 
# Small Town Doctor

by

Robert James Allison

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

# First Suitor Enterprises

www.RobertJamesAllison.com

Copyright © 2013 by Robert James Allison

ISBN: 978-1-30182-142-6

Published by First Suitor Enterprises at Smashwords.com

September 2013

Cover photo:

Johnson, Nebraska downtown area taken by the author

All rights reserved

### Table of Contents:

Title

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

End

About the Author

# Chapter One

The black hearse rolled slowly down the street, like a plague creeping slowly across the land, and turned the corner. In the back, barely discernible was the tiny casket. Tiny as it should have been, because it contained only a small child. A little boy of six years old. A little boy who would never get any older. Who would never again play in the streets and run in the alleys. Who would never know what it was like to grow up to be a man.

The shame of it was that it didn't need to happen. The boy should not have died. The man on the street corner knew that so very well. This was a small isolated town in Idaho. The closest doctor was in the big town well to the south. Also, in that same town, was the only hospital. Even ambulances had to come from a town in between, which was well south of this town. By the time the ambulance had finally arrived, the boy was already dead.

The man knew that the boy had died of shock. Rapid treatment by a competent doctor could have saved him. Just someone who knew about shock and what to do with it. Just a doctor, but none would come. The town was too small and there was no money to be made here.

In addition to the boy in the hearse, a doctor in this small isolated town could have saved many a person over the years. Some old, some young, and many in between. The dying of the young bothered the man on the street the worst. Generally, he went to the funerals out of respect for the family, at least the graveside service and he stayed off to himself, but he couldn't go to this one. Just watching the cars following the hearse with the family members was almost more than he could bear. Another dead child was more than he could deal with right now.

How he wished he could help, but he was powerless to do so. _Oh God_ , he prayed to himself, _why have you forsaken this little town? Why have you permitted so many to die, when so little was needed to save them? Why won't you send them a doctor?_ And then catching himself, for the man was a God-fearing man, despite all, he finished, _your will be done. Amen_.

~*~

Mike had long since decided that Idaho was cold in October.

Crossing the Rockies on a motorcycle in the fall was not a good idea. He had wanted to linger and enjoy the scenery, but the cold had driven him down from the mountains.

Now he was in Idaho and the cold here was almost as bad as in the Rockies. The altitude was increasing with each mile and what possessed him to see this part of the country in the fall he couldn't imagine. Still, he rode onward and now upward to an unknown destination.

He rode where the spirit moved him, as he had told Jamie Sadler. He still did not know the name of the spirit. It was an indistinguishable urging that moved him from place to place. Just a feeling to go somewhere other than where he was at the time. _Just a saying,_ he told himself, as he had told Jamie Sadler.

He had started out to see the country with no purpose other than to see the country, but occasionally he stopped for some unknown reason. He was still seeing a lot of the country, but every now and then he felt driven to go to a certain part of the country. In that area he would stop. The stop was meaningless to him. He had no inkling of why he was stopping.

After the fact of course, he could see it. West Virginia had been for Jake Sadler. Central Illinois had been for Vern Stephens, but what had led him to those places to help those people was beyond his grasp. _Coincidence_ , he thought. Now as he shivered from the cold, he wondered, _what is in Idaho, or is it Idaho? Maybe it is something, or somewhere, beyond._

_No, it's Idaho_ , he decided, but where and why he couldn't fathom and in the end he didn't care. He had no place to go, no place to be, and no one to return to. Home was where he was, but if along the way he could do some good then that was better yet. Too many years he had done no good. Now at least he felt useful, though not content.

The scenery was beautiful. The hills made building roads and driving them difficult, but it did provide for some magnificent views on the high turns. Several times in the last two hours he had pulled off when there was room, just to look at the scenery. Also to stretch his legs, which seemed to cramp more and more each mile he drove. In Illinois a 120-mile distance could be covered in just about two hours on any type of road and in less time on the interstates, but not in Idaho. He thought, _I have been on this road for three and a half hours and I'm still not there. Wherever "there" is supposed to be._

At long last, after what seemed to be an eternity on the winding roads, his motorcycle popped up over a crest in a hill and below, in a long, wide valley, lay a small town. From up here it really looked small and very isolated _. It has to be isolated_ , he decided, _this is the only road in_. He studied the town as he rode down in to the valley. _Straightest part of the whole road_ , he concluded.

There appeared to be two main roads. The one he was on approached from the south and cut directly through the town, then continued on north up the other side of the valley and out of sight. A second main road came in from the east or the west, depending upon your perspective and crossed through the town intersecting the road he was now on, but both ends of it turned into more trails than roads not far out of town. There were numerous side streets connected to the two main streets, but they were primarily residential and didn't appear to contain much in the way of businesses. He could readily identify a couple of churches, a school, some houses, a couple of two or three-story apartment buildings, and a park of sorts, but that was about all.

As he got to the edge of the town he could see that there were about three streets intersecting the one he was on before it reached the center of town and not surprisingly, the street was named "South Main". He would have been willing to bet that the other main street's names would be east and west Main.

He was right, they were, and when he arrived at the intersection which had a four-way stop, he saw a bank on the northeast corner and a drug store on the southeast corner. The other corners contained a gas station and a hardware store.

The gas station was his first stop. There might not be another for miles. He filled his motorcycle and went inside to pay for his gas. He got a cup of coffee and warmed his hands with it while he stood by the window to look at the town.

Across the street on a wooden bench sat a long-haired, dirty looking man. He was motionless and he simply sat and stared as the cars passed through the four-way stop. According to the sign on the edge of town there were only 1,010 residents and Mike doubted they all lived right in town. A thousand residents really did not translate into too many cars or trucks, so traffic was light, to say the least.

After several minutes he was starting to wonder why they had erected a four-way stop at the intersection. He doubted that more than two cars ever got to that intersection at once, more than three times a day.

"Howdy." A voice to his right said and roused him from his doubts about the four-way stop.

He turned slightly to see a middle-aged man of about medium height standing next to him looking out the window with a cup of coffee in his hand. The man had on a uniform of sorts and Mike realized it was the gas station attendant.

"Hi. Guess I was daydreaming."

The man smiled pleasantly and held out the cup of coffee. "Here, have a refill. Getting cold early this year. Saw you staring out the window and thought you might want some company. I get bored here by myself. You probably noticed the traffic ain't real brisk here this time of day. Name's Brian Sloan," the man finished as he gazed out the window.

"Mike Maltby," Mike said as he took the coffee and continued, "thanks. I sure could use it. It was a long cold ride into town." Then he changed the subject saying, "You know I haven't seen two cars meet at that intersection yet. Why in the world did they put up a four-way stop?"

The man smiled, chuckled quietly, and said, "Well, there's two reasons. First, the state give us the money to buy and erect the signs. Second, in the Spring and early Summer we get a lot of traffic through here on the way to the national park which is about 20 miles up the road. In fact, we sit right in the middle of a national forest and we have national parks all around us. This time of year though it has slowed down. Still, we will get spurts of traffic around the first part of the week and right at the end of the week, but not much in the middle of the week."

"I see. Yes, that makes sense. It hadn't occurred to me that traffic would come through here for the parks. Frankly, after having just spent four hours on that road I figured there must be better roads to travel to the parks."

The man chuckled again and said, "Not only are there no better roads, there are no other roads." Gesturing toward the road he continued, "that one goes right into the national park and on out the other side to nowhere. Part of the reason we are so isolated here is because of the parks and forests. The government don't sell this land to anyone, they only lease it for certain purposes. Of course, the town was here before the park so we own our land, but we can't buy any more and most of the ranchers lease their range."

Mike was looking around the town as the station attendant talked. Finally he said, "Saw a curious looking shack behind the station here as I pulled in. What's that shack for? A used car lot?" He didn't want to say junkyard since the attendant might take offense and he surely hoped the shack was not the attendant's house.

"Oh, that. Dirty Dan lives there."

"Who?"

"Dirty Dan. At least that's what everybody around here calls him. He's a no-account drifter. Came walking down that road you just came down about three or four years ago. It was October and as you can tell, October is a might cold up here. We are right on the edge of the Rockies and 6,000 feet above sea level.

"Well anyway, he comes walking down that road about dark and goes to the back of my junkyard and starts setting up a make-shift shelter. I didn't have the heart to run him off. He looked half froze. He just stayed and he keeps improving that shack just a little more all the time.

"Nobody around here pays him no mind and he don't seem to bother anything. Never been caught stealing and sometimes he cleans up in one or more of the shops around here to make a couple of bucks. Don't say much to anyone and no one talks to him. Can't say as anyone around here really knows his name. Kids started calling him Dirty Dan and it stuck. Nobody I know of around here cared enough to even ask if that was his real name or not.

"Understand now. It ain't that we don't care about folks welfare here, but the man never asked for nothing and never volunteered no information. We all got the impression he wanted to be left alone and nothing has ever been said or done by him to change that impression. Most folks figure he's running from the law, but he don't seem to be the criminal type to me. Dirty Dan spends most of his days right here or near that bench over there. That's him there now.

"He just watches the people and the cars. Like I said, he don't say anything and don't bother anything. Only thing that seems to spark his interest is the kids. They play in the street sometimes and he can get kind of agitated when they do that with cars around. I never have figured if it's because he is afraid the cars will hit them or because they slow the cars down. I know it agitates him some though, because the kids say he starts crying every once in a while.

"One day I figure to look out there at that shack and see it and him gone. Or I'll go back there for a part and see him dead beside or in his shack. From the look of him he is well past middle age, but not really old, but then with that beard and his hair so long and scraggly you can't tell for sure. Sort of like you," the attendant finished with a wry smile, glancing sideways at Mike.

After a minute the attendant continued, "He smells so bad nobody wants to get close enough to him to ask his age or his name."

Mike put in, "Seems a shame for a man to waste his life like that. I wonder what brought him to this place and what keeps him here?"

The attendant looked queerly at Mike as in thought and said, "Nobody knows and nobody ever asked. Guess it's his business. If that's the way he wants to live, then so be it. Guess you'd know about that, huh?" the attendant finished, clearly meaning that from Mike's appearance, his manner of living was not unlike Dirty Dan's.

"I suppose you have a point. Can't go around telling other people how to live, but I can't equate that shack with living. That's just existing."

"I'll give you that. Got to be as cold as a 'well digger in Siberia' in that shack in the winter. Well, I best be getting back to work, not that there is any, but the phone might ring," he ended with a wink and headed for the other side of the counter.

"Thanks for the coffee," Mike said as he walked away and then continued, "tomorrow I'll buy."

"Going to be here tomorrow are you?"

Mike replied absently, "Yeah, I think so."

"Bed and Breakfast up the street. Might try there. Unless you are figuring on erecting another shack."

Mike just smiled and walked out to his motorcycle.

It didn't take him long to get a room lined up at the Bed and Breakfast and get settled in. Once he was finished he headed outside and up to the bench where Dirty Dan still sat motionless.

