Chapter 3

I awoke with a start, realizing that it was just another chapter in the never-ending dream. The surprise was remembering any of it. The dream seemed permanently etched in my brain, and I could remember far too many details for it to be just another vagrant mental exercise of an untethered, sleeping mind.

The rehab center was deathly quiet. On the dresser across from my bed, the cheap alarm clock glowed at three-twenty-four AM. I strained to listen for the sounds that awakened me. It seemed unlikely that I simply woke up right when the dream got good, but I couldn’t put my finger on any sound that was out of place.

Just as I would have given it all up as another dream, that shook me awake before I could pin down who, or what I was supposed to be, I heard the unmistakable click of a door clock sliding back into place.

Someone had been up and moving about. I wondered who, and why.

Carefully crawling out of bed, I made my way thru the halls looking for anyone that did not belong. Due to my weakness, I stumbled several times and knocked against a tray making lots of noise. Shortly after that, I heard the slamming of a car door. Whoever was in the building seemed to have left in a hurry.

Eventually, I slept.

The next morning found me hard at work, attempting to hurry up and heal, so I could move on, and get out of the rehab center. It never occurred to me to tell anyone about the night noises.

I was aware that my body was healing faster following the visit from Zachary Washburn. Buoyed by the knowledge that I had a job to go back to, a better wage, and the expectation of improvement in my meager lifestyle, seemed to have kicked started my physical recovery.

After the Washburns left I laid awake for hours imagining what it all meant and dreaming about a better life. Just knowing I would be trained to fly was enough to keep me awake wondering about flights I might take that would let me see the country. I even imagined dating pretty girls and taking them to nice places where we would be treated well.

Combining that with the promise of a career flying for the Washburns sent my body into hyper-healing mode. The distances that I was asked to walk seemed shorter, while the weights I struggled to lift seemed lighter. The medicine ball didn’t hurt as much if I forgot to catch it just right, and the torturous stretching and flexibility exercises seemed to cause less pain and ache. My bones were knitting back together, and the good news even made the healing pain seem manageable.

Pete Davis showed up a few days following the news, just as Zachary promised. He brought a woman with him from HR. Once he finished filling me in on his plans for training, he turned things over to her and left.

Her name was Helen.

She wanted to fill out all sorts of reports about my injuries, limitations, residual pain, and a host of other things about my physical condition for her files. Her questions went on for well over an hour, but she never made me feel like the information was going to be used against me. It seemed to be all about making sure the company took permanent responsibility for my damaged body for the rest of my life.

Just before my release from rehab, Maeve Washburn came to see me accompanied by a female attorney that resembled a shark looking for someone to eat. Her mere presence made me very uncomfortable, but I tried to be a perfect gentleman out of courtesy to the people who were giving me so much. It was a bit of an acting job, but I comported myself like Tom Muir would have wanted me to.

“I’m so glad to hear you are finally getting out of this dreary hospital,” Maeve grabbed my hand and kissed my cheek. She seemed happy to see me. The shark just circled around watching like she was waiting for a chance to strike. “I’ve brought our personal attorney, Sandra Fromme. She has a very special request to make of you, and I am hoping you will hear her out and at least think about what I am asking.

“Really, Cal. I am so deeply impressed with you. That is why I am begging you to consider our request. I have a very troubling situation that requires extraordinary help, or I wouldn’t dream of asking something so important of you while you are trying to recover.” With a tear in her eye, she kissed my cheek once more, and headed off to wherever people like her go, leaving me with the human wrecking machine. At least I thought of her that way.

Sandra was average in so many ways. She was about medium height, neither fat nor trim. She was of an inexact age. It was impossible to guess for sure, but I would have guessed she was about thirty ... five ... or so ... more or less. Sandra oozed power and aggression. What she did very well was scare the crap out of me.

For Maeve Washburn’s sake, I was willing to sit quietly and listen.

That was all.

Just listen...

Sandra seemed to want to play a power game with me. Rather than get to it, she hesitated, pretending to think about what to say, or how to say it. She studied her nails for so long, that I wondered if she was waiting for them to need the polish reapplied before coming to the point, but I kept all that to myself. Instead of fidgeting, or talking out of nervousness, I suppressed my curiosity and waited her out.

Apparently meeting a recent invalid that didn’t appear to be either in awe, or terror of her wasn’t on Sandra’s calendar. The longer I sat and stared, the less sure of herself she became. That in and of itself was worth the effort. She did not look like someone that succumbed to another person’s patience. Rather than try to memorize times tables in my head, I chose to open my laptop, provided by one of Zachary’s assistants, and use the hospital Wi-Fi to check my free email account. Free was the maximum amount I could afford to pay for internet service, so the free hospital Wi-Fi was a wonderful thing.

It was not likely that anyone would be writing to me. It was just something to do while the lawyer played her power game. When she realized I had better things to do than sit and await her pleasure, she really started to lose her poise, her patience, or her determination to make me speak first.

“Mr. Goodwin,” She had a pleasant voice that surprised me. “It really was a brave and courageous thing you did for Mr. and Mrs. Washburn. I’ve seen the airport security film and am still stunned at what you accomplished before getting injured.” She paused as if she wasn’t sure about what to tell me and what to withhold. Since I was offering no help whatsoever, she ended up having to put her cards on the table, so to speak.

“Your personal circumstances – at least what I know of them – cause me to wonder how the Washburns could be so certain that you are someone they can trust with such a painful secret. Set aside any willingness you might have to help them. I am suspicious of your loyalty and discretion. Discretion is going to be EVERYTHING in this instance, and I must know you will not try to hurt them in any way.” I chose to remain silent and let her decide how she wanted the meeting to come out. Anything I said would be taken wrong. Of that, I was sure.

Eventually, even Sandra’s seemingly impressive self-control ran out. “Mr. and Mrs. Washburn have a little problem. They need a very special person to do them a VERY special favor, and they think you are the right man for the job.

“Mrs. Washburn asked me not to do a deep dive investigating your background. I did one anyway and shared the results with them both. There is so little information that can be unearthed about you that one could presume that you have nothing to hide. The truth could be just that, but it could also be that you are very good at hiding the unseemly things about your life, making you a terrible risk to the Washburn family.