Becoming the Storm
37 Impossibilities
I WOKE UP Thursday at 4:30. I’d slept dreamlessly after Sly left. Or was Sly’s visit simply the only dream I remembered? Was it a dream? There was a niggling voice in the back of my mind saying, ‘Love and be loved.’
I sat up in bed, stretching the core muscles that had been torn, cut, and stitched. The tendons pulled against my pelvis, but I could tolerate the pain. It was getting less each day. I swung my feet over the bed so I could go to the bathroom and kicked the two beautiful blondes standing there. I hadn’t even seen them when I woke up. It took a second to register through my waking haze.
“Jessica? Nicolette? What are you doing here?” The two women were about the same height, both blonde, and both beautiful. Nikki carried a little more weight than Jessica, but Jessica was no longer emaciated like she’d been last summer. She looked really good.
“Taking our turn,” Nikki said. “I couldn’t visit you before you banned us. I had finals the past week. I’ll go away when you order me, but I had to see for myself that you were really alive and acting like an asshole.” That made me laugh a little. I suppose I was an asshole when it came down to it. I looked at Jessica.
“I visited while you were still… asleep, but I wanted to see you awake, too. You’ve never missed wishing me happy birthday,” she said.
“I’m happy to see you both,” I said. I hugged each of them and gave them a soft kiss. “You really shouldn’t be here, though. I’m not… I’m not safe to be around. I tried to kill Josh. I could have hurt you just because I was startled.”
“Jessica and I met at the airport in Boston and took the redeye. We decided to come straight here. It’s so hard for us, Brian. We love you and we almost lost you.” Nikki seldom expressed emotions so freely. Tears were on her cheeks. Keeping her emotions in check was part of the drug balance she was on. I didn’t want her to go off the handle. I hugged her again.
“We’ll sneak out like we sneaked in,” Jessica said. “Adam and Amy are waiting in the hall for us. We just had to see for ourselves that you were okay.”
“I will be. I’m moving to rehab today. I’ll probably make my escape next weekend.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know. It depends on how safe I feel. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Don’t you understand?” Maybe today was a good sign. Maybe I’d made my peace with Lexi last night. Maybe the dreams would go away. Maybe I’d go back up to Mishawaka for a few weeks.
“I just want you to know one thing, Brian Frost,” Nikki said, putting her face right in mine. “Years ago, you saved Jessica from rapists. You saved my life when I was unbalanced and ready to jump. Then you saved Hannah’s life from that miserable bastard who beat her. On April 18, you saved the lives of Addison, Samantha, Courtney, and Danielle. And Amber and TK and George and Rich. And others who ran when you warned them and stopped the shooter. You are responsible for us. If you don’t get your ass back to the ranch sometime soon, none of us will be responsible for our actions. Just remember: No matter what, we still love you.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door. Jessica continued to stare at me then turned to follow.
“Ditto,” she said.
Responsible for their lives? Then I need to stay away from them.
When I returned to bed, I saw the tabloids. I couldn’t remember who had left them on my table. Alex hadn’t wanted me to see them before the interview with Detective Craig. After we’d finished the interview, I’d had no desire to read what the idiot wrote. Now it seemed compelling.
“Why the ‘Sorority Row Hero’ Isn’t,” screamed the first headline I saw. There was a grainy photo of me standing beside my Suburban with the door open. It took me a minute to figure out it was an old photo in which I was playing chauffeur for Jessica. She’d been cut out of the picture. A second picture was of me looking down scowling. I puzzled over that one for a while. How long had this guy been following me? I finally realized that this was a picture from one of the video tapes of my show. I must have been looking down at something I was cooking. The cropping made it look like I was involved in something sinister. I finally got started reading what had been written.
Tragedy struck the campus of Indiana University a month ago when a gunman lurched from a red Camaro and began spraying bullets, seemingly at random. Four students died and four were wounded in the attack that stunned the nation. Witnesses reported that the gunman was stopped by the martial arts of one Brian Frost who has been dubbed the ‘Sorority Row Hero’ in a public relations campaign unlike any this reporter has ever witnessed.
