CHAPTER 13
With so many demons exorcised, John felt like he was actually living again. Experiencing life again. He still had his bad days but now he was able to enjoy the company of Joe and Mack. The shared military background with Joe had gone a long way in making him feel more at ease with himself. There were days that John, Mack and Joe made their own excursions. They seldom got into trouble but they were known to throw back a few beers together as time and finances permitted. The normalcy of life was becoming comfortable.
One of the days that Joan had gone out without John, he hung around making himself busy cleaning up the area. He came across a pile of newspapers that they were going to use as fuel for the fire that night. He happened to notice the date, and the world stopped moving.
The date was two days AFTER the anniversary. How had he become so complacent with his current life that he'd forgotten the anniversary? He had forgotten about Jessica. How could he do that? How could he forget about HER?
He balled up the newspaper in his hand. The rage built up in him so fast he was almost panting with it. Was he forgetting her that easily? Because he had found a semblance of peace? Peace that had likely escaped her in her time with Peter.
Joan had helped him deal with his past but not to FORGET about his past. Jessica was too important to him. Or she had been. He'd felt the passage of time in his bones and knew that date. It was etched on his heart in her blood. What had happened? How had the date slipped by him?
He made his way back to the area that he shared with Joan. He grabbed the few things he called his own. Reaching under his sleeping pallet he pulled out the money he'd saved. It wasn't much. But it was his. He wasn't taking anything away from Joan.
Meanwhile, Joan came back from her outing, pushing her buggie full of new items. She couldn't wait to show John! Not seeing him near the front of the warehouse, she pushed on through toward the back.
Joan saw him come from their area in back of the warehouse, in his hands were the few possessions he considered his alone. Seeing the look on his face she moved to intercept him.
"John? John?" She called out as she walked toward him. He ignored her.
"John! Where are you going?" She asked as she reached out and grabbed his arm.
Snatching his arm away he glared at her with a growl. Suddenly he came back to himself, realizing who was in front of him. Joan. His savior. His salvation. He finally was able to exhale. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.
"Joan. I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" He asked with true concern in his voice. He would be doubly damned if he hurt her.
"No John, you didn't. But where are you going? I didn't think any of us were going out this afternoon."
Hanging his head, unable to look her in the eye he struggled to come up with an answer to her very simple question. But he didn't know. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he'd become too content with his life. He just knew it was time for him to leave. Despite his deliberate attempts to forget it, his military and CIA training were suddenly kicking in. 'You should never remain in one place too long out in the field. To do so was to court danger.'
Finally he looked her in the eye and said nothing. He had never been able to hide anything from her. From that first time he'd met her on that bridge four months ago, he'd been unable to lie to her. He might not always tell her the truth right at that moment, but eventually he would tell her the truth, the whole truth.
Joan saw the haunted look she had seen that night on the bridge. She frowned for a moment trying to figure why he would have that look now, after all this time. Then she realized what it was. It had to be about Jessica. Keeping track of dates had never been important to her but she had learned how important things like that were to some people. Like John. It had been a while since he'd gone off by himself. Had it been a month? Over a month? If that was what was causing this, she knew his thoughts, and now his actions, had to do with Jessica. She and John had talked long into the night many times about Jessica. Joan knew that she had no place in his memories right now, there was only room for Jessica. Had she been able to help him enough to handle what he was feeling now? Joan hoped so.
Placing her hand on his arm, she squeezed tight. "Be careful out there John. You know you always have a place here if you need it."
Giving her a smile that broke her heart, John turned and walked out the door of the warehouse.
With no clear idea of where he was going he just walked. The world had shrunk to the sidewalk in front of him. Looking neither right nor left he walked with his head down, his mind blank.
After starting out at a fast pace, his footsteps finally slowed to a normal one. The warehouse where the group had been staying was located in an industrial area where few people were out on the streets. Now the farther he walked, the more people he came across. Soon the sidewalks became crowded with people bumping into each other.
