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Chapter 7: To One Forgotten
When the snow comes
on a dark and sunless day
and drifts are deep
and time is slow
You find me then
across the miles, uncharted
and sing to me,
the one forgotten.
-the author
Outside his hotel window, sounds of traffic continued in a slow loop of monotony of squealing brakes and low rumbling bus engines interspersed with snatches of rap music over blown speakers as the city fell deeper into night.
Enos had taken the letter out fifteen minutes before but hadn't made it past the first sentence before his tired mind had begun to wander.
It was well past ten now, and he was faced with one of two choices; read it now and not sleep well, then drive the last eight hours trying not to nod off at the wheel, or read it when he got home and drive himself to distraction about it the entire way. Deciding the second choice would be the safer option, he slipped the letter back into its envelope and stowed it in the side pocket of his duffel bag.
He turned off the lamp, got into bed and then stared up at the semi-dark ceiling for the next forty-five minutes, wondering what the letter said.
"Oh good grief," he muttered, disgusted at himself. "Just read the ding-dang thing, already." He turned on the light and grabbed it from his bag, ripping the letter back out of its envelope.
Dear Enos,
Here I am writing you a letter at three in the morning. It's been a long night. To be honest (and it's about time for that, isn't it?) it's been a long year. Of all the things I wish I had never done, hurting you is the one I'll never forgive myself for. I wish I could turn back the clock and never meet L.D. but I wish the bank had never gotten robbed either. Then everything could just go back to how it was before. I've had to face a lot of hard truths lately and it's not just because you were right about him. You were so right. You told me it wouldn't last and that he'd hurt me, but I thought you were just jealous. I'm so sorry I didn't listen.
Part of me wanted to come with you when you asked. But it wouldn't have been fair to you because I can't give you what you want. I can't marry you, not because I don't love you but because I'm not the girl you love"
"You're wrong," he murmured.
I know you'll say I'm wrong, but you're in love with a girl that I'm not anymore.
You deserve to be happy and be with someone who loves you the way I can't. I hope that someday you can forgive me. Love, D-
"Trying my best, Daisy," he sighed, as he wadded the letter up into a ball and chucked it at the trash can. He missed.
He already knew her side of their story; she'd tried to tell him that morning at the bus stop. Why she thought it needed to be said again in a letter written at 3:00am, he didn't know. He did know that she had almost come with him. He'd asked her on a whim, and had promised he'd follow her wherever she wanted to go, just name it. She hesitated, then shook her head and told him that it was too late. For an instant though, he had seen a wistful longing in her eyes, or so he'd thought.
He even believed she loved him, no matter what she said. After all you didn't - don't think about that, not now, not tonight - -kiss someone like that if you didn't feel something for them.
She'd followed him up to the platform as the bus crawled slowly around the corner to the station, even though there was nothing more to say between them. He turned and she was there, the morning sun in her eyes. So close, and yet so far away. Kissing her good-bye had made sense at the time. Stolen or not, it was meant to be chaste. After all, she was engaged to be married to another man.
Then her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, and he lost himself in her as she deepened their kiss, painfully aware it was all he would ever be given. It might have lasted minutes or only a handful of seconds, he didn't know. The bus honked, and she'd let him go and fled. Now, it haunted him in the cold and lonely nights, reminding him of everything he could never have.
What had it mattered whether she loved him or not? She'd married L.D. anyway.
The bus had taken him to Atlanta, and from there he'd flown to Los Angeles. He'd knocked on Turk's door, and slept for nearly eighteen hours before dragging his sorry hide off of the folding cot in the spare room. The next day, he'd gone down to the LAPD Headquarters at the Parker Center and asked for his old job back...sort of.
Instead of reapplying with the Metropolitan Division, he asked to be assigned to the Central Division. That alone was enough to get him a new Psych-evaluation, because no one asked for Central. Covering over 54 blocks of 'no-go zone', their beat encompassed some of the roughest areas of the city, including Skid Row, Inglewood, and Compton. Nine officers had been killed in the line of duty over the last eighteen months out of Central. They were always short-handed, and he knew no matter what Psych said about him, if he was breathing and walking, he'd get the job.
He did.
Maybe some of them understood; he neither knew nor cared. Cops at Fort Davis, as they called the windowless, concrete bunker in the midst of the inner city, didn't make friends easily. It was hard when the guy across from you might be in the next casket you carried. He kept to himself, did his job, and almost succeeded in putting himself out of his misery.
Two months later, Turk had shown up at his apartment on a moonless August night, with a jug of buttermilk and a couple of beers for himself. After catching up on odds and ends, Turk asked him point blank why he was trying to kill himself.
He'd played the clueless act on him, which had ended up in one of the few real fights the two of them had ever had. He had vehemently denied being suicidal, while Turk informed him that volunteering for Central was the same damn thing. They'd yelled at each other's obstinance for awhile, and then settled down to stew, drinking their respective poisons until Turk had broken the silence.
"Look Enos, call me selfish. I'm not here to tell you your business, but you're the best damn friend I've ever had. I don't want to lose you. Not like that." He stared at the liquid in his amber bottle and swirled it around. "I've see cops walk in front of bullets before. Even if that's not what you're thinking of doing, in Central one's gonna find you sooner than later."
"It takes my mind off of everything else." He never explained what was bothering him, but he suspected the man knew him well enough to read between the lines.
Turk dug into the front pocket of his jeans and took out a scrap of paper. "Maybe what you need is to get away from Georgia and California. Give yourself a chance to heal," he said, handing him the paper. "I thought about you when I saw this. Clipped it out of the August issue of Police Magazine."
He'd studied it with disinterest. The newly formed county of Whitefish in Upper Michigan was looking for an interim deputy to take over as sheriff the following spring. "I probably couldn't even find Michigan on a map if you gave me three tries."
"Don't be an idiot, Strate."
"Look, I'll be fine," he'd assured him, tossing the ad onto the lamp stand. "but I appreciate you tryin' to help. I'll be careful."
He fell asleep thinking of California, and in the night the dream came again. This time, it was his face in front of the .357 Magnum. The click sent him hurtling up from sleep, afraid he had screamed aloud. Breathless in the dark, he waited, drenched in sweat with heart pounding, listening for footsteps in the hall.
On the bedside table, his service pistol glinted dully, safely within arms reach. He dropped back onto the pillow and slept again, deeper and without dreaming.
Daisy eyed the new doctor suspiciously. He had woken her up bright and early this morning, asking how she felt about getting that 'jungle-gym' off her arm. While she had felt just fine about that, it meant another surgery.
How are you feeling? Any pain?" Dr. Leland asked, cheerily.
As a matter of fact, on Monday they must have stopped giving her whatever it was that made it numb. It had hurt like crazy, every screw and rod seemed to be attached to a small pool of liquid fire somewhere inside her bones, beneath the bandages.
"It actually hurts a lot." She tapped at an area between two of the rods just down from her elbow. "Right here."
He nodded. "That's normal," he assured her. "But once we take the pins out and put you in a normal cast, you should heal a lot quicker. It's the soft tissue damage that's causing the pain you're feeling. Your bone pierced part of your muscle, but we'll get you all fixed up, good as new." He smiled the smile of someone who loved his job. "Do you have any questions for me?"
"When can I go home?" It was the question she asked every day, but all they would tell her was that they needed to wait on her arm to heal more.
"If everything goes well, I think they have orders to discharge you tomorrow," he said. "That sound okay?"
Daisy grinned at him. "You just became my favorite doctor."