He walked boldly up to the bench and sat down. Bearing in mind the gas station attendant's comment about Dan's smell, he sat upwind.

Dan never looked up or in any way acknowledged his presence. After a long silence Mike said, "Not much traffic."

There was no response.

"Getting colder by the second."

No response.

"Nice little town."

No response.

"Reminds me of a funeral I was once at," Mike said lightly.

Dan jumped up, peered around furtively glancing from side to side, and said, "Funeral...now? Where?"

"No. Not here, not now. Another time, another place," Mike responded, shocked by Dan's response to the off-handed remark.

"Last week you mean. Yeah I seen that one. Did you see it?" But Dan didn't wait for a response he just stared off in the distance with a faraway look in his eye and continued, "the child did not need to die. Had there been a doctor here with one-tenth of the knowledge of a first-year medical student he would have been saved. Trauma killed him. Shock. Loss of blood too rapidly and in too great a quantity coupled with a rapid drop in body temperature and reduced circulation. A doctor would have diagnosed the condition immediately. A doctor would have arranged for a blood donor and started a plasma IV with saline solution. A doctor would have warmed the body up and improved the circulation, but there was no doctor and the boy died. I was powerless to help and I desperately wanted to help.

"I live in this community and I feel it is a part of me, but I'm not a part of it. I live on the streets and no one takes notice of me. That's my lot in life and I accept it for what it is. That doesn't mean that I can't care for the residents of this town or that I'm not capable of shedding tears at their passing. Which I do. Especially, the young ones. I can't bear to watch another child's coffin carried by this corner. Too many have passed."

"You talk like a doctor yourself," Mike responded, but Dan made no indication of having heard and stepped off the curb toward the rear of the gas station and Mike guessed, his shack. When he was gone Mike realized that Dan had not been speaking to him. He had just spoken, indifferent to anyone's presence.

Mike stared after him for a long time and then went back to the Bed and Breakfast. All the while he was struck by the contrasts in the man called Dirty Dan. From all outward appearances he seemed to be an uneducated bum with no means of support and no desire to look for a means of support. Yet he spoke like an educated man and the haunting look in his eyes when he spoke of the death of the child was chilling.

The more he thought of what Dirty Dan had said the more he was convinced that Dan was a doctor or had studied medicine. _This one is too deep for me_ , he decided. _Doctors are out of my league. Even crazy ones_. Then he wondered to himself why he cared, but he already knew that answer.

Downstairs at the Bed and Breakfast, he chatted with the owner and asked nonchalantly about a doctor or medical facilities.

The owner quickly recited the situation, "Primarily, this is ranching country and most of the ranches are well spread out. The nearest hospital and doctor are 120 miles to the south. The closest ambulance service is 50 miles to the south on the same and only, main road."

"Ever try to get a doctor to come here?" Mike asked.

"Ain't no doctor going to come here. Too far away from the hospital. No doctor would want to try to make a living in this town. Not enough regular business and too far to get in any surgery. We've tried, but no one was interested. We can't offer enough. Ain't even a Veterinarian within 50 miles and he's no account."

Back in his room Mike's brain was hard at work. He thought he might have the makings of an idea. A phone call was in order to someone who understood this type of problem. To a man who understood this kind of talk. An older man, but a wise man. _"Old" doesn't really fit Doc_ , he thought, Doc seemed timeless. Doc was past 70, but he didn't look it and he certainly didn't act it.

~*~

"Good morning, Doc. How's the farm coming?" Mike said pleasantly into the phone receiver.

"Well, being as how I don't grow nothing except some fruit in the orchard and I only got two cows, that ain't really considered farming, I guess okay. How you doing, Mike and where in the world are you now?"

"Pretty good, Doc, pretty good, and I'm still in the United States."

"How'd the phonics lessons work out?"

"Just fine and thanks. Now for the reason I called."

"What do you need now, Mike?"

"You need a vacation, Doc."

"What! You called me out of the blue from who knows where to tell me I need a vacation! I don't work, Mike. I'm a retired country doctor. You need the vacation, or you did."

"Then I need your help again, Doc. I want you to come to Idaho. A small isolated town high up in the mountains. I'll buy and I'll make all the arrangements, but the long and the short of it is that this town needs a doctor and I think you can help."

Doc was flabbergasted, but after some hesitation he said, "Mike, I'm done full time doctoring. I could maybe find a doctor for them. Finding a doctor for a town is not as tough as one might think, but finding one who would go in cold without the assistance of a doctor who has been practicing there for a good while is something else entirely. A new doctor looks for an old doctor to associate with so that he can learn the territory firsthand."

"So...can you help me out, Doc?" Mike asked innocently.

Too innocently. Doc knew Mike well enough to know there was more.

"I'm an old doctor alright, Mike and I could easily find a new doctor to associate with me, but I don't know the territory and I'm not going back to doctoring full time for anyone."

Mike clearly ignored the last and said, "You could learn it, Doc. Why, with your winning ways, inside of three or four months you would be a pillar of the community. You'd know all the secrets in less time than that," Mike said slyly.

Doc thought about the situation for a few minutes. He was old and getting tired, but he had a desire to see some different country for a while. Plus, this situation intrigued him. He knew there was more to this story and that Mike was holding out on him. To find out he would have to go along.

"Okay, but not the way you are thinking. I'll come out there, but not as a doctor. Not at first. And I'll not bring a new doctor with me, either. I want a look at this place.

"You arrange my travel and I'll arrange to have my house, animals, and fruit trees taken care of while I'm gone," Doc stated flatly.

"No problem, Doc. I called Joe Ranney before I called you. He said he would be more than happy to take care of the place while you are on vacation," Mike ended with a hearty laugh.

~*~

The town did not have a hotel, but it did have a Bed and Breakfast of sorts that was supposedly located on the east end of town on, what Doc now knew, to be East Main. He turned his rented Chevy Chevette to the right and drove slowly down the block looking for a sign indicating the Bed and Breakfast. He had called ahead to verify that Mike had lined up the correct accommodations and as usual he had. Doc was pretty sure Mike could get accommodations on the moon if there was a deal to be worked. He was hoping the Bed and Breakfast was not too far from Main and Main as he wanted to be able to watch the intersection from his room. He had specifically told Mike to request an upper level room on the street side, if at all possible. Doc knew that in a small town, sooner or later everyone passes through the main intersection to get somewhere and he wanted to be able to see them all, especially this Dirty Dan that Mike had told him about.

He found the Bed and Breakfast in the beginning of the second block. Just two houses down from the intersection of E. Main and Prairie which was the first street east of Main and Main. _Not too bad,_ he thought, _I guess it was too much to hope for that it would be in the first block and easily overlook the intersection. Now_ , he thought, _if the room just fronts Main street._ He found a parking place out front and walked up the board steps of the two-story frame house.

As he opened the front door a bell attached to the top of the doorframe jingled and a middle-aged man quickly appeared from somewhere in the back of the house.

"Yes, sir. May I help you?" the man asked pleasantly.

"My name is Bill Collins and I believe you have a room for me."

"Oh, Yes, sir, Mr. Collins. I've been expecting you. Thought you might get in earlier than this."

"Well, I didn't get up too early this morning, because it was only a two-hour drive, but I wasn't aware of the lay of the land and it actually took me four hours," Doc responded just as pleasantly.

The man smiled a little and said, "Yeah, that is one crooked road up from the south. Doesn't get any better north of town, either. In fact, I believe it is worse up north. Now, about that room. According to your travel agent...I believe you wanted a room fronting the street, correct?"

Doc smiled to himself. Mike must have phoned the Bed and Breakfast instead of stopping in or got someone else to call. Doc guessed he wasn't the only one travelling incognito.

"Yes, if it's no trouble," Doc said and continued, "I like to see and hear the cars. Doesn't seem so lonely in a strange town that way."

"Travel a lot do you?" the man asked, clearly just making conversation and not being nosy.

"A little, but more so lately. I'm retired and I like to look around for likely places to spend the rest of my days," Doc said simply.

"Well, this is a nice little town. That is, if you like to be away from it all. We are so far away that sometimes we get the news on the TV two days late," the man ended with a laugh.

Doc smiled and chuckled at the man's humorous remark, more out of politeness than sincerity.

"My name is Jim Shrock and I'm the owner, proprietor, chief cook, and laundry man around here," the man said and extended his hand with another friendly smile.

Doc shook the hand and the man continued, "let me show you to your room and then I'll come back down and help you upstairs with your things. Only one other guest right now. A motorcycle guy. He don't say a lot and he looks kind of rugged, but he seems harmless enough."

After Doc and Jim Shrock had carried all of the bags upstairs Doc started sorting things out. He had brought plenty of clothes, not knowing for sure how long he might have to be here.

He quickly arranged things and then decided he had better check the view from his room to the intersection. It was quite a ways down the street and it would be hard to recognize people from this distance with his old eyes. Then he noticed to his surprise that on the northeast corner, across from the filling station, a tree was planted right in the sidewalk. Around the tree was a large square of grass about the width of the double sidewalk and under the tree, to his complete satisfaction, was a long park bench.

He smiled to himself and thought, _just like home. Who needs to sit in a dreary room and watch people when you can sit under a shade tree on a park bench and sip coffee?_ What a more natural place to be anyway. No one would think much about him sitting there all day long and watching traffic. Also, it would be a good way to meet people and find out about this town. He was willing to bet a lot of people passed that bench on the way in and out of the bank and that was exactly where he was going to be—starting right after a supper.

He hurried through the supper that contrary to what Shrock had said earlier about being the chief cook, his wife had fixed, without seeming to hurry. The supper wasn't much anyway, the only people at supper were him, Jim Shrock, and his wife Betty. Just as soon as he had finished and expressed the normal gratitude and compliments, he excused himself, saying he thought a little walk around town was in order.

No one was at the park bench when he arrived and he took up a comfortable position. The night was cool and there was still two or three hours of daylight left, but he stuck it out to watch the people and cars. The only problem was that there weren't any cars or people to watch. Traffic didn't exactly consist of too much in this town.

~*~

Two days passed before Doc saw the man he was really looking for, he left his room and slipped easily and nonchalantly up the street on the far side, opposite the Bed and Breakfast. As he reached the corner, he quietly and as indifferently as possible, eased up and sat on the opposite end of the park bench. Doc did not even look his way, being careful to stare straight ahead or toward the gas station, which was not open yet this morning.

_This has to be Dirty Dan_ , he thought. Mike had described him and had said his smell kept most people away. He had to agree that it would. The wind was not blowing, but he could smell him from the other end of the bench. He was wishing for a breeze when Dan suddenly got up and started across the street toward the gas station.

"Nice morning, isn't it?" Doc said to the man's back.

Dan never even hesitated. He just kept walking and stepped out into the street to cross.

On impulse Doc yelled, "Wait, doctor!"

Dan stopped in mid stride and hesitated, but he did not turn and then started to walk again.

"You are a doctor, aren't you!" Doc yelled loudly.

