ACT VII

Scene One

Deyvis slapped his hands impatiently against his thighs as he waited for the elevator. His shift didn't begin for over an hour; he didn't see his first patient until an hour after that, and John was not his first patient of the morning. He had discussed the previous day's conversation with his wife and they had agreed to take John up on his offer to help plan the family camping trip. Breakfast would be served on the ward immediately following the 7a.m. shift change. He wanted to catch John before that.

After a minute that felt like ten, the elevator doors opened on John's floor and Deyvis strode quickly toward his room. He spotted a commotion up the hall; a nurse came running from one of the patient rooms. "Deyvis," the nurse cried when she was close enough to recognize him. "Thank goodness!"

"What—" She had already turned and was hurrying back the way she had come. He hurried after her, freezing when he saw the room she had entered. He recovered quickly and barreled in after her.

John was on the floor, twisted and struggling to right himself and working hard to hide his obvious embarrassment. The nurse had moved to kneel by John's side, but Deyvis quickly and discreetly shooed her away.

Once they were alone, Deyvis lifted John as he would a small child, then returned him to his bed. He stood by the bed in silence while John collected himself.

"I had to go to the bathroom," John finally spoke. He looked up but couldn't quite meet Deyvis' eye. "I was half asleep," he continued hastily. "I was already halfway there before I even realized … You know how it is when nature calls. Instinct took over."

There was something in John's demeanor, something that told Deyvis there was more to it than mere embarrassment. Something that let him know not to press. He moved slowly to get the chair and awkwardly brought it to the bedside, keeping his back to the patient to allow him to regain his composure.

"So what brings you by so early? They didn't bring you in for… "

Deyvis shook his head and smiled. "I came to talk to you, actually. If you're still interested in helping me plan that trip."

The turn in the conversation turned something in John as well. Gone was the sullen, self-conscious child of a moment ago. In his place was a confident, gregarious young man, happily, eagerly sharing what he loved.

Nearly an hour had passed when Sarah knocked on the door, carrying her now ever-present picnic basket in her free hand. A conversation occurred in the fleeting glance between her and Deyvis. She understood that something had happened, something John was holding back, something that could affect his progress, even hurt him, and she assured Deyvis that she would do whatever she could to help this man who had become so special to both of them.

Scene Two

When he heard the familiar voice call of "Come on in," from the other side of the office door, Roy opened it tentatively and peered around carefully before entering. The map shade was drawn, the hateful pictures safely hidden behind.

"Mr. DeSoto," George Belosi made his way around his desk and offered his hand. "This time of morning seems to work for you. Please, sit down."

"You called just as my shift ended, so I came straight from the station. What happened with the case?"

Belosi smiled as he moved behind his desk and seated himself across from Roy. "Maybe nothing, but maybe… I need to run something by you and I'd rather do it face to face." Roy nodded. "You had a call recently —"

"Webber," Roy spit in confirmation.

"What happened on that call? Tell me everything you remember." Roy described the rescue on the field behind the frat house while Belosi took copious notes. "And that's everything?"

Roy nodded.

"And after? Mister …" he flipped back the pages of his legal pad to double check previous notes. "Bellingham accompanied Webber to the hospital. Did anything else happen after they left? Anything at all."

Roy thought for a moment. "Nothing happened, exactly. Stewart, the victim from the laundry, told me, well, that he was impressed."

"By what? He'd seen you in action before, and, forgive me, but there was a lot more action last time, and he was in the middle of it. What was so special this time?"

"It wasn't the medical help. He said he thought it was 'cool' that I helped Webber even after what Webber and Towne had done to Johnny."

"'He thought it was cool.' So he approached you?" Roy nodded. "Did you say anything to him?"

Again, Roy nodded. "Maybe I shouldn't have, but I think he's basically a good kid. For now, anyway."

"And you told him that?"

"Sort of. I pointed out that he was still with those guys, even though they hurt him, too." Belosi was flipping pages again, then making more notes in the margins. "Oh, and I may have said something about how, once he's a full member of the fraternity, he'd be on their side in these things."

"And that was it, the whole conversation?"

"That was it."

"What about Towne? Did you speak with him at all?"

"No, not really."

"'Not really'?"