But private investigation has suggested that the tragic deaths may have been collateral damage in a showdown between two rival gang leaders. Hero Brian Frost may have been the actual target in the shooting, attracting the shooter to that location and endangering the lives of all who surrounded him.
Who is this so-called hero, and why have police been so slow to investigate this crime?
Frost is best-known for his popular television series, Young Cooking. In the series, Frost capitalizes on his mesmerizing effect on women. Women from all over the region compete for the privilege of becoming his girlfriend for a day. A lucky, or perhaps unlucky, few have been granted a continuing place in his private harem.
Corazón, Indiana, the cult-like community that Frost leads, was the site of the first turf war between his followers and the renegade fraternity Alpha Chi Epsilon. Former president of the fraternity, Steve Green, recounted their first encounter at an abandoned farm the fraternity had used for years as a gathering place.
“Hey. We were willing to share,” Green said. “Then Frost goes on about how he owns the place and would use lethal force to remove us.” This statement was followed by Frost and his henchmen brutally beating two of the fraternity brothers. When asked why the incident was not reported to police, Green continued. “The Sheriff showed up. It turns out his daughter is part of the cult. He ordered us off the property with a warning to never return.”
Is this not a clear cover-up by an elected official to appease a sinister cult that had captured his daughter?
And what about the assailant, Wayne Enders. According to his fraternity brothers, Enders had been concerned for the safety of one of his classmates, wounded coed Courtney Price, who he felt had been entrapped by the cult. On numerous occasions, Enders’s attempts to engage the young woman were rebuffed by Frost’s henchmen, keeping her separate and isolated from possible help.
Yet university officials did nothing to help this young woman.
The simple fact is that even though women were undeniably killed and wounded by Enders, it was Frost that received multiple gunshot wounds—ample evidence that he was the target.
A History of Violence
Careful review of photographic evidence, undertaken by this reporter, revealed Frost stalking supermodel Heaven, often in disguise as a chauffeur, in a crowd watching her film, and even in restaurants under the guise of being a nearby guest. The unhealthy relationship began in childhood. Digging into Frost’s hometown, it was discovered that he grew up next door to the supermodel, fantasizing about her from an age at which most healthy boys are still uninterested in girls. When two boys attempted to chat up the older model as freshmen in high school, Frost responded by spraying banned chemicals in their eyes and blinding both boys. While the police records of the juveniles have been sealed, Frost seems to have escaped from the incident unscathed.
Frost has often used his keen, if warped, intelligence to manipulate authorities into taking care of his enemies. Witnesses tell of his goading opposing high school gang-members into confessing crimes in front of witnesses just as police arrived to make the arrest.
Even former Superintendent of Schools, Nathan Dewey, recognized the danger in Frost’s activities, attempting over protests to have him expelled.
“Frost had a profound disrespect for authority. But also an undeniable charisma that allowed him to manipulate the entire student body to his will. Even teachers,” said Dewey. “He was a master of parody and could even mock God to the delight of his fellow students. He seemed to be impervious to discipline.”
Perhaps most revealing, however, is Frost’s obsession with the women he calls his own. When her parents moved his girlfriend 500 miles away to escape his influence, Frost persisted in pursuing her. When her current boyfriend attempted to stop his advances and rescue the girl, Frost used his impressive martial arts abilities to dismantle the youth, breaking his nose, elbow, and ribs, and crushing his reproductive organs. The young man is still in full-time care, five years later.
Frost went unpunished.
Who is the Hero?
The burning questions remain. Why have police been content to resolve the IU shooting so easily without investigating Frost’s violent history and cultic lifestyle? Indiana University’s rules and Bloomington’s anti-gang ordinance hold all members of an inter-gang conflict equally responsible for the outcome. The deaths of a young man and two young women lead this reporter to believe Frost should be held responsible, even for the murder of the shooter. It might as well have been his hand that held the gun and wounded three more young women. Why does the community think of him as the Sorority Row Hero instead of the catalyst that brought death to their peaceful setting?