Most tended to keep their distance from him. Not only was he unkempt looking with the scraggly beard and longish hair, his multi-layers of mismatched clothes set him apart. But it was the projected aura of menace that really caused people to step around him rather than push by him. They then walked quickly to get away.
The sun was setting and the shadows were getting longer. It was getting more and more difficult to put one step in front of the other. Awareness of the people around him began to penetrate the fog that clouded his mind. Slowly his mind cleared and he relaxed his shoulders as he walked. He blended in more now, rather than stand out.
He found himself at the park next to the river. Looking for his bench took a moment but he finally found it. It had definitely seen better days. There was a slat missing on the back and a broken slat in the seat part which was why nobody was sitting there. That's why he liked it, most people didn't like anyone who looked like him sitting near them anyway. He had most of the area to himself.
Making himself comfortable as the sun set, he took in the view. There wasn't much boat traffic, just a ferry and a tour boat that he could see. The relative quiet over the area was only interrupted by the sounds of some birds that had spotted him. Landing on the bench and on the sidewalk around him they looked expectantly for some food.
"Sorry fellas. Got no food for you." He said with a sad smile. "I'm not fit company either. Shoo!"
It had been five months since he'd been in NYC. Five months since that black day in New Rochelle. Seemed like a lifetime ago now. Living with Joan for the last four months had changed him. He was not the same man who had confronted Peter nor was he the man who had stumbled around NYC for a month.
The panic and the rage had dissipated somewhat while he walked, his mind felt clearer. He was trying to figure out why he'd let that date, the anniversary date, slip by unnoticed. Something that had been so important to him, someONE who had been so important to him should have still been in his mind and in his heart. Did he not love her as much as he'd thought, now that she had slipped from his memory? What if he forgot what she looked like? What if he forgot what her kisses had tasted like? What if he forgot how she'd made him feel? Had he stopped loving her?
Leaning over, with his elbows on his knees he buried his face in his hands. The guilt and shame he was feeling was overwhelming. He couldn't lose her again! All he had of her was his memory! And now he was losing that! All the longing and torment he thought he'd put to rest, came roaring back with a vengeance. He finally gave into it, letting it flow through him.
Eventually the personal and emotional beating he was giving himself played out. There was no more left to give. He felt like he'd eviscerated his soul.
Off to his right he saw the GW Bridge, the bridge that had played such a huge part in his life these last couple of months. Standing up, he straightened his clothes and turned toward the bridge and started walking. There were fewer people now that the sun had gone down. Even the birds and the squirrels, who were normally in competition over crumbs of food, were missing. There was a starkness that seemed fitting for his mental state.
John paused in front of a liquor store that was near the foot of the bridge. Shaking his head he bet the store did a lot of business being so close to the bridge. Depressed people probably stopped by quite often. He wondered if the owner tipped off police if he saw some customers head for the bridge. The blue and white signs were there to offer help for people in need but so many ignored them. He had. He had walked, or stumbled, right by those signs more than once. He wondered if he'd need that number tonight.
Looking back up at the bridge that he'd been drawn to the same time every month, he wondered what had changed. He'd come here to be alone and remember life with Jessica, and to think about the life that might have been. Except this month. He was two days late. Before today, each month it had gotten easier for him. Joan's words echoed in his head and his heart. The first time he'd been here after the night Joan had saved him, he almost completed what he'd started out to do. That time it seemed that all her hard work seemed to have been for naught, he'd been ready to end it AGAIN. But that night had also been the beginning of her power to heal him.
Walking into the liquor store he bought a bottle of liquor. Just one. Wrapping the paper bag around it he walked out of the store. Old habits were hard to break but that one was the first one he broke: Not opening the bottle in the store and drinking. He was trying to regain the control that he'd learned from Joan. Smiling grimly, he continued on his way up the bridge.
