The Three Wise Guides

The alarm
clock buzzed loudly and Mary O’Reilly, snuggled under several layers of
blankets, blinked opened her eyes and automatically reached across the bed to
slap it off.
 
The sharp pain in her arm
quickly reminded her of the weeks of recuperation at Cook County Hospital and
nearly losing her life.
 
She closed her
eyes, the memory of the shooting was still vivid enough to cause her to tense
up and break into a cold sweat.

Remembering
what her psychiatrist, Gracie Williams, had counseled, she took deep calming
breaths and tried to concentrate on the positive things in her life.
 
She pictured her family and her rapid
heartbeat slowed a little. Her parents, Margaret and Timothy O’Reilly had
always been there for her.
 
Their steady
example, constant love and unwavering support had helped her achieve all she
had in her life.
 
She knew that no matter
what she tried, they would have her back and would be there to applaud,
encourage or console her.
 

She smiled
as she pictured her three brothers.
 
As
the youngest and the only girl, she had made her life work thus far an exercise
in proving that she was just as capable as they were.
 
She had joined the police force not only
because she loved the work, but also to show her brothers that she had what it
took too.
 
She had bested them with her
grades in college and the Academy.
  
Her
shooting
range
scores were better and even her
hand-to-hand combat techniques were sharper, although their additional height
and weight gave them an advantage.

Tom and Art,
the twins, made the competition fun.
 
They were always willing to involve her in a shenanigan, especially when
it would involve the other twin. The two young men had already developed a
reputation at the station for being practical jokers.

When she thought
about her oldest brother, Sean, she unconsciously rubbed the bandage that covered
the still healing entry wound. Sean was on the stake out with her.
 
Sean had boldly run across the street to
protect a little girl who had inadvertently stepped into the middle of a drug
bust.
 
And because of his bravery, Sean
had immediately been made the target for the crazed crack head, Jose Martinez,
and his gun.
 
When she stepped out from
behind the protection of the squad car and between Sean and the gun, she hadn’t
hesitated for a moment. It was part of being a family.

The reminder
of the stake out and the shooting caused her breath to catch and her anxiety to
rise, but she fought past it as she pushed the blankets aside.
 
Like so many other challenges in her life,
she knew she was going to overcome this residual fear.
 
All she had to do was tough it out and move
past it.

“All I need
is to get back out there,” she whispered to herself as she walked to the
bathroom. “Once I’m back on the street, I’ll be just fine.”

The scent of
breakfast cooking and the sounds of her family arguing over the kitchen table
brought a wide smile to her face.
 
Dressed in her uniform, she hurried down the stairs and stopped at the
kitchen door.
 
Looking at her family
gathered around the table reminded her suddenly of the last time she saw them
gathered together.

Somehow she
was in the air above them as they waited outside the operating room.
 
She remembered looking down on her motionless
body on the operating table and then somehow moving beyond the room to the
hall.
 
She watched them from the ceiling.
Her mother had been crying
,
her father’s large beefy
arms wrapped around her as she sobbed.
 
Her father had looked old, his face drawn and tired.
 
Even her brothers had been without their
constant good humor as they sat and watched the clock on the wall across from
the couch and chairs in intensive care.

They had
been worried about her; they were still worried about her. But today was her
first day back on the job and she couldn’t let their fears compound her
own.
 
She needed to go back.
 
She needed to push past the anxiety and get
this part of her life back. If she didn’t go back, she would always be afraid.

“Okay, now I
want a straight answer,” her mother said. “The Baby Jesus is missing from the
crèche on the table in the living room, which one of you jokers took it.”

“Ma, I
didn’t touch it,” Tom replied. “Maybe it was the cat.”

“We don’t
have a cat, Thomas O’Reilly,” her mother said. “Now who’s responsible?”

“Maybe it
was one of the voices that Mary keeps hearing,” Art teased.

Her father’s
face turned in Art’s direction. “You’re joking about your sister’s condition?”
he snapped. “I don’t think that’s funny.
 
I don’t think that’s funny at all.”

Remorseful,
Art immediately looked down. “You’re right, Da,” he said. “I apologize. I
didn’t mean anything by it.
 
I’m…”

Stepping
into the kitchen, the conversation stopped and all eyes were on her. “Good
morning,” she said with a smile. “Everything smells delicious, Ma.”

Walking over
to the table, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat down at her
usual place.

“How are you
feeling, darling?” her father asked.

“Just
great,” she replied quickly, as she reached for a piece of toast.

“You know,
you don’t have to go back yet,” Tom said. “You’ve got at least a couple more
weeks of comp time.”

She bit into
a crisp piece of bacon. “I’m good, thanks,” she murmured.

“I’d take
the comp time,” Art inserted. “You could go to Hawaii or Jamaica or someplace
warm. Hell, Mary, it’s ten below zero out there. Take a vacation.”

“I’ve always
loved Chicago in the winter,” she countered, sipping her juice. “Besides, it’s
almost Christmas; I don’t want to miss that.”

Pulling up a
chair next to her, her mother laid her hand on top of Mary’s. “Are you sure
it’s a good idea to be going out again so soon?” she asked.

