

### For my Mom

You adopted Baby Boy Johnston and turned him into Cory Cason.

### There are probably a lot of people that are pissed off at you for doing that.

### I love you.

My eyes opened. I was soaking wet and the liquid was flowing into my eyes making them sting. I could feel my heart pounding and I was struggling to catch my breath. I tried to inhale deeply, but my lungs didn't seem to want to expand. I could feel the back teeth on both of my jaws grinding. My eyes refused to focus seeing only a faint blue light with no identifiable source.

I recognized the odor around me, but couldn't quite remember what it was until I heard a gentle roar coming from the distance. It was the sound of waves crashing. I was near the ocean and it was the scent of seawater. There was a taste in my mouth that was making me nauseous. Other than that, I had no idea where I was, or how I got there.

My nose started to itch, but when I went to scratch it, I realized that I couldn't move my arm. I wanted to sit up, but something going across my forehead was preventing it. When my eyes got accustomed to the light, I could see that there was a thick strip of canvas securing my right wrist to some type of steel rail. I turned my head as much as I could to see that my left hand was in the same predicament. I didn't need visual sight to know that my ankles were secured too.

Beyond the faint blue light, I could make out shadows dancing on the ceiling. I sensed that it was from the flickering of candles. There was a window in the room, and by the light coming through it I knew that it was sometime around either dusk or dawn. The bluish light was coming from a small lamp next to the bed that I was restrained in. There was a needle attached to a tube that had been burrowed into my forearm. I could feel that something had been inserted into me to let out the piss and the shit.

I knew that I wasn't alone in the room. There was somebody else, maybe a couple of people. I just lay there still, for some reason not wanting to let them know that I was aware of them. I closed my eyes again hoping that I was in the middle of some dream, but I knew that what was happening to me was all too real. It crossed my mind to ask who they were, but in the moment, I wasn't sure that I wanted to know.

As I struggled within the restraints, a figure came and stood over me. It had a bright violet aura. It was a woman. She had dark brown skin, and black hair pulled into a bun. She stared at me with dark brown eyes, then looked away. "Doctor," she said.

"Yes, Guadalupe?" A male voice said from across the room.

"He's awake".

I heard footsteps walking across the floor towards me. The woman moved away to make way for a man who must have been in his early fifties, just a little bit older than me. He had shoulder length brown hair with a neatly trimmed beard. Unlike the woman with violet aura, the man was surrounded in golden light.

He pulled a silver cylinder from his shirt pocket and started shining a light into my pupils. He put his fingers on my wrist and started taking my pulse. The way my chest was pounding I wondered if would even be able to get a rate.

"Mr. Quinn?" he said. I didn't respond to him. "Mr. Quinn, I'm Dr. Wright. How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty. I need a drink".

"Guadalupe," he said to the nurse. "Will you get Mr. Quinn something".

The woman grabbed a plastic bottle and inserted a straw between my lips. The liquid tasted horrible. I spit it out immediately. "This is fucking water," I screamed.

"What were you expecting?" the doctor said. "We may be able to find you some juice, but I'm not sure your stomach will be able to tolerate it at this point".

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I was fuming. "Get me a goddamn beer, or if you have orange juice put a splash of it in a large glass of vodka".

The doctor shook his head and had a look of bewilderment on his face. He walked over to a table in the room, and came back with a syringe. He held it up to the light, flicked it with his fingers a couple of time and inserted into the tube that was already attached to the needle in my arm. The sense of euphoria was almost instantaneous.

"Thanks Doc," I said. "I would have preferred tequila, but that stuff will probably work too".

# X X X

I don't know how long I had been out when I came to again. I was still in the same room, in the same position except that my head restraint had been removed. There seemed to be a storm going on outside. It could have been a hurricane for all I knew, the wind was so strong that the walls appeared to shake, and the rain was hitting the roof so hard that it seemed the machine gun fire was coming down from the sky.

This time I was alone in the room. It was night, and the light was scarce, it was just a nightlight and some candles over in the corner. As I looked around the place, I could tell that this was not a normal hospital room like I thought it was when the doctor and nurse had been in there. It certainly wasn't a jail cell which made me feel grateful. Somebody had bathed me while I was unconscious because I smelled like that hand sanitizer crap.

Whatever drugs they were pumping into me had me relaxed, but I wished that they were a little bit stronger because I was still able to formulate thoughts. That was an endeavor that I had long ago stopped enjoying. There was time when I was younger that I very much liked to think, and I liked hearing other people's thoughts on any given subject, but that was a long time ago. At my age, with everything that I had been through, thinking became just too much work, for such a minute reward. The thought of having to listen to other people's thoughts at that point made my eyes roll back in my head.

So, there I was restrained to a bed in the dark while Mother Nature roared ferociously around me. Again, I wished the drugs were stronger, or that I could have a shot of liquor, because I couldn't turn my brain off. I thought about where I was and how I got there, but couldn't come up with a reasonable answer for either question. I literally had no clue. The only thing that seemed logical to me was that I had been kidnapped and my organs were about to be harvested. I was certain that I had not come to this place of my own volition.

The more I tortured myself by thinking about my predicament, the more it seemed that my memory was in a blender going at full speed. I had visions going through my head, but they were brief and were coming in no coherent order, just violently swirling around in whatever state of consciousness I was in. None of them made any sense, and there was nothing connecting them together. There was a rapid-fire pinball game going on within the confines of my skull.

As I lay there, I started to pray to no one or anything in particular, I was just praying that somehow, or someway, a bartender would walk into the room, remove the restraints around my limbs and ask me what it was that I would be drinking that day. Goddamn, I could have really gone for a spicy Bloody Mary made with Absolute Peppar vodka and only green olives and a single pepperoncini to garnish the glass. I didn't feel like I was praying for too much. It seemed like a simple request, but I guessed that wherever I was probably didn't offer room service.

# X X X

Over the next couple of days, the doctor and nurses seemed to be cutting back on the dosage of whatever drugs they had me on. The sense of euphoria that had given me seemed to diminish with each occasion that they attached the syringe to the IV line. To say that this whole process irritated the fuck out me would be an understatement. A wave of paranoia swept over me. It wasn't my organs that these motherfuckers wanted to harvest from me, it was my mind. These bastards had an agenda to make me act like everybody else in the world.

As the effects of the drugs were slowly wearing off, there was nothing else for me to do but stare from the bed to the ceiling. The visions that raced through my brain were slowing down and coming to me in an order that was congruent in an abstract sort of way. I tried to dial into the last vision that I remembered before waking up in this place.

I kept seeing images of a woman. I didn't recognize her, but I knew that she wasn't a stranger either. She had wanted something from me. We were in a bar. We were in a motel room. Her dad had just died. Those were the only clues that I had about why I was being held prisoner.

I slept a lot while I was restrained to the bed, but one time I awoke with a few more of the visions in my brain started creating to make a little sense. The woman had contacted me through my website and asked me if I would autograph one of my books for her. I did not respond to her, because that is not something that I would do. I had never responded to anybody who had ever read any of my books. The woman was persistent. She emailed or messaged me on a near daily basis. Still, I refused to respond.

She started to send me pictures of herself. She was attractive enough. When I was a younger man I would have probably flown to wherever she was to sign the book, but after a brief dalliance with that groupie bullshit after I had a little success, I decided that that wasn't something I liked, too many fucking headaches went along with the scene. The older that I got, the more that I just wanted to be alone. There were times that I wished that I could have gathered up every book of mine that had ever been sold and burned them so that I could live a life of simple anonymity. I would have even refunded all the money that I had made off my readers. It just didn't seem worth it.

The woman would not take "no" for an answer. She kept pleading with me and sending me pictures. With each nonresponse I gave her, she would send a more provocative photo until she was sending me images that some might consider to be pornographic, but I thought that they were in good taste. I must admit that she had piqued my curiosity. I might have been a reclusive old man, but there were still some things that were just too good to turn down.

I finally broke down and responded to her by asking what book of mine that she wanted me to me to autograph. "Mourning a Child", she responded. That book was one of my earliest and most obscure. It was the story of a single mother who realizes that her son was a nihilist from the day he was born. The child never cared about anything except the certain death that we all face.

"Mourning a Child" was a book that I had self-published. I had paid a printer to make 100 copies and I went about selling them myself with very little success. The writing was very amateurish, and the cover art looked like it could have been done by a third grader. I was proud of the book, but the subject was a little too dark. All in all, I think I sold about 30 copies, with the remaining ones sitting in a storage unit somewhere.

At the height of my success several years later, my publisher tried to persuade me to re-edit and re-issue the book. I politely declined. I told them that they could have the rights to anything else that I had ever written, but "Mourning a Child" was going to stay locked away.

I wrote back to the woman and inquired about where she had found the book. "After my dad died a few months ago," she wrote, "I found it in a cedar chest that was always at the foot of his bed. I thought it was odd, because he had always been so proud of his library. There were only two books in the house that weren't on a shelf. The one that was on his night stand the night that he had a heart attack, and "Mourning a Child", I have no idea where he got it".

Normally, I still would not have agreed to autograph the book, or even meet with the woman, but the nude photographs she had sent to me made me soften my stance. I pointed out that she lived almost 1,500 miles away, so if she wanted my signature she was going to have to travel to me. She said that wouldn't be a problem. I let her know that I wasn't going to tell her where I lived, but there was a bar that I went to every afternoon, so she would have to track me down there.

# X X X

The bar that I went to was called Gypsy Joe's. The owner liked to call the place a sport's bar, and at one time it was. There were TVs all over the place, and the food was decent. Some guys used to bring in their families in to cheer on the Denver Broncos or the Rockies, or Nuggets depending on what season it was. The place was always clean, the service was great and, for the most part, the people were friendly.

I had been a regular at "The Gypsy" for over a decade. I would faithfully write for eight hours a day, then head over to the bar for happy hour. I met the love of my life there. Almost every Saturday morning, we go over there for Bloody Mary's and breakfast and hang out the for the rest of the day drinking. About the time my love found out she had cancer, a new guy bought the bar and let it fall into disarray.

After my love died, I started skipping the writing part of my day and just heading straight to the bar when they opened at noon. Fuck waiting for happy hour. It was the same group of a dozen or so guys that all walked in right around that time. I would have the shakes when I walked through that door each afternoon, but I prided myself on the fact that it only took a couple of beers to stop the trembling. The other guys that were sitting around would require three or four shots of whiskey to get the same effect.

By the last time that I was there, the only reason you would call Gypsy Joe's a sports bar was because a couple of the regular guys were bookies and they were always doing business. The rest of the guys that were in there at that early hour were alcoholics. The owner himself was a drunk, and the only thing that kept the place going was a trust fund that his grandmother had left him.

I spent most of my time there sitting alone at the corner of the bar. There were a few guys that would come and sit next to me that didn't annoy me too bad to talk to them. I would try to be cool with them, and they would afford me the same respect, but almost everybody else in there was a piece of shit. I wouldn't have wasted my piss on them if they were on fire. They had nothing to say, so it was easy to not listen to them.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and I was sitting at the bar drinking a big mug of Bud Light just watching ESPN. I had barely given any thought to the email exchange that I had had with that woman when I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard the question, "Are you Caleb Quinn?"

I turned around to see who it was that had interrupted my drinking. I was buzzed. The girl looked familiar but I couldn't place her. "Yeah, why?" She put a book down on the bar. I looked at the cover, "Mourning a Child" by Caleb Quinn. I looked at the woman's face, and it came to me, "oh yeah, you're the one who wanted the autograph". My head panged with panic and regret as I realized that I had let the outside world intermingle with my own personal reality.

For five years, I had been dreading any kind of interaction like this. I cursed at myself for ever having written a single word. Somewhere along the line I had learned to feel utter disdain for my audience. They were all just a bunch of mother fucking fools. I was a fraud. I didn't have anything to offer to their lives, and I never would. I should never have written a single word. I should have just told myself, "keep those thoughts to yourself Caleb. Just keep them to yourself".

# X X X

The storm had lifted when the doctor walked in with two guys I assumed were orderlies. "Good morning, Mr. Quinn".

"Good morning, doctor".

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel like getting the fuck out of here".

"That's understandable, but I doubt that you're ready for that".

"Oh yeah?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Yes, Mr. Quinn. The average human doesn't go from being clinically dead, to coming out of a medically induced coma, to just walking out the door of treatment. That just isn't how it works".

"I'll take your word for it doctor".

"In case you don't remember, my name is Dr. Wright. These two gentlemen are Raul and Enrique". We nodded to one another. "Would you two please remove Mr. Quinn's restraints".

"It's about fucking time," I said.

"Mr. Quinn, we are going to be moving you out of the intake area, and onto the main ward".

"What do you mean 'main ward'? I'm getting out of here. I'm going to the nearest bar".

"My guess is that the nearest bar is more than 75 miles away. It's quite a swim".

"Where the hell am I?"

"You are on a beautiful island in the Sea of Cortez, Mexico. The locals call it St. Jude's Island. They say that it is a place where the helpless get help. There were some of your friends and colleagues that thought you might enjoy spending some time here".

"Who are the friends and colleagues?"

"We'll get into that once therapy begins".

"Therapy? I don't need any fucking therapy. I just want to be left alone".

Dr. Wright ignored me. "Enrique, would you take Mr. Quinn to his room and help him get settled in. See that he is comfortable. Mr. Quinn, why don't you spend the day looking around. Go down to the sea. Relax".

"Where can I get a beer?"

"There is no alcohol on this island. Do you remember what led to you being here?"

"No, doctor".

"We'll start getting into that tomorrow".

I may not be the smartest guy that ever lived, but it was becoming obvious that I was in some type of rehab center. It wasn't the first time. I had been in and out of these types of places for twenty years. Sometimes I went by my own choice, other times I checked in because I was trying to save a relationship with someone, and a couple of times I was forced into a place because I was ordered to by the court. This was the first time that I ended up in one with absolutely no memory of how I got there.

As far as rehab places go, this place was one of the nicest that I had ever been in. I've seen five star hotels that weren't this lavish. The island was beautiful, but it was still an island. There was going to be no walking away from this place, like I had done at so many other places. If I was going to sneak out for a drink, I was going to have to dogpaddle for it.

# X X X

As Enrique escorted me to my room, we passed a guy that stopped dead in his tracks when he looked at me. He had a huge scar on his neck and it looked like parts of his jaw and ear were missing. He stared at me as we passed and turned his body to keep watching me and I was led down the hall to what seemed was going to be home for a while.

Once inside the room, I asked Enrique, "What the fuck happened to that guy?"

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough".

"Just fucking tell me".

Enrique cocked his head and gave me an evil eye. At that moment, I realized who I was messing with, and it was a guy who wasn't going to take shit from anybody. He was a big, mean Mexican who could probably kill me with one punch. He spoke in a low soft tone, "I told you, you'll find out soon enough".

I tried to be polite, "what's with all of the secrecy? The guy has a scar from something that looked like it should have ripped his head off. I think that I have the right to know who it is that they are locking me up with".

My escort pretended he didn't hear me, and started pointing out the amenities of the room. The room that they put me in was nice. You would never has guessed that it was a room in a rehab center. There was a big king sized bed in the middle of the room with expensive sheets and a down comforter on it. I sat down in a leather recliner and surveyed the place. Enrique was still talking but I wasn't paying too much attention. There were several vases with fresh flowers decorating the room. In front of the window that overlooked the sea was a place to kneel. There were candles on the window sill.

"Mr. Quinn". Enrique interrupted my curiosity. "I want to show you this," he pointed up to a TV on the wall. "It's a 70" High Def. It's never been used. Do you watch American football?"

"Yeah".

"Who's your team?"

"I'm from Denver, so I guess I'm a Broncos fan".

He laughed. "This could be trouble. I grew up in L.A., die hard Raiders fan".

I smiled. For as big and mean as Enrique looked, he struck me as being a very nice, fun loving guy. I still wouldn't fuck with him, but I thought I could get to like him.

"Is there anything else you need before I leave?" he asked.

I decided to give it one more shot. "Just tell me what happened to that guy".

"Look, Mr. Quinn...."

"Call me Caleb".

"Caleb. I'm not usually in therapy sessions so I don't the full story, but from what I understand, he tried to cut his head off with a circular saw".

I couldn't help but laugh. "Jesus fucking Christ. I guess that's one way to do it. It sure seems like it would have been easier, and obviously more successful if he would have just put both barrels of a shotgun in his mouth".

"I wouldn't know".

"You mean it's never crossed your mind?"

"What?"

"Suicide".

Enrique seemed offended. "Hell, no. Of course, not".

"You never wonder what the whole point of living is?"

"No, Caleb. I don't wonder about it at all. I don't have to. I have the Bible, my God, my Savior, and his blessed mother to explain it to me".

"Simple as that? No questions?"

"None. Everything has been explained to me".

For just a split second, I was envious of Enrique.

# X X X

Somebody had packed a bag of clothes for me and it was sitting in front of the closet. After I got settled in, I took the doctor's advice and went outside. As I walked along the shore, I tried to remember how it was that I got to the island.

I knew that it started with the girl who came into Gypsy Joe's wanting me to autograph a book. She called herself Lizzy. She was on the verge of being too thin, with long, straight bleached blonde hair. One of her arms was tattooed from the wrist to beyond the shoulder. I couldn't tell what it was supposed to be, some of it was covered by the tank top she was wearing without a bra. Her eyeliner was thick, giving her an ominous look. I guessed that she was probably in her mid-twenties.

