Liars' Lies

By Craig Conrad

Liars’ Lies: Ryan Danning returns to the States after being released from a VA hospital with, at the present time, an inoperable head wound, which surgeons do not want to touch until a future date when the surgery for such a wound is more advanced. Since only a fragment of the bullet is still lodged in Danning’s brain and it is not moving, the doctor’s advise him to wait. He does, but while waiting, he discovers that the wound has given him a new power, one that enables him to tell when a person is lying. With his new found power and the help of his friend and ex-war buddy, Paul Rice, he decides to look into the unsolved murder of his sister and his father’s supposed death during a hunting accident.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984577740

Craig Conrad

Author resides in Milwaukee. Wisconsin, has been hooked on mysteries and supernatural thrillers since reading his first H.P. Lovecraft novel. He has written twenty novels, fourteen of them are Paul Rice novels, his reluctant paranormal investigator, with cameo appearances in two others that feature two of his war buddies along with two Dutch Verlander stories, and a collection of short stories.

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Liars’ Lies

Craig Conrad

Copyright © 2020 by Craig Conrad.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/08/2020

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Vietnam Near the end years of a waning war

Part One The Road Back

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

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36

Part Two Bette Noir

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2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

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12

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18

19

20

21

Part Three All The King’s Men

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2

3

4

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6

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17

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19

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26

27

28

29

30

31

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33

34

Epilogue

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Your nose is as long as a telephone wire.

—Children’s rhyme

PROLOGUE

Silently, uncomprehendingly, foolishly, obediently,

and innocently killing one another.

—Erich Maria Remarque (All Quiet on the Western Front)

VIETNAM

Near the end years of a waning war

Two Huey gunship helicopters stood by, remaining airborne, covering the operation as a large Chinook chopper jerked slightly nose down then righted itself and touched the ground, extracting its cargo of troops then quickly rising into the air again, swinging abruptly away and leaving the area. The grunts spread out over the small field of tall grass like a bunch of ants at a picnic. Only this was no picnic. Captain Danning’s squad was overdue. His last radio contact was almost two hours ago, and no radio chatter from the platoon was not a good sign. The last communication they had from him was that his squad had run into a much heavier force of VC than expected, and he was in a firefight with Charlie.

Also present were two Huey medevac choppers hovering above the jungle treetops that surrounded the grass field below, waiting for the all-clear signal to land from the troops on the ground. The two side-door gunners on both Hueys had sprayed the tree lines with M-60 machine-gun fire just to be on the safe side before the Chinook landed as did the Hueys with their Gatling-type ordinance of weapons. The Hueys moved slowly over the area like sharks looking for prey and did some LRRP, long-range reconnaissance patrolling, while in the air. Charlie would like nothing better than to pop a helicopter or two, especially one filled with troops.

Except for the chopper noise, the area was quiet. The Hueys were easy to maneuver but loud and even noisier if you were riding in one, and there was no luxury in a combat chopper. The Huey was the present workhorse of the army, much as the old C-47 cargo planes were in World War II that were somewhat affectionately called Goony Birds by the men that flew them or, not so affectionately, 122, 000 rivets flying in loose formation. Still, both aircraft were extremely durable. The helicopters were strung out and hovering, their blades whirring through the hot late-morning air like the translucent wings of a couple of large dragonflies trying to find a place to perch. The medevac choppers were here to pick up the wounded or take back the dead. From the look of the place, it might be the latter. No one in the fight that had taken place here was standing.

Sergeant Ross Baker moved to the open door of the Huey, his fatigues already soaked with sweat, and looked out. His grizzled face didn’t like what he saw. Nothing was moving down there. He noticed that even the gooks hadn’t carried away their dead like they usually did, and the black pajama-clad bodies of the Vietcong still lay where they fell—lots of them farmers by day and VC by night, which made him chuckle sardonically to himself at the thought. Who the hell are we saving this country for anyway? The South Vietnamese doesn’t seem to give a shit one way or another.

