CHAPTER 10
Joan kept herself busy after John walked out. She moved around and chatted with people in the camp. She went out and scrounged up something to eat with some friends. Time was moving slowly for her. This kind of waiting reminded her too much of those days with her son.
Shying away from that thought, she busied herself sorting the things she and John had collected the day before. He had a sharp eye and learned fast. He'd found quite a few things she had overlooked. She got involved sorting the things she could sell and things she could trade. Most of all she was happy with the things she'd decided to keep.
Having things sorted into piles, Joan ventured back out into the camp. It had quieted down quite a bit. She was surprised it was quite late, apparently more time had passed than she realized. She went looking for Joe and Mack. Finding them around the fire they kept burning in the middle of the camp, she sat down next to them.
"Either of you boys know what time it is?" she asked.
"Think it's after midnight. Saw Murray come in a while back and he never comes back until after midnight. So maybe 1:00 in the morning?" Joe replied.
"One o'clock? In the morning?" Joan jumped up. Worry was written all over her face. "Have either of you seen John? He left sometime this afternoon. I thought he'd be back by now."
Mack looked at Joe and they both looked back at her. Shrugging his shoulders Mack answered, "Nope. We've been right here most of the day and tonight. Nothing going on anywhere."
Joan felt the beginnings of panic. John had never gone out this long by himself. Remembering the state he was in when he left, she became even more worried. He was still in a fragile state of mind. Their talks had seemed to be helping him and they certainly were helping her. But now the fear that she remembered feeling when her son would disappear came back full force.
She'd been helpless before but not this time! She was not going to lose John. Not like she lost her son.
"Boys, I need your help to find John. I was worried when he left today. Something was bothering him. I think something might have happened to him…..or he might have done something." she paused for a moment, trying to get control. "And we may need some of the others too. Can you get some of your friends to help us?"
Seeing Joan's obvious distress, Joe and Mack immediately understood the seriousness of what she was asking. "Sure, we can get a couple of guys to help. Give us a few and we'll be back." Both got up and quickly walked into the other parts of the camp.
Normally Joan was not the excitable type. Her cynicism after living on the streets for so long, normally kept her immune to the highs and lows of life in the camps. But this was different. This was personal. This was John. The depth of her concern for John caught her by surprise. But then remembering why she had been drawn to him in the first place, she knew why she was reacting so strongly to his unexplained absence.
Joe and Mack returned quickly with four friends. Once they described who they were looking for, they all knew what to do. Most people knew who John was since he'd been there for a month. They were more than willing to go look for him.
Joan was ready to go out looking with them but Joe stopped her. "Look, he may show back up while we're out. It would be better if you're here then, right?" She couldn't argue the logic but she hated being left behind. She felt she needed to be doing something!
Joe and Mack sent their friends out looking in pairs. That way if they found John, one could stay either with him or watch him while the other came back for help. Altogether, with six of them looking, they could cover a pretty decent sized area quickly.
After about an hour of walking down some of the streets near the warehouse where the camp was, Joe and Mack expanded their search. There weren't many folks on the streets and the ones they stopped and asked about John, none had seen him. That was until they got deeper into the city.
Finally they heard some folk talking about three guys getting beat up over some liquor. That was a pretty common occurrence on the streets but there was something about the way people talked about the guy who'd walked away unharmed that made them feel they had found John.
Within two blocks Joe realized they were headed toward the bridge. That was not good. He felt if John had headed there again, the ending might be very different than the last time. He grabbed Mack by the arm and pointed, "The bridge, I'll bet you 100 bucks he's on the bridge."
Mack looked up and then at Joe, "God I hope not. I hope not for Joan's sake." And they took off running.
The cheap liquor was finally having the desired effect. John was torn between closing his eyes and the world spinning or opening his eyes instead and having everything blurry and spinning. His head rolled back and forth on the metal girder behind him. He couldn't seem to form a coherent thought. It all just blended into an agony that would not be denied.
His head snapped forward and he tried to focus. What he felt was an overwhelming feeling of guilt, the torment of the damned. And that's what he was...damned. Everyone he knew, everyone he'd LOVED was gone. And it was all because of him. Wherever he went, he carried with him the raven of death and no one was immune. First it was his father, then his mother and sister.
And one day, he'd met HER. His Jessica. And despite all the pain he'd caused to those that had loved him, she still found that part of him that was good. Jessica had made him whole, she completed him. He'd known that from the first moment they had met. He had never been happier. And then came 9/11. He KNEW then that he had to let her go. He could feel the wings of death surrounding him once more. It wouldn't have been fair to her to drag her down with him. So he'd let her go.
