https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RRLL8XL
(Out of Body)
By
Al Lamanda
Prologue
Ten Years Ago
The last thing John Connor always
put on when he dressed for work was his badge and gun. The badge, that of
lieutenant detective, he clipped to the left side of his belt. The gun, a Glock
.40, he wore in a shoulder holster over the left shoulder.
He kept the
holster empty until he left the house.
At six-foot-one
inches tall and a muscular one hundred and ninety pounds, Connor kept himself
in shape with regular workouts at a gym. Although he was thirty-five-years-old,
his boyish face made him appear a decade younger.
Dressed in faded
but crisp jeans, a black tee-shirt and black walking shoes, Connor left the
bedroom and walked to the kitchen where his nine-year-old daughter Beth was at
the breakfast table.
She was eating a
bowl of Cheerios with milk and a sliced banana.
Connor poured a
cup of coffee from the coffee machine on the counter and joined Beth at the
table.
“Ready for another
fun-filled day at school?” Conner said.
About to spoon
some cereal into her mouth, Beth paused and looked at Connor. “What school are
you talking about?” she said.
“Tomorrow is
Saturday,” Connor said. “We can spend the day doing anything you want.”
“Anything?” Beth
said.
“Careful what you
say, John, she’ll hold you to it,” Elizabeth Connor, Connor’s wife of yen years
said as she entered the kitchen.
Connor and Beth
looked at Elizabeth
“How do I look?” Elizabeth
Connor and Beth
exchanged glances.
“How does mommy
look?” Connor said.
“Pretty,” Beth
said.
“She does look
pretty, doesn’t she,” Connor said. “Movie star pretty in fact.”
“Never mind the
flattery, John, just don’t be late,” Elizabeth
“Late for what,
mommy?” Beth said.
“Mommy is being
appointed a judge, honey. From now on we have to call her your honor,” Connor
said.
Beth giggled and
said, “That’s silly.”
Connor tickled
Beth and said, “She’ll put you in jail if call her mommy.”
“That's enough
from the both of you. John, if you're not there by noon, it's the doghouse,” Elizabeth
“I’ll be there.
Promise,” Connor said.
“Are we getting a
dog?” Beth said.
*****
Beth got into the back seat of
Connor’s car and buckled her seat belt. Connor got behind the wheel and started
the engine.
Connor backed out
of the driveway of their home in Queens ,
New York Queens Boulevard
“Daddy, what’s a judge?”
Beth said.
“A judge is a very
important person in the courtroom,” Connor said.
“More important
than a police officer?” Beth said.
“No, just
different,” Connor said “Like apples and oranges. Both are good, just
different.”
“Do I have to call
you your honor like mommy?” Beth said.
“No, honey, your
majesty will do,” Connor said.
Beth giggled.
“That’s silly,” she said.
*****
At a middle school, Connor walked
Beth to the front doors. He kissed her on the forehead.
“Have a good day
at school, sweetheart,” he said.
“Bye, daddy,” Beth
said.
*****
In his car, Connor crossed the Queens Borough
Bridge into Manhattan
“This is
Lieutenant Connor, where am I meeting the squad?”
He listened for a
moment and then said, “I’ll meet you there in about forty-five minutes.”
Connor hung up and
then lit a cigarette.
*****
In the lobby of a Harlem
tenement building, Connor strapped on a bullet proof vest as a team of SWAT
officers gathered around him.
Once the vest was
in place, a sergeant spoke to Connor.
“Lieutenant, there's
no reason for you to go up with us,” the sergeant said.
“I don't ask the
men to do anything I wouldn't,” Connor said.
“The captain would
have my ass if he knew,” the sergeant said.
“Don't tell him.
Is everybody in place?” Connor said.
“Yes,” the
sergeant said.
“Apartments
clear?” Connor said.
“One old woman in
a wheelchair in a corner apartment, but she's safe,” the sergeant said.
“By the numbers
and we all go home in one piece, right?” Connor said.
“Right,” the
sergeant said.
*****
The SWAT team used a battering ram
to smash in an apartment door on the fourth floor. Connor, his weapon drawn,
led the rush into the apartment. The place was a crack house, filthy and littered
with junkies, who barely knew what was happening.
