Fortiter in Re, Suaviter in Modo
 

FROHIKE:

I go to check on Byers and Juliet.

Both of them sound asleep.

I hear no sound of footsteps, I'm therefore somewhat startled when Caroline Parker creeps into the room.

The woman has not slept in over two days. I ache for her.

"She's doing better," I whisper to Caroline, who nods, tries to smile weakly. "Your husband? How is he?"

She nods slowly, sadly, overcome with exhaustion. "He's not showing any brain activity...oh my God..." she sinks down to the ground, finally losing her composure.

Her tears are silent, long, pitiful. I place one hand on her shoulder.

Jo follows me shortly thereafter, and steadies the woman's other shoulder with her hand. We are on either side of her, gently bracing her...

While her sobs are painfully disconcerting, she needs this. She needs the release.

So much anguish.

Her daughter sleeps peacefully in a morphine haze. Her partner is in the chair flush with the side of the bed, his head placed gently next to hers, and in spite of the awkward position, he has a soft, calm look on his lightly freckled face.

"Caroline," Jo whispers to her. "Do you need to talk?"

Caroline Parker looks at her uncertainly. "I...don't know what to do...they want me to sign a consent to terminate life support...so they can harvest his organs..." She can barely talk, her normally well-modulated scholar-lecturer's voice a thin crack.

"Are you Catholic, Caroline?" Jo asks softly.

As if it matters at this point.

"Yes, I am," she says between sobs.

"Perhaps in the chapel...I know the priest here, if you would like to speak to him. Or maybe you'd just like to come and sit with me. It's quiet there." Jo takes her arm and leads her from the room.

Jo has a gift I can give no one. She has the gift of spirituality.

Although, right now, glancing down at the sleeping pair in my midst, I find myself offering a silent prayer of thanks...and one for hope.

They have so far to go. And they've barely taken the first step.
 

LANGLY:

Oh Jesus fuck...no way is this happening.

I have seen a fucking ghost.

And right now, I'm lying on the floor, this skinny dude and a dark-haired lady bending over me, putting a cold cloth on my face.

The skinny dude is the same one I saw just before it faded to black.

No fucking way...no, it's not Scott...I'm dreaming...more like losing my mind.

Can't be fucking Scott. Scott bit it in '79. 22 years ago.

I try to say his name...nothing's coming out of my mouth...Jesus Christ.

He gets it, though. "Yeah, George, it's me."

My brain refuses to work.

There is no way this guy could be

My brother...

My brother's been dead for 22 years.

I was supposed to meet with The Thinker.

This guy...

No way.

Finally, I say the dreaded word. "Scott."

He grins, and the grin, even through my blurred vision, looks an awful lot like what I see in the mirror.

"Yeah, George, it's Scott."

"You're...HIM?" I still don't believe this.

He just nods. I'm sitting up now, I'm still real shaky from all this.

Did Ally slip something in my coffee?

Don't think so.

I'm like such a mess right now... one, I can't believe this is happening. I mean, I went to my brother's fucking funeral when I was in high school. I remember it, goddammit. That's not a figment of my imagination. I was THERE.

Still, it was closed casket...they said he was too messed up to look at.

So what the hell is he doing here?

I'm so freaked out. I've been freaked out enough lately.

I can't deal with this.

I'm a lot of things right now. Guess I'm relieved the dude isn't gonna shoot me, for one. That's always nice.

And I think I'm pissed off as hell.

I mean, where does he get off? It's like, he fakes his own death...if it's really him, and even though we look and sound alike, I'm beginning to wonder ...what the hell was he thinking, leaving us all like this?

I mean, 22 years...he had kids, for Christ's sake. He had a brother and a sister.

Like he would have to be so fucking selfish just to go and hide himself from everyone like that.

And that makes me mad as hell.

I'm starting not to feel so bad...I think I should go. I don't really wanna talk to this guy.

I don't care right now if he is The Thinker. I mean, I always thought it'd be cool to meet him. He's a legend, and he was always a real nice guy...always asked after me, how I was doing, followed me up from rehab and prison, always asks after Ally and 'Randa...

Instead of being there, like he should have.

