Fade to Black - Proof (18 page)

“You got home
a little after me,” she started. She handed Claire, fussy now at not being the
center of attention, to Jack and loaded a DVD into the machine. Mickey and
friends grabbed Claire’s attention and started talking about colors. “We put
Claire down for a nap, and then we lay together on the couch with the TV on. Then
I, well…” She blushed. “I helped you relax.”

Shame not to
have that memory.

Pam sat on the
couch now, her legs pulled under her, and Jack joined her. She took both of his
hands in hers.

“Jack, maybe
we should call Dr. Lewellyn,” she said. There were tears in her eyes. Jack
hugged her. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m not trying to be an emotional mess.” She
pulled out of his hug, wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at him. “This
is not something we can do just the two of us. You know that right?” She waited
expectantly, but Jack looked down. Pam lifted his eyes back to hers gently by
his chin. “We need to call Dr. Lewellyn.”

“No, baby. Not
right now. Not yet,” he kissed her cheek. “Tell me the rest first.”

Pam looked off
in the distance, reconstructing the day in her mind.

“When Claire
got up, we went to the playground, but it was chilly so we didn’t stay long…”

Hearing his
wife fill in the gaps of the day and evening gave Jack a sense of comfort. He
held her hand and listened as she told him of their walk back to the house, how
they played upstairs in Claire’s room. She told him of their dinner (chicken
and green beans with salad and au gratin potatoes) and of giving Claire a bath
together. She told him how he had put her to bed while she had cleaned up, and
that he had watched some TV while she talked to her mother on the phone.

“The news?”
Jack asked, hoping maybe something from the news would explain what had happened
to him.

“No,” she
answered. “I think you watched a
Frasier
rerun.” Then she told him how
they had opened a bottle of wine and watched a movie together, an old movie
with Humphrey Bogart (she couldn’t remember the name) on AMC.

“Then we took
a shower together and went to bed,” she said. “I must have worn you out ’relaxing‘
you in the afternoon because you were asleep when I got into bed.” She thought
hard for a moment. “I think you forgot to take your medicine,” she said with hope
in her voice, like maybe that explained everything.

Jack knew
better. He sat quietly for a moment when she finished. She had described a
wonderful evening, a typical Friday night at home (except for him falling
asleep after being naked in the shower with her. That was hard to believe, his
pride and libido told him). He remembered none of it. Even hearing it failed to
make it real for him as he had hoped.

“What do you
remember?” Pam asked. She slid closer to him and wrapped her arms around his
arm. Claire bounced up and down and laughed at Mickey and Minnie as they flew
around in his open‐cockpit airplane, looking for more colors.

Jack told her
everything he remembered. He spared her some of the gory details, but left
nothing important out. He told her about the paper and seeing the names of his
men from his nightmares. He told her of Hoag, and how he had become angry,
nearly hysterical, and demanded that Jack, or Casey, go with them on some death
journey. He relayed how he had refused, insisting that he had to get home to
his family.

“They said I
died in Fallujah,” he said.

“Oh, Jack,”
she cried and hugged him tighter, her head on his chest.

Then he told
her about going back to the dirty street in Fallujah, where he had lay dying,
bleeding to death in the street. Jack told her about the battalion surgeon
doing something to his chest that made it easier for him to breathe and how he
kept just trying to picture her and Claire in his mind.

“You were
talking to me,” Jack said softly.

 “What did I
say?”

“You asked me
not to leave you,” Jack answered. Tears rolled down his cheeks now. “You told
me to come home.” He held her tightly. Pam raised her head and looked at him, a
sad but loving smile on her face.

“And you did,”
she said, and kissed his cheek.

“Yeah,” Jack
replied. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Jack,” Pam
said, her head again on his shoulder, “I really think we need to call Dr.
Lewellyn. I mean, blackouts, Jack? What if something happens to you?”

 “I don’t
think Lewellyn can help me now,” Jack said.

“What do you
mean?” Pam said, louder than she meant to. “You said yourself he was helping
you a lot, that things were getting better.” Pam’s voice was higher, more
desperate.