Dan stopped again, turned, and walked back to Doc's side of the street and stood stock still on the edge of the curb, for what Doc thought was an eternity. Then he looked full at Doc and said, in a clear voice, with impeccable diction, "You look a little old to be a private investigator."

Doc was taken aback by that comment and finally sputtered in response, "I'm not a private investigator."

"Then why have you followed me to this town and why have you been asking so many questions about me?" Dan said smoothly, but firmly.

"I was curious, that's all."

"Curious why?"

"Curious to meet a doctor who wants to help the children of this town, but is satisfied to watch them pass this corner in a hearse."

Dan took another step toward him and Doc could see that he was seething. He thought he might have pushed too far, too fast. This man could be mentally unbalanced and he had not been in a fistfight since his high school days—he had lost that fight.

But Dan stopped short of him and just stood there. Doc watched silently as the angry look on his face subsided and he noticed a glistening in Dan's eyes. Dan turned silently to walk away again, but Doc was not going to let him go so easily. He knew he had reached him, but not enough—not yet.

"That's it, Dan. Just turn and walk away. Cry about it, but just walk away. Maybe you ought to run, and when the next hearse passes this corner you tell yourself you did all you could. You tell yourself that wishing will make it all better. You don't have to do anything, Dan, just wish it away!" he spat out with his heart racing. _After all_ , he thought, _this guy really could be dangerous._

Dan stopped and stooped over, as if struck by a club. His entire body visibly winced at the blow of the words and suddenly Doc wished he hadn't said them. _No, I'm glad I did it_ , he thought, _it had to be said_.

Dan slowly turned and Doc could see the glisten in the eyes was gone. Now the eyes held a fire, not anger, but determination and calculated steadiness. Dan said, "My name is not Dan, I'm not crazy and I gave up wishing years ago. Now all that I ask is to be left alone."

"That won't wash and you know it. We can't hide from the world and we can't hide from ourselves. You think you have done both, but all you have done is nearly destroy yourself and missed the opportunity to help a lot of your fellow men."

"I can't help my fellow men. Not anymore and if they knew why, they wouldn't want my help anyway."

"My name is Bill Collins and I'm a doctor, too. You are a doctor, aren't you?"

Dirty Dan looked at Doc for the longest time and he was clearly calculating whether a response should be made and if so, what response. Then he said, "Yes, I'm a doctor, or at least, I used to be, but now I'm just Dirty Dan and I like it that way."

"I doubt that's true," Doc said evenly and firmly.

"You doubt what is true?"

"I doubt you like being Dirty Dan or that you like the kids making fun of you and calling you crazy. I doubt that you like smelling like a sheep pen all of the time and living in that hovel across the street, but for some reason you feel it is necessary. Are you punishing yourself for some past short coming or are you on the run from the law?"

Dan walked slowly back to the bench and sat down heavily, staring blankly across the street, with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Doc figured he sat there for a good ten minutes before Dan finally said, "You are close on both counts, Doctor. My name is Jesse Blockman and I once was a doctor. A good one, I thought, but not anymore.

"You are right about the kids. It tears me up inside to hear them taunt me and know they think I am lower than dirt, which I may be. Still, I sit here on this bench almost all the time they are playing in the street and watch them. I love them, every last one of them and I would do anything I could to protect them all, from anything."

"Not quite," Doc put in, "You didn't do all you could for the last little boy who passed this corner in a hearse. You knew he was suffering from classic shock. Your diagnosis was textbook, but you just stood and watched him die. Why?

"And don't give me that bull about not being a doctor anymore. A doctor is a doctor until the day he dies. Maybe he stops practicing or slows down a little, like I did, but he never stops being a doctor. It gets in your blood. It becomes instinct. I heard about your instinct from a friend. I knew a doctor had spoken those words as soon as I heard the diagnosis. Only a doctor could say it the way you did. A doctor cries when he loses one and every time he loses one. Maybe only on the inside, but he cries just the same."

Jesse sat for a long time staring out across the intersection and then he said, "You're right, Doctor Collins, I could have saved him, but I didn't. I hate myself more each day when I think of it, but if I had it to do all over again, I still wouldn't save him. I can't be a doctor anymore, not ever again. A long time ago, in another world, I killed a child not any older than the one who passed by here in the hearse and I will never be a doctor again."

Now it was Doc's turn to be silent and he was silent so long that Jesse began speaking again.

"Ten years ago I was a resident at St. Mary's Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. I was a specialist in pediatric trauma. Generally, I dealt with the gravest of head injuries. I was good, very good, or so I thought. One night, after all day on the floor and countless emergency surgeries, I made an entry on a little five-year-old girl's chart. I noted the medication she was to receive that night. The medication was given, as I had instructed, and she never woke up.

"She was beyond the worst of her injury after several hours in surgery and she should have made a good recovery with only partial loss of brain function at the worst, but I killed her. I was tired and groggy and I made the notation too fast, without enough thought to her age and condition. She overdosed.

"There was a full investigation and a civil trial for wrongful death. I was found guilty, rightfully. I was stripped of my medical license and hospital privileges. I was sued civilly by the little girl's family and a judgment was placed against me for two hundred thousand dollars compensatory damages and two million dollars in punitive damages.

"It was bad enough that I had killed an innocent little girl, but without staff privileges I was unable to practice anymore. You know that a doctor who is not on staff at a hospital can't admit patients and a doctor who can't admit patients is dead in the medical profession. They really didn't need to take my license, as a doctor I was dead anyway."

Doc knew that. No doctor could survive for long without being able to admit patients to a hospital, but still he remained silent and then Jesse continued.

"The child's family became unbearable in their quest for revenge by attempting to collect every penny of the judgment, just as quickly as they could. Every time I accumulated so much as a few hundred dollars they would drag me back into court and have it seized. I became a pauper and it was clear that the only reason I was working at all was to give what I earned to the girl's family. I decided that I would be a pauper rather than slave for the rest of my life for their revenge.

"Had they needed the money I might have kept on working at odd jobs and let them keep taking my money, but they didn't need it. The family was quite well off. They only wanted my money to take revenge on me. They wanted to make and keep me a pauper.

"If the money would have brought the little girl back I would have worked the rest of my life for it, but it wouldn't.

"I decided that if I was going to be a pauper I might just as well do it of my own free will. I dropped out of the world and drifted all over the country accumulating no assets of any kind and barely existing. Still, they tracked me down at almost every turn and dragged me back in to court, not wanting to believe that I didn't have some money or some asset hidden somewhere.

"Finally, I came to this town one late October night some four years ago. I was nearly frozen to death and couldn't go any farther. I erected a makeshift shelter over there and I have been there ever since. When I heard that you were asking questions about me I assumed you were just another private investigator hired by the girl's family to track me down so that they could drag me back into court.

"Now you know. I can't be a doctor again. I could not trust myself to do it right and I can't let my name or past become known or I will be tracked down again like the dog I have become," he finished sadly.

"If you don't care, then why worry about the children?"

"I never said I didn't care! I said I couldn't do anything to help. At least, in a doctoring way, but I thought I could help by watching the children."

"Is it that you don't trust yourself or that you don't want anyone to spread the word about you and have the girl's family come looking for you again?"

"Truthfully, it's both. The girl's family has tormented me for ten years, but not nearly as bad as I have tormented myself.

"You know of all the towns I've been to in the past ten years I like this one the best. I really feel at home here even though not a soul takes notice of me or cares if I live or die, or stay or go. Well, I guess I'll move on in the morning," Jesse finished with dismay.

"Why? If you like it here so much?"

"Because you know. In every town I've ever been, as soon as one person knows or suspects who I am, then a private investigator or one of the lawyers shows up. I'm not sorry I told you though. It didn't help me to talk about it, but I needed to just the same. Do you understand that?"

Strangely enough he did understand. The man had been keeping this bottled up inside him for years and just letting it out to another human being, especially a doctor, had to ease the pressure, even though it did not ease the pain.

"Yes, I understand and you can rest assured your secret is safe with me. You'll not have to leave this town on account of my knowing your past."

"I'll think about it," Jesse said as he got up and walked slowly across the street to the shack without so much as a glance back.

Doc watched him as he disappeared into his shack and then he slowly got up and walked back to his room, deep in thought. Inside the Bed and Breakfast he asked the owner, "Seen that motorcycle guy around?"

"Not lately. He ain't been bothering you has he?"

"No, just curious is all. Seems like an odd sort of fellow."

"He is that. Pays for his room okay, but I don't think he has the money for many more nights. Looks like a flat broke bum to me."

Doc grunted and smiled to himself as he went back outside to look around for Mike and thought, _if you only knew_.

He found Mike down the street in a little coffee shop, there was nothing big in the whole town, and pulled up a chair at the same table.

"Hello, Doc. How's the vacation going?" Mike chuckled.

"I got your vacation, Michael," he scowled with a smile and continued, "now listen, I need some information and no questions, okay?"

"Okay, sure, Doc, shoot," Mike replied in his all-business tone.

"I want you to find out all you can about a Jesse Blockman, a doctor. Check the records at St. Mary's Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. There was also a civil trial for wrongful death in the local courts there around ten years back. See what you can find out and be very, very quiet about it. If at all possible I'd like to see the medical records on the little girl who died. That's what the court case was all about. Okay?"

"Sure I'll do what I can and when I want to be quiet I can be real quiet. What have you gotten in to?"

"Please, no questions. Besides, you got me into it. Just get me what you can and get it to me as quietly and as quickly as possible. I'm not sure how much time I have to waste."

"Right. I'll get on it," Mike said, as he got up, paid for his coffee and left.

~*~

"Swenson," the voice answered crisply.

"Maltby," Mike said back just as crisply.

"Maltby! How did you remember me?" Swenson said not so amiably into the phone.

"I never forget the name of someone who owes me a favor and I not only remembered you Craig, but I remembered your phone number, too. You have the easiest phone number in the world to remember. The hard part is remembering the prefix, but everyone knows the area code for Washington D.C. After that, even I can't forget four 'ones' in a row," he chuckled and continued, "I need a favor, Craig. I need to know all you can find out about a Doctor Jesse Blockman. Used to be at St. Mary's Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts, probably about ten years ago. Something about a wrongful death suit and a little girl. This has to be on the quiet. You didn't even talk to me about it, okay?"

"I'm used to that where I work and you definitely do not know where that is, right?"

"Roger, over and out, and thanks," Mike said as he hung up the phone after having given Swenson a number where he could be reached.

Mike wondered if that was necessary. He suspected Craig could find him faster than he liked to think about. Craig and the organization he worked for were experts at finding people. Especially, people who didn't want to be found.

~*~

Two weeks passed and Doc had heard nothing from Mike. He knew it would do no good to talk to him. If Mike said he was working on something, then he was and there was no use in asking more of him.

He had been watching for Jesse to be back at the park bench, too, but had not seen him. The shack was still there and twice he had caught fleeting glimpses of Jesse in the alleyways of town, but before he could get to him he had disappeared. It was November and getting too cold to be sitting out for too long.

Later that night he lay awake in his bed waiting for sleep to come. He had gone to bed early and it had done him no good. Now as he glanced at his watch it read, "10:00".