Traffic was heavy and noisy after the quiet of the waterfront park. The buffeting from the passing cars was pretty strong. Staying on the walkway he made his way to "that" spot, the exact spot every month. This was the fourth time. He wondered if it would be the last. He sat down and leaned back against the girder, setting the bottle, still wrapped in its brown paper bag, next to him.
Joan had given him back his confidence, showed him his worth, his worth as a human being. He thought about all he'd shared with Joan. She had helped him see the truth. All the wishing in the world couldn't change what had happened. All the anger in the world wouldn't change a thing either. Joan said she had decided to live her life to honor her son and to try and pay it forward, trying to help people who were lost like her son. Like him. She'd found him, found him in time. And he'd been happy.
So happy that he'd forgotten the anniversary. The anniversary of losing Jessica. The guilt at that was heavy. He'd learned to live without her but he did not want to forget her. And that was just what he'd done. He'd forgotten her.
He held up the bottle of liquor. Opening it up, he took a long swallow. It left him sputtering. He hadn't had any straight liquor in well over a month, only an occasional beer with Joe and Mack when they could scrape together the money to buy a six-pack.
Beating himself up mentally and emotionally with every swallow. He'd finished the bottle before he realized it. He needed more.
Sitting there on the bridge he went back over the things he'd told Joan. Things he'd never even put into words before, things about Jessica, about himself. Joan had eased his mind and his heart. But maybe he wasn't ready to leave Joan. Maybe she could help him understand how he'd forgotten Jessica. Did she ever forget her son? He needed to talk to Joan. But first he needed some more booze.
Walking back down the bridge he stopped in the liquor store again. He had enough money for some really cheap booze this time with a little bit left over. But it would have to do.
He decided to use the rest of his money and ride on the subway. He wasn't ready to go back to the camp in the warehouse just yet and he could just ride as long as he wanted. He wasn't fit company for anybody. Liquor plus the guilt over forgetting something so important had put him in a foul mood.
There were not many people on the subway late at night. Keeping the bottle wrapped tightly on the paper bag he found himself an empty car and settled down for a ride. He hoped the constant swaying of the subway and the monotonous sound of the rails would lull him into sleep. Joan would know what to say. She'd fix him.
Sipping on the cheap booze he let his mind wander as sleep over took him. He hoped he'd dream. Maybe the good dream, the one of him and Jessica on the beach in Mexico. That was his favorite. The warmth of the sun, the sound of the ocean and Jess stretched out next to him on the beach towel. Tropical breezes ruffled her hair. He loved watching how the sun played on her hair. He never knew there were so many shades of blonde. They'd shared a bottle of tequila. They had been happy and relaxed. Using a slice of lime like it was his teeth and grinning at her, making her laugh. God, he loved her laugh.
But sometimes it was the other dream, the dark one. Walking into the hospital in New Rochelle, he'd been tired and dirty, still recovering from being shot by Kara. They'd taken his phone at Ordoz and had he not been able to call her and tell her he was finally coming for her as promised. He remembered asking about Jessica and hearing those words that ended his world: 'I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Jessica died in a car accident.'
The darkness of that moment had turned to black when he was sitting in Peter's home. Watching the wedding video, of the wedding that could have been THEIRS, had almost killed him. It had been impossible to breathe. Every breath he was able to take, made the ache in his chest worst.
It had been the sound of Peter's voice that brought him back, brought everything back into focus. But it was Peter's words that finally broke him, "what do you want?" His own words, wrenched his soul out of his body, "You don't have anything I want…..not anymore."
It was the sound of metal hitting metal, when Peter picked up the fireplace poker, that flipped the kill switch in him. Black despair turned to red rage as he stood and moved toward Peter.
Which dream would it be? The bright one full of love and laughter that never ended or the dark one full of loss and pain and the uncontrollable rage?
As sleep finally claimed him, it was the dark dream that came to him...
He was in the deepest part of the dark dream, where Jessica was being pulled away from him, when he felt a hand pulling on his bottle in the paper bag.