William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

My whole arm trembled, throbbing, and my forehead bled as I closed my fingers around the phone and tried to ease it out of the pocket. My leg was pierced, possibly severed, just a few inches below the phone. Every movement was torture. The slightest twitch was excruciating, unbearable, but somehow, I tensed enough hand and wrist muscles to close those fingers around the phone and slowly draw it out. My hand was slick with sweat and my arm shook violently, but still I continued to pull the phone out of that damnable pocket.

Until it was free. Inserting my index finger under the phone, I flipped the lid upward and turned it on. I heard the beeping sound that told me it still had power, however slight. Even though I could not turn my head enough to see it, I sensed the flickering illumination provided by the screen. Hand trembling, I groped for the button that would alert the police…

Noooooo! Dear God, no!

The cell phone glittered on the floor mat, shining, twinkling, beckoning, impossibly far out of my reach.

“She didn’t make this charge. I did.”

Sergeant Torres looked up from his paperwork, blinking. “Huh?”

Dennis slid the credit card receipt across the desk. “It was me buying gas. We share the credit card. If I hadn’t been so upset, I would’ve realized that immediately. See? Here’s the receipt. With my signature on it.”

Torres took the translucent slip of paper and held it up to the light. “You bought gas after your wife disappeared?”

“Repeatedly. Because I was driving around looking for her all night long. Have been all week.”

“She still hasn’t come home?”

“No. Not all week. Seven days. No one has seen her at work. Her family hasn’t heard from her. Nothing. Vanished.”

“No history of drug use, or-”

“None. I’ve already answered those questions. Can you please do something? I’ve been in here every day, begging. I know I look terrible. I’ve barely slept. I must seem crazy, but I’m not. I’m worried about my wife.”

“I’ll take you to see Detective Sentz.”

“No!” Dennis held out his hands, pleading. “I already know what he will say. He’s said it every day this week. And no one will let me talk to anyone else.”

Torres peered down at him. Dennis thought he seemed sympathetic. But he had no way to help. “I’m just the front desk clerk here. I don’t make policy decisions. Detective Sentz-”

“Wouldn’t budge if I had a ransom note from the Taliban.”

“That’s not true. We have to follow procedures-”

“Do you know who my wife is?” Dennis asked, his head tilted at an angle, his throat pulsing. “Do you?”

“I believe her first name was Joslyn…”

“Dr. Joslyn Thomas. She’s an oncologist. Works in the cancer ward at St. Benedict’s.”

“She must be a very strong woman.”

“She’s a saint. That’s what she is. A saint.” Tears appeared in his eyes. “You think a policeman’s job is tough? Try spending every day watching the people you care for slowly slip away. Watching them die. She works with women primarily. Trying to ease their suffering. Sometimes the cancer goes into remission, usually not. Even when it’s gone, it all too often returns, like a bottled imp that keeps pushing the cork out. But she never gives up. Never. No matter how hopeless the case.”

Dennis leaned across the desk, water streaming down his face. “And that’s why it’s so important that you look for her, Officer. Because I know that no matter what has happened to her, no matter how bad it is, she will never give up. She is not a quitter, not my Joslyn. She’s still out there, somewhere, waiting for me to come get her.” His voice cracked. He laid his head down on the desk. “Please help me, Officer. Please help me find my Joslyn.”

Torres stared down at the crumpled man crying on his desk. He laid his hand against his chest.

“I suppose… we could put out an APB on her and her car. But honestly, if she were out there, stranded or something, she would likely have been spotted by now. I don’t think-”

“What about her cell phone?”

“I assume you’ve tried to call her.”

“Yes, and there was no answer. But when I called today I didn’t get the quick cutoff voice mail message you get when the phone is turned off.”

Torres’s eyes flashed. “If her cell phone is active…”

“I know.” Dennis slid forward a folder filled with pages printed from his computer. “You can track her down from the signal her cell phone emits.”

“It’s not that simple. Even if her phone is active, if she’s too far from the signal tower-”

“Will you please just try? Please!”

Torres breathed heavily. His eyes darted around the station, as if his heart was in conflict with his head.

“Detective Sentz is out on a call. I know his assistant. I think I might be able to persuade him to do… something. At least see if we can get a trace on that phone.”

Dennis’s eyes closed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Save the thanks until we accomplish something. It’s still a long shot. Especially when she’s been gone so many days. Statistically, it’s still most likely that she’s somewhere of her own accord.”

“But you will look?”

Torres began the paperwork. “Yes. Of course we will.”

I dropped the phone. I should have seen that coming. How could I not, given my current state, my arms, trembling, unable to steady even for a second, my hand and fingers barely operational? It was hopeless. Now that little pink hunk of metal lies at my feet and there is simply no chance I will ever be able to retrieve it. My last hope is gone. My final dream is shattered. I am well and truly dead.

Perhaps it’s better this way. Did I ever believe I would be rescued? What have I told my patients so many times? Sometimes acceptance is best. It is not perfect. But perhaps it is my finest choice. The dead can only expect so much.

The pain has subsided somewhat, but I’m not foolish enough to imagine that means I’m getting better, or that my efforts at meditation have saved me. The serotonin sedation must be kicking in. Still, it does help to have that training, to know how to reach a better place and stay there, as long as may be necessary. My teachers taught me to find my inner strength, not physical strength but something better, something more important, more than the recognition of constant pain, the realization that this is my body’s final resting place.

I had a dream just a moment ago. A hallucination, perhaps. There was a clamor outside, the thudding of boots, the flashing of lights. A rescue fantasy, no doubt. I even thought I heard Dennis calling for me. Ridiculous. But I think I will not resist. Perhaps this is the final gift the Universe has for me. Perhaps I will feel his arms around me one last time, if only as an illusion. I loved you, Dennis, and I know you loved me with a greater need and passion than I could ever match. Can you feel my arms around you, just as I feel yours? The little light I have left is fading, but with my final breath I send this wish to you. Accept what has happened. Don’t give in to despair. Don’t let it change you, ruin your life. Move on. Find the lesson. Tell yourself it’s perfect, even if you don’t know why.

I worry about you, Dennis. I worry so much.

Do not let this destroy you!

There is pain in dying, as I know now, as I have always known. But the pain of living can be greater.

Please, Dennis! Outwit… outwit…

“Joslyn! Do you hear me? Honey! Can you hear me?”

It’s starting over again, the whole dream fantasy sequence. I wonder if I have the power to alter it. Make it more immediate…

“We’re coming, honey. I’m sorry it took so long. Your car ran off the road and plummeted down a very deep ravine. There was thick brush all around the car, blackberry hedges. I couldn’t see you! I drove by here a hundred times, but it looked as if nothing was there. I didn’t know!”