Mom and Anna were there to help me move to rehab. I didn’t speak to them. I’d completed the paperwork and was wheeled out to Anna’s Volvo. We drove a block away to the University Health Center. Most of the facility was the rehab center. A gym, massage rooms, weights, various contraptions I knew they’d torture me with eventually. They had half a dozen rooms on the second floor for people who came in from out of town and needed to stay for a few days. I had to find my own meals since they didn’t have a cafeteria. I’d requested a room for a week while I figured out what I was going to do and the amount of therapy I needed to have. It had been almost five weeks since the shooting and I figured they have appendectomies fully recovered in three. What the hell? I should be out of here in a week.
Except an appendectomy is a quick snip and stitch operation. It hardly even leaves a scar these days. I guess that’s different than having several holes ripped in your intestines and a chunk of your pelvis blown off. With an appendectomy, they don’t usually have to vacuum your entire abdominal cavity to get the shit out of it. You don’t have a little hole in your front and a bigger, ragged hole in your back. Sure, I was healing, but it was slower than I thought it should be. It hurt to put weight on my right foot. Standing fully upright and straight stretched my side and stomach, so that hurt. And moving food through my digestive tract still hurt, especially when I shit.
If it hadn’t been for the speedy arrival of the ambulance crew, I’d have stayed dead when I died the first time. I’d have to look them up and thank them if I decided to keep living. At the moment, that was questionable. Everything in the damned article was true. It was exactly the way I painted myself. I was the murderer. I was the problem. Without me, none of this would have happened. Lexi would be alive. Beautiful Samantha, Courtney, and Dani would not be disfigured. When Mom asked me a question, I just shook my head and closed my eyes. After I’d eaten the lunch they’d brought me, they left. I just stood in the middle of the room.
They should have let me die.
“Let’s get started and get you walking,” a voice said from the door. I was still standing in the middle of the room staring but I hadn’t focused on anything. When I did, I squeezed my eyes closed and looked again.
“Master Xi?” I said. What was our instructor from the dojo doing here?
“Save it for the dojo. No one calls a physical therapist ‘master.’ Not until I make them crawl and beg. Here it is just Xi. Let me see you walk over here,” he said motioning me to him. I walked toward him. Limped. No one had given me a cane or anything. I could walk. It just hurt. He noted some things on his chart and had me follow him to the exercise room. I stood facing him in gym shorts and shoes. A couple people in the gym glanced over at the red scars that were still healing. At least that was my impression. They were probably just checking out my ass. What do I know?
“What do I do?” I finally said as I stood there looking at him.
“What we always do. Only I have to explain it all to you instead of just telling you to do it. You had trauma to the abdominal obliques, both internal and external. The psoas was damaged. Latissimus Dorsi. You’ve got scar tissue building up around the sites of the damage and your muscles are tightening. You’ve lost a lot of strength through a month of enforced inactivity. We’re going to start with stretches. Then we’ll do forms. Only no one calls them that here. They prefer to call them control and balance exercises.”
“Works for me.” He started leading me through some basic stretches. Basic, sure. But damn, they hurt! I felt like I was ripping my side open with every move. It was like having Nurse Ratched all over again. In fact, I thought I was going to miss her. I was panting like a race horse after the Derby before he was done with me. Then he led me to a deep whirlpool and I sank into the tub with a sigh before I realized I was wearing my gym trunks and that was all I had. I was going to drip all the way back to my room. After the tub, it was a massage. I fell asleep, even though some of the things he massaged were in agony.
Anna came alone with dinner. It was packed up in a little basket and each of my cónyuge had signed a little note in it. Anna held me as I cried through dinner.
“It’s all true, Anna,” I whimpered. “I did all those things. And I can’t go home. I’ll hurt them. Just knowing me hurts them. But what if I wake up at night swinging? I could kill someone I love without even knowing it. I can’t let them near me because I could kill them. And I love them so much it hurts.”
Anna didn’t say anything. Couldn’t through her tears.
And so it went. Day after day. No one seemed to know or care if it was a weekend or after hours. The tabloids had dredged up more photos. More interviews. Even pictures of Lionel and Lamar standing outside my door in the hospital while I was in a coma. My guards preventing access from the press. No one was immune from this so-called reporter. My anger was growing and with Enders already dead, the reporter was fast becoming my next target.