A clatter from downstairs brought him fully awake. He guessed he had been somewhat sleeping for he had to strain for a minute to identify the new noise of footsteps running up the stairs. Then a series of loud bangs on this door followed by a nearly screaming voice brought him to full consciousness.

"Doctor, Doctor, come quickly. Please, Doctor you must come...you can save her...you can save her. Please, Doctor," the voice said and now that he was fully awake and sitting up in bed he recognized the voice as that of Jesse Blockman. No one else in town, other than Mike, knew he was a doctor anyway.

He jumped up, pulled on his trousers and jerked open the door to see Jesse standing in the light of the hallway and the proprietor right behind him with a look of half anger and half dismay on his face. Jesse had tears streaming down his face and as Doc listened he began again, "Please, Doctor, you can save her!"

"What is it, Jesse, what has happened?"

"Amanda Carlson. She fell down the stairs. Bad head injury. She looks shocky already. Please, you can help her."

Doc reached under his bed and pulled out his black doctor's bag. He might be in this town incognito, but he was still a doctor and he couldn't go far without his bag.

"Okay, Jesse," he said, as he buttoned on a shirt and continued, "show me where."

Jesse's face lit up like a child on his birthday and he gestured for Doc to follow him. Jesse practically ran down the stairs with Doc in hot pursuit, leaving the proprietor standing at the top of the stairs.

Jesse turned left toward the intersection of Main and Main as soon as they reached the street. They both practically ran through the intersection and in the next block Jesse slowed in front of a two-story brick apartment building.

"In here," Jesse said as he held open the front entrance doors and gestured for Doc to go up the stairs.

When they reached the last step at the top of the stairs Doc was completely out of breath and his legs were feeling rubbery as if he had just run a marathon. He missed the last step and tried to catch himself on the railing, but missed it, too. He tumbled backwards down the stairs making at least two complete revolutions before he hit the landing at the bottom.

He felt an enormous pain in his left lower leg and when he shook himself alert he reached down to discover something sticking out of his lower leg. When he looked down to where his hand was he saw blood, a lot of blood. There was also a pointed bulge in his pants leg and he knew that part of his leg bone was sticking out through the skin. A classic compound fracture, he instantly diagnosed, as if he were detached and examining a patient, just before the pain almost overwhelmed him.

Jesse was immediately at his side and so were two other men who had run down the stairs from somewhere. The two men lifted him as gently as they could and carried him back up the stairs and into the front room of an apartment. Behind them trailed Jesse, having retrieved Doc's bag. Doc was put on a sofa with his head propped up and through the haze of pain he saw a little girl stretched out on a coffee table. There was blood flowing freely from an injury near her left temple area. Jesse sat the bag down by the sofa, just standing and staring at the little girl.

"Who's he?" A man who was kneeling by the little girl asked.

"Don't know for sure, Dick, but the bag he had with him looked like a doctor's bag so we brought him up here. Thought maybe he could tell us what to do." One of the men who had carried Doc up the stairs said.

Doc was hearing things, but not fully comprehending them. The world seemed to be in a red haze and he was sure it was from the extreme pain in his leg. He looked over at Jesse, but he was just standing there. Straight as a ramrod and motionless. Almost motionless anyway. Doc could make out a twitch on the side of his neck and though his hands were balled into tight fists he was flexing them involuntarily. His face looked as if it had been carved in stone and his eyes had a faraway look in them. It was as if Jesse were in a trance.

Doc was still conscious enough to figure out that while Jesse's body was here his mind was gone. Probably, two thousand miles to the east, in a courtroom, or in a hospital room, staring at the chart of a little girl. Possibly he was seeing the little girl from 10 years ago, severely injured or maybe she was dead.

"Let me see that bag a minute," another man said. And it was handed to him by another.

"What you doing, Keith?" The man kneeling by the little girl asked.

"When I was in 'Nam the medics always gave wounded men a shot of morphine. It seemed to help calm them down and bring them around. I seen it done a lot. If there is any in here I can give your little girl some and maybe it will bring her around. We don't have much choice. That ambulance is still 45 minutes away and the hospital is three hours on top of that."

_No!_ Doc screamed to himself, but he could not make himself speak it. His pain was too great now and it was all he could do to remain conscious. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

"Here we go! Okay, now I got to fill this syringe with some of it. Not too much. She's awful little."

Doc tried in vain to make himself get up off of the couch and stop them, but he couldn't. He had to fight just to stay conscious.

The man filled the syringe, squirted a little out the end to remove the air bubbles, as he had undoubtedly seen on TV a hundred times and then bent over the little girl lifting her left arm gently.

The room exploded. Doc saw and felt it through the red haze. Jesse jumped forward, grabbed the man with the syringe, and bodily tossed him out of range of the little girl. Doc heard the syringe strike the wooden floor and clatter away. Two other men immediately grabbed Jesse by the arms to restrain him and the man who had been thrown aside hunted for and found the syringe again.

"Get that stinking, crazy fool out of here!" The little girl's father yelled and the men started pulling back on Jesse's arms.

"No! No! You're the fools, not me. You don't give morphine to someone with a head injury. You might kill them. You don't know how bad their brain is damaged. She could go in to a coma and never recover. You have to keep the brain alert. Morphine dulls the brain's function. You can't do that with a brain when it is injured. The brain has to be able to feel to recover and to tell you where it is hurt," Jesse finished, pleading, with tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

"What?" Asked the father, clearly taken aback at this clinical outburst from a known bum.

Jesse responded very calmly and clinically now, "I said, you don't give morphine or any other pain killer to a person with a brain injury. Any first-year medical student could tell you that. I'm a doctor and I know what I am saying." Then he gestured with his head at Doc on the sofa, who was taking all this in, but was unable to talk through his clenched teeth and the red haze. "Ask that doctor he will tell you."

The man with the syringe looked from Jesse to Doc on the sofa and asked, "That right? Is he a doctor and is he right?"

Doc could not make himself conscious enough to speak, but he did manage to clearly shake his head in an affirmative sign while grimacing through his pain.

"Let him go!" The little girl's father said and continued looking at Jesse, "if you are really a doctor what can we do?"

Jesse stepped forward as the men dropped his arms and he gently lifted the little girl's left arm and felt for her pulse. "Look in that bag and see if you can find a sterile transfusion kit. It'll be in a sealed plastic bag and look like a coil of rubber hose or tubing. About one quarter inch or maybe three eights in diameter." Then looking over at the woman who had been silently holding the little girl's right hand he asked, "You the girl's mother?"

"Yes," she responded weakly.

"What blood type is she, do you know?"

"O-positive," the woman stated flatly.

"Okay. Good. Now who in this room is O-positive, if you know for sure."

"I am," one of the men who had been holding Jesse's arms earlier replied.

"Good," Jesse said and continued, "someone go get a clean cloth and dampen it."

When the mother returned with the damp cloth Jesse said to the father, "You hold that clean damp cloth on the wound firmly, but gently to slow the blood flow. You can't stop it, but you can slow it. Don't try to stop it, just hold it there to slow it down."

"Got something here," the man who had been digging through the bag said.

"Good. That's it, now tear it open careful not to touch the needles. Make it fast, we are about out of time. This little girl needs some blood in a hurry. A couple of you start rubbing her arms and legs. We have to get her circulation improved. Come on hurry up. Faster—rub faster."

At that point Doc could no longer fight his pain and he slipped into unconsciousness.

# Chapter Two

Doc first noticed the smell. Even without his eyes being open he knew he was in a hospital. He had seen and smelled more hospitals than the average person had been to the grocery store. Slowly, he came around and his senses began to take in his surroundings. His eyes weren't open, but he knew he was being treated.

He drifted in and out, between reality and dreams. Hearing pieces of things and feeling portions of others. There was no sense of time to it. At times it all seemed like a dream. Finally, after how long, he didn't know, he opened his eyes and blinked them rapidly to bring them into focus. He was positive he was in a hospital room now. The first thing his eyes focused on was the tiled ceiling and a central light fixture. He could feel the IV needles in his arms and his left leg was tightly restrained, but elevated. He glanced down and saw that it was elevated by use of pulleys and weights. A cast was evident from above the knee to the ankle.

He rolled his head back and forth, as far as he could, but found no one in the room. Being a doctor, he knew that no matter how long he had been unconscious, the doctor in charge of his case would want to know as soon as he awakened. He felt around with his right hand, being careful of the IV which had been inserted in his forearm, and found the remote control for the bed, TV, and nurse's call. He depressed the call button and a nurse bounded into his room within a matter of seconds.

"Hello, Doctor. How are you feeling?" the nurse asked pleasantly, but with a business tone.

He responded weakly and hoarsely, "Weak and tired. How long was I out?"

"A little more than two days," she answered flatly, while she lifted his right wrist to feel for his pulse.

"How did you know I was a doctor?"

"Late the first day a man called and told us your name was Bill Collins and that you were a doctor. He asked that we give you the best of care and that you were a friend of his."

"Did he give you his name?" He asked, feeling sure it was Mike who had called.

"Just his first name. Dan, I think it was," she responded and continued, "now that's enough talk, Doctor. You know as well as I do that you need rest and quiet for a while. I have to go notify the doctor in charge of your case." Upon finishing the last sentence she turned and walked out the door.

He put his head back and let it settle into the pillow. He was tired. Plus, he was willing to bet that one of those IVs was feeding a mild sedative into his veins. _Dan_ , he thought, as he drifted into what this time was a complete and restful sleep.

The next time he awoke there was a different nurse on duty and she was even more business-like than the last one.

"How's the little girl?" He queried as she took his pulse.

"I'm sorry?"

"The little girl that I broke my leg trying to run too fast up a flight of stairs to help."

When she responded with a puzzled look he continued, "the little girl with the head injury. She had fallen down the stairs."

"Sorry, but I don't know. I don't work emergency. I see patients after they are admitted. If a little girl came in with you I don't know about it. She could and probably would have gone to a different floor. Pediatrics is on the second floor. I only work the fourth, which of course, is where you are."

"Who could find out for me?"

"Maybe Doctor Nelles. He is the doctor on your case."

"When can I see him?"

"Doctor Nelles has been in to see you several times, but you were asleep. He will be back in the morning between 7:00 and 10:00 for his rounds. If you are awake you can talk to him."

Doc put in rather acidly, since he was tired of this business-like voice droning on at him, "I WILL be awake if you will shut off the IV that is laced with the sedative."

The nurse looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

"Don't forget nurse. I'm a doctor and I know the routine. Now hand me my chart. I want to see what this Doctor Nelles has been doing to me."

The nurse, as cold and clinical as she was, knew only one thing for sure. Never argue with a doctor, even if he is wrong, unless you have a real good reason and don't care about losing your job. No one had told her this patient couldn't look at his chart and so she handed it to him. She had never had a patient before who could have understood the silly thing anyway.

Doc perched his glasses on the end of his nose, deftly scanned the chart, and flipped through the lab results.

