Too Many Cooks

Bedeviled Ham - Chapter 6

Previously

Perhaps pain was a clarifying agent. Ham realized that if there was one time in his life where he needed to use his wits, this was it. Nathan was ready and almost eager to put an end to Ham’s life, and if Nathan’s story was to be believed, Ham knew that choosing death now would not turn happily into him being alive and well tomorrow. So much for the perfect life.

Nathan was standing over him again, an alpha dog confronting another pack member for dominance. “Ham? What’s it going to be?”

Ham felt weak, but realized that this was most likely due to several days without food or water. He was not in shape to make wise decisions. He needed time.

He then realized that Nathan couldn’t possibly be one of the main players. If these men behind the scenes were so powerful, they would have others do the dirty work. If Nathan came prepared to kill him, Nathan was one of the, what had he called them…Future Loyalists. Yes. Nathan worked for these men just as he wanted Ham to do. Nathan perhaps occupied a higher rung on the ladder, but when told to jump, he still responded with, “How high?” Ham instinctively knew that if he opted for a choice that was not one of the three given him, Nathan would be unable to carry it out without permission. At least, Ham *hoped* he instinctively knew that. Given his current situation, no harm could come from testing his idea.

“Nathan,” he croaked, his voice surprising them both, “I need a little time to think about what you’ve told me. If you and your friends have put so much time and money into my ‘project,’ I would think you would at least want me to make a lucid decision. I’m tired. I’m hungry and thirsty. I’m also very confused.” The effort of speaking was too much. Ham closed his eyes and drifted. 

*******

Sunlight poured in through a crack in the curtains. Ham opened one eye and looked around. He was in a bed but it wasn’t his bedroom. He opened the other eye and swiveled his head to take in the room. “This must be how the Tin Man felt when he was oiled up after a long freeze,” he thought, as he continued to check the condition of his arms and legs. He was wearing clean pajamas. He didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, and a quick check under his sleeves showed him a piece of gauze taped to his arm. “Hmmm…it would appear that someone had me on an IV. That’s promising, I guess.”

Ham sat up and swung his legs onto the floor. He stood unsteadily and took a few steps over to a window. He was on the second floor of a house that was surrounded by trees and neatly tended lawns. No other houses were visible through the foliage. The area was unfamiliar to Ham, but he wasn’t frightened. In fact, he felt strangely calm. His bid for time had worked. Now, he had to figure out his next, and possibly his last, move.

He tried the door; as expected, it was locked. He heard rustling in the hallway and then a soft click. He backed away from the door and sat down on the bed. 

The door swung open and a woman entered, carrying a tray. Ham was surprised to recognize her as the woman who was always leaving Nathan’s office whenever he arrived for his appointments. She settled the tray on a small table underneath the window and turned to face Ham.

“It’s good to see you up and about,” she said. She had lovely gray eyes and a sweet smile. Ham caught a slight scent of honeysuckle as she passed him on her way out of the room.

“Wait. Don’t go yet.” Ham moved over to the door, blocking her exit. She looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“What’s your name?”

“Cynthia.”

“I’m Hamilton. Ham.”

“I know.”

“Are you one of Them? A Future Loyalist?”

Cynthia seemed perplexed by the question. “Am I a what?”

“You know. One of the players in Their game. You go around and make things perfect for people. Then, these same people end up choosing their fate from a less than stellar list of options. Game over.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Cynthia tried to step around Ham, but he grabbed her by one elbow and refused to let her move.

“There’s a movie called ‘The Manchurian Candidate.’ Did you ever see it?” Ham asked.

“Yes, I saw it. Angela Lansbury, Frank Sinatra, Laurence Harvey…” Cynthia’s voice trailed off.

“Think of me as Laurence Harvey. I’ve been manipulated and now there’s no way out. I don’t know why I was chosen and I don’t know whether or not to believe what I’ve been told. I just need to have some questions answered. Can you help me?” Ham released Cynthia’s elbow; she rubbed the indentations left by his fingers and moved closer to the door.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that you were brought here in horrible condition; it seems you chopped off one of your fingers and then disappeared for several days. Nathan was worried sick about you and had almost lost hope of finding you alive. When he brought you here, he gave strict orders that you were to be kept sedated until your body healed. You’ve been out of commission for three weeks now and the rest has done you a world of good. I heard you moving around and brought up something for you to eat. It’s time you had some real food in your system.” Cynthia went over to the table and busied herself, setting up the lunch tray.