She sat down next to me and put a copy of my book "Mourning a Child" on the bar. "Thank you for inviting me".

"I didn't invite you. I told you where I could be found. Sometimes I have lapses in judgement, especially when I've been drinking".

She smiled. "It doesn't matter".

The bartender came over and asked what she was drinking. "Do you want to do a shot?"

"Okay," I said.

Lizzy told the bartender, "give us two shots of Fireball, and I'll have a double Jack and Coke."

I picked up the book and flipped through it. I laughed as I read a few pages to myself. It wasn't going to go down as a literary great, but the writing wasn't as bad as I had remembered it to be.

"I didn't know there were any copies of this still around," I said. "There were only a dozen or so that made it out into the world".

"I thought it was brilliant".

"I wouldn't go that far."

"When I first found it after my dad died, I wanted to read it because I was missing my daughter. She lives in another state with her dad. I haven't seen her in almost two years. Since her fifth birthday".

I picked my shot up off the bar and held it up to her, "cheers". She picked up her shot and we slammed our drinks down in unison.

"Were you disappointed to realize that that wasn't what the book was about?" I asked.

"No. Just the opposite. As I read it, I realized that the reason my dad kept it in his cedar chest instead of the library was because it hit a little too close to home for him. I think the nihilistic little kid in the book reminded him of me".

"Could be. How did he die again?"

"The death certificate says heart attack, but I think his heart had been broken for a long time, and he just got tired of trying".

"That sucks, Lizzy, but the last thing that I want to be is your therapist".

"Let's do another shot," she said.

"I'm always up for that".

"What do you want?"

"Let's do Tequila this time".

The bartender brought us two shots of Don Julio. Lizzy and I clinked the glasses together and knocked them back.

"Do you live around here?" she asked.

"I don't tell people where I live. I don't want them coming over. Coming to this bar is about all the human interaction I can stand".

"I get that. I had to Google a place to stay around here. I'm at The Trail's End motel over on Santa Fe".

"That place is about a shithole. Hookers and heroin addicts".

"That doesn't bother me," Lizzy said. "I've been in worst places".

"Where are you from?"

"I drove here from New Orleans, but I've lived pretty much everywhere".

"And you drove all this way because you wanted me to sign a book?"

"That's part of the reason. Another part is that after reading the book, I knew I had to meet you. I thought that you would have something important to say to me".

"I don't have anything important to say. I'm just a writer. Or used to be. To be honest with you, I never cared much for the people who read my stuff".

"I think you have an extraordinary mind".

I laughed. I already don't like you. You can't be that smart".

Lizzy didn't know whether to be offended or not. She flagged down the bartender for another Jack and Coke. She said she was getting pretty buzzed and wasn't sure if she could find her way back to the motel. I tried to tell her directions, but I could tell by her glassy, blood shot eyes she wasn't understanding a thing I was saying.

"Will you ride with back to me to the place?" she asked. "I'll pay for you to get a taxi home".

"There are only three places that I go. Here, home, and the liquor store".

She got whiny. "Please. Come on it's Thanksgiving".

"No".

"If I drive, I'll get lost".

"You already seem lost".

"So do you".

Her words struck a chord with me. I had the impulse to hit her. That's a common occurrence for me when I am around strangers, and sometimes with people that I like. I can be having a great conversation with somebody that I consider to be a friend and for some reason I just want to sucker punch them right in the jaw. I've never acted on any of these impulses, but I've always wanted to do it just to see what would happen. Don't get me wrong, I've punched plenty of men, and a couple of women but they've always had it coming. I've never done it just out of the blue.

# X X X

On the island they gave me medication before bed to help me sleep. All the patients were supposed to wake up at the sound of some chimes that echoed throughout the halls. That was warning that breakfast would be served in a half hour which would give them time to shower and get dressed or whatever.

The first morning in my new room, I slept through the chimes and was awakened by a knock at the door. I tried to ignore it, but the knocking came again. The door opened, and the nurse, Guadalupe, peeked her head in.

"Mr. Quinn?" she said with a sweet Spanish accent.

"Go away".

She walked into the room and patted me on the back. I looked up her and she had the same violet aura that she had the first moment I had woken up in the place. The purple light seemed to put me in some kind of trance; her beauty was so angelic that I couldn't speak. "Mr. Quinn, it's time for breakfast". She helped me into a bathrobe, and guided me to the cafeteria.

When I was done eating, Guadalupe came and got me and said that it was time for therapy. I wanted to tell her that I was angry and I didn't want to go to therapy, but somehow, I couldn't do it. Whenever I looked at her I seemed to get lost within myself. It was such an odd feeling.

I followed the nurse down the corridor to the far end of the center. She opened a door and motioned me to go through it. Inside was a huge table made of oak. It looked like something you would expect of see in the conference room of a Wall Street bank. At the head of the table was Dr. Wright. Surrounding the table were several other people, including the guy with the nasty scar on the side of his neck.

My blood was instantly boiling. This is the type of situation that I despised. I didn't care about these people, and I didn't want them to care about me.

"Mr. Quinn, did you hear the chimes this morning?"

"No, I must have slept through them".

"Those are the signal that a new day of hope is about to begin".

"The days of hope for me are long gone doctor".

"That's nonsense. I'm sure every person in this room has felt that way at one time or another".

I laughed, "so what does that have to do with me?"

He smiled back at me. "All residents are respectfully requested to participate in the therapy and the activities of the center for their own benefit". His voice was so condescending that it infuriated the fuck out of me.

"Hey asshole, do I look like Pavlov's fucking dog to you? I'm supposed to hear a chime and come running like a puppy to a doorbell? Fuck you".

"Mr. Quinn, please have a seat," the doctor said.

"I said 'Fuck you". I turned to leave and Enrique was standing behind me.

"Caleb, just go sit down," he said. I felt my fist clench up. He looked down at it and shook his head. I knew that there was no way that I was going to get past him. I went to the only empty chair that there was.

"Group," the doctor said, "please welcome Mr. Quinn to our collective journey out of despair".

There was a chorus of "hellos" and "his" directed at me. I nodded my head.

Dr. Wright got up from his chair and walked around the table until he was standing behind me. "Mr. Quinn, why don't you introduce yourself to the group?"

"You just did".

"Well then, tell them something about yourself".

"I liked to be called Caleb. Not 'Mr. Quinn'. I am a very private person. I like to be left alone".

The doctor walked back to his chair and sat down. He stared at me for a few moments before he said anything. "Caleb is a writer. Unfortunately, he has taken a sabbatical from his God given craft so that he could concentrate on his drinking".

I started to stand up but Enrique put his hand on my shoulder. It was his way of telling me that if I didn't stay seated he would crush me. I was really beginning to hate Dr. Wright. "You're a prick," I said to him.

"Caleb. At some point, you are going to have to realize that you are here because you have fallen into a state of hopelessness that you desperately want to escape so that you can start writing again and grace the world with more of your books".

"Well, Dr. Wright, as much as I admire your sarcasm, there are no more books left in me. I am no longer a writer. Just look at me. Look around you. My existence has apparently become that of a kidnapping victim or prisoner".

"Is that really what you think?"

"I think my attorney would agree with me".

"I don't think he would Caleb. He's the one that made arrangements for you to get here. He asked that the bill be sent to his office. He also had the help of your agent and your daughter".

"I fired my agent a long time ago, and I can't even remember the last time that I talked to my daughter. What do either of them have to do with any of this bullshit?"

"They care about you. They want you to get better".

I wanted to lunge at the doctor. "Get better?" I screamed. Is that really what you just said, 'get better'? What I do is nobody's goddamn business".

"Why don't you take Mr. Quinn for a walk," the doctor said to Enrique. "We can't let him interfere with the help that everybody else in the group wants".

"Let's go down to the beach," Enrique said.

As we were walking out the door, Dr. Wright called out, "Caleb, it's going to come to you that you asked to be here. Everybody in this room did".

# X X X

There was a long stone staircase that went from the building down to the beach. Even as pissed off as I was at the moment for being anywhere near that island, I had to admit that it truly was a beautiful place. I probably would have loved to been there if I was sleeping in a tent on the water's edge with no other humans around. I could have seen myself living there, fishing for my food, as long as a shipment of beer on ice was delivered every week.

Enrique stayed about ten feet behind me as I walked through the sand. It took a few hundred yards before my anger started to subside. I stopped walking until I could let my companion catch up to me.

"Tell me about this place," I said to him.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why am I here?"

"I don't know the details. I just know that you have come down to your final option".

"I don't know what you mean".

Enrique had a gentle but forceful way of speaking. "You are at your last stop. This is St. Jude's island. The place for those who have lost all hope".

"What makes anybody think I've lost all hope?"

"I don't know. I just work here. But, I can tell you, that this place isn't open to the public. Not just anybody can come here. Special arrangements have to be made with Dr. Wright. He only accepts certain people. He holds sessions just a few times a year. You can't just walk away from this place".

"What do I have to do get out of here?"

"That's a question only you can answer".

"Please don't talk in circles. I hate that".

"You have to conquer your demons".

"That's a nice thought Enrique, but the demons have already won. A long time ago".

"Don't say that Caleb. How do you know there hasn't been a divine intervention?"

I looked at him without saying anything. I could tell by the expression on his face that he truly did still have faith in this world, something I had given up on a long time ago. For such a large violent looking guy, he made you feel as though you were in the presence of a little boy. "I wish I had your optimism Enrique, but the angels all seem dead to me. The demons have taken over".

"That's why you're here. Dr. Wright will show you the angels".

I was about to call him out on his sarcasm, but it hit me that he was being sincere. "You strike me as a good man Enrique. I don't believe a word that you say, but I have no doubt that you believe them".

"You have to have faith".

"I don't even know what that word means anymore".

# X X X

For the next week, I went to all of the scheduled therapy sessions and activities, but I participated in them only in a passive-aggressive sense. I was the last one to get to meals. I was always the last one to get to therapy, and if I got the right seat, I was the first one to leave. I didn't even try to disguise the fact that I was just going through the motions.

Dr. Wright decided to call me out on my lack of participation. "Caleb, will you explain to the group what it feels like to be a writer".

"I'm not a writer. Dr. Wright is mistaken. I used to be a guy who sat down at a laptop and typed out his thoughts. Somehow those thoughts made it out into the real world".

"Don't be so modest," the doctor tried to correct me. "You've had more than your share of success".

"Success is a relative term".

"What have you written?" asked Shannon, a chubby lady, with a strange curly hairdo who was sitting directly across from me. Her husband was on the island as well. His name was Patrick, he was sitting on the same side of the table as I, but at the other end so I couldn't really see his face.

"A few books," I answered her.

"Would I know any of them?"

"I don't know, you could probably look them up online and see if you recognize any of the titles".

"Have any of them been made into movies?"

I was getting annoyed with Shannon, and Patrick must have sensed it, because from the end of the table, he told her, "Shannon, leave him alone. Can't you tell he doesn't want to talk about it".

A dramatic scowl engulfed her face as she turned sharply toward her husband. She started to shake, then tears started streaming down her cheek. "You stay out of it. I was just making conversation".

"No, you weren't," he said. "You were nagging him. That's all you do is nag. Nag and whine. That's all you do".

I looked at Dr. Wright to see if he was going to intervene, but there was no sign of it.

Shannon looked directly at me. "Patrick tried to kill me".

"Oh, for the love of God, do we have to through this again," Patrick said.

"You know you did". Shannon was sobbing heavily by that point.

"It's a damn lie everybody," Patrick said looking at everybody around the table. "Don't believe her bullshit".

"Patrick. Shannon". Dr. Wright finally said. "Let's save this type of conversation for our private sessions".

"But Caleb is new here," Shannon said in a nasally voice. "Everybody else here knows what happened except him. I want him to hear it from me. I don't want my marriage to be the subject of patio gossip".

"If it helps you to talk about it," Dr. Wright said, "that's what we are here for".

Patrick, who was sitting closest to the door got up and walked out. "I'm going for a walk. I'm not going to listen to this again.

Shannon once again looked directly at me and waited until she had my full attention. "Patrick cheated on me. He is the only man that I have ever been with. We've known each other since we were kids. He's my best friend, and he fucked a dirty whore. A dirty whore who used to be my best friend". She briefly stopped talking to dry the tears with a tissue the nurse had given her. Guadalupe looked at me and I saw her violet aura. I smiled at her.

"So, one day," Shannon started again after catching her breath, "I waited in the kitchen 'til I heard the garage door open when he got home from work. When he pulled into the garage, I jumped into the passenger seat and pointed the .38 snub nose I keep in my purse and put it up to his temple. I told him that if he turned the key off I would blow his fucking brains out. I grabbed the garage door opener and shut the door. I told him that the dirty whore couldn't have him. I told him that we were going to die together, but if he tried to turn the car off I was going to shoot him in the head and he was going to die alone. So, we sat there in the garage waiting for the fumes to kill us, but then a miracle happened. The garage door opened, and we were saved. God favored us that day. He gave us a miracle".

I didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Shannon. Thank you for sharing. I'm glad I heard it from you".

# X X X

Later that afternoon, I had my first individual counseling session Dr. Wright. He was sitting behind his desk when I walked into his office. The first thing I noticed was the name plate on his desk, "Dr. Nero Wright".

"Have a seat Caleb," he said.

"I hadn't realized that your first name is Nero".

"It is".

"Who did they name you after?"

"I'm not sure. My mother never got around to telling me that story".

"One way or the other, it has to come down to the Roman emperor".

"Could be".

"That story always fascinated me doctor. How he played the violin while the city that he led burned to the ground. Very poetic".

"What is it that fascinates you about that event?"

I laughed. "And the therapy begins. Very clever. What I like about the story is that Nero is essentially screaming, 'I don't give a fuck anymore!"

"I never looked at it that way before, but I suppose you're right".

"Let's just cut to the chase doc, when am I getting out of here?"

"Have you realized why you're here?"

"No. It's kind of coming back to me. Are you going to give me the gory details?"

"I don't think that is beneficial at this point. I think it will be a greater service to you, if I let you think about it some more and see if you can figure it out".

"So, if I remember what happened on Thanksgiving, you'll let me out of here?"

"That's a simplistic way of looking at it. I could say either yes or no, and both be correct".

"That's a fucking stupid answer and you know it".

"Why did you quit writing?" The doctor took the conversation a direction that I wasn't prepared for.

"I just did".

"For no reason? You just woke up one morning and that's it, I'm never going to write again".

"No, I woke up one morning and asked myself, what's the point".

"Do you remember that morning?"

"It wasn't an actual morning. It was a culmination of many mornings that I combined into one gigantic memory".

"I found a few articles about you online just after you got here. One of the writers pointed out that you have had nothing published since you girlfriend passed away. I'm sorry for your loss".

"Thanks".

"She had cancer?"

"Yeah".

"You must have said many a prayer around that time".

The doctor's words made me cringe. "What do you mean by that?"

"I meant that you must have said a lot of prayers for her healing".

"You're wrong doctor. I never said a prayer for her, and as far as I know, she never said a prayer for herself. Even as she lay on her deathbed, she refused to let the hospital chaplain into the room".

"That surprises me".

"I guess we were realists. Once we got the diagnosis........we knew..........the type of cancer.......how fast it was spreading. We knew doc. There was nothing to pray for, unless you can make it as fast and painless as possible".

"You never prayed for a miracle?"

"Never. Not once. It used to bother me when people would say, 'I'm praying for you' or 'I'm praying for her'. I always wanted to ask them, 'what are you praying for?' and 'how do you know that you are praying for the right thing?' It got on my nerves".

"You don't think it's normal for people want to pray for somebody they care about".

"I guess it's normal for some people. I think that there is an arrogance in one person saying to another, 'I'm praying for you'. What makes you think I want your prayers?"

"That's interesting". It was like Dr. Wright lost all interest in the conversation once I said that. For the last 15 minutes of the session we had a generic conversation about the routine of the island and how it was operated. I could tell something I said to the doctor really bothered him.

# X X X

As I sat in my room that night, I thought about my afternoon in Dr. Wright's office. I truly had no memory of why I was in this place. Maybe I had trained myself not to have memories. That last few years of my life were like a mist of grey. I had spent most of that time in a seclusion of my own design. I had grown to not like people. They just seemed so stupid to me. I had lost faith in humanity. Virtually every person I encountered struck me as a pawn in some idiotic game of life. The surreal had become reality. They were characters in a video game. They were pre-programmed to tell you what you wanted to hear and only showed you what you were supposed to see.

I had wrapped myself in my own cocoon. Most days were spent waking up in a room that I rented down by the lake. There were other people that lived in the house but we almost never saw each other. You might hear people walking in and out of the door, and that was the only noise you ever heard. We mailed our rent off to a post office box.

The only exception to my solitary life was when I went to the bar. Gypsy Joe's was the only place that I felt comfortable outside my room. There was one guy that used to sit around the bar and say that all the other regulars in the bar were his family. I never it saw it that way. I always looked at the guys sit around drinking and would think to myself that we were all orphans in some way and the bar was our orphanage. The few guys that I did talk to didn't give a fuck who I was. They didn't care if I was a writer, and they didn't ask about it. They only cared what I thought about any given football or baseball game.