"I couldn't. He came to me as I was leaving; he thanked me, but I just couldn't …" Belosi nodded in understanding. "Why, what's going on?"

"The Zeciak boy came to see me. Now, don't get your hopes up," the attorney was quick to add. "He's reconsidering testifying."

"That's what you need, right? What was it you said, to prove a pattern of behavior?"

"It would help, yes, but the testimony of one former pledge does not a pattern make. And he's scared. They're all scared. We're hoping he's just the first, not the only, and that others will follow. For now, though, it's just one scared boy."

"It's a start," Roy offered hopefully.

"Yeah," the D.A. replied, "it is a start."

"Wait, did you say 'former pledge'?"

Belosi smiled. "Sure did."

Roy let out a relieved sigh. "It's a step in the right direction.

"So why did you need to see me?"

"I got a call from Towne's attorney. He and his client are coming in. He wouldn't tell me anything on the phone except about that call and that it was the same crew that had been at the laundry."

Roy sat with the information for a moment. "What do you think it means?"

"That's the $64,000 question , isn't it.

"There was a deputy on scene in addition to campus security, what they witnessed themselves in addition to the statements they received from the other players all corroborate what you and Zeciak have told me. There's nothing here that can help them. I was afraid maybe something else happened, maybe some words were exchanged that no one else mentioned or heard, something they could try to use to undermine your credibility or the boy's."

Roy looked up worriedly. "You really think they're going to try to attack us? Attack me? What'll that do to Johnny's case? And the program; any more negative publicity around this case could also hurt the paramedic program."

Belosi smiled gently. "Mr. DeSoto, Roy, try to relax. I didn't mean to scare you. Attacking you is a possibility, a worst case that you should be aware of, especially in light of the stunts they've already pulled, but I just don't see it. Something else is going on. There's no way to spin anything that happened, especially not with so many witnesses who already gave statements, and with most of those members of the fraternity. Any of those boys try to change their statements, or if anything that contradicts those statements becomes public, they run the risk of tearing down everything they've been building in the way of public support. There's nothing for them to try in here; this incident has no legal bearing on the case, they can't intimidate me, and there's no judge or jury in here to manipulate. These people and their attorneys are devious, but not stupid. I just can't imagine why they're calling this meeting. I thought maybe talking directly with you would give me some insight, and it has. I'm more convinced than ever that it must be something else."

"Like what?"

Belosi scowled in a way that reminded Roy of Johnny when he was puzzling something out. "Our meeting provides what you medical types call a 'diagnosis of exclusion.' For now I can only tell you what it isn't. I have no idea what it is."

Scene Three

As the days passed, Johnny's pattern emerged. It was easy to see he wasn't sleeping, but he wasn't just tired when she arrived with his breakfast. His mood improved as they ate and talked, and he was ready to take on the world by the time she dropped him off for his morning therapy. Lunch together seemed to be his favorite time of day, and it was mutual. His PT was progressing more quickly than anyone would have thought possible … anyone but Johnny himself, that is. It would probably never go quite fast enough for him, but the physical work and the obvious improvements, combined with the fact that many of his sessions were now being held outdoors, went a long way to keeping his spirits up. Lunch, of course, fell right between his morning and afternoon sessions, leaving him charged by the one and enthusiastic for the other. Dinner started well, but was soon a whole different Johnny. The nurses talked about sundowning, a term medically reserved for dementia patients whose symptoms worsened later in the day, literally, as the sun went down.

In cases like Johnny's, patients for whom physical therapy had become a mission if not their job, patients for whom the activity of PT was as important as the specific exercises, patients who were impatient with their progress, the end of the day meant no more work, no more progress. Combined with the normal tiredness that comes at the end of a physically active day, many such patients became sullen in the evening. Despite appearances, Sarah was quick to realize that was not the case with Johnny.

Though he had a voracious appetite, especially for her dinners, about halfway through the meal more of the food was moving around the plate than into his mouth. Although the thermos of her home-brewed coffee accompanied every meal, he requested the kitchen send him multiple cups at dinnertime. And he dragged out their conversations, especially when he was tired, talking about whatever came to mind. She had learned early on that he could converse on just about anything, and he wasn't always aware of his audience's interest level, or, more specifically, the lack thereof; Johnny was interested in everything. As evenings wore on, though, he was talking just to talk; to keep her there. He wasn't angry or sad. He was afraid.