SWAT quickly
rounded up the junkies. The SWAT sergeant tried a locked bedroom door and shots
were fired from inside the room. A bullet struck the sergeant in the vest and
he went down, but was unhurt as the vest stopped the bullet. Winded, he stood
up.
“Gun,” Connor
screamed.
SWAT again used
the battering ram to smash open the locked door. Connor and SWAT rushed into
the room. It was empty. The window was open. Connor ran to the window and
looked out.
A junkie was on a
rusty, fire escape ladder between the fourth and third floor. The junkie paused
to lookup at Connor.
Connor turned and
looked at the sergeant.
“Get on the radio.
Tell them one junkie, possibly armed is on the fire escape in the back alley.
Tell them for God's sake not to shoot me,” Connor said.
“The captain won't
like you doing this, lieutenant,” the sergeant said.
“Don't tell him,”
Connor said.
Connor climbed
through the window and onto the fire escape. Two flights below, the junkie
spotted Connor, pulled a gun and fired shots at him.
Connor hugged the
ladder as shots whizzed past him.
The junkie spotted
SWAT in the alley below, kicked in an apartment window on the second floor, and
disappeared inside the apartment.
A SWAT officer in
the alley below shouted up to Connor.
“We'll take him inside,
lieutenant. Come on down,” the SWAT officer said.
Connor continued
to descend the ladder. Near the second floor, rusty bolts gave way and the
ladder separated from the building.
Connor attempted
to jump through the window broken by the junkie, but the ladder completely gave
way and fell to the alley below.
Connor jumped and
managed to grip the window ledge with the tips of his fingers and held on for
several tense seconds until he lost his grip and fell two stories to the ground
below.
*****
She sighed heavily
as Connor wasn’t in the crowd and the ceremony couldn’t be delayed any longer.
She placed her hand on the Bible and recited her oath.
As the crowd burst
into applause, a police officer rushed to Elizabeth
Chapter One
(Present Day Maine
Connor sat in a wheelchair on a dock that
extended forty feet into the water of a medium sized lake. Behind the dock was
Connor’s small home. A neglected garden and overgrown lawn showcased the front
of the home that faced the lake. Leaves on the trees were beginning to turn
colors. The air was crisp with a hint of
autumn in it. Connor tossed a fishing line into the water, and then set the rod
into a sleeve on the dock near the wheelchair. From a thermos, he poured a mug
of coffee, and then lit a cigarette.
Alone, Connor sat
in the wheelchair and waited.
*****
Connor sat in his wheelchair before
a roaring fire in a stone fireplace. Except for the crackle of the fire, the
room was completely still.
Connor opened a
bottle of scotch and poured several ounces into a glass. He sipped and lit a
cigarette and sipped again.
The first few sips
went down harsh and burned, but after that they smoothed out and went down
easy.
Beside the
fireplace was a wood bin full of logs. Connor grabbed a log and tossed it into
the fire and then sipped scotch and watched the flames dance around inside the
fireplace.
He emptied the
glass and filled it again with scotch.
The fire danced as
he sipped and smoked another cigarette. He emptied the glass and filled it
again.
The scotch was
kicking in and doing its job as his senses began to dull and the pain he always
carried around lessened.
By the time the
glass was empty again, Connor’s eyes were heavy and he was ready to sleep.
And as so often
happened these days, he never made it to bed.
*****
Connor sat in his wheelchair on the
front deck of the house facing the lake. Multi colored leaves were on the trees
as fall had replaced summer.. The air had that feeling of the approaching
winter that was just right around the corner.
Connor sipped
coffee from a mug and smoked a cigarette. In the background, the haunting cry
of a loon was heard. Before the first freeze of winter, the loons would gather
and then fly to the ocean until spring returned.
As a child,
Connor’s parents purchased the home in Maine
Connor’s father,
an executive with a large insurance company, would come up every weekend and
they would do things as a family. Boating, hiking in the woods, swimming, it
was a wonderful time in Connor’s life.
After his parents
died in a car accident fifteen years ago, Connor and his sister decided to keep
the home on the lake and use it to vacation.