Ham tried to process what he had been told. If she was telling the truth, she wasn’t involved in the ruse that brought him here. If she was lying, he needed to know why. Were They testing him again? He thought of his three choices: a life of misery, a life as a pawn of a group of bizarre strangers, or death. None of these choices appealed to Ham. He decided to try more conversation.

“So do you live here?” he asked, walking over to examine the contents of the tray. He picked up a small sandwich and took a bite. Some sort of meat paste, but it was good, so he chewed and swallowed.

“Yes. I moved back home when our parents became ill and stayed on after they died. Nathan says it’s really helpful to have me here since he has to travel so much.”

“Wait. Nathan lives here?”

“It’s his home, too. He’s my only sibling, so we inherited everything when our parents died. He is away a lot, so I do what I want. Life is pretty perfect.”

Hamilton shot her a glance, but she didn’t appear to be speaking cryptically. So Nathan was her brother? Perhaps she was telling the truth and she didn’t know about his extraneous activities. Regardless, he needed help and she was here.

“I need to get out of here. I need to go home.” Ham looked around for shoes, but found none. Cynthia went out into the hall and returned with his shoes in hand. He took them from her and slipped them on, then addressed her again. “I don’t want to involve you in anything dangerous, so if you can just tell me where I can find a car and the car keys, I’ll be on my way.”

“Dangerous? Ham, you’re sounding delirious. Nathan said you might experience after-effects from whatever you’ve been doing, so perhaps you should stretch out on the bed and rest again. I’ll give Nathan a call to let him know you’re awake, and…”

“NO!” Cynthia jumped at the sound of Ham’s voice. “I mean, please don’t call Nathan. You don’t understand what’s going on. He’s involved with a very unsavory group of people and the longer I stay here, the more likely you are to become involved. I can’t have that on my conscience, no matter what else I decide to do.” Ham pushed past Cynthia and went out into the hall.

Making his way downstairs, Ham headed for the front door. Once outside, he realized how futile his escape attempt would be. There was no sign of a vehicle and no sound of traffic, while only the occasional chirp of a bird broke the stillness of the day. He decided to walk. There had to be an access road nearby where he could pick up a ride to the nearest town. Anywhere would be better than staying here. Nathan would call or return, and Ham intended to be as far away as possible when that happened.

The breeze shifted direction. Honeysuckle. 

“Cynthia? Is that you?” Ham peered into the dense foliage by the driveway, but could see nothing. The aroma of honeysuckle hung in his nostrils. She was nearby, but why?

“Cynthia, come with me. I’ll explain everything. It will sound fantastic, but you have to believe me.” He heard a rustling in the shrubbery, and Cynthia stepped out onto the drive. She was holding a small pistol, and as she stepped closer, she raised the pistol and took aim at Ham.

“Wait a minute! What are you doing? Give me the gun. Whatever Nathan has told you is a lie. I’m not dangerous and I won’t hurt you.” Ham reached out for the gun, but Cynthia raised her other hand to bring him to a halt.

“You may not be dangerous, but *I* am,” she answered. Her lovely gray eyes had a hardness to them and the sweet smile was but a memory. “You men are always so cocksure about everything. Did it occur to you that everyone in Nathan’s fancy little group might not be male? Of course it didn’t! Dear Ham. Nathan works for me. He never had a good head for money and quickly squandered his share of the family fortune on ‘sure things’ and ‘guarantees’ while I sat back and watched. Once he was in over his head, I introduced him to my group of friends and we brought him on board. He has done fairly well in the past, but for some reason, he was making quite a mess of your situation. I had to step in. Normally, I would not become involved, but you’re rather special and I felt that we should give you a little time to come around.” Cynthia flashed a small smile, but held the gun steady. “You know your three options. You’ve had time to rest, heal, and reflect on your future. I will now ask you for a decision. Go out on your own and have us ruin your life for you. Work for us and live a fairly comfortable life. Choose death and it will be immediate.”