That's what makes me so mad.

I think about all the times I needed him. Thinking he was dead. And now, I know he wasn't...and that just pisses me off no end.

This is assuming, of course, that he's really Scott...and something in me doesn't want to believe he is.

How could he be such an asshole, that's my thought right now.

I mean, this is not like meeting Joanie again...Joanie, she had stuff...she couldn't get past that.

I gotta go.

I try to stand up, and I'm a little wobbly, but I think I can make it back to Bertie's.

"George...Ringo...I really need to talk to you. It's important." He takes my arm. I notice the fingers are like mine. Real long. Kind of curved out at the ends. I think Ally calls 'em spatulate.

I can't do this.

"Look, whoever the fuck you are...I can't talk to you." I want out of here. I want out of this real weird place, with this real weird fucker who I think is my brother but I don't want to think is.

"Please. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. As much as I can. George, please. I would never have exposed myself if it wasn't important."

"Like what would you tell me?" Okay, if he's The Thinker, then he knows a lot...but what could he possibly tell me that could matter to me at this point?

He has a coughing fit...Christ, he sounds like he's dying when he does that.

"Please. Just this afternoon. I think it will help."

"Help what, asshole? Help me when I was in trouble? Help me through all the bad times? Help me figure out why my life's been so fucked up?"

He looks at me, and the eyes...I mean, they're like almost colorless, like mine. Real pale blue. And lots of red lines in them.

He looks like shit. Hope I don't look like him at his age.

And where the hell does he get off? I mean, I think he wants something...and I think it takes a lot of balls to ask for something when you just bail on your own family.

All he says is, "Just hear me out, George. Please."

Fine.

But I want a beer.
 

MICHAEL:

"Wonder what's going on." I'm sort of thinking out loud.

Ally's been so fucking quiet. She just smokes and sips her Bass, looks out the window...I mean, I'm used to her being quiet and all, because she usually is...but this is quiet even for Ally.

She shakes her hair. It's in a ponytail with a butterfly clip. Kelly loves butterflies. I didn't know Ally did.

Maybe she borrowed it from Kelly. Or Miranda.

"Think we should go over there?" I ask her. I don't like this sitting around and waiting.

She just shakes her head. "Maybe in a while."

"What if he's having problems?"

Wrong thing to say. She starts to cry.

And I don't do good with crying women.

"Hey, Ally, I didn't mean..." Christ. What'm I supposed to say?

She just looks at me. Big blue eyes, big and sad. Lots of tears in them.

"Hey, Ally, I'm sorry about your baby."

She smiles at me just a tiny bit. "Thank you. I appreciate that." Her voice is real soft. "It was a boy, you know."

"No, I didn't."

"It was." She lights another Marlboro Light. Christ, I hate cigarettes...but I guess right now, she needs this.

"You got a name picked out for a boy?"

She giggles. "Didn't even get that far. I think it would have been a J name...in Jewish families, you name your child for the last deceased relative, take their initial. And that would be Joan."

"Joan wasn't Jewish."

"I am. And Joan was family."

Yeah, but Joan wasn't Jewish family...I guess it doesn't matter to her.

She sighs. "I miss my mother. And my daddy. Especially my daddy. I mean, I wish he was here...he's been gone almost twenty years...and I still miss him."

Believe me, Ally, I know what it's like to miss your parents.

"You want another Bass, Ally?" I mean, usually Ally's had a little bit more liquor, she's pretty cheerful...and she needs cheering up big time today.

And she'll usually go for it, so I'm surprised when she's like, no.

"I think...we should go check things out, Michael." She looks scared.

I think that would be a bad idea. I tell her that.

She's like, I expect her to fight me, but she just sighs and says, okay, give me another Bass.

I have another Sam, she's got another Bass, we're just watching...waiting. I hate this. I'm not a patient person.

"Doesn't look like trouble." I mean, I really can't tell...but not much you can see inside the bodega.

"I don't know." She shakes her head. "I just..." she's got tears in her eyes again. "I buried one husband. I'm not ready to do another."

"Not gonna happen, Ally."

I'm trying to convince myself as much as her.
 

