Final Appeal (4 page)

“It's that complicated?” Professor Zimmer looked dazed.

“I'm afraid so. Let's just hope we can keep this thing under our hats until we have everything we need. It would be a terrible thing if the press got wind of it.”

“It would?”

“Yes.” Stan sighed deeply. “You see, Professor Zimmer, my brother's a patient at the Oakdale State Hospital. He had a complete psychotic breakdown shortly after his conviction.”

“Oh, my!” Professor Zimmer blinked. “I'm so terribly sorry, Mr. Gerhardt.”

“It was rough for a while, but they tell me he's doing much better now, finally adjusting to his incarceration. I wouldn't want to raise his hopes prematurely and then have them dashed again because we were turned down on some technicality. I'm afraid that he might . . . well . . . “I'd rather not go into that. Suffice to say, it would be kinder for Michael if he didn't know anything about this until it's a fait accompli.”

“Of course, I understand perfectly. Mr. Gerhardt.”

Stan cleared his throat. “And that's why I'm a bit concerned about the other juror, the one who saw the tape. If he or she mentions—”

“You can relax about that, Mr. Gerhardt,” Professor Zimmer interrupted. “The other juror won't say a word.”

“Yes, but perhaps it might be wise if I paid a call to stress the importance of—”

“No, I'll take care of it. You have my word that this matter will remain completely confidential. Now I've taken up enough of your valuable time. Goodbye, Mr. Gerhardt.”

Professor Zimmer stood up and headed for the door. Stan opened his mouth to try for the juror's name again, but he didn't have time to say a thing before the professor was gone.

 

Michael Hart blinked his eyes as someone unlocked the door. The sheet they had fastened around him permitted no other movement. He was in a padded cell, flat on his back in a hospital bed.

“Hi, Mike. Feeling better?”

It was Jack. Michael felt better immediately. The big barrel-chested orderly had been at Oakdale almost as long as he had, and he was Michael's only real friend.

“Aw, for Christ's sake! They got you trussed up like a Christmas turkey. They must have figured you'd bang yourself up after I left last night. Hold still and let me get them restraints off you.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Michael's voice came out in a whispery croak. His throat felt sore, as if he'd been shouting for hours, and he was unbearably thirsty. He tried to lick his lips, but there seemed to be no saliva left in his body.

“You're pretty thirsty, huh?” Jack lifted something from his forehead, and Michael found he could nod. “Okay now, Mike. Don't try to talk. It'll just make your throat hurt. I'll get you some juice just as soon as I take off this other stuff.”

It felt as if a great weight were removed from his chest as Jack lifted off the sheet. Another weight disappeared from his ankles, and finally his arms.

“That crabby nurse with the glasses gave you one of them yellow pills. Isn't that right, Mike?”

Michael opened his mouth to answer, but his throat was so sore he couldn't force out the word.

“That's okay. You don't have to talk. Just nod your head.”

Michael nodded, and Jack sighed loudly. “I don't know where they find 'em, Mike. Maybe they dig 'em out from under old rocks someplace. Now, I'll tell you something, and it's God's truth. The only reason she gave you that pill was so you wouldn't pee the bed. Too lazy to change it. She didn't give a fiddler's damn about you, Mike. What d'ya say we slip one in her coffee and see how she likes it?”

Michael managed to laugh, even though it hurt. Jack really cared about him. Why weren't the orderlies paid as well as the doctors? They were a lot nicer, and they spent more time with the patients.

“Okay, Mike, I'm going to get that juice. Just lie there calm and easy, and don't try to get up until I can help you. I sneaked a look at your chart, and they shot you up with all kinds of drugs. You're going to feel like you went off on a cheap drunk last night.”

The door closed, and Michael shut his eyes again. Jack was right. His head was pounding, and he felt sick to his stomach. It was a massive hangover, and he hadn't even had the pleasure of raising a glass. What had he done? It must have been something serious.

The door opened, and Jack was back. Michael struggled to a sitting position with the orderly's help and swallowed as Jack held a glass to his lips. Naturally, the glass wasn't glass. Only paper cups were used at Oakdale.

