POCKET CHANGE 3: HIDE and SEEK
by Sharon R.

Chapter Five

"And you mentioned that up until the last few days, or nights, you have not had any negative emotional effects from what happened?"

Carter sat at the windowsill trying to seem matter-of-fact, and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't just mean nightmares or insomnia."

Looking out of the fifth floor window, Carter only half listened as he kept a lifeless count of the people going in and out of the Pier-1 store across the street. Sixteen, seventeen... The blizzard of Friday had given way to a veritable heat wave as temperatures climbed into the seventies. Boots evolved into shoes, parkas into short sleeved shirts. Eighteen…

"John…?"

He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the center of the room. "What?" he responded with a yawn.

"You came to me, remember? I can't help if you don't say anything."

"Carl, I'm really not at liberty to discuss specifics…"

"We're talking about you now. Not a friend or colleague."

"I know." Back to the window. He'd lost count. Now he'd have to start all over, but he was so worn-out. One, two… The bright reflection of the sun off of the glassed in buildings surrounding them pierced his tired eyes. Three… four… Closing his lids he found himself on the Midway porch, watching the children as they dribbled a soccer ball between them on their way to the fields. Refugee mothers laughed and babies squealed with delight from within the clinic across the way as Maggie conducted early childhood classes. Students hammered at a new project in the distance and the rickety bus pulled into the camp. His face relaxed as he allowed himself a scant smile.

"Where are you now, John?"

"At the camp," he quietly disclosed, his eyes still closed.

"What's going on?"

"Stuff. Daily stuff. Toomay's cooking chikwange…" Carter inhaled as though he was in her kitchen, and smiled broadly. "…and fumbwa." He was almost half asleep, his body comfortably relaxed and indifferent to the awkward position on the sill.

"Who is with you?"

"Nobody. Just watching." He even turned his head a bit as though scanning the scenery. "Othiamba and the children."

Carl DeRaad watched curiously as his patient, eyes closed, seemed almost hypnotized sitting in the oversized windowsill, one knee drawn up, his head resting back against the wall.

"It's so dry," Carter mumbled almost unintelligibly. In his dream state, Mbuto came to him with a picture and held it out for him. It was colored with magical colors - so unusual for the boy at first. Stars and rainbows, children and kites.

DeRaad stood from his chair and moved to sit on the corner of his desk closer to Carter so that he could speak to him in a quieter voice. He didn't want to lose whatever state the doctor was in. Amazingly, Carter's hand reached out as though touching something.

"What do you have there, John?"

"Thank you, Little Man." Carter smiled and put the imaginary piece of artwork close to his chest. The boy grinned back and put his hand in another person's next to him. As they turned to walk away, Carter waved good-bye.

DeRaad watched as Carter's hand fell back into his lap and demeanor change from a happy, relaxed state. His face drew down and lost a little color before the anger tightened his mouth and brought flashes of red to his forehead and slightly quivering chin.

"What is it?" the psychiatrist asked. "Who is it, John?"

Mbuto and Todd walked hand in hand towards the soccer field, the only thing out of place being the gunshot wound to Todd's back and the blood soaking across his white shirt.

"Todd." With that, Carter's eyes flew open and he sucked in a deep breath.

"You want to tell me about Todd?"

"He was a college student." Carter was embarrassed and now fully turned into the window pane to hide his anger. Control, he thought. Get control. Keep it inside.

"And why does he make you sad?"

"He was a lot like me, I guess." He cleared his throat as he recovered.

"That makes you sad?"

"I'm not sad," he corrected DeRaad. "I gave him a hard time at first."

"What happened?"

"He was so young and inexperienced. But he had a good heart. He wanted to please -"

"You keep saying 'was'."

"- his father so much. The children filled a void in his life."

"Why does Todd make you sad?" DeRaad tried to interject questions on top of Carter's words.

"Those kids let him be the child his father probably never let him be."

"And he reminded you of your childhood?"

"And now he'll never get to be a father."

The room became silent and then cold as the air conditioning kicked in. The click of the unit, then monotone hum stood between the men as each waited for the other to say something.

"John? What happened to Todd?"

"They killed him."

"Why?"