The temperature was already inching up to the hundred-degree mark with the humidity just a notch behind. Once the choppers landed, everyone knew that you would be able to smell the sickening stench of the dead. Some bodies would smell of burnt cloth or flesh, some of a mixture of sweat, belly gas, or human waste. All would smell of decomposing flesh and organs. It didn’t take long for a dead body to fall apart in hot, humid weather. And Baker conceded that Nam was one hell of a hot place, the hottest he had ever been in, and this was his third war and hopefully his last. He was ready to pull the hook if he got out of Dodge alive.

At the age of fourteen, Joseph Baker ran away from his Iowa farm roots, leaving an abusive father and an uncaring mother far behind. With the aid of his older dead brother’s birth certificate, he became Ross Baker and joined the army. He was big for his age and looked older, and the army took him with no questions asked and sent him off to Europe to fight in the closing days of WWII. He stayed in the army and never looked back. It was his home now, a hell of a lot better than the one he had left even though it seemed like there was one war after another. After the big one, it was Korea and now Nam, and Charlie was still Charlie no matter what country he was in. General Patton had been right—the Allies should have turned on the son-of-a-bitching commies right after the war ended with Germany. Now they were fighting Ivan and his buddies all over the globe.

Baker hung on to a cabin-wall strap near the door and looked back at his crew. There was another medic besides himself and four young Graves Registration boys that he had commandeered from the morgue tent back at the base camp. The complement of men on the other Huey was the same, except there were no medics on board, and he had kept the two virgins with him, Smith and Graver. They were fresh meat, only a month in the country and had never been in the field. From the looks on their faces, he knew that they were both scared shitless, which was only normal. Baker was surprised they were even here, the way they were withdrawing troops lately. There were very few American troops left in Nam, and soon there would be none at all, leaving the South Vietnamese military alone to fend for themselves and hold the short end of the stick. It was nearing the end of days for them, and it left a bad taste in Baker’s mouth. It made him sick just to think about it. If those idiots in Washington would have had a plan for winning the war, none of this would be happening now.

He turned his gaze back to the open door and could see that the grunts on the ground had three different-colored smoke canisters going in different areas of the field—red, yellow, and orange—to confuse Charlie as to where the choppers were actually going to land. Baker didn’t think it made any difference now since the Chinook had already landed. If Charlie was around, he already knew they were coming in. But military tactics were military tactics, and that’s the way they always did it.

Roger that, Warrant Officer Doug Phillips said. He was the pilot of the Huey, speaking into the talking part of his headset, acknowledging the report from the ground that the LZ was secure. Phillips turned back to the cabin and caught Baker’s attention, giving him a thumbs-up. They were going in.

Where the hell are we? Baker asked the door gunner. All he knew was that they were supposedly near a strip of terrain called the Parrot’s Beak that protruded into Nam from Cambodia. The Vietcong and North Vietnamese Army had a base and rest area there, which the Americans and South Vietnamese had hit back in ’70 during an incursion into the country. Cambodia’s communist Khmer Rouge troops weren’t too happy about it.

The door gunner lifted his headset away from his ear and looked at Baker. What?

Where the hell are we? Baker repeated the question. Are we still in Nam or in Cambodia?

The door gunner shrugged. Damned if I know. This fuckin’ country all looks the same to me. Hell’s hell, Sarge. The scenery don’t change none. He paused and looked up at Baker. "My best guess is that we’re still in Nam, several klicks northeast of the Beak, which is okay with me. Boo coo KR on the other side of the fence."

Baker nodded a grin and grabbed his medical pack from off the deck. Soon the decks of both choppers would be awash with blood and dead, bloating bodies, and God willing, some wounded. He took a tighter grip on the fuselage strap and hung on as the chopper swung quickly to meet up with the ground smoke.

