Making Sense of Images

Toronto General – Nurses' Station – 7:30 a.m.

"Morning, Dr. Ferguson." Reba beamed as she noted the psychologist coming her way.

"Beautiful day, Reba. Is Sam awake?"

"Yes, finishing his breakfast. I didn't expect you until about eight thirty. Should I contact physical therapy and ask them to hold off until you're done?"

"Please. And thank you. I wanted to get an earlier start, as I have several assessments to complete before my meeting with Dr. Sawyer and Mrs. Braddock."

"You're welcome. Oh, and if you want coffee, there is a fresh pot in the staff lounge."

"Hmmm, I think I might. No restrictions on taking one to Sam is there?"

"Nope. He enjoys his poured over ice in the summer. Or so a little birdie shared with me."

Obidiah chuckled. "Exactly like his mother. Would you ensure you knock before entering … and keep everyone else out … privacy will be important this morning."

"Absolutely." She reached under the desk and handed him a laminated paper. "Hang this on the door to notify others no visitors are allowed. Should preempt any unwanted interruptions from other hospital staff … like housekeeping."

"Thanks." Obidiah took the paper and placed it on top of his folder before striding down the hall to obtain coffee first for both he and Sam.

Toronto General – Room 513 – 7:50 a.m.

Sam sipped his iced coffee as Dr. Ferguson finished a phone call with his receptionist. He remained somewhat surprised the doctor essentially cleared his schedule to travel to Toronto to work with him. But he appreciated it too. The man was frank and helpful as they discussed things yesterday. He wanted to talk about a few flashes … images he believed might be memories. If they were, it would settle his mind and give him hope that the missing four months would return and he could go on with this life once his leg healed.

After hanging up, Obidiah said, "Sorry, Melissa will hold all further calls until I text her. I'm all yours now. How was your night?"

Setting his cup down, Sam breathed in deep and exhaled heavily. "Had a few nightmares. Relived the day I shot Ben. Was not pleasant. When I lay in bed after waking a few still frames … like from a movie or something popped into my head. I'm not sure if they're memories or not."

"Tell me about them." Obidiah lifted his cup to take a drink as he balanced his folder on his lap.

"Strange things. One of my old unit mates … someone who didn't like me came to mind."

"Who?"

"Steve Hicks."

"Okay. And …"

"Well, it was weird. I took him down, pinning him to the ground like he was a criminal. Then the image changed. First, there was a child's fishing rod. Made me uncomfortable holding it … like I screwed up and put my unit at risk. Next, I stood next to an ambulance as a gurney with a body bag on it was rolled out of a building. The last image was of me swimming in a harbor. I suck at swimming … I'm more likely to drown. I barely passed the swimming portion of Special Forces training. Always thought they might've let me squeak by because of my marksmanship abilities. Not much swimming involved with being a sniper in a desert."

Sam reached for the coffee again. "So, do you know if those are real or only something my mind conjured up?

"What does your gut tell you?"

"Aw, come on. Can't I get a straight answer?" Sam stared at the doctor.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure. There are a couple of months I'm not privy to your daily activities. Might I offer a possible suggestion for the imagery?"

"Sure."

"I recall you sharing with me that you and Ben went fishing every chance you got as teenagers."

"Yeah, we did."

"And Steve Hicks was one of the more vocal members of your unit who pushed for you to be brought up on criminal charges in Ben's death."

Sam sighed and nodded. "Told everyone who would listen to watch their backs around me. Claimed I caused two unit members deaths … Ben's and Sergeant Clarkson's … though Clarkson didn't die … he only got demoted as far as I know. So what does that have to do with a fishing rod, a dead body, pinning Steve and swimming?"

"Perhaps you want Steve to stop, so you pinned him down. The rod might represent a time of innocence … when you and Ben were carefree, and the body bag could be Ben's death. The swimming … perhaps you're feeling like you are drowning in grief …" Obidiah trailed off, watching closely to see if any of this hit a nerve.

Contemplating the words for several moments, Sam began to shake his head. "No … don't think that is right. My gut is telling me they happened … just can't place when or how."

"Okay … I can accept that. There are a couple of things I would like to cover this morning."

"Alright. What?"

"You're mother went to your hotel room to gather your clothes and found a few things which worried her."

Sam's brows drew together. "Like what?" He laughed when a thought came to him. "I didn't have porno mags did I?"

Obidiah chuckled. "No. No magazines like that lying about … at least she didn't indicate any. And I'm sure that wouldn't worry her … you are a man after all."

"So what?"

"A loaded pistol on your bedside table and a stack of photos of you and Ben from when you met through your service." He paused, waiting for a reaction.

Sam's eyes dropped to his lap as he drew his lower lip in his mouth with his upper teeth in an expression of concentration. Lifting his eyes and meeting Ferguson's gaze, he exhaled gradually. "She's afraid I want to commit suicide. Right?"

"Yes. Have you been considering taking your life?"

"Honestly?"

"That would be best."

Maintaining a steady gaze, Sam said, "Thought crossed my mind … at least four months ago. No idea if it did in the missing ones. But I wouldn't. It is the coward's way out. On a team, the only thing protecting yourself is each other, so we made a deal. You give up like that, you don't mean anything to the team anymore.