LANGLY:

"So what'd you want to tell me about?" I'm having a beer, he's got some Icehouse. He's got one but it's like he barely touches it.

He sure as hell coughs a lot. Sounds like he should be a smoker.

Don't remember that Scott ever smoked, though.

He looks down at his hands, and all the veins stick out...real blue, like he's got no skin on him.

Christ. If this really is Scott-and I still wonder-then I hope this isn't what I have to look forward to.

"How long you been hacking like that?" I hope to hell he's not contagious.

I been really sick. And it sucked. Don't ever wanna go through that again.

He gives me this real level gaze. "A while. But that's not what we need to talk about right now."

"So what the fuck do you think we need to talk about right now?" I mean, he seems to think he's calling all the shots here.

He studies his hands, then mine, then back to his. "I think...we need to first talk about Mom and Dad."

"Are we talking about the same mom and dad?" I'm still skeptical.

"Well, we do have the same parents."

"Sure we do."

"We do, and you know it." He starts hacking again. "Ian and Charlotte...remember them?"

"I try not to. Especially not Mom."

"Yeah, well, little brother, I have to remember them every day...I am where I am, and did the things I did, and got the way I am, mostly because of them."

"Don't you think we're a little old to be blaming the folks?" Well, he is, anyway. Because if he's really Scott, he's pushing 50.

"I'm not talking about blaming anybody, George. I'm talking about the way it happened."

He really doesn't sound bitter...just like, well, this is the way it is.

Course, Scott always was able to talk his way out of just about anything.

"George...do you know anything about Dad's work?"

Yeah, I do...a lot more than I wish I did.

"Yeah."

"Tell me what you know."

"According to some shit we found in the Fort D database-"

He chuckles a little. "I helped the little fuck with that one-what's his name, SexDwarf?"

Junior really oughta change his screen name. Naming yourself after an 80s dance tune is just like, pathetic.

"Yeah, Junior...he was looking for some stuff..."

"And I helped him do the hack, little brother." I'm thrown off by the way he says this. He says it just like he did when I was his little brother. "Figured it was important...both for what you guys have to say, and things you should know, things you should know about your own family, George..." he busts out in another coughing spaz.

"Don't you think you could've just told me? Don't you think you could've come and seen me in rehab? What about coming to my wedding, huh? And Joanie's dead, y'know-"

He gets real quiet. "I know. I'm sorry about Joan, George. I know you and she were tight...more than she and I were. Man, I worried about her...I was so glad when she decided to dump that asshole of a husband..."

"Yeah, well, too little, too late. I'm just glad she was around for like a year, at least my sister didn't die like a stranger to me! Too bad you can't say the same! Where's the fridge, I need another beer." I start to get up. He jerks a thumb over in the direction of one of the doors.

I stand against the counter for a few. I'm like so off center right now it's not funny.

What's with this guy? I mean, he's like he knows all this stuff. Course, somebody else could know it...but not the way he does...I don't think...

And man, this guy is SICK. He's like a corpse they forgot to stick in the ground. It's like I can see all the bones in his hands.

It's creeping me out.

What I wanna know is, where the hell's he been all this time?

He better have a damn good excuse.
 

FROHIKE:

Juliet and Byers continue to doze, even with the staff coming in and out to check on Juliet. Her vitals are not terrible at this point, even though she is taking high doses of pain killers.

Byers is going to have a hell of a crick in the neck, but at least he's sleeping, and he's near her. I think being near each other will help both of them heal faster.

But Juliet doesn't know about her father yet...and I dread what will happen when she does find out.

She needs to know. But when? Is it really fair at this point to force her into a discussion while she is in terrible pain and heavily strung out on drugs?

Yet would it be right for her mother and brother to make a decision without including her? Juliet loves her father dearly. I get the impression she might have been Daddy's girl when she was young.

Is it fair to her father to be kept 'alive' when there appears to be little hope of him ever recovering? He is, at least according to the state of Maryland, legally brain dead.

What about the implications of keeping him on life support when so many people are in need of something he could provide that could give them another chance at life? Jeffrey Parker, according to his driver's license, has directed that in the event of something like this, his organs and tissues be donated. And Caroline Parker is well acquainted with the contents of her husband's will. He has given her a physician's directive that states DNR. No drastic measures. I think it's safe to say that part of that has already been violated.

