Myopia

Once the man had settled himself comfortably into the armchair, he gestured to the young woman standing over him.

“Thank you Robyn, I’ll be alright now.”

“If you say so, Mr. D. Just try to relax.”

She patted his arm and turned to me. “You’ll make sure he doesn’t over-exert, won’t you, Dr. Sheppard?”

“I certainly will, Robyn. Have no fear of that,” I said in my most reassuring voice.

“Alright, I’ll be outside. See you in a bit Mr. Doyle.”

“Yes” came the soft reply from the chair.

I smiled as I walked her to the door. “I hope you’ll find my lounge comfortable. My secretary has left for the day but there are a few magazines in the rack next to her desk…”

“Oh, thanks but I’ll be fine. I’m reading this book right now and I can’t put it down.”

“Really? Which one?”

“It’s this book called ‘Cloud Atlas’ by David Mitchell. It’s fantastic. Once I got past the first forty pages I was hooked. It combines – oh God, look at me wasting your time. You needn’t worry doctor, I’ll keep myself amused.”

I held the door open for her, but she turned back, her eyes wide with concern.

“Make it quick if you can, please Doctor?” she whispered, “He’s completely exhausted but he insisted on seeing you, so I snuck him out of the hospital.”

“You what???”

“Please, he was adamant. He was so insistent. I’ve never seen him so determined. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had to…please help him.”

“I will, in every way I can,” I whispered back with as much confidence as I could muster.

I shut the door gently behind her and turned around. Doyle sat motionless, his attire blending well with the chair, making his well-built frame nearly indistinguishable from the wood. His greying hair, though uncombed, gave the appearance of neatness tucked away between the numerous folds of bandages encircling his temples. His eyes gave nothing away, obscured as they were by dark glasses, but the uncovered part of his head was peppered with purple bruises and offered some clues to the brutality he had recently suffered. His nose was heavily taped and even his lips bore some evidence of the conflict. His thin face carried no discernable expression. I wondered why, until I realized that even a grimace would have caused him considerable pain.

“Well, Mr. Doyle, what I can I do for you?”

He stirred at the sound of my voice.

“I must thank you Doctor, for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

“Really, it’s no trouble.”

“But I’ve kept you past your usual hour…”

“No, it’s fine, really.” I strolled over and seated myself on the chair next to him. “The whole town’s been talking about what you went through, mostly speculation of course since no one really knows what happened. I must say I admire your courage and stamina in coming here today. I would have gladly visited you at the hospital.”

“You’re too kind, Doctor, but I thought it more appropriate to see you in your office,” he let out a small sigh, “I’m ready to talk today, and I think I have a lot to say.”

I paused. Doyle had been attending sessions with me for a year, in line with the requirements demanded by his insurance providers. Unflinchingly polite and articulate, he had nevertheless steadfastly refused to discuss anything related to the car accident that had cost him his family and his eyesight.

It was and still is my belief that people are best served by confronting their traumas head-on and letting their emotions out as opposed to bottling them up. This was what led me to become a counselor. From my perspective, Doyle was relatively young and potentially had many years of life ahead of him. I wanted to help him get over his tragedy and find the strength to cope with his handicap. What other choice did he have anyway with no other living relatives or family to speak of? I had tried several different approaches to draw him into meaningful conversation during our hours together but he had maintained a dignified silence, never letting me in. I was new to the town back then, and acutely conscious that Doyle, although never problematic, was the only one of my subjects to have made no concrete progress in my then fledgling career. However, my profession required that I exercise considerable patience and so I did. In any case his situation was naturally a sympathetic one and so I was loath to force him to open up, preferring to concern myself with simply being available for him as and when he was required to see me.

What was special about today, I wondered, especially after a night in which he’d obviously endured some shocking violence?

“Only if you’re sure,” I finally said, “You’ve been through a lot lately, I can well understand if-” I trailed off as the door swung open to admit a short stocky man. His eyes swiftly sized us up before he moved forward and placed his hand on Doyle’s shoulder.

“John Doyle? I’m Inspector Murphy.”

“Inspector?” I interjected, still struggling to regain composure, and not happy at the prospect of potentially delaying Doyle’s breakthrough, “Please, this is a private psychiatric session being conducted here. Surely you don’t plan to question him now?”

“Don’t worry Doctor, it’s fine,” said Doyle, “I called him here.”

Murphy caught my eye and his grim, weather-beaten face relented into an uncharacteristic smile.