“When you think about it, each choice is a type of death, because my life is no longer my own.” Ham watched Cynthia’s face as he spoke.

“That’s true, and that’s what makes it so perfect, don’t you think? It comes down to which type of death you can handle today. Make your choice, Ham. Your time for thinking is over.”

Ham lunged at Cynthia, grabbing her hand that held the pistol. They struggled, locked in a bizarre dance, until a shot rang out.

The body hit the ground with a thud and all was quiet once again. Somewhere, a bird burst into song.

*******

The cell phone was set to vibrate. Nathan pulled it from his pocket, flipped it open, and said, “What?”

He listened intently, said, “I’ll send a clean up crew,” and hung up.

When he reached his house, everything was as it should be. He took a seat in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch and accepted the tall glass of tea handed to him. “Very nice work. I’m impressed. I knew I would be.”

“It played out exactly as you said it would,” replied Ham. “I think I’m going to like it here. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.”

Welcome to Boomtown - Chapter 5

Previously

Floating. Earl tried to open his eyes, but the lids were too heavy, so he continued floating. He couldn’t feel his limbs, but this didn’t worry him. He remembered floating a few other times in his life; times he had intentionally tried to forget since they always had something to do with the bumps on his head.

Mary. Mary and floating. He remembered now. He met his wife on the line at Best-O’s yet he met Mary years before during his trip to Scotland. They were the same person, but events almost took her from him. Again, it all revolved around those damn bumps on his head.

It had something to do with a bus. His thoughts were fuzzy, and years of trying to hide them didn’t help. He had experienced one of his “attacks” while on a crowded bus. The rumbling, accompanied by noises that pierced the innermost core of his brain, caused him to scream out in agony. His arms flailed as if driven by a force beyond his control. The bus driver slammed on the brakes. The bus veered sharply, cutting off several cars in the next lane, and came to a stop. None of the passengers sustained injuries, but Earl was told that they were lucky the bus stopped when it did. A tractor trailer hauling propane ran the red light and would have struck the bus dead center, causing an explosion that would have taken many lives. Earl was taken to the local ER, even though he tried to tell everyone that he was fine. Of course, the ER doctor was fascinated by the bumps on his head, especially when she learned that they were not caused by the accident. 

That’s when The Men appeared. Earl had not yet attained US citizenship, so when The Men came to his door asking questions, he tried his best to be helpful. That was almost his downfall. The Men seemed to know a lot about head bumps, and Earl felt relieved that he had finally found someone with whom he could share his burden. When The Men asked him to pack a bag and accompany them for a few more medical tests, Earl happily complied. He would finally get some answers!

The next six months were a blur in Earl’s mind. No one knew where he had gone. One of his neighbors vaguely recalled two strangers coming to visit, but he was unable to provide Mary with any helpful information when she came searching for him. Earl had vanished.

The next clear memory Earl had was of a warm day, and he was walking along a familiar road. He patted his pockets and found a key with an address written on a label. After asking directions, Earl found himself in front of a building that looked familiar. The key fit the lock on apartment 42, and Earl realized that he was home. He collapsed on his bed and slept.

When he awoke, he took a shower and put on fresh clothes. Then, he investigated his surroundings. He found a folder on his kitchen table filled with bills marked “paid.” Why would someone pay his bills? Why would someone sequester him for months and keep him drugged? That was the only explanation Earl could think of for his lack of memories of the missing time. He also found a large stack of twenty dollar bills; it was almost as if he was being paid for his time away. He also found a slip of paper with the address of Best-O’s written on it. Underneath the address appeared the words, “You work there.”

The next morning, Earl went to work. When he walked through the front door, a woman standing at a counter dropped a sheaf of papers and let out a small yelp. “Earl! Where the hell have you been?” she asked.

“I really don’t know,” Earl replied, “But I’m here to work.”

