James 5
A great emptiness swelled within him,
while at the same time, he seemed to be filled
with an overwhelming desire to fill the emptiness with something. Anything. It didn't matter any
more. He just didn't want to feel the loneliness ever again.
James rolled onto his side and
shoved a disc into the computer. Soft, soothing
strains of music filled the room. This
particular selection had been Rachael's favorite. Now it was his favorite and he played it often.
Each time, he would close his eyes and the same
vision would appear.
Once again, he held her
close as they danced. He always wore a black
tuxedo and she wore the most elegant white
evening gown ever designed. They seemed to be
alone in the universe and time stood still as
they floated around the ballroom as if on a
cloud. Then, as the music reached the crescendo, she whispered to him.
"There is something I
have to tell you."
"Not now," he protested.
"I don't want you to tell me now. Please. Don't ruin this night in paradise."
The music ended
and applause filled the ballroom.
James opened his eyes, rolled over and removed the disc. He
hadn't wanted to hear about the illness he
already knew she had. As long as it remained
unconfirmed, there was still hope. The precious
hope that she wasn't as ill as he knew she was.
There was a slim chance he could have convinced
her to change her mind about the System.
That
night, in the darkness of the master suite, he
held her close while she told of her plight. She spoke the words he didn't want to hear. The
words he couldn't accept. He tried desperately
to convence her to accept the System so she could receive the proper medical treatment. She
refused. Without treatment, there could be no
hope of remission and he desperately needed that
hope.
She tried to comfort him, but he
wouldn't be comforted. At that time, he felt he
hated her. He hated her for choosing death
instead of his way of life. While he hated her
for her decision, he loved her even more for
having the strength and courage to face her
dismal future.
The computer sounded, aborting
his thoughts.
"Yes, he said as he sat up on
the sofa, the disc still in his hand.
The
viewscreen came to life, filling itself with a
sinister looking face. Evil eyes stared coldly
amid the gray hair, mustache and beard. His thin lips began to move immediately.
"Marshall.
Sebastian Fowler here. We have received your
doctor's report. You have been relieved of duty
for forty-eight hours. Do you have any
questions?"
"No, Sir..."
The picture faded
before James could add the usual, Thank you,
Sir'.
He noticed his son had covered him with a blanket. He paused. It was a nice gesture but it didn't change the situation or the strange way he had been feeling lately. The feeling of
loneliness, the growing need to fill his life
with something worthwhile, a reason to go on
living from day to day. These feelings were not
new to him, but he hadn't felt them so deeply in
such a long time. Something must have caused
these feelings to surface with a terrific force. Or, he thought, a terrific force must have kept
them submerged. On the other hand, this could be a side effect of the medication. If this were
the case, he could discontinue taking the
medication and things would return to the way
they were. Was that what he wanted?
He threw off the blanket, carefully stood up and laid the
disc on the console. After going to the kitchen
and pouring another glass of wine, he stood by
the window looking out into the darkness.
Several minutes passed as he stood there sipping
the wine.
The wounded man looked the same.
It would be so simple for someone to cut the
ropes that bound him. The entire area was
usually deserted until dawn and the only light
was the illuminator that shone down on the
wounded man. If he wasn't already dead, he soon
would be. His body would eventually be hauled
away with the refuse, or worse, he could be left
on the post to rot.
James took a red rose
from the flower arrangement on the table near the window. It was a new hybrid without thorns. He
felt the cool softness of its velvet petals. He
smelled it and the fragrance evoked deep
feelings. It seemed to be the fragrance of
life's longing for itself. He felt a longing so
deep and so painful, it could no longer be
ignored. He felt an overpowering desire for
something to make his life worthy of living.
Slowly, James raised the glass toward the window, offering a silent toast to the wounded man and to the future. He finished drinking the wine and
set the wine glass and set the empty glass on the table near the window. He hurried to the
dressing room and changed into dark brown
coveralls, then took a long black overcoat and
carefully made his way to the corner. Quickly,
he took out his pocket knife, opened it and cut
the ropes that bound the mans hands. He
carefully eased the limp body to the ground.
After closing the knife, he shoved it back into
his pocket and felt the mans pulse. He was still alive. His pulse was weak and rapid, his
breathing was shallow and irregular, but he was
still alive. Cautiously, he dragged him into the nearby darkness.
There was a sudden, sharp
noise like the breaking of a twig. Was someone
coming? For all of a minute he stood frozen with fear. He felt his heart pounding wildly. He was aware of the blood that raced through his body.