He'd tried to fill the resulting emptiness with his buddies in the Army, but one by one, they were taken from him because he wasn't quick enough. He didn't kill the enemy fast enough to keep them from hurting all his men. GOOD men. Men who deserved to come back to their wives and families.
And then the CIA came for him. The temptation of helping his country was the final step in the road that led to his damnation. And then Jessica called, and when she needed him the most. What did he do? He chose his job over her. He had let Jessica go and then lost her for good. He lost her, the one person who connected him to the world.
Why was he still here when she was gone? Because he was damned, reliving his guilt every single day, always in pain. He was spirally down deeper into darkness. He deserved every bit of the torture he endured.
Mack spotted him first. Relief washed over him when he realized John was still on the bridge. That he hadn't done anything stupid. At least not yet. Joe caught up with him and he pointed in John's direction. They could both see he was sitting on the walkway, not the railing like last time.
They both had a healthy respect for John and his ability to defend himself. They knew better than to walk up unannounced. Joe had a military background and knew from watching John, that he was highly trained and quite capable of taking care of himself, even when he was liquored up, which it looked like he was now. Observing how he was sprawled out on the sidewalk, legs straight out, leaning back on the girder and the telltale paper bag by his side, he knew.
Joe motioned for Mack to go around to John's other side. It would be better to come at him from both sides just in case the man tried to do that stupid thing they were worried about. Once Mack was in place, he gave Joe the high sign.
"Hey John, what ya doin' out here this time of night?" Joe asked as he slowly approached. Keeping a respectful distance, he waited to see if he'd get an answer.
John's head slowly turned toward Joe. Squinting his eyes, John tried to focus on the blurry shape talking to him. The voice was familiar but he couldn't focus well enough to see who it was.
"Who's there?" John asked, his words slurred, his voice hoarse from all the straight liquor he'd been drinking.
"It's me, Joe. You know me." motioning Mack to back off, he moved closer. "I'm a friend of Joan's. You remember her, right?"
Joe watched in disbelief when John's face crumpled. "Joan? Joan? Where's Joan? I gotta apologize to her." John was obviously choked up. "Joan's been so good to me and now I've gone and disappointed her. Where is she? I need to tell her..." the last words were made in a broken whisper.
"It's ok John, I'll take you back to Joan. Mack is with me." he motioned for him to come forward. "You remember him. We're both gonna help you get back to the camp."
"Back to Joan?" John asked with a slight tremble in his voice.
Getting John back to camp was not easy. He was having trouble walking, but Joe and Mack did their best between them. Neither was sure if his problem was because he was drunk or because of the mental shape he was in. It reminded Joe of some of his Army buddies going through something like this. Too many returning vets had deteriorated like this, from liquor and PTSD, a potent and too many times deadly, combination.
The normally hour walk took almost two hours. John was resistant part of the time, fighting them, wanting to be left alone. Then other times he kept saying he needed to see Joan. A couple of times they had to just stop and sit on a bench and rest.
Having had enough of John dragging his feet, Joe and Mack ended up grabbing his pants from the back, at his waist, and almost carrying him. It would have been easier if he'd had on a belt. Carrying him that way, they each hauled one of John's arms over their shoulders and finally were able to cover some ground. All three were exhausted by the time they walked through the door of the warehouse.
Seeing Joan just inside the door, Joe caught her eye and shook his head, warning her off. They slowly made their way through the camp to Joan's area against the back wall. She followed them, anxious to see what condition he was in. After waiting for over three hours she had become frantic that John had done what she had feared. Relief at seeing him alive was tempered with concern at the obvious bad shape he was in.
Holding open the blanket door, Joan stepped aside to let them in. Following them in, she gestured to a pallet against the wall. Mack figured that was where John slept and he and Joe lowered him down so he was sitting on the pallet. John immediately scrambled until he was leaning back against the wall. Pulling his knees up to his chin, he bowed his head and wrapped his arms around his legs and pulling into himself, trying to disappear.
Joan watched them as they settled John down. She found herself staring at a shadow of the man who had walked out yesterday. Turning toward Joe, she was at a loss of what to say or even ask. He nodded his head toward the door, not wanting to talk in front of John.
"Where was he?" was the only question that Joan asked once they were outside of her sleeping area. She felt the answer to that would explain a lot.
"He was at the GW bridge. Just like last time." Joe answered. Joan gasped, afraid to hear more.
"But not quite like last time." Mack interrupted. "This time he was sitting on the sidewalk on the bridge. Not the hand rail." Joan closed her eyes and mumbled, "Thank God."
"Yeah, I don't think he was planning on jumping this time. But he's pretty tore up about something." Joe continued. "He's had a lot to drink but I think he's messed up in the head more than anything."