Warrant Officer Phillips pitched the Huey sideways, making a slow turn, nose slightly down, jockeying the chopper toward the LZ. They were headed for the red smoke, the same spot where the Chinook had landed earlier. Once there, the chopper lifted its nose and bellied down, skids to the ground, its long blades stirring up a little dust and knocking the tall grass flat as the recovery team prepared to disembark. The other Huey did the same, falling in line with the first one, nose to tail, its blades slicing through the sticky air with a deafening drone, squatting in the grass like a big noisy bug, the red signal smoke swirling in the downdraft of the chopper blades. There were dead bodies scattered all over the area.

Keep a tight asshole, Sarge, the door gunner warned Baker, not liking the look of the land. This could be a setup.

Boots to the ground, Baker and his team started the grisly business of looking for the dead and wounded. On the ground, the area looked more confining and intimidating than it did from the air. There were tangles of small trees, large ferns, and vines choked around the small clearing, making it even smaller, and plenty of other underbrush to go around. He wouldn’t put it past Charlie to mine this area, knowing that the Americans would be coming in to recover their own. Charlie wasn’t stupid, but Baker had to swallow that fear and chance it and get on with the job at hand.

The team from the other Huey followed Baker out, stepping from the medevac chopper with a deep sigh and a resolved grunt, their uniforms already wet through with sweat and the day was just beginning to heat up. They knew the task at hand would not be pleasant and would be even worse when they got the bodies back to base camp and the morgue tent, where the heat and the stench would be almost unbearable. Still, being in the field was not a walk in the park either, and they went about their brutal duty with tender care for the empty shells of the men now lying silent on the ground.

The teams began picking up their own and placing them in body bags then carrying each one back to the choppers. So far, all were dead. The place reminded Baker of Custer’s stand on Little Big Horn, and he scowled at the sight. Only here, there wasn’t much left of some of the bodies to even put in your back pocket. A direct hit from a shell will do that to you. Others had organs hanging out of their bodies, human organs that were exposed to the air changed in color, texture, and appearance over time and did so rapidly in this climate. Baker’s nose took in the sickening smell of the dead mixed with the smells of burning metal and burnt ground. The miasma hung over the battleground like a heavy fog filling the air, making it hard to breathe.

So far, no Captain Danning, and Baker didn’t know if that was good or bad. He liked Danning and didn’t want to lose him. He had lost other officers, all good men like Danning, in the past and didn’t want to lose another. The captain was a National Guard officer, but you’d never know it. He knew one end of the rifle from another and had been in some scrapes before this, taking to the field like a duck born for the water. He was smart with an older man’s savvy, not taking foolish chances that a younger officer might take, and more importantly, he looked after his men, and they loved him for it. Like this patrol, Danning didn’t have to go, but he did because the lieutenant leading it was a replacement from some rear-echelon unit and was as green as fresh-cut wood, not knowing his ass from his elbow.

One of the other medics shouted and waved an arm for Baker to come over to a body where he was kneeling.

This one’s still alive, Sarge, he said to him as Baker knelt beside him.

Baker looked down and smiled. It was Captain Ryan Danning. His head was as bloody as hell, but he was still breathing.

PART ONE

The Road Back

When Johnny comes marching home again

Hurrah! Hurrah!

We’ll give him a hearty welcome than

Hurrah! Hurrah!

The men will cheer and the boys will shout

The ladies they will all turn out

And we’ll all feel gay

When Johnny comes marching home

—Civil War song

1

As far back as I can remember, I’ve had the same dream, not an every-night dream but a reoccurring one. Sometimes a year would almost pass, and I’d think that I had seen the last of it, but I hadn’t. It would come back, and it’s always the same. Nothing changes. It’s a dark starless night, and it seems like it’s either raining or snowing and I’m outside standing in a doorway as someone is walking toward me, but whoever it is they never get close enough for me to see them; the dream ends before they do.