"Most of the team abandoned me after I shot Ben, but a few, Dave, Jay, and Chris, they stood by me through the entire inquiry. As much as it hurts, and God, it hurts so bad sometimes, I can't break my word to them or to Ben. And beyond them … my mom and dad … I couldn't put them through losing another child … especially if it were by my own hand. And Nat … she's screwed up enough. If I killed myself, she might never get her life together."

Obidiah nodded and pulled the note out of the manila folder. "She also found this."

Sam took the offered sheet and read it. He blew out a long breath. "Don't remember writing this … but I do recall reading a book on dealing with grief, and it suggested writing to the person you lost and then putting the letters in a burn box. A way to release emotions and thoughts you don't want to voice out loud because someone might judge you or overreact. Maybe that is what this is."

His blue eyes shifted back to Ferguson, his voice firm. "I miss Ben … a lot, but I'm not suicidal. I won't dishonor his memory by taking my life. I will honor him by striving to be a better person and making a difference. Something Ben always wanted to do … something he did right up until the end."

"I believe you, Sam. Your mother will be relieved."

"You said you wanted to discuss a few things … what's the next?" Sam swallowed the last of the coffee in a large gulp.

Ferguson rose and moved the breakfast tray from Sam's table to the chair and set the folder down. "In here, I have photos of people you may or may not know. When I show them to you, I would like you to focus on their faces and tell me the first things that come to your mind."

"You mean like word association?"

"Sort of, but don't limit yourself to only one word. Share whatever pops to mind."

"Okay."

Obidiah flipped open the folder and a photo of General Braddock displayed.

"Dad. Badass Soldier. Sir. Authority. Arguments. Trust. Safety." Sam glanced at Ferguson. "Is that enough?"

"Whatever you want to share."

"Faith in me. Protector. Loves me." Sam sighed. "Man, we had some horrible set to's when I was a teen. I ran away and joined the Toronto Police after one of them. He wanted me to become an officer like him … not what I wanted. Ben talked me into joining the military with him about a year later. Like we always planned. I sorta missed the Fifty-first Division. The guys I worked with were great, but I couldn't say no to Ben, so I quit. I think I made my dad proud when I made Special Forces, even though I didn't go the officer route."

Sam picked up the cup, wishing for more, and set the empty cup down. "Next." A WOW smile formed. "Mom. Tigress. Love. Care. Comfort. Always in my corner. A realist with strong faith. Next."

"Jackass." Sam stared at the image of Steve. "Next."

Studying the next picture, a tall, broad-shouldered man with nearly shaved brown hair, blue eyes, and a friendly smile. "Kind." His eyes shifted to the psychologist. "Do I know him?"

"What do you think?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

Obidiah flipped to the photo.

Sam grinned and chuckled. "Sexy. Beautiful. Warm. Tough." He reached for the snapshot of a petite woman with brown hair and eyes … drawn to her. "If I don't know her, I want to meet her. Wow. Can I keep this?"

"No. Sorry." Obidiah smiled. "How about this one?"

"I know him … well, not really … he came into my room, and Mom yelled at him to get out. Is he military? He has the right bearing." When the doctor only turned over the photo, Sam realized Ferguson wouldn't divulge any info, so he decided to quit asking questions and go with the flow. A black man appeared next, and he answered with the first thing that popped into his head. "Not giving him any cocaine."

"What?" Obidiah blurted out at the unexpected response.

Sam scratched his head. "Don't rightly know. Just popped in." Sam studied the picture. Flashes … jumbled thoughts, combined with frustration, came to him. "Hard to connect." He grabbed the stack of previously viewed images and pulled out the bald man, the shaven haired man, and the woman. He placed them all on the table, his gaze moving from one to another.

He tapped the woman. "Sniper. Burritos and Beer." Moving to the kind eyes. "Father. Daughters." Zeroing in on the man who came into his room, Sam shook his head. "Be careful crossing the big road … double-double."

Obidiah pulled out another photo. "What about him?"

Sam stared at the raven-haired man. "Babycakes. Computers. Funny."

"And him?"

"Listens. Helps. Sarge. Connects." Sam's head spun as a blast of unconnected images hit him. He squeezed his eyes closed and leaned back, releasing a groan.

"Sam?" Obidiah worried he went too fast, pushed too hard showing him all of Team One's photos.

"I'm okay." Sam pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. "I know them … I just don't know them. My gut … well, it is mixed. Friends … no, not right." Sam dropped his hands and lifted his eyelids. "Coworkers. I came here for a job. I work with them, right?" When Ferguson remained quiet, he pleaded, "At least tell me if I'm on the right track, please."

"Yes."

Sam returned his focus to the six people, studying them for any details which might trigger a solid memory and trying to make sense of the plethora of images swirling in his mind. His concentration was interrupted when the door to his room opened. It took him a moment before he said, "What are you doing here?"

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AN: Shorter chapter than normal, but didn't want you to have to wait another few days for something. And the evil muse decided on a little cliffy.