Amnesia (29 page)

The report of the gunfire rang in McConnell’s ears and he waited for the burning pain of the bullet piercing his body. He wondered momentarily what death would be like. Instead, he was hit by the heavy weight of Scardoni’s large frame crashing into him, jarring his already agonizing arm. His head reeled with pain, his consciousness threatening to leave him, relieving him of his intense suffering.

He struggled to remain conscious, to sort out what had happened, and then spied the form approaching him. As the shadow took on shape he suddenly remembered the darkened Volt parked next to the building. Relief flooded his body as he recognized the bandaged form of the life he had saved just last night. Tears again sprang to his eyes, tears of gratitude and thanksgiving.

“Thank-you, Bill. Thank-you.”

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

“Slow down Beverley, you aren’t making any sense!” Peter Frindle was much improved now, able to communicate and feed himself, but his body still needed bed rest. Although it was ordered that he begin to walk around a little, the exercise was still limited and required a nurse’s accompaniment.

“Sorry, Peter, I’m just so grateful to Jack and Bill. They’ve been through so much, and it was for us, well, for me.” Beverley’s enthusiasm dampened as she remembered that this had all started with her kidnapping. She wondered if all of it could have been avoided if she had somehow done things differently.

She glanced across the bed to Carrie for support, the fear and apprehension threatening to resurface. The smile on her friend’s face shored her up, and she banished the thoughts to the back of her mind. She wouldn’t allow her fears to control her again.

Carrie, recognizing Beverley’s concern, lent voice to her support by adding, “You can’t take all the credit. After all, it was my former husband that very nearly killed Bill. And me too.” Her eyes softened, as did her voice as she thought of Officer Lowell.

“Would you both please back up and tell me what’s going on,” pleaded an exasperated Peter Frindle.

“You start, Carrie,” Beverley suggested, “tell him about Paul.”

She sighed, not really wanting to relive those moments, but eager to help her friends understand. “Well, as you already know, Paul was very controlling and manipulative. But worse, he was very abusive. At first it was only mental abuse, always berating me, telling me that I wasn’t good enough, that I was holding him down from his greatness. It wasn’t much of a step to add punishment in those areas he deemed me unworthy, and he started to hit. In fact he used to literally take his belt to me when I wasn’t behaving as he thought I should.”

“Oh Carrie,” Beverley moaned, empathizing with her friend’s pain. “What did you do that was so wrong?”

“Oh, lots of things. The first time he did that was when I stayed out to
o
late with my maid-of-honor one night. We had gone to a movie and missed the planned showing so waited until the later show. I got home a little after midnight and he decided to make sure I never did it again. He took his belt to me until I was bruised. He always wanted to be intimate afterwards, telling me that he was trying to ‘make-up for our little fight.’ Personally I think beating me got him excited.”

“Why didn’t you just leave,” asked an incredulous Peter. “I just don’t understand why you, or anyone, would stay in a relationship like that.”

“You have to realize that Paul was very charismatic, and that he worked on me for quite
a while
before he did that. By the time that happened he had groomed me to receive it. I actually believed all the things he told me.

“You also have to understand how frightened I was of heading out on my own. I actually decided to leave him when he broke my arm. He was trying to help me understand that writing letters without his permission wasn’t acceptable, but by then he had me so convinced that I couldn’t survive without him that I decided I had to stay. I had no self-confidence or self-esteem, and honestly believed him when he told me I needed him.

“I was also frightened of what he would do to me if he caught up with me, what sort of ‘punishment’ he would inflict. As it turned out I was right about that.”

“Oh, how awful for you!” Beverley lamented. “How did you even survive?”

“Actually,” cut in Peter, “the bigger question is what finally got you out of there?”

“Well, to answer the first question,” Carrie responded, “I mostly relied on my testimony of the gospel, and leaned on the arm of the Lord. He helped me through so many dark hours…I can’t even imagine what it would have been like without His help. Eventually I believe it was through His strength that I finally escaped.

“As for how that all happened, well…” she hesitated, emotions rising to the surface, bringing with it tears of anguish. “To make a long story short, I got pregnant and Paul wasn’t happy about it. He completely went berserk, smashing things, yelling at me that it was my fault and that it was going to destroy him. Then he started on me…beat me up pretty bad, and I…I lost the baby. After that I didn’t care what happened to me, where I would end up, or if he were to find me and kill me. As it turns out, I guess that wasn’t that
far-fetched
after all.

“Which brings us to where Bill came in. He nearly died protecting me.” She was already crying, relating the story. Yet her face took on a new glow as her thoughts turned to her rescuer. The look was not lost on Beverley and Peter, who exchanged a knowing glance as Carrie composed herself.

“Well,” Carrie continued, “you know the rest. Bill got shot in the shoulder, but his protective armor absorbed the majority of the impact.”

“Protective armor?” queried Peter. “I thought it was his day off.”

“It was,” Carrie answered. “We asked him about that before the ambulance got there. Apparently when he got dressed that afternoon he felt impressed to put it on. He was so used to wearing it as part of his uniform he even forgot he was wearing it. Of course that wouldn’t have stopped that second bullet if Jack hadn’t stopped it.”

“Second bullet?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, Paul had his gun right against his forehead. I could even see his finger tightening around the trigger.” Carrie shuddered involuntarily as she related the scene, still badly shaken by the event. It would take quite some time for the effects to fade.

“Anyhow, just before he took the shot, Jack McConnell showed up. Apparently he saw Lissa and Bill race off from his place and felt like he should follow them. Lucky thing he did. Just before Paul killed Bill, Jack shot Paul. He saved both of our lives. Paul would have turned the gun on me as soon as he was done with Bill.”