"Shot him in the back," he angrily spit out from his clenched teeth. "He waited for all the children to get to safety. They shot him in the back. They knew exactly what they were doing."

"Who?"

"The rebels," he shouted turning to look directly at DeRaad. "Her rebels."

"Who?"

"Todd. The college kid," Carter stood, exasperated with the redundant questioning. Wasn't that shrink listening?

"You said 'her' rebels. Who is she?"

"I tried to tell them…" Carter was now pacing the psychiatrist's office avoiding DeRaad while muttering to himself.

"About what?"

"…that she wasn't who they thought she was."

"Who was she?"

"She sucked the life out of Todd, from the kids, me…"

"How?"

"…and Luka. Shit." He chuckled nervously. "She made him… it was my fault…"

"What was?" DeRaad kept his cool and rarely moved, letting Carter control the conversation. "What did she make him do? John?"

Carter stopped by the file cabinets and rested his arm and then head on top of them before taking a deep breath and attempting to compose himself. "Nothing." Once again he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Carl."

DeRaad reached the door and kept Carter from opening it. "John, you are physically and emotionally exhausted. Let me talk to Kerry about some time off."

"No. Luka's going on vacation soon, which means a clueless new moonlighter. We just don't have coverage. I'm okay. I'll go home and sleep. I'm not on until tonight. Really, I've been fine up until now."

"I don't recommend it, John. Sleep is such an essential component to good health."

"It'll pass. Luka hasn't had any problems. We went through the same thing."

"Nobody said he was out of the woods either. John, these memories - they sometimes take a while to surface and are usually triggered by the senses. You said that a strong body odor makes you think of Sobriki." Carter nodded. "You smell that every day in the ER, right? You see knives every day, go into exam-2."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that after you were stabbed, you buried everything about it and look what happened. It wasn't until you let it out that the thoughts and feelings abated. They never go away, but they become manageable. Right? When you come across that smell, you aren't debilitated with fear any more, are you?" Carter shook his head again. "Of course not. And in time whatever these bad memories are that you have will also diminish and find their proper place, but not until you let them out. It's time to manage these things."

"I just need some sleep."

DeRaad walked back over to his desk and scribbled on a pad. "Here," he handed the pieces of paper to Carter, "it worked before. Can't hurt."

Carter looked down at the script for anti-depressants and sleeping pills. "I don't like the side effects…"

"You need to manage these things now before they get out of control." DeRaad was very succinct in his instructions.

"I'm not out of control."

"I didn't say you were. Just that if you keep these emotions locked up and let them control your life, it's inevitable that you will be out of control."

"I know that," Carter admitted, although without much conviction.

Turning in the corridor to close the door behind him Carter paused as he read the nameplate:

Carl DeRaad, MD, PhD
Psychiatry Department Chairman

Here I go again, he thought

"Carter."

He quickly pulled his hand off the door handle and spun around to find Kerry Weaver by his side, a stack of charts in hand.

"You, ah, okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

She wasn't very subtle when she pointed to the same name plate that he had been staring at just moments before and then glanced down at his hand holding the obvious prescriptions, which he quickly stuffed in his pocket.

"Just getting a consult on a patient."

"You're working? Dressed like that?"

Jeans and a t-shirt. He'd forgotten that he hadn't really intended on coming here first thing in the morning as he was driving around the city. "I'm off, actually."

"And you're here?"

"Dedicated." Carter made a beeline for the elevator all the time hearing the thwup of Kerry's cane trailing him. He tried to pretend he didn't know she was there but failed when she caught the elevator doors and snuck in behind him.

"Mind if we share the ride down?"

Carter shook his head politely, smiling just as politely.

"I'm helping out in the ER today," she almost proudly announced to an unimpressed Carter. "So you're getting a consult for an ER patient? Carter, you haven't been on since Friday night."

"It's for a frequent flier, actually. Just trying to stay ahead."

The stainless steel of the elevator walls revealed why Kerry was so surprised at his appearance. As he looked at his reflection in the doors, he saw a very tired man, older than his years with bags under his eyes, three days worth of beard growth, unkempt hair and a clothing style that would bring any of the Queer Eye guys into the ER with a massive stroke. Then he knew he was losing it when he started singing along to the music under his breath. "What the world needs now, is love sweet love." Barf, he thought. Heavy metal in an elevator just once would be fun.