"Looks good to me," he said absently and continued, "this Nelles seems to know his business, but I would appreciate it if you could have your supervisor contact him at home or wherever and get his authorization to stop the sedative. I'll sleep just fine without it.

"I would like some solid food and I note that the chart allows that, as soon as I ask and I'm asking. Please. I'm starved," he finished and handed the chart back to the nurse with a smile and very polite. "Thank you very much."

The nurse took the chart back and with half a smile said, "I'll see what I can do about both." She was pleasantly surprised to find that this doctor seemed to be readily accepting his treatment. Most doctors made the very worst patients, she had heard. This was the first time she had ever really nursed a doctor and his cooperative attitude was a surprise.

~*~

The nurse walked quickly from the room with the chart and headed for the supervisor's desk. Ten minutes later she was back disconnecting the IV with the sedative and then she disconnected the other IV that was feeding him nutrients with a saline solution. Now that he was asking for solid food, the nutrients were no longer going to be needed. "Okay, Doctor. Your food is on the way and I'll bring it in when it gets here." She tossed over her shoulder as stepped out the door.

Hospital kitchens never totally shut down, so even though it was late at night, Doc was soon enjoying a passable ham sandwich and glass of cold tea. Hospital food was good for you, he knew, which was why it always tasted so bland. Right now, he would have rather had an unhealthy hamburger, but this was certainly better than the needle.

He decided that in the future, should the situation arise, he would be more sympathetic to his patient's complaints about hospital stays. With that decision made, he quickly finished off his sandwich.

Eating the sandwich made him realize how hungry he was and the accompanying salad disappeared seconds after the sandwich. Finishing off his tea with the same speed, he placed the glass on his bed stand, pushed the tray back from his bed and settled down to a deep restful sleep, just as he had promised the nurse he would.

At 6:00 a.m. he was awakened gently by the sunlight filtering through the curtains in his room. Shortly, the day nurse came in and dawdled over him, taking his temperature, straightening his covers and in general, making a nuisance of herself. Breakfast arrived shortly after the nurse left and it didn't take him long to eat it.

Not long after breakfast, a tall man of medium build with a thin dark moustache came strolling into the room and said, "Good morning, Doctor Collins, I'm Doctor Nelles. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Much better thank you. Pretty bad break on that leg wasn't it?"

"I've seen worse, but not for a while. You lost a lot of blood and we had to take some time to stabilize you before we could operate. You have two permanent pins and one permanent screw in that leg now. You'll know when it is going to rain before the weatherman," the doctor said lightly and continued, "it's a pleasure to talk to a patient who understands exactly what I'm saying without explanations."

"Doctor at my age I already know when it is going to rain before the weatherman. My joints aren't what they used to be."

"Please, call me Fred."

"Okay, Fred, my first name is Bill."

"Nice to meet you, Bill." Fred said and stuck out his hand.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Fred," Doc said with a smile as they shook hands. "Now, tell me how the little girl is that I came in with."

"She will be just fine. You did a 'Four-O' job on her. You definitely saved her life. That blood transfusion was just what she needed. The ambulance drivers told us all about it. In fact, the donor rode along with them and gave another pint of blood before they made him stop for fear it would weaken him too much."

"But I...." he started to respond that Jesse had saved her life, but then stopped. He was remembering his promise to him not to reveal who he was or that he was a doctor. _But why did they think I was the treating doctor anyway?_ He wondered. _There were four people in that room who saw Jesse do the doctoring. They also saw that I was unable to move off of the couch. Better keep my mouth shut until I know what is going on_ , he decided.

"I know." Nelles said, holding up his hand in a staying motion, and continued, "you were just doing what you were trained to do and it was second nature, but I'm telling you I've never heard of a better job of doctoring under the circumstances. Anyway she is going to be just fine. She had a very serious concussion and a nasty cut on the left temple, but there was no neurological damage, so far as we can tell. The CAT scan was negative so I expect a full recovery. She will probably get out of here before you."

"You figure about two weeks on me, don't you?"

"Just about right, Bill. If you are lucky and the leg heals properly so that we don't have to re-break it and set it again. That isn't likely, but frankly at your age the bones don't heal like they should. You know that as well as I do. An infection from the wound concerns me more than that though. So, as you will notice from your chart, which the nurse tells me you check quite regularly," he said with a broad smile and continued, "you will be on an antibiotic for your stay here and probably a couple of weeks after that."

"I approve," Doc stated with a feigned seriousness.

"Nothing is too good for the local hero," Nelles replied and continued, "you know, of course, that all the nurses on this floor drew straws to see who would get to attend to you. We don't get too many heroes around here. Now I'll leave so that you can get some rest."

"One more thing before you leave, Doctor Nelles. Who described all of these heroics for you and the nurses?"

"Why, the mother and father and the blood donor."

"Did they happen to mention anyone named Dan or a man with a beard?"

"The family didn't, but the ambulance drivers noticed a bum with long hair and a beard over in the far corner of the room. Said he looked scared to death and was white as a sheet. Must have been the sight of all the blood, I guess. Some people just can't take that. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no particular reason. It's just that I noticed him once fleetingly and was curious as to who he was."

"No one seemed to know who he was and the family said they didn't even notice him."

"Thanks again, Fred."

"Anytime, Bill. I'll look in on you again tomorrow," he finished, as he turned for the door.

~*~

It was the middle of December before Doc got out of the hospital and then he could barely get around on his walking cast and crutches. A cab was the only form of public transportation he could take back to his Bed and Breakfast and it was a real effort to get in it, let alone ride the five hours back to town.

When the cab dropped him off he was met by several of the town's people who helped him into the Bed and Breakfast. Jim Shrock had moved his things downstairs to a front bedroom so he would not have to try to negotiate the stairs. Just the few up to the Bed and Breakfast and into the front room was enough to wear him completely out, but the town's people lingered, treating him as if he were the returning conquering hero. He was very uncomfortable at being treated like a hero when he knew he hadn't done a thing. But he couldn't let on that he hadn't been the hero, because to do so would break his promise to Jesse.

_Jesse_ , he thought _, I wonder if he stayed around or if he has fled to yet another dismal shack in some other nameless town where he can again be just the local bum? Avoiding always his past, lest it catch up with him and cause him more untold misery and revive memories he has tried so hard to bury with the little girl in Massachusetts?_

Finally, the town's people left him to his bed and rest. Every one of them though, vowed to do whatever they could for him, if he but just ask. He thanked them all for their kindness and made as though what had been done was all in a day's work and nothing to make a big scene over. That seemed to have the opposite effect and he decided to say as little as possible about the event from then on.

~*~

The next morning he clumped out of his room and down the front steps heading for the park bench at the four-way stop. What was just a pleasant stroll not three weeks ago was a long and agonizing journey this morning. The air was quite cold at this elevation, but he only knew that he had to try to see if Jesse was still in town.

From the bench he could see that the shack was still up, but there was no sign of life and no sign that anyone had been near it for days or even weeks. He sat on the bench, braving the cold, gazing about the town hoping to catch a glimpse of Jesse. In his present condition it was impossible to walk around the town. Many of the town's people stopped and lingered though as he sat on the bench.

~*~

Day after day, he trudged down to the bench seeking some sign of Jesse, but none was to be found. He quizzed each person who stopped to greet him about Dirty Dan and his shack, but no one had seen him and no one had looked for him. After all, Dirty Dan was just the local bum. Who cared where he was or what he was doing?

Two days before Christmas he was still at his post on the bench. His leg was much better now and he had discarded his crutches. He was still in a cast, but it was a walking cast and he had definitely decided to start walking. Walking was still not easy, but it was much easier than before and he was confident that in a week or two he could have the cast removed, and then probably walk fairly well with a cane.

As he was thinking of getting the cast off, a voice from behind him said, "Well, I see you are still kicking, Doc, but not too high. You ought to know better than to spend so much time out in the cold in your condition."

_Mike Maltby!_ He thought, as his head spun around and he saw Mike standing behind and off to his side. He had completely forgotten about Mike. "Michael! Where in the world have you been?" he exclaimed.

"Might ask you the same thing, Doc, except that I know the answer. I asked you to come out here and I'm sorry it caused you so much pain and trouble," Mike said, with a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"It's okay, Mike. Not your fault I can't run up a flight of stairs in the middle of the night anymore. I came of my own free will."

"Yes, but at my urging. Had I known this was going to happen I would have found someone else."

"Who?"

"You got me there, but still, I feel responsible."

"Well, it would have been worth it if it had worked."

"Doctor Blockman is gone then?" Mike asked.

"I guess so. At least, no one has seen him and I can't look for him. I haven't been able to up to now anyway, but now I might be able to look around a little. Doubt it will do much good though," he finished with sadness.

"You probably don't need this stuff then," Mike stated as he handed him a big manila envelope, which Doc somehow knew contained about everything that could be found on Jesse Blockman.

He took the envelope and said, "Won't hurt to have a look, but why wait so long to give it to me?"

"Those records weren't easy to get and I had to go pick them up in person, Doc. Eyes only stuff there. You as much as said so yourself. Plus, the sources I used to get that information don't want to be known and they want it back as soon as possible."

"What sources, Mike?"

"Can't say and I don't think you want to know anyway," Mike answered flatly.

"Oh, I see. I guess," Doc responded as he hefted the envelope.

"Did you look at the file, Mike?"

"Yes and I have to say that from what I can understand it looks like just what it is supposed to. Doctor. Blockman dropped the ball and a little girl died."

Doc responded, "That's what he says happened and from what I saw last month he knows what he is doing when it comes to medicine. My biggest problem right now is that this whole town is still treating me like a hero and I can't tell them the truth without hurting Jesse. Even if he is gone from this town, he isn't gone from the world, as much as he would like to be. He's punished himself more than any court or family member ever could."

Mike walked around the bench and took a seat next to Doc saying, "We all pay for our mistakes, Doc. One way or another, but when you doctors make a mistake, others pay, too. That's the problem with being a professional. People rely on you so heavily."

"I know. Every prescription and every diagnosis is a judgment call and doctors carry that burden around all of their lives. Some carry it better than others, but we all carry it. Those that can't, drop out, but this man isn't a dropout and from what I saw last month I don't believe he is a bad doctor. I don't believe he has ever made a bad call."

"Now, Doc. You should know as well as I that the world is not black and white. A doctor who makes a mistake is not necessarily a bad doctor. Doctor Blockman could have been one of the best, but he made a fatal mistake. That doesn't make him bad, just human and he'll pay for that humanity the rest of his life."

While Mike was talking Doc was starting to leaf through the documents. Then he said, "These court documents are originals."

"Yeah, my sources figured the originals are always the best. Copies tend to hide things and they are used to looking for hidden things," Mike answered frankly.

"But the medical charts on the little girl are copies. How come?" Doc queried.

"The originals were lost so the judge allowed the copies into evidence under what they call the 'best evidence rule' according to the transcripts. That's Greek to me."

"How in the world could the originals have been lost, Mike? Hospital charts are closely guarded. Especially, if an error is suspected. The medical review board goes over them with a fine-toothed comb. They must have put the originals somewhere."

