Chronicles of Jonathan Tibbs 1: The Never Hero Page 5

  She knew the police hadn’t trusted Jonathan’s story. They hadn’t implied he was lying, only that they believed that Jonathan believed he was telling it how it happened. She was all too familiar with cops saying something like that and knew how humiliating it was, how hurtful to be dismissed as such after being victimized. She knew Jonathan, and he wasn’t the type to go looking for attention. She couldn’t imagine any reason he would lie. She wasn’t going to let him think, even for a moment, that she doubted him. He didn’t need that.

  She felt a draft and noticed a fan was on in the corner. Grant nudged her from behind, and she stopped stalling in the doorway. When she entered the room, she turned off the fan. Jonathan seemed annoyed at first, his eyes leaving the window when the sound ceased. The look faded when he saw her.

  Grant’s cell phone vibrated as they entered. When he looked at the caller ID he excused himself from the room.

  There was awkwardness at first, the uncomfortable knowing that there was nothing in particular to say, just the desire to be present, to visit, to be a friend. While she sat with him, she fumbled in her purse, and remembered she’d been carrying around an essay she’d reviewed for him.

  “I forgot to give you this,” Paige said, pulling the folded paper from her purse. “I proof read it a bit, I thought, I don’t know, that you might want to work on it.”

  She held in her hand the essay Jonathan had been meaning to finish this weekend. They often worked together on such things, their majors being so similar. He’d asked her to take a look a few days earlier. She felt silly offering it now, but maybe later he’d appreciate the distraction.

  The paper looked like it was bleeding to death, covered in red marks everywhere she had found a mistake or made a note. He looked at the paper now like he didn’t recognize it, like school was something so far from his thoughts that he must have written the essay in some other life. She recognized that look. She’d had it before herself, and she didn’t take it personally. She placed the paper on the table. It was pretty marked up; he might not be able to salvage it without a complete rewrite.

  Grant returned, looking like he was in a hurry. He said that he’d been called to base and had to leave immediately. At first Paige thought he might be lying, making up an excuse to leave because he didn’t want to be here, but she noticed that he himself appeared uncertain about being summoned so abruptly. Either way, she couldn’t blame him for leaving. Jonathan certainly wasn’t going to gain anything from his presence. She smiled at him, thanked him for bringing her, and told him to call.

  Grant nodded and left.

  Jonathan seemed more at ease once he was gone again.

  “How are you really feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” he said, “I don’t even think I need to be here.”

  “I didn’t necessarily mean physically,” she said.

  Jonathan looked at her for a moment, like he was trying to decide what to say; be honest or put up a facade of normalcy? Had it been Collin or Hayden he might have chosen the facade.

  “I’m worried,” he said quite simply.

  “Worried, ehh? That seems like the understatement of the year,” she said sympathetically.

  “I think the doctors and police must be right,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I think, with the drinking, and whatever I was dosed with, that I can’t be remembering things right.”

  For a moment she almost felt let down. She’d prepared herself to champion anything he claimed, to believe anything he needed her to believe. This was just like him though. She should have known it before she even got there. He’d sooner doubt himself than trust his own memory if the evidence was against him. Given the circumstances, she had to respect that he was willing to accept that he might be remembering things wrong, it was mature. Had it been her, she’d have slapped any cop or doctor who dared give her a doubtful look.

  Jonathan didn’t have her baggage though, she remembered.

  “It’s possible, I guess. Given everything that happened, your mind might play tricks,” she said, “but I believe you.”

  “Hayden and Collin tell you what I remembered?” He asked.

  She nodded.

  “Well, thank you,” he said, “but you can probably see it’s better to doubt it. Or else I might need to start worrying about my sanity.”

  Paige was concerned by the last statement. Sanity seemed a strong word, but she didn’t say so. Time passed with nothing said, so she decided to change the subject to something that had been bothering her.

  “Hayden told me,” she paused. “You forbid him from calling your mother?”

  She’d masked the statement like a question, but it was really a subtle reprimand.

  Paige adored his mother. Whenever Evelyn visited Jonathan, she spent half the visit with Paige. They’d clicked since the day Jonathan had moved into the house as a freshman. Evelyn had taken time off work to help him get situated. Jonathan didn’t realize at the time that it was really his mother’s way of prolonging his moving out. Paige had understood and the two had ended up at the kitchen table drinking coffee while Jonathan hauled in everything he’d brought with him from home.

  Paige thought Jonathan had found their relationship endearing. He didn’t seem to think so now. Defiance flashed over his face. He looked like he was trying to gauge if his little sister planned on ratting him out to their parents, suspicious that she might deliberately go against his wishes. She didn’t blame him for the look, because she’d been thinking it and wasn’t making any pretenses.

  “I’ll tell her, I just don’t want her coming up here and making things worse. I want some time to sort it out before she over-involves herself,” he said.

  Hard pressed to ignore such wishes under the circumstances, Paige nodded, but she didn’t like it. They talked a while longer before she started to get ready to go.

  “Paige, would you turn the fan back on,” he said before she left. “The sound helps.”

