Michael Palmer - Flashback

It had been stupid, arrogant, and careless not to have tied it on.

Stupid, arrogant, careless… That thought brought the wisp of a smile.

Before his great decision to break free of his personal constraints, he had been none of the three. One limb at a time, he worked his way across the rock, searching with his fingertips for the changes that would, once again, guide him upward. Almost there, he urged himself on… Almost there… Almost… Before he could adjust or even react, his right foot missed its plant and skimmed off the rock. His arms snapped taut.

His hands, both with reasonable grips, held, but they were already stiffened and weak. Straining his head back and to one side, he looked down. His feet were dangling a foot or so below the nearest purchase. Oh God, was all he could think of at that moment. Oh God… Oh God…

Reluctant to put any additional pressure on his fingers by struggling, he lifted one foot, gingerly scraping it along the rock, searching for a ledge or a crevice. Below him, at a pitch that was almost sheer, the granite face disappeared into blackness. Oh God, please… Oh God…

His foot caught the edge of a minuscule ledge. On a dry day, the tiny space would have been a virtual platform for him-more than enough. But now, there was no way to tell. Desperate to take some of the pressure off his fingers, Zack planted the toe of his shoe on the ledge and carefully shifted his weight to the foot. Hold, damn you… Please hofor a moment, the foot felt solid. Then, as he added more of his weight, it slipped off the edge, tearing his right hand free of the rock. For five seconds, ten, his left hand held. Then, with a painful snap, his fingers gave way and he was falling, tumbling like a rag doll, over and over again down the sheer rock, screaming as he hurtled against granite outcroppings, shattering one bone after another… "Nooooo!"

His final scream, the howl of an animal, echoed in his mind, and then blended with another sound… a voice… Suzanne's voice. "Zack? For God's sake, Zack, can you hear me?"

He felt a cool, wet towel sweep across his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes. A cannon was exploding in his head. He was on the living room floor, soaked in fetid vomit. The lights were on. Suzanne was kneeling over him, concern darkening her eyes. Nearby, resting on its side, was an empty bottle of Wild Turkey. Across the room, watching intently, sat Cheap dog. "NEVER AGAIN. I swear it. Not a drop. Not ever."

Over the span of two and a half hours, with Suzanne as guide, Zack had wandered from the terror of his alcohol-induced hallucination, through a valley of tearful self-deprecation, across a brief stretch of cheery self-deprecation, and finally into an abysmal hangover. "Never again?" she asked. "Do you want me to put that in writing? You can sign it and hang it on the wall."

Zack pressed against his temples. "Write whatever you want, " he said,

"as long as the pen doesn't scratch too loudly on the paper. I just hope you can tell that I'm a total amateur at abusing my body like this."

"Oh, I can tell." He did not clearly remember the shower, or the shampoo, or the first sips of tea, but he knew that Suzanne had taken him through each. Now, although his head still transposed each heartbeat into mortar fire, his thoughts had cleared enough at least to carry on a workable conversation. He risked a deeper swallow of tea, and nearly wept with the realization that it was going to stay down. "You've done an amazing job of putting me back together again, " he said. "Thanks."

She smiled sadly. "No big deal. Unfortunately, my ex-husband gave me a lot of practice."

"Great. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was bad, but like everything else, it came to pass…"

"Have you been up all night?"

"Uh-huh. Helene's with Jen." She handed him a cool washcloth. "Here, wipe your face off with this. You want some aspirin?"

"Soon. How are things at the hospital?"

"No real change-at least as of half an hour ago. Toby's still in coma.

His temp's around 102. Walsh thinks he'll have a bed for him at either Hitchcock or Children's by noon."

"And my father?"

"No change either, as far as I know. I think that neurosurgeon from Concord-what's his name?"

"Burris. John Burris."

"Yes, well, I think John Burris is planning to have him transferred later today as well."

"What a mess."

Suzanne pulled back the curtain. Across the backyard, the first hint of dawn was washing over the face of There. "So, " she said, motioning toward the granite escarpment, "the dreaded scene of your midnight climb."

"That's not so funny, Suzanne. I died on that rock. I really did."

"Well, I certainly hope so. Because from what I've been able to extract from your babble these past two hours, I don't think I would have much liked the guy who crawled up there in the first place. Confused, self-loathing, arrogant, the perennial victim-too close to Paul Cole for my taste."

"Hey, come on. I was just seeing things the way they are. There wasn't a single person in that hospital who had one encouraging word for me.

Fifty thousand Frenchmen and all that… Well, those particular fifty thousand Frenchmen were saying that I screwed up. And don't forget, you were one of them."

"I know. I'm sorry for that. "Don't apologize. You were right-all of you were right. I did screw up. By the time I got home, I couldn't stand who I was. And hallucination or not, when I went up on that cliff back there, I was honestly trying to break free of myself, to… to become more, I don't know, more flexible, more human in my approach to medicine. And to everything else, for that matter."

"I understand that."

"And?"

"And I was wrong for saying the things I did. Zachary, you have no reason to change. You're an excellent surgeon, a decent, caring son, and a wonderful friend to me. And I had no right to insinuate that you were otherwise. It was selfish and cruel of me. And it was wrong-very wrong.

That's why I called in the first place-to tell you that. I felt so guilty for what I said to you at the hospital-for leaving the way I did that I couldn't sit still. Then, when you didn't answer, I got frightened. That's why I drove out here."

"I'm glad you did, " he said. "But there was no need to feel guilty. You were right."

"I was wrong, dammit!

Stop saying that… She took a deep breath to calm herself and rubbed at the shadowy strain that enveloped her eyes. "Zachary, as I told you, Paul was… a very sad, very sick man, totally lacking in any center to his life, any perspective. He never, ever put me or Jen ahead of himself, or his booze, or his drugs, or his other women. Never.

I still have trouble believing that I could have misjudged anyone so badly. That's why I've been so reluctant to get involved with you.

But those things I said in the hospital last night-about loyalty, about what if it was me lying there-what I didn't appreciate until after you left was that I was really saying them to a man I was trying not to fall in love with, not to another doc with a terrible decision on his hands.

I was punishing you for being the first man since Paul that I wanted to trust. I was wrong, and I'm sorry." Zack stared down at his hands.

"Thanks, " he said. "But you weren't wrong. The truth of the matter is that my father is crippled, and I probably could have prevented it."

"Zack, the truth of the matter is that you did what you thought was right. You didn't cripple your father, an automobile accident and a piece of metal did. Can't you see that? You did all you ever will be able to do. You did your best."

Zack could only shake his head. Hadn't he once said precisely the same thing to Wil Marshfield? Why couldn't he believe it now, hearing from her? "… Doing what we do for a living isn't easy," Suzanne was saying. "Nobody ever promised us it would be. Nobody ever told us that everyone we took care of would get better, or that every decision we made was going to turn out to be the right one. Medicine isn't a board game with a set number of cards and answers. Every situation is different."