"The medical review board only had copies, too, Doc. The originals apparently were misplaced shortly after the girl died."

Doc was adamant now, "That doesn't wash. No hospital is that careless and these copies aren't even very good. Look here, there is a smudge right where the dosage of medicine that Doctor Blockman ordered is noted...."

Mike looked at the sheet and then at Doc whose face was actually turning white. "What's the matter? You feel okay?" Mike asked with concern for his friend. Perhaps his only friend.

"That smudge there. Look at it real close."

"Okay, so what? I saw it earlier. It's a little hard to read, but it is an '8'."

"Yes, it's an '8' now, but what was it before?"

Mike was confused now. "What do you mean before? Before what?"

"Before it was erased or whited out and the number written over. Medical notations on hospital charts are never erased or whited out. We always draw though the incorrect entry and write a new entry on the next line. Even the new all-digital charts aren't written over, the old entry is lined with red and the new entry follows. Nothing is ever deleted or written over. Any first-year medical student knows that, but why didn't someone notice this at the trial?"

"Those aren't the copies used at trial, Doc."

"But you said these were from the court file," Doc shot back.

"Not the medical records. The hospital asked for them back since they were all they had and the court allowed it. They were copied again for storage in the court file. These are those copies. They are actually copied twice from the originals.

"Now, I know something about copy machines and for some reason if you copy something twice, it will sometimes show up better than the first time. Sometimes a correction will bleed through. Something to do with the contrast being different on the second copy and plus these copies were undoubtedly made with a different machine.

"Copy machines vary in quality. One will bring out minor flaws in originals and others will not. Probably the erasure, or whatever you think happened there, was not visible on the first copy, but a second, higher resolution copier, brought it out, or at least enough to make it look blurry. We could find out for sure if we looked at the copies the hospital has. It could be that the blur is there, too, but in the heat of the trial and preparation for trial it wasn't noticed.

"Plus, you have to remember that Doctor Blockman was already convinced that the girl's death was his fault. The notation was probably not looked at that closely. The court was more interested in Blockman's state of mind than in the note that he admitted to having made. He did admit it at trial, too. Just read the transcript of his testimony."

"Mike, can your sources get a look at those other copies? Can they do some lab work on them to see if the blur is more than just a blur?"

"I suppose, but what are you thinking?"

"Something smells here, Mike. Hospital records don't disappear like that without a good reason. Might not hurt to check on the nurse who administered the medication per Doctor Blockman's instructions. Who was she and who did she know on the staff, if anyone?

"I tell you, Mike, I don't like the smell of this. I've spent too many years around hospitals and hospital staff. They have strict rules about keeping records and making records. Maybe I'm just being wishful, but something here doesn't feel right. Can you have some more checking done? Discretely, of course."

"Doc these people are nothing but discreet. They have to be. Their lives depend on it. I'll see what I can do. Do you need these records anymore? If not, I'll take them back and make some more requests."

"No, I've seen enough. The more I think about it the more I think something is not right here."

"Okay, I got to run. Got a flight out in five hours and the drive is three and a half to four on that serpentine road," he said lightly, as he gathered up the envelope and headed for a car which he had rented for use in ferrying these documents. "See you, Doc. Don't sit out here too long."

Doc waved in response, thinking, _something is odd here. I wish I could sniff around that hospital myself. But then what could I do there? I can't even find Jesse Blockman in this little town._

~*~

Frank Mahone didn't like this assignment. He was used to more exciting work and this was about as boring as you could get. _What business of the government was this thing anyway? Who really cared what went on in a private hospital, especially, as long as ten years ago?_

Besides, working around this place gave him the creeps. He didn't like to see all of these sick and dying people lying around and walking around, if that's what some of them were doing, many were rolling around in wheel chairs and on gurneys. He was in excellent physical condition for just past age forty and seeing these people made him feel uneasy. Possibly, he thought, _it is because in them, I see myself, many years in the future, but no, that's not it, either. I'm just used to being around strong healthy people who are physically fit and capable of handling any physical challenge._

Had he thought about it more, he probably would have concluded that he was very lucky to be in the good physical condition he was. Seeing the people in this hospital would have made him feel good about himself rather than uncomfortable with his surroundings. But he didn't think about it that long. He had a job to do and when he was on a job that was top priority. A job to him was all-consuming. There was no time for daydreaming. Generally, too many lives might depend upon his concentration, not to mention his own. He had risked his life many times for his country and he had the scars to prove it.

_This one is different_ , he thought. _This doesn't seem like a national security problem. This isn't a war or a national emergency, for the sake of God and country. This is downright sneaking around into business that was private._ Still, it was a job and he would do it to his best ability. Just as he always had and just as efficiently as he could. Why this project should be "black" was beyond his understanding.

He had worked "black" projects before. Those projects were easy to see why they were "black". Those "black" projects could be very unhealthy for a lot of people and downright embarrassing to the government if word got out. He understood why some projects had to be "black". Why no one could know they had ever existed and no one would admit to their existence.

In fact, there were only four or five people who even knew of this project or that Frank Mahone was on it. _What in the world is a "black" agent doing on a "black" project in St. Mary's Hospital, Boston, Massachusetts?_ he wondered. _Somebody has some real juice to set this one up_ , he decided.

Almost 5:00 p.m., he noticed. Time to check out and hit the bar which was the favorite among the hospital staffers. That's where the real information would come from. A few drinks before supper and the tongues might loosen up. Loosen up for what, he was not sure yet. He was only supposed to sniff around and pick up anything of interest. _Whatever that might be in a hospital,_ he thought with disgust.

He did have a few clues, however. He had been given the old records from the trial and he had examined them in detail. Not for the same things that others would have though. Frank looked for names and then he matched the names to faces of the people. People he could contact, without them realizing they had been contacted, and interrogate them, without them realizing they had been interrogated. Not exactly his specialty, but it came naturally to him, since he stayed alive on information that he got out of people without them realizing he had gotten it.

The records had given him several names to work with. The hospital administrator, who had been on the review board, the members of the board, the nurses on duty with Blockman, and the lab technicians who had performed all of the tests. He might not know what he was looking for, but at least he knew where to look. He also knew that Blockman had caused the death of a little girl and that a jury had found him civilly liable and assessed some major penalties. None of that seemed out of the ordinary to him, since he was used to unhappy endings. In his line of work a lot of people died or were permanently disabled. No one ever seemed to live happily ever after.

He went to his locker after having put away his mops and buckets. _Mops and buckets_ , he thought with disgust, _what kind of an assignment is this?_

After he had changed into his street clothes, which included slipping his .40 caliber Glock in its holster, he headed for the bar that every staffer seemed to hit on the way home. The bar was only a block and a half from the hospital and at 5:30 p.m. it looked like a hospital annex. This night he found the place extremely crowded and he grabbed a seat at the end of the bar near the booths that were strung out along one wall.

_Even the hospital administrator is here tonight_ , he noted. Everyone in the place seemed to be employed at the hospital. From the administrator on down to Frank Mahone, the newest day shift janitorial assistant.

He noticed on his way in that the administrator was seated with a fairly attractive young woman. _Well, she's under 40, anyway_ , he thought. That was close enough to be classified young to him, and besides, being seated with the administrator, who was at least 60, made her look even younger.

~*~

"Merry Christmas." Doc heard from his left and immediately recognized the voice of Mike Maltby. Turning he saw that Mike had a cup of coffee in his hand and Doc said, "Merry Christmas to you, Mike. It's a lonely and bleak Christmas, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but all mine have been. Mostly my own fault."

"Well, Mike I still haven't seen Jesse."

"Me, either."

"If there is any hope of me finding him I'll have to do some walking and talking. Sitting on this bench is useless and besides, it's too cold to just sit. Maybe some slow easy walking will warm me up and I can talk to some people who haven't passed this bench."

"How about the mother and father of that little girl?" Mike responded. "They might know something. It seems obvious from their silence about Jesse that they are in some manner informed of his plight and are sympathetic."

"Sure, Mike. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you are only a country saw bones and I'm a natural-born schemer."

"Yeah."

~*~

Doc waited until well after supper to visit the Carlson apartment. The apartment was on the second floor and since he still had a clumsy walking cast on, it was going to be difficult enough to reach and he wanted the best chance possible to catch someone at home.

_The stairs look steeper now than the night I ran up them and fell backwards_ , he thought. Still, he clumped up them one at a time, holding firmly to the bannister this time. He wasn't about to fall down these stairs again.

After several long minutes he reached the top of the stairs and walked two doors down the hall to reach the Carlson apartment. He noted the apartment number was 2B, _guess I was too busy the last time I was here or I was in too much pain to notice the number, but I remember it being the second door on the left._

He knocked firmly on the apartment door three times quickly. In seconds he was rewarded by a rattling of the chain on the inside of the door.

Mr. Carlson stood in the door opening, but only opened the door half way. "Yes. May I help you?" Carlson asked.

"I'm Bill Collins, Mr. Carlson. You may not remember me."

"I remember you. What can I do for you?" Dick Carlson responded, rather coldly, to Doc's manner of thinking.

"I was wondering if you could tell me where Jesse...I mean Dirty Dan is," he said, catching his mistake.

"Who?" Dick questioned with a puzzled look on his face.

"You know, the man that was here the night your daughter was hurt. He helped her."

"No one around here by that name and the man who helped my daughter is gone, as far as I know. Left the same night and I haven't seen him since," Dick said, still coldly.

"You sure of that?"

"Well, if I wasn't, I wouldn't say so, would I!" he responded harshly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to eat supper."

Doc was about to turn and leave and then decided to try one more approach. "Mr. Carlson. Why did you tell everyone at the hospital that I was the one who treated your daughter? You know very well that I didn't."

"Seemed like the thing to say since Jes...." Carlson stopped and his mouth slammed shut faster than a brand-new mousetrap.

Carlson started to shut the door, but Doc leaned in slightly and said, "Since Jesse Blockman is a hunted man? And he did you a favor and you couldn't repay him by betraying him," he continued, as he pressed toward the door.

"Come on, Mr. Carlson. I'm a friend of Jesse Blockman's, too! I want to help and I can't do that if he won't talk to me. Now where is he?" His voice was rising by the second now.

A voice from behind Carlson said, "It's okay, Mr. Carlson. Let him in. I'll talk to him."

_Jesse!_ Doc thought _, he is in the apartment_. Then the door swung completely open and Dick Carlson said with defeat in his voice, "Okay, Doctor Collins, you can come in. Jesse says it's okay."

He stepped into the apartment and looked to his left to see a clean-shaven, short-haired, and cleaned up, Jesse Blockman standing just inside and behind the door. It took him a minute to convince himself that it was in fact Jesse Blockman. _Right, right color of hair and right build. The voice matched. Yes,_ he thought _, it has to be Jesse. Couldn't be anyone else, but boy what a change. He looks years younger._

_I'm not sure I would have recognized him on the street had I seen him,_ he mused _. Then again, maybe I did see him and didn't recognize him. From a distance he would look completely different than Dirty Dan._

"Jesse! Why I didn't even recogn...."

