dennis rose to his feet. “Are you telling me that since she’s a normal healthy adult you’re not going to do anything?”
Sentz shrugged. “If you want to put it that way.”
“Listen. I know my wife. I know what she would do and would not do. Something has happened to her. Something bad.”
“I know you’re worried. But if we went running after everyone who doesn’t come home on time, that’s all we’d ever do. It’s a manpower issue. We have to prioritize serious crimes. We can’t look for everyone.”
“I’m not asking you to look for everyone. I’m asking you to look for my wife.”
“Look, go home, try to get some rest. Chances are she’ll turn up or at least call in a few days-”
Dennis lurched forward and grabbed his arm. “My wife has not run off with another man. She’s in trouble! And if you don’t-”
“Whoa, whoa, let’s all calm down now.” The man Dennis recognized from the front desk, Sergeant Torres, stepped between them, breaking Dennis’s grip. “No need to let things get out of control.”
Sentz scowled. “Why did you send this man to me? You know there’s nothing I can do.”
“Oh, there’s always something we can do,” Torres said, smiling. “Maybe just give him some good advice.”
“I did. I told him to go home and wait.”
Dennis’s face was flushed and covered with perspiration. “My wife is… is… maybe hurt, trapped, kidnapped.”
Torres cleared his throat. “Well… actually, I don’t think that’s true.”
“How would you know?”
“She’s disappeared before, hasn’t she?”
Dennis fell silent.
“Pulled it up on the computer. She was reported missing. Police searched. But it turned out she had just gotten in her car and started driving. Called in a week later.”
“That was a long time ago,” Dennis insisted. “Before we were married. She was just a kid. She got depressed after some jerk broke up with her and didn’t know how to deal with it. Her mother got worried so she called the police.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This is totally different. She’s matured. She’s married. She’s a doctor! She has patients, responsibilities.”
Torres shuffled a sheet of paper in his hands. “I’m really not supposed to do this, but after we talked, I had someone in the computer room run a search on your wife’s credit cards.” He handed Dennis a piece of paper. “As you can see, a day after you say she disappeared, she bought gasoline at a place outside Skiatook.”
Dennis scanned the paper. “That’s impossible.”
“No, that’s a fact.”
Sentz made a grumbling noise. “Guess her boyfriend lives near home.”
Dennis launched himself toward the officer, but Torres held him back. “Please! Stay calm! This will not help your wife.”
“Why won’t you do something?” Dennis shouted at Sentz. “Do you want her to die?”
Torres continued to restrain him. “Come on now. We don’t need any new trouble.”
Sentz pushed himself to his feet. “Show this jerk the door.”
“And you’re not helping either, Detective.” The sergeant spoke quietly, obviously intimidated by the superior officer. But he still spoke. “I don’t know what happened with this man’s wife, but I can see he’s very worried about her, so be a little sympathetic, okay? What would you do if Bernice didn’t come home?”
“I’d go bowling.”
Torres grinned a little. “Yeah, well, this boy hasn’t been married as long as you.”
“That much is certain.”
“Isn’t there something you could do, Sentz? Maybe off the record? Authorize some more computer time? Send out a quiet APB?”
Dennis felt his heart quicken. That would make a huge difference. If everyone on the Tulsa PD were looking for Joslyn, surely someone would turn up something.
Sentz considered for a moment. “I don’t know. Perhaps…” As Dennis watched, Sentz’s eyes traveled across the room.
Dennis turned and saw a tall man in the corner on the opposite side of the room standing in shadows, staring at them. How long had he been there? His head was bowed and Dennis couldn’t make out his face, but it was obvious he was listening.
The man’s head moved, only slightly, barely perceptibly, but it moved. From left to right. No.
Dennis turned back toward Torres. The sergeant didn’t appear to have even noticed the man. But Sentz had.
“I’m sorry,” Sentz continued, barely missing a beat, “but that would be against regulations. I can’t authorize it.”
Dennis’s eyes ballooned. “What happened? Why can’t you do anything? Who is that man?”
“Just a friend reminding me that I need to go by the book if I want to make it to retirement with my pension intact.”
“Who’s pulling your strings?” Dennis turned around again, ready to charge the tall man and throw him to the ground-but he had disappeared. “I don’t care about your pension!”
“I do. Look, go home, and if she still isn’t-”
“Why don’t you want me to find my wife?”