"You ready to present to me?" Luka walked towards the trauma room intent on keeping Morris on track with the number of cases he cleared. Leave him alone and he knew that Morris would just as soon waste time in the ambulance bay watching the clouds move above.

"Fifty-one year old male, no other health concerns or drug allergies. Says no drugs or alcohol on board but I'm waiting for a tox screen and BAL anyway. All other labs are normal."

"Blood sucking queer," the patient raged from within the constraints of the c-collar and backboard.

"Cause for admission?" Luka prompted.

"Pick-up truck versus a light pole at ten miles an hour, so he says," Morris continued. "Abrasions to the face from the air bag, closed fracture of the humerous, painful right knee, soft and non-tender belly, and no other complaints or obvious injuries. Waiting on ortho."

Luka flipped through the pages of the chart. "Ruled out c-spine?"

"Yeah."

"Then why still the backboard and collar?"

"Serves a purpose."

"First I get this God damned African man nurse, now a commie doctor?"

"See what I mean?"

"Morris, what can you tell me about neurological involvement in closed head injury and its affect on personality."

"Patient can present lethargic or altered..."

"Damn doctors can't even speak English anymore. And too many fucking broads. This is America. My America."

Luka continued with Morris, trying to ignore the ranting patient. "That's right. So until or unless you establish that this behavior is baseline for Mr. Piper, add a head CT to the orders and do a thorough neuro check." Luka went to the head of the bed and looked down into the patient's eyes. "Mr. Piper, we're going to take good care of you…"

"How many of our boys died for your fucking freedom?"

"…and Malik - Nurse McGrath here is going to give you some oxygen to make you more comfortable." He couldn't help but throw Malik a smile. "Two liters by mask. A tight mask."

As the transparent mask was placed around his mouth and nose, the man appeared to struggle as he mumbled from behind it.

"Excuse me?" Luka kindly asked him as he lifted the mask away from his mouth.

"…and I didn't ask to come here. No way no black…"

Luka was quick to replace the mask and tighten the elastic enough to keep the man's words to a muffled annoyance.

"Okay, then." Luka patted his shoulder and left the room, nearly running into a very young, very petit and very beautiful lady being escorted in by Randi.

"She's here for Mr. Piper."

"Daughter?"

"No," the woman responded incredulously, "I'm his wife."

"Can I ask you, is he always like this?"

"What," she said in her diminutive voice, "you mean copping an attitude?"

Luka nodded.

"That's my pooky-bear!" Prancing over to the gurney in her stiletto heals and very mini leather skirt, Mrs. Piper smacked the patient on the top of the head. "Darn it all, Peter, how many times I gotta tell you not to insult those kinds of people…"

Going back to the board, Luka spied Carter in the distance just getting off the elevator with Kerry. Chart in hand, Luka walked down the hall.

"Kerry, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind supervising Morris. He needs to rule out a head injury and I've got a trauma coming in."

"Sure."

"And take Neela with you. You may need a translator."

"He speaks Punjabi?"

"No, English."

Kerry glanced down at the chart, confused, as she headed to the doors of Trauma-1. "Peter Piper?"

Luka's mischievous grin turned into a giggle as Kerry disappeared with Neela in tow.

"Oh, no. What have you done?" Carter asked joining in with Luka's infectious laugh.

"She'll thank me later." He put his hand on Carter's shoulder to stop him from leaving so they could talk. "I thought you were working today."

"I did some switching. I'm taking nights this week."

"You had an easy schedule - all days. Why make it harder?"

"That house is too hard to sleep in at night. Don't feel so alone with the staff there in the day." Luka didn't look too convinced, so Carter finally put out the truth. "And I thought I'd keep my distance from you and Sam."

"That's really not necessary…"

"Yes," Carter corrected him, for himself at least, "it is. You working twelve?"

Luka nodded.

"Okay then. I'll see you tonight at shift change. Seven o'clock."

