Chapter 17

Debra Oakman had stopped crying but only because her eyes could produce no more tears. She was terrified. Where was Mama? Where was Papa? And Conk? She knew some bad men had taken her, like before but not just one man, a whole bunch of them. Bad women, too. Bad peoples. They didn't do bad things with her, not like the other bad man. They didn't hurt her between her legs, but they put a metal ring around her wrist and connected another ring to the bed, so she couldn't get out of bed. The metal rings were better than the straps; she didn't feel as confined, but she didn't like them. She didn't understand. The wrist wasn't hers. It was a man's wrist. But when she tried to move her wrist, she moved the man's wrist. And once—she couldn't help it—she wet the bed. She tried to say "bathroom" but couldn't. She could only say three words: Mama, Papa, Conk. And her words weren't hers. Some man said them for her. A bad woman made her shower. And in the shower she had a pee-pee. She didn't understand how that could happen. What happened to her kitty? She wanted to play with her kitty, and she didn't have a kitty.

No one hugged her. Mama hugged her. Papa hugged her. Conk licked her face. No hugs. No kisses. And the food was terrible. She spit it out. She'd show the bad peoples. She wouldn't eat. She'd show them.

Then some good men took her away. She was so happy! She smiled and smiled. She thought they were taking her home. They wore clothes like the good men who took her away from the bad man from long ago and took her to Mama and Papa. But they were bad men, too. They didn't take her home. They put her fingers in ink and took her picture, and some other bad men took her to a different place. They put her in a little room that had a bed and a toilet and a sink, but they didn't put the metal rings around her wrist, so it was a better place. But she didn't like it. She wanted to be with Mama and Papa and Conk.

She cried herself to sleep, and the next morning she had to undress and shower again. She still had a pee pee. What happened to her kitty? And her chest was still flat.

The food was awful in the new place, too. She spit it out. She'd show them. Then another bad man talked with her. He had a soothing voice, so she said, "Mama, Papa, Conk," over and over again, but a man said the words for her.

Debra Oakman didn't understand. She was terrified.

You must eat or we will die, she heard in her mind.

Who are you? she replied silently.

Don't be frightened. I'm John. We share this body. What is your name?

Debra Oakman.

If we share a body we should be friends Debra. Will you be my friend?

I miss Mama and Papa and Conk, she said in her mind.

Dr. Brendon Uris tossed a file on the conference table. "Aaron MacDonald," he said to the other men and women sitting around the table. "He was transferred here yesterday from County General where he was under the care of Dr. Percy Stein. MacDonald was struck by lightning, which caused some brain damage that progressed into paranoid schizophrenia. He was put in the psych ward for non-violent patients in that hospital. MacDonald raped a female catatonic patient, and when he was being transferred to the prisoner ward of the hospital, he assaulted the head of security, pushed a table through an outer glass wall and ran off. Believe it or not, he was struck by lightning again during his attempted escape. Some Scottsdale Police Department personnel transported him from the hospital for booking, and then he was brought here.

Dr. Uris sighed. "I met with him this morning. His pathology is completely different. He's child-like now, completely regressed. He speaks only three words: Mama, Papa, and Conk. I have no idea what conk means."

"In your opinion is he a danger to himself or others?" Dr. Grant Breedlove said. Dr. Breedlove chaired the staff meetings at the Arizona State Hospital.

"It's too early to tell. There's another problem, though. He's refusing to eat."

"Will he drink?" another doctor at the table asked.

"Yes. We're loading up fruit juices with vitamins and other food supplements, but that won't work very long."

"Thank you, Dr. Uris," Dr. Breedlove said. "Please, keep us informed. Next case."

Our first morning run was brutal, but the scenery was awesome. Mom and Dad threw in the towel at about 500 yards. I lasted another 75 yards. Although, it would be generous to call our pace running, it was a good start. Conk ran circles around us, happy to be outside and free.

After I took a hot, soothing shower (I wore a shower cap to protect my new hairdo), Mom and I prepared and served breakfast for our guests. They were nice people; the man was especially jovial. Mom commented later that she didn't mind pampering happy guests. "It's the sourpusses that can't be pleased that get on my nerves," she said. "Unfortunately, the sourpusses outnumber the happy guests."