He was ushered into his supervisor’s office, where he attempted to answer the questions thrown at him. After a frustrating hour, he was sent out to his station. That’s where he saw her. She was beautiful, with eyes that sparkled and a smile that lit the room. She seemed to know him, and he had a vague feeling that he should recognize her. He smiled as he passed her and went on to his station. It only took him a few minutes to get back into the routine of his job. It felt good to be back in familiar surroundings.

When the lunch bell rang, Earl followed the other workers to the cafeteria. He suddenly realized that if he turned around, she would be there, and she was. She put her hands on his shoulders and whispered, “Earl?”

It all flooded back to him immediately. “Mary? Oh, Mary!” He grabbed her by the waist and twirled her around, much to the enjoyment of the other diners. He held her hand throughout lunch, making eating difficult, but neither of them felt very hungry. He realized that this woman had somehow saved him and he never wanted to lose her again. She would be his wife, no matter how hard he had to work to gain her love.

*****

Floating. Voices. He could feel his limbs again. He tested his eyes. They opened. Kavitha was standing over him, a look of concern showing through the thick lenses. “Ah, you have come back to us,” was all she said.

“How long have I been out?”

“We kept you sedated for a few days to give your brain time to calm down. You have been out for three days now.” Kavitha gave him a friendly pat on his shoulder. “You are quite the wonder, Earl.”

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” Earl tried to sit up, but Kavitha gently pushed him back onto his pillow.

“Why would you ask such a question? Have things happened before?” Kavitha seemed truly concerned. At this point, what harm would it do to admit it? He obviously had no control over these events and he was already in a hospital. What more could he lose? Nothing could match the emptiness felt by losing Mary.

“Yes. I’ve had…experiences…several times during my life and they usually involved a potential catastrophe. This time…the child in the room across the hall…” Earl’s voice tapered off as he spoke. He was afraid to ask anything specific.

“Ah. So we have you to thank for that. The distraction caused by your collapse saved her life. That is all I am allowed to say.” Kavitha stood there, and Earl felt as if she wanted to ask questions but was too polite.

“How do I do it? I have no idea. Has it happened a lot? Not really, but it has happened quite enough for my liking. It’s not something I can explain or control. It just happens. I don’t talk about because it only gets me into trouble. I don’t know if it’s a gift or a curse. All I know is that it didn’t help me save the one thing worth living for. My Mary.” Earl realized that tears were running down his cheeks. Kavitha reached for the box of tissues and waited for him to regain his composure.

“There is something else I need to tell you,” Kavitha’s hand rested on his shoulder. Earl liked the weight of it; he couldn’t recall the last time he had felt comforted by human contact. He looked up at her expectantly.

“We contacted your children. They are outside, waiting to see you.” This was the last thing Earl had expected to hear. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let the coughing commence.

Len - Chapter 3

Previously

“Huh?” Len’s stare came into focus, as if he had actually heard me. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s the kind of question I need to ask,” I replied. “Why don’t we go back into the other room and let your mother sleep while we chat.” I moved toward him, as that was the only direction available to me in the midst of the clutter. Len put Lulu down and she disappeared from sight. He backed out of the doorway and returned to his well worn place on the couch. I saw what appeared to be a sturdy wooden chair holding two tubs of assorted blankets and clothing. It was obvious Len wasn’t in the mood to be a helpful sort of a guy, so I lugged the tubs to other stacks nearby and took a seat.

All of the windows were open, and the sweet air pouring in provided a stark contrast to the musty odors in the house. Len watched me as I made a place for myself, scratching absentmindedly at his scruffy beard the way a dog might scratch his neck.

I tried again. “Len, do you love your mother?”

He dug around on the coffee table, shaking packs of cigarettes until he finally shook one free. He repeated this process while looking for a match, then he lit the cigarette and leaned back. I sat silently, waiting for his response. It came after three long pulls on the cigarette.

“Do I love my mother? Hell, I’m here taking care of her. That counts for something, don’t it?” He seemed agitated, and I could see him dart a longing look at what was left of his bottle of Jack.