Taking a
deep breath, Mary turned to her. “Ma, I have to get out there again,” she
explained, praying her mother would understand. “I can’t stay here, hiding from
my job. I can’t, won’t be able to heal until I go back.”

“But the voices…”
her father said, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. “I know you
don’t want to talk about it, but how can you do your job when you’re so distracted?”

She turned
and met his eyes. “Da, I’ve got to try,” she said. “I don’t know the answers
yet. But I’ve got to try.”

He held her
eyes. “Just don’t do anything foolish,” he stated firmly.

Smiling, she
nodded. “I promise to be very careful,” she agreed. “I just want to try patrol
again.
Nothing very exciting.”

Glancing up,
she caught Sean’s eyes on her.
 
He had
been quietly leaning against the kitchen wall studying her interaction with the
rest of the family with hooded eyes.
 
Pushing away from the wall, he walked over to her. “And just what does
Gracie think about this idea?” he asked.

Mary averted
her eyes. Gracie had not been excited about Mary’s desire to return to
patrolling so soon.
 
She wanted Mary to
take several more weeks before she went out again.

“She was
fine with it,” she lied.

“That’s not
what she told me,” Sean disputed. “She told me she wanted you to wait for a
couple more weeks.”

“She isn’t
supposed to talk to you about my condition,” Mary snapped. “There are laws that
are supposed to protect my privacy, even from meddling brothers.”

“I’m not only
your meddling brother, I’m your Sergeant now,” he stated. “And so I get access
to your files if they are relevant to you being able to perform your duties.”

“What?” she
asked,
astonished.

“You are now
one of my officers in the Special Victims Unit,” he said.

“But I
didn’t ask to be transferred,” she argued. “I was doing fine in Narcotics.”

“Well, you
can go back to Narcotics after I’m sure you’re really fine,” he replied,
crossing his arms across his chest.

Jumping up,
her chair crashing against the kitchen floor, she faced her brother. “Just who
the hell do you think you are?” she shouted.

He leaned
forward, so they were face to face. “The guy you nearly died for,” he said
quietly. “And I’m not going to give you the chance to die again.”

She took a deep
breath and saw the pain in his eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, you
keep telling me that and maybe someday I’ll believe it,” he said, stepping away
from her and picking up his jacket and cap. “In the meantime you report to me.”

He glanced
over at his mother and nodded apologetically. “Sorry for the drama, Ma,” he
said. “And thanks for breakfast.”

Mary stood
frozen in place and watched him walk out the back door, slamming the door
sharply behind him.
 

Tom came up
behind her and picked up her chair. “Sit down and eat,” he encouraged.

Slowly
sinking into the chair, she shook her head. “I had no idea…” she began.

“Yeah, well,
the good news is that he must think you’re strong enough to handle it,” Art
said, grabbing another piece of toast and slathering it with jam. “Or you still
wouldn’t know.”

“But how did
he…” she stopped.

Her dad’s
big hand clasped both of hers. “Mary, darling, Sean heard the shot, turned and
saw you fall. He was the one who picked you up, bleeding and broken, and
brought you to the hospital.
 
They had to
forcibly pull him out of the room; he didn’t want to leave you.”

“I didn’t
know,” she whispered, now mortified at her outburst.

“And how
would you know?” her mother asked. “He didn’t want anyone to say a word. But
now that you’re working with him, it’s only fair you know.”

“Thank you,”
she said, staring down at her breakfast, her stomach now churning and the food
now looking unappetizing. “I guess I’d better get going. I’d hate to be late
for my new job.”

Sighing with
disgust, Mary strolled down the shoveled concrete path that wove through the
Grant Park.
 
Except for a few brave
joggers, the park was fairly deserted in the sub-zero temperatures.
 
Even gang-bangers had the good sense to stay
in out of the cold and Sean knew it.
 
That’s why patrolling the empty and safe park was her newest assignment.
The trees had lost all their leaves and stood, covered in an icy white coating
of frost, as silent sentinels along the walkway.
 
The fluted water fountains had been turned
off for the season and looked like large concrete cake plates filled with a
layer of meringue.
 

Pigeons
still rambled around the undersides of the benches, where the snow was light;
searching for some crumbs they had missed in earlier forays. Mary glanced
around to be sure she wasn’t being observed, and then pulled a plastic bag out
of her parka pocket and sprinkled the bread crumbs on the ground.
 
The birds, who were considered by many in the
city as merely winged rodents, gratefully feasted on the bounty.

“That used
to be my job,” a deep voice stated from behind her.

She jumped
and turned, her hand instinctively reaching for her gun, but once she had
whipped around, she found herself facing a frozen empty park.
 
Even the joggers were too far away to be
heard.
 
She took a deep breath, closed
her eyes and faced an awful truth.
 
She
was mentally unstable.
 
She had been
hearing voices and seeing things out of the corner of her eye since she woke up
on the operating table.
 
The accident
must have caused a post-traumatic reaction that caused this reaction.
 
