RESCUE MAN, page 20
“Mike went on to say that he’d get the papers ready and send them to the judge as soon as he got out of the hospital, which he guessed would be in four or five days. He predicted that the judge would issue a divorce decree in record time, after he read and saw the pictures of what Rachel went through. Mike was interrupted when the nurse came back to tell us our time was up. Mike told Rachel he’d call her when he was back in the office, and we left. When we got back to my car I called you, and that’s where we are right now.”
“That’s one hell of a story, Lisa. Thank God Mike’s going to be all right,” I said.
“I know. I hope this lands Bill in jail for a long time. He deserves whatever’s coming to him, I say.”
“Unintended consequences.”
“What?”
“Unintended consequences. Would any of this have happened if I kept my nose out of it and I didn’t meet up with Rachel on that park bench?”
“Oh, so now you’re going to blame yourself for what happened?” asked Lisa.
“I did start it all, if you think of it,” I said.
“Sure, and everything you did along the way was carefully planned, orchestrated really, so Rachel could get out of the violent relationship she found herself in. There’s no way you could have known how violent Bill would turn out to be. By the way, did you make the reservations for Schenectady?” she asked me, adroitly changing the subject.
“Not much gets by you,” I said.
“You’ll have to tell me what does get by me when you come over,” she said. I could feel her sly grin coming through to me.
I hung up, my mind reeling over the shooting. I felt responsible in a way for what happened, but Lisa was right. There was no way I could have known, anticipated the violence in Bill. I chalked it up to my new learning curve as a rescuer.
My computer sat patiently waiting for my return, the reservation page open and ready for my keystrokes. I tapped and typed, filling in the blanks to make the flight, motel, and car reservations. When I finished, it looked like a duplicate of the reservation I’d made the first time around. Same flight and motel. Same car? Doubtful, but time would tell. I printed everything out and headed off to Lisa’s apartment.
When Lisa opened the door for me. I saw Rachel hanging back, wary, until she saw it was me. I couldn’t blame her, considering everything she’d been through. “Okay, tell me, Mister Roberts. What gets by me?” asked Lisa, her eyebrows lifting with the question.
“I thought about that all the way over here, and I need to amend my previous, impulsive statement. Nothing gets by you,” I said while I struggled to suppress the smile trying to take control of my face.
“I humbly accept your amendment, kind sir. Were you able to procure the reservations?”
“Yes. They are an eerie duplicate of the ones for our first trip. Same flight, same motel. Time will tell if we get the same car with the parking lot dent in the passenger side door, or if our rooms are the same,” I said.
“You’re right. That’s eerie,” said Lisa.
“If it’s the only eerie part of the trip, I’ll be happy.”
“I second the motion,” said Lisa.
I thought of all the things that could go wrong. My army team leader might have scrapped the mission, faced with so many unknowns.
Michael Harbinger’s prediction turned out to be right. He was released from the hospital in four days and was back in the saddle in five, his right arm in a sling to take the strain off his shoulder. “Thank goodness I’m left-handed,” he told us when the three of us went together to his office.
I watched as Rachel made a big fuss over his bandaged shoulder and added a meaningless apology for Bill having shot him.
“You can’t take any blame for what happened, Rachel. I’m just happy that Bill’s marksmanship left something to be desired,” said Mike, a wide grin bisecting his face.
“I am, too. I’d hate to have to hire another lawyer,” she said, her grin matching Mike’s. We all laughed at that.
“You know, don’t you, that this has become the easiest divorce proceeding I’ll ever handle. Between the selfies of your injuries that Bill gave you, Lisa’s video of his attack on you and his attempt on my life, the judge will grant you a divorce without hearing a word from Bill. I’ll be keeping track of him and the charges he faces. Jail time is a certainty, though how much is yet to be determined. When I know, you’ll know. Do you think Bill could try and track you down after he serves his time?” asked Mike.
