Harold’s fitful night’s sleep was interrupted by a telephone call from one of the attendants at the hospital.
“Yes?”
“Dr. Lippincott, three patients are unaccounted for,” the attendant said, trying to control his anxiety.
“What?”
“At three a.m. bed check we noticed John Ross and those two brothers, Mike and Randy, were missing. We’ve already contacted police,” he continued. “I hope that was okay, considering their case histories.”
“Of course. You did the right thing.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you, but I thought you ought to know.”
“Yes. You did the right thing.” Harold stopped to rub his eyes. “What time is it now?”
“Four.”
“I’ll be in about seven.”
As Harold hung up the receiver, Stephanie rolled over.
“What was that, honey?”
“Three patients escaped.” He sat up and rubbed his chest.
“You’re not going in now, are you?”
“No. I’ll go in about seven.” He got out of bed and headed for his bathroom. “But I can’t get back to sleep.”
“You’re not postponing our trip to New York, are you?” She sat up. “Your father’s funeral is in three days.”
Harold came back into the room and began doing sit ups.
“Stephanie, I can’t leave while those three are loose.”
“Why not? They’re just patients, aren’t they?”
“Two of them killed an elderly woman, and the other stabbed his father.” He stopped his sit ups and panted.
“We’re talking about your father.” Stephanie scooted to the end of their bed. “I know these men may be dangerous, but the police are prepared to handle that. There’s not much you can do.”
“But I’m the head of the hospital. I’m responsible. The police will need information, and I’m the one to give it to them.”
“But nothing. Your father is being buried. This happens only once. You have only one father.”
Harold began doing pushups.
“Will you stop that while I’m talking to you?”
He continued his exercise.
“Harold, did you hate your father?”
He stopped. He did hate his father, but psychiatrists were supposed to be above feelings like hate, adoration and insecurity. Harold did not want Stephanie to know he had weaknesses like ordinary men.
“You met him in June.” Harold rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “He was not kind to you. He was never kind to me.”
“What happened between you two?”
“What happened between us?” He sat up. “My father didn’t need an excuse to be a boor.”
“Sometimes you just have to accept people for who they are,” Stephanie said, choosing her words with care. “He couldn’t help the way he acted. That’s why it didn’t bother me when he snubbed me. It was the only way he knew how to act.” She shrugged. “But he was still your father.”
“Are you trying to analyze me now?”
“I’m not trying.” She smiled and went to the floor. “I am analyzing you.”
“You didn’t even know the meaning of the word until I taught it do you.”
She straddled him, put her arms around his sweaty shoulders and kissed him.
“And you didn’t know the meaning of this before I taught it to you.” She pushed her bottom into his crotch, kissing him with passion.
After a few moments they separated.
“You’re a better teacher than I am,” he murmured.
“So are you forgetting this business about staying here?”
“I can’t.” He shook his head.
“Then I’ll call the funeral home and delay the services until we can get there.”
“About that. You don’t have to go.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You don’t have to meet the rest of my family and dad’s friends.”
“You need remedial courses on this.” She repeated her movements and kisses. “You won’t pass if I let you out of my sight.”
“You win, teacher.” He kissed and then smiled.
They rolled on the floor and made love, helping Harold to forget how he hated his father and how he was so embarrassed by his hatred. Maybe Stephanie would still love him if she knew he was just human. As she giggled and rolled over on top of him, he decided she already knew and did not care. Later they showered together, dressed, went to the kitchen and put on coffee.
“You do know it’s all right,” she said.
“What’s all right?”
“Hating your father.”
“Do you hate anyone?”
“Sometimes I hate you.” She sipped her coffee. “You can be an arrogant jerk, you know.”
“Oh.”
“You really need to work on that.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to be right all the time. You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to ask someone for help.”
“And who would that be?”
“Jerk.”
Gray morning light seeped through the curtains.
“It’s time you got ready for work, doctor.”
He went to her and kissed her.
“You don’t mind I need you so much?”
“No.” She smiled. “You shouldn’t mind needing me so much.”
Harold went into their bedroom and dressed in his three-piece suit which he felt gave him a look of authority. Stephanie turned him around for her approval and after lingering over straightening his tie sent Harold out the door and watched him walk to his Mercedes and drive away. Harold considered what she had said, that sometimes she hated him, and hoped she was only joking. He didn’t want to lose another wife. He arrived at the hospital, went through the gate and parked in his designated spot. When he reached his office, he saw Detective Mack Howard waiting by his door. After brief introductions, the detective sat and pulled out his notepad and began asking questions.