Torres laid his hand on Dennis’s shoulder. “Sir, the police department has rules, and for the most part they’re good ones.”
“What he’s saying,” Sentz interjected, “in a nice way, is, get lost.”
Dennis flew forward. He grabbed Sentz by the collar and shook him, his face contorted by rage. “You’ve got to do something! Find my wife!”
Sentz shoved him back hard, knocking him to the floor. He breathed heavily, in and out. He looked furious. “You lousy-”
“Sentz!” Torres shouted. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret later.”
Sentz’s lips were pressed together so tightly they turned white. “Get him away from me. Now. If he’s still here in thirty seconds, I’m filing charges.”
Torres helped Dennis back to his feet. “I’m sorry, sir. I think you should go.”
“But Joslyn is in trouble and-”
“And you can’t help her if you’re behind bars. Go!”
Barely suppressing his rage, Dennis grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He had never felt so helpless. They had worked so hard to put their lives together. Slaving away at the university, saving every penny, getting Joslyn through medical school, building their dream house. They had a good life, damn it. What right did these people have to act so cavalierly? What right did anyone have? How could they stand idly by while he lost everything he loved?
He threw himself behind the wheel and slammed his car door shut. He would drive all night. He would search every road, then search it again. He would hire a detective. He would never rest.
Until this moment, he had not fully realized how much he cared for his wife. She was everything to him. Everything that mattered.
Hang on, Joslyn! Please hang on! I will find you. I will!
I ’ve been trapped here for seven days now. How can I still be in my body? How can I still be trapped in this metal cauldron of eternal torment?
I know so much about the human body’s ability to handle pain. I knew there would come a time when the sensory neurons could no longer process so much negative stimulation, when they would shut down and I would feel some alleviation, however artificial. Somehow I would find some measure of release.
That release has not come. The agonizing aching has changed, mutated from the sharp splitting pulse to a hollowness, a sense that something has been lost. It still hurts, but it is a different hurt, perhaps more tolerable physically, perhaps more unbearable spiritually. It is as if I were swimming in the ocean, struggling against a sudden overpowering wave that carries my body away and slowly crushes the life out of it. I have swum too far from the shore. My hands are numb, aching, bloody. I can no longer swim, not even tread water, and I know I will never see land again…
I no longer deceive myself into thinking it will all work out. I don’t seek miracles. It would be good to see Dennis again, to tell him what he needs to know, but I realize that is unlikely. Death has consumed my body, my brain, my very blood. It is what I have become. It is omnipotent. It is Krishna. It is God.
I don’t seek the miracle of rescue. I seek the relief of oblivion.
Four hours ago I realized I still had my cell phone in my jeans pocket. How much charge could it have after so much time? And what difference did it make when I was so powerless to get it out? Aren’t I?
I thought about it for hours before I even attempted movement. The mere act of concentration made my head hurt, my brow sweat. It was too hard, too impossible…
I moved a finger.
Only the index finger of my left hand. But it moved. Twitched, perhaps more accurately. Could I possibly do more?
Two fingers this time. My hand was pinned down, pressed against my side. My fingertips lay perhaps six inches from my pocket. Surely this is a distance they can traverse. Surely I can make this so.
I moved my whole arm, but oh God how it hurt. Something had happened to that arm. The shoulder above was dislocated and the clavicle was broken and all movement sent lightning bolts of pain radiating through my arm and the rest of my body. This is so hard. Why is this happening to me?
Is this perfect? My spiritual teacher in Malibu tried to convince me that everything was perfect. The Universe does not make mistakes. That’s why the Universe has lasted so long and will continue to do so. Everything happens for a reason. Don’t greet misfortune with despair; try to discern what you will learn, how you will grow from the experience.
Like most all-encompassing worldviews, it is too easy to poke holes through. The Universe continues to exist because there’s a natural scientific progression from creation to extinction, perfect or imperfect. How can this cheesy philosophy encompass huge tragedies such as starvation in Africa or the Holocaust? Did millions die so the world could learn a lesson? Can we seriously believe that’s perfect? But my teacher was not moved by my protestations. When I stop objecting and accept, he said, I will see the truth. Because bad things will happen to all people. Do you let them destroy you? Or do you choose to let them make you better?
This is not perfect! It hurts! Dear God, how it hurts!