My mother, who is big on dreams and is the dream expert in our family, says that it’s my soul mate coming to find me, and the reason I can’t see who it is, is because we haven’t met each other yet. Of course, she told me this when I was ten when I finally had nerve enough to tell her about the dream, which I thought held a more sinister message for me like a boogeyman seeking me out for some perverse reason, and I didn’t really understand what a soul mate was until I was older. So I think she just told me that to put my mind at ease so I wouldn’t be frightened, and it probably wasn’t true at all. I think my version of the dream was closer to the truth and still is, and for a time, lying in that jungle and dying in Vietnam looking to be a very real possibility, I was positive the figure in my dream was really death, and it was coming to call.

A month later, in a veterans’ hospital back in the world, I changed my mind and thought my shadowy night visitor might be Dr. Dellway, an army colonel and neurosurgeon who was talking about my condition and telling me some not-so-cherry news as I lay flat on my back in bed, my head wrapped in bandages above my eyes.

You’re a strange man, Captain Danning.

I looked up and blinked at him, pushing myself to a sitting position. Oh, how so?

Strange and lucky, he went on. By rights, you should be dead. Getting to the point and skipping over all the technical jargon, you have a piece of shrapnel lodged in your brain the size of a .22-caliber bullet. Anyone else would have died from the wound, but for some reason that God only knows, you haven’t.

The other doctors told me that before I got here, I said. I thought that’s why they sent me here. Can’t you operate and get it out? You people have had me here long enough.

He gave a sad sigh and shook his head, slipping his hands in his white doctor’s coat. No, it’s in there too deep, he explained. If we went digging around in there, we might kill you or turn you into a vegetable. Right now, we just don’t have the expertise for that type of operation. Maybe in years to come, we will have. Best thing to do now is to just leave it be. The reason we’re keeping you around is for observation. We want to make sure that you will be able to function normally with that piece of metal still in there. And to be honest, we also want to be sure that we’re doing the right thing by leaving it in there.

Dr. Dellway was a large man. I’m not that small myself, but I figured him to be a good two hundred-plus pounds and about six-five in height, which gave him a two-inch and at least a twenty-pound advantage over me. You would think with all that bulk that he would have a deep voice, but he didn’t. He had a voice like Elmo from Sesame Street, but that didn’t stop me from liking him. What I didn’t like was what he was telling me.

So what’s going to happen in the meantime? I asked. Walking around with a piece of shrapnel still stuck in your brain doesn’t exactly sound normal to me. What’s going to happen? What life-changing side effects am I going to have to live with?

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. You’ll have occasional headaches and pain, and at times, you will tire easily and will have to rest. We’ll give you plenty of medication for all that.

I’ve got plenty of headaches now.

But not as severe or as frequent as when you first arrived here, I hope.

No to both.

Good. In the meantime, there is no reason why you can’t live a somewhat-normal life, and somewhere down the road, when we know more about brain operations, you can come back, and we’ll remove the shrapnel. He paused. There will probably be some changes in your body functions too. And before you ask what they will be, we don’t know that either. But I want you to keep track of them. Keep a record of them. We’re going to give you a small tape recorder to do just that. It’s smaller than a wallet and will fit right in your pocket, so you can carry it around with you at all times. Can you do that?

Yes if it will help, I said.

It will, he affirmed. And with the advances in medicine these days, it shouldn’t be long at all before we can remove that for you.

I had a very strange sensation right then, one I never had before in my life. I had a sharp pain in my head, and everything around my skull seemed to tighten. My face began to twitch, and I thought I was having a seizure, but I wasn’t. There was a click inside my brain like a switch had suddenly been turned on, and then I began to see images, which were very blurry at first. I squinted, and that tightened my skull even more until there was another click, and the visions slowed down and became clear and sharp. It was as if I could look right inside the good doctor’s head and view his thoughts as they ran through his mind like pictures being shown on a screen from a movie projector. It was very weird and frightening, and it really shook me, stiffening the hair on the back of my neck. I didn’t like it at all, and I couldn’t believe what I was experiencing. He was telling me one thing, but he was thinking and picturing something else in his mind—and I knew he was lying to me.