“So, Doc, who exactly were these guys?”
Harold stood by his window and saw George coming to work. When he sensed the attendant was looking up at his office window and smirking at him, Harold stepped away.
“Doc?”
“I’m sorry.” He tried to focus on the detective. “What was that?”
“Who were these guys?” Mack repeated. “Some hospital attendants told my boys they could be dangerous.”
“I don’t think so.” He sat down and fiddled with their three folders. “The boys are only dangerous when they’d had beer to drink.”
“There’s a lot of beer out there in the world.”
“I know what I’m talking about, Detective Howard,” Harold said, even though images of the blood spot on his finger and his father’s leer clouded his mind.
***
Sunlight had yet to peep through their hotel window as Bob and Jill held each other in bed and exchanged intimate kisses. A television was on, but they ignored it.
“Israeli Prime Minister Menachim Begin and Egyptian President Anwar Sadat say patrols from both countries will work together in the Sinai Peninsula,” a reporter said.
“Thank you for telling me about your mother,” Jill whispered. “I know it must have been difficult for you.”
“I never told anyone that before.”
“And it seems the Bahamas has dodged a bullet this time with Hurricane David which caused massive damage and killed more than a thousand people in the Dominican Republic and surrounding islands,” the voice from the television said. The storm is now dissipating.”
“I don’t know why I thought you wouldn’t love me if you knew.”
She kissed him on the cheek.
“I love you even more for telling me.” Hugging him she sighed. “It means you trust me completely.” They slid back into their bed and hugged each other.
“And in news from the United States, three mental patients escaped from North Carolina State Mental Hospital in Morganton last night.”
“What was that?” Bob sat up.
“What was what?”
“The leader of the escapees has been identified as John Ross, a native American of Cherokee descent who was committed for stabbing his father,” the reporter said. “Ross, according to sources, believes himself to be Moses.”
Jill sighed and reached for the telephone and handed it to Bob who took it without any hesitation.
“Thanks.”
“I always heard reporters made lousy husbands, but I didn’t think it started on their honeymoon.”
“Lousy?” Bob frowned.
“Don’t take it personally.” She kissed his forehead and got out of bed to dress.
They checked out of the hotel and went to the airport. As their plane took off, Jill looked out the window at fading views of the Bahamas.
“Don’t worry.” Bob squeezed her hand. “We’ll go back.”
“I know.” She smiled and leaned back. “It’s just that…” She bit her lip and smiled again. “Never mind.”
Back at their Knoxville apartment he called his station and talked to Betty.
“I saw the news this morning about John Ross’s escape and came back. I’m on my way right now to Morganton to see Dr. Lippincott. ”
“From your honeymoon?” she said in disbelief. “You are a good newsman. But a lousy husband.”
“Lousy?”
“See, I told you,” Jill said, tickling his ribs.
“Put your wife on the phone, or did you leave her there?”
“No, she’s here.” He held out the receiver. “Betty wants to talk to you.”
She took the phone and winked at Bob.
“Hi, Betty.”
“You poor thing. Even I wouldn’t leave my honeymoon for a story.”
“Oh, he’s kinda cute. I forgive him.”
“Since he’s out chasing down a hot story, why don’t you come by and let me treat you to lunch. It’s the least I can do since you thought you were going to be sipping mai-tais on the beach.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there at noon.”
Bob gathered his gear together and kissed her cheek.
“Say bye to Betty for me.”
“Tell him I said you’re too good for him,” Betty said loud enough for Bob to hear, causing him to laugh.
“I agree,” Bob said, leaning into the phone.
***
Detective Mack Howard closed his notepad and stood.
“That just about gets it. We can handle it from here.
“Thank you for your help.” Harold followed him to the door.
“Sure. These things happen all the time.”
When he was alone, Harold began to talk to himself.