“I was willing to wait a few days, you know, at least until he recovered physically. Was pretty surprised when he called and insisted I meet him here.” He gave Doyle a gentle nudge, “What did you tell the hospital to get them to let you out in your condition?”

Doyle looked embarrassed. “I didn’t tell them anything. I convinced my assistant Robyn to sneak me out of there. They don’t know.”

“Good God!” exclaimed Murphy.

“What exactly is the purpose of all this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm as my insides churned.  

“Please don’t be alarmed, it’s all quite simple really. I’ve had an extraordinary experience that has given me some important insights; however there are some serious criminal implications that must be clarified. I was hoping to address both those things at the same time which is why I needed the two of you present. The hospital wouldn’t let me receive visitors at this time. The whole thing is still fresh in my mind and I’d like to talk about it if you’re willing to listen.”

The Inspector and I exchanged looks. “I’m fine with it if you are” he said.

“There’d usually be an issue of patient confidentiality but if he’s asked you to be here himself, I guess it’s okay.”

“Right then,” said Murphy briskly like the man of action he was, “Mr. Doyle, do you know that you’re entitled to have your lawyer present here during this session?”

“I do know that, and I waive my right to one.”

“Alright then, but I wasn’t prepared for this, I would have liked to record the discussion.”

“I’ve got a dictaphone, hold on” I interjected, displaying the one I kept ready for the session, “I’ll just turn it on and…”

Doyle extended his hand for it. “That won’t be necessary Doctor, I’ll manage.”

“Um…Fine then,” I stammered, feeling rather out of my depth, “Are you absolutely sure about doing this?”

“I’m sure. I want to.”

I motioned to Murphy to share my usual chair. My office wasn’t built to seat more than two people so we just sat on the armrests and stared at Doyle with wide eyes.

“We’re ready when you are.”

The blind man altered his grip on the instrument. Running a slim finger along its side, he sought out the button with the circle on it and pressed. As the spools of the tiny tape recorder set in motion, he began to speak, keeping his mouth as close as he could to the speaker so that not a word would be lost.

“It’s been an eventful night, to say the least. I’m not sure where to start from, really.”

He paused and adjusted the dark glasses on his nose in an all-too-familiar motion. The hand holding the dictaphone trembled briefly as he began again.

“I remember now, it was yesterday, about nine-thirty, because Robyn had just left for her home. I’d dressed for bed, put my glasses away on the counter and opened the pill bottle when I heard the doorbell ring. I was a bit irritated because I’d made up my mind and I wasn’t expecting visitors and I hate being surprised, especially after… I lost my vision.”

His mouth tightened, but he continued speaking.

“I fumbled a bit with the lid but finally managed to close the bottle and put it back in my pocket. It’s hard when they make them so small these days. I must have looked like a mess, I can’t see my reflection anymore, so there’s no real way I can comb my hair or keep track in any way of what I look like. I was thinking all this as I trudged my way to the door. Sixteen steps slowly, reach out for the door frame, one big step forward and turn left. Keep your hand on the wall and take four steps, reach for the screen door.

‘Robyn, is that you? Did you forget something?’ I asked. Silence.

‘I’m only blind, not deaf, you know!’ I chuckled at my own joke.

There was still no response. I was ready to walk back when an unfamiliar voice piped up.

‘Please open the door.’

‘What? Who are you?’

‘Don’t you recognize me?’

‘Don’t you recognize that I’m blind, boy?’

‘Please open the door and I’ll explain. It’s freezing out here.’

He sounded so unhappy that I forgot my irritation. Pulling back the screen door, I turned the doorknob and stuck my face out into the cold wind. Soft flakes settled on my face and disappeared almost instantaneously. Heavens, I thought, it’s snowing.

 I was suddenly pushed in the chest and knocked flat on my back.  I could hear heavy footsteps entering my house, then turning and shutting the doors. With my outstretched left hand I felt for the wooden frame leading to my living room. I sensed him stepping over me and leaning down. When he hit me in the throat I was completely unprepared. I barely had an instant to gasp when I felt steel on my teeth.”

Doyle didn’t pause but he did gently pinch the skin on his throat.

“You know books, the detective stories? When I could….used to read them, they always describe a gun barrel as cold steel. Every time! Like ‘cold steel pressed against his forehead.’ Well, this was warm. I think it was because he’d probably kept it in his coat for some time.”

Murphy made a noise of acknowledgement as he took notes. I just listened.