Sitting on one of those stools became my only source of social interaction. For a few hours, each afternoon I would go to the Gypsy and have six or eight beers and then go home. Before I would go there, I would sit down at the laptop and write whatever popped into my mind. When I got home, I would drink more beer and type out more words. Before I went to bed, I would print the pages off and burn them one way or the other. I would also delete the files from my computer. I would wake up the next morning, not remembered what I wrote the day before, and start the process all over again. I may have written the same thing over and over a thousand times, but I don't know. I liked to be drunk when I would write.

It's probably a good thing that I deleted most of what I wrote. I'm sure that most of it was written in the spirit of anger and disdain. I was so sick of people and what they considered to be important to them. The lives that some people chose to live was sickening to me. They were so busy worrying about what their friends on Facebook thought about them, that they forgot to live their lives.

One of the things that I've always loved about drinking and getting drunk, is that it is a such a forgiving process. The people that you get drunk with really don't give a fuck what you do, because they are doing the same thing. The people that don't drink feel sorry for you because they think you have a problem. They think that they are better than you because they post memes on social media creating the illusion that everything is perfect in their lives. I guess that we all live with varying degrees of delusion.

Without saying in it in so many words, Dr. Wright made it clear that I would have to remember what happened on Thanksgiving before I was going to leave the island. I couldn't seem to get too far past the part where Lizzy walked into Gypsy Joe's. I repeatedly beat myself up for even responding to her emails. She had red flags flashing off of her. The fact that she even had a copy of "Mourning a Child" should have been a warning. I wanted to regret ever writing that book, but I didn't. It was personal story that I was compelled to do. If only I had known then what I know now. All of those pages would have been burned and the files would have been deleted.

Looking out the window of the center to the dark sea, it occurred to me what a shallow mother fucker I am. I saw naked pictures of Lizzy and I go against every instinct that I have. I could make the excuse that I was lonely, that it had been such a long time since I felt any kind of love, that I wanted a brief respite from the isolation I had built for myself, that I wanted to feel connected to something. That would just be bullshit though. I was just stupid.

I try not to get caught up in the fantasies that creep into my mind, but sometimes I can't help it. Maybe I thought that Lizzy was going to rescue from a meaningless existence. It doesn't happen often, but there are fleeting seconds when I want to be appreciated for being an author. I was probably flattered that a beautiful girl wanted to meet a middle-aged drunk with a belly and a slight double chin to have me sign one of my books. You can't keep your guard up every second of every day.

# X X X

I think it was my second Wednesday on the island, which would have been during the first week of December that I woke up suddenly just before dawn. I don't know if I had a dream, or something else woke me up, but I was wide awake, no grogginess. I got right out of bed and got dressed. I looked out the window and saw by the lighting of the sky that the sun was about to come up. It was strange, for some reason I felt excited.

I had never been awake that early so I wasn't even sure if the door would be unlocked, but it was. As I walked past the cafeteria, I noticed that coffee had already been made. Somebody else must have been around, but I didn't see them. The door to the patio was unlocked too. I sat down at a table, took a sip of coffee and lit up a cigarette. I just felt different.

The sun had fully cleared the horizon when I heard the door open and close behind me. It was Patrick, he sat down at the table. "I saw you out here smoking and drinking coffee, and it looked so peaceful, I wondered if I might join you?"

"Sure. You just missed a hell of a sunrise".

"Your name is Caleb, right?"

"Yes, it is".

"I'm Patrick". He held out his hand.

"I remember," I said as we shook. He reminded of a fun loving, blue collar guy who just wanted to have a simple boring life. He usually had this dumb smile on his face that was kind of infectious. He was probably in his early to mid-forties and he would have been a handsome guy if he was a hundred pounds lighter.

"I wanted to apologize for Shannon the other day".

"There's no need to," I said.

He sat back and lit up his own cigarette and looked straight at the rising sun. "She just isn't the same person that she used to be. I think the booze just fried her brain, and that's why she acts the way that she does".

"Hey man, this is a rehab place. What your wife said didn't bother me at all. I expected that kind of shit here".

"I suppose that after I left the room she told you all about her pointing the gun at me and how she wanted to gas both of us in the garage, and all that stuff".

"Yeah, that's the story that she told".

"Did she tell you how it was a 'miracle' that saved us?"

"Uh huh".

"The miracle was that she passed out drunk and dropped the gun, so I turned off the car, opened the garage door to air the place out, and then I carried her to bed".

"You left out the part about you cheating".

He shook his head. "I'm not going to lie, it happened. She invited her best friend over for drinks. By the time her friend got there, Shannon could barely stand up, and passed out a little later. Her friend and I started talking, one thing led to another".

"That doesn't seem like that big of a deal to me. I've done way worse".

"That day that she pointed the gun at me, I prayed. I prayed harder than I have ever prayed before. Do you know what I prayed for?"

"I'm guessing that you wanted to have Shannon put the fucking gun down".

"Nope. I prayed that she would pull the trigger so I could be done with that bitch once and for all. Til death do us part. When I made that vow to her twenty something years ago, I took it seriously. I meant forever. But I'll tell you what Caleb, I don't know how much more of forever I can take".

"I've been there Pat, believe me, I have been there".

Patrick stood up from his chair, "it sounds like they're starting to serve breakfast."

"I'll be in after I finish this cigarette".

# X X X

That same morning in the group therapy session, I started looking at the faces of the people that were sitting around the table with me. It was like I was seeing these people for the very first time. I started to notice the details, and some of their mannerisms. I had heard their names hundreds of times and heard each of their stories at least a dozen times, but I still felt like I was meeting them for the very first time that day.

As I looked around the room and studied each person's face, I tried to match up their names and their stories in my mind. Besides Pat and Shannon, there was an old guy named Fredrick. He was probably 75 and his family had a lot of money and they sent him to the island because they thought he was drinking too much. He could be a bit arrogant, but for the most part he was charming and funny.

There was a middle-aged lady named Peggy from Alabama. I think she was in some type of accident and got addicted to pain pills. Next to her was a kid, like not even twenty, whose name was either Aaron or Eric, big, buff, muscular kid, and I guessed that he was a junkie because his parents found a syringe in his bedroom. There was always something about his story that bothered me, but I couldn't figure out why.

Monique, was supposedly a super model. She looked the part, very exotic. She claimed that she was forced into the place by a modeling agency or they would cancel her contract for doing too much cocaine. It was all a bit dramatic for me.

There was a guy, Pablo, a Mexican guy about my age that was just working some kind of angle with this place, at least that's what I thought. He said was on the island because he "wanted to be a better man". Insincerity wreaked off of him like a grandfather's aftershave.

I felt sorry for John, but I shouldn't have. He was driving drunk and killed a guy, and hurt his daughter. He was always pale and unable to control his shaking hands. His attorney advised him to check into a clinic as it would look good when his case went to court. You could tell that guilt was eating him alive from the inside out.

There was this tall black guy in the group named Larry. He was always making everybody laugh. He had a brief career in pro basketball before going into politics. He was the mayor of a town in Illinois. He got caught doing some stuff that he shouldn't be doing. He claimed the whole was a set up by a rival, but I knew the guy wasn't a straight shooter. I figured his stay on the island was all politically motivated.

Debra told a story that when I first heard it, I thought to myself, "this bitch is lying out her ass". She claimed that during a divorce custody hearing a judge ordered her to take a drug test. She tested hot for weed. The judge said that if she didn't get inpatient rehabilitation, she would never see her kids again. At first, I thought it was bullshit, but after hearing the story a few times, I think I believed her.

And finally, the guy with the gruesome scar, his name was Seamus, but he preferred to be called Float. He was a hippie type guy, maybe 27 or so, and very polite and well mannered. He always seemed like a genuinely nice guy. I know that he liked to take hallucinogenic drugs, and lots of them. Beyond that, that's about all that I have been able to figure out about the guy.

# X X X

There was a little cove diagonally down from the patio where the patients could go swim if they wanted to. Nobody ever went down there. They all said the water was too cold. One Friday afternoon the air outside was hot. It was even worse inside the building. They couldn't get the air conditioner going, and opening the windows didn't help.

I walked down to the cove, stripped down to my underwear and waded into the water. It was just cold enough to be refreshing from the heat. A few people walked out onto the patio to watch me, but none of them came down.

Floating in the water, and thinking about everyone else's story, made me want to remember my own story. Little bits at a time, something would pop into my head. Somehow, we got back to Lizzy's motel room. I don't know how we did, but we did. I have a vivid memory of seeing a hypodermic needle on the window sill as soon as we walked in the door. I pointed it out to her, but she dismissed it as a lazy housekeeping crew. There were several bottles of liquor on the counter by the sink. The place wreaked but I wasn't sure what the smell was. You couldn't see the bedbugs, but if you listened close enough you could hear them. It was hard to tell what color the walls were painted because they were so caked with smoke.

"What do you want to drink?" she asked.

I looked over the bottles, "let's go with Jack Daniel's".

She unscrewed the cap on the bottle and threw it on the floor then went and laid on the bed. She held the bottle up, "come over here".

I went and laid down next to her, and took a long swig from the bottle. She did the same. We just passed the bottle back and forth for a few minutes in silence.

"What are you writing now?"

"Nothing," I said.

"How can a writer not write?"

"I still go through the motion of writing, but then I delete it when I'm done".

"I wanna read something".

"I just told you, there's nothing to read. I delete everything".

She took a shot, and then looked sideways into my eyes. "You're a liar".

"Fuck you!"

"You are".

"I just fucking met you. You think that because you read a book that you know everything there is to know about me?"

"I didn't say that. I just know that everybody wants to be loved".

"Honey, when you get to be my age you'll realize that love is just a phony emotion. At the end of the day, it's just a word".

"That's a sad way to look at things".

"Sadness is phony too. Most emotion is. It's just a buffer from reality".

She pushed me down onto the bed and straddled me. "Maybe you're right".

"And maybe I'm not. That's why I don't let people read what I write anymore. Think for yourself. Write your own goddamn books. I'm nobody".

"You have talent".

"Everybody has talent, they just don't realize it".

"I don't think I have a talent".

"Yes, you do".

"Well, if you call having a pussy talent, then okay. It's served me well throughout life."

# X X X

There isn't a whole lot to do on the island after dinner has been served. Dr. Wright says that schedule is by design. He thought that the evening should be a time for the residents to have introspection, to pray, to meditate, or to just relax. After a day of therapy, he thought that there should be time to digest all that one has learned.

It was such bullshit. Sometimes Dr. Wright had his own language that I called "therapyspeak".

Most evenings I chose to be introspective on the patio overlooking the sea, chain smoking cigarettes. I could see land across the water, and wondered if I could make the swim. I used to be a decent swimmer when I was younger and in better shape, but I don't think I could have made it even then. It made me wonder what happened to me. I used to have all the confidence in the world. Somehow it all just evaporated.

As I was trying to figure it all out, Peggy came out and sat down next to me as the sun was almost all the way down.

"What a beautiful sunset," she said. "It's almost as good as the ones that we have in Mobile".

"It was a very nice end to the day," I said.

"When I was a little girl, my grandfather had a house on the beach. We would eat our desert after dinner on the porch and watch the sun sink into the water. My grandfather would tell funny stories about how the water would put the sun's flames out and we should spend the night praying that it caught fire again in the morning or we would all freeze to death".

"I've never been to Alabama, but I hear it's nice".

"Oh, my Lord, it's like heaven on Earth".

"I'll take your word for it".

"Do you like it here Mr. Quinn?"

"Please call me Caleb".

"Do you like it here Caleb?"

"It's a beautiful place".

Peggy always looked anguished, just really stressed out. I don't know if I ever saw her smile. She seemed so out of place in the clinic, we all did, but her sense of being lost seemed to stand out to me the most. She looked like she should be baking cookies or leading a church choir. That she was old fashioned is the best description that I could give.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Almost two months. I think I'm getting better. I'm going to talk to Dr. Wright about when I get to go home. I miss my family. I'd like to be there for Christmas, but I'm not sure if they feel the same way anymore. Do you miss your family Caleb?"

"The love of my life died a few years back. I have other family, but we don't talk much".

"That's a shame".

"Not really. It's just the way it is".

"Even though I miss my family, I am so afraid to go back to them".

"Why?"

"I'm not sure I know how to be 'Peggy' again. It's been such a long time. Since even before the accident".

"I always wondered how that happened".

"I was just driving down the road, and either I crossed the line or the other car did, I'm not really sure. Either way we hit dead on".

"Wow, that's crazy. You're lucky to be alive".

"They didn't think I was going to make it. I spent two months in intensive care, and eight more in a hospital bed".

I cringed at the thought. "That sounds miserable".

"It wasn't fun, but the drugs made it bearable".

"It's kind of funny how that happens".

"Before the accident, I might have been taking too many Xanax for my anxiety, but when I got home from the hospital my husband had to build a shelf in the bathroom for all of the pill bottles. The doctors would give me anything I wanted. I tried to be functional, but my husband became too ashamed to take me out, because I was so high. I started just staying in my room all of the time".

"I have a bar that I go to every afternoon just to get me out the house or I would have been in the same boat".

"That room turned into a bad place. I was hallucinating all the time. I kept imagining that the sun wasn't going to catch fire again, and I was going to freeze to death, and then finally a vision of Jesus came into my room and told me that if I prayed harder, he would help me and that is how I ended up on this island".

"I hope you get home to see your family in Mobile soon enough".

"Me too".

# X X X

I was sitting in my room watching SportsCenter on a Monday afternoon to catch up with what happened in the NFL over the weekend, when Dr. Wright walked into my room followed by Enrique who was carrying a box and had a big smile on his face.

"The staff and I would like to give you an early Christmas present," the doctor said.

"Is it a boat ride to the nearest airport where a private jet with a fully stocked bar waiting to take me home?"

The doctor tried to be gracious and fake a laugh, "not yet".

Enrique sat the box at the foot of my bed. It was a laptop computer. "I thought you might be able to use one of these," Dr. Wright said.

"Why?"

"Don't you think that it's time for you to start writing again?"

"What is it that you would like me to write about?"

"I'm not a writer. I don't know".

"I'm not a writer either. Everybody else just seems to think I am".

"Mr. Quinn..."

"Quit motherfucking calling me Mr. Quinn. My name is Caleb. Take your fucking computer and get the fuck out of here".

Dr. Wright and Enrique looked at each other, but said nothing. They just walked out of the room. They left the box on the bed. I grabbed it with the intent of smashing the fuck out of the thing, but I ended up just putting it on a shelf in the closet.

# X X X

Later that night, I went down to the cafeteria to grab a few bottles of water and some snacks for the night. Enrique was in there using the blender to mix up a smoothie. He ignored me and I didn't blame him. Guilt got the better of me, so I walked over to him, "hey man, I just wanted to apologize for earlier today. That was very nice of you. Writing is kind of a sensitive subject for me, and I lashed out at you. I'm sorry". I extended my hand and he shook it.

"I was about to go for a walk on the beach," he said. "You want to come with me?"

"Nah, I'm good, but thank you".

"Are you sure? There's a full moon tonight. It's really beautiful".

"You're not trying to trick me into some kind of therapy, are you?"

He smiled, "Not at all. I just wanted to get out of here and go for a walk. It seems like it might be a good thing for you too".

It was a near perfect night as Enrique and I strolled along the beach. The moon seemed to be so close in the sky that you could touch it if only you had a step-ladder. The sand was a little chilly to the bare feet in the December night air. There was the slightest of breezes, and the waves were in no hurry to break. It was as if they were rolling in slow motion.

"Thank you for inviting me".

"I know you don't like being here," he said. "I thought this might help you take your mind off things".

"What makes you think I don't like being here? If I didn't have to talk to other people, and I had some beer, I'd be having the time of my life. It's almost like being at a resort".

"I didn't mean 'here' as on this island, I meant 'here' as in this life".

"Maybe. It seems so fucking pointless. Just waking up every day and doing the same thing repeatedly. Sun goes up, sun goes down, just waiting around to die".

"Do you pray Caleb?"

"Not consciously. I'm sure it happens on a subconscious level, but I don't think about it. I'm not sure if I would know how to do it. I would have too many questions. Who am I praying to? What am I praying for? Am I praying for the right thing? I guess it depends on how you define praying. Do you pray Enrique?"

"Everyday".

"Who do you pray too?"

"It depends".

"On what?"

"What I'm praying for".

"That doesn't even make sense".

"It does to me".

"Okay, let me ask you this, do your prayers get answered?"

Enrique thought about my question before he answered it. "Sometimes. Not always".

"So, your God is selective in the prayers that he answers?"

"If you want to look at it that way, I guess that's a fair statement".

"So why bother?"

"I don't always pray for the right things. At the time, they seem logical, but looking back, that's not always the case".

"Are you asking for the wrong things?"

"Praying isn't just about asking for things".

"You don't pray for money".

"Are you kidding me? That's almost an offensive question. Sometimes praying is just looking over your life and saying thank you".

"I guess. So, I'll ask the same question, but phrase it differently, 'who are you praying to?"

"Hey Caleb, I didn't invite you on this walk to get into a theological debate. I just wanted to walk on the beach in the presence of God".

"If we're in the presence of God, I think introductions are in order".

"Just look around you man".

"That's such a cheap answer".

"You admitted that you prayed, but qualified it by saying that it only happened on a subconscious level. That must have been how you got to this island".

"That's fucking stupid".

"Have you remembered what happened to you before you came here?"

"Images keep popping into my head. It's coming to me a little at a time".

"Something happened that had your subconscious screaming out in prayer. I believe that".

"I don't know what to say to you Enrique. I think you're full of shit, but I like the way you say it".