I had three sessions a day with Xi. The exercise lasted an hour with him, then he gave me stretching exercises that I had to work on for thirty minutes while he worked with another client. After that, I went to the whirlpool and then someone gave me a massage. Seemed I had a different massage therapist for each of my two massages a day.
“Who’s paying for all this?” I asked Xi one day. “I don’t think I’ve seen a bill yet. I hope my parents aren’t being asked for money. I have money to pay.” Xi laughed at me.
“Student insurance,” he said.
“Really? I didn’t realize the coverage was that good. I don’t think I’ve been to a doctor since I moved down here.”
“No. Not school insurance. Student insurance. Of course, the mandatory school health insurance covers part of it. But the ladies at Gamma House started a fund for those wounded. Every sorority and fraternity has joined in. The entirety of funds raised at the Little 500 were diverted into the shooting fund. Parents joined in. Couple of foundations put up matching funds. All five survivors who were injured are guaranteed to have all medical expenses paid,” Xi said. Fuck!
“I bet the donations have dropped off since the tabloids hit the market. They’ll be asking for them back before long.”
“You need to read newspapers instead of tabloids. You’re a hero. You saved many lives.”
“I didn’t do anything but get in the way of a couple bullets and scream like a little girl,” I said. “Xi… Master,” I whispered, “I was too far away. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t stop him. The only reason he quit is because he ran out of bullets.”
Xi led me to a private room and closed the door. He pointed at the massage table and I stripped and got on it. He started working on my back. I didn’t think I was scheduled for a massage yet.
“You gathered the power of the universe and it answered,” he said. “There are probably only five people within a hundred miles who could have heard the call. I heard it. Whitney heard it. You became the storm and the storm strikes with lightning. You stopped him. There is no question about that. There were more guns in his car. Who knows where he would have gone next?”
“They are right, then. I killed him. The best I can hope for is to be gone so I don’t hurt the people I love,” I said. They should have let me die.
“There are many kinds of storm, Brian. Not all are manifest in the physical plane. You are in the eye of the storm. To come out at the other side unharmed, you must once again become the storm.”
“How?”
“Just as you figured it out when you faced the shooter, you will figure it out when you face the tabloids. Be the storm.”
I appreciated the words, but I had no idea what he meant.
John Clinton was in my room when I got back from my afternoon session. He was just sitting there waiting for me.
“Thank you for finding Alex for me, John,” I said. I was still puzzling over what Master Xi had told me and had no idea why John was here. I asked.
“For I was hungry, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me,” he said. “It’s usually a struggle to get three. You give me a chance to make it five out of six.”
“Matthew 25. Which are you missing?”
“Well, even though the invitation is there and you can’t get much stranger, I guess you will object to me taking you in. But there are clean clothes there on your bed. Be sure to shave. I’m taking you out to dinner tonight and will buy you a drink if you’d like. You’re sick or at least injured and I’m springing you from your self-imposed prison—at least for a while. Get ready, we need to leave soon.”
“John, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You comforted me when I was at a crisis of faith, Brian. Allow me the privilege of doing the same.”
I nodded. I went to the bathroom, took a shower and shaved. I put on the clothes he brought me, surprised that it was my black suit and T-shirt. They felt a little loose on me. When I came out of the bathroom, John was tying his tie. He grabbed his sport coat and we went to his car.
“Are we flying somewhere?”
“We’ll drive tonight, though flying is tempting. It’s a beautiful evening,” John said. We drove in silence as he headed out of Bloomington. It did feel good to be out. For a minute I was afraid we were headed to the ranch, but he turned north on 37 toward Indianapolis.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“Just felt that I hadn’t shown you that I’m here for you,” he answered. “You are important to us, Brian. To me.” He wasn’t pushing and I wasn’t volunteering, so it was a quiet trip.
We got to a nice restaurant on the south side of Indianapolis and he encouraged me to order a steak. I debated on whether my bowels were ready to handle heavy red meat and decided to risk it. I got a baked potato with butter and sour cream. The side salad they served didn’t do the rest of the meal justice. It was just a cut up piece of iceberg lettuce and Thousand Island dressing.
“You look pretty tired. Is therapy that exhausting?” he asked.
“It’s tiring, but… I haven’t been sleeping all that well.”