I think my wrist may be broken, too, but somehow I managed to ease it sideways, pivoting it around until the fingertips touched the mouth of the pocket. Baby steps, that’s all I needed. An inch at a time, a micron even. Slowly my fingers oozed into the portal. Gently, tenderly they slipped inside until they touched the cold, hard shell. Naturally I opted for the sleek Razr, so damn hard to get a grip on…
My whole arm trembled, throbbing, and my forehead bled as I closed my fingers around the phone and tried to ease it out of the pocket. My leg was pierced, possibly severed, just a few inches below the phone. Every movement was torture. The slightest twitch was excruciating, unbearable, but somehow, I tensed enough hand and wrist muscles to close those fingers around the phone and slowly draw it out. My hand was slick with sweat and my arm shook violently, but still I continued to pull the phone out of that damnable pocket.
Until it was free. Inserting my index finger under the phone, I flipped the lid upward and turned it on. I heard the beeping sound that told me it still had power, however slight. Even though I could not turn my head enough to see it, I sensed the flickering illumination provided by the screen. Hand trembling, I groped for the button that would alert the police…
Noooooo! Dear God, no!
The cell phone glittered on the floor mat, shining, twinkling, beckoning, impossibly far out of my reach.
“She didn’t make this charge. I did.”
Sergeant Torres looked up from his paperwork, blinking. “Huh?”
Dennis slid the credit card receipt across the desk. “It was me buying gas. We share the credit card. If I hadn’t been so upset, I would’ve realized that immediately. See? Here’s the receipt. With my signature on it.”
Torres took the translucent slip of paper and held it up to the light. “You bought gas after your wife disappeared?”
“Repeatedly. Because I was driving around looking for her all night long. Have been all week.”
“She still hasn’t come home?”
“No. Not all week. Seven days. No one has seen her at work. Her family hasn’t heard from her. Nothing. Vanished.”
“No history of drug use, or-”
“None. I’ve already answered those questions. Can you please do something? I’ve been in here every day, begging. I know I look terrible. I’ve barely slept. I must seem crazy, but I’m not. I’m worried about my wife.”
“I’ll take you to see Detective Sentz.”
“No!” Dennis held out his hands, pleading. “I already know what he will say. He’s said it every day this week. And no one will let me talk to anyone else.”
Torres peered down at him. Dennis thought he seemed sympathetic. But he had no way to help. “I’m just the front desk clerk here. I don’t make policy decisions. Detective Sentz-”
“Wouldn’t budge if I had a ransom note from the Taliban.”
“That’s not true. We have to follow procedures-”
“Do you know who my wife is?” Dennis asked, his head tilted at an angle, his throat pulsing. “Do you?”
“I believe her first name was Joslyn…”
“Dr. Joslyn Thomas. She’s an oncologist. Works in the cancer ward at St. Benedict’s.”
“She must be a very strong woman.”
“She’s a saint. That’s what she is. A saint.” Tears appeared in his eyes. “You think a policeman’s job is tough? Try spending every day watching the people you care for slowly slip away. Watching them die. She works with women primarily. Trying to ease their suffering. Sometimes the cancer goes into remission, usually not. Even when it’s gone, it all too often returns, like a bottled imp that keeps pushing the cork out. But she never gives up. Never. No matter how hopeless the case.”
Dennis leaned across the desk, water streaming down his face. “And that’s why it’s so important that you look for her, Officer. Because I know that no matter what has happened to her, no matter how bad it is, she will never give up. She is not a quitter, not my Joslyn. She’s still out there, somewhere, waiting for me to come get her.” His voice cracked. He laid his head down on the desk. “Please help me, Officer. Please help me find my Joslyn.”
Torres stared down at the crumpled man crying on his desk. He laid his hand against his chest.
“I suppose… we could put out an APB on her and her car. But honestly, if she were out there, stranded or something, she would likely have been spotted by now. I don’t think-”
“What about her cell phone?”
“I assume you’ve tried to call her.”
“Yes, and there was no answer. But when I called today I didn’t get the quick cutoff voice mail message you get when the phone is turned off.”
Torres’s eyes flashed. “If her cell phone is active…”
“I know.” Dennis slid forward a folder filled with pages printed from his computer. “You can track her down from the signal her cell phone emits.”
“It’s not that simple. Even if her phone is active, if she’s too far from the signal tower-”
“Will you please just try? Please!”
Torres breathed heavily. His eyes darted around the station, as if his heart was in conflict with his head.
“Detective Sentz is out on a call. I know his assistant. I think I might be able to persuade him to do… something. At least see if we can get a trace on that phone.”