Dr. Dellway was picturing the shrapnel moving in my brain and eventually killing me long before I would ever get back to a hospital to have it removed. I must have looked stricken. I sure as hell felt that way, but my facial twitching had stopped.

He gave me a concerned look. You all right, Captain?

I dropped my eyes and shook my head. Yes . . . fine. I guess he was trying to sugarcoat the rest of my future life—if I had much of one left—with a lie.

He studied me a moment longer then said, The army’s giving you a medal.

I already have one.

This isn’t about getting another Purple Heart, he said. I’ve seen your record. This is a notch up from the Bronze Star that you were already awarded. It’s a Silver Star.

For what? I said, looking up at him. For getting everyone in the squad killed?

Not everyone. There’s a sergeant and a corporal that survived and told the army what you did. In fact, they’re being released and requested to see you before they left.

I smiled. Konkel and Baines made it?

Very much, Dr. Dellway said, smiling back. Sergeant Konkel lost part of his arm, and Corporal Baines, part of one of his kidneys, but they’ll both be fine. They’re outside now. I’ll send them in.

Ray Konkel and Leroy Baines were made from the same cookie-cutter mold—both were tall and rangy and young and didn’t have enough peach fuzz on their faces to even warrant shaving. Konkel was the older of the two, twenty-three, while Baines was only nineteen and looked like twelve. They stood at my bedside.

We wanted to say goodbye before we left, sir, Konkel said.

Yes, sir, we wanted to pay our respects before we left for home, Baines echoed.

I smiled sadly at them. I knew only too well what this war was doing to our youth. Seeing these two young men standing straight and proud near my bed made me feel suddenly old, like my twenty-seven years had jumped to ninety-seven. The average age for kids like Konkel and Baines serving in Nam was twenty-two. The war had aged them too. It aged everyone.

I’m sorry I couldn’t get you boys home in one piece, I said, noticing Konkel’s prosthetic left arm. I was sorry I couldn’t have gotten the entire squad home alive.

That’s okay, sir, Konkel said. If it wouldn’t have been for you, we’d all be goin’ home in an aluminum box.

That’s right, sir, Baines chimed in. You saved our asses. You even took out that Ivan.

I gave him a puzzled look. There was a Russian with that group?

Konkel nodded. Yes, sir, some Russian officer was with Charlie on that ambush. But we turned it around, and none of them got away.

I nodded. That was such a hot firefight that I barely remember much of what went on. You’re from Wisconsin, aren’t you, Konkel?

He nodded back. Yes, sir, same as you, but I’m from a small town way up north called Hope.

I shifted my eyes to Baines. And you’re from the West Coast?

Yes, sir, Seattle.

I nodded again, and the room fell silent for a few moments. Konkel broke the silence. When are you goin’ home, Captain?

I shook my head. That’s a good question. I guess they want to keep me here for a while. I have an interesting wound.

They both smiled. They knew that I had a head wound. Konkel cleared his throat. Well, it was a pleasure to serve with you, sir, he said.

Likewise, sir, Baines said.

I shook hands with them. The pleasure was mine, I said. Ray, Leroy, good luck to you.

And to you, sir, Konkel said. If you’re ever in my neighborhood, it would be a pleasure to see you.

That goes for me too, sir, Baines added.

I’ll remember that, I said and watched them leave. At least I got them out in time, but it was a small consolation for those that I didn’t.

2

During the next two weeks, I had more specialists and neurosurgeons visiting my room than I could count, more numerous than the sheep I was counting trying to go to sleep at night. Dr. Dellway must have been flying them in from all over the world just to look at me. I guess I was somewhat of a medical miracle or a medical oddity that was becoming more of a curiosity than anything else. I was sure someone would write an article about me in the Journal of the American Medical Association. With all the attention I was getting and people staring wide-eyed at me, I was beginning to feel like Joseph Merrik, and even he probably had more privacy. Maybe they were lining me up for a job in a freak show like the Elephant Man had.

