Second on the Right (30 page)

Once he started accepting food and hydration,
James began to feel better physically. The nurses were only
slightly more at ease with his improved mood. They were still wary
of him. Though they saw him as a handsome man, well poised, well
spoken, there was something deeper that gave them the impression
this was not a man they would care to cross.

In the following week, Dr. Gobran returned to
check on James' progress. Upon entering the room, she noted he was
again staring out the window. She slid a chair over to the bed.

"Good morning, Mr. Benedict. May I?” She
pointed to the chair by his bedside.

James turned his head and looked at her.

She offered a warm smile and cautiously sat
down. “Mr. Benedict, how are you feeling? Is your pain being
managed? If you need anything, just let me know.”

James’ observed the woman before him. She was
a gray-haired, in her mid-sixties, with thin lips plastered on her
face. He gave a smile, though not a warm one. She was taken aback
by his change. There was something different about him. When he was
admitted to the hospital, he had bright blue eyes, ruffled but
neatly trimmed brown hair and a rather handsome though tearstained
face.

“I had hoped we might be able to setup some
time to discuss methods to help with your healing. I want you to
feel comfortable, knowing you have someone to go to, just to talk.
If you don’t feel comfortable with me, I would be happy to provide
a list of local professionals. I want to stress the importance of
the healing process. Holding it in, hiding it, will do more harm to
you internally. I would very much like to help you through that
process. Your wife was a beautiful woman. And you also had a
son?”

“Robbie,” James whispered.

James sat in his hospital bed with an air of
authority about him. He looked almost cadaverous, his face gaunt
with large dark circles shadowing blue eyes full of profound
melancholy. His hair was longer than before and the color looked
darker than when she had seen it before. Despite these changes in
his features, his appearance was still quite striking. Dr. Gobran
might have considered James highly attractive, if not for the
threatening expression currently on his face.

"My wife, Eileen, was murdered. My son,
Robbie, murdered," he murmured. He looked intensely at the
psychologist. "
Ms.
Gobran, if you please…" As he began to
speak in a calm and polite tone, he seemed to grow more perverse.
"I won’t require your services. I thank you for your time. Please
leave me to my thoughts. If I find I’m in need of you, which I
highly doubt I will ever be, I’ll call upon you. Until such time…"
He leaned back into the bed and resumed his staring out the
window.

A chill ran down her spine. Unnerved by his
change to a polite gentleman with something evidently festering
underneath, Dr. Gobran could only nod and head out of the patient's
room. Making a quick note in the chart, she made it clear he would
require therapy on a weekly basis. She recommended and prescribed a
few anti-depressant medications and approved his discharge.

After a few weeks in the hospital, James was
discharged. Having no family or friends in New York City, James
took a cab home. In the back of his mind, he knew there was a risk
of running into the boy, but he didn’t care. He had nothing to live
for. Death would be a welcome relief.

The cab pulled up to the front of the
Westport home. Though the driver was speaking to James, he didn’t
hear a word. As soon as he saw the house, memories overwhelmed him.
He temporarily lost his hearing, as if a waterfall were rushing
past his ears. The irritated driver went around to the trunk, took
the one bag James had, and left it by the steps leading up to the
house. Opening the door to the cab, he took James' arm and
encouraged him to leave. The driver got back behind the wheel and
sped off down the road. Bits of dust floated around James.

James slowly trudged up the steps, unlocked
the front door, and entered the quiet house. He could almost see
and hear Eileen. He ran his hand along the kitchen counter over to
where her picture was framed. He stared longingly at it. He missed
Eileen more than anything. She and Robbie had been his life. What
would he do now? With a loud sigh, he rubbed his eyes. He was
exhausted. He had done nothing for the last few weeks, yet it felt
as if he hadn’t slept for months.

Upstairs, James took off his shirt, pants and
shoes, all of which took some time. Though having his dominant left
hand, it was still no easy task without the other. Eventually, he
accomplished his goal and slipped under the sheets into bed.
Closing his eyes, he buried his head into Eileen's pillow and took
a deep breath. The smells of coconut, sweet pea, and plumeria
filled his nose and lungs. Tears returned to his eyes. He squeezed
them shut, trying to stop the flow, but they continued until sleep
overtook him.

James felt Eileen slip into bed under the
sheets behind him. Wrapping her arm around him, she kissed his
cheek and whispered, "I love you."

James took hold of her arm and squeezed.
Turning over to face her, he looked into her eyes. He was so happy
to see her.

"I miss you," James said, running his fingers
down her cheek and tracing her lips. "I miss you so much," he
repeated, choking on his words. "I wish you were here with me…"

She smiled at him, her blue eyes bright and
vibrant. "I'm always with you. Always and forever…" she said
softly.