"Like I told you, this island is named for St. Jude. He is the saint of the helper of the hopeless. They don't let just anybody come here".

# X X X

It had been eventful in the morning therapy session. Shannon had another one of her meltdowns, Float, the guy with the scar rambled on for half an hour about parallel universes, multiple dimensions, astral projection, and a lot of other things that I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. Monique, the model, fell asleep at the table. After that nightmare, I walked out onto the patio to smoke. I could see a boat in the distance that looked to be headed in the direction of the island. It wasn't a big boat, but it wasn't one of the local fishermen either. Down by where I had swam was a little dock that the two-man crew tied the boat to. They pulled a huge wooden plank off the vessel and turned it into a makeshift ramp. The first thing they carried off was an evergreen tree that looked to be seven or eight feet tall.

"It looks like the Christmas tree is finally here".

I looked over to see who had said that. It was Fredrick, the rich old guy. I think that his family made a fortune in oil and chemicals over the last century. To hear him tell it, he had never been involved in the family business except to cash checks and travel the world in search of a good party.

"My name is Fred," he held out his hand. "I know you know that from sitting around the table, but I like to have a formal introduction with a good handshake".

"Caleb".

"Yes, I know. The writer".

"That's what everybody tells me".

"One of my uncles used to go out drinking with Hemingway".

"I'll bet he had some good stories".

"I think so. I don't remember. It seems that one of us, or probably both of us, were so drunk I barely remember anything that we ever talked about. I do remember that he loved drinking with Papa though".

"I'll bet".

The old man stood up as he watched the young guys carry the tree up the steps and into the building. "It looks like they got a nice tree for us this year. Not like that Charlie Brown piece of shit that they got for us last year".

"You've been here for a year?" I couldn't help but laugh. It sounded so absurd.

"Oh, Jesus, fuck no," he laughed along with me. "My family pays for me to come to these places. They pay me to come to these centers. They say that it is my contribution to the family empire, whatever is convenient for them. They never want me around for the holidays, so I tell them that this is place I want to be shipped off to for Christmas. In the summer, there is a place in Alaska I like going to. Alaska is such beautiful country. Have you ever been there?"

"I did a book signing once, but it was in and out. I didn't get to see much".

"Hold on. I want to continue this conversation, but there is something I must tend to". He got up and followed the two young men back down to the boat. He must have known the guys because they hugged each other and laughed a lot. He handed each of them something, and then started walking back towards me.

"Hey come by my room tonight," he said. "I got a little stocking stuffer for you".

Fredrick seemed antsy during the afternoon group therapy. They could really be taxing sometimes. It was a recycled montage of whining, and bitching, and how everybody's life sucked, and their lives would have been perfect if they had never drank, or hadn't done pain pills, or touched cocaine, whatever the case may be. The whole process would be pathetic if everybody hadn't taken it so seriously.

When it was all over, Fredrick leaned over and whispered in my ear, "come by room around 8:30. Most people are in their rooms by then and it's quiet".

I wasn't sure which room was his until I heard a voice singing something that sounded like an Irish folksong. I knocked on the door hoping that it would be the old man that answered it. Luckily, he opened it, because I didn't have any excuses made up if I got the wrong room.

"Come in lad," he said. "I didn't know if you were going to come".

I could smell whiskey on his breath. "I wasn't sure what room you were in".

"You found it. Would you like a drink?"

"I would kill everybody in this place for one. Well, except the guy that's pouring it".

He held up a bottle, then poured some into a plastic cup. "My family may send me to these places," he said as he handed me the cup, "but they know better than to abandon me".

I took one good sip, and I was enveloped in a sense of wellbeing. It was like somebody hit me in the chest with those shock paddles, I felt alive again. I drank the rest of the glass, and god damn, I was Caleb Quinn again. I wasn't some asshole strapped down to a bed. I wasn't a soulless being sitting around a conference table listening to a bunch of losers whining about their lives. I could physically feel the blood pumping through my veins. I was me again.

Fredrick held up the bottle and looked at the label. "My family always takes care of me. I'm guessing that my nephew picked this one out. He has very good taste. Do you agree?"

He had filled my cup again, and I took a sip. "I agree".

We drank a couple of more cups in silence, just savoring the experience of a very fine liquor.

My tolerance was low, so I was feeling the effects of the drink quickly. It felt great. The world felt normal. I told myself that this is what it must have felt like to be in the womb.

Fredrick interrupted my euphoria, "I still don't understand how you got here Caleb".

It felt like there was an answer trying to come out of my lips, but all I said was, "I have no idea".

"You don't remember being on the boat?"

"Nope. The doctor told me that I was in a medically induced coma. I woke up strapped down to a bed".

"Dr. Wright didn't tell you?"

"He thinks it will be better for me if I remember it on my own".

"Has anybody told you that you prayed to be here?"

"Yeah. A couple of people".

"Yes," he said with a pronounced sigh. "They try to tell me that bullshit too. I just laugh and tell them that they need to check their records. It's my family that prays for me to be here, my sister, in particular. It can be annoying at times, but I know she loves me".

Fredrick took my glass, poured some more whiskey in, and handed it back. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

"Meeting some young girl in a bar and then going back to her motel".

Fredrick literally fell out of his chair laughing, "that's how the craziest benders seem to start".

# X X X

The next morning I had a hangover. I rarely got hangovers, I couldn't remember my last one. I had forgotten how shitty they feel. Then again, back home if there had been the slightest headache from drinking the night before, I just grabded a beer from the fridge and that would be the end of that.

Through the fog, I found my way to the cafeteria. The breakfast burritos looked delicious, but there was no way I was going to be able to keep one down. The only thing that looked manageable was a bowl of oatmeal and some chocolate milk. After I ate, I drudged to the therapy room. Only to have Dr. Wright walk in and tell everybody seated at the table that therapy wasn't going to be held in that room today, and he wanted everybody to follow him to the lobby. When we got there, the tree that Fredrick and I saw them carry from the boat was all set up in a stand. There were several boxes of ornaments and lights at its base.

Everybody seemed eager to participate in decorating it. I simply didn't give a fuck, I was wishing that I could go crawl back into bed and sleep it off. Debra was sitting on the couch. She had a smile on her face but there were tears rolling down her cheeks. Normally, I would have just minded my own business, but somehow that didn't seem like the right course of action for the occasion. I went over and sat down next to her and asked if she was okay.

"I just miss my babies so much," she said, her voice shaking. "I want to be decorating a tree with them".

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. With their dad, I guess".

"Where's that?"

"Urbandale, Iowa."

"That sucks. When was the last time that you saw them?

"Almost four weeks ago. In court."

"I have a kid somewhere. A daughter. I don't see or talk to her much. I think she's in her mid-twenties. I'd like to say I know how you feel, but I don't"

"Thank you. I guess".

"How long before you get to see them again?"

"I don't know. I'm in here until at least after the New Year, and when I get back, I'll have to go to court to sort that all out".

"Is it really true that you're on the island just because you tested positive for marijuana".

"Uh huh. After I caught my husband cheating, for at least the tenth time, I filed for divorce. He kept pleading with me to take him back, and when he finally realized that wasn't going to happen he turned into even more of a vindictive, evil prick".

"What did he do?"

"He fought me for custody. He told the judge I was a drug addict, and unfit to be a mother. He said that he would rather see his kids in a foster home than with me".

"People say that kind of shit during divorces all the time".

"I smoked one joint with some girlfriends on a Friday, and the court tells me I can't be around my kids until I seek professional help".

"When I first heard you tell that story in therapy, I thought you were lying, that there was something that you weren't telling us".

"My ex-husband's family has a lot of influence where I live. His dad used to be the sheriff. His great uncle owns half of the car dealerships in the greater Des Moines area. They can do whatever they want. I'm just some girl who grew up in a trailer park on the outside of town".

"That's pretty fucked up".

"I know. From the moment I wake up in the morning until I fall asleep at night, I pray to God that they are alright".

# X X X

That night after the tree was decorated, Float, who surprisingly has an angelic voice, led everybody willing to sing in a round of Christmas carols, I went back to my room to sleep. My hangover had only subsided minimally since I first woke up. I was just about to literally crawl into the sheets and there was a knock on my door. It was literally the last thing in the world that I wanted to hear. It was Enrique, he handed me a box wrapped in Christmas paper. "Here is the gift you asked for".

"I didn't ask for a gift".

"Yes, you did".

"No, I didn't".

"Just open it. You might remember".

I took the box from his hand and tore it open. Inside was a tall, cylindrical candle. Painted onto the glass was what looked like a picture of Jesus, but when I read the script above the picture, it read "St. Judas Tadeo".

"What is this?"

"Read the back".

I turned it around. "The prayer to St. Jude".

"Read the prayer," Enrique said.

"Saint Apostle, Saint Jude, faithful friend and servant of Jesus, lord of difficult and desperate cases. Pray for me. Make use of that special privilege awarded to you of aiding soon and visibly when almost all hope has been lost. Come to my help in this great need so I may receive comfort and help from Heaven for all my needs. Amen".

"Don't you remember?"

"No".

"You will. You asked for it. Okay, I'll meet you half way, your subconscious asked for it".

"If you say so".

"I'll take your word for it".

Enrique was about to walk away, then turned back suddenly. "Don't drink whiskey with Fredrick anymore. He doesn't want to change, but you do?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You asked for it".

# X X X

Saturdays on St. Jude Island consist of only the morning group sessions, and then there are no scheduled activities again until Monday morning. Dr. Wright takes a helicopter to somewhere for the weekend. The rest of us are left to our own devices. The weekend before Christmas was cold, wet and windy. It was supposed to be that way for a couple of days, so I was stuck inside except for my cigarette breaks.

As I was getting dressed and trying to figure out what I was going to do for a day and a half, I looked up at the laptop on the shelf that Dr. Wright and Enrique gave me. "I'm not a writer anymore," I said out loud to nobody. For an hour or two I walked around the place looking for something to do. There was a game of cards going on, but I couldn't figure out what game they were playing. The two computers with internet access were taken, the books they had in the library were mostly romance novels with a few spy or lawyer books thrown in. While smoking in the cold mist, I realized that maybe if I made a list of everything that I remembered about the Thanksgiving night with Lizzy, it might make me remember other things.

I pulled the laptop off the shelf and set it up on the table. I'm sure it had many nice features on it, but all I cared about was Word. I tried to make it look like a list of memories, so that I could tell myself that I wasn't writing. I stopped fooling myself and decided that the only way I was going to write about it was in story form.

I wrote everything that I remembered from the moment Lizzy walked into Gypsy Joe's to the moment we were lying on that scummy bed at the Trail's End motel with a couple of bottles between us. I don't know if there really were bed bugs crawling on me or if I was hallucinating. She was running her hands all over my body, but I was content to just keep on drinking. Once I start doing shots, that's all I think about. I just want to keep going until I pass out.

"Tell me what you were thinking when you wrote 'Mourning a Child".

"I don't really think when I'm writing, I just sit down at the computer and see what happens".

"I don't believe that".

"You don't have to".

"There has to be something going through your mind".

"I know what you're saying, but if you don't understand what I'm talking about, I could never explain it to you. It's like surfing, you just catch a wave and see where it takes you".

"Okay, so you weren't thinking. Why did you start the book?"

"It was never meant to be a book. It was supposed to be a letter".

"To whom?"

"An old girlfriend, well, not really a girlfriend. A neighbor. We used to fuck".

"Were you writing her a love letter?"

"No, no, no. I wasn't the only guy in the apartment complex fucking her".

"She had a kid. What happened to Michael?"

I got up off the bed, and looked at Lizzy for a while. She had a slight smile on her face. She started playing with her nipples through her shirt. I went into the bathroom and took a piss. When I came back out, Lizzy had taken her shirt off, leaving her only in a thong."

"I don't know whatever happened to that kid," I said trying to pick up the conversation where it had left off. "How did you know that his name was Michael?"

"It was in the book".

"I don't think it was".

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm pretty drunk". I honestly couldn't remember whether that name was in the book or not. I had written it so long ago.

"Anyway," she said. "Why would the girl that you were fucking be mourning?"

"She wasn't. I guess I was".

"Tell me more".

"There was something about that kid. I don't know what it was. I could see it in his eyes. They were bright blue, just like yours Lizzy. Some of her girlfriends would tell his mom that she should take him in and have him locked up somewhere because of his emotional problems. He tried to slit his wrists when he was only four years old. If he would have known to cut down the vein, instead of across it, I have no doubt he would have died".

"Fuck! That's some crazy shit. What did his mom do?"

"The usual bullshit. A battery of doctors, and child psychologists, and every drug they could think of prescribing to him. I think she really wanted to help, but she wasn't smart enough to see the big picture. It was a really fucked up situation".

"So how did a letter turn into a book?"

"Once I started writing it, I realized that it was something that she should never read. I had no right to tell somebody else what they should do with their kid".

"Tell me more about the boy. Like I wrote to you, when I read it, I just felt so connected to him".

I rolled over so I was face to face with Lizzy. "You even look like him a little bit. I'll bet you were like him when you were a girl. How many times have you tried to commit suicide?"

"I'd have to think about that, do you mean serious attempts, or just because I was bored?"

"Is there a difference".

"Kinda".

"I'll never forget Michael's eyes, the blue in them pulsated different shades. His mom had grown up on an Indian reservation in Oklahoma, her hair was near black and her eyes almost as dark. What a contrast, when she was holding Michael with his bright blonde hair. Supposedly, his dad was a full-blooded member of the tribe. Two or three days after she found out that she was pregnant, the father got into a knife fight. He killed two guys, before somebody killed him.

"Holy shit!"

"I know. Michael's mom wanted to have an abortion, but the tribe wouldn't let her do it. The way she tells it, they kept her prisoner until the baby was born. She said that a marriage had been arranged for her, but in the middle of the night she stole a truck and came to Colorado".

"Did you like Michael?"

"Yeah, I did. He was always cool with me. I tried to teach him to play baseball, but there would be those times that he had a look in his eye that made me uneasy. The kid's own grandma would tell his mom that Michael was evil. There were times when I thought there was something else stuck in a little boy's body. He always had a look on his face like he was plotting something. Every time I hear about a mass shooting, I wonder if it was him".

# X X X

Mondays were when all the patients got a weekly medical check-up, which essentially was Guadalupe coming around and checking your blood pressure and pulse rate. Since I was the last room that the nurse would stop at, it never failed, she always had a violet aura around her, there were some times it was brighter than others.

Guadalupe was just one of those women who had no idea the effect that they have on men. I imagined that she must have come from a small town, and even though she must have gone to a university to get a nursing degree, she still maintained a simple innocence. It could have been the Spanish accent trying to say certain English words that created the allusion of naivete. Even when she was talking to you in medical terms, she would bat her eyelashes. I could be totally wrong about her, she always made sure that her uniform was unbuttoned enough to show ample cleavage.

"Dr. Wright would like to see you in his office," she said when she was done with my checkup.

"What about?"

She shook her head, smiled, and of course batted her eyelashes, "you'll see".

I walked into Dr. Wright's office, and before I could say a word, he reached into his desk and pulled out an empty whiskey bottle. It was the one that Frederick's nephew had sent to him. "One of the nurses found this," the doctor said in tone befitting a principal scolding a kindergartner.

"So".

"Did you drink this with Fredrick?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Please have a seat Caleb. What do you know about Fredrick?"

"He's a good old guy, that happens to come from a family with a lot of money".

"Fredrick is a special patient. He never comes to our facilities with the intention of trying to get help. We accept him as a favor to his family. They are very generous, and in return we are willing to overlook some of Fredrick's eccentricities. His family says a lot of prayers for him".

"That's nice Dr. Wright. Is that what you called me down here to say?'

"Caleb, did you drink this whiskey with Caleb?"

"I had some".

"You are not Frederick".

"I know that".

"Fredrick didn't ask for help conquering his demons, his family prays for that continually. You on the other hand, were begging for help".

"Everybody keeps saying that like they know something that I don't. I ask them what they mean, and they answer me with gibberish. I don't know what happened. It was probably some minor thing that got blown out of proportion".

"That's what perplexes me about you Caleb. I can't believe you don't remember anything. I think you do remember something and you're keeping it to yourself. If that's the case, you are only cheating and lying to yourself".

"I don't remember".

"You don't remember being in a sleazy room with a prostitute?"

"Are you talking about Lizzy?"

"I never got her name".

"I've been in rehab places before. I know that some brainwashing is just part of the gig. You keep telling me that I'm here voluntarily, so I'll forget that the reality is that I'm being held captive".

"Did Enrique give you a gift?"

"He gave me a candle".

"Have you lit it?"

"No, why?"

"Just curious".

# X X X

The only guy on the island that smoked as much as I did was Pablo. He would light one cigarette after the other, five or six at a time. He didn't look healthy, he was a short fat Mexican guy who looked way older than he probably was, almost as wide as he was tall. He was always sweating. I didn't trust him, so I had rarely spoken to him since I arrived. He never seemed all that anxious to talk to me either.

One day when I walked out to the patio for a smoke, I noticed that Pablo was pacing back and forth mumbling something to himself. I had taken a couple of drags before he even noticed that I was out there. He seemed embarrassed that I saw him. He walked over to me, "how are you today Caleb?"

"I'm good, how about you?"

"Oh, I am good, senor. It is such a beautiful day".

"It really is?"

"Is this your first time to Mexico?"

"It's my first trip to this place, but I've been to Cabo and Mazatlán before".