“You are not used to sleeping alone. That will do it.”
“That and the nightmares,” I whispered. They’d been worse since the tabloid stories. Not only was I reliving the shooting, but every other terrible thing I’d ever done. I sat staring at the cup of coffee in front of me. I’d fed a lot of change into the coffee machine in the clinic. Sometimes in the middle of the night. It kept me awake and then I didn’t dream. “John, you told me once that all things hidden would come to light. What… What happens if he investigates Denise’s murder? What happens if my clan finds out…?”
“Shh!” John hissed. “Do you think that is a secret hidden from your clan? Some might not know. The younger. Those who joined the clan later. Everyone who ever needs to know already does. Jack Raymond couldn’t have done that, though he tried to make people believe he had. Once the DNA test was completed, no one wanted to investigate any further. They issued their report and closed it. You should, too.” John looked at me intently. I wasn’t sure if I was comforted or terrified by his words. Surely, John could not condone such a thing! “God moves in mysterious ways; His wonders to perform; He plans His footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.”
“That’s poetry. It’s not scriptural,” I answered.
“A poet’s interpretation. ‘O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!’”
“Romans 11:33.”
“Eat up. You are getting too thin.”
I knew I’d lost a lot of weight. Even before I woke up from the coma. My suit was hanging on me and even the tight black T-shirt was loose.
“You faced death. You died.” John said softly. “The words sound so simple. But the memory must be painful.” Tears were running down my cheeks.
“I didn’t die. I’m here and… well, not fine. But certainly not dead.”
“You’ve been so out of it,” John whispered. “Brian, you died twice. You died before they had you in the ambulance and they resuscitated you. They were trying to stop the bleeding and the leakage at the same time. Then you died again on the operating table when they got you to the hospital. Don’t you remember any of it? Didn’t you see a white light or something? See your body from above?”
“No,” I said. “I remember feeling the gunshot rip through my stomach and thinking this was it. I’d failed. I just poured out all my love for my clan and died. Then I was awake and shouting for everyone to run. Like no time had passed at all, but it was three weeks later.”
“We’ve all had a little more time to distance ourselves from it,” John said. “To heal. You healed physically while you were shut down, but for you it was only two weeks ago. It is raw.”
“I saw him kill her, John,” I rasped. “So young and beautiful and full of life. So happy for this big day. And he just ripped her away from us. He took away all her joy. All her potential. All her love. And I couldn’t stop him. I’ve never been so frightened. Every night I see Samantha’s shoulder explode in blood. I see Dani jumping in front of a bullet meant for me. And I still can’t stop it. I see it all the time! I don’t dare close my eyes. John, it could have been Cassie, or Hannah, or Rose. And I see them each night as well. See them being killed by my inability to act.”
John reached out and laid his hand on mine. He didn’t try to give me advice or tell me it was over. He just sat there and cried with me, sharing the pain.
When he’d paid for dinner and we got back in the car, I settled back in the seat and into my own thoughts. I was disoriented when he stopped the car in a parking lot and got out. I followed him and looked around. It was suddenly very familiar.
“John?”
“You don’t think I’d let you miss her big show, do you?” he said.
“I can’t go in there. They’ll see me. They’ll all…”
“They promised they won’t stare at you or approach you unless you call to them. It’s very hard for them, just like it is for you. We have seats in the balcony. I’m sorry, we’ve missed the first couple of acts. Brian, it’s important.” I took a deep breath. I wanted to see Elaine’s special. I followed John and we found our seats. The balcony was already darker than the rest of the theater. I was unnoticed.
ELAINE: So fuck him if he can’t take a joke! [Laughter] I’m serious. Ladies, if your guy has lost his sense of humor, fuck him. And just before he comes, start to laugh. He will discover what an incredible feeling it is to have a woman laugh when he’s coming. I don’t mean a little titter. You have to get into it and laugh like you were being tickled. Then, when he’s coming down from the best sex he’s ever had in his life, tell him that if he ever wants to feel that again, he’ll have to learn how to make you laugh. During sex. Maybe you believe that talking dirty is the ultimate turn-on. Maybe you want slow, gentle, and romantic. But let me tell you that there is nothing like a laugh to get all those inside muscles working together and heightening the sensations.