Michael made a face as he swallowed. Jack saw him and grinned.

“I know, I know. It tastes bad. Tomato juice with an egg in it and a handful of pepper. It's my daddy's hangover cure. When you can swallow better, I got a couple of Bayer's in my pocket. I lifted 'em from the nurse's lounge.”

Michael nodded and took another swallow. Jack was an expert at expediting procedures. If Jack had gone through normal channels and asked the nurse for an aspirin, it would be tomorrow before Michael got it.

“Ready yet? The sooner you take 'em the sooner they can work.”

Michael forced down the two aspirins. Jack's daddy's hangover remedy seemed to be working. His throat didn't feel so raw now. Perhaps the pepper burned out his pain receptors. He finished it off in one gulp and handed the paper cup to Jack.

“Good for you, Mike. Now just sit there a minute until your head starts to clear. One good thing about all them shots they gave you. You were out for the count, so you couldn't of dreamed your nightmare. Isn't that right?”

Michael nodded. If he'd had the nightmare, at least he couldn't remember it now. It always started with the courtroom, when the judge came in and banged his gavel. Then he rose to his feet. The jury had reached a verdict. Their faces were huge and hard, like sculptures of the presidents at Mount Rushmore. Their eyes were flat, gleaming stones that accused him. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Over and over. How could they say that? They were wrong! Then he was moving, hurtling over the rail in one soaring leap, right into the jury box.

Michael forced his mind to back off, away from the nightmare. That was the point where he always woke up. And found himself not in bed, but somewhere else. The first time it had been in the hallway, only steps from the nurse's station. And then outside the dayroom, trying to get through the locked door. And once he'd been in the janitor's closet with all the mops and the brooms. Somnambulism, the doctors called it, their name for sleepwalking. That was why they gave him the nightly medication. To keep him from killing the jurors in his sleep.

At first, they'd tried something called reality therapy. They'd told him the dream wasn't right, that things hadn't really happened that way. They'd gone over it hundreds of times, the jury coming in, the judge banging his gavel, the foreman reading the verdict. They'd said he'd stood there beside his attorney, Stan. He hadn't moved at all until the two uniformed officers had snapped the handcuffs around his wrists and led him away. The part about hurtling over the rail had never happened. It was just what he'd wanted to do.

“Mike? Are you all right?”

Michael blinked hard and nodded. “Yes, I'm fine now. Do you know what I did, Jack? I mean, I must have done something terrible to end up in the rubber room.”

Jack grinned. “Oh, you were impressive, from what I heard. The whole staff's buzzing. There's quite a few that think they should of given you a medal, but I guess Dr. Bowman doesn't see it that way.”

“Bowman? Oh, Now I remember. I was up for review. And Bowman did something that made me so mad. What was it, Jack?”

“I don't know, Mike. I wasn't there. I just know what Mrs. Gray said. Bowman was trying to break you down so you'd say you killed your wife. From what I hear, he got real nasty, and you just sprang out of your chair and wrapped your hands around his scrawny neck. Surprised the hell out of everyone, except for Mrs. Gray. She said it took three guys to pry you loose.”

“So now I'm in Dutch with Dr. Bowman?”

“I guess!” Jack shook his head. “But if I was you, I wouldn't let it worry me. The word's out that Bowman's gone. Any day now.”

“He's leaving?”

“I guess you could put it that way.” Jack chuckled. “My buddy on Ward C says your brother's here, raising all kinds of hell. He's been asking some real interesting questions, and lots of people are talking. He spent over an hour with Mrs. Gray, and then he went straight to the head nurse on Ward C. You remember her, don't you, Mike? The one that had the run-in with Bowman last year? She damn near got fired over them cakes.”

Michael nodded He remembered her. She'd brought in little cupcakes in silver paper whenever there was a birthday. And star-shaped cookies at Christmas with red and green sugar on the top. She'd talked to him as if he were a real person, not crazy at all. And she'd made him believe it. She'd been the only reason he'd made it past Ward C.

