POCKET CHANGE
by Sharon R.
Chapter Twenty
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
Carter's head still hung low. "Emerson-Hasche Corporation doesn't do business in Africa. It's a subsidiary of SJK Industries. My grandfather was the major stockholder, and now my father and I are." Carter crumpled up the page he was reading and threw it on the floor. "We were liberated from our captors by a board of directors who authorized payment."
About an hour into the flight, a tall, clean shaven, uniformed man came back into the cabin: the pilot. "Gentlemen, my name is Mike and my co-pilot and I will be flying you to Germany. Representatives of the State Department will meet you there. Once we arrive, the military will take over and you will go to the hospital on base where you will have a counselor with you at all times. "
"Why didn't the U.S. military meet us back there?" Luka asked.
"I can't get into specifics except to say that they were under the assumption that you would be led to Kinshasa."
Carter cleared his throat and tried to buck up his composure, Carter style. "Mike, I assume you work for SJK."
The pilot nodded.
"Then you know who I am?"
Another nod.
"Good. Could you get me a phone? Might as well get my money's worth."
Luka went back to the rear of the plane and stepped into the small bathroom. The mirror was so small he barely saw his entire face in it, but from what he saw, he was not inclined to even want to see the rest. He splashed water on his face and through his hair, enough to refresh him a bit, but not really make a difference. When he came out Carter motioned for him.
"There has been a change in flight plans. We're going to land in Paris and change planes. From there we'll go straight to Chicago. None of this debriefing crap in Germany." For once Carter would use his name and money for what he wanted.
"What about the State Department?" Luka asked.
"This is a private jet. I can go wherever I want."
"How are you feeling?" Luka checked his pulse and handed him a warm washcloth, something he hadn't had in the palm of his hand for some time. Tipping his head back, Carter covered his face with the cloth preferring the moist, blind warmth to the site of his own body. "Do you feel like eating? I could see what they have in the galley."
"Maybe later." Carter removed the cloth and wiped his hands with it before giving it back to Luka. "Poor Bob. We were hard on him."
"Yeah, well... I guess we were kind of punchy." Luka smiled. "He was just doing his job. Do you think what we did mattered?"
"It mattered to me."
It was several hours before they arrived in Paris, then once on the Carter Foundation jet they were off on their next and final leg of the trip. They sat apart, at opposite ends of the jet. The lone IV had long ago run out and Luka put a hep lock on it until they could get to Chicago. Carter was completely unable to sleep, instead looking out the window at the clouds and leafing mindlessly through magazines he found beside him, like Fortune 500.
"Can't you sleep?" Luka sneaked up front.
"I don't know how anymore." The steady hum of the jet engines was barely noticeable over Carter's memories of jungle creatures and artillery. "It's so… so… quiet, and smooth, and… just quiet." Carter talked in very low tones as they had done in the hut, almost to himself, as his hands moved over the soft leather chair and shiny man-made plastic and metal. "And it smells so different."
"It's called clean. Something we're not." Luka chuckled. Squatting down, he picked up the phone tucked into the lounge chair Carter was reclined in. Before he could get to his feet again, Carter grabbed his wrist and spoke quietly, his head drooped down as close to Luka's ear as it could get.
"I think I soiled myself," he mentioned quietly, hoping the one female flight attendant couldn't hear him.
"It's okay." Luka knew that their conditions were more than obvious to the well kept, well slept, healthy woman, but he let Carter think that his secret was safe. "Let's get you cleaned up. Can you make it to the bathroom?"
"I don't know - my arms feel like mush and my legs are real crampy."
Luka bent over and, wrapping his arms around Carter's chest, lifted him to his feet. The fancy corporate jet had relatively few seats, but they were large, leather, and reclined nicely. Unfortunately, without rows of seats to lean on, Carter's walk up front would be more challenging.
The thin lady, Susie, who Carter recognized from previous trips and had even taken to dinner a couple of times, walked back to offer her assistance. "John, can I be of help?" Embarrassed, Carter shook his head hoping that she would disappear quickly and quietly.
Luka helped him into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, allowing some privacy. A real bathroom. Carter turned the water on and off a few times, marveling at the availability at 37,000 feet after weeks of relying solely on what bottled water was tossed at them. The face in the mirror looked more like his father's or grandfather's than his. His growth of beard was careless and unhealthy, his skin tight from the sun. And his eyes…. kind of flat. A stranger stared back at him.
"Carter?" Luka knocked on the door startling him. "Can you open the door?"
Carter reached over and threw the privacy latch but remained leaning against the sink vanity for support.
"The flight crew was nice enough to go through their on-board luggage and find some clean clothes for us. They didn't have much, just shirts and boxer shorts, some socks." Carter nodded and put the clothes on the vanity. The silence between the two was broken only by the subtle jolt by turbulence. "Carter? You okay?"
"Yeah, I… I just need help with… I can't get my pants down."
"Oh. Well, let's see." Luka reached down and worked on the rope that Carter had used as a belt, a rope that over time had been given more slack at the end as it was cinched tighter. "There," the rope fell open, "is there anything else…?"