It's time.

"Is bad, yes?"

Johnny looked up from his half-eaten dinner with an embarrassed smile. "Not at all. I guess I'm just not that hungry." He half-heartedly ate another green bean.

Sarah placed her fork deliberately beside her plate and looked into his eyes for a long moment. "The dreaming."

"They're not … I'm not … Why would you think I'm having bad dreams?"

She smiled softly. "You aren't?" His gaze shifted back to his plate, where his fork resumed its dance with the pot roast. "They hurt you, those college boys. Badly." His eyes shot back to her face. "Your body is healing. Now is the hard part."

"How … " He swallowed hard against the sudden dryness that filled his mouth. "How did you know?"

Another gentle smile. "It wasn't difficult, Boychik. I read the papers, hear the news. I know when those stories started and when you were hurt. Mostly, though, I listen to you. It wasn't so hard to figure."

"Those stories in the news. I never wanted anyone to know."

"I know, Boychik. And most people won't. I am in a unique position to see. To understand."

Anger flashed in Johnny's eyes when he looked back up at her. "Understand? You can't!"

"I understand, John. More than you know, I understand. And I understand that the best way for you to truly heal is to forgive them."

"Forgive them," Johnny scoffed. "I know you understand the injuries, and you know how hard I'm working and how long it's taking to come back. My whole life is on hold. And now you're saying what, that I should just forgive and forget?" He was almost yelling.

Sarah's reply was barely more than a whisper. "That is not what I said. You must forgive. For your own sake, forgive. Never forget."

Scene Four

It had been a simple run to the outer perimeter of their call area, far from the hospital, and rush hour traffic was at its peak. It would be a while before the squad arrived to take him back to the station, and Dr. Early had released him quickly. Roy took advantage of the situation to check in on Missy.

She was asleep. She was pale and thin, but appeared otherwise peaceful. Roy watched her sleep for a moment, hoping she would soon find true peace.

He was about to open the door to leave but he was stopped by the voices on the other side.

"What is the meaning of this, Angela?" Pastor Tyro.

"No more, Samuel. No more."

"Angela." Roy was unnerved by the threatening tone.

Before he could snatch the door open and intervene, she replied, "The doctors say Missy is ready to leave here. I've found her a wonderful rehabilitation facility near the university. I'll be staying with Bastian."

"You are not leaving me, Angela. You are my wife. You swore to love, honor, and obey until death did us part."

There was a moment of silence, then Angela's voice, soft, but with a steely determination. "You swore to love and honor, too. I do love the man I married, and I respect him. But you're not him.

"He was gentle and kind and compassionate. He did not judge his fellow man, he certainly wouldn't have judged his own daughter, and he never would have turned his back on her or expected me to. 'Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.'"

"Angela, I … "

The edge left her voice. "A reward you don't deserve. What happened, Samuel? I married a warm, loving man who believed in a caring, compassionate G-d, not the petty, vengeful God you preach of now. No one knows the Bible better than you do, but without the Spirit it's just a book, and there's no spirit left in you. You're so cold, Samuel. The body grows cold in death; it's as if your spirit has died."

There was a long silence. "I'm not going to file for divorce," she finally continued. "Not because of the church; because I genuinely hope with my whole heart that you can find the man I married and bring him back to his family. I miss him. I love him. And he loved us.

"Corinthians, Samuel, 13."

With that she came into the room and leaned heavily on the door. It took about a minute before she even realized Roy was there.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I thought it was better than interrupting."

"The lesser of two evils," Angela replied with a small smile.

He returned her smile. "I hadn't really thought of it that way." When she neither responded nor moved from the door, he added, "Are you all right?"

"I will be." She stood up straight and smoothed her skirt. "I should have done this a long time ago. Maybe, if I had, Missy wouldn't-"

"Don't," Roy insisted gently. "This isn't your fault, any more than it's Missy's. It's not even your husband's fault. He's got plenty to answer for, especially his behavior since the attack, but there's only one person responsible for that and he's in jail where he belongs."

"For now."

"What-" Roy stopped himself as he and Angela both reached for the door.

Once outside Missy's room, Roy led Angela to the stairwell, where they could have some privacy.