“Believe me, Mike. There are people lining up for a word with your brother. You can take it from me. Bowman's history.

“That's good. Jack. Is Stan coming up here?”

“Of course he is. Your brother wouldn't come to Oakdale without seeing you. You know that, Mike. Now what d'ya say we get you up and back to your regular room?”

 

 

“I'm sorry, Stan. I didn't mean to drag you all the way out here.”

Stan reached out to pat Michael's back. “I was coming anyway. Don't worry about that. How do you feel?”

“Better, but I don't know how much longer I can take it, Stan. I mean, being locked up like this. They're not going to let me go. Ever!”

“Easy, Mikey. I hear what you're saying. I've already taken steps to see that Bowman is transferred. And when the new guy comes in—”

“That's not it, Stan.” Michael took a deep breath. “I'm grateful you got me a place here. You know that. But it's almost worse than prison. At least there, I'd be up for parole. You don't know what it's like, sitting here day after day, staring at the same wall. If I stay here much longer, I'll be just as crazy as they say I am!”

“Mikey?” Stan leaned a little closer. “Keep your voice down and answer me. If I get you out of here, will you do everything I say?”

It took a moment for Stan's words to sink in. Then Michael nodded emphatically. “You know I will, Stan. But how can you?”

“I'll work out the details and get back to you.” Stan put his fingers to his lips. “You'll be hearing from me in a day or two. Meanwhile, don't say a word, not to anyone. Do you promise?”

“Yes! But Stan . . . are you talking about a legal way, or—”

“That doesn't have to concern you at the moment, Mike. Trust me; I'll take care of everything. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and be a model patient for the next couple of days. Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

“Good!” Stan patted his brother on the shoulder and got up. “I'd better get going, Mike. There are a lot of things to arrange. Remember not a word. Not even to that orderly friend of yours.”

Michael frowned as the door closed behind his brother. What did Stan have in mind? He was still trying to figure it out when Jack came in, an hour later with his dinner tray.

“Here you go, Mike. Its slops again tonight. They told me it's supposed to be creamed chicken on biscuits, and there's a pile of soggy cauliflower there on the side. But at least you got your favorite for dessert. Vanilla pudding.”

Michael looked down at the food in disgust. White food. Everything on his tray was white. You could go snow-blind eating this stuff. What he wouldn't give for a greasy cheeseburger from one of those fast food places! Or maybe a plate of crispy French fries, and a chilidog. Well, he wouldn't have to eat Oakdale's food much longer if Stan came through. And Stan had always come through in the past.

“You look happy, Mike.” Jack stuck a straw in a paper container of white milk. “Did you have a good visit with your brother?”

Michael opened his mouth to let Jack in on his good news, but then he remembered. Not a word to anyone, not even Jack.

“Yes, he was here for a long time, Jack. And he promised to bring me some new shirts.”

“The kind with them little alligators on the pockets?”

Michael nodded. “Stan says they've got a new line. With stripes.”

“That's real nice, Mike. Gives you something to look forward to. Now eat that chicken or whatever it is. I gotta finish up with you fast tonight. That crabby nurse is on the warpath, and she thinks I spend too much time in here.”

Michael shoveled some chicken into his mouth and swallowed. It didn't require chewing. In less than five minutes, he'd eaten everything on his tray.

Jack picked up the dishes and stood up. “Okay, Mike. Tomorrow's my day off, but I'll see you the next day, huh?”

Michael nodded. “Jack? You saved my life, you know. You're the only reason I'm here and not up on Ward D with the terminals.”

“Aw, that's not true, Mike. There's lots of nice people here. Just wait until you get down to Ward A. They have dances, parties, and all that social stuff. And the nurses—” Jack stepped closer to the bed—“they're foxes, Mike. And I hear they got a real special way of rewarding good behavior, if you catch my meaning. Now, don't do anything foolish tomorrow. No black marks on your chart. Okay?”

“Okay Jack.”

As the door clicked shut, Michael smiled. He'd miss Jack, but it would be wonderful to be out in the world again. And maybe, just maybe, he'd already be gone when Jack got back from his day off.