“Anyway, he had this gun pressed to my mouth and he dragged me up onto my feet. He told me that if I didn’t try anything funny, I wouldn’t get a bullet through the head. I couldn’t even say ‘Yes’ because he’d hit me so hard so I just nodded.

‘Where do you keep your money?’ he asked roughly, ‘You got a safe?’

I could feel rage welling up inside me.

‘I want cards too. Credit and debit with all the pin numbers. Be quick about it or you’ll never breathe again.’

‘You think I’m afraid of death?’ I spat out.

‘What?’

‘You son-of-a-bitch, you think you can walk into my home and take everything I have? You think I’m scared of you shooting me? Listen, I lost my wife and six-year-old daughter a year ago…and my eyes! The only people I cared about are gone!!! I have no one to live for anymore, death would be a fucking release!!! Where’s your gun?? Pull the trigger, shoot me now!’ I yelled.

Silence. Dead silence. I heard a sudden rush of wind before his gloved fist hit my temple; so hard that I fell to the floor. He climbed on top of me and began hitting me on my face and head slowly and deliberately, talking to me between punches, ‘I…have…a…gun…why…are…you…trying…to…FUCK…with…me? I don’t…care…about…your…problems. Give…me…what…I…want.’ He stood up as I gasped, struggling to breathe through the blood in my nose and mouth, and then kicked me in the stomach to drive home his argument.

I wanted to refuse, but the pain was simply too much to bear. He kicked me again and I nearly passed out in agony. I held up my hand to get him to stop.

‘Where?’

‘Up the stairs. Bedroom on the right. There’s a safe behind the painting on the wall.’

‘You’re coming with me,’ he said as he grabbed my collar and dragged me up the stairs.

I was instructed to sit on the bed while he attended to the safe. I could hear the sounds of the painting being removed and shattered and I was quick to respond when he asked for the combination. It took him a couple of attempts but I heard the door swing open and his murmur of satisfaction as he surveyed his haul.

‘No reason to live, huh? What were you going to do with all this money when you died? You know you couldn’t have taken it with you to heaven, right?’ he sneered. ‘No, it would have gone to some nephew or relative that you barely knew and who probably didn’t need it. I got needs, I barely have enough for my next meal, isn’t it better that I get it? In a way I’m saving your soul, I’m helping you to be charitable.’

Half my body wanted to scream from pain, the other half was past the point of feeling it anyway but I stayed silent. I simply didn’t want to be hit anymore when there was no way to retaliate and furthermore, I couldn’t think of any retort to make to him. In some twisted way, the thug’s logic actually made sense.

‘Hey blind man!’ he held my face in his gloved hands, ‘Where’s your wallet? Quickly and I won’t hit you.’

‘There’s a closet in the living room. In there is an overcoat, a black one I believe. It should be in the inside pocket on the right.’

‘Good, I’ll get that later. Anything else of value in the house?’

‘I don’t think so.’

He punched me in the solar plexus. It was some time before I could speak.

‘You said you wouldn’t-‘

‘I lied. Tell me again, is there anything else of value that I should know about?’

‘Fuck you!’

I could hear clothes rustle as he coiled back to strike, and quickly changed my tone of voice. ‘Everything of value that I possess is in that safe, I have only one debit card in the wallet, it’s easier to keep track of since…I was blinded. Look around the house if you don’t believe me.’

‘I will too, you can be sure of that. I’m gonna find out if you’re lying to me and if you are, I’ll fucking kill you.’ The menace in his voice chilled me to the bone. ‘Lie down on the damn bed. Lie down and don’t move. I’ll be back.’

I did as I was told and shut my eyes tightly as he strode away. He stormed from room to room, I could hear crashing sounds as he rifled through drawers and cupboards. Inhaling deeply, I took stock of my situation.

I was blind. I was hurt, although the wounds were more superficial than serious. Those blows to the stomach hurt like the devil but I didn’t feel like I was bleeding internally. My legs were undamaged, but where could I run? The window was a few feet away and I felt sure I could prise it open and slip out. Negotiating the fall would be trickier, I’d probably land awkwardly and sprain something. The fresh snow on the ground probably wouldn’t assist my getaway either. Besides, he had a gun.

Could I stay and fight him? Unlikely, without sight or a weapon. I possessed no knowledge of martial arts and even if I had, well, he still had a gun.

My cell phone was on the kitchen counter downstairs and the house had no land line since the accident. I was perilously short of options.

I tasted blood on my tongue. Damn, he’s broken my nose, I remember thinking. I’m not going to touch it, better to leave it as is. I felt angry again and humiliated. This would never have happened to me if I hadn’t been blind.