"Main thing he kept saying was that he needed to talk to you. Said he needed to apologize. Everything else was kinda gibberish." Explained Mack. "Except he did keep saying the name Jessica. That was pretty much all we could understand."
Joan reached up and hugged both of them, thanking them for finding him and bringing him back back toward the blanket door, she took a moment to bring herself under control. Taking a deep breath she pulled the blanket back and walked in.
Walking over to where John was huddled up, she sat down. She said nothing, just sat there with her hands in her lap looking at him. Taking in his posture, he seemed to be withdrawing into himself, almost like he was trying to disappear. It was clear he had spent a rough night even though she didn't see any cuts or bruises.
John was shaking his head side to side, mumbling to himself. With his face down on his knees she couldn't understand any words, but the sound he was making broke her heart. There was so much pain in that sound.
Slowly reaching out she started to touch his shoulder but she stopped short. Instead she lowered her hand and touched his hand. His mumbling stopped immediately. But he didn't pull away from her touch. She slowly slid her hand in to his and squeezed it gently. After a moment of hesitation, he squeezed her hand.
They sat like that for a while. Joan's arm and shoulder were getting tired but when she would try to withdraw her hand, he gripped it harder. His bowed head brought tears to her eyes. He reminded her so much of her son. She had seen him in this exact same position too many times.
"John, can you hear me? John?" she asked softly, leaning close to catch his answer. She was met with silence.
"John, it's me, Joan. You're home." She winced at her use of that word. They had never called this place home. It was for her, had been for a couple of years. But she wasn't sure how he felt about it. There was still no sound from him.
Reaching up with her other hand, she gently touched his hair and whispered, "John, you're ok. You're safe here." That got her a response, but it was more violent than she expected.
He pulled away from her hands and pushed himself further back against the wall. His eyes held look of fear and confusion. "Safe? Safe? Nowhere is safe!" His eyes darted everywhere, looking behind her, looking on each side of him. There was no recognition of where he was.
Gritting her teeth Joan reached out a grabbed John's hands once again and held on tight. "John, look at me. LOOK AT ME!" She was not going to let go. She was not going to let HIM go. Not this time. Not. This. Time. "John, it's me. It's Joan."
Finally John turned his head toward her and looked her in the eyes. Joan saw the moment of recognition. "Joan? Joan?" he whispered, almost in disbelief. "Joan!" Pulling her toward him he hugged her with all his might, pulling her off balance so she leaned into him.
Closing her eyes Joan hugged him back with the same fierceness. And suddenly she knew, all was not lost, there was still hope.
"Joan, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for disappointing you. Please forgive me." John begged he held her tight.
Not being sure what he was asking forgiveness for, Joan decided to just follow his lead. "Of course I forgive you John." Pausing for a moment she cast around in her mind about what to say next, to keep him talking. "I know you didn't mean to disappoint me, not deliberately. It's ok. And I'm not disappointed, really, I'm not."
That seemed to ease some of the tension she could feel in him. She slowly pulled back to see what was in his face. He had such an expressive face when he talked to her. She'd noticed he was rather closed off when talking to others. But with her, he was always open.
The naked pain and confusion she saw took her back to those dark nights with her son. It was almost more than she could handle. But she would handle it. This was why she was drawn to John. He had the same darkness in him that she'd seen in her son. Something she'd unfortunately seen too late.
This was not the same John that she'd been living with over the last month. Something had broken. Something that he'd either kept from her deliberately or subconsciously. This damage was done a while ago, she sensed. But she was going to help him fix it, to fix himself. She owed it to her son. She owed it to John, who she had come to love as a son.
"It's going to be alright John. I promise."
Sliding around, Joan settled next to John and leaned back against the wall. She was glad he didn't try to move away. Sitting there quietly, she hoped he understood she was not going away either, that she was there for him. She wondered if he would have returned if Joe and Mack hadn't found him. Shaking her head slightly, she refused to let her thoughts go in that direction. It wouldn't do any good for anybody.
Stretching out her left hand, she touched John's right hand. Since he didn't pull it away, she carefully slipped her hand in his and brought it to her lap. After a moment, his grip tightened on her hand. Looking at him sideways, she could see he still had his head down. It looked like his eyes were closed.
"John, tell me what happened." She asked quietly, but got no response, not even a reaction. She tried again, "John, tell me what happened. It's ok. You're here with me now."
Again there were no answer from John. The longer he took to answer her the more worried she became. What had happened to him since he'd walked out yesterday? She knew he had been upset, pre-occupied but nothing like this.
Lightly rubbing his hand she realized it felt unusually rough. Bringing his hand up she could see his knuckles were cut, and raw in a few places. He had such beautiful, elegant hands! They could only have gotten in this shape by fighting!