"He's in jail for now, but the prosecutor's not too optimistic about a trial win. They say that it's difficult to separate the injuries she sustained in the wreck from those he … It's not impossible, but they still have to make a jury understand it. Ultimately, it comes down Missy's word against his."

Roy's head was spinning. He tried to focus, but his mind went to Johnny, the similarities in the cases, what the trial would mean.

"Ironically, the one thing we've got going is her youth," Angela was saying. "He's a legal adult. He's admitted they were seeing one another. If they can … If they can get him to say they were …" She swallowed hard. "If they can get him to say they were having sex, even though they know he'll claim it was consensual, they say they can charge him with statutory rape."

"That might not be such a bad outcome," said Roy optimistically. "Especially if he admits it, they got him and Missy won't have to testify."

Angela nodded. "Maybe. The rape counselor seems to think it might be better if she does testify. If she faces him, stands up to him."

Again, Roy's thoughts went to Johnny, and, again, Angela's voice pulled him back to the moment. "Whatever she needs, that's all I care about now."

"Of course. She's your child." Roy's thoughts now turned to his own children. "I heard what you said, that children are a reward from God."

"From Psalm 127. 'Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.'"

"And, if f I may, what's Corinthians 13?"

"Ah, yes. Samuel knows exactly which part I meant. 'Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.'"

"That's beautiful."

"You're not a religious man, are you, Mr. DeSoto?" Roy shook his head; a slight blush tinged his cheeks. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. There's been more harm done than good in the name of religion. Samuel isn't evil, just lost, but he has done harm, and he has religion.

"You're a good man." She touched her hand to his cheek. "You save lives for a living. You saved my daughter. And not just in your job. You've stood by her. You saved her in many ways. There's a teaching in Judaism that says, 'Whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.' Never forget that."

Scene Five

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said the other night." Their last few dinners had been awkward. At breakfast and lunch Johnny's chatter about the progress he was making in therapy, about his family, his friends, his job, were filled with his usual energy and the promise of the day. At dinner, though, it was forced. He was talking to fill the silence, and to prevent her from initiating the conversation. Until tonight.

Her patience as she waited for him to continue was quickly rewarded. "I think I understand what you mean, but I don't know if I can do it. Maybe one or the other, but not both."

"Both what?"

"Forgive and remember." He sighed. "I never really thought about the expression 'forgive and forget' before, it's just an expression. It makes more sense now. I mean, I'm trying to remember, for a lot of reasons. I didn't think I wanted to, but then when you said never forget and I…

"It's just, when I try to remember I get so angry and … I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive them. That's when I realize that you're right. If I do forgive them then maybe I won't be so angry. Maybe if I'm not angry the nightmares will stop. It seems so obvious, except maybe I have to find a way to let go of it so I can forgive instead of the other way 'round. Maybe I should try to forget."

Sarah shook her head. "No, Boychik. There is a certain logic to what you are saying, but no. You may not see it now, but you will come out stronger and—"

"Stronger? Sarah, you don't understand, they broke me!"

She reached across the small table and took his hands in hers. "I do understand, John." Still holding his right hand with her left, she unbuttoned the cuff of her blouse and rolled up her left sleeve.

It was only then that Johnny realized that, whatever the weather, she always wore long sleeves. He stared at the tattoo for a long time. When he did finally look up at her there were tears in his eyes. "I … I … " he tried, but the words wouldn't come.

"I know what it is to be broken, John. And I know what it takes to rebuild. I think I can help you, if you let me."

"I can't even imagine," he finally whispered. "Did you … did your family … ?"

"No. I am the only one of my family to survive. I never saw any of my friends again, except one. Eli and I knew each other before the war. We were quite fortunate."

"Fortunate? How can you say that?" He wanted to slam the table, or throw something. Instead he said, "I've been so petty. I … I'm here; I'm getting better. It was awful, but it was just one awful day. My family's ok, and my friends."

"Stop it!" Sarah snapped. She took a deep breath. "This isn't a competition, Boychik. These are not things to compete about. Maybe my experience was part of something bigger, mine took longer. Don't suggest I went through something worse than you. For there to be a worse there has to be a better. What we both went through was bad enough; there was no more or less bad. Neither was better. To be better there must be good. There was nothing good about any of it. But good can come, and that I can show you."