If I'm caught now, he thought, this will all be
for nothing. He listened. He could hear nothing but the frantic pounding of his own heart.
Quickly, he wiped the blood from the mans head
with his handkerchief then stuffed it into his
pocket. He pulled the man up and over his
shoulder, spread the overcoat across him and
headed for home. Staying in the darkness as much as possible, he managed to get inside the garage
without being caught. He laid the man on the
work table and proceeded to examine him.
The
gunshot wound, the cracked ribs, the broken rib,
the head wound, the deep rope burns on his
wrists, the letter 'C' carved into his chest and
the numerous cuts and bruises were all examined
with the cool detachment of a professional. It
was the cold, clammy skin that brought back the
nightmare that caused him to give up the medical
profession.
For a split second, it was a small boy that lay on the table beneath his hands...
James pushed the thought from his mind as he
rushed into the house for supplies. The mans
condition was worse than he had expected. He
soon returned with the medical kit, blankets,
towels and clean clothes for the stranger.
James rolled up one of the blankets and placed it beneath the mans feet. As he pulled the other
blanket up over him, the vision of the boy
returned. He paused, holding a portion of the
blanket above the mans shoulders. In that
second, he knew he had done everything that was
humanly possible. He could no longer blame
himself. James slowly lowered the blanket around the mans shoulders and confidently proceeded to
treat each of the wounds. By releasing the guilt he had carried for so many years, he had also
released the medical knowledge and skills he had
subconsciously buried with it.
As he worked,
he couldn't help but notice the physical
qualities of the stranger. He was a well built
young man, probably about thirty years old, with
blond hair and a mustache. He had a small scar
on his right cheek, just below the cheekbone.
His clothing yielded no identification. He
wasn't wearing any jewelry, but there was
evidence that a wedding band had been removed
recently. His fair complexion was now accented
by one of James' dark green tunics.
James
checked his pulse again. It was stronger and had slowed to a normal pace. His breathing had
deepened and regulated, his skin was warm and
dry.
Satisfied, James gathered the old clothes and soiled towels and put them into the automatic incinerator. At the push of a button, nothing
remained except for a few black ashes.
Feeling the urgency of a swift departure, he went into the house for supplies. While he gathered
up groceries, he realized that he was now an
outlaw and it was only a matter of time until he
would be caught. It wasn't easy for him to give
up this life of luxury, but one cannot have the
best of two worlds. If anyone suspected what he
had done, the life of James Emmerson Marshall IV, wouldn't be worth a fake credit. It was too late to have a change of heart. There was no way out. He had sealed his fate in both worlds. He was
now alienated and both worlds would be seeking
his demise. Which world would it be?, he
wondered. Now, he would face the threat of death every moment of every day... for the rest of his
life.
James put the groceries in the storage
compartment of the cruiser and went back inside
the house for blankets and clothes. He filled
several suitcases with clothing, toiletries, the
large, framed photograph of Rachael and the
stolen papers. He made certain he had the log
recorder and the new white uniforms. He also
packed several micro-illuminators so they
wouldn't be without light.
There on the
dresser he saw the rose. In his haste to dress
he had carelessly laid the rose on the dresser,
instead of returning it to the life-giving water
in the arrangement. He picked it up and held it
gently. It was sadly drooping and a few loose
petals fell to the floor. It was clinging
desperately to life, but in the end was certain
death.
He glanced at his reflection in the
mirror. He saw graying hair and lackluster eyes
that told of empty time. How like the wilted
rose his life had become. Slowly, he closed his
hand around it. He crushed it and let the pieces fall to the floor. Mercifully, it was over. The rose would live no more.
Hurrying to make up
for lost time, he gathered all the clean linens
he could find and took the collected items to the cruiser. He put the suitcases in the back seat
and spread several blankets on the floor between
the seats. Carefully, he laid the stranger on
them and covered him with a blanket. He checked
his pulse again, then went back into the house.
He looked through the house again to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, because it would be
impossible for him to ever return. He checked
his possessions. He had his fathers pocket
watch; his pocket knife; wedding ring; the rock;
I.D. key; and the photograph of Rachael.
Just as he was about to go through the door for the
last time, the computer sounded. Someone wanted
to talk to him. He started back into the house
to answer, then hesitated. Answering could
possibly hasten his death or it could mean extra
time to find a place to hide. Well James, he
thought, what are you going to do? Answer it?
Or leave? James let the door close behind him.