"I've never left Mexico, but this is my first trip to the island".

"I have no idea what I did that I ended up here," I said to him, "and listening to you in therapy, I have no idea why you are hear either".

"It's a safe place". His words were measured.

"What are you addicted to?"

"Living, senor. Living".

"I think we all feel that way".

"For some, the feeling is more acute. I used to be addicted to everything. I don't mean just drugs, or liquor. I mean everything. All the money. All the power".

"How does Dr. Wright go about treating that?"

"That's funny, senor. I can speak from personal experience, it can be very addicting. It controls your soul. It does worse things to you than any drink or drug could do. It betrays everything that you have ever believed about yourself. It's worse than cocaine. You can never have enough".

"And this place is going to train you to live a life of powerless poverty?"

"I wish it was that simple. I'll never be able to leave this place".

"Pablo, are you hiding out in this place from something?"

His tone became defensive. "What about you? I hear you tell the group that you don't know why you're here. Why don't you talk about it?"

"I don't know. I woke up here strapped down to a bed".

"Have you talked to Dr. Wright?" Pablo seemed truly dumfounded.

"Of course".

"He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Why you're here?"

"No".

"Did Enrique bring you a candle?"

"Yes".

"Did you light it?"

"I just put it with the other candles on the window sill?"

"Senor," he seemed agitated. "You need to light the candle".

"Did he give you one too?"

"I'm on my sixth or seventh one. There has been a flame in a San Judas Tadeo candle since the day I got here".

"I will Pablo, at some point, if it will help me get out of here, I'll light the candle".

"When you do, spend some time staring just at the flame, try not to think about anything else except the fire".

# X X X

There were days on the island, where I just forgot about everything else around me and enjoyed being on the island, and except for the therapy, there wasn't much to not like. The scenery was spectacular, and even in December, give a day here and there, the weather was beautiful. It could get a little chilly in the evening, but it was still better than being in Denver that time of year. On most days, there was barely a cloud in the sky.

Another aspect that made the place tolerable was the food. It was mostly Mexican cuisine and lunch and dinner always featured some type of seafood. The chef used shrimp in many of his dishes, but these were shrimp like I had never seen before, they didn't even deserve to be called shrimp because they were in the six inch range.

Aaron, the youngest kid on the island, could really put the food away. I don't think I've ever seen anybody eat so much, but the kid had muscles on top of muscle. He wasn't one to just sit around the lobby on his down time. He was in the fitness center, or jogging in the sand. He spent the evenings playing video games in his room.

He came over and sat with me one night at dinner. "Hey Caleb," Aaron said, "I know you don't like talking about your writing, but I just wanted you to know that I read one of your books, and I really liked it. It was a book of poetry".

"I've only done two of those, which one did you read?"

"The stuff that you said you wrote when you were an angry young man".

"It's called 'Disturbances'.

"That's it. I really liked it".

I probably smiled when he said that. "That collection is some of the best stuff that I think I have ever written".

"I loved it. I've read some of the poems several times".

"I wrote most of that stuff back when I really loved to write. That was back when I wrote just to write, before the whole business part came into it".

"That's the only thing of yours that I've read, I wanted to read more, but just never got the chance".

"That's probably the only thing worth reading".

"Based on your poetry, I'll bet you're in here because you drink too much".

"I'm assuming that too, but I'm not really sure".

"That seems like a good reason, better than mine".

"You're a junky, right?"

"My parents found a syringe in my room, that doesn't make me a junky. My dad thinks I'm one, but he's an asshole. I've had two beers in my life, and smoked pot a few times. That's it".

"If you're not a junky, why does your dad thinks you're one. They're pretty easy to spot".

"I know. I try not to blame him. There is a lot of heroin that goes around in the town that I live in. It seems like every other day, you hear about somebody O-D'ing. I've lost a few friends. My mom and dad both have friends whose kids have died. Even some of their friends their own age have died. It's everywhere. It still pisses me off".

"If you're not doing dope, why did you have a syringe?"

Aaron looked at me. I could tell that he had a secret that he didn't want me to know about. He just shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't have to tell," I said, "it's none of my business".

"I won a bodybuilding contest my senior year of high school".

"Good for you".

"It was supposed to be a natural contest".

"I don't know what that means".

"No drugs. My mom and dad were so proud of me".

"I'm sure. I still don't know where you're going with this". I know Aaron was trying to tell me something.

"The syringe was for steroids".

"What's the big deal?"

"I cheated".

"I hate to break it to you kid, but everybody cheats at some point in their life, one way or another".

"I guess. I just wanted my dad to be proud of me".

I finally understood what Aaron was trying to say. "Let me get this straight," I said to him. "You would rather have your mom and dad think that you were a heroin addict, than to tell them that you cheated in a teenage bodybuilding contest?"

"Yes".

"Did you tell Dr. Wright?"

"No".

"He hasn't figured it out?"

"Not that he's letting on".

"Why don't you just tell him? You can get out of this place and go home".

"I'm getting out sometime after Christmas. I can hold on until then. This place isn't too bad".

Aaron confused me, I couldn't figure him out. The length's that he was going to for such a ridiculous secret astounded me. "Why bother?" I asked him.

"I don't want to shatter the illusion".

"Why are you telling me? If you haven't told the doctor, why are you telling me this?"

"I remember one of your poems. The one about life just being a joke".

"Almost everything I write has that theme. You'd have to be more specific".

"I can't remember which one".

"I've been drunk for so long that I probably wouldn't remember it if you quoted it to me".

"You won't say anything to anybody, right?"

"Like I said, it's not my business".

"It's really strange to meet you here Caleb".

"Why do you say that?"

"I've never read a book outside of school in my life, I never thought I would. Then I found 'Disturbances' in my gym bag. I have no idea how it got there, but when I picked it up, I read it cover to cover without a break. The only book that I've ever read in my life, and I somehow get locked up with the guy who wrote it. It's fucking weird".

"That is pretty goddamn odd".

# X X X

There were group therapy sessions where I didn't hear a thing that anybody else said because I was fantasizing about seeing Monique naked. I had Googled nude pictures of her, so I knew what was there, but I would have loved to have seen it in the flesh. She was the quintessential model, tall, thin, and flawlessly beautiful. I found articles that said she had made over a hundred million dollars in her short career.

There were other sessions, when I couldn't take my eyes off Monique, but it wasn't because I was lusting after her. Depending on how she wore her hair, or the clothes that she wore, and especially when she didn't wear makeup, she looked like a ghost from my past. A ghost who I guess you could say was indirectly responsible for me being on this island. Monique looked a lot like Michael's mom, the little boy that inspired me to write "Mourning a Child". The resemblance could be uncanny at times. Except for the difference in age, I would have been sure that it was her.

Monique was the quietest in the group. Most of the time it was like she wasn't even there. If Dr. Wright were to ask her a question, the answer more than likely was a simple "yes" or "no". It was tempting to label her as aloof, but it seemed to go deeper than that. I got the feeling that she was a genuinely unhappy person. From a writer's perspective, she was a fascinating character study.

I tried a few times to engage her in conversation, but it never went anywhere. A lot of the other patients, men and women, called her a "stuck up bitch" and would say, "she thinks her shit doesn't stink" and that "she's too good for everybody else". I never bought into any of those observations. I often wondered if Monique thought her beauty was a curse.

To me, she was a ghost. It was like I could see right through her. She didn't have a real body, it was more of a mist, like smoke coming off the tip of my cigarette. She didn't walk, she moved. I wanted so badly to talk to her. I wanted to ask her about Michael, even though I knew she would have absolutely no idea what the fuck I was talking about.

# X X X

The rehab center had a little room with two computers in it so that people could check email or surf the web. We could have a laptop or tablet in our room, but they wouldn't give us the WiFi password. The reason they gave us was because there had been previous patients that had a big problem with online porn. I was in the room for a while every night, catching up on sports scores and whatever.

Usually I was alone when I was in the room, but when I walked in, John was already there. He was polite enough to say "hi" to me, but that was the extent of our conversation. After about 15 minutes, I could hear sobbing. I looked over to see John with his face in his hands.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"No".

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Can you turn back time?"

"I wish".

I looked at the monitor to see what John was reading about. There was a story about a community raising funds for a little girl who had been paralyzed from the neck down in a car accident.

I had a feeling that I knew the answer, but I asked the question anyway, "is that somebody that you know".

"Not personally, but I know almost everything about her. Her dad died instantly in that accident".

"That's a tragedy".

"I know. It's my fault".

I didn't say anything. I had put two and two together from his stories in therapy. John started to cry uncontrollably and knelt on the floor. I've never been good at being sympathetic, but I tried my best and patted him on the back. In a minute or two, he got back in the chair and shut the computer off. He sat there just staring at the dark screen.

"What have I done? What have I done?" He kept repeating the question.

"Were you in the accident to?" It was a stupid question.

"That's what they tell me. I don't remember. I was at the bar one moment, and getting glass picked out of my face in the hospital the next. I have no recollection of what happened in between".

"I guess I should be lucky that nothing like that ever happened to me. I can't tell you how many times I woke up the next morning with no clue how I got home the night before".

"That wasn't my first accident. It was my third. I've had six DUI's. Luckily, nobody was hurt in any of the other accidents. I wished they would have locked me up and thrown away the keys".

"Is that why you're here?"

He looked at me with utter indignation. "Of course, that's why I'm here. My lawyer said it would look better if I checked myself into this place before we went to court".

"Probably".

"Fuck that. I killed a man. I crippled his daughter. I left his wife a widow, and left his two other kids without a father. Every single morning when I wake up I wish that it would have been me that died. The poor guy was just taking his daughter to a Halloween party".

"It sounds like you're going to do some time for this?"

"The lawyer said up to forty years, but if I took the initiative to come here, the judge might show mercy and give me half that. All I have to do is put on some show in this place for a couple of months, go through all the bullshit motions, and it might save twenty years of my life. Isn't that the most fucked up thing you've ever heard of?"

"I don't know man. I've heard and done a lot of fucked up things in my life".

"Have you ever killed anybody?"

"I guess that's just a matter of semantics".

# X X X

As stupid as it may sound, I was envious of John. At least he had a concrete answer as to why he was here. It was a horrible reason, and I'm not saying I would want to carry the guilt that he had for the rest of my life. I just wanted to know what my truth was. I was tired having my life being a mystery. I resented that Dr. Wright, or any other person who knew, would not tell me what happened that Thanksgiving night with Lizzy in the motel room.

The sun had been down for a while, and my room was dark. I was bored, so I decided to go to bed early. While I was lying there, I noticed that there seemed to be some type of light radiating in the room. I sat up and looked around. The St. Jude candle that Enrique gave me seemed to be glowing, but it wasn't lit. I got up and turned the light on. I read the prayer on the back of the candle again. It occurred to me that I didn't understand what the prayer meant. I didn't know who St. Jude was or why he was a saint. I grabbed the lighter and lit the wick.

I went to the computer room and Googled St. Jude. He was one of Jesus' apostles, and is sometimes referred to as Thaddeus as to not to be confused with the apostle Judas, who is said to have betrayed Christ. Jude was fearful of being thought of as Judas, so he made a point of being quite eager to help anybody who asked, especially those who were in the direst of circumstances.

Jude died a martyr, and his remains were interred at St. in Peter's Basilica Rome. As pilgrims came to pray at his grave, many experienced extraordinary intercessions. Two other saints said that they had visions from God to recognize St. Jude as "The Patron Saint of the Impossible". The Catholic church calls him the "The Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes".

I went back to bed and just lie there in the dark, watching the flame of the candle burn. I could see the moon through the window behind it. I noticed that the clock struck midnight, it was December 21, the winter solstice was here. The shortest day of the year, the day when there was the least amount of sunlight in the northern hemisphere. The amount of sunlight would only increase for the next six months. It gave me some strange sense of comfort.

# X X X

It always struck me as strange that a husband and wife were together in a rehab clinic. It went against everything I had heard about recovery, but I'm not a doctor so what did I know. Common sense told me that it seemed counter-productive. Patrick was a hard guy to gauge, except for the times that Shannon went out of her way to push his buttons, he seemed like an even keel guy with that goofy smile always on his face.

To the layman's eye, this place wasn't doing Shannon any good at all. She seemed to be getting more manic as the days passed. One morning during breakfast, for no apparent reason, she picked up a glass of orange juice and smashed it squarely in Patrick's forehead. Blood oozed out of his skull as he fell back onto the tile floor. Shannon was in a rage, she walked around the table and started stomping on her spouses face and body. "You mother fucker," she screamed. "How could you do this? You piece of shit. How could you fuck that dirty little whore? Don't you know how much I love you?"

Shannon got down on the floor next to Patrick, found a shard of the drinking glass and started stabbing him in the neck with it. "You mean everything to me, and you have to go put your tiny little dick into that cunt's ass. Fuck you! Fuck you!" Shannon kept stabbing at Patrick's neck until she could no longer hold the piece of glass because her own hand was bleeding too much.

Enrique and two nurses pulled Shannon away, and held her down, while Guadalupe ran up with a syringe and jammed it into her ass. Shannon fell limp instantaneously. They got her into a wheel chair and took her to the room I was in when I woke up on the island.

The rest of us stared at each other in wide-eyed silence wondering if Patrick was dead. Guadalupe and another nurse had towels on him to stop the bleeding. For a few moments, he wasn't moving at all, then he sat straight up and told the nurses to leave him alone. They backed away shaking their heads as he got up to his feet. "Goddamn, that is one crazy fucking bitch". He asked Guadalupe if he was going to need stitches.

"Yes," she said.

"Well, fuck," he said. "While we're doing that, can you have the cook make me another plate of huevos rancheros?'

# X X X

After the commotion in the cafeteria, I stepped out on the patio for a cigarette, just as I lit up, the door opened and brought out a huge bellow of laughter, "Goddamn, I thought I had been with some psychotic bitches in my life, but none of them ever buried a glass between my eyes".

The laughing came from Larry. "That was quite a scene," I said laughing along with him. "When Shannon started plunging that glass into his neck, I thought that was all she wrote".

Larry could barely talk he was laughing so hard. "The best part was that Patrick didn't seem fazed by it. He was just worried about getting more food. Crazy fucking people. Hey, can I bum a smoke from you?"

"Sure," I handed him one.

"And the lighter?"

Larry was probably the most repentant of the people on the island. During therapy he used to tell love stories about his "beautiful love affair with cocaine, in all its forms". He had lived quite a life, he was one of the people that I liked to hear during the group sessions. He looked intimidating, a big, tall black guy, but he was a people person, he really had that gift of gab. It was easy to see how he could be a politician.

"What do you think they'll do with Shannon?" I asked.

"I hope they lock her up. I don't want to see her walking around here like nothing happened, even if that's what Patrick thinks".

I relived the scene in my mind. "The was fucking insane. I didn't see what started the whole thing, did you?"

"I was right there. I don't think anything happened. The bitch just snapped out of the blue".

"I wonder if Patrick learned his lesson about cheating?"

"That's not a lesson men can learn," Larry said. "Stepping out is in a man's DNA. It's something we all have to do".

"I'm sure that there are a few that don't".

"They're liars. We all do it, just come clean. Have you always been faithful to your wife?"

"I'm not married".

"Shit man, I fucked my wife's maid of honor in a broom closet the night I got married".

"How long did that marriage last?"

"So far, 26 years, but she's really pissed this time. I figured I'd better get my ass down here and lay low until she calms down. I can't afford to be giving her half of my money".

"She must have caught you with another woman".

"She didn't. The chief of police did. My mother fucking chief of police did. Cocksucker".

I was still laughing. "Your chief of police?"

Larry wasn't laughing anymore. "I gave that mother fucker a job, and the son of a bitch stabs me in the back. I'm going to kill him when I get back. Back stabbing piece of shit".

"I thought you were in here for coke".

"I'm the mayor of a little town south of Chicago. The chief set me up because he thinks he's going to get my job".

"How did he set you up?"

"Well, I don't know for sure that he did it, but that's what I think. These girls would just keep coming around me, flaunting their titties and ask me if I wanted a blow job".

"I don't get it".

"He knew all those girls. Lord know he'd arrested those hoes a million times before".

"Hookers?"

"Yeah, but when they come around asking to fuck, and asking if you want to smoke some crack, that's hard for a man to resist. I don't care how goddamn honest you are".

"If you say so".

"There was this one girl. She was prettier than the others, didn't look so skanky. So, when she came around, I took her to this little dirt road outside of town. We get into the back seat and start messing around. I reach under this chick's skirt and I feel a dick. I look at her, and just in the second I realize it's a guy, I hear that unmistakable sound. There ain't no reason the police should have been out there, but here come two patrol cars with their lights flashing. They knew who I was, but they searched the car anyway. They found a pipe and a few rocks".

"That's fucked up".

"You ain't shitting. That was all the chief needed to get a warrant to raid my house. It turns out that I had a few ounces of powder I had forgotten about. A few friends from up in the city had asked if I would store some guns for them, and he found them too. It turns out that those types of guns aren't legal to possess, and it turns out that they may have been stolen".

"I could see how that could become a problem".

"You damn right. The wife bailed me out, dropped me off at home and said she was on her way to see a lawyer. She said that she was through with my bullshit. I guess I can't really blame her, but ain't that kicking a man when he's down? And to top it all off, I got a call from a guy on the city council and said they would be calling a special session of the council to determine my fitness to continue leading the city. That mother fucking chief of police was staging his own little revolution".