Hercules! Pinching my tits doesn’t make me laugh!
Elaine was going to include all seven of Carlin’s words you can’t say on television because this was, after all, cable. You had to subscribe to get it and it wasn’t broadcast over federally regulated airwaves. We’d had long discussions about that in program meetings for all our shows. If this program was ever aired by broadcast, it would have to be bleeped. I couldn’t believe the government still censored what we said.
ELAINE: I’m not supposed to talk about religion. It’s in my contract that I’m not supposed to mention [turns to Jason’s camera next to her and whispers] egotarianism.
Of course, the fact that Elaine was miked and there was a huge projection screen behind her that showed how the camera saw her meant that everyone heard, saw, and understood exactly what was being shown on television in the live program. I couldn’t believe the comedy network was putting this out with no delay. But she was very funny.
ELAINE: Oops! But that’s so yesterday. There’s no reason to promote a religion that already has a 95% adherence. People don’t even have to convert. There are egotarian Catholics, egotarian Muslims, egotarian Jews, egotarian Buddhists. Egotarian Atheists! Because when it comes right down to it, what you believe doesn’t tell me a thing about what is true! It only tells me what kind of a person you are that would believe that.
Oooh! Did I offend the little cocksucker in the third row there? She believes that her religion is the only one that is true. Because it isn’t a religion, it’s a faith! Faith! And she still believes that the Christian Faith is the only way and the Muslim Faith is just a religion. Isn’t that why we go to war?
Just two reasons. I’m telling you there are only two reasons that countries go to war against each other. The first is money. We went to war in Iraq to protect our investments in Kuwaiti oil. It wasn’t because we love Kuwaitis. It’s because those shit-ass Iraqis were burning the oil fields. [Sings]Money! Money! Money! Money! Money makes the world go round!
I’m ready to fight over it. Money and religion. I challenge you to find any war in the last five hundred years that was fought over something other than money or religion. Democracy is just as much a religion as Shintoism, Judaism, Communism, or Republicanism. It’s whatever we believe. It’s our Faith. We want everyone to believe the same as we do. And we’ll kill them if they don’t.
Elaine was edgy and a lot of the laughter was a little nervous. The audience would laugh at something and then think about what she said. This was a college campus that was kind of religious, so there was no booze in the auditorium and it didn’t really look like many of the people had been drinking before they got there. I glanced at John to see how he was taking both Elaine’s subtle use of the seven words and her attack on religion. He was laughing and nodding his head. Damn it! When did I start loving that guy like a second father?
ELAINE: We’ve got five more minutes before I go dark on television. I’ll say goodnight now because they might cut me off when I get to this next bit. [Aside camera] If they don’t, you might want to turn off your TV because so far all I’ve done is use some naughty words. What I’m about to say isn’t for the faint of heart.
You here in the audience are on the campus of UIndy. Just think, if you study hard, in a few years maybe you, too, will be invited back where you started! I want you to think for a moment about walking out of the auditorium in a few minutes. Laughing on the street. Replaying your favorite dirty word as you gather on the sidewalk and talk to your friends.
[Elaine pulls a cap gun from behind her back. She swings around and fires off six shots. A few screams.]
Every kid in my neighborhood had a cap gun when I was growing up. ‘Bang, bang. You’re dead.’ Only a little over five weeks ago, in exactly the time that it just took me to fire off six caps from this little toy, two beautiful young women at IU were dead and four more people were seriously wounded. I want to call some people up on stage with me. Addison and Courtney!
The girls were already on the steps. They knew what was happening. This was nothing that I’d seen rehearsed. My heart started beating in my throat. I was afraid I’d throw up. John wrapped an arm around me and held me.
ELAINE: The shooter arrived in a red Camaro, careening down sorority row. Addison’s boyfriend protected her with his body as the car slammed into them. She lived with only a few scratches. Her boyfriend, Raymond Stiles, died. The shooter started firing at other girls who had arrived for the sorority induction ceremony at Gamma House. Courtney’s boyfriend, our cónyuge, stepped between her and a bullet, deflecting it so it only hit her in the butt. Unless, like me, you’ve seen Courtney’s butt, you can’t imagine what a tragedy that is.