I remember that as an undergrad at Rutgers, I needed two philosophy courses to satisfy my core requirements (twelve years of Catholic catechism apparently doesn't count as philosophy). I of course chose symbolic logic for one of them. But the only thing that would fit in my schedule for the second semester was ethics. I took it.

I actually enjoyed the course...but it was all very abstract at that point. I thought I knew all the answers then. I found I could write philosophical discourse without a great deal of trouble. The answers all seemed so obvious then.

Now I know, I don't have any answers.

Jo is a much better philosopher than I am. She's had a lifetime of deciding who gets scant resources, be they medical or academic. She's forced into decisions like this all the time.

And she seems to be able to sleep at night. I think. Maybe she agonizes far more than she lets on. I know she did when she was in country-but she was much younger, and being confronted with realities that would boggle anyone's mind.

Perhaps this is why she takes comfort in the certainties of a religious institution that she's been affiliated with since birth. Perhaps it's more knowing what to expect than anything else that keeps her there. I know from discussions with Allison that this is how her religion keeps its hold on her. It gives her order and system, a way of sorting things that cannot otherwise be made sense of.

I am a man who craves order and system, and there is so little of it in my life.

I'm so lost in thought, I barely notice when Jo taps me on the arm and asks me to come with her.
 

We're in the chapel. It's quiet. There is only one other person here, deep in prayer, and we speak softly enough that we do not disturb him.

What has brought him here? A dying spouse? A sick child? A friend? And is it the need for a moment's respite, or is he wrestling with some more fundamental questions.

"Caroline feels...that Juliet should know, and contribute to the decision," Jo whispers to me.

"What do you think?"

"What I think isn't relevant here, Melvin."

"I think it is. I want your input."

She sighs, clasping on to her beads. They're white, the kind you get at First Holy Communion. They look well-worn.

She looks up at me. "Yes, they're from First Communion. They were a gift from my mother." That thought makes her smile. "I get to think of her every time I hold them. And that helps me."

"Melvin, I don't know how fit Juliet is to participate in this discussion at this point. Her injuries are painful, and the amount of medication required to keep her even nominally comfortable is enough to distort her mental faculties...and she's been through one major event already. She has months of rehab and several more surgeries coming. I'm not certain that telling her at this point is a kindness. I think it could set her back."

"Is that a medical opinion?"

"Yes, because at this point, I think that's the perspective we need to call upon in determining where she is." She fingers her beads, uneasily.

"Don't you think it's unfair as well, though, to have Juliet come to a place where she is fully in control...and then be told that these events transpired, and that she played no part in determining the outcome?"

"Melvin, I don't think fairness has anything to do with this." She looks sad. "I'd like things to be fair...but I think operating from that premise is specious at best."

"I think fairness has everything to do with it."

She shakes her head. "Melvin, if things were fair...would they happen the way they do?"

She does have a point.

"I still think Juliet needs to be able to say her piece and if need be, say goodbye to her father."

"And I agree. But I don't think she's in any state to do that."

"What's the brother's take?"

"Caliban...feels that keeping him on life support defies the father's wishes, and is causing his mother even greater pain. Because the longer he's on life support, the more she hopes for a miracle. And in the opinions of the doctors caring for him, a miracle is only a little more likely than any hopes of fairness in the world." She looks troubled. "He also feels that his sister should have the opportunity to voice her sentiments." Now Jo looks pained. "They're a nice family, Melvin. Kind
and close and caring. It's wrong that this should happen to them...but it has. I think they need to go forward from a practical point of view."

"That sounds a little cold, Jo."

"It IS cold, Melvin. And the reality is equally cold." She fingers her beads more and more, I can almost feel her prayers beginning to rise. "Melvin, if you don't mind...I need to pray on this for a while. I know you don't pray...but for me, it's necessary."

"Why is that? I'm curious."

She shakes her head. "Another discussion, another time."

And she kneels down and buries her head in the pew back in front of her.

END OF PART 41