"How much longer can you lay low here?"

"I'd say the New Year. I'm hoping that with the holidays everything will cool down a bit".

"I hope it all works out for you".

"I do to. I've been praying hard for it".

# X X X

It was late, and I was having that one last cigarette before going to bed. The halls were empty and the lights were dimmed, so I figured I was the only one that was awake in the place except for the night nurses who I had rarely seen. I was lost in thought, just gazing over the water. I was a little startled when Monique pulled out a chair and sat down at the table with me. It looked like she had just got out of the shower, and was wearing only a robe. I kept waiting for her to say something, but she never did.

"Hello," I finally said.

"Hello".

"You couldn't sleep".

"No, I'm too fucking bored".

"I get that, there isn't much to do here".

"This is the time that I'm just usually waking up".

"For me, this is about usually the time that I'm so fucking drunk I just pass out".

"I'm usually snorting my first line of the evening about now".

"I guess we're on different schedules".

"I guess. Do you want to fuck?"

That was a question I wasn't expecting. In fact, it's probably the last thing that I would expect her to say. I'm a broken down, balding drunk with a beer belly, and she's a twenty-something year old with a body that was too good for Playboy. "Here?" I felt like fool for being at a loss for words.

"We can go to one of our rooms".

"Are you asking me because I'm the only one that's awake?"

"That's part of it, but there aren't a whole lot of other options for me here. I've already fucked Aaron because he has such a nice body, but he's only a boy and he doesn't really know what he's doing. I would consider Seamus, but that scar on his neck really freaks me out. The other guys here just aren't that attractive. Debra's hot, but she's not bi. That leaves the doctor and you, and he's not here".

"I'm flattered. I think".

"Well, do you want to fuck or not?"

"Sure".

She stood up, grabbed me by my hand. Let's go. Which one is your room?"

"It's a few doors up, on the left".

Once we shut the door, she took her robe off and laid on the bed with legs spread. I was still trying to figure out what was going on when she said, "what are you waiting for?"

"I don't know". I stripped off my clothes and went over and climbed into bed. I tried to kiss her, but she moved her face away.

"Don't kiss me," she said. "Just put your dick in and fuck me".

I did what she said. After 15 minutes of mechanical sex, she got up, put here robe on and left.

"Thank you," she said as she walked out the door.

# X X X

"Mr. Quinn, you strike me as an intelligent man, that's why I find it hard to believe that you don't realize that cameras are watching almost everything that you do while you're on this island". Dr. Wright was pretty pissed off.

I feigned ignorance. "What are you talking about doctor?"

"We have footage of you taking Monique into your room last night. I thought that we told you that residents of the opposite sex are not allowed in each other's rooms".

"I don't remember being told that rule".

"It's one of the first things that we say to new patients".

"Was that when you had me strapped down to the bed that first night?"

"Mr. Quinn..."

"Caleb".

"Caleb, I'm not understanding why you don't recognize why you are here. If I didn't know better, I would think that you are just being stubborn".

"Do you think I like being in this insane asylum?"

"That's the opposite of what this place is".

"I don't know why I'm here doctor, do you get that?"

"Yes, you do. You're just trying to go through the motions here. You may have casually thought about why you're here, but you haven't really thought about it. You haven't concentrated".

"I get tired of your cryptic bullshit doctor".

"What's so cryptic about it Caleb?"

"I'm being held here against my will, and you know it".

"If you really feel that way, I can get you on a boat off the island in two or three days, maybe in that time you will have come to your senses and see that it was you that actually requested to be here. You're not a prisoner here, do you see any guards with guns? I've never seen a patient with such an extreme case of denial".

"You had me strapped down to a bed. What the fuck is voluntary about that?"

"You were in a medically induced coma. It was a precaution against seizures".

"When you say that I wanted to be here, what do you mean?"

"You prayed to be here".

"That never happened. I don't pray. I'm an atheist".

"Everyone is an atheist until they come to that point in their life when they realize that they feel hopeless".

"I'm not hopeless".

"That's correct, and you're not a prisoner either. Right now, there is only one person on this island who is being held against her will, and that is Shannon. I'm willing to overlook your discrepancies of drinking with Fredrick and taking Monique into your room. We're a very forgiving facility here, but we do draw the line at attempting to murder your husband. Now, if you'll excuse me, that is a situation I must deal with immediately".

# X X X

Being around Float made me uncomfortable at times. That scar on his neck was just so gruesome to look at. It wasn't the fact that he had tried to commit suicide that bothered me, I've always believed that for some people the mind dies before the body does. It was the way that he did it. Only somebody that did a bunch of hallucinogenic drugs would think to try to cut off his head with a circular saw.

It wouldn't be fair to say that I avoided Float, but I certainly didn't go out of my way to talk to him either. The odd thing is that from what I learned about him in therapy, he seemed like a nice guy. He always had a caring look on his face and was supportive of all the other residents. He had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor, but it wasn't mean or over the top. I never doubted his sincerity. With that said, I tried to keep my distance.

It was Christmas Eve morning, and Float walked excitedly out on the patio and started gazing at the water with his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. He was childlike in his motions.

"What are you looking for?" I asked him.

"One of the ladies in the cafeteria said there was a whale breaching somewhere around the island. I was hoping I could see it".

I looked around, "I don't see anything".

"I'm going to walk around the island, want to come".

"Why not?"

"They think it's a gray whale," he said as we walked swiftly along the water's edge.

"I've heard that there are several types of whales that come into this area".

"Have you ever seen a whale before? I mean other than in an aquarium".

"I went on a boat tour once. We saw some Orcas".

"Oh, shit man, that must have been cool".

"It was pretty cool. I had almost forgot about that until you brought it up".

As we circled the island, he kept his eyes on the water. "Seamus," I said.

"Call me Float, that's what my friends call me. When I'm not in a rehab place, I almost forget that my name is Seamus. Even my mom calls me Float".

"How many of these places have you been too?"

"Shit man, I lost count a long time ago. I think the first time that I went I was thirteen. My parents went a little bat shit when I told them that they really needed to try some acid. They thought I was joking at first, then I pulled some out of my back pack, and it's been one place like this after another".

"You like acid huh?"

"I love that old-school LSD, but it's hard to come by".

"I was never into tripping. I did acid a couple of times. I liked mushrooms better".

"I like mushrooms too. DMT is good. Oh, Ayahuasca. That's some awesome shit, man, life changing".

"What happened that ended up on the island?"

"I dosed some other people. I wanted them to see what incredible experiences they were missing. I wanted them to see what I was seeing, and think like I was thinking". Float wasn't looking at me as we talked, he kept scanning the water for some sign of the whale.

"What drugs were you doing?"

"I've tried everything there is to try. They all seem like a waste of consciousness to me. I just stick with hallucinogens and weed. The rest of the shit will slowly kill you. It's a shame. I know you're a drinker, I can see it in your face".

"I know, that's what everybody is saying".

Float stopped walking, and turned to look at me. "That's bullshit. You know exactly why you're here".

"No, I don't".

"Fuck man, I wish we could trip some acid right now. We'd get to the bottom of it really quick".

While he was looking at me, I decided to ask him point blank, "how many times have to tried to kill yourself?"

"Just one".

"Is it true that you tried to cut your head off with a circular saw?"

"Yeah".

"Why a circular saw?"

"Why not a circular saw?"

"It just seems so messy".

"I guess. But isn't any kind of life ending experience messy?"

"Did you get tired of living?"

Float thought about his words before he spoke. "Not at all. I wanted to do more living". We started walking again and Float once again fixated his eyes on the water. "People think this world is the only one. They're so myopic. The best thing that could happen to this planet is to put acid into the water supply of every city in the world. Then and only then, would people truly begin to understand what this place really is".

"I'll bet you can hardly wait to get home and do some acid".

"Damn straight".

"So, what's the point of being here?"

"I'll bet the first thing you do when you leave is drunk".

"You're probably right".

"What's point of being here?"

"I don't know".

After that Float and I just made small talk as we walked the shore around the island. As we neared the path back to the clinic, we noticed almost everybody was out the patio staring at the sea. Just as we turned to see what they were looking at, a whale lunged it's body out of the depths and went back down with a gigantic splash.

"That was almost as good as acid," Float said.

# X X X

Christmas Eve afternoon was going to be our last session with Dr. Wright. He said that he was going to go be with his family and assured us that we would be in good hands. He was going to leave instructions on how the final week of treatment was going to go. There were going to be group activities and personal activities that the doctor said would be beneficial to our recovery.

Enrique walked around the table and put a gift in front every resident. Each box was the same size, with the same wrapping paper, and the same red bow on top. I picked mine up, and it felt like an empty box. Other people around the table shook their boxes, but none of them made a sound.

The doctor looked at me, "Caleb, would you open yours first". I gently unwrapped the box, trying not to tear the paper, choosing to peel away the scotch tape. Once inside, I found a small scroll of paper. I read it, and looked up at Dr. Wright for some kind of explanation without using words to ask the question.

"What does it say Caleb?" The doctor asked.

"It says, 'The prayer has been answered".

The doctor looked around the room and told everybody else, "please open your gifts". They all did as they were told. When all the boxes were open, we all had the exact same thing. A scroll of paper that said, "The Prayer Has Been Answered". As I looked around the room, it appeared that everybody was just as mystified as I was.

"The island will be closing for the season on New Year's Day," Dr. Wright said. "A yacht will be picking you up and taking you to the mainland and arrangements have been made to get you to your final destinations. Although I won't be here, that doesn't mean the recovery is complete. When you return to your rooms, you will find your itinerary for the week, both as a group and individually. I wish you all a Merry Christmas and it has been a pleasure getting to know you. I will be following up with each of you personally in the new year".

# X X X

After our meeting with Dr. Wright, we were told to go back to our rooms, as there would be a special envelope waiting for us in our rooms. The rest of the patients seemed to be excited about the envelopes, but I was more interested in having a cigarette. I went out to the patio and gazed up at the sky. It was a new moon, and there was only a sliver of it in the sky. Christmas Eve had become a strange day for me. Long before the love of my life was ever diagnosed, I knew something was wrong. I could see it in her. I think she saw knew it to, but she wouldn't admit it.

The two of us were sitting in front of a tree decorated only in pink lights. It was the first white Christmas Denver had seen in over a decade. It wasn't a blizzard, but it was coming down hard and quickly piling up on the ground. The logs in the fireplace would pop and crackle as they burned. We sat there holding each other without saying much, we just enjoyed a night that seemed like it should be on a postcard. My love asked me, "What if this is the last Christmas tree that I see?"

"Don't say such stupid things," I said. To this day, I wonder if my response sounded sincere. I had my own suspicions that she might be right, but I didn't want her to know that. She was right.

When I got back to my room, a big gold envelope was being propped up by a fresh poinsettia on the table. It was a personal invitation to the chef's special gourmet breakfast for the holiday, at which time we were going to be told what the group activities would be for our final week on the island. For those that were interested, a priest was being flown in to say a special Christmas mass. I was looking forward to breakfast, I already thought the food from the chef was out of this world, so I was anxious to see what the chef considered special. I put on more than a few pounds since I had arrived.

The chef didn't let me down. His staff had set up a buffet, and decorated the cafeteria. They must have started the process early in the morning. There were table clothes, linen napkins, silverware actually made of silver and fine china plates. The buffet was unbelievable, eggs benedict with sea bass instead of Canadian bacon on a croissant. There was a shrimp quiche, and baked donuts, and other entrées and if you wanted something you didn't see, he would cook it for you. He said there would also be a separate buffet for lunch. For dinner, members of the staff's families would be coming to the island for dinner.

After breakfast was over, Enrique called for everybody's attention. He told us that Dr. Wright had planned activities for us that he thought would be both enjoyable and therapeutic. The next day would be a cruise to the city of La Paz on the Baja peninsula. A couple days later would be another cruise, but that time, we would be going north to Puerto Penasco. The day in between, they were going to ferry us somewhere for a jeep tour. The fourth day, everybody would have their choice, they could either go deep sea fishing or take a helicopter tour of the area. Two days before we left was to be a completely unplanned day. There would be no set time for anything, including meals, everything would be made to order at the patient's request. Enrique said that he wouldn't tell us what was planned for New Year's Eve. The doctor wanted it to be a surprise.

Before we got up to leave, Enrique said that Dr. Wright had one more thing planned for us. Enrique said that when we returned to our rooms there would be one last envelope from the doctor to us, but this time we would not all be receiving the exact same thing. This envelope will be personally engraved, and it will be the final instructions from Dr. Wright about how to complete our recovery.

# X X X

When I got back to my room there was a gold foil envelope on my pillow. My name was etched in bronze lettering. I picked it up and paced the floor with it, wondering what the doctor had in store for me. I put it back on the pillow and just stared at it for a while. I don't know why but for a moment, I thought that I was having a panic attack. My heart was pounding, and I could feel the perspiration on my forehead. It was stupid. I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and started to go to the patio. About half way out, I went back and grabbed the envelope.

After a couple of drags off the smoke, I was composed enough to open the letter. My second biggest fear was that the doctor was going to tell me what led to me being on the island, but even more frightening is that he wouldn't. When I opened it, all I could do was laugh. It read:

Dear Caleb,

My personal instructions to you are very simple. I want you to spend your remaining days on

St. Jude's Island thinking about the love story that you need to start writing soon.

Merry Christmas,

Dr. Nero Wright.

I was disappointed that the doctor didn't shed any light on my reason for being in the clinic. For a month, he had been telling me that I would never be able to recover until I remembered and deeply understood what happened that night on Thanksgiving. Yet, instead of even mentioning that, he tells me that I need to start writing a love story? He must have confused me with a romance novelist. The whole thing was just ridiculous. I found myself shaking my head at the prospect for the rest of the day.

The chef's Christmas dinner was even more phenomenal than breakfast. There were maybe a hundred people there when all the staff's families arrived. Dr. Wright had arranged the boats, and made sure everybody that came had a gift to unwrap. There were several children there, and I could tell by the looks on the faces of many of them that that would be the only gift that they would be getting that year.

The party was just starting to wind down when I went back to my room. I had gorged myself on the chef's cooking all day, and I wanted nothing more than to just go lay down, maybe watch a little TV and go to sleep. The last thing I remember before going to sleep was watching the last 15 minutes of "It's a Wonderful Life". Jimmy Stewart's voice was dubbed in Spanish.

Sometime in the night, I woke up and the TV was still on. I reached over to the nightstand for the remote, but it wasn't there. I turned on the lamp, and noticed that there was something different about the room. There was incense burning and the sky out the window was a light maroon color. The mattress felt like it was made of warm Jell-O. I got up to turn the television off, and my feet were in warm luminescent blue sand.

I recognized the image that was on the TV. It was a covered wagon, like from the old west, and in cursive letters below it read Trail's End Motel, the whole thing lit up in neon. I sat on the foot of the bed and watched as the camera's shot panned from the sign to one of the doors. The room number was five, that was the room that Lizzy and I were staying in. I had the feeling that I was not only watching myself on the TV, but the image I was watching was being broadcast back to the island.

I was sleeping on the filthy motel bed, and Lizzy was sitting on the toilet in a semi-conscious state. She finally stands up and starts walking toward the bed when she seems to become aware that I am watching her on the screen. She walks right up and puts her face in the camera. She smiles, but says nothing. Lizzy starts acting for the camera. She is nude and starts dancing seductively to no music, never taking her eyes off the lens.

"Do you know that I am watching you?" I say to the screen.

"Yes," she says. "You don't remember who I am, do you?"

"Your name is Lizzy. You drove to see me at Gypsy Joe's to have me sign a book".

"Is that all you remember?"

"Other bits and pieces".

"Then you don't remember who I am?"

"Your name is Lizzy..."

She started laughing. "Let me show you".

In an instant, I am no longer looking at Lizzy through a screen, I'm seeing from the bed in the Trail's End Motel. She lies down, and pulls the sheet off me and starts giving me a hand job while she stares at me intently. Her blue eyes are hypnotic. She start's talking dirty to me and telling me how she wants me to treat her like a slut. She tells me that she wants it rough. She must have put Viagra in one of my drinks, because for the next hour we fucked each other every way that we could think of. She was on top when we both came. She stayed there, and started staring at me intently again with those blue eyes, those goddamn blue eyes. I've seen those eyes before.

"You're starting to figure it out, aren't you," she smiled at me.

"Who are you?"

"Come on Caleb, you're getting close".

"Who the fuck are you?"

"We used to be neighbors".

"What are you talking about?"

"You tried to teach me to play baseball".

I froze. The blue eyes, those were Michael's blue eyes. "Michael?"

"I used to be. A million lifetime's ago".

I pushed Lizzy off me hard, she fell on the floor and almost hit her head on the wall, "Why are you doing this to me? Why would you just show up in my life like this?"

I'm back at the foot of the bed watching my life on what seemed like a video from Thanksgiving night, and the TV shuts off by itself. I think to myself that I'm just having a dream, but I look around realize that I'm no longer in the room on the island. I'm in the back of an ambulance, there are people working on me. I can't speak, even though these people are asking me something.

"He drank rubbing alcohol," I heard one of the voices above me say. "It must have been a suicide attempt, because there was plenty of real liquor in the room".