Another thing I did begin to notice, besides all the new faces staring at me, was the change in body functions that Dr. Dellway had mentioned, especially changes to the senses. Everything was heightened beyond the norm. Sounds were louder, colors brighter, vision so sharp and powerful that it made my eyes water at times just looking at people or objects. And my sense of smell was so occasionally acute that I could have put a canine to shame. It was more like a taste in my mouth than an actual smell. And then there was the sexual change that started occurring. At times, the slightest thing would set if off, like the nearness of a nurse or her glance or touch, and an arousal would take place, and I would get an erection so hard that I could cut glass with it. It stayed that way for hours too, which was something that could become very embarrassing once I got out of here. Luckily, it didn’t happen that often. Still, I’d probably have to invest in underwear with a metal cup at the crotch.

The other odd experience that I had had with Dr. Dellway I had completely forgotten about or tried to and didn’t even want to think about what had happened, hoping it was just a one-time thing and wouldn’t reoccur or become a permanent part of me.

Just then, my room door opened again, and I expected more inquisitive doctors checking out the newest specimen at the hospital zoo, but it was Lieutenant Rachel Parker, my main nurse. She was a vivacious tall young brunette with a more-than-ample figure, sparkling brown eyes, and an infectious smile that touched your heart and stirred your blood.

Hi, Captain, how’s my favorite patient? she said and gave me that smile. She had a pan of water and some washcloths in her hands.

I made a pained face. I can shower. When are they going to let me do that?

Lieutenant Parker put her pan down on the nearby bed table. Sponge baths for now, love. Maybe in another week, they’ll let you go solo.

What are they afraid of? I asked, still somewhat irritated. That I’ll fall on my face and they won’t have anyone to show off to the visiting dignitaries they’re busing in here?

She laughed. It is turning into a kind of circus, and we do seem to have a lot more visitors now that you’re here. But really, the doctors don’t want to rush you into doing things on your own just yet for good reason. They’re in uncharted waters right now and want to take things slowly. No one really knows what to expect. She paused. Besides, what man doesn’t like to have a woman wash him? So stop acting like a grump. Japanese women do this for their men all the time, so I’m told.

I’m not Japanese, and neither are you.

She shook her head at me and made a face. Pretend that we are.

She started washing my upper body, hands, arms, chest, making small conversation as she did. When she got down to my stomach, my super erection made an appearance.

Oh, she said and looked at me with a big smile. Is that for me?

Sorry, I said, embarrassed.

Don’t be. I’m flattered.

I didn’t tell her that it was a side effect of my injury. Then again, it might be more than that. I hadn’t had a woman since I made love to my wife the night before I shipped out, and that was well over a year ago, and I was probably as horny as a rabbit besides.

And if I wasn’t married, I’d do something about that, she said, but you’re married too, and I have a feeling that even if I came on to you, you would head for the hills.

Unfortunately, she was right. And as much as the thought of taking Lieutenant Parker to bed was deliciously tempting, I loved my wife and didn’t cheat on her. My wife had been my secret love in high school, so secret that no one knew about it but me. She was very attractive with long blonde hair and easily the most popular girl in school during her four years there. I wasn’t that popular, not until my senior year anyway. I was a background blender for the first three years with the rest of the boys that loved her from afar. She really didn’t notice me until that last year of school, not that it did me any good. She was the prom queen, and the jock she was dating was the king, whom she later married after graduation.

Our paths didn’t cross again until seven years later while I was finishing up some courses at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee. Laura was attending classes too, trying to get a bachelor’s degree in economics, having one already for teaching. She was still as attractive as ever, even after two divorces, and I guess I still had a secret crush on her from high school. I had never married, and at the time, I wasn’t dating anyone seriously, so Laura and I started seeing each other. It got serious, and we married a year later. I was a married man for a good two years now, and we were happy. When Nam beckoned and I had to leave her, she didn’t like the idea, and I wasn’t crazy about it either.