“It’s
different now, Pam. Can’t you see that?” He spoke more harshly than he meant to
and Pam looked down, her lip quivering. Jack sighed and sat beside her again,
taking her free hand in his. “Pam, their names were in the goddamn paper for
Christ’s sake! Don’t you get it? This isn’t a nightmare
. It’s
real, now. Somehow I
’m connected to this Casey Stillman, or I am
him, or…Shit I don’t know!” He looked down at the floor and massaged his
forehead in frustration.

“Where is the
paper now, Jack? I never saw it.” Pam demanded. She was holding Claire against
her chest now.

Jack thought a
minute. “I left it, I guess.”

“Left it,
Jack?” Pam stood up and started to pace back and forth, Claire clinging to her
neck. “Left it in Iraq in some nightmare, is that what you’re saying? Jesus,
Jack!” She stood next to him again. Jack stared at his feet and said nothing. What
in the hell could he possibly say? Everything she said made sense. Everything.

But she’s
wrong.

"Isn’t it
possible that you just imagined reading that paper? That you left it in your
car or it never existed? Just because you think you remember reading names in a
paper that you don’t even have anymore, we’re supposed to believe, that…that…Jesus,
what the hell is it we’re supposed to believe? That you’re some kind of fucking
ghost? I mean, Jack, that’s just…” She stopped and Jack looked up at her
sharply.

“Crazy? Is
that the word you’re looking for, Pam?” Jack felt a stab in his chest. He would
rather endure almost anything before having this woman he loved so much think
he was insane. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her.

“No.” She started
to cry again, and she pressed her face, wet with tears against his neck. “No, baby,
I didn’t mean that. Something is bothering you, something deep inside you, and
I want to help you.” She kissed him on the lips. “I love you, Jack, and I am
here for you no matter what, ok?” she cupped her hand on his cheek.

“Ok,” he said.
“But I don’t want to call Lewellyn. Not yet. I want…I don’t know. I just want
to figure this out more before I call him, okay?”

Pam was with
him, on his side as always, but now what? She depended on him to think of some
way to sort this out, right? What she said about the paper made sense, he
supposed. But he KNEW he had gotten that paper, and that he had carried it with
him more than once. Maybe it was still in the car. Jack stood up again and
headed for the door. He grabbed his keys from the mirrored key hook they had
mounted near the front door. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Where are you
going, Jack?” Pam’s voice was frightened. Jack rushed back over and kissed her.

“Baby, it’s
ok,” he said and smiled. “I’m just going to the car to look for the paper, okay?
I’ll be right back.”

“Ok,” Pam said
with a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Jack. I just don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’ll never
leave you, Pam,” he said.

The Volvo was
right where it should be, neatly parked in the center of the driveway. Jack
clicked his fob and the door lock clicked open, the interior light coming on.
He opened the door and looked inside.

No
Marine
Corps Times
, although the porcelain vase full of flowers was still there. He
tore the car apart looking for it but found nothing. Was Pam right? Had the
paper been another hallucination? Jack gritted his teeth in frustration. He had
no fucking idea anymore what was real and what was his imagination. Maybe he
had been right before. Maybe he was just like the screwed up math guy in that fucking
movie with the gladiator. Maybe he was schizophrenic. Wouldn’t that explain all
of this horseshit? And they had medicine for that now, right? I mean, that story
had been in the fifties when they didn’t know shit about medicine. Jack started
to think that he should call Dr. Lewellyn after all.

“Bad idea,
Casey.”

He spun around
in fear and rage and looked at Hoag with gritted teeth, fire in his eyes.

“You get the fuck
out of here,” he hissed. “You stay away from my family, you son of a bitch! Do
you hear me?” Jack was glad that the commander didn’t start cleaning his
glasses, or he would have punched him in the face for sure.

“Casey,” Hoag
said patiently. He was the saintly chaplain again, all the hysteria and mania
from the night before well hidden. “Lewellyn is just something you made up to
help you escape from the reality of your death. He’ll say whatever you think
you want him to say.”

“Bullshit!”
Jack said and turned on his heel, heading for the front door. He clicked the fob,
locking the Volvo over his shoulder.

“There are
other ways you can check it out, Jack.” Hoag hollered after him. “Go to
Pendleton, Jack. You’ll see. Go to Pendleton and see for yourself.”