# X X X

I woke up in the morning still unsure what had happened to me during the night. I didn't know if what I saw on the television was a dream, or hallucination, or maybe I was just going insane. It seemed too real to be dream, but I couldn't think of any other plausible explanation. I kept wondering if that was really the way that Thanksgiving night went, because I didn't remember any of it. Was it true that I had really tried to kill myself? It wasn't something that would be completely out of the question, but I can't imagine drinking rubbing alcohol.

I tried to put the incident behind me as the day went on. We had to be up an hour earlier than usual for the day's boat trip. The yacht that Dr. Wright lined up for us was too big to be tied to be to the dock, it was anchored in the bay right outside the swimming area. We had to take a small motorboat over, two people at a time, to board the vessel. I volunteered to be the last one on so that I could smoke a couple of cigarettes and drink some coffee.

The yacht was huge, and luxurious. We were instructed to go down to a room below deck where the chef had breakfast waiting for us. Enrique told us that we would be sailing to La Paz which was the capital city of the Baja state. It was going to take a couple of hours to get there, and the crew would show us all the amenities on the boat. I was disappointed to see that the door to the bar was locked. My cravings for alcohol had subsided in the weeks since I had been on the island, but that morning I really wanted a drink badly. I wanted to quit thinking about what I had experienced during the early hours of the day.

We arrived at the harbor in La Paz around 10:30, there was a rented van waiting for us at the end of the dock. The driver gave us a little tour of the city and then took us to a little taco place down on the beach for the lunch. Afterward, he drove us to this big square in the middle of the city. Enrique told us we could look around the shops, and then meet at the van to go to the harbor for the trip back. I could see a cantina in the corner of the square.

Everybody went their own ways to different shops. It was a relief to be away from the other patients for a while. After nearly a month in their company, a few of them were getting tiresome. I have no doubt that they felt the same way about me. I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching me as I headed towards the cantina. I guess I should have kept my eyes forward because Enrique was sitting on a bench in front of the place. He saw me before I saw him, he was grinning and shaking his head. I turned and walked the other way.

I spent most of the yacht trip back on the upper deck soaking up the sun and watching the beautiful shoreline go by. Most of the other patients were down on the main deck playing slot machines. I never understood the thrill of gambling if real money wasn't being wagered, but I guess it was a way of passing time. That was the hardest part of being sober, how to fill the time without a drink or a pill.

I thought I must have been the only one who knew about the deck, because I was alone there until Peggy and Debra made their way up. I cringed when I saw them, not because they weren't nice enough ladies, it was just that they always seemed so sad. They could be depressing individually, I didn't know if I could handle them together. Surprisingly, they were smiling and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

"Caleb," Debra said, "Could I buy a cigarette from you?"

"No, but I'll give you one. Please sit down".

"I haven't had a cigarette in in six years," she said. "The day I found out that I was pregnant with my son, I quit cold turkey".

"Why do you want one now?

"I just do".

"I want one too," said Peggy.

I laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, no I'm not, unless you don't have enough"

I could see it in her eyes that she was serious. "It's not that, it's just, well, do you even smoke?"

"I tried it a couple of times when I was in high school".

I gave her a cigarette. After that expected initial coughing fit, she smoked it like a pro.

"Did you have an envelope in your room last night Caleb?" Debra asked.

"Yeah. How about you?"

"Yes".

"I got one too," Peggy said.

"What did yours say?" Debra asked me.

"That Dr. Wright wants me to right a love story. It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. That's not something I do. What did yours say?"

"That the doctor wants me to smile. I need to quit living in a future that isn't here yet. And that I need to trust that everything will be alright".

"What did yours say Peggy?" I asked.

"That he wants me to really study the bible, alone, not in a group. He wants me to quit thinking of my faith as a social occasion or a political cause".

"Does that make sense to you?"

"Not really. If religion isn't about going to church, or helping bring morality back to society, then what's the point?"

I just nodded and asked Debra if what the doctor wrote made sense to her.

"At first, I thought it was a joke," she said, "I was pretty bummed out about it when I first read it. Then later in the night I was down in the computer room checking Facebook, and I had friend request from a guy that I dated a few times before I got married. I really liked him, and I'm pretty sure he liked me, but for some reason we could never make it click. Anyway, we ended up just chatting for an hour, catching up. When I was lying in bed last night, I thought about what was in the envelope again, and it all made sense to me. I think I know what the doctor meant".

"I'm glad you do, I'm not sure what to make of him".

Our little conversation ended abruptly when a crew member summoned us to an hors duerves party with the captain. It had been a great day for the little cruise. The captain told us that he would be picking us up the day after the next for another cruise to a secret destination.

# X X X

From the first day that I woke up from the coma on the island, there was something that changed within me, and I don't mean the usual changes that you would expect from a rehabilitation clinic. I saw people differently. They all had a field of color around them, I could see their auras. I didn't think too much about it at first. I chalked it up to the effects of detoxification. As the days and weeks passed, it became apparent that this was a phenomenon that wasn't going away. I started doing some research at night in the computer room to learn what all the colors meant.

I first noticed Guadalupe's violet aura within minutes of waking up that first day, she was drenched in a bright violet aura, making her a divine visionary full of wisdom and enlightenment. I didn't know her well enough, to determine if her personality matched her aura. Dr. Wright illuminated in gold. He was also supposed to be a beacon of wisdom and enlightenment, but on a much deeper level. Dr. Wright always gave me the impression that he wasn't who he seemed to be, like he was an actor playing a part, so I wasn't sure if his aura fit him or not.

A person's aura is ever changing, but the more I spend a little time with someone, I found there to be a dominant color, in other words, that was the base, and the emotions one experiences daily can distort that main color, most of the times it's temporary, but it seems like there can be permanence to it as well. In the broadest of general senses, the people I was with on the island seemed to permeate a matching aura.

Shannon has the brightest light of anybody. It was red, representing anger. There was no truer aura than hers, not even close. To see her stand next to Patrick was incredible, because his shade was almost as bright, but his was blue. The color of expression, cool, calm and sensitive. No matter how hard I tried to wrap my head around their relationship, I couldn't figure it out.

Enrique's color, indigo, seemed to be spot on. He was clear minded, a visionary and intuitive. Fredrick's aura was silver, sometimes it was hard to tell where his hair ended and the light surrounding him began. His shade represented abundance and nurturing. I would have questioned the nurturing part had he not shared his whisky with me.

The two dullest auras were those of Monique and Peggy. Monique's was dark blue, which is supposed to mean a fear of self-expression, she seemed detached from herself, but I don't think it was out of fear. There was nothing about Monique that was easy to figure out. Peggy had bright pink aura, meaning that she was sensitive, affectionate and full of compassion and purity. She may have had all those qualities, but not in a good way.

Aaron also was engulfed in pink, but his was a much darker hue. He was immature and dishonest, but not in a sinister way. I liked Aaron, but he just seemed like a lost kid. I didn't know whether I liked John or not. His coloring was dark green, like pea soup. The color suggested that he was jealous, resentful and had low self-esteem. I couldn't help but wonder if his aura had always been that color, or did life just paint it that way for him.

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum from John was Pablo. Despite his physical appearance, Pablo was a robust man. He emanated a strong will power, he was grounded and survival oriented. His deep red shade was a signal that he was not a man to be trifled with. The characteristics of Larry's yellow would have you believe that he was creative, aware, powerful, knowledgeable and playful. I think that for the most part, that fit Larry, but he had this subconscious desire not to be defined. It might be one of his faults. Debra's was yellow-green, she did seem like a passionate person when it came to her children.

I said earlier that every person seemed to have a dominant color, but that wasn't the case with Float. That guy was like a rainbow, and all his colors were positive. If I was forced to name Float's main color, it would still come down to a coin flip, but I would have to go with orange. For a guy who had tried to kill himself, he seemed to have a lust for life. He was vigorous and filled with vitality, and I'm sure he was very creative.

The thing that disappointed me is that I couldn't see my own aura in the mirror.

# X X X

Two days after Christmas, Dr. Wright planned a jeep expedition for us. We took a ferry almost due west from the island to a nature preserve on the Baja peninsula. There were four jeeps, with three patients per jeep along with a driver. The doctor was particular about who he wanted in each jeep. He grouped me with Patrick and Float. Our driver was some young surfer guy from Imperial Beach, just south of San Diego.

The jeeps were not going to be traveling in a caravan, leaving it to the driver and the riders where they wanted to go. The three of us decided that we wanted to do some extreme four wheeling in the mountains. The jeep with Fredrick, Peggy, and Larry were just going to take a leisurely roll along the coastline, and I'm not sure where the other two jeeps decided to go.

Our driver was a little on the crazy side, he was taking us up trails that I never thought we would have made. If there was a straight away of any kind, he punched the accelerator to get it as fast it would go. It was a white-knuckle ride to say the least, and there was more than a little fear being felt, but I was having a hell of a time, and it seemed like Float and Patrick were too.

The driver took us to the top of a cliff overlooking the gulf and stopped the jeep. "You guys are from a rehab clinic, right?" the driver asked to nobody directly.

"Yeah," Patrick answered.

"Do they let you smoke weed in there?" the driver asked.

"No!" Float said. There was a ting of irritation in his voice.

The driver reached into the glove box, and pulled a glass pipe out and a jar of pot. We walked down to a crop of rocks, where the waves were breaking probably 200 feet beneath us. The driver loaded the bowl and passed it to Float first. Patrick was apprehensive, saying pot made him paranoid but he hit the pipe anyway. There was no hesitation from me. The driver loaded the bowl three more times until all of us were baked out of our gourds.

I asked Patrick if he was okay, I didn't want him to get anxious and start freaking out. "Nah man, I'm good".

"You're not paranoid?" Float asked.

"Not at all. I think the reason I got paranoid when I was high, was because Shannon would flip out, and that would make me nutty".

Float stood up and examined the stitches in Patrick's forehead from where his wife had smashed him in the head with her glass. "That will probably be a cool scar man, but not as cool as mine," Float said.

"So, where did they take Shannon?" I asked Patrick.

"They haven't told me yet. Dr. Wright gave me an envelope last night telling me not to go visit Shannon when I get home".

"Are you going to?" Float asked.

"I don't know. I love Shannon, but I can't fucking stand her. I dread coming home from work every night because I know that she'll be there. I hate her".

"You should have left her a long time ago," I said.

"I think about it all the time. The thing is, we've been together since we were kids. I don't know what it's like not to have her in my life. That scares me sometimes. You know that box with the paper in it that Dr. Wright gave us on Christmas Eve that said our prayers had been answered? That was the day that they shipped Shannon out of here. I had been praying for that day for years".

Float asked me what my envelope said, and I told him about writing a love story.

"Are you in love?" he asked.

"No".

"Have you ever been in love?"

"My answer to that question used to be, 'hundreds of times,' but now I just say once".

"Then what are you going to write a love story about?"

"I don't know, and that's if I write anything at all. What did your envelope say".

"You won't believe this, but he told me I need to keep exploring the universes through the use of hallucinogenic drugs, because the truth is out there".

"Bullshit," Patrick objected. The driver almost fell off the cliff he was laughing so hard.

"It's true. The doctor wants me to keep exploring the universe and the realms of reality".

"It seems to me like you're off to a good start," I said.

"I think my life long prayer has been answered on this island," Float said.

"What would that be?" Patrick asked.

"All my life I've wondered what my purpose on this plane of existence was, I prayed about it, and now I realize I was put here to become a kindergarten teacher".

I stared at Float in amazement. I'm not sure if my jaw was actually on the ground, but it sure felt like it. "A kindergarten teacher?" I wanted to make sure that I heard him right.

"Yeah, I think I would make a great teacher".

"Float," I said, "don't take this the wrong way, but your scar can be terrifying for adults to look at, I can't imagine what children will do".

He dismissed me. "It's not a big deal. I barely even notice it. Sometimes I forget I even have it".

"If you say so".

"I think there's a lot about the world that I can teach kindergartners. I think I can give them a head start about how the universe works".

"Okay, but you know you can't give little kids acid, right?"

He laughed, "I'll get their parent's permission first".

The driver loaded the glass pipe a couple of times before we started driving back down to the ferry.

# X X X

The yacht trip to Puerta Penasco was much the same as it had been to La Paz. I had been there once a decade or so earlier when a couple of friends and I made a drunken road trip from Las Vegas. I know that I drove most of the way, and don't remember a single mile of the trip. I don't remember the city much either, so when the boat docked in the harbor it was like a new destination for me.

It was curious that Dr. Wright chose such a destination. There wasn't too much to do there if you weren't supposed to be partying. There were bars everywhere. Even more curious, was that Enrique elected to stay on the yacht. He said that he wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to wander to far away from the toilet.

I was walking along a path on the beach, when I heard my name being called. I looked around but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. I kept hearing it, and I recognized the voice as Larry's and finally spotted him and John sitting on the balcony of bar with what looked like a couple of beers in front of them. They picked up their glasses and toasted me from afar.

When I finally sat down next to them, I literally felt giddy anticipating my first beer.

"I think Dr. Wright wanted us to be here," John said, "at least that's the way I understood the envelope that he left or me". There was something different about him, but it wasn't obvious.

"What did it say?" I asked him.

"It said that I should do anything and everything I can to have a good time. Dr. Wright wanted me to enjoy my freedom while I still had it".

"That makes sense".

"The doctor is a wise man". I finally figured out why John seemed odd, he was smiling.

"What did your note say, Larry?"

"I think the doctor lost his fucking mind. He wants me to be a Buddhist."

"Huh?"

"No shit, he wants me to study about Buddha. He's a fat, bald guy with a weird mustache. I know all I need to know about Buddha".

"Why do you think he wants you to do that?"

"I don't know. He gave me a couple of books with the note, but I haven't looked at them yet".

Neither of them asked me what my envelope said, and that was fine with me. I was tired of talking about it. We had a couple of more beers, and then went to a different place to get something to eat. It was a place with American food, and they made a hell of a cheeseburger.

I think Enrique might have noticed that the three of us were a little buzzed when we got back on the yacht, but said nothing. For me, it was one of the best days that I had had in a long time, if heaven isn't a lot like sitting in a deck chair, drinking a cold beer in the warm sun, then I don't want to go".

# X X X

When the day came, Fredrick and I were the only ones that wanted to go fishing, everybody else opted for the helicopter tours. As we headed out in the water, I said to Fredrick, "I assumed you would have been on the helicopter, you don't strike me as a fisherman".

"To tell you the truth, I'm not. I used to be. My family had a ranch in Montana, with a magnificent river going through it. When I was a teenager, I would spend my summers in, or around it. I was quite the fly fisherman, caught some whopper trout out there. Besides, I never cared much for riding in helicopters. They give me vertigo".

The fishing was slow. It wasn't the right time of year for most types of fish, so our guides were looking for snapper or yellowtail. "Did you get an envelope the other night, Fred?"

"No. Did you?

"Yeah?"

"What did it say?"

"That I should write a love story".

"Ah," he smiled. "That was something that I always wanted to do. It's funny how life works, there just never seems to be enough time to do everything you want".

"I feel like time is all I've got. Too much of it".

"Take it from an old man, that's no way to think. I'll go to my grave knowing that I never had a proper family, a wife and kids. All my life I said there would be time to settle down later, but seems that time ran out, before that later came".

"I'm sure you've had a charmed life".

"Oh, no doubt about it. I have no complaints".

It wasn't until we were on our way back, and close to the island, that we started catching fish. We must have hit a school of yellowtail, because there was something on our hook almost as soon as the line was tossed out.

"Dr. Wright didn't give you an envelope on Christmas?" I asked Fredrick again. Everybody else that I had talked to had got one.

"I told you no. I got a box".

"What was in it?"

"I'll come down to your room before bed tonight and show you".

"Okay".

It was almost nine that night before Fredrick knocked on my door. "Come in".

He closed the door behind him, and sat down at the table with me. He placed a long, black rectangular box in the center, "open it," he said.

There was a bottle of cognac, and two crystal snifters. "Very nice," I said even though I don't know the first thing about cognac.

"Nice indeed, this is some special sauce. I can assure you that the doctor didn't find this as the corner liquor store. He opened the bottle, and poured some into both glasses. We spent the next couple of hours talking about our lives. Fredrick did most of the talking. His life had been incredible. Hugh Hefner would have blushed at some of his stories. The bottle was still mostly full when Fredrick stood up, "I've got to be going. You keep the rest of the bottle, I won't drink it".

"I'll put it in the closet. We'll have one last drink together before we go home".

Fredrick smiled, and patted me on the shoulder, "I'd like that Caleb. Goodbye". I watched him walk down the hall until he disappeared into his room.

The next morning, something woke me up before the alarm did. There was some type of commotion going on out in the hall. I got up and looked out the door. The entire medical staff was outside of one of the doors. I stepped out of my room to find out what was happening. At first, I thought it was Float's room that they were outside of, but it was Fredrick's.

As I was walking down there, Guadalupe walked out of the room. "Is everything okay?" I asked her.

She shook her head. There was a rear rolling down her cheek.

# X X X

Between the yacht trips, the helicopter and the jeep tours, I couldn't help but notice that Monique and Pablo were spending a lot of time together. On the surface, it wouldn't appear that the two of them would have had anything in common, but I had a feeling it was their superficialities that brought them together. They discovered each other under an umbrella of vanity.

They must have been up early that morning. They were walking up from the beach up the stairs and saw me smoking a cigarette on the patio, I must have looked upset.

"Are you okay?" Pablo asked.

I told the two of them what was going on inside with Fredrick and that I thought that he was dead. They wanted to know what had happened, but I didn't know any details. I didn't say anything about the cognac.