Long ago, his
sister married and settled in Oregon
And now the home
that gave him such freedom as a child had become his personal prison as an
adult.
Connor watched a
car approach and park in front of the house. A man exited the car with several bags
of groceries and walked the deck.
“Morning, John.
Anymore coffee?” the man said.
“In the kitchen.
Help yourself,” Connor said.
The man nodded and
carried the groceries into the house. Connor lit another cigarette and after a
few minutes, the man returned with a mug of coffee.
“Get everything?”
Connor said.
“Don’t I always,”
the man stated.
The man took a
seat on the chair next to Connor’s wheelchair.
“John, I know I've
said it before, but what a beautiful spot you have here,” the man said.
“Depends on your
point of view,” Connor said.
“I don’t follow,”
the man said.
Connor crushed out
the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray on the small table on the deck and then
looked at the man.
“To a man with
legs, it’s a beautiful spot,” Connor said. “To a man in a wheelchair, it’s a
prison without walls.”
Uneasy, the man
glanced at Connor’s crippled legs.
“I understand,
John,” he said. “I’ll see you next week with the standing order. If you need
anything different, call me.”
“Sure,” Connor
said.
He lit another
cigarette as the man stood, left the porch and returned to his car.
Chapter Two
(Present Day California
Elizabeth Baker, Connor’s ex-wife
brushed her hair before a bedroom mirror in the California
After Connor’s accident,
their lives fell apart. When it became evident Connor would never walk again,
he took to heavy drinking. That led to
many bad arguments and evidently to divorce.
Connor moved to the
summer home in Maine
Six years ago, Elizabeth
Life was much
different in California New York
Before the
accident, Connor was the best man she had ever known. Kind, loving, a wonderful
father and straight as an arrow. One beer on the weekend was about it for him,
and even then it usually accompanied a steak.
At forty-four, Elizabeth
William entered
the bedroom and stood next to her to fix his tie in the mirror.
“Don't be late
tonight, Bill. We have dinner with the Mapes,” Elizabeth
“I thought that
was next week,” William said.
“The Chamber of
Commerce is stopping by my office this afternoon for a meeting,” William said.
“Just be home by seven,”
she said.
*****
Connor sat in his wheelchair before
the roaring fire in the fireplace. As was his normal these days, he was drunk
on scotch.
He gulped directly
from the bottle as he flipped the pages of a worn photo album on his lap.
Slowly, Connor’s eyes closed and the album fell to the floor. The album was
open to an old, yellowed newspaper story with a photograph.
ELIZABETH BAKER
APPOINTED TO CALIFORNIA SUPERIOR COURT read the headline. A photograph of
Elizabeth and William accompanied the story..
Connor woke up and
took another hit from the scotch bottle, mumbled something and then fell back
asleep.
The next time
Connor opened his eyes briefly, the fire in the fireplace had all but gone out.
He mumbled a few words and then his eyes closed again and his head slumped.
Passed out in his
wheelchair, Connor began to shiver. The near empty scotch bottle fell from his
lap to the floor as Connor’s eyelids twitched.
Despite the cold
in the room, sweat appeared on Connor’s forehead. In his sleep, Connor started
to mumble.
*****
Connor
was standing on two, healthy legs against a backdrop of total blue. He was
completely still, the surroundings totally silent.
Slowly, Connor raised his arms above his
head and fell backward into a black hole where he spiraled downward.
A machine like, grinding noise was heard in
the background. As the noise grew louder, Conner fell faster and faster through
the seemingly bottomless hole.
G force began to pull the skin away from his
face. He opened his mouth to scream, but his cries were drowned out against the
loud, grinding noise.
*****
Connor bolted awake, screaming and
nearly fell from the wheelchair. Although the fire in the fireplace had gone
out and he could see his own breath, Connor was drenched in sweat.
He reached for the
fallen bottle of scotch and swallowed the remains in one long gulp to steady
his nerves.
Chapter Three
Connor sat in his wheelchair on the
deck. It was a crisp, sunny morning with a snap in the air. When he was a kid,
it was the sort of day he’d be tempted to skip school and often did with dire
consequences.