James leaned in and kissed her tenderly on
the lips. Darkness took over and she was gone. He opened his eyes
and found himself alone in bed. He glanced at the clock. He had
slept through the night and into the midmorning. Rising, he sat on
the edge of the bed thinking of his dream and wishing it were real,
that Eileen was truly with him.

James stepped into the kitchen and brewed a
pot of coffee. Leaning against the counter, his mind drifted to
memories of Eileen and Robbie. A pain shot through his heart.
Memories of the night on the yacht began to replay in his head. The
boy.
T
hat boy
.

James tightened his fingers around the edge
of the counter.
That boy took my family away from me. Took my
hand.
He pushed away and paced about. James tried to remember
all that Pan had said. The kid appeared to be on some kind of drug.
I caused him to suffer…him to suffer?
He shouted in his
head, walking faster.
He took my family!
He spun around,
letting out a roar and dragging his left arm along the counter.
Papers and a bowl of rotten fruit hit the floor. Bent over, his
shoulders rose and fell as he took in air rapidly.

Anger doesn't even begin to describe what
I feel,
he thought. He watched as a green apple spun in one
spot until it came to a stop at his feet.

James stared at the fruit. Starting at one
corner, a smile crept slowly across his lips until it was complete.
It was not due to any happiness, for he felt none whatsoever. James
had had a thought. He would explore Patrick's apartment, find out
any information he could on the boy, and when he discovered all he
needed to know, he would set a trap and wait.

I'll be seeing you again,
the boy had
said on the yacht.

"Yes. Yes you will,
Peter
," James said
aloud.

The doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting
company. Eyebrow raised, he straightened his body and walked to the
door. His eyes fell on an older woman who was smiling warmly at
him.

"Yes?" he asked, wondering who she was.

"You seem distressed. Is there anything I
might do to assist?" the woman asked.

"No— what? No, no, thank you. Good day,"
James finished, closing the door, but the woman placed a hand on
his arm, causing him to stop his action.

"Dearie, you look exhausted, maybe hungry as
well? Please allow me to at least fix you something to eat. I
apologize. My name is Daria. I’m a friend of Eileen's. I’m the one
that set her up with the cruise many years ago. What was it, around
eight years? Oh my, nearly nine years ago. I hadn't realized it had
been that long since I'd spoken to her."

“Eileen’s…dead.” At the mention of her name,
James' heart sank. The same feelings of loneliness continually
plagued him and he was growing weary.

“James, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Was
there a service?”

James shook his head as tears welled up in
his eyes. Daria held his arm and gently moved him from blocking the
door. James had no fight left inside. Rather than argue, he
followed her guidance and allowed her entry.

She prepared breakfast. His feelings
overwhelmed him yet again. With his left arm on the table, James
rested his head and closed his eyes. He heard the sounds of the old
woman bustling about. He didn’t feel much like eating.

Daria turned to look at James, "Are you all
right?"

He shook his head. "I miss her. I miss her so
much." He avoided eye contact. "I feel so hopeless, as if half of
me were suddenly gone. I have no idea what to do now. And the loss
of my son and unborn daughter? I want to die."

"Dearie, no matter what happens, nothing is
hopeless. It’s never the end. The important thing to remember is
how you deal with all of this and press on," she gently patted his
left hand.

"Press on? Press on?" James felt his anger
beginning to boil. "How on Earth can I press on when I've lost
everything?" He looked out at the wooded area that surrounded his
home.

The woman sat down opposite James. "You
haven't lost everything. Your wife, son, and unborn child are dead,
yes. But, you’re still alive."

"For now," he murmured. His shoulders slumped
as her last sentence sunk in. He had wished for death ever since
he’d lost them. He had contemplated suicide while in the hospital,
but knew it would merely extend his stay. Lost in thought, he was
startled to feel something against his arm. The woman pushed a
ticket towards him.

"Leave this place, leave New York. Take time
to reflect on the good times you've had with her." Daria retrieved
the plate of eggs, bacon, and toast for James. James ignored the
food, picking up the ticket. “It’s not as if you could exact
revenge. Take the trip. That’s all you can do now.”

"Surely you jest. I've lost my right hand,
lost the love of my life, who was pregnant with my second child and
lost my only son, and you're encouraging me to take, what, a
cruise?" James looked at the woman incredulously.

His irritation rose as she sat, smiling at
him.
Smiling like an idiot.
He crumpled the ticket and
tossed it in the trash. Daria watched as the ticket landed in the
waste bin.

"No thank you." Lowering his voice, James
said, "I'll find my own way through all of this. I do not require
your advice, nor do I need your help."