Danielle? [Dani walks on stage. Her face is still bandaged. They’d done surgery.] Danielle tried to stop the shooter from hitting our boyfriend, and got shot in the face for her trouble. She has trouble talking right now because her jaw is wired shut and they are still trying to repair the damage to her face.
Samantha? [Sam, wearing a sleeveless dress, walks up to hug Elaine. Camera zooms in on her bandaged shoulder.] On my show, the supermodel Heaven called Samantha the most beautiful woman she knew. Sam was kneeling over her dead sister, Lexi Cortales, when the shooter hit her. Beside her was the body of Lexi’s sorority sister, Rebecca Gifford.
I’ve mentioned our boyfriend. He’s our cónyuge. That means our mate. One man who is strong enough for all of us. Brian Frost threw himself at the shooter and took the last shot in his gut. That was the second time he was hit. The first saved Courtney’s life. One man that loved so intensely that he put himself between a motherfucking lunatic with a gun and more dead women.
You know what pisses me off? [Holds up tabloid.] The paparazzo who has been stalking Heaven for the past four years, trying to get a picture of her naked, apparently decided Brian was an easier target. He accuses him of murdering the filthy cunt that was shooting! He accuses Brian of murdering our beautiful girlfriend Lexi and her sorority sister Rebecca. And of murdering Ray. And trying to murder Sam, Danielle, Addison, and Courtney. Because obviously, anyone who acts heroically came there looking for a fight.
What the writer didn’t say was that there is no man who has ever loved more intensely. There is no man who is loved more than Brian Frost. A reporter, of course, would have figured that out. A petty grub with a pen would have been jealous.
You think about it tonight when you walk out the doors of this auditorium onto a nice peaceful college campus where kids are safe. And you look around you to see if there is any man, woman, or child in sight who would do whatever was necessary to protect you. Who would sacrifice his life for you. I’ll tell you, if you see that person, count your blessings. And let him or her know, that no matter what, you still love him. Or her.
Then see if you can even remember that one joke I told about the cat hair on the blue suit.
Goodnight.
The cameras went out, the lights came down and Elaine and the girls walked off stage together. After a stunned silence, the audience rose in a standing ovation. Elaine never came back onstage to acknowledge or bow. I sat there crying against John’s shoulder.
Saturday morning, I sat alone in my room. There was no physical therapy today. Technically, the clinic was closed until Tuesday for Memorial Day weekend. The inside doors to the clinic were all locked tight and I had access to and from the residential section from an outside door. I considered limping out to get some breakfast. Or lunch. The first five hours of the day had been unnoticed. I was just sitting there. I couldn’t shake the scene. As soon as I closed my eyes to sleep, there was a vision of Lexi and me making love in Brenda’s yard after she told me about the twins. Or Lexi as a seventh grader wanting a kiss. Or Lexi as Judy told me how to tease her. Or Lexi jerking upright before crumpling to the ground, dead.
If it wasn’t Lexi, it was Samantha bending over her sister and being shot. Or Dani throwing herself between me and the gunman. Or Courtney with a bullet hole dimple in her butt. I just kept my eyes open, staring at the wall, willing myself not to think.
I don’t know how long she stood there before I even noticed she was there. I was expecting Mom and Dad to show up sometime. It takes Dad a little time to drive down on Saturday morning. I called yesterday and told them I was ready to come home. To Mishawaka. They breathed a sigh of relief and told me they’d see me about noon. My eyes were a little blurry and it took me a minute to focus on the woman who stood in the doorway.
“Dani?” I said. What was she doing here? She nodded and walked toward me. Her face still had a bandage on it and she spoke through her teeth, unable to move them.
“Pack,” she said simply. “It’s time to go home.”
“I don’t know, Dani. I was going to go to Mishawaka. I’m still such a wreck. I haven’t had a whole night’s sleep since I woke up from the coma. I don’t want to subject anyone else to this,” I said. I’d about convinced myself that I still had to send her away. She walked up to me and took my hands. She put them on her tummy.
“Come home, Brian. Your daughter needs you.”
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