With Connor was
Doctor M. Leonard, a psychiatrist, who was seated on a chair. A yellow pad full
of notes rested on Leonard’s lap.
“Our time is up,
John,” Leonard said.
As he lit a cigarette,
Connor said, “That was an hour?”
“An hour and
fifteen, actually. Under the circumstances, I allowed for extra time,” Leonard
said.
“Because I’m a
cripple?” Connor said.
“Because you're
desperate to talk to someone,” Leonard said. “And it’s my job to listen.”
Connor inhaled on
the cigarette and looked at the lake.
“I'll be honest
with you, John. What I'm taking away from this session is that you live in constant
fear,” Leonard said.
“Fear? I was a cop
for thirteen years before this wheelchair,” Connor said. “If I had known a bit
more fear I wouldn’t be legless here talking to you.”
“Fear has many
faces, John,” Leonard said. “Rejection by those who can walk. Of crowds. Of
growing old in that chair. Of your ex-wife. Thinking she feels you are no
longer a man. Who is going to take care of me when I no longer can take care of
myself? It's all fear, John.”
Connor looked at
Leonard, exhaled smoke and tossed the cigarette over the deck railing.
“You're too young
and healthy to waste the life you have in front of you, John. Self-pity isn't
doing you any good,” Leonard said.
“No offense,
doctor, but your bedside manner pretty much sucks,” Connor said.
“Truth sometimes
is hard to swallow, John,” Leonard said. “Truth can be the bitterest pill of
all, especially when lies go down much easier.”
Connor lit a fresh
cigarette and looked at Leonard. “Say you're right. Why now? I've been alone in
this chair for twelve years. All of a sudden, I have these nightmares every
night for a month,” he said.
“A twenty-year-old
man neglects his body. At thirty, he's overweight. By the time he's forty, he's
obese and he ignores all the signs his body is giving him. He wakes up in a
hospital one day after a heart attack and asks the doctor, why now?” Leonard
said.
Connor looked at
Leonard and grinned. “In your long-winded way, you're telling me these dreams
are the result of years of isolation,” he said.
“Cause and effect,
John. Tell you what. The next dream, write down every detail upon awakening.
Then call me for another session,” Leonard said.
“What if I don't
have another dream?” Connor said.
“Don't call me.
You're cured and I'll send you a bill,” Leonard said.
Leonard winked at
Connor, stood up and walked off the deck.
*****
After Leonard left, Connor went
inside and watched television for a while. Bored, he went back outside and took
the ramp down to the ground and wheeled himself onto the dock.
In the distance, a
fish jumped out of the water, splashed and caused a ripple.
Connor reached for
his fishing pole that was still in the holder and cast out, He reached into the
left side pocket on the wheelchair for his cigarettes and lit one.
From the right
side pocket on the wheelchair, he reached for the pint bottle of scotch he kept
there for just such use,
He removed the cap
and took a long swallow. He smoked and drank and it didn’t take long for the
warm sun and scotch to cause Connor to fall asleep with the fishing pole still
in his hands.
*****
Connor
was spiraling downward through the black hole. The machinelike noise was
deafening. G force pulled and distorted his face, stretching his features like
rubber. He screamed and screamed and screamed.
“Wake up,” he heard himself scream. “For
God’s sake, wake up.”
A force had a grip on him and he felt a deep
rooted fear that if he didn’t awaken, he would die.
*****
Connor screamed himself awake in
his wheelchair on the dock. Covered in sweat, his breathing labored, it took a
moment for him to realize where he was. Finally, he calmed down, lit a
cigarette and reached for a notebook and pen in a side pouch on the wheelchair.
He wrote quickly,
before the memory of the dream faded. He tried to describe every detail on the
dream and covered nearly two pages in the notebook.
When he was done,
he tucked the notebook and pen away and removed the fishing pole from the
sleeve and cast out.
To his surprise, a
fish was on the hook.
Chapter Four
In his wheelchair, Connor sat in front
of the fireplace and looked at Leonard, who was on the sofa, reading Connor’s
notes. The only sound in the room came from the logs crackling in the fire.
Just the lamp
beside the sofa was on and the rest of the room was dark, except for the light
from the fireplace.