Rachel shuddered at the thought. “I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said.
“We have to do something to guarantee your safety when your soon-to-be ex-husband is a free man. Do you have friends or relatives who Bill doesn’t know about, maybe out of town or out of state?” asked Mike.
Lisa and I watched Rachel consider the question for a moment, then shake her head. “I can’t think of anyone who Bill doesn’t know about.”
“What about the witness protection program?” asked Mike.
“You mean, where I get a new name and identity and move somewhere miles from all my friends?”
“That’s it,” said Mike.
“I couldn’t do that. I’d rather risk being killed by Bill than leave all my friends and family behind,” said Rachel, her voice loud and clear.
“Okay. For now, let’s think about your options. We have time. I think Bill will be tied up in the legal system for the foreseeable future,” said Mike.
“That works for me. Do you need me to say or do anything more about my divorce?” asked Rachel.
“No, not a thing. I’m going to put together a document containing all the evidence you have against Bill and send it to the judge. He has the authority to make decisions when the evidence is incontrovertible. It might take him a few days to get to it and weigh all the evidence, but it’s my guess that you’ll be a free woman within two or three weeks, maybe even sooner,” said Mike, his left hand absentmindedly exploring the dressing on his right shoulder.
“That would give me relief from my nightmares. They’re bad, but they’re nothing like the ones Lisa and Joe have,” said Rachel.
“Why do you two have nightmares?” he asked, looking first at Lisa, and then at me.
“We were both in the army and we had stuff happen to us that gave us nightmares,” I said, speaking for both of us.
“Is that what they call PTSD?” asked Mike.
“Yes. The symptoms of PTSD can include nightmares, night terrors and flashbacks,” I said. I felt a shiver pass through me as I spoke. I hoped nobody noticed. If Mike did, he ignored it.
“Are you getting any help for it?” he asked.
“Yes. We both go to the VA hospital for a PTSD clinic every week. That’s where we met. Now we help each other, too,” said Lisa, speaking up.
“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. PTSD, I mean. My occasional nightmares don’t come close to that,” said Mike.
“When you have nightmares do you cry out?” asked Rachel.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Your wife has never commented on you crying out at night?”
“I don’t have a wife,” said Mike.
“Oh. I just assumed you were married.”
“I’m still looking for that special woman,” said Mike, his eyes searching Rachel for a reaction.
“I hope you find her. I think you have a lot of nice qualities,” said Rachel. I could see that she was aware of Mike’s eyes on her.
“Thanks, Rachel. I’ll get that document off to the judge by the end of the day, and I’ll call you when I hear anything. Meanwhile, stay safe,” said Mike.
“You, too,” she said, her eyes lingering on Mike. Shortly after, we all filed out.
Lisa kept me up to date on Rachel’s divorce progress. If all went well, she could be a free woman before we flew off to Schenectady. She told me that Mike continued to voice concerns that Bill might come after her when he was released from jail. It was a sobering thought. I considered what I could do to stop him from doing that. It was worth thinking about. I considered checking the want ads for vigilantes for hire. How would it read? Someone after you? We’ll make them think twice. Or maybe Someone threatening you? We’ll convince them to leave you alone. To hell with that. I decided that I could save all that money by taking on Bill myself. If I had to.
Four days later I had a phone call, and when I answered it, the speaker was filled with shouts and squeals of joy. “Hello? What’s going on?” I fairly shouted to be heard over the din.
“I’m a free woman! I’m a free woman!” It was Rachel.
“Tell me!”
“Mike just called! The judge looked over all the evidence we had against Bill, and he declared in my favor on the petition for divorce. I’m free of the sonofabitch! I mean, I’m free of the bastard! I mean, I’m free of Bill,” said Rachel, barely able to contain herself.
“That’s wonderful news, Rachel. I’m so happy for you! And by the way, I agree with you. Bill fits all of those descriptions you gave him.” A sense of accomplishment, of deep satisfaction settled over me. All my efforts had paid off. Rachel was my first successful rescue. The first of many, I hoped.