After I helped Mom clean up the breakfast mess, we selected a room in the inn that would serve as our weight room. While Mom made up the room our guests were using, Dad and I unboxed all the weight paraphernalia we'd purchased the previous night, and we were good to go for weight training the next morning. I planned to claim another Hector dream that night and start teaching them tai chi in the morning, as well. The beginning form of tai chi would be a good warm-up exercise for both the weight training and morning runs.

Then I went to my room to make some calls with my new cell phone.

With one phone call, I discovered that Coach John Windom was dead, killed when he was struck by lightning.

I hoped my mother would gather her granddaughter in her loving arms and help her become all she could be. Like an idiot, I had not left a last will and testament. I doubted the earnest money I'd paid to buy the properties would be returned, but there was substantial cash in the bank—over $200,000—that my mother could manage for my daughter.

Stop it! I told myself. Carol is not my mother, and Piper is not by daughter. I have to stop thinking of them in that fashion or I'll go batty.

If John Windom was dead, a swap didn't happen with Debra Oakman. No, there was another possibility. A swap could have taken place but Debra died during the swap. Argh! I needed more information.

It took an hour and a lot more than one phone call to find out that Aaron MacDonald was housed in a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane.

Whoa! That set me back on my heels.

Which ego, or consciousness, or soul resided in my old body? John Windom's or Debra Oakman's? Then I realized the ego that had taken over my body could be from yet another person. Argh! With the information I had, I couldn't solve the conundrum.

Suddenly, a truly scary circumstance occurred to me. If there was another swap and I ended up back in my old body, I might spend the rest of my life in an insane asylum.

To put that thought out of my mind, I set up the wireless network that gave me a cable internet connection not just in my room, but in any room in the inn.

I found Mom and Dad in their small office, and they invited me to join them. They were discussing my suggestions from the previous day.

"We like your suggestions, Debra," Dad said.

"Do I hear a but in that statement?" I said.

Dad grinned. "But some of your assumptions, if not fulfilled, could spell disaster."

I nodded and said, "Too much depends on Hector, huh?"

"Yes," Mom said.

"What we'd like to do is put on the brakes a little bit without stopping forward progress," Dad said.

"We don't think we should hire an architect and other professionals to design the condominiums until we're sure we'll be able to pay off the mortgage on the inn," Mom said.

"Okay," I said. "That makes sense."

"And we don't want to close the inn until we have a committed construction loan," Dad said.

"Ah, the Hector thing again," I said.

"Yes," Dad said. "Once the mortgage is paid, we'll hire an architect to do preliminary design work only, not a full set of working drawings. From the preliminary plans, I can estimate the demolition and construction costs. During this time we'll investigate the market for the condos for various price points and hire a marketing consultant to put together a marketing plan. The preliminary plans will then to be adjusted to maximize profits in accordance with the marketing plan. At this point, we can sit down with some banks to discuss a construction loan. If Hector continues to cooperate while we're doing all this, we shouldn't have a problem getting a commitment for a construction loan, at which time we will close the inn and sell off the antiques and other personal property."

"There's also the small matter of finding another place to live when we close the inn," Mother said.

"And we have a fallback position," Dad said. "Remember, I told you the land is worth more than the inn. If we're not strong enough to qualify for the construction loan, we'll demolish the inn and sell the land to another developer."

"Hey, you guys are good at this. Your plan is better than mine," I said. And you guys don't know it yet, but I'll do the preliminary design work.

The week went by, and then another and another. Tai chi, the morning runs, working out with free weights, and the diet were doing their job. Mom and Dad fell in love with tai chi, and when they were competent with the beginning form, I started teaching them another. The pounds melted away. Mother was winning the weight-loss race—not in total pounds, Dad had that honor—but I wasn't far behind Mother in achieving my weight and overall fitness goals. As our weight decreased our bank account grew, and to increase my options for this life, I took and passed the G.E.D. test. That their retarded daughter obtained the equivalency of a high school diploma thrilled my parents.

We had a white Christmas. Snow in Ely could be beautiful, but snow contrasted with the amazing red rock formations in and around Sedona was breathtaking. I bought Dad a Movado wristwatch. It wasn't a Rolex—Dad wasn't a Rolex kind of guy—but it wasn't cheap, and Mom and I agreed that his ratty Timex had to go. My mother had a beautiful long neck, and while shopping one day, she'd admired a high-quality, two-strand turquoise necklace with jaclas. With Christmas around the corner, I snuck back to the store and purchased the necklace and some matching earrings. I also bought Mom a digital camera and color photo printer with a good starter supply of photograph paper. Conk got an expanding leash from me and some of his favorite treats.