Dennis’s eyes closed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Save the thanks until we accomplish something. It’s still a long shot. Especially when she’s been gone so many days. Statistically, it’s still most likely that she’s somewhere of her own accord.”
“But you will look?”
Torres began the paperwork. “Yes. Of course we will.”
I dropped the phone. I should have seen that coming. How could I not, given my current state, my arms, trembling, unable to steady even for a second, my hand and fingers barely operational? It was hopeless. Now that little pink hunk of metal lies at my feet and there is simply no chance I will ever be able to retrieve it. My last hope is gone. My final dream is shattered. I am well and truly dead.
Perhaps it’s better this way. Did I ever believe I would be rescued? What have I told my patients so many times? Sometimes acceptance is best. It is not perfect. But perhaps it is my finest choice. The dead can only expect so much.
The pain has subsided somewhat, but I’m not foolish enough to imagine that means I’m getting better, or that my efforts at meditation have saved me. The serotonin sedation must be kicking in. Still, it does help to have that training, to know how to reach a better place and stay there, as long as may be necessary. My teachers taught me to find my inner strength, not physical strength but something better, something more important, more than the recognition of constant pain, the realization that this is my body’s final resting place.
I had a dream just a moment ago. A hallucination, perhaps. There was a clamor outside, the thudding of boots, the flashing of lights. A rescue fantasy, no doubt. I even thought I heard Dennis calling for me. Ridiculous. But I think I will not resist. Perhaps this is the final gift the Universe has for me. Perhaps I will feel his arms around me one last time, if only as an illusion. I loved you, Dennis, and I know you loved me with a greater need and passion than I could ever match. Can you feel my arms around you, just as I feel yours? The little light I have left is fading, but with my final breath I send this wish to you. Accept what has happened. Don’t give in to despair. Don’t let it change you, ruin your life. Move on. Find the lesson. Tell yourself it’s perfect, even if you don’t know why.
I worry about you, Dennis. I worry so much.
Do not let this destroy you!
There is pain in dying, as I know now, as I have always known. But the pain of living can be greater.
Please, Dennis! Outwit… outwit…
“Joslyn! Do you hear me? Honey! Can you hear me?”
It’s starting over again, the whole dream fantasy sequence. I wonder if I have the power to alter it. Make it more immediate…
“We’re coming, honey. I’m sorry it took so long. Your car ran off the road and plummeted down a very deep ravine. There was thick brush all around the car, blackberry hedges. I couldn’t see you! I drove by here a hundred times, but it looked as if nothing was there. I didn’t know!”
“Sir,” Officer Torres said, “I need you to move away from the car.”
“Can’t you get her out of there?”
“We’re trying, sir, but she’s wedged in but good. Strapped down by her seat belt, pinned by the air bag, something stabbing her leg. We’re going to have to have to cut the roof off to get her out.”
“Then do it!”
“The equipment is on its way. We just have to-”
“What in God’s name is going on here?”
Dennis and Torres whirled around and saw Detective Sentz marching toward them.
Torres stepped forward. “We’ve found Dr. Thomas, Detective. We’re trying to extract her-”
“I didn’t authorize this operation!”
This is new, Joslyn thought, smiling a little. Interesting. A nice bit of plot thickening. Heightens the drama. My Dennis is so sweet…
“No, sir, but-”
“In fact, I expressly refused to open a file. Didn’t meet the criteria.”
“Doesn’t matter, sir. We found-”
“Doesn’t matter? I’ll decide what matters!”
“But-”
“Have you received a sudden promotion I don’t know about, Sergeant? Or am I still your superior?”
Torres’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still my superior.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Consider yourself on probation. Suspension without pay until-”
Dennis jumped in between them. “Would you stop this? My wife is trapped in that car. That’s all that matters!”
Sentz pursed his lips, obviously angry. “You can’t initiate an emergency rescue operation without the authorization of a senior officer or-”
“She’s dying!”
That’s my Dennis. Always a fighter. To the bitter end. Give him what for, Dennis!
Sentz took a deep breath. “Mr. Thomas, it might be best if you waited beyond the perimeter.”
“I will not!”
“You will do as instructed, or I will regretfully-”
“I’m not moving an inch until my wife is out of that car.”