“And that’s not all! Mike said that he wanted to take me out to dinner, to celebrate my divorce,” she said.
“That makes two celebratory dinners. Lisa and I want to take you out, too,” I said.
“Oh, my! It looks like I’ll have to start watching my waistline, what with all these dinners out.”
“I’m sure you can handle it, Rachel.”
“I want you to know, Joe, I’ll always be indebted to you for all you’ve done for me. I could never make you enough clothes to repay you,” said Rachel, her voice gone serious.
“You owe me nothing, Rachel. Your happiness is all the payment I need,” I hastened to tell her.
“My words stand, Joe. I’ll never forget you,” she said.
I knew in that moment that I’d chosen the right path, a path that led to helping those in dire need.
Twenty
I pulled Lisa’s and my suitcase from the back of the car and locked the doors. My clothing selection was a close match to the ones I’d taken on our first trip to Schenectady, and I wondered if Lisa’s wardrobe matched her original one, too. The addition of her upholstery hammer and tacks might be the only difference. I crossed my fingers and hoped that security wouldn’t open her checked bag and think of them as lethal weapons. If they only knew! The August heat and humidity brought on by monsoon rains wilted us as we made our way to the terminal, but once we were inside the air conditioning brought us back. We breezed through check-in and dropped off our suitcases, and then we shed our shoes and got wanded by security without a hitch. Unhindered by baggage, we made our way to the same café we’d visited on our first trip. I opted for a glass of red wine and Lisa seconded the motion. I put a twenty on the table so we wouldn’t have to wait for a check when our flight was called.
“Are you ready for whatever adventure lies ahead?” I asked her after I took a sip of my wine.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied. She held up her wine glass. “To a successful Schenectady caper.”
I touched my glass to hers. We sipped our wine. With all the possible challenges we faced, I hoped that Lisa would come away happy. I knew I would do everything in my power to help her realize her dream of tacking Wittingly to that white picket fence. Despite my best efforts, I winced at the thought.
The flight was smooth and uneventful, and the drinks and snacks helped pass the time. I pitied the passengers in cattle class. They had the option of purchasing an uneventful meal for an outrageous price. I recalled my own time in cattle class. I was oblivious to the decadence occurring beyond the closed curtain ahead of me. Just as well. Uprisings on passenger liners are frowned upon.
The rental car we picked up outside the Albany airport was different than the earlier one, or maybe they had the dent taken care of. Same make, same model, though. I didn’t have to go through the hassle of learning where all the controls were. We dumped our bags in the trunk, climbed in, and took the exit route. “Schenectady, here we come,” I said.
“Captain George Wittingly, here I come,” said Lisa. She snuggled up against me, flooding me with that warm feeling I’d come to know. And Love. Life was good.
We made the same stop at the same Italian restaurant on the way. They remembered us and gave us a gratis carafe of wine. We ate heartily and they told us to hurry back when we left. Neither Lisa nor I shared their wish.
Same motel, different rooms, but eerily similar. We were one floor above our previous rooms, but when we opened the doors and walked in everything was the same. Lacking imagination, the designers had duplicated everything, right down to the floral prints on the wall. The connecting door was there, too. After parking my suitcase on the caddy, I opened my side of the door and tapped on Lisa’s door. “The mini bar is open,” I said to the closed door.
“I’ll be right there,” I heard Lisa say.
I glanced at my watch. It was seven-thirty Phoenix time, but already ten-thirty Schenectady time. Three hours different. Arizona skips daylight savings time, putting them on Pacific time during the summer months. I was tired from the travel, but I was a long way from bed ready. A drink with Lisa made a perfect way to end the day.
I heard her door click open and she stepped through the gap, leading the way with her warm smile. “So, kind sir, what is your drink preference for this special occasion?” she asked.