“Let’s talk about that. What exactly do you do to take care of Nessie?” I knew I should write down his responses, but after all of this time, I could predict what he would say. He was like so many others.

“Well, I feed her. I give her medication when she needs it. I help her get to the bathroom. I take her to see the doctor. You know. That kind of stuff.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette in the general direction of the ash tray. Most of it fell to the floor.

“When did she last see her doctor?” I wondered if Len would tell the truth or if he would try to pull a fast one on me. I knew from Gerald that Len had cancelled the last two appointments and not rescheduled.

Len looked up at the ceiling, as if in thought. “I think maybe one of the home care nurses took her to her last appointment because I was out of town for a day or two.” He didn’t look at me because he knew how weak his answer sounded.

“That’s odd, because Dr. Leach said you cancelled Nessie’s last two appointments and never rescheduled. What’s going on here, Len?” I tried not to sound harsh, because that usually made family members close up on me. This situation was tricky; at this point, I felt that Nessie needed medical treatment instead of an end-of-life interview. I needed Len to see me as his ally; otherwise, he’d never agree to take Nessie to see Dr. Leach and he might even forbid me from visiting in the future.

“I can’t do this no more.” He ran a hand through his tangle of hair. “You think she’s dying? What about me? I’m stuck in this dump, we’re living off of her Social Security, and nobody really gives a rat’s ass as to whether or not either of us live or die. There’s times I think the best thing to do would be to put us both out of our misery.” He looked down at a gun on the coffee table and I knew he meant what he said. The problem was more serious than I expected and I wasn’t certain of how to proceed. I had yet to spend time with Nessie and was operating solely on my gut feeling that she wasn’t ready to meet her Maker. Len, on the other hand, seemed more than ready to meet his and take Nessie along with him. The situation worried me.

“Maybe I can help.” I stood up and moved toward the bedroom. “I need to spend some time with your mother first and then you and I will talk again. Why don’t you stay out here and watch some television while I visit with Nessie?”

Len grabbed the bottle of Jack and slumped back on the sofa. He turned on the television and I could hear the squeals of excited audience members as game show contestants bid on fabulous prizes. Len seemed oblivious to my presence. His eyes glazed over as he tipped the bottle against his lips and let the amber liquid work its magic.

I entered Nessie’s room and walked over to the bed. The lump under the covers didn’t move. I called, “Nessie? Nessie?” I nudged the lump. Something didn’t feel right.

Pulling back the sheet, I found two pillows, but no Nessie. I looked around the room, thinking she had perhaps gotten up to use her commode and fallen in the process. There was no sign of her anywhere.

“Len?” I called out, but knew he would not answer. I picked my way through the debris on the floor and went back into the room where Len was still slouched on the sofa. “Len! Len!”

The volume of my voice finally roused him. He looked over at me and for a moment, didn’t know who I was. Once my identity registered, he responded. “What? What do you want now?”

“Nessie is gone,” I said.

“What are you talking about? She’s in her bed, right where I left her. Did you look there?” He was irritated with what he perceived to be my inability to see his mother right in front of my eyes.

“Of course I looked in her bed. Her pillows are there, but she isn’t. Come and see for yourself.” I made my way back into the bedroom and waited several minutes for Len to appear. He walked over and stood next to me, staring at the pillows. Then he looked up at the huge double window above the hospital bed. One of the windows was open.

“Aw, shit,” he said. “She’s gone out the window. I guess I forgot to lock it last night.” Len turned and walked back into the living room, leaving me alone with the empty hospital bed.

Gasoline: Chapter 1

Mason Pope opened his eyes and was unsurprised by how bright his bedroom seemed to be. He always forgot to close his curtains when he came home from a drunken night out at some dive with his friends. His routine typically involved attempting to take his pants off and only getting them halfway off and falling asleep on his stomach, due to Mason being half lazy and half paranoid that he would choke on his puke in his sleep. He had awoken many mornings to a puddle of drool beneath his chin as he sprawled face down on his bed. This morning, however, he was on his back. Mason’s half awake mind thought it odd but was too sleepy to wonder at this for more than second. Eyes only half open, he turned to get up and close the curtains but found himself unable to move his neck. He tried to lift his head, calmly at first and then desperately. He was trapped, and he reacted accordingly.