  An hour south of downtown Seattle, Grant sat in the small room he’d been directed to on Joint Base Lewis-McChord. He’d been stationed there for over a year now waiting out the end of his service, which was due in the next few weeks.

  He’d never been in this room before, let alone this building, and it was becoming unnerving as it bore stark resemblance to the interrogation rooms he often saw on procedural cop shows. There was one door, three chairs, a metal table, and no windows except the obvious one way mirror with people behind it watching him. He’d been waiting for nearly twenty minutes now, and no one had informed him what this was in regards to or who he was supposed to be meeting with.

  Finally the door opened and Captain Spencer entered.

  “Stay seated, Specialist,” he said, and Grant followed the order.

  Spencer took a seat across from him, his back to the one way mirror. He had a manila envelope in his hands. He opened it and read while Grant waited.

  “I apologize for the way you were pulled in today,” Spencer started. “Rest assured; you’re not in any trouble.”

  Grant nodded and relaxed. Spencer seemed to be speaking to him in a highly formal manner. He had to assume they were being watched by someone important behind that mirror.

  “I wanted to inform you that your discharge will be going forward sooner than scheduled; I know this is sudden but you will be honorably released from active duty today,” Spencer said.

  That caught Grant off guard, he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been given time to plan for it either.

  “Captain?” he asked.

  “Our superiors have requested I present you with a rather unconventional proposition, Grant,” Spencer said. “They assured me that should you decline on any ethical grounds that you won’t be punished. However, there will be substantial financial reimbursement for your participation should you choose to accept their offer.”

  After a pause, Grant nodded slowly.

  “Still it must be pointed out, sh
ould you decline, you will be sworn to secrecy about the request on punishment of treason. I have documents in this folder that you’ll be required to sign before you are presented with any additional details. These documents also require full disclosure of any details that may be requested about your private life, should you wish to participate,” Spencer said.

  He pulled the paperwork out of the folder and pushed it toward Grant. He then removed a pen from his front pocket and laid it down in front of the documents. There were pages upon pages of legal jargon for him to pretend to read as he thought over what was being presented. Luckily, the places where he needed to sign were highlighted.

  Grant didn’t think for long. His curiosity was stronger than his caution. Whatever this was, it might be a chance at doing something real, something important. Spencer had said he didn’t have to accept. Worst case scenario, all he would be forced to do was keep a secret. He figured he could handle that.

  After he signed, Spencer offered Grant his handshake, then got up and left the room instructing Grant to remain seated.

  Again he was left for a period that seemed purposely long. Knowing he was being watched through the window only made time stretch. It was an effort to sit still knowing strangers observed him behind the mirror, and he found he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wondered if this was some kind of test and they wanted to see how long his patience would last.

  A woman finally stepped into the room. She was dressed professionally, immaculate in business attire. She wore heels, her hair up, thick rimmed glasses, and carried a metal briefcase in her right hand; attractive, in an FBI meets librarian sort of way, but Grant thought she couldn’t be military. He reigned in his eyes, not wanting to be caught letting them roam down her impressively fit body.

  He was irritated now, knowing it was this woman who had been making him wait. Some power play to show how important her time was, and conversely, how insignificant his was. She was likely some Army Intelligence Contractor’s overpaid bimbo secretary.

  Can we please get to business already, Princess, he thought.

  She was the type who used her body to cloud men’s judgment, conveying some power with her sex. Grant recognized it. She was probably only here to give him some orientation before he was taken to his new commanding officer. Still, he knew better than to let his opinions show on his face, the man in charge could still be watching through the glass.

  She didn’t offer her name. She didn’t make eye contact with him or smile. Instead, she went through an excessive amount of preparation pulling out her chair and organizing herself, retrieving file folders from her briefcase and placing them in front of her with excessive precision.

  Grant didn’t appreciate being ignored, nor her disregard for observing the pleasantries. It was impolite. What did she think? That she was above shaking his hand or giving her name, treating him with the respect he was due.

  Finally, pulling a photo from one of the files she’d carefully laid out, she spoke. “My name is Olivia,” she said. “You will report to me from here on.”

  Grant flinched, but then nodded.

  “What is this about?” he asked. “Why all the paperwork?”

  Ignoring the question, Olivia held the photo out to him.

  “As thoroughly as possible, describe your relationship with this individual,” she said. “Be candid, leave out no details.”

  The desire to say something confrontational swelled after his questions were ignored. He looked from her face to the picture and found himself puzzled. It was a photo of him and Paige. It was clearly taken at the hospital this morning, less than a few hours ago.

  This woman had put them under surveillance.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MONDAY | JUNE 20, 2005 | NOON

  IT’S too bad mind bleach isn’t a real thing, Collin thought.

  It was awkward business having recently traumatized friends. Knowing how to behave in these situations didn’t come easily to him. He wasn’t sure what to say, what not to say, when to be helpful, when he became smothering, how long until it was okay to have fun again. He took most things with a laugh but they were all having trouble finding the humor in this.