"No," Carter's broken pride was obvious, "I can take I from here, I think." As Luka backed up to allow the door to close, Carter abruptly reached out to hold it open. "Luka," he paused and shook his head as if to find lost words, "thank you. There's… not a whole lot of dignity in this and…"
"That's okay, I understand. We're going home." Luka held up the phone. "I'm going to make some calls. Do you want to see Abby when we get there?"
"No." Carter shook his head. "We left on bad terms. This - she wouldn't be able to handle." At that point he didn't care. He just wanted to get home, even if it was to be alone. He wasn't going to be Abby's volunteer anymore, her chosen enabler.
"How about your parents? Hmmm? They can even meet us at the airport."
That thought made Carter chuckle. "No. Definitely not. They only do things that are neat and tidy, and this… No."
With the door closed Carter dropped his pants and stepped out of what was left of his own boxers. Sitting down on the toilet he grabbed the white button down shirt and held it to his face. Soft, clean and the smell of laundry soap. Pressed with no wrinkles, it was something he so took for granted before. Out of habit he looked at the tag - it was even his size.
He couldn't even go to the bathroom. Even after the 1000cc of IV fluid, the bit that he had piddled in his pants was all the output he could muster. He couldn't get the old shirt off, didn't want to even try. Instead he just put the new dress shirt on over it leaving it open in the front. He slipped into the cotton boxers and pulled up his tattered and soiled pants. On his three steps to the door he stopped to gain his balance and abate the dizziness. The mirror reached out and grabbed his attention once more, this time pointing out that the gloriously clean shirt draping his shoulders engulfed his fragile torso. Too big. The thought of having to buy all new clothes when he got home annoyed him at first, then brought a smile to his face.
Exiting the bathroom, he was determined to make it back to his seat by himself. He spied Luka on the phone and wondered if he was talking to Abby. As he got closer to him, though, he recognized the flowing Croatian language, and the smile on Luka's face gave away who was on the other end.
"Do you need help?" Luka covered the phone as he interrupted his conversation. But Carter just mouthed a polite 'no' and continued on to his seat in the middle of the plane. He was tired - so tired and finally felt ready to admit that he was not well. Reclining back in the oversized seat he let himself drift off to a deep disturbing sleep - one filled with images of rebels armed with guns and machetes. Jules smacking his teeth and "Romano" giving torture lessons to the younger man courtesy of Carter's back. All of the sounds of the jungle, nature and man-made, echoed through his head.
After he was through talking with his father - his relieved father - Luka sought out Susie. "Do you have any food?"
Susie was in the galley getting coffee for the crew. "We have some, but not much. We were on a layover at the European headquarters in Zurich when we got the call." She opened the galley doors looking for snacks. "We barely had time to get to Paris and grabbed a few prepackaged items from the corporate lounge. Let's see," she pulled out some sandwiches, crackers, peanut packages, fruit, and finally frozen store bought dinners. "I'm not sure if there is anything you like."
Luka picked at the limited choices and finally settled. "How about the bananas and crackers. Could you warm up the chicken and rice from the dinners?"
Luka walked back into the cabin and found Carter asleep but unsettled. He slept so lightly that Luka's approach alone jolted him awake.
"I'm sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"That's okay. I don't know when I'll be able to sleep with both eyes closed again."
Luka put the banana and crackers in front of Carter. "You need to see if you can keep anything down." Carter pushed the food away.
"Here you go." Susie put a plate of chicken and rice in front of him and a linen napkin in his lap, as if his pants needed protecting.
"Rice?" Carter grimaced. On a good day in captivity he was given a meager ration of boiled rice and chopped fish.
"Yeah," Luka smiled, "not a lot of choice, but it's as bland as it gets."
"I know." Carter picked up the fork and played with his food, putting a few grains of the rice in his mouth before retiring the meal. "I bet your father was glad to hear from you."
Luka sat on the arm of the chair across from Carter eating a banana. "Very happy." The broad smile that he harbored when telling stories of his father had made a return. "He had to get most of his information from watching television, but he did get a visit from the American ambassador last night with the news of our release."
Carter was happy for Luka and he managed a courteous smile, but he was also envious.
"So, fess up Luka. What was it you said to Bob back there?"
Luka leaned in and whispered in Carter's ear, gleaning a rare hearty laugh from his friend.
"You're bad," Carter chided.
"Yep. That's what they say." Luka got up and moved to the seat in front of Carter. "I have one more call to make. Why don't you try to get some sleep."
Carter moved the tray of uneaten food to the table next to him and reclined the seat for the remainder of the trip, listening to Luka's end of the phone call.
"Hello. Yes. Is Dr. Weaver there?"
"This is an emergency."
"Yes it is."
"It's good to talk to you too."
"No, don't. I don't want anyone else to know."
"Thank you, I know."
"Okay, but… but…" Luka sighed and rolled his eyes.
"No, no Kerry, I'm sorry. It's Luka, I'm trying to keep this very quiet."
"Yes, yes, we are on our way back to Chicago."
"We're about six hours out, I'm guessing, on a Carter jet. Kerry, we'll need transport from Midway. Carter needs medical attention."
"He has been, yes."
"No. No, I don't think it would be a good idea. He specifically asked not to see anyone, especially Abby."
"Kerry, thank you. I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself as much as possible. He has," Luka paused as he purposely decided to include himself, "we have been through a lot."