“Fuck,” Mason said, his throat hoarse. “Fuck this.”

His eyes were fully open now and he stared at the ceiling. It hit him. This was not his ceiling. He could only see straight above him but this was definitely not his ceiling. His ceiling was drab and off-white, with a light fixture that flickered when too many of his fraternity brothers ran upstairs, their feet seemingly pounding the electricity into submission. This ceiling was white and sterile, with paneled lights that glowed the most unnatural color. Wherever he was, it was too quiet except for what sounded like the low beeping of a machine. Mason was not in his bed, he was not anywhere he knew. He panicked.

“What the fuck is this?” he yelled. He wasn’t used to hearing his voice sound so weak. “Hello? Fuck.”

He heard shuffling and unsuccesfully tried to look again. He grunted in frustration as what now sounded like footsteps grew closer. He caught a glimpse of a shape out of his peripheral vision but couldn’t make it out. The faint breathing drew closer to Mason. A woman’s face, flushed and round, leaned over him nervously. From her scrubs top, she seemed to be a nurse. Her light green eyes looked into his as she made soothing noises.

“It’s okay, Mason, nothing’s wrong,” she whispered maternally. “You’re in the hospital. A lot has happened since last week.”

“I can’t even remember last week. What happened?” Mason felt his chest grow tight. He couldn’t remember the last week of his life and some woman was trying to tell him that everything was okay.

“I’m going to get your father, he stepped out of the room for a bit but he’s been anxious for you to wake up now that they’ve weaned you off so many painkillers. I’ll be right back.” She smiled unconvincingly and seemed to disappear, her footsteps growing faint.

Mason couldn’t remember anything that would lead to him being in the hospital. There seemed to be a blank spot in his brain. He could remember going to Astronomy class on Friday before coming back to the house. After that, nothing. He watched the still light above him and tried to breathe calmly as he waited. He didn’t have to wait long, hearing two sets of footsteps returning to the room he was in. He heard one of them grow close and soon his father’s unlined face looked down at him. Mason could tell his father from yards away. The man always smelled like the mintiest toothpaste, even hours after he had brushed his teeth. Before she passed away, his mother had always joked that he smelled like the spearmint in an afternoon mint julep, permanently linking the idea of porches and quiet afternoons with his father’s easy manner. His father’s eyes were moist but his face was very still.

“Dad.” Mason felt his voice shake as he looked at his father. He hadn’t seen him since Christmas and he looked tired.

“Mason, how do you feel?” His father’s voice was calm.

“I don’t know, I can’t really feel anything, literally.” Mason looked at his father and wished for the first time in years that he could hug him. “Dad, what happened? Was there an accident?”

Mason’s father swallowed slowly and looked in the direction of where the nurse must have been standing.

“Could you give us a minute, ma’am?”

“Of course, take your time, Mr. Pope,” she said, her shoes shuffling as she made her way out of the room.

Mason hoped his father would turn back to him. He was curious about the expression on his face as he stared away for a full minute.

“Dad, I can’t remember anything after getting home from class on Friday.” His father turned to look at him at these words.

“You really don’t remember anything?” He looked concerned.

“No,” Mason said. “Just tell me. Was I in a car accident or something?”

“Mason, there was a fire at Kappa Sigma.”

“Shit, is everyone okay?” Mason couldn’t believe he had no recollection of this.

“No, everyone is not okay,” his father replied. He looked increasingly agitated as he discussed this.

“Is that why I can’t move, because I fell or something?” Mason was unsure as to why he had to pull this information from his father.

“You didn’t fall, Mason, you jumped.” He looked back at some point on the wall, far out of Mason’s peripheral vision.

“Dad, you don’t need to be upset. It’s not like I would try to kill myself or something.” Mason hoped his father would look back at him. He wished he could sit up or move at all. “I mean, you just told me there was a fucking fire.”

Mason’s father looked back at him, his set jaw in sharp contrast to the tears in his eyes.

“They’re saying you set the fire, Mason.”