There was no denying it at this point, she
was certifiably nuts.

“You
ain’t
nuts,” the voice said. “You just
ain’t
looking at us the right way.”

Mary’s eyes
shot open and she stared at the empty park. “Who said that?” she whispered.

“Don’t get
all bent out of shape,” the voice insisted. “You’re just too uptight, that’s
why you can’t do your job.”

Looking all
around for some kind of speaker, she shook her head. “I’m trying to do my job,”
she replied. “But someone is trying to make me think I’m going crazy.”

A soft
chuckle answered her comment. “Yeah, well, let me tell you, crazy isn’t the
worst thing to be considered in life.”

Frustrated,
she slapped her arms against the side of her coat. “Could you just tell me
where you are and how you’re projecting your voice?” she asked.

“Honey, I’m
sitting right here on this bench,” he replied. “You just
ain’t
looking at me the way you should.”

She stared
at the empty bench.
Okay, I’m not the
only one that’s crazy in this park
, she thought.

Another
chuckle reached her ears. “No honey, there’s a lot of crazy in this park,” he
said. “But I
ain’t
crazy. I’m just dead.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember
do you?” he asked.

“Remember
what?”

“In the
hospital,” he continued. “After you were looking down at your family, you took
a little journey.
 
There was a long
passageway with a bright light at the end of it.”

His words
brought a pang of memory.
 
She did
remember moving away from her family, like someone was pulling her up and away
from the hospital.

“That’s
right, search for it,” he said.

It was
there, at the far reaches of her memory, but she thought it had been a dream.
She was standing in a white room. No, it wasn’t a room, it was a hallway.
 
She remembered looking down from the direction
she had come and seeing a far-away image of the operating room and her body was
still on the table.
 
People were rushing
around and there was a harsh beeping sound coming from the monitor.

“Yes, that
was when you died,” the voice said.

“I didn’t
die,” she replied, opening her eyes to the empty bench. “I wouldn’t be here if
I had died.”

“Don’t you
remember?” he asked. “You made a deal.”

“A deal?”
she scoffed. “What? Did I sell my soul?”

There was
that insufferable chuckle again. “Well, in a manner of speaking, you did,” he
said. “But you bargained with the right side. You chose to come back to your
family and to the earth.
 
You chose to
live again and not go on to heaven.
 
You
chose life, but there was a condition.”

“There
always is,” Mary said.

“You were
told things would be different, remember?”

Mary thought
back to the long white hall.
 
She
remembered looking down, now she concentrated on looking the other way.

It had been
so bright, she suddenly remembered. And warm, the kind of warm that seeped all
the way through your body.
 
And there had
been love.
 
She breathed in deeply,
remembering the enveloping tenderness and love that had surrounded her.

“Yeah, you
do remember,” he said.

“I remember
feeling loved,” she whispered, not wanting to open her eyes and loose the
feeling.

“But he gave
you a choice,” he said. “Remember?”

She
concentrated and remembered someone calling her by name.

“Mary, I’m
so proud of you and who you’ve become,” she remembered the voice saying.
 
She couldn’t see the person speaking, but the
voice seemed to be all around her, inside and out.
 
And it was a familiar voice.

“You have a
choice, Mary. You always have a choice,” he had said and she could hear
affection and compassion in his voice. “You can continue on your journey to the
light or you can go back and be with your family for a while longer. Either
decision is a good one. But if you choose to go back, there will be things
required of you now that hadn’t been required of you before.
 
You will have a special calling.”

“A special
calling?” she remembered asking. “What would I do?”

“You would
help your brothers and sisters find their way home,” he replied.

“I don’t
have a sister,” she had responded and remembered he had laughed softly.

“You will
find you have many brothers and sisters if you choose to go back.”

“I choose to
come back,” she finally said aloud.

“Yes you
did,” the voice replied. “You looked back at your family, you saw their pain,
and you choose to leave the warmth and come back.”

Mary opened
her eyes and looked at the bench.
 
The
air seemed to shimmer in front of her and a figure appeared for a moment on the
bench and then disappeared.

“Believe you
can see me, Mary,” he said.

She rubbed
her hands over her eyes and looked again.
 
The shimmering occurred again, but this time the figure stayed
visible.
 
Sitting on the bench was an old
man dressed in a worn woolen overcoat and a red stocking cap.
 
A white beard encircled his face and his nose
was bulbous and red.
 
His eyebrows were
thick and grew out in every direction, and his eyes were faded blue.

“Who are
you?” she asked.

He stood and
glided over to her. “I’m Gabe. Gabe Fleischmann. And I’m one of your guides.”

“My guides?”
she asked.

“Have you
always had a problem repeating what other people say?” Gabe asked.

“Only when
I’ve been confused beyond comprehension,” she replied.

Gabe smiled
and nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Come
on,
let me
introduce you to the other two.”

“Two?”

He raised a
shaggy eyebrow and looked at her.

“Okay, I’ll
try to stop it,” she said. “But two?”

“Yeah, we’re
the three wise guides,” he said with a soft chuckle. “For some reason, He likes
to do things in threes.”