Lieutenant Parker finished my sponge bath then turned and looked at me for a long moment, holding my eyes. That head-tightening sensation came over me again along with the pain and the clicks and the free picture show. She had told me that she was tempted, but what she was visualizing in her mind now was the two of us having sex. That didn’t help; I was still at attention and couldn’t do anything about it. Nor could I do anything about the pictures I was seeing. I’d have to call my wife later and get Lieutenant Parker out of my mind.

But most importantly, I felt that I was losing control and, worse, that I was losing my mind. I didn’t tell any of the doctors what I was experiencing. I was afraid of the consequences or that they would keep me here longer.

A couple hours later, Dr. Dellway brought four medical specialists into my room to observe the hospital’s main freak. They looked me over, asked me several questions, and then left. One of them came back alone later. I didn’t remember her name, only that she was a neurosurgeon from Austria who was now living in the States. She looked vaguely familiar although I was sure we had never met before.

She smiled at me. She was a small gray-haired woman who looked to be well into her sixties or older.

How are you really feeling, Mr. Danning? she asked, keeping her smile.

As good as anyone would with a piece of metal in their head, I said, wondering why she had returned.

You’re probably wondering why I came back, she said as if reading my thoughts.

Sort of.

I meant to ask you something, but I didn’t want to do it with all the other doctors in the room.

Ask away.

She moved closer to my bed. She carried her coat folded over one arm. I’m curious. Have you experienced any changes that border on . . . shall we say . . . psychic phenomenon?

No, I lied. Perhaps I answered too quickly. She seemed to know I wasn’t being honest with her.

She nodded and gave me a half smile. I see. She paused. The reason for my interest, Mr. Danning, is that ten years ago, I had a patient with a serious brain trauma much like yourself, only his injury was caused by a severe auto accident.

Oh, did you operate on this person? I asked, interested that she might be able to help me if Dellway couldn’t.

She shook her head. No, I stopped doing surgery fifteen years ago. You can’t do brain operations with shaky hands. No, this was a referral only, but I kept an eye on his progress. She paused again. Long story short, as you Americans say, was that the man became very unique and was able to read peoples’ minds after his accident, and I was just curious if you might be experiencing something on that order. When dealing with the brain, all things are possible.

I shook my head and lied again. No, I can’t say that I have. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her the truth. I think she would have kept it to herself, but the fear of a longer hospitalization kept my lips sealed. That and maybe because I didn’t want anyone to know that there was something even odder about me. It was bad enough having some people know that I was walking around with a piece of shrapnel in my head.

She made a tight-lipped smile and nodded again, digesting what I had just told her. I see. Well, I’ll let you get your rest, she said and turned for the door then stopped and looked back at me. He was afraid of the power at first, she said. But I told him not to be. Regardless of how he acquired it, it was a gift, and he should use it to help people. And he did for a while.

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow. For a while? What happened? Did he die? I thought that might be what she was trying to tell me.

No, nothing like that. The power just left him after about a year, she said, holding my eyes. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Danning. Take care of yourself. She slipped out the door and was gone.

Five minutes after she left, it dawned on me who she reminded me of. Last night, while watching the room TV, they showed an old horror movie from the ’40s, one I had seen on TV many times before as a kid. The good doctor looked a lot like the actress with the odd long name, Maria Ouspenskaya, who played the old gypsy woman who told Lon Chaney Jr. in the Wolfman movie that he had just been bitten by a werewolf and was now cursed.

I hoped that she wasn’t trying to tell me that I was cursed.

3

The doctors kept me around for another two months, not knowing what to expect, thinking that any day I would drop dead. I fooled them and stayed alive. A week into my second month, they let me take showers by myself, and three weeks after that, they were releasing me, satisfied that I wouldn’t fall flat on my face or go berserk and pop my cork and attack someone. It was already March of a new year, and ’73 didn’t look any better than ’72 had. I vaguely remembered one of the top songs of ’71—Rainy Days and Mondays by the Carpenters—but nothing from ’72. I wondered what the top song of ’73 would be now that it looked like we were pulling out— So Long, It’s Been Good to Know You by the Nixon Singers?