Nursing a slight
hangover and headache, Connor sipped coffee from a mug.
Leonard looked at
Connor. “Five dreams in as many nights. Falling into darkness, unable to stop
myself. Fear that if I don't wake up, I will die,” he said, paraphrasing
Connor’s notes.
Connor shrugged.
“You told me to write everything down as I remembered it,” he said. “So, that’s
what I did and that’s what I remembered.”
“If you don't wake
up, you will die?” Leonard said.
“I don't know.
It's just a feeling,” Connor said.
Leonard nodded.
“Describe it, the feeling,” he said.
Connor lit a
cigarette, sipped from the mug and said, “It’s hard to put in words.”
“Try, John. It's
important to your progress to understand what you are feeling and why,” Leonard
said.
Connor turned his
wheelchair and looked at Leonard. “Each dream feels more … real than the last.
Less like a dream and more like reality,” he said. “The panic I feel in my
chest as I force myself awake seems so real. When I’m stuck and can’t wake up,
I feel as if at that moment I will die.”
Leonard made a
quick note on his pad. “You don't really believe you can die from a dream, do
you, John?” he said.
“Do you?” Connor
said.
“No,” Leonard
said. “I'll tell you what I do think, though. You fell from a ladder in the
line of duty. When you fell, what went through your mind was you were about to
die. All these years of living in isolation has twisted that experience and
manifested itself into this reoccurring dream.”
Connor inhaled on
the cigarette and slowly let the smoke out. “You’re saying the dream is the
result of the way I live?” he said.
“Ever hear of
cabin fever, John?’ Leonard said. “I believe the fact that you're in a
wheelchair has heightened your sensitivity to your disability and the result is
these dreams.”
“I should step out
for some dancing? That's your cure?” Connor said.
“You can't cure
what isn't a disease, John. I noticed a computer in your den last time I was
here. When was the last time you used it?” Leonard said.
“It isn’t wired,”
Connor said.
“Wire it. Get back
in touch with the world, John. You're too young to roll over and play dead.
We're only alive a short time. We're dead a very long time. I suggest you
postpone being dead for as long as possible,” Leonard said. “Just a
professional suggestion.”
Connor looked at
Leonard. “I’ll take it under advisement,” he said.
“Good,” Leonard
said. “Well, I think that’s enough for today. How about a cup of coffee, John?”
*****
Leonard sat in a chair on the deck
and sipped coffee from a mug.
“You make good
coffee, John,” he said. “I’d bet that if you gave yourself half the chance
you’d be good at a great many things.”
Smoking a cigarette
in his wheelchair beside Leonard, Connor said, “I used to be a fair runner.
Think I can make a comeback?”
“Self pity is the
worst kind, John,” Leonard said. “It’s right up there with self loathing.”
“Are you going to
tell me the story about feeling sorry for the man with no feet until you met a
man with no legs?” Connor said.
“You’ve heard that
one before?” Leonard said.
Connor grinned.
“Only a thousand times before,” he said.
“I’ll tell you
something else you’ve probably heard a thousand times before, John,” Leonard
said. “This is one beautiful spot you have here. You should use it for more
than a place to tie one on.”
“I know it’s a
beautiful place, Doctor,” Connor said. “I grew up here every summer. I swam in
that lake and paddled a canoe across every square inch of it. I hiked the
woods, and snow shoed and ice fished in the winter on school breaks. So, let me
ask you a question, ever hear the story of the golden cage?”
Leonard nodded.
“That’s what this
place is to me now, a golden cage without bars,” Connor said.
“The real prison
is here, John,” Leonard said and placed a finger to his forehead. “It can hold
you prisoner or set you free. Your choice.”
Conner looked at
Leonard. “I’ll give that some thought,” he said.
“Good,” Leonard
said. “You can tell me about it next week.”
Chapter Five
A computer technician inspected
Connor’s computer in the den. Connor watched from his wheelchair.
The technician
looked at Connor.
“Sir, this
computer is … old. The hard drive is going to be slow,” the technician said.
“How slow?” Connor
said.
“Very slow,” the
technician said.
“I look like I
have someplace to go in a hurry?” Connor said.