Jack watched a
moment as Hoag began to shimmer, sparkling with light, and then disappeared. 
He looked at the flowers in his hand and stood there, his mind trying to figure
out his next move while he caught his breath. Maybe Hoag, or whatever part of
his mind had created that bastard, was right. He could go to Camp Pendleton,
couldn’t he? Go to the base and check out One MEF, especially Third Battalion and
Kilo Company, for himself. That would settle it for sure. He looked again at
the flowers in his hand and suddenly felt ridiculous.

Jack shrugged
his shoulders and went inside.

Chapter

22

Pam had not liked the idea of a
trip to the United States Marine Corps Base, Camp Pendleton, California, in the
least. To her it seemed only to feed the delusion that the hallucinations, or
nightmares or whatever the hell they were, could be real. She had expressed
that opinion to him in no uncertain terms. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t appreciate
where she was coming from. He knew how crazy it sounded. He worked hard to help
her see his frustration that he didn’t understand what he was doing, and so he
most certainly couldn’t help her understand what was going on. It wasn’t just that
the dreams seemed real. The subtle and hard to define ways that everything else—his
whole life—seemed unreal and dreamlike. Everything except Pam and Claire. When
it was all boiled down to shit and grease, as his granddad used to love to say
(what a weird time to remember that little phrase), the only things he knew were
real were his girls and his deep, almost desperate love for them. Everything
else was suspect. He had admitted to Pam the fact that he wasn’t sure of
anything. That while it seemed plausible, in a bizarre way he knew she couldn’t
comprehend, that Hoag and Simmons and the others were in some way real, he also
knew how fucking crazy that sounded. He told her that he needed to go to
Pendleton to find out the truth. It was not to prove something he thought he
knew, because he admitted he didn’t know what the hell he knew and what could
be dream—or insanity, he supposed.

In the end,
that was what won the battle. Pam seemed able to accept that the trip could
prove, once and for all, that the nightmares and hallucinations were just that.
His promise that he would call Lewellyn when they returned had clinched the
deal.

The only wrinkle
was her insistence that she go with him. To be honest, the thought of having
her by his side was a tremendous comfort. He didn’t put up a tremendous
struggle, as he thought he might really need the strength her presence would
give him, no matter what he found in California. Perhaps more important was the
realization that, as far as he knew, he had not yet had a hallucination (or
whatever the hell they were) in front of her. Maybe his images, real or not,
would not come to him if she was there—whether because they were unable to
appear in her presence or because as products of his mind, he unconsciously protected
her from them. Either way, he felt better having her along despite his guilt over
the tremendous strain he believed he was putting on his wife.

The afternoon
and evening had been spent putting the details together. They had first
arranged for Claire to stay with her friend, Bev, and her family. He took care
of the mundane—airfare, hotel, rental car. The only thing left unarranged by
Sunday morning was the actual point of the trip. Jack had no idea how exactly
he would go about getting them onto the Marine Corps Base, much less have the
opportunity to talk to anyone. Obviously civilians were not permitted to simply
drive onboard and stroll about at will, and security was even tighter since the
horror of 9/11. Over breakfast, while he helped Claire get equal parts of apple
and cinnamon oatmeal into her mouth and onto his lap, he told Pam that he would
again try his ruse about planning his lecture for a current events class. He
would be sure to pack his staff ID from school.

“I’m sure I
can get in touch with the PAO and sell it to them somehow,” Jack had said.

“What the hell
is a PAO?” Pam had asked.

Jack explained
that each base, and usually each individual unit, had a public affairs officer,
or PAO. He believed his best bet was to try and gain access to Camp Pendleton
through the First MEF PAO. He knew she wondered why he would know about such a
thing, but neither said anything.

As for him, he
still couldn’t shake the resolute belief that Simmons, Bennet, Kindrich, and
Stillman were real, and that their existence would be confirmed by his visit to
Camp Pendleton. What that meant for him was still a mystery way beyond his
imagination. More uncertain was just what in the hell he would do if (when) his
fears were confirmed. He did know that, despite Pam’s yearning that he go back
to Lewellyn (which he would do for her, more than himself), if he found the
answers that his terrified mind suspected on this trip then Lewellyn would have
very little to offer him. In fact, it might even mean that Hoag was right, and
that Lewellyn was as much a fantasy of his disturbed mind as everything else in
his now surrealistic life.