The blood in my nose was inhibiting my breathing so I was forced to turn on my side. Unfortunately he walked back in right as I was moving.

‘Where do you think you’re going, you blind bastard?’

‘I wasn’t going anywhere.’

‘Damn right you weren’t.’ He was on top of me in an instant. He wrapped something around my neck, it felt like a belt, and began to squeeze.

I instinctively jammed my hand under the leather against my throat and tried to scream.

‘Shut up. It will be less painful.’

He was pulling at the belt with all his strength, crushing my hand and my windpipe with it. I struggled but he shifted his weight onto my chest and continued the choking. I tried to focus on my breathing, taking a deep breath and holding it for as long as I could before exhaling. I did this a few times, conserving my strength to fight only when I needed to inhale. Every breath I took was shorter than the last. I knew I couldn’t keep it up.”

I found myself grabbing my own throat as Doyle spoke. Murphy just nodded, not looking up from his notes.

“The pressure abruptly ceased. He’d mercifully lost patience but I was still going to pay the consequences.”

‘Why don’t you just die peacefully?’ he snarled at me. I heard the movement of the belt and moved to protect my throat but he began whipping me instead. The first stroke hit me on the side of the head and set it ringing. I shielded my ears and face with my hands as he worked himself into a frenzy. He was hitting me with the buckle end and each impact felt like a sledgehammer.”

Doyle exhaled deeply, and his voice quavered for the first time.

“I did try to block it out, you know. I-I rolled my body up as tight as I could and tried to ignore it…I tried. He beat me so hard I fell off the bed, and then he began alternately whipping me and kicking me. I was crying…wailing, openly wailing when he stopped. I don’t know how much time had gone by, but I couldn’t stop crying.”

Murphy stopped his note-taking and put his pen down. I spoke up gently.

“I can’t pretend to imagine what it was like. I shudder to think of myself in your place at that moment. Would you like to take a break?”

Doyle shook his head firmly. “No, I’ll go on.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite know if he went out of the room or stayed there watching me. I just lay there crying on the floor. The pain, the humiliation, the shame, my grief for my wife and my child, my frustration at my blindness, it all seemed to blend into one stream of tears. I was lost and I was broken. I cried my eyes dry and then just gurgled and sputtered helplessly until his voice emerged.

‘Hey.’

It wasn’t a command but I fell silent immediately.

 ‘How are you feeling?’

There was a strange cheeriness in his voice.

‘I asked, how are you feeling?’

How am I feeling? Fuck you. ‘Okay.’

‘You look pretty beat up. Bet a glass of water would do you some good, eh? Let’s get some.’

The offer was a little too eager for my liking but I complied wordlessly, letting him pull me up by the arm and lead me to the stairs. He handled me with considerably more care this time, guiding me gently down each step.

‘Here, sit.’

He sat me down on one of the stools at my kitchen counter. As I heard the refrigerator open, I briefly contemplated trying to grab my cell-phone, probably placed in its designated spot on the counter by the ever-efficient Robyn before she left, but decided against it.

‘Hey there’s some juice in here, maybe that would suit you better. You want orange or cranberry?’

‘Uh, cranberry.’

‘Cranberry it is.’ He was in inexplicably good spirits. He’s up to something, I thought, but what?

He unscrewed the bottle cap and poured. It was then that I heard it: a gentle pop that was out of place amidst the sound of swirling juice.

I acted. I stood up, gripping the counter tightly with one hand while extending the other to guide myself.

‘Whoa, you don’t need to get up. I’ll give the juice to you. Here.’

He placed a glass in my hand but I continued to move around the counter into the kitchen.

He stopped me with a hand in my chest. ‘That’s far enough. What the fuck are you thinking?’

I brought the glass to my lips and took a sniff. Drano. ‘You’ve put something in this.’

‘What?’ He was flabbergasted, then composed again. ‘It’ll be easier for both of us if you just drink the damn juice.’ He nudged me back against the wall.

I made a spot judgment. I was in the south-west corner of my kitchen which is an enclosed space of five by eight feet. The only exit was to my left or over the counter. If we got into a clinch in this small space I liked my chances.

I threw the glass at him aiming for where I thought his chest would be and charged forward leading with my shoulder.  I hit him somewhere in his midsection and continued pushing until I drove him into the pantry.