Mom and Dad surprised me with my gift—a slightly used Honda Accord. It was white with gray leather interior, and I was thrilled. Mom and Dad had let me use the inn's van if I needed to drive somewhere, but inn business came first, and although I was careful to hide it, asking to borrow a vehicle irritated me. I'd considered using my own money to purchase a car, but such a large expenditure wasn't one of our family's goals. Buying the car for me met one of Dad's goals, though. Like taking his daughter to the DMV for her driver's license, he'd just bought his daughter her first car. He stood beaming satisfaction and pride as I jumped up and down, exclaiming, "I can't believe you guys did this for me!"

The gift giving was fun, but being a part of a family for the holiday gave me greater joy and, for the most part, kept me from dwelling on my losses from my life as John Windom.

The day after Christmas, I announced a Hector dream that gave me the talent to prepare the preliminary designs for the high-end condos. While they were still stunned by the announcement, I added, "There's a problem. The software, equipment, tools, and supplies that will allow me to do professional architectural work will cost more than paying an architect for the preliminary designs."

"How much?" Dad said.

"$25,000," I said.

He gulped.

Then my mother surprised me when she said, "Spend the money, Garth."

"Okay," he said, "but I'm curious about why you think we should spend the money."

She sighed. "Less than a month ago, lightning came down out of the heavens and struck my poor sweet nineteen-year-old daughter with a six-year-old intellect and transformed her into an amazing young woman. Suddenly she could read and write and passed the G.E.D. test without spending a day in school. She plays poker like a professional and is earning more money every week than we made last year. Did she go out and spend the money on herself? No, she sat down with us and presented a plan that will eliminate the albatross around our necks this god damn inn represents, and in so doing, she's made you a happy man because soon you will be doing the work you love. I love you, Garth. When you're happy, I'm happy, so she's made me a happy woman, too. She also looked in the mirror and decided she didn't like what she saw and devised a plan to lose weight and become physically fit, and she took us along for the ride. If she says she can do the preliminary architectural design work for the development job that will become the foundation for the rest of your working life, as well as our financial future, then I say fuck how much it costs. Just turn her loose and hang on while she continues to defy the laws of the universe and nature."

She paused, but briefly, and then said, "Remember the first night after Debra was struck by lightning, Garth. I said I felt like I'd been run over by a freight train. Remember?"

"I do," he said.

"I was wrong. I was given a front seat on a roller coaster, and I for one don't want the thrilling ride to end."

"Wow!" I said.

"You can say that again," Dad said.

"Wow!" I said and giggled.

The week before Christmas and the week after were good weeks for the inn. Over half the rooms were occupied, so Mom couldn't leave the inn when Dad and I hopped in the van to drive to Phoenix. We needed the van to haul my purchases. They wouldn't fit in the Honda.

The most expensive items on my shopping list were the CAD plotter and a scanner. I found a refurbished HP Designjet 4000, 42" plotter and saved about $4,000 off the cost of a new one. I also found a refurbished HP Designjet 4200 scanner that saved even more than I saved with the refurbished plotter. With the big-ticket items out of the way, I hit my favorite architectural equipment and supply store in Phoenix and loaded up with everything else I'd need. With the savings on the refurbished plotter and scanner, I cut my startup costs to just over $15,000. Dad was pleased, so I decided to jump start another goal I'd made for this life.

"Dad," I said, "I can't be an architect. I'd have to go to architectural school for five years, and then apprentice with a licensed architect for three years, and finally pass the test to become a registered architect. I'll do the preliminary design work for the development projects we put together in the future, but I think we should sub-contract the working drawings to a licensed architectural firm. I don't want to go through all the rigmarole it takes to become an architect. I can, however, be an artist."

After a short discussion about my chosen life's work, we also hit a couple of art supply stores, and I spent about $5,000 on art supplies and equipment.

Back at the inn, I commandeered two rooms, one for my art studio, and one for an architectural studio. The next day, instead of starting the preliminary designs for the condos, I bundled up and went out under a startling blue sky, breathed clean, crisp winter air, and painted some watercolor scenes of the red rock country. I was delighted with my new body's eye/hand coordination. With Debra Oakman's youthful, steady hand, guided by the years of experience that came from Aaron MacDonald's mind, the brushes and paints performed their magic. The results weren't gallery quality, but I was more than satisfied with my first attempts.