Jack looked
out the window as he felt the airliner begin to descend. He kept his arm around
his wife and watched as they turned out over the water in a circling approach
to the airport. Farther south down the coast, Jack could see the line of huge
grey ships at the Naval base pier. In his mind he had a flash of memory
(fantasy?) of standing on that pier, a seabag over his shoulder as he hugged
his new wife and prepared to walk up onto the giant LHD, a tearful goodbye
before he left for five months at sea. The memory was brief but intense, like a
short slide show, and it felt somehow more real than his last week at home.
They turned a slow circle just inside North Island, where Jack saw one of the
two huge aircraft carriers berthed there, and Coronado with its beautiful
bridge connecting the islands to downtown San Diego. They headed inland towards
the airport, just past downtown and at the foot of the mountains beyond. It was
a beautiful city and he felt he knew it well, though he was sure that, as Jack
at least, he had never been there.

“Whatcha
thinking?” Pam asked and she hugged him, as if she sensed his brief departure
to another reality. She wrapped her arm around his chest.

“Just thinking
how pretty it is,” he answered kissing her on top of the head.

“And wondering
what you’ll find here?” It was less of a question than her finishing his
unspoken thought.

“Yeah,” he
said.

They watched
together as the city skirted below them and they headed in for landing.

It took no
time at all to get out of the airport. The traffic was heavy and as Jack
maneuvered their rental car into the flow, they chatted about anything but the
purpose for their trip. Neither of them mentioned how odd it was that Jack
never once consulted a map. Jack had decided that maybe avoidance wasn’t all
that bad, at least for what was left of the afternoon and their evening. He
wanted to just enjoy being with Pam, and tomorrow would be whatever fate held
for him.

Even in afternoon
traffic the trip downtown was a short drive. They found the Marriott easily; a
short walk from the bay he noted. Maybe a nice walk after they checked in would
help them find some peace. He wanted to take her out for a nice dinner. Maybe
they could drive up to La Jolla and have dinner at George’s at the Cove, with its
beautiful bay view and wonderful food. A bit upscale, but maybe that would be a
nice change. He would see how she felt.

They checked
in and received the obligate brief about the various restaurants, bars, and
rooftop pool, and then rode the faux marble‐floored elevator up to the eighth
floor and their bay view room. The room itself wasn’t large, but very
comfortable with a king‐size bed and a little sitting area. More importantly,
at least to Pam, it had a huge bathroom with a large sunken tub and separate
shower. Jack had always been amused that Pam measured the adequacy of any hotel
room almost exclusively by the pillows and the comfort of the bathroom. They
tossed their bags on the bed and walked together onto the balcony. They held
hands in silence and looked out at the late afternoon sun which reflected off
the bright blue Bay. Off to the left they saw the scenic Coronado bridge
stretch across the bay to North Island, the East‐bound lane full with bumper to
bumper traffic as the afternoon shift at the two Naval bases let out. Sailors
and Department of Defense employees rushed at a snail’s pace to get off the
island and pretend that they might, this time, miss the traffic out of San
Diego and into the various suburbs that surround it.

 “Pretty,” Pam
said after a moment.

Jack kissed
her neck. “Beautiful,” he answered. They stood there quietly for a while,
enjoying the peace and the view. Then she turned and faced him, her eyes
beautiful, but sad.

“What do you
want to do, Jack?” she asked.

Jack ignored
the deeper meaning.

“Have a nice
night on the town with the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” he said and
kissed her. She smiled up at him. “Let’s go up to Old Town and look at the
shops, and then maybe have a drink,” he suggested.

“Sounds
great,” she said. He figured she felt just as happy as he did to put off
thinking about all that had brought them to this place.

They drove to
Old Town, not minding the walk but knowing that they had to cross Highway Five;
“the Five” as locals referred to it. It took around twenty minutes, about twice
as long as it might have at another time of day. But they passed the time as
they always did, chatting about everything and nothing and holding hands,
listening to a litany of hits by modern country stars on the station Jack tuned
in without thinking about it. They parked at the fringe of Old Town and strolled
into the quiet shopping and restaurant district.