The technician
shrugged. “We’ll get you high speed,” he said.
*****
Connor sat in his wheelchair on the
dock and looked at the blazing sunset upon the lake. The shimmering water
glowed a bright orange.
As a kid he would
often sit out with his parents and sister and watch the sunsets over the lake.
Sometimes they would take the canoe out to the center of the lake and just sit
and watch the sunset.
It was a happy,
glorious time, a time when he was young enough and naive enough to believe the
world was a fine place to live.
Connor lit a
cigarette and then reached for the pint bottle of scotch in the side pouch. The
bottle was about half full. As he twisted the cap, he paused and held the
bottle up to the setting sun. The whiskey, caught in the light turned a deep
amber color.
Connor sighed as
he tightened the cap and replaced the bottle into the side pouch.
As the sun sunk
lower across the lake, the water darkened and went black. Then the sky went
black and Connor sat in the dark and listened to the music of the night
crickets for the longest time.
As a boy, he would
often lay in bed with the window open and listen to the night crickets and
their song would lull him to sleep.
*****
Connor sat in his wheelchair before
the computer and stared at the screen. He lit a cigarette, sipped coffee from a
mug and continued to stare at the screen.
He placed his hands
on the keyboard, hesitated, and then began to type. A news story popped up from
a major, California
ELIZABETH BAKER
APPOINTED TO SUPERIOR COURT, the headline read.
Connor read the
story even though he had read it many times before and then he pushed himself
away from the computer, spun himself around and wheeled himself toward the door
of the den. Just before he reached the door, he hesitated, then turned around
and returned to the computer.
“John, you are
such an asshole,” he said aloud.
At the keyboard,
Connor began to type.
“Might as be a
total asshole,” he said.
As he typed, he
scanned the monitor for websites and read aloud. “Dreams, the Interpretation
Of, The Reality of Dreams, Dreams for Life, The Erskine Dream Clinic,” he said.
Connor clicked on
the various websites and scanned them quickly. After a few moments, Connor spun
himself around and wheeled himself out of the den.
*****
A tiny nightlight plugged into a
wall socket was the only light source is Connor’s bedroom.
It was another one
of those nights where sleep wouldn’t come, probably because he wasn’t drunk. In
fact, he hadn’t had a drop of whiskey in several days now and maybe a nightcap
would do the trick.
Connor rolled onto
his side and clicked on the bedside lamp. Then he reached for the bar that was
suspended from the ceiling and pulled himself upright.
*****
Wearing a robe, seated in his
wheelchair, Connor smoked a cigarette, sipped a small drink of scotch and
stared at his computer.
The he typed in
the Erskine Dreams Clinic and looked at the monitor. Then he clicked on Contact and typed an email.
Doctor Erskine, I
recently began having a reoccurring dream where I am falling into a black hole.
I would like your opinion of what this dream means. Sincerely, John Connor, he
wrote and then hit send.
He tossed back the
scotch, crushed out the cigarette in an ashtray, and then turned the wheelchair
and left the den.
*****
Sipping morning coffee, Connor sat
in his wheelchair and looked at the lake. As a boy, he couldn’t wait to get up
early with his father and watch the sunrise together.
Once the sun was
up, he wheeled back into the house to fix some breakfast, but paused and veered
into the den. He stopped in front of the computer and looked at the monitor.
In the
notifications box were the words You Got
Mail.
Connor clicked on
the box and opened the email. It was from Doctor Erskine.
Caught in a spiral of darkness, Erskine
wrote?
Connor lit a
cigarette and replied, Yes.
Within seconds
came Erskine’s reply. Accompanied by a
loud noise?
Yes, like heavy machinery, Connor
replied.
A few seconds
later, Erskine replied, Into a bottomless
pit? Feel like you will die if you don’t wake up?
“How the fuck?”
Connor said aloud.
As he stared at
the monitor, another message from Erskine appeared. Call me, it said.
“Yeah, right,”
Connor said aloud. “So you can sell me a bunch of books and tapes. No thanks.”
Connor put the
cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk and then turned off the computer.
“Have a good day,
doctor,” he said and wheeled out of the den.
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