"Please don't shut me out John. Nothing you can say will push me away. I'm here for you." The words that she never said to her son, but should have, came effortlessly. "Talk to me, please."
With a barely audible sob, John began to cry. Tears flowed freely down his face from his closed eyes. His whole body began to shake.
"I'm a fake, a fraud. I'm not the man you think I am." Leaning his head back he opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling above, his tears continued to silently flow. "I've done things. Horrible things. I've killed people." he whispered. "I don't belong here. I don't deserve to be here."
He tried to pull his hand away from Joan but she held on tight. "Let go! I don't deserve your compassion!" he growled, angry now.
"No, I'm not going to let go John. I told you NOTHING you can tell me will make me push you away." She pulled on his hand, wanting him to look at her. "Believe me...you know I don't lie." Joan said fiercely, holding his hand with both of hers.
Finally John turned toward Joan, the sight of so much self-loathing in his face almost made her heart stop. She knew what was wrong. She'd seen it in her son. But she hadn't known how to deal with it then. But she had learned.
She was quite a bit smaller than John but she reached around him and pulled him even closer. She pulled his head down to her shoulder and held him as tightly as she could. And she rocked him. Making nonsense sounds to soothe him, she held on tightly and rocked back and forth. He struggled to shake her off but she was not going to let go for any reason. Finally he quit struggling and relaxed into her arms. The tears still flowed but the emotion behind them seemed to be easing.
Eventually, he stretched out with his head in her lap. Joan stoked his hair and still talked softly to him, reassuring him he was safe, that he was ok, that she was there for him when he was ready to talk.
As the tension left him, he began talking. At first the things he said were disjointed and jumbled, spoken in a monotone. Eventually his words began to make sense. She realized he was talking about his time 'over there'. She already knew he'd been in Afghanistan and Iraq, just like her son. As he talked, it became easier to follow what he was saying. The more he talked the more emotion was shared: shame, guilt, anger, angst, doubt, rage, suspicion, regret. One emotion bounced into another one. With every change Joan could feel John physically react. One moment he would be shivering like he was freezing then stressed and flailing about, then his shoulders shaking as he was wracked with sobs. She did the only thing she knew to do...she held him tightly, crooning to him when she felt he was too deep in his pain, letting him know he was not alone.
He talked for a long time, reliving almost every moment that he described to her. Some of it sounded familiar, like from her son, but John had obviously been involved much deeper in fighting the war. She had to physically make herself not react to some of the things he was telling her. But it was obvious that he needed to tell someone these things. Some of them were obviously as painful for him to tell as it was for her to hear. There were other moments where she could hear the anger and the disgust at what he was telling her. The stories just rolled out of him. The more he told her, the more relaxed he became. The more she heard, the more tense she became.
He was right. He was a fraud in the sense that the persona he projected did not match the man pouring out his heart now. The man she allowed to be brought into this camp was not the same man with his head in her lap, opening his heart and mind to her. He had hidden this side of himself very well. Or had he? She almost felt that part of what he was sharing with her had been hidden to him also.
But no matter. She was not going to judge him. She truly felt that he was a good man, who had done bad things. But that he was still a good man, that he had not been corrupted, he had risen above it.
The early morning faded and Joan could hear people in the camp stirring. John had finally quieted as she held him. Sleep had been long time in coming for him. She was as exhausted as he was. The emotional journey that he had taken her on had exposed a lot of his demons. And they were some very bad demons. She had no idea how he'd kept that part of him so well hidden.
Joan finally relinquished her hold on John. He settled down on his pallet in a relaxed, dreamless manner. Standing up, after hours of sitting with her back against the wall, holding onto John for dear life...his life, had been draining. For her and for him.
Moving away, Joan stretched her back out. She was trying to decide what she needed more, coffee or sleep. Coffee won out. She pulled a blanket up over John and went to find somebody with some coffee.
She was surprised to be met by Joe, with two cups of coffee. Looking at him in surprise, she accepted the offering and smiled. "Figured after a night like that you both could use some coffee."
"You know? You heard?" Joan asked softly.
"I've seen it before, remember?" said Joe. Patting her on the shoulder, he walked away.
Making her way back to John, Joan thought about what Joe had said. Yes, he had seen it before and he had been instrumental in helping her after she lost her son. Her long lost friend had helped her deal with losing her son, but Joe had explained to her just what had destroyed her son from the inside out. He had taught her how to recognize the symptoms, the signs. It had been a hard lesson to learn. Her son had given her all the signs of PTSD but she had never heard of it; she had been oblivious as to the true source of his pain. Now it was her turn to do what she should have done to help her son. She knew this was why John had caught her attention, that he was worth trying to help even when she didn't know why he needed help back then. She just knew that John was important, that he mattered.