"Doctor Collins. Please!" Carlson said firmly, as he closed the door to the apartment quickly and continued, "no one knows he is here except my family and the other two men who helped that night and we would like to keep it that way."

"Oh, sorry."

"Have a seat at the table and we can talk," Carlson said, motioning him to a chair at the dinner table tucked into a corner of the living room and adjacent to the small kitchen.

"Thanks. I could use a sit down. This leg hurts some when I stand too much and I'm afraid those stairs about did me in for the second time."

He took the chair indicated by Dick Carlson and Jesse sat opposite him while the others including Amanda each picked another chair around the table.

"Jesse. I've been looking all over town for you," he now said and continued, "why are you holed up in here? You can't hide in here forever you know."

Jesse responded, "I know, but I can't go out on the streets, either. The word may be out and the investigators may be around soon, if not already."

"The word around town is that I did some miracle treatment of this little girl," Doc said indicating Amanda, who to his delight, looked as fit as could be. "You know that isn't true, Jesse and I'm ashamed to be taking credit for something I had nothing to do with."

"Can't be helped and you know why. These good folks know why too now and they have given me shelter. For the first time in years I feel like a human being and if feeling like a human being means staying in this apartment for the rest of my life, then so be it."

"You can't do that, Jesse. That isn't fair to these folks and you know it. You have to meet your problems, just like you did the night Amanda needed you."

"And how about the night that the little girl in Boston need me?" he responded bitterly. "I didn't do so good that night, now did I?"

"You can't change the past, Jesse. Don't throw away your future crying about something you can't change."

"What future!" Jesse spat out. "I can't have a future. I have to remain a man with no name and no face or the vultures will descend on me again. Rightfully so, I might add."

"Jesse. It's bad enough you have to live with what happened over 10 years ago, but you don't have to keep running yourself down and punishing yourself. That little girl's family is doing a good enough job of that," Doc said flatly.

"Okay, so what do you suggest I do?"

"I'm not sure yet. I wanted to find you first and make sure you were still around. Now that I know you are I can study on what to do."

"Doc, you're a good man, but you can't help me. No matter how hard you study on this you can't help me. No one can help me. No one can give me back my medical license. Not after what I did. No one can give me a second chance to write down the right notation on a medical chart that is over 10 years old."

"Maybe I can't help you, Jesse, maybe you can't help yourself, but how about God? God could help you couldn't He?"

"Sure, God could help, but why should He? What am I to God?"

"Have faith, Jesse, that's all I can say for right now, but I can tell you that I firmly believe God has heard your cries for help. God will help you, Jesse, but you have to help yourself by having faith. Now, you do that and I will do what I can, which admittedly, may be nothing, but if it be God's will I can do a lot," he finished.

Jesse replied, "I'm a Christian, but I've drifted from the faith these past few years."

"Jesse. It recently occurred to me while talking to a friend that doctors do nothing except make judgment calls their whole careers. Some calls are good and some are bad, but we live with them. Good or bad. You have to live with yours, too or drop out. I don't believe you are a dropout. The doctor I saw the night Amanda was hurt and dying wasn't the type to drop out when the going gets rough. I know how rough it has been for you, but you have to hang in there and have faith. Life is a rough road, Jesse, but the scenery along the way usually makes it worth the trip."

"Okay. I'll do my best, but I'm not sure how long it will last. Don't forget. There are others in this world who make judgment calls besides doctors. They call them juries and their calls last for a lifetime, too. They made the call on me and though I have faith, I also have reason. The call was a good one and I can't see a God who is good having much sympathy on me. I don't pray for myself anymore."

"Maybe so, but God hears the prayers of those who pray for others sometimes more readily than those who only pray for themselves. You prayed for this town didn't you, Jesse? You prayed that God would send them a doctor, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. But how did you guess?"

"I didn't guess, I knew. I knew it when I came here and before I came here. Don't ask me how I knew, but I did. I can also tell you that your prayer will be answered, but I can't tell you how or when. Not that I wouldn't if I could, but I don't know. I only know that it will be answered."

"You're a strange one. You came here last October to find me, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that, Jesse. I know the answer to that one, but I can't tell you. Now, I'd best be going. You think about what I said. You can't hide from yourself and hiding from the world only makes it worse. You have to put up with the bumps if you want to get to the best scenery." Doc stood up and clumped over to the door, which Dick Carlson quickly jumped up to open for him.

"Thank you, Mr. Carlson and good night," he said, as he clumped out the door and down the hall to the stairs.

# Chapter Three

"Seen you on the third floor today, didn't I?" A voice beside Frank said pleasantly.

He turned to see a man of about 35 sitting to his left and smiling around the top of a beer.

"Yeah, I was up there cleaning the floor today. I get to a floor about each day of the week. Today was third," he responded lightly. Ordinarily he would not want to have been bothered by a stranger in a bar or anywhere else, but this was business. Anyone from the hospital who talked was a potential lead.

"I was there most of the day myself. Doing some electrical repair on the lights over the west wing nurse's station. Bad ballasts as it turned out. Took pretty near all day to get them changed. Those babies can be a real pain, especially when they are right over a counter like those were," the man said conversationally.

"Too deep for me," Frank said and continued, "I can barely figure out how much soap to put in the scrub water. Never made it through high school and barely got out of grade school." He lied. He always got more out of people when they thought they were smarter.

"Well, there really ain't that much to it," the man said.

"I have a hard time figuring out lots of things," Frank now said. "Like for instance what does a good-looking young woman like that see in an old coot like him?" As he finished he gestured toward the administrator and the nurse.

"I don't know that for sure, but they are quite an item around the hospital. Have been for a lot of years now. I started here twelve years ago and they been hot for at least the last ten," the man responded.

"Just the last ten?" Frank said sarcastically and smiled.

"Well, before that I remember them around each other a little, but it didn't never take until about two years after I started."

On this job anything that happened about ten years ago interested him. He didn't care if a toilet stopped up ten years ago, he wanted to know about it. Something happened around the time of the death of that little girl and he was here to find out what it was, or wasn't. The fact that he didn't think his kind of talent was needed for this type of investigation didn't matter at this point. He had his orders and he always followed orders.

Frank now said very nonchalantly, "Well, maybe it took them a couple of years to get things together."

"Could be, but it happened awful sudden if you ask me. They got real close, real fast. Nothing like the first two years I was around here," the man said, a little thickly now and Frank figured this wasn't his first beer.

"What's her name?"

"O'Toole, Margaret O'Toole," the man responded as he motioned the bartender over for another beer.

_Bingo!_ Frank thought. _Margaret O'Toole was the nurse on duty the night that little girl died. She was a key witness at Blockman's trial. She administered the lethal dose of medication. All according to the directions of Doctor Blockman. Directions that a young nurse was not expected, nor wise, to question._

Frank ventured, "You know. I was thinking I heard of a malpractice suit or something against the hospital back about then. Is that true?"

"Nawh, nobody sued the hospital over that. I remember it though. They sure nailed a doctor who goofed up on his night orders. In fact, that nurse there was the one who noticed it and reported it to the administrator after the little girl was already dead. The nurse pointed out that the dose ordered would be fatal for that little girl."

"Why didn't she say something beforehand?" Frank asked blandly.

"Beats me, guess she didn't know about it until later. Shoot, I heard them talking around that time about it. The administrator said any nurse with half a brain would have known that the order was wrong. They never said that out loud though or at least outside the hospital. Sure enough the hospital might have got sued then. It's one thing for a doctor to goof up like that, but when they prove someone who works directly for the hospital knew about it, then they would sue the pants off the hospital, too. Everybody knows that. So I never heard no more and I wasn't sure about what I heard anyway. I work on the electrical problems around here. I let the brain guys work on the people problems. It's all Greek to me."

"How did you hear about this anyway?" Frank now asked, with his senses alert. The scent was in the air.

"I was working on a light switch in the Administrator's restroom. He's got his own private one you know. Anyway, I guess he didn't know I was there, or forgot. I heard him and Margaret talking about it a couple of days after the girl died. Didn't mean much to me. Like I said. I just fix the electrical problems."

"Didn't anyone ask you about anything you might know?"

"Who would ask me anything about something like that? I'm just an electrician. I don't know anything about medical stuff and I ain't supposed to know. So who would care what I thought or knew?

"Plus, when I was in the army they taught me never to volunteer for anything or volunteer information unless I was asked. No one asked and I didn't volunteer. Besides, the doctor goofed up, I figure. He wrote the order. He took the heat. That's what they get the big bucks for ain't it?" The man finished flatly.

"We got off the subject," Frank said to give the impression he was not interested in what the man was saying and then asked, "So just when did the administrator and this nurse O'Toole get so close?"

"Right about the time the little girl died. Didn't I just say that?" The man stated, more than asked, in now what was an obvious drunken slur.

"Yeah, I guess you did. Too many beers for me," Frank smiled sheepishly—he was still on his first beer. He had a way of taking all night on one beer and making it seem like it was his tenth.

"So you get to hear some off-the-wall conversations when you are working on the administrator's bathroom, huh," he continued.

"There and other places," the man chuckled. "But that one there was a weird one. Like I said, I don't know much about medical stuff, but it was queer the way he was talking. Like I remember he said something like. '...You fool! Half of that would have been fatal. And then using that white out. Any fool with half a brain will see that on the chart! Providing they see the original chart...' and like I said, it don't make much sense to me, but it did seem like a strange conversation.

"I just went back to my work quietly and pretty soon they left. After that though, now that I think about it, they got real chummy with each other and they been that way ever since. Maybe he was a wooing her in a way I don't understand, but whatever it was, it worked," he ended with a drunken laugh.

"Hey. I been sitting here drinking with you half the night and I didn't even ask your name," Frank said smoothly and with feigned drunkenness.

"Sam Donner."

"Frank Mahone, Sam. Nice to meet you. But hey, I got to go home and eat supper or the old lady will kill me."

"Okay, Frank. See you around the hospital. Say...you been there long?"

"Not long and I may not stay much longer. Ain't my style, you know?"

"Some people don't cotton to it, but you get used to it," he ended, but Frank just waved and strolled through the bar in feigned unsteadiness, thinking he had to get to a phone and in a hurry.

~*~

"Swenson."

"Mahone."

"Go."

"Piece of a conversation I picked up that occurred ten years ago between the nurse on duty and the administrator. Here it is...."

"You on it?" Swenson said more than asked.

"Yes."

"Stay on it."

Click went the phone and Frank hung up his end. He headed back to the hospital where the administrator's office would now be vacant.

~*~

Doc Collins was carefully placing his clothes in his suitcases and arranging the suitcases at the door so that Jim Shrock could carry them out to his car for him. It had been two weeks since he had talked with Jesse. After his visit with Jesse he had hoped he would come out of hiding and back into the world for better or worse. He sympathized with him, but what he had told him was the truth. You can't hide from yourself and you are in the world whether you like it or not, but nothing came of it and Doc had decided to head back to Illinois.