"Do you know if they will be sending a boat for his body?" Monique asked.

I was slightly taken aback; it was such a strange question. "I have no idea. Why"

"I was just wondering". She turned to Pablo, "I'm going to go take a shower. Save me a seat at breakfast".

"I will," he said as she was walking through the door.

"Is Monique afraid of dead bodies or something? That was weird of her to ask about the boat".

"She has a lot on her mind. That envelope that Dr. Wright gave her is making her even more crazy than she already is".

"Why?"

"Dr. Wright told her that she should have an abortion. She didn't even know she was pregnant until the nurse gave her a test yesterday".

"That's bizarre that the doctor would say something like that. What fucking business is it of his? How would he know?"

"I don't believe in abortion. Well, I don't normally believe in abortion, but in this case, I think the doctor might be right. I don't think Monique can handle it. She's already upset about what's going to happen to her body. I have some connections that might be able to help her get back into modeling, but not if she is with child".

"What did your envelope say Pablo?" I asked.

"It was nothing. It just said that after everybody else left on New Year's, there would be a boat coming the next day to bring me food and supplies".

"I told the doctor that I would watch the clinic while it was closed, until the next session starts in April. He thought that was a good idea".

"I didn't know that was an option. If he'd send me a shipment of beer each week, I would've done that job".

"It's not an option you want, senor. If that's an option, it's your only one".

# X X X

Aaron came to my room, in the afternoon asking me if I had heard about Fredrick. I told him about seeing Guadalupe in the hall that morning, but that was all I knew. He said that he had heard Fredrick had died in his sleep sometime during the night and that he was blue and cold to the touch when the nurse found him.

"Fred was a good guy," I said to Aaron. "It's hard to believe that it was just yesterday that were catching fish and having a great time, and not even a day later he's gone".

"I liked him, and it sounded like he lived a good life".

"We were just talking about his life last night. He had what most people would consider a great life."

"Caleb, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor".

"You can ask".

"I write poetry sometimes. If you don't mind, I'd like to send you some and see if you think it's any good".

"That'd be fine. I'll give you an email address before you leave".

"I've never showed my poems to anybody before".

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It's not something my dad would approve of me spending my time doing. I don't know how much poetry I'll get to write in the Marines".

"You're joining the Marines?"

"Yeah, my dad thought that it would be a good idea. I asked Enrique to let me call him last night, and I told him the reason that there was a syringe in my room".

"How did he take it?"

"He was pissed at first, but overall, he took it better than I expected. When I told him about the envelope that Dr. Wright gave me, my dad said he understood".

"What did yours say Aaron?"

"It was a picture of me in the bodybuilding contest. He had written on it 'Next time, be real".

"I'm curious about how this led to you joining the Marine Corps".

"My dad and I agreed that the Marines would teach me honor".

"Yeah, Aaron, I don't know for sure, but I have serious doubts that they have poetry classes in the Marines".

"I'll figure it out. My dad retired from the Marines just last year. I've been the in corps my entire life. God, country, the corps".

# X X X

From that moment I woke up on the island, with Guadalupe standing over me with her bright violet glow, she has become like a spirit to me. It's like her aura has its own gravitational pull, and whenever she is around, I can feel it sucking me into her, both figuratively and literally. She communicates to me more with her eyes and mannerisms, than she does with her words.

Sometimes I think she plays this game with me, but I don't think she knows it. There are other times when I am sure that she knows exactly what she is doing. Just before Christmas, as she was going around doing her weekly checkups, I passed her in the corridor. She was going into John's room to examine him, she told me she would be in my room in about 15 minutes. I told her that I was going to have a smoke, and I'd be back before she got there. I noticed that she had her uniform buttoned all the way up to her neck.

I was lying on the bed when she walked into my room with her instruments in tow. "Good morning, Caleb," she said that adorable accent of hers.

"Good Morning, Guadalupe". When she went back to shut the door, she walked in a slow, deliberate manner, the way a cat moves. She came back over and grabbed my wrist to get a pulse. Somewhere between John's room and mine, a few of the buttons on her uniform came undone. I could see the top of her bra. I was glad when she left that morning before she noticed my erection.

The night after Frederick died, Guadalupe came to my room, and asked me if I was alright.

"Yeah," I said. It's been a strange day with Fredrick dying and everything. Getting ready to go home in a couple of days. It's just been strange. That's the only way that I can describe it".

"I know. I've felt like crying all day. He was such a nice man". Just as soon as she finished saying that, she put her face in her hands and started sobbing. I could tell that she had been holding it in all day, and couldn't do it anymore. I put my arm around her, and tried to console her. That turned into a hug, that gradually got tighter. She started nestling her head into my chest. We started kissing, but she pulled away abruptly and stood up.

"We can't do this here," she said. Her breathing was labored.

"I know it. It's not right".

"It's right," she said, "just not here. Come to my cabana".

Each member of the staff has their own quarters about a hundred yards away from the clinic. They are scattered about randomly so that each cabana has some privacy. We tried to be somewhat covert in getting back to Guadalupe's place. She would walk ahead, then motion me when it was sure to move.

As soon as we shut the door behind us, we were all over each other. The passion was palpable. There was something primal and carnal about the way were with each other, but there was a spirituality to it too. There was no talking, just panting, and moaning, and "ahhhs". When we were in her bed, I could feel myself out of my body, and she was out of hers too. There was more than a physical interaction between the two of us, I had the sensation that my cells were passing through Guadalupe's, and hers through mine.

It took us more than a few minutes to catch our breaths. I should have been exhausted after what she had just done to me, but it was the opposite. I felt like I was 25, and I might have been able to go again.

"I tried to wait until I was married," she said. "Jesus knows, I tried my hardest to save myself for my husband. I really did".

It took me a bit to process what she had said to me. "You were a virgin?"

"Si. I was supposed to have been married two years ago, but he died. The cartel got him. Once he was dead, I didn't know who I was supposed to wait for".

"You're a beautiful girl, I'll bet you have men stepping on each other to get to you".

"I come from a very small town. I come here to work for a few months, then I go back home. I don't see many men".

"I feel guilty," I said to her. "I don't think I've ever taken a woman's virginity before".

"Don't feel guilty. I'm thankful. I knew that you were the right man".

"You were incredible Guadalupe. I felt so connected to you. It felt like it was meant to be".

# X X X

It was the last day of the year, a day before all of us would be leaving the island. As much as I hated the place when I first got there, I was just starting to feel comfortable. Two weeks earlier, I would have cut off one of my toes to be on a plane to Denver, but now I was plagued with apprehension about the idea. I couldn't figure out what it was that I supposed to be going back to. I doubt the guys at Gypsy Joe's even noticed that I wasn't there.

Enrique was in his office doing what he needed to do to get the island shut down for the season. I told him that I was going to go for one last walk around the island, and asked him he wanted to go. He tried to refuse saying that he had a lot work to do, but I pointed out that there will always be work to do, but leisurely strolls along a deserted beach don't happen every day. He agreed.

As we walked, he said to me, "Dr. Wright gave me an envelope on Christmas".

"I thought those were only for the patients".

"I thought so too. The envelope that he gave me was about you".

"What did it say?"

"Dr. Wright wanted me to make sure that you remembered the reason that you were brought to St. Jude's Island".

"I had a dream the other night, or maybe it was a vision, I'm not really sure what it was, but I could see myself that night. I remember what happened. A ghost from Christmas past paid me a visit on Thanksgiving night".

"Do you remember everything?"

"I think I know all of the events that happened, the part that confuses me is why they happened".

"It'll come. The reasons for something are always harder to find. Sometimes there are no reasons".

"Are you leaving tomorrow too, Enrique?"

"Yes, I should be hugging my wife, and holding my kids before the sun goes down. I can't wait to see them".

"Why don't you get a job like this in Los Angeles, so you can be with your family all the time?"

"There is no other job like this. What I do can only be done here".

"I don't get it".

"When I was younger, I studied to be a priest. I thought that it was my calling. Somewhere along the line of studies, I asked myself what my motivation was for wanting to serve the Lord. I thought about it long and hard, for weeks. I came to the conclusion that what I really wanted to do was help people in some way. One thing led to another, and I started working for a place in Orange County that specialized in helping heroin addicts. That's where I met my wife".

"She was an addict?"

"No, she was a nurse's aide. That was also where I met Dr. Wright. He had come to the place to pick up a patient and take him back to the island. We started talking, and once I told him that I had studied to be a priest, he immediately offered me a job. I turned him down a couple of times, but he came back each time with a better offer".

"Do you think that you'll do anything else?"

"If it's up to me, no. But that's not how the world works. Each time I leave the island, I wonder if it will be my last time, whether Dr. Wright wants to keep helping people or not".

"Who decides who comes here or not".

"It's all up to the doctor".

"What is it that you like so much about helping people here?"

"I like hearing the prayers of people. I always pray that their prayers are answered".

"You are a good man Enrique. It's likely that I'll never see you again, but I wish nothing but the best for you and your family in life. You've been a friend to me while I've been here and I appreciate it".

"Caleb, you are a better man than you think you are. I know what was in the letter that the doctor gave to you. He's 100% right too".

"I don't know how to write about love, not really my genre, even if I were still a writer".

"You will, and before you get on that boat in the morning, you will know the truth that your prayer has been answered".

# X X X

Two hours before midnight, everybody was supposed to meet out on the patio. There was going to be party, with a bonfire on the beach and fireworks to ring in the New Year, but before that, they going to be giving out travel packets. It would be an itinerary of all the hoops that one would have to jump through to get back to wherever it was they were going from the Puerto Penasco airport.

Enrique picked a Manilla envelope from his stack and called out names for people to come up and get them. When there was only one envelope left, Enrique said to review the packets, and if anybody had any questions he would try to answer them in the morning. He started to walk away, "Hey, Enrique, I think that envelope you're walking away with belongs to me".

He looked down at it, "No, this was for Fredrick. Didn't you get one?"

"I didn't".

"Okay," he said. "Let me go look into it. I'll get back to you".

At about 11:30, Float whistled, and started tapping on a glass with a spoon, "Let's go sit in a circle one last time, around the fire, and tell everybody else where they are headed in the morning".

When everybody was gathered round, Float looked at me, and said "Caleb, you go first. Where are you going?"

"Well, Float, I didn't get a packet yet. I'm in purgatory".

"That sucks man," Float laughed. "Where you going Patrick?, and then just keep going around the circle".

"I'm going home, and getting back to work," he said. "I can't wait".

Peggy was next, "I'm going to home to Mobile. My pastor is going to pick me up from the airport. He's going through a divorce, so there's an extra room in his house. He started a prayer chain for me on Facebook. Ain't that the sweetest thing you ever heard?"

Aaron stared at Peggy with a look of disbelief on his face for a second before he spoke. "I'm going home for a few days, and then I'm going to join the marines".

"I've got to fly to Mexico City in the morning. I've got a few photo shoots there, and we'll see where I end up after that," Monique said.

Pablo interrupted, "I got her a modeling contract with some associates, I am going to stay here on the island for a couple of months, then I'm going to meet her in Mexico City. I'm going to be taking over her career. I'll make her a superstar again".

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Pablo is quite likely the most insincere person I have ever come across. He makes absolutely no attempt to conceal the fact that he is lying. He tries to believe his own lies, he wants them to be true. I hadn't heard it said in so many words, but there was a feeling that after everybody else was off the line, there were going to be some people coming over from the mainland side of the gulf and pay a visit to Pablo. I wasn't any more optimistic about Monique. At her age, there weren't going to be many more modeling contracts. Once she got to Mexico City and met Pablo's friends she was either going to be an escort or doing porn.

"Everybody knows where I'm going," John said, but not in usual sad voice. "My prayers were answered when the little girl in the car that I hit, lived. I can't bring her dad back. I know that. I'll always pray that someday that girl walks again. Until then, I don't deserve to be a free man. Every night I spend in that penitentiary, I'll be praying for that little girl".

"That was nice, John," Larry said. "I'm not that different from you. I'm going back to Illinois, but I don't know what's going to be there. I think my wife will be, thank God, but I'm not sure about anything else. I may not be the mayor anymore, for all I know. For the first time in my life, I'm afraid. I've always been in control over everything, now I don't have control of anything. It's scary. I'm afraid".

Debra patted him on the shoulder, "everything will be alright," she said. She looked up at the rest of us, "I got some good news yesterday. The judge in my divorce case has been indicted on corruption charges. My attorney emailed me and said he was going to get an emergency court order for me to see my kids. I've never been so happy in my life".

"That leaves only me," Float said. "This time tomorrow night, I'll be tripping mushrooms at a music festival in San Francisco". Everybody laughed, and soon we were standing up and clapping for everybody else.

After the clock struck midnight, and the fireworks had been shot off, and everybody else was drifting off to their rooms, Enrique pulled me off to the side. "We can't find your travel pack anywhere. I'll make some calls in the morning, and try to figure out what's going on".

# X X X

When the boat left for Puerto Penasco on New Year's morning, I wasn't on it. Not only was my travel packet not found, Enrique told me that he couldn't find any evidence that travel arrangements had even been made for me. There were two more boats coming for the staff shortly, one was going to Mazatlán for staff going to the mainland, and another one going to Puerta Penasco for the staff that lived everywhere else.

The boat to Puerto Penasco arrived first. That was the one that Enrique was going to be on. If I took the boat there it might be difficult to get a flight, but if I could find a rental car I could drive to Denver in a couple of days. If I took the boat to Mazatlán, it would be easier to get a flight, if not to Denver, then at least somewhere in the states, and I would be able to get home from there.

I was leaning towards Puerto Penasco when Guadalupe came and whispered in my ear, "come to Mazatlan, I'll change my flight, and we can stay there for a couple of days until you find a flight".

My initial thought was to say no, because I would probably get home faster if I went with Enrique, but in a moment of clarity, I asked myself what it was that I was in such a hurry to get home to. "I'd like that Guadalupe," I said. "It scares me though. If I were to leave you here now, you would think of me as a good guy. If I go with you, you might find out what I'm really like".

"I can hardly wait to kiss you," she said.

When the boat was docked, the rest of the staff took a shuttle to the airport, Guadalupe and I took a taxi to the tourist area. We found a room at one of the old hotels at the north end of the beach. We got one of the suites at the top, which we kind of regretted only because the elevator didn't feel very safe, it continually jerked the entire 12 stories up.

The elevator didn't turn out to be a big deal, because for a day and a half we didn't leave the hotel room. If we weren't sleeping, we were making love. Guadalupe was making up for a lot of lost time. She was insatiable, and I loved every minute of it. During a break, I was staring at the ceiling, and my body was tingling. Being with Guadalupe felt so natural, it was so effortless. It couldn't have been more perfect if it had been choreographed.

It wasn't until the third day that we even thought about how we were going to get home. We held hands as we walked down the beach to find some breakfast. We were famished, we'd ordered room service, but we could barely stop fucking long enough to eat.

"What are you going to do when you get home?" she asked me.

"I don't know. I've haven't thought about it".

"Will you just go back to drinking all day?"

"I'd like to say no, and I would say it with the best of intentions, but after time, that's probably what would happen. There's not a whole lot else that I have to do".

"I thought you were in a hurry to get home".

"I was, but the truth is there is absolutely nothing there that I need to be in a hurry about".

"Come to my home. It's near Guadalajara".

"What will I do there?"

"The same thing that you would do at home, except that you would do it with me".

I wanted to say no. That's not how my life was supposed to go. I'd had my destiny mapped out for years. A woman like Guadalupe was never supposed to come into my life. I'm supposed to be alone. I felt her squeeze my hand, and saw the way she was looking at me.

"Are you sure that's what you want? I mean, you really don't know me".

"I want to know you".

"You may not like what you find".

"Maybe. At least I'll know one way or the other".

Within a week of arriving there, we found an apartment overlooking a plaza square near the center of town. We spent our days going from shop to shop looking for stuff to furnish the place. Most nights we would go to the market, and cook dinner in our tiny little kitchen. We'd have a glass of wine or two, then make love until we fell asleep.

We were walking through the square when a kid came up and asked us if we wanted to buy a candle. I looked at his cart, and saw a St. Jude candle almost like the one Enrique gave me on the island, but the artwork on the glass was much better and the prayer was in Spanish. When we got home, I lit it and put it on a shelf in the bedroom.

After we made love, and Guadalupe had already fallen asleep with her head on my chest. I watched the flame from the candle flicker. In the dark, the candle made a circle of light on the ceiling. I became fixated on the circle and the way it moved in relation to the flame. As I watched, a face became visible in the within the sphere.

I recognized the face, it was Dr. Wright. He spoke to me without words, because I understood everything that he was saying. "Hello Caleb".

"Hello doctor. Am I hallucinating?"

"You can call it what you want. Labels don't concern me".

"Why are you here?"

"I like to see a man after his prayers are answered".

"I keep telling you that I never prayed".

"You're caught up in some narrow little definition of what you think prayer is. After the love of your life died, how did you feel?"

"How do you think I felt. I was devastated".

"It wasn't just her that you lost. You lost love. That was all you had. You may not have got down on your knees, or read the bible, or sacrificed an animal, but you were searching the universe for love. You found it".

I stroked Guadalupe's hair, and kissed her head. "You're right. Thank you".

"Now you have something to write about".

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Lauren Bates for another outstanding editing job and catching things that my mind misses.

Thank you Alexis Cason for designing a cover when I had no idea what should be done.

134