Once outside, Carter found the nearest bench and sat down. The sun felt fantastic on his face. He'd been working so much he'd almost forgotten what sunshine was like. The crappy weather didn't help, but…

"It's a good thing I know you clean up good." Susan was making her way to the doors and sat down next to Carter. "Otherwise I'd have to remind you of the dress code in Weaver's new employee manual. If you're not careful she just might make you start wearing those hot suspenders again."

"Gee, all you had to do was ask, Susan. I'd wear them for you," he gave her with a friendly wink. "Actually, I'm not on until tonight."

"Me too. But I've got a human resources meeting this morning. What the hell are you doing in this cesspool of inhumanity?"

Carter leaned back and rubbed his face to wake himself up. "Personal business."

"Oh, I see. You're still in a mood?"

Carter reluctantly pulled the scripts out of his pocket and let Susan see them as he held them in his lap.

"Uh-oh. What's going on, Carter?"

"Nothing I want Weaver to know anything about."

"Don't even worry." Susan smiled and waved her hand to ease Carter's mind. "So?"

"It's been five months, Susan. Five months and I've been fine. But last week something triggered these memories which turned into nightmares, and now," he shrugged, "I'm not sleeping."

"You want to talk about it?"

"That's just it. I can't. This is so hard to explain," he eeked out as he bent forward resting his elbows on his knees. "I couldn't even tell DeRaad." He waited for Susan to beg for information, but she didn't. "I am half a world away, all these months removed and what happened just all of the sudden took over my head." It was a nervous chuckle, but Carter was anything but giddy.

"If you want to talk…"

"Thanks, but circumstances and…," he sighed heavily knowing it sounded stupid, "and other people and, well, everything won't allow it."

Susan took the two prescriptions and looked at what DeRaad had prescribed. "Wow, only a five day's supply and no refills. He's keeping you on a short leash. You're going to get them filled," she assumed out loud but without much of a confirmation from Carter, "aren't you?"

Carter shrugged as he took the scripts back and stuffed them in his pocket. "I don't know. We'll see."

"We'll see? We'll see if what? You keel over and die from lack of sleep? Come on Carter, follow doctor's orders and get your body back on track." Carter remained seated next to Susan, not looking at her, but down and away as if lost in thought. She wasn't sure if he even heard her. "Did DeRaad say anything about your selective hearing?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I've gotta get in there. Call me if you want to talk, okay?"

"Is this the trauma you were waiting on?" Sam said as she came up behind Luka standing at the bay doors. Snapping on gloves she looked around noticing that they were alone and Luka didn't appear as though he were in the 'trauma mode'. "Luka? A trauma…?"

He stood with his hands in his pants pocket, his long white lab coat pushed back. It was early enough in the shift that his shirt was still pressed and tie was nicely in place. He stared out the glass doors, not hearing Sam until she tugged at his elbow.

"Luka. Are you waiting for an ambulance?"

"Um, no. Just …"

"Weaver sent me out to help with the trauma coming in."

He looked down sheepishly and nibbled at his lower lip while letting a grin escape just for Sam. "I lied," he confessed with a raised eyebrow.

"But, Weaver… and Mr. Piper… Oh, you're bad." Sam gave him a friendly bump to the side as she shared his secret. "So what are you doing?"

He paused and contemplated making something up as he had become so adept at doing to avoid the 'Carter' issue, but when he saw her face, and thought back to the weekend, he was incapable of deceiving her any longer. "I'm watching Carter."

She tracked his eyes as they took her from the door to the bench outside of the ER. There, Carter sat with Susan, he with his head down, she with her hand on his shoulder. "Looks like he's found someone to talk to," she tried to point out to Luka.

"He looks like shit."

"He just needs to get some sleep."

"I wish it were that easy," Luka almost whispered. "We were supposed to work together this week. But now he's on nights. Did you know that?"

"No. You didn't have to do that."

"I didn't. He did. For you."

As Susan got up from the bench to come inside, Sam took the opportunity to at least try and be gracious. "Maybe you should go talk to him."

"No. You're right. He needs to get some sleep."

"If Dr. Carter is still around," Randi announced from the Admit desk, the phone to her ear, "he needs to know that he's been getting these weird phone calls here since yesterday."

"What do you mean, Randi?" Luka asked returning to the board to check on cases.

"I don't know. Can't understand whoever's on the other end. Lots of static and then it goes dead."