  When Hayden brought Jonathan home from the hospital, his eyes looked over the kitchen and he just seemed at a loss. Collin understood. What is the appropriate way to say “thanks everyone for cleaning my blood off the kitchen floor”? Instead, Jonathan had said nothing.

  Paige, Hayden, and he had been up late cleaning the mess off the floor and cabinets, bleaching the towels they’d stained, getting rid of the cloudy red mop water. It was a night he wasn’t soon to forget. They’d all been so quiet as they cleaned, he’d felt like a mortician.

  It wasn’t as though they had done it so Jonathan would thank them. Collin figured it was an unspoken law of humanity: if your friend nearly bleeds to death all over the kitchen, everyone chips in and cleans it up before he has to see the mess. In reality it was a lame, although at the same time genuine, attempt to protect Jonathan from his own memory, to try and limit the reminders. The only thing that would get the blood off the linoleum in Jonathan’s memory was time.

  Regardless, Collin imagined they’d be doing a lot more eating out for a while.

  Jonathan had wanted to head straight to his room. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, seeming to remember something.

  “Will, one of you—” Jonathan had stammered. “Let me know if you aren’t going to be—”

  “We’ll be around. We won’t leave you alone until you ask us to,” Collin had said.

  He’d nodded, then turned and headed up the stairs. That Jonathan wasn’t the type to ask for help made Collin feel for him. All things being equal, Collin figured he would have reverted to a three-year-old and wanted nothing but his mother had it happened to him. Oddly, that was the one thing Jonathan had forbidden. Paige had said that he wanted to get things straight in his head first. Collin didn’t really buy that, he figured Jonathan didn’t want her to worry about him anymore than the woman already did. Paige wouldn’t have gone along with that though.

  “We need to make sure someone is always home with him,” Paige said.

  Collin and Hayden didn’t argue, if they were being honest, none of them wanted to be in the house alone right now.

  “It’s making me paranoid,” Hayden said. “What if that guy comes back? Shouldn’t we have police surveillance, something?”

  “I don’t know,” Collin said. “I mean, they do stuff like that on TV, but they didn’t even offer it to him at the hospital. I don’t think Jonathan makes the cut for bodyguard status. If this guy is still planning to come for Jonathan, he has plenty of patience anyway. Who knows how long he waited to get him alone the first time.”

  He noticed Paige shiver visibly at what he’d said.

  “I hate thinking someone may be watching us right now,” she said.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been in bed sometimes. He lost track as days and nights ran together. He took the sedatives the doctors prescribed. He knew he was abusing them, but he didn’t want to be awake. Being awake meant remembering, feeling. He didn’t want to see the syringe again, he didn’t want to remember crawling through that puddle. He didn’t want to let himself relive his powerlessness in the hallway.

  His friends didn’t lecture him for it, they had understood.

  “You hurt an ankle, you take some pain killers and stay off it, and you don’t jump straight into physical rehab. Who am I to say the same might not be true for an injured mind,” Collin had said.

  He’d been talking to Paige, whispering in her room down the hall. They didn’t know Jonathan had heard. They’d started to take for granted that he was asleep. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t offended.

  An injured mind, he’d thought; it sounds as apt as any way he could have put it.

  At times, when he couldn’t will himself to stay in bed, he came down and sat on the couch. They’d talk to him, try to make him smile, but he seldom di
d. Usually he was only half paying attention to the minutia of their conversations as he was too caught up in his own head. The energy needed to listen was too great and quickly wore him out.

  Once, he picked up his school books like he was thinking of doing some homework. He lost his drive before he’d even gotten the bag open. The University had given him a special dispensation; he wasn’t expected to attend classes. He felt that he wanted to care, wanted it to be more difficult to cast off all the work he’d put in that quarter, yet he couldn’t. Wanting to care simply didn’t make it real.

  They had tried once or twice to see if he’d talk about the attack, but he’d just shake his head. It only drained him. Sifting through what he remembered, trying to find the pieces he felt he could trust to be real. It was like trying to fix current reality with memories that had to be broken.

  One morning, sleep evading him, he stood at his bedroom window locking and unlocking the latch, wondering if this was how the man had entered into his room.

  Did I ever lock this window? Had I ever checked? he wondered.

  As he stood there, unable to remember, he noticed a moving truck in the driveway next door. Curious, he watched to see if he could get a glimpse of the new neighbors. The house had been vacant almost as long as Jonathan had lived next door.

  All he saw were two large men in gray jump suits, hired movers. Whoever had rented the place must have been well off if they could afford to hire professionals. He watched for a while, trying to get an idea of the new occupants from the furniture he saw. The only telling item was a bed frame that looked like a race car. Must be a family with a child, he thought. When the movers ran out of furniture and only had boxes left to haul he lost interest.

  Absent a distraction, the memories he didn’t want returned. He took some pills, made sure the window was locked, and pulled the shade down to block out any light that might threaten to wake him.

  Something strange was happening in all their down time. If Hayden was being honest with himself, he and Collin might have been home anyway, but a week and a half of feeling trapped at home was suddenly making them productive.