“Sure they happen all the time. It could happen to anyone.” He sat at his desk and looked again at John’s folder, trying to see if there was anything in it that could have warned him. Pediatric head trauma caused many problems, but something else had to be a factor, but he did not know what. John had a loving, warm family. His father was not too bright but was a decent man, and John’s mother was practically perfect, a martyr, a saint. He closed the file. “This is foolish. Second guessing never helps anything.” The intercom rang, bringing Harold out of his thoughts. He punched the button. “Yes?”
“I was finally able to reach the Rosses,” his secretary explained. “Seems they’ve been out all morning.”
“Thank you. Put them through.” Harold composed his thoughts as their call was transferred. Soon an old man’s voice crackled over the receiver.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Ross,” Harold spoke with kindness, “this is Dr. Lippincott, from the state mental hospital. I have some information about your son.”
“We know. We heard it on the radio.”
In the background, Harold heard Mrs. Ross yelling.
“Will you shut up?” Mr. Ross bellowed. “I can’t hear the doc.”
“Then it’s true? He ran away?” he heard her say.
“Yep,” Mr. Ross replied.
“This is all your fault!” she screamed. “I wish Johnny had killed you! Then they would have put him in prison, and he couldn’t escape!”
“And I wish he had died!” John’s father yelled. “He’s been nothing but trouble since he got hit in the head!”
“Mr. Ross?” Harold asked, not believing the outburst he overheard.
“And you told him that!” she continued her tirade. “Johnny told me you said you wish he was dead! I wish you were dead!”
“Mr. Ross, please calm down,” Harold said, trying to soothe him. “There’s no reason to be this upset. I’m sure authorities will find him soon.”
“What do you know?” Mr. Ross yelled out. “You’re nothing but a stupid doctor!”
“This has to be a strain on you,” Harold continued. “Keeping all these feelings contained all these years…”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Ross said, after grabbing the receiver.
“I mean you and Mr. Ross, keeping all your emotions packed in all these years…”
“My husband hasn’t packed nothing away,” she said with spite. “He was always telling Johnny he was stupid and he wished he was dead. I was the one who had to defend the poor boy against him. My husband was the stupid one!”
“Oh.” Harold was speechless.
“If you hadn’t filled him with all that Yo He Wa nonsense he could have fit in this world,” he heard Mr. Ross yell.
“It isn’t nonsense!” she yelled back. “It’s our heritage. You’d know that if you weren’t so stupid!”
“Please, Mrs. Ross,” Harold said. “All this screaming won’t help.”
“Don’t tell us what to do!” Her voice became even more intense. “You white people are always telling us what to do!” She paused to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lippincott,” she resumed, choosing her words with care. “I usually don’t fly off the handle like that.”
“You fly off the handle like that all the time,” her husband bellowed in the background.
“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” Harold said, choosing to ignore their conflict.
“When Johnny was a little boy,” she said, “he read all about the Trail of Tears—you know, how the government made Cherokee walk all the way to Oklahoma—and he’d come to me with tears in his eyes and say, ‘Ma, those people are going to pay.’ Well, sir, I’m afraid that’s just what he’s out to do, make somebody pay.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ross.”
“Dr. Lippincott?” she asked with a sweet tenderness that Harold had always heard in her voice before today. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, you know, how you caught my husband and me in a little spat?”
“Oh. No.”
“Folks here in town don’t know we sometimes talk to each other like that,” she continued. “Like you said, we’ve had a lot of feelings cooped up.”
“You never cooped up anything,” he heard Mr. Ross say in resentment.
“Of course,” Harold said, trying to be comforting. “I understand.”
“Good.”
“We’re contacting law enforcement officials in Cherokee to have them watch your home, in case John might appear.”
“I’m not afraid of my son,” she said with determination.
After he hung up, Harold’s heart beat faster as he realized he had found the missing piece of John Ross’s puzzling psychosis. What he thought had been a warm supportive family had actually been a battleground with sudden eruptions of name calling and accusations. Being in the middle of his parents’ tantrums had built the foundation of John’s mental illness. And Harold had overlooked it; making sloppy observations about the Ross family’s superficial tranquility. Maybe his wife was right. Maybe Harold needed to go to his father’s funeral and bury burdens his father had placed on him. He reached for his telephone to call his wife to make arrangements for them to fly to New York at once. He had three numbers dialed when his secretary came over the intercom.
“Dr. Lippincott, Bob Meade of the Knoxville television station is here to see you.”
Harold paused, then hung up the phone and sighed.
“Send him in.”