“Have you noticed how many ‘impressions’ are flying around here,” Beverley pointed out, changing the subject to relieve the emotions building in Carrie.

“Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Peter responded. “When we turn our will over to the Lord, and do what he asks, He will watch out for us.”

“Hang on a minute Peter,” Beverley interrupted. “Are you saying that everything that we went through, that Carrie went through, was because we hadn’t turned our will to God? That doesn’t sound like the merciful caring God the missionaries taught us about.”

“It’s not like that…” Peter started, but was quickly cut off by Carrie.

“Let me answer that one. There were times I felt the same way. ‘Why didn’t He help me?’ ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ ‘Am I just unworthy of His succor?’ and such. But I think I have another possibility. First, there’s the question of timing and faith. If the Lord had reached down and fixed everything right off the bat, there would be no need to have faith in Him. I had to trust in Him while enduring the trial, to prove I really had faith, not just an expectation of divine intervention.

“Secondly, there is the whole agency thing, allowing others to make mistakes, even at the expense of some innocent people. It doesn’t seem fair, but if you think about it, how can you punish the wicked if they don’t get a chance to commit their crimes. Of course those crimes are often pretty atrocious. My little trial is insignificant compared to a lot of stuff going on out there.

“It’s kind of like the story in the Book of Mormon where all the faithful people, including the women and children, were thrown into the fire pits and burned to death. Alma and Amulek had to stand by and watch. If it were me I would have sent down lightening before the first person got tossed into the first pit. But then would I have been justified or just a murderer? Is it right to punish someone for what they intend to do, or should you allow them the opportunity to prove how nasty they really are?”

“But Carrie,” Beverley argued, “that just isn’t right. Look at you and Paul. You went through years of pain, and may never completely recover. You shouldn’t have to pay the price.”

“True, I will never be the same,” Carrie countered, “but you are assuming that is all bad. It took a great deal of strength to stand up to Paul, strength I would never have had if it hadn’t been for what he had done. Remember what Alma told Amulek, that all of the people that were burned would be taken home and receive their reward. And what about you and Peter? Would y
ou have realized how much you tw
o meant to each other if you hadn’t gone through that ordeal?”

Beverley let the question hang in the air, having never considered that perspective. She looked down at the supine man that she loved, realizing that having him in her life, and having her in his heart, was worth all that she had to put up with from her captor. It still wasn’t fair, or right, but she couldn’t deny the logic. Maybe
someday
she would have the faith exhibited by her friends.

She didn’t have time to pursue the subject further as the door burst open and Jack McConnell stepped through. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, his lower right arm was in a temporary cast, which would be replaced by the orthopedist later. He looked exhausted and beaten, but his eyes had the glow of confidence that set the others quickly at ease.

“How you feeling, Peter?” he asked.

“Much better, thank-you. You, however, look like you got into a dogfight. Are you okay?”

“Banged my arm up a bit is all. Other than that, nothing a shower and a nap won’t fix.” Jack countered good-naturedly. He smiled at the trio, and then sobered noticeably.

“I have some news for you all, and I need your help.” He looked closely at the three as they mumbled assent, sizing them up, ensuring they were ready for his questions.

“Alright, first off, Scardoni, the man that kidnapped you, is dead. Bill returned the favor this morning and saved me from a bullet with my name on it.” He paused a moment as an obvious wave of relief washed over them, especially Beverley. He then took a deep breath, bracing himself to deliver the bad news.

“Unfortunately, there is someone above him, who seems to be controlling everything. Scardoni was just a pawn. I need to know if there is anything else you know that will help me piece all of this together. Can you help me?”

Beverley and Peter looked at each other, building strength and stamina, their momentary relief at the news already a dimming memory. Beverley nodded almost imperceptibly to Peter, expressing her willingness to follow his lead.

“Whatever you need Captain,” Peter voiced for them both.

Jack sighed, amazed at the strength of character he had found in the group of people he had so recently met. “Great. First off, do you know anything about someone named ‘Drake’?”

Beverley shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Nor to me,” Peter added.

“Okay, how about Marcuse?”

“Sure,” Peter answered, prompting a baffled look from Beverley. “Yeah, we talked about him in one of my classes. He was a German philosopher in the mid ‘60s. Basically he tried to inspire rebellion and anarchy. He tried to say stuff like ‘free speech is really just society’s way of propagating its own agenda,’ and that ‘capitalism is just a way to keep the rich rich and the poor poor.’ As I recall, his concepts are pretty much rejected by everyone except a few intellectuals who think ‘liberty’ is a nonsensical term. Pretty far out stuff, from what I remember.

“There was something else we talked about at length, and that was about medicine. Marcuse seemed to think that science, engineering, and medicine should be socialized, that it should be controlled by a central agency, rather than by the market. It was his contention that technology, but especially medicine, was the only truly liberating force, but that it was controlled in such a way so as to restrict access and availability, thereby allowing the social elite to retain the power.”

“Sounds like a real nut,” Jack proffered.

“Yeah, I agree,” Peter concurred, “but there are a lot that would agree with him on this issue. The health care industry, including doctors, hospitals, drug companies, and insurance companies, have quite a racket going on. That’s where the real money and control is these days. The ‘new Mafia,’ in some people’s opinions.”

“Hmm. Well, Scardoni referred to someone who calls himself ‘Marcuse’ as the man in charge. Can’t be this philosopher, so must be someone who thinks himself a revolutionary of sorts.”

“Um, Captain,” Beverley tentatively spoke up, “what would this have to do with us? We aren’t doctors or any of those other things, and we sure aren’t a threat to anyone. Why us?”