I heard the clatter of his gun hitting the floor. I’d forgotten about the damn thing. I quickly reached around and got him in a head lock. My other hand felt for his eyes and poked my fingers into them as hard as I could. He screamed in pain and tried to break out of the hold, but I wasn’t letting go. I drew back with my free hand and punched him as hard as I could. Once in the nose and then in the throat. He went limp as he struggled for air. I used the respite to get behind him and put him in a sleeper hold. We fell to the ground, his body almost squarely on top of mine, and I locked my hands together to cement my grip.

He began shaking and kicking violently to get loose. I pulled him to the middle of the floor out of reach of the cabinets and settled myself comfortably on my back, pressing tighter on his throat with every chance I got.

‘Let go’ he said weakly, ‘I’ve got the gun and I’ll blow your brains out.’

‘No you won’t because you don’t have the gun,’ I said and I’m sure he could sense the satisfaction in my voice, ‘And I know you don’t have it because I’m lying right on top of it.’

He started to scream and dug his nails into my arm as hard as he could. It only spurred me to clamp down harder on his windpipe.

‘You’re not going to hurt me anymore. You’re not going to hurt anyone anymore.’

He kept kicking, trying to get leverage somewhere, trying to forge some means of escape. I shut my eyes and withdrew into myself, trying not to think about what was happening. I thought about my wife, and about my daughter. I thought about how happy we’d been before I lost them. I thought of everything that we’d built together, wonderful memories of the house and holidays, milestones small and large. I relived every happy moment I’d had with them, and realized that there were so many, really just so many moments that I’ve been fortunate to have experienced.

I don’t know when exactly he stopped struggling or how long I actually lay lost in my reverie. All I know is that when I did come back to reality my first thought was that I had better call the police. I wriggled out from under him, pulled myself up and grabbed my cell phone. As I punched in the numbers the enormity of the situation hit me, heavier than any of the blows I had endured earlier that night. I barely managed to blurt out my address and a request for an ambulance before collapsing. The last thing I recall was trying to crawl out of the kitchen.”

Murphy nodded, “That’s where we found you. You were passed out Doyle, and barely breathing. At first we weren’t even sure if you were still alive. It was a puzzling crime scene, first you and then that fellow, both senseless and some distance from each other. A loaded gun. Glass pieces and blood all over the kitchen. Took us a few moments before we realized that was mostly cranberry juice,” he chuckled, “but that only made the whole thing more bizarre.”

“The gun was loaded then?” I blurted out, “It wasn’t a prop filled with blanks or something like that?”

“No they were real bullets alright. Would have done some serious damage if he’d decided to use them.”

“I have wondered why he didn’t,” said Doyle, “He definitely wanted to kill me.”

“It is a strange thing, the criminal mind” said Murphy thoughtfully, “I did some preliminary work on this case earlier today. I was able to identify this man and research his record. He had two prior convictions for burglary in another state and he had moved here a month ago after his release from prison in search of work. Both times he was aggressive and violent towards the victims but ultimately left them alive which led to him being identified and arrested later. I think this was supposed to be the time he wasn’t going to leave any witnesses.”

He was thinking hard as his eyes narrowed and stared rigidly ahead, “He was staying with his aunt, who lives only a few doors down from Robyn. She is a gentle soul who was just trying to help out her sister’s boy; I spoke to her at length after she came in to identify his body. About a week ago he had been making enquiries to her about Robyn and what her profession was. His own attempts to find a job were not leading anywhere and he had noticed that she appeared to be satisfactorily employed and better paid than most others in the neighborhood. I am guessing he shadowed her one day all the way to your house Mr Doyle. He might have considered robbing her initially, but once he realized you were the source of her income, his choice was easy. An obviously handicapped man living in an upper class area, from a thief’s viewpoint you understand, is a relatively safer target compared to an energetic young woman known to his family. He’d probably been watching the house for a few days now, because he struck right after Robyn had left. You let him in yourself, so there was no forced entry, barring unexpected visitors the alarm wouldn’t have been raised till morning. He had the whole night to ransack the house and basically do whatever he wanted and he knew it.”

The inspector spoke slowly and deliberately, trying to help us understand his world. “I think this was a transition of sorts for him as a criminal; he was escalating from robbery to murder. It seems like he was experimenting with you, trying to figure out the best way to kill someone during a burglary so as to give him time to get out with as much loot as possible. His record shows he knew his way in and around crime. He might have known that a gun killing is messy and easier to trace, and that there’s always forensic evidence tied to the bullets. Therefore, strangulation was his first option….”