“You are interfering with a police operation, leaving me no choice but-”
“Why are you doing this?” Dennis screamed, blocking his path. “Do you know how long she’s been trapped in there? She’s dying, and you’re bellowing about regulations and-”
The detective moved so quickly Dennis did not know what had happened until it was over. Detective Sentz lifted him off his feet and threw him sideways. He fell face-first onto the ground.
Dennis screamed, clutching his face, bloodied on the right side. “Why are you doing this?”
Sentz ignored him. “I want to talk to the operations officer. These things have to be handled carefully. One false move could kill the person you’re trying to rescue.”
Are you still there? Is it over already? This isn’t a very satisfying ending, Dennis. But, it’s too late. I know that. I can feel it inside. I can feel the transformation coming, the passage. And I’m ready. But I would like to talk to you, Dennis. One last time. I have a message…
“We got her!”
Dennis rushed forward, still holding the right side of his face. “How is she?”
“Not good,” Torres replied, “but she’s alive. Barely.” He led Dennis past the barricade back toward the car, where attendants were lifting Joslyn’s broken body onto a stretcher. “Medics say she has broken bones, a severely lacerated and infected leg. She’s dehydrated, malnourished. Judging from her skin color, she’s got liver damage, with the resultant buildup of toxins.”
“Will she be okay?”
“They just don’t know. We’ve got to get her to a hospital…”
Dennis rushed forward, grabbing the gurney. “Joslyn! Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”
Her eyelashes fluttered briefly, barely signaling a trace of life still residing inside.
“Joslyn, I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry! But we’re going to get you well. You’re going to be fine, honey. I promise. You’ll be just like new. Back to your patients in no time.”
One of the medics stepped forward. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have to get her to the hospital.”
“Of course. I understand. Just-”
Joslyn’s right hand suddenly wrapped itself around Dennis’s arm.
“I’m here, honey,” Dennis said, eyes bulging. “I’m here. I’ll stay with you.”
Slowly her lips pressed together. He could see she was trying to say something, but she barely had the strength to make it happen.
“What is it, Fizz? What?”
He leaned forward until his head was barely an inch from her lips. Her voice was more breath than sound.
“Out… wit…”
“Outwit? Is that what you’re saying?”
“… stars…”
He felt the grip on his wrist loosen, then felt her hand fall away altogether.
“What’s happening? What’s happening to her?”
The chief EMT rushed forward. “Get me an oxygen mask, now. And the defibrillator.”
“They’re in the ambulance. Up on the road.”
“Then hurry!”
The paramedic in charge gave her an injection. “Something’s wrong.”
“What is it?” Dennis asked desperately. “What’s happening?”
“How can I know? I haven’t had a chance to examine her properly. She’s been trapped in her car for seven days. Most people wouldn’t have lasted this long.”
“There must be something you can do!”
The attendant pounded on her chest. “I assure you… I’m doing… everything I know… how to do…”
“Please!”
Across the gurney, Dennis saw the paramedic in charge step away, shaking his head. “She’s gone.”
“What?” Dennis’s eyes went wild. “She can’t be gone. She’s alive. I’m telling you, she’s alive!”
Dennis felt a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir, you need to move away and-”
“She can’t be dead. She can’t be!” He turned and saw Detective Sentz peering across at him.
“It’s a tragedy.” Sentz cleared his throat. “We did everything we could.”
“Everything? You didn’t do anything!”
“I know this is hard, but-”
“You killed her, you son of a bitch! You killed my wife!”
A second later, Dennis’s fist clipped Sentz across the jaw. Sentz took a step backward, then recovered himself, rubbing the sore spot on his face. “Officers, restrain him.”
Officer Torres and another grabbed Dennis by the arms, holding him in place. Dennis strained against his captors, trying to get free, trying to get to Sentz. “This is your fault! You killed her!”
“It’s an unfortunate incident, but there’s only so much you can do when someone goes off a country road like this. I wonder if she’d been drinking…”
“You killed her, you son of a bitch! You killed Joslyn! You’ll pay for this!”
Sentz sighed. “Mr. Thomas, I’m afraid I’m going to have to press charges. You threatened and committed battery against a police officer. Those are felony charges.”
“You’re going to lock me up? Someone should lock you up!”
Sentz turned away. “Take him downtown and book him, officers. I’ll finish up here.”
The two officers dragged Dennis away, but he fought them, struggling, screaming back at the departing detective. “This isn’t over. You’re not done with me. There will be a reckoning, do you hear me? Your time will come. There will be a reckoning!”