"Let me see." Luka took the phone and putting his hand over his other ear, tried to make out what was being said. "Carter… they... don't… Chicago." Luka shook his head, then hung up when the line went dead. "I don't know. Maybe his parents are out of the country again."

"Want me to page him?" Randi asked.

"No. I'll talk to him at shift change tonight."

But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself is his own dungeon. -John Milton 1608-1674, British Poet

The noise from the gardeners and landscapers readying the estate for the belated springtime made Carter wish he had found someplace else to sleep before his night shift started in seven hours. Hector had called in the big guns for the job - at least a dozen of them removing snow fences, burlap from the newer and smaller shrubs and any trace of fallen leaves from the previous autumn which had hibernated in moist hard to reach places. Luckily they were concentrating on the front yard and his bedroom faced the east lawn.

"Good afternoon Dr. Carter." Maria, the head housekeeper, greeted him at the door. "I'll tell Cook that you are here for lunch."

"No. Don't bother. I have to work tonight. Going to spend the day in my room."

As Carter walked through the grand foyer towards the staircase, he heard the strains of beautiful music coming from the library. With the door ajar, he leaned against the wall next to the open door, his ear trained on the delicate notes of the classical piece. Gabriel Faure's Pavane was often heard throughout the house when he was growing up - a favorite of both of his grandparents. It was special to them. Grandpa loved his opera and rarely veered from it, while Gamma preferred Jazz. But this piece, together, made them happy - perhaps it carried a memory for them that they could relive when they heard it. While the melody was carried by two different instruments, much like his grandparents were two very different people, to Carter, the sad cello and clarinet backed up by the hopeless sounding piano did little to boost his spirits and only made him feel an even deeper absence of the two people who were the most loving and nurturing in his life.

"Dr. Carter?" Her voice with the thick accent startled him.

"I'm sorry, Maria." He fought the sleep in his eyes and stood up straight as though he hadn't paused at that one place for any length of time.

"The CD was in the stereo. I'll turn it off," she offered, pushing the vacuum cleaner into the room.

"That's okay. Just…" He didn't want that reminder. Not then. "If you could just find something else to listen to…"

He was back at the staircase and halfway to his room when he heard the music turned off and the loud vacuum cleaner in its place. Closing the door behind him, he pulled the heavy drapes shut, darkening the room almost instantly. He kicked his shoes off at the side of his bed and sat down on the edge, digging the palms of his hands into his tired eyes and treating himself to a gigantic yawn.

"Dr. John," the voice called on the other side of the door before Emily opened it and peaked inside, "it's lunch time. Maria tells me you don't want to come down, so I made a plate for you." After seeing Carter nod his head, the matronly woman pushed open the door and brought the tray over to the table by the window.

"That's not a plate, Emily. You spoil me."

"I have cooked for your family for twenty-eight years. Now I have no one but you. So eat up and make an old woman happy."

Carter smiled and chuckled graciously. "Thank you, Emily."

"And about the phone," she said before reaching the door, "it still rings but there is either no one on the other end, or I can barely make out the words."

"Like yesterday?"

The cook nodded.

"But when my other friend calls…?"

"No - that's fine. In fact there's a message I took for you and left on the hall console. This is different."

"Alright," he sighed as he put it on his mental list of things to do, "I'll see what I can do." He remained sitting on the edge of the bed too tired to even take off his socks. It felt so good to close his eyes.

"Dr. John…"

"Hmm?"

"Eat."

Carter gave her a genuine smile as she winked at him, but something kept her there.

"You look lost," she gave him with a caring tone.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"What can I get you?"

"How about another pillow."

Emily walked across his room to an elegant mahogany armoire against the wall. Opening the door she reached up and pulled a pillow from the top shelf, just avoiding getting clobbered in the head by a box that had been stored on top of the piece of furniture. "What's this?" she asked as she picked up one of the items that had spilled out onto the floor.

Carter turned his head just far enough to see out of the corner of his eye, the tan multi-pocketed vest he had received as a "guest" of Emile's in Africa. He had no real answer for her and rolled his eyes wondering what else could possibly keep him from a few hours sleep. The house phone ringing certainly answered that for him as he fell back on his bed in surrender.