He nodded in my direction “In my experience it is the preferred method for a quick kill in these sorts of scenarios, but this was in all likelihood the first time he’d attempted this and he lost patience. Poisoning was the next idea he hit upon, and who knows, there may have been more. The gun was a last resort, to be used in case none of the other methods were effective. You were essentially practice for him for future crimes.”

I spoke up, eager to contribute, “The illusion of power is quite intoxicating to a psychopath, with time and circumstance apparently on his side he took pleasure in toying with you. The savage beating seems to me like an expression of anger towards previous victims who’d turned witness. Even so, he demonstrated a fondness for senseless violence and definite sadistic tendencies. It hints at some deep-rooted resentment, possibly due to a period of abuse during his childhood.”

Sometimes the epiphany of one’s idiocy only occurs after one has suitably demonstrated that one is an idiot at length. I have never hated myself more than I did at that moment for trying to sound intelligent in the midst of something truly admirable that had nothing to do with me. Doyle and Murphy politely allowed the silence to linger until I made a weak attempt to redeem myself,

“That you fought your way out of a hopeless situation like that was incredible.”

“That it was,” said Murphy, “You were very brave, very resilient.”

Doyle didn’t visibly react. “I can’t believe I’m responsible for someone’s death. I’ve never even dreamed of killing someone.”

“You didn’t,” I said firmly, “he tried to kill you. You defended yourself, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t feel any guilt at all, Mr. Doyle. Your actions under the circumstances were completely justified.” Murphy reached out to him. “I’ve been in much the same situation myself, and I understand what you’re going through. You may be in shock now and blame yourself but you mustn’t. It was self-defense and you were not at fault.”

At this point I offered them water in paper cups and so we all sat and sipped until the dictaphone suddenly reached the end of its reel.

“Heavens! I forgot to turn it off.”

“No harm done, I’ll take it from you.” Murphy transferred the instrument into his pocket. “I’ll make a copy of the tape and send it back to you Dr. Sheppard.”

“Please, I’d be grateful.”

“Anything else you would like to tell me Mr. Doyle?”

“No, Inspector. No, thank you.”

“Not at all. I’ll be taking your leave then. I wish you a speedy recovery.”

“I will, pleasure meeting you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t even mention it. You must promise that you will return to the hospital and rest now. I’ll be visiting you now and then to ensure you’re being well taken care off. Good night Doctor.”

“Good night sir,” I said and shut the door behind him.

I couldn’t help but feel awestruck. I had never been in a fight, in fact I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been in a physical altercation of any kind. I felt incredibly fragile at that moment, and very fortunate that I hadn’t been in Doyle’s predicament despite having all my faculties intact. I took my time walking back to him, trying to find some way to empathize with his frame of mind at the time.

Just as I believed I had something sensible to say I saw that he’d been silently crying again. I got down on one knee and spoke softly, “Let it out, Doyle.”

“Doctor, there’s one thing I haven’t told you.”

“What’s that? I’m here to listen. Take your time.”

“I think about my accident every day. Every single day. I think about taking the turn, suddenly becoming aware that I was going too fast, then catching my wife’s eye as she realizes all isn’t right.”

He sobbed. “I feel the impact, I physically feel the impact in slow motion, hear my daughter screaming and then abruptly  being cut off, I feel the glass shards piercing my eyes all over again, that’s the last sight I can remember. I then feel the wind being knocked out of me as my chest slams against the steering wheel. Oh God, it’s been like that every day since it happened. I couldn’t bear being without them, I loved them so much…”

“I know, I know.”

“I wanted to do something when I heard they were gone, make a memorial, set up a scholarship in Becca’s name, honor them in some way. But I was blind! Crippled, helpless and blind!!” he wept uncontrollably.

“I understand,” I said, even though I knew in my heart that I never could.

“There was no hope, no light at the end of the tunnel. Somewhere though, in the middle of all that happened last night, I realized something. I’m not whole right now, but I can be…again. I will be. I owe them that,” he took a deep breath, “I owe it to myself too.”

He extracted a small bottle from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. It popped open and the scent of bitter almonds tickled my senses. I stared blankly at it until the realization hit me like a slap in the face.

“The pill bottle? Oh Christ…”

“Yes. I’d made up my mind when the doorbell rang. I was ready to go Doctor, but I guess the world wasn’t ready for me to leave.” He smiled for the first time since I’d known him.

“I wonder if they’ve missed me at the hospital yet? Shouldn’t they give me a deal on the room considering I’ve spent so much time out of it? I think I’m going to get Robyn to speak to them about it.”

#shortstory #fiction