There was talk around the hospital and in the news about the Paris Peace Talks that all the American ground troops would leave Nam for good this year and the sellout of the South would be complete. Besides the troop pullout, I suspected our government would cut off much of the aid to the South Vietnamese, leaving them with no supplies or even bullets, nothing to fight off the enemy with except rocks. Lots of people who had helped the Americans were going to be left to the mercy of the North.

Our new president, Nixon, was making good on his campaign promises to bring peace and end the war. I didn’t take to the man. He reminded me of someone who stole the church funds and blamed the theft on someone else. But in a way, his intention to end the war was good, long overdue. Only it seemed like he was leaving the South Vietnamese people high and dry to swing and blow away in the wind. I hoped they would fare better than the thousands of Cambodians that were being slaughtered daily by the communist regime of the Khmer Rouge since they took over the country. The peace was fine, but the impending consequences and the way it was being done pissed off a lot of men who had fought over there—me included.

That bothered me, but I tried not to dwell on it lest I get a headache, and I got plenty of those without thinking about much of anything. So I filled my mind with thoughts of home.

Today was the day. I was up and dressed and getting ready to leave when Lieutenant Parker came into my room and handed me a small piece of paper folded in half.

What’s this? I asked.

My parents’ phone number in Chicago, she explained. I’ll be going home for a visit in about three or four days, and Milwaukee’s just ninety miles away. If you feel like you have to talk to someone that’s been through this, I’m available.

How’s that going to set with your husband, talking to strange men? I kidded.

She shook her head. There is no husband, she said. I didn’t tell you the whole truth. I’m divorced, have been for the last six months. When I came back from my tour in Nam a year ago, I found out that my husband was playing house with one of the women that he worked with.

I gave her a slightly irritated look. What are you trying to tell me, that I’m going to walk into the same thing you did?

No, not at all, she said. I’m sure everything will be fine when you get home. I just know how hard it is to adjust to civilian life once you get back. I know it was for me. It is for everybody. This is just for if you need someone to talk to that understands what you’re going through. This isn’t about sex although that option is open.

She made eye contact and gave me a peck on the lips. Take care, Captain, and watch yourself. The natives out there aren’t friendly, she said and left the room.

I smiled at the closed door and put the phone number in my wallet. This must have been my month for cryptic messages—first, the Maria Ouspenskaya look-alike, and now Lieutenant Parker. I shrugged it off, content and eager to be on my way home and momentarily alone with all my brown prescription bottles. I had enough drugs to start my own pharmacy. There was a pill for just about everything: painkillers, drugs to prevent nausea, seizures, and anxiety, and even an antipsychotic medication for any paranoia that might occur due to brain pressure buildup. If there was a pill to keep me normal or counteract the effects of a full moon, it was probably in the mix too.

I finished packing, put on my uniform blouse, and zipped up my B-4 bag. I grabbed my cap and went out the door. I was leaving sunny California and heading for the airport and home. Only it wasn’t sunny when I got outside—it was raining. I hoped that wasn’t a bad omen.

Hours later, when the plane touched down at the Mitchell Field Airport in Milwaukee, I found the sun was there along with a stiff March breeze and a forty-degree temperature. I got off the plane wearing my uniform, proud and defiant, and headed down the concourse to the main terminal lobby. Picking up my luggage, I could already see unfriendly stares and hear taunts of baby killer from some of the unwashed souls in the building who had no doubt protested the war, deciding it was much safer to carry a sign here than it was a rifle over there. Moving past them was like walking through a gauntlet of ill-wishers.

One of the more belligerent flower children confronted me with two girlfriends, getting in my face and calling me names. He was showing how tough he was. Besides his manufactured machismo, he was braving the cold temperature in shorts and zoris with no socks. His girlfriends didn’t look much better. Dressed in baggy clothes, they were pale and pencil-thin with straight, stringy dark hair although I must admit that they both looked cleaner than