“Is this a special occasion?”
“You know it is. Any occasion shared with you is a special occasion. The man who singlehandedly rescued Rachel Hartack Bonner from a life of abuse is undeniably special,” said Lisa.
“Oh, that,” I said, struggling to minimize Lisa’s praise.
“Yes, that. And more. But I won’t get into that. What can I get you?” she asked as she brushed a strand of silky black hair away from her right eye.
“I think the red wine we enjoyed on our last trip would be a perfect fit for this evening,” I offered.
“I’ll have a looksee,” she said as she stepped over to the mini bar fridge and pulled open the door.
“And what to my wondering eyes should appear,” I said as she reached inside.
“But a bottle of red, waiting patiently here,” Lisa finished my intro as she drew it out with a flourish.
“I’m off to secure our fine crystal goblets,” I said, leaping from the bed and dashing into the bathroom. I wasn’t disappointed. A supply of stacked and sterile plastic cups sat waiting. I pulled out two and returned to Lisa. She’d negotiated her way past the screw cap in my absence. I handed her one of the cups and we peeled away the plastic film, unmindful of the bacteria we were planting on them in our haste. I held the cups and she poured. She parked the empty bottle on the bedside table and I passed her the cup that seemed slightly greater, gentleman that I am. She said “Cheers!” and I said “Chigadoo!” We bumped our cups together and sipped our wine, making a big show over its bouquet and balance.
“Ah,” I said, at a loss for words.
“Double ah,” said Lisa.
We sat side by side, her left hip making the barest contact with my right one, energy flowing. At length words came to me. “It doesn’t get any better than this, does it?” I asked by way of filling the void.
“I disagree. I think it does. When I have bestowed upon Captain Wittingly his just reward, I’ll be able to move on.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“His sneak attack on me took control and power from me, leaving me feeling vulnerable and weak. I want that control back. My tack attack on him will help me regain what he’s taken from me,” said Lisa. She stared at the far wall, her eyes unfocused as she spoke.
“I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
“I appreciate you, Joe. If it wasn’t for you, I would have abandoned my dream of evening the score.”
We chatted on, and Lisa ducked into her room to grab a matching red wine from her mini bar. She split it between us, and we sipped on, making small talk. The main event loomed over us, and we had our own thoughts about how it would go down. Me, I hoped everything would go according to plan and Lisa could be free of her nightmares, her painful burden. I knew what she was going through.
At length we drained our cups. Lisa bounced up and handed me her empty cup. As I took it, she leaned in and brushed her lips on mine, sending a cascade of energy flowing through me. “Good night, sweet prince. Parting is such sweet sorrow,” she said.
“Shakespeare,” I said, recovering. I watched her scoot into her room and close the door.
I made a big mistake, which I regretted later. I failed to review the defenses against my recurring nightmare, and it blasted through my neglected defenses like a tornado through an Oklahoma town. I found myself crying out as I sat upright in bed, my T-shirt drenched in sweat. I came to my senses to find Lisa beside me, hugging me to her and murmuring in my ear.
“It’s all right, Joe. It was just a bad dream. It’s over now. I’m here with you,” she murmured in my ear.
I shuddered as the last tendrils of my nightmare faded away, leaving me drained, disoriented. How did Lisa get here with me? Then I remembered the connecting door. “You heard me through the door?” I said as the fog lifted.
“It was impossible not to. Let’s hope the police aren’t on the way,” she said. I couldn’t see her smile in the gloom of my unlighted bedroom, but I knew it was there on her sweet face.
I put my arm around her and hugged her to me, thankful for her presence. Unlike the scene at her own nightmare, she wore a T-shirt that covered her and provided some separation, a minor barrier between us. The energy surged through me and then Lisa was kissing me. I knew I had to stop it. I pulled back from her and put my hands on both her shoulders, fending her off. At length she relaxed, her black eyes searching mine. “Is there something wrong?” she asked.