  As they
walked, Jack caught sight of a sign over a restaurant called Harvey’s. He
smiled, the sight filling him with some type of memory of emotion, rather than
a picture of an actual event. He looked at his wife.

“You want a margarita?”
he asked, smiling at her.

Pam looked up
ahead, obviously wondering what had prompted the offer.

“Where?” she
asked.

“Just up
ahead,” Jack answered, pointing up the block past Harvey’s. “Trust me.”

They walked
another half a block and came to a lively restaurant bar called Rockin’ Baja, a
local chain. The wait for dinner could be as much as an hour, but at this time,
about six p.m. by Jack’s watch, there was no real wait; though the bar area was
crowded with the late afternoon revelers. They waited only about five minutes
and were seated at a small table near the window, just past the bar.

“We’d like two
of your special margaritas,” Jack said as the waitress placed menus in front of
them. “I can’t remember what they’re called.”

“No problem,
sir. I know what you want,” the young girl said and smiled. “You want large or grande?”

“Grande,” Pam
said, before Jack could answer. “I mean, right?”

“You bet,”
Jack said. They could both use a grande drink about now.

“Ok, two grandes
and I’ll give you a minute to look at the menu,” she said and then hustled off
to the bar.

Pam opened the
large menu and started to look through it. “Wow,” she said, “a lot of choices.”

“Well,” Jack
said without picking up his own menu, “you want to just have some chips or
something and then go out to George’s in La Jolla for a nice dinner later?”

“Too
expensive,” Pam said without much thought. Then she looked around the Rockin’
Baja fondly. “Besides, there’s something special about this place.”

Jack agreed,
though he wasn’t sure why. He had the very strong feeling that this place was
special to them for a reason.

 “I’m having
fun,” she announced as she fished a bite of soft taco filled with chunky
seafood and white sauce from his plate. “This is just like the night you asked
me to marry you.”

That was it! Jack
had a sudden flash in his mind of the two of them, both younger, Pam with her
hair pulled back looking tanned in her tank top and jeans. He had nervously
pulled out a ring from his pocket and she had cried, and hugged him, and
covered him with kisses.

“Yes, yes,
yes!” she had exclaimed full of joy.

They had been
sitting at this very table, he thought. He felt tears in his eyes and the
memory floated away.

“What’s the
matter, baby?” Pam asked now, touching his face.

“Nothing,”
Jack said and meant it. “I am just happier than any man deserves.” He kissed
his wife and smiled again. “I am so glad you married me,” he said.

“You should
be,” Pam answered. Her face relaxed and lit up again. Then she laughed and
covered her mouth. “I love margaritas.”

Two and a half
hours later they sat outside by the poolside bar at the Marriot Hotel,
stretched out in lounge chairs by the railing, looking at the city lights on
the Bay and holding hands. They sipped contentedly at their complimentary
drinks (they had switched to beer, knowing that the margaritas would be
disappointing after Rockin’ Baja’s) and talked about Claire and what she was
doing. Before coming to the bar they had stopped at the room and called Bev,
who promised their little girl was doing fine, enjoyed being with her kids, had
eaten well and was now asleep. Then they had torn each other’s clothes off and
made love wildly, passionately, like kids on their engagement night who had just
finished off two grande margaritas. They ended up on the floor somehow, and lay
together in a silent and content afterglow for a half hour before deciding to
go to the pool to cash in their drink vouchers.

Jack was
content and happy. He held hands with his one true love and enjoyed the cool
California evening. But he also felt a quiet dread building deeper inside him,
and forced the feeling away with some effort. He didn’t want to think about
tomorrow, and wanted less to think about what would come next. He no longer
felt anxiety about what he would find at Pendleton because the evening, as
perfect as it was, had only solidified his conviction that he knew damn well
what he would learn there. What he didn’t know was what the hell he would be
able to do once his fears were confirmed. He knew for sure that he would never,
ever give up on making this world right and real. He loved the woman beside him,
and the little girl they had made together from their passion, more at this
moment that he ever had. Whatever it took, he would make this right. Whatever
it took, he would find a way to not leave his life with his girls.