He hated to leave an unfinished job, but he could see nothing else to do at this point. Jesse had retreated from the world, with good cause, but still, he had retreated and there was nothing to be done for him now. Maybe he was right. Maybe living a nonexistence was better than an existence which was hounded at every turn.

Existing was different than living though. Jesse existed in the world, but for the past ten years he had not lived. To Doc it would be far worse to exist as Jesse had, but not live. Not know your neighbors. Not know where your next meal was coming from or where you would eat it. Always looking over your shoulder for someone who might know you, but who you would not know until it was too late. Never able to rest, never able to relax.

There were much worse things than death. He had been a doctor too long not to have seen some of them, but what Jesse had done to himself was death. Death without release from suffering. He was dead to the world and to himself, but he was still alive to feel the pain of both.

A knock at the door jolted him from his musings and he thought, _Jim is right on time_. He closed up his last suitcase with a mental shrug and carried it to the door. He sat the suitcase down and opened the door with a smile saying, "Right on time Jim, I...." It was Jesse Blockman.

"May I come in, Bill?"

"Sure, Jesse, come on in and pull up a chair."

Jesse stepped in the room and his glance immediately fell upon the packed suitcases standing by the door. "Leaving?"

"Yes. There's no more for me to do here. I have things to do in Illinois, however. People to see and care for and friends to shoot the breeze with. Something you would not understand, I suppose," he ended with a purposeful sting in his voice.

The look on Jesse's face indicated that he had felt the sting, as had been intended.

"I deserved that."

"No. No you didn't, Jesse, I'm sorry. I'm just a frustrated old man. I feel the same right now as did every time I lost a battle with the Angel of Death. Frustration. Knowing I was powerless to change the outcome, yet hoping the outcome would be different than I knew it would. I can't change your life, Jesse. I can't give you back the ten years you've lost and I won't debate with you further about whether the lost ten years are your fault or the fault of a cruel world, in the form of a little girl's relatives."

"I know you can't give me back the years, Doc, but I wanted to come and tell you that you've given me back my life. It may not be much of a life, but it's back. You snapped me out of my self-pity. Listening to you talk the other night and knowing for the first time in years that someone cared if I lived or died did the trick.

"It wasn't just you, either. Those people who hid me in their apartment and cleaned me up made a big impression. They knew who I was and what I had done, but it didn't matter to them. They only knew that I had done the right thing for their daughter and that was enough for them. Just like you said. I'm a good doctor and I made a mistake once, a long time ago.

"So, I'm back in the world that you told me I had never and could never really leave. I owe it to you, but I'm not sure I'll thank you. Now the vultures will find me and make me miserable the rest of my life. I'll work where I can, doing what I can and I'll pay it all to them, but I won't hide anymore. I'll hold my head up and face the world and my mistakes, like a man.

"That's what you meant wasn't it? When you told me I couldn't hide from myself and that the world was where I was no matter where that happened to be?"

"Yes. That's what I meant, but I wasn't sure I said it the right way to make you understand."

"You said it right. Just took me a while to make myself accept it. I guess I always knew it, but wouldn't admit it."

Doc responded in earnest now, "You know that makes me feel better. Back where I come from there are three brothers who lost their mother and father when they were very young. They turned bitter toward God. Many times I tried to tell them that it was all in God's plan, but I couldn't make it come out so that they would understand it. No matter what I said or how I said it they would have nothing to do with God. Finally, they came around and it was nothing I said at all that did it.

"You're the same, Jesse, but different. You turned bitter toward the world, but not God. I was afraid I couldn't make you understand what I was never able to make them understand. Every life has its 'ups' and 'downs', but for everything that happens there is a reason. God's reason and it doesn't always coincide with what we think it should be."

"What makes you think I didn't turn bitter toward God?"

"Because you prayed for this town and not for yourself. A man who does that hasn't lost faith in God."

"That's the second time you've said I prayed for this town. How do you know that I did? I never told you or anyone of that?" he asked skeptically.

"I can't say that for sure. I only know that a man is here and I know that where that man goes it seems God's purpose is revealed. The man himself doesn't realize it and I don't pretend to understand it, but I know just as sure as I stand here that God uses that man to answer prayers. Sounds crazy, but that's what it looks like to me."

"What man?"

"A man. His name doesn't matter. A man a lot like you, Jesse. A man who made more than one mistake and now he travels the country to find himself, not realizing he was never lost. Not realizing that he searches in vain for an illusion. Reality is where you are and when you are. You can't lose it and you can't change it, not if you are sane."

"You're talking crazy! How could a man know I prayed and come to answer that prayer?"

"A man couldn't, but God does and He uses men. I happen to believe that He uses this particular man, but I can't prove that. I just believe. Like I said earlier, the man doesn't know it, either. I don't know it for sure, but I look at the facts and the conclusion is obvious to me.

"Where is this man now? My prayer isn't answered."

"I think he's already gone. I'm not sure, but he probably is. There's nothing else for him to do here. Where he's going now I'm not sure. He probably isn't, either.

"And who says your prayer isn't answered, Jesse? You're back in the world now. The real world. Maybe that's your answer."

"You trying to tell me God talks to this man or that he's an angel or something?" Jesse asked skeptically.

Doc chuckled, "No, he's no angel, but he does work some good things for people he meets along the way. Like you, he's trying to make up for years of what he considers 'wrong doing'. He can't, of course, like you found out, but he tries just the same."

"You're serious aren't you?" Jesse asked with his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Yes."

"So why tell me now?"

"I'm not sure of that, either."

~*~

Jim was busy in the kitchen when the phone rang. He hurried into the lobby and picked it up. "Hello."

"Maltby." The crisp voice said and was silent.

Jim twisted his face in a puzzled look and put the receiver down heading out front to find Mike Maltby. He had just checked out, but was still loading his motorcycle.

"Mike Maltby!" He yelled from the front porch.

Mike walked up to the front porch asking, "What's up?"

"Telephone for you."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know. Rude kind of man. He just said 'Maltby' and that was it."

That was enough for Mike. He only knew of one man who made phone calls like that. Why, he wasn't sure. _Something about the nature of his job_ , he mused, as he headed in to get the phone.

"Maltby."

"Swenson. Your man was set up to take a fall."

"What do you mean? Take a fall. For who?" Mike asked as he looked around to make sure the owner was no longer within earshot.

"For a nurse who fouled up and the hospital that would have gone down with her. The nurse on duty, Margaret O'Toole. The chart said 2 milligrams and she gave 8. The little girl went into an immediate irreversible coma. That amount of morphine to anyone of any size and age with a brain injury is almost always fatal."

"But the chart said 8."

"She whited out the '2' and wrote '8' just to make sure it was noticed, and it was. Good job of doctoring the charts, too, no pun intended. Took our technicians about 24 hours to bring out the '2' clearly enough to be read. Would have been easier with the original charts, but they got accidentally, on purpose, shredded with some old records scheduled for destruction. The hospital administrator handled that little trick personally."

"You know this for sure?"

"Got a man on the inside. My best. He turned it a couple of weeks ago, but it took a few days to sort it all out. Yeah, it's for sure. I turned the whole thing over to the U.S. Attorney a couple of days ago. This is conspiracy to obstruct justice and fraud on the courts. The U.S. Attorney jumped on it like a fly on honey, he will have a heyday with this one. First thing he did was call a press conference. Probably already hit the papers. These political types can't do anything without a press conference. May take some time, but your man will be cleared and get his ticket back if he wants it. Won't give him back the last ten years, but it's better than nothing. The world ain't necessarily fair. You know that."

"Yeah, I got you, and thanks."

"We're even, Mike. As far as you are concerned I don't exist anymore. Got me?"

"Yes," he said as the phone went dead. Mike went back the to the front porch and watched Shrock and Jesse load Doc's bags into the car.

~*~

With the bags in the car Doc turned to Jesse and said, "Well, Jesse. Welcome back to the world and so long."

Jesse stuck out his hand and said, "Thank you again, Doc, I...."

"Jesse! Jesse! Look at this! Look here!" Dick Carlson said as he skidded to Jesse's side, ending a dead run and holding out the morning newspaper.

Jesse glanced at the paper Carlson held extended out in front of his face and the headline read:

"HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATOR AND NURSE ARRESTED FOR CONSPIRACY"

and in a little bit smaller print underneath it said:

"DOCTOR JESSE BLOCKMAN NOT NEGLIGENT—COURT EXPECTED TO SET ASIDE VERDICT ON THE BASIS OF FRAUD ON THE COURT AND

TAMPERING WITH EVIDENCE."

Doc had slipped over to the other side of Jesse and also read the headline and by-line as Jesse read. The article went on about how the administrator and nurse had changed records and then destroyed them to cover up for the nurse's mistake. How the charts had been tampered with to implicate Jesse Blockman. How Jesse Blockman had admitted to the error, because of his sense of guilt, rather than because of his reason.

"Well, Doctor Blockman. Everyone will read that story. If it made the headlines clear out here, then it made them everywhere. It's just a matter of time now. A few refresher courses and you will be the doctor for this town that you prayed for. Funny how God works thing out isn't it?" he finished with a smile.

"I can't...believe...it!" Jesse stammered. "You've given me back my life for real, Doc. Thank you."

"Thank God, Jesse. The God you never lost faith in. That's what did it, Jesse. Your faith in God, not me. He answered your prayer, not me. Keep the faith, Jesse," he said, as got in the car.

Mike came down from the front porch of the Bed and Breakfast from where he had overheard the entire conversation. He went to his motorcycle and double-checked his load. Climbing on he punched the electric starter button and the engine instantly jumped to life. Idling the engine down and while letting it warm up he looked at Jesse and then over at Doc. With a smile he gave Doc a quick "thumbs up" that Jesse could not see and spun his motorcycle around, roaring down the main street and out of town. The cold January wind bit at him as he thought of the warmer places where he was heading.

# The End

To find other titles by Robert James Allison, visit his website at:

www.robertjamesallison.com

Robert James Allison is an attorney who practiced law in Central Illinois for over 25 years. He has since retired from the private practice of law and moved to Louisville, KY. In the 1970s he served in the U.S. Army as a Military Policeman and later was a Captain in the U.S. Army Judge Advocate General's Corp, Army National Guard. Robert draws on his life experiences in his writing and melds his experiences with his characters to give them a realism that draws the reader into their lives.

Full-length novels by Robert James Allison:

The First Suitor - a romantic suspense

Failed Succession (The First Suitor sequel) - a political thriller

Legal Nightmare - a legal thriller

Scholarly Pursuit - a romantic action adventure

Matters of Faith-a mystery

Fairway Fatality-a murder mystery

The Preacher-a murder mystery

Solitaire's War (book one) -an espionage adventure

The Path to the Outside (book two) -an espionage adventure

In Search of Evil (book three) - an espionage adventure

Short stories:

A Story for Eloise - inspirational

The Vern Stephens Operation - inspirational
