UNAUTHORED LETTERS - Chapter Three

[An imaginary happening]

PART ONE

Early Autumn - 1995

* * * * *

Chapter One

Dr. John Sanders sat in his small apartment. An October morning breeze
floated through the open window and swayed past the bare walls, the sparse
plants, and the personal library of textbooks and psychological journals.
John valued the fresh air while he read Dr. Norman Vincent Peale's The
Power Of Positive Thinking and his long body stretched out on the old brown
sofa. Until a knock at the door surprised him.

He arose and opened the door to find Lisa there. Her petite body held a
brown box with a bag of groceries. She flashed him one of her perfect
smiles, and her blue eyes sparkled at him. "I'm here to make you breakfast."
She lifted herself up on tiptoes and peeked his cheek.

"Really?" John relieved some of the weight. "Let me help you."

She placed the brown box on the dining room table and pulled a newspaper out of the bag. "You haven't read the latest articles, have you?" Her eyes lit
up.

"Not yet."

"Gravers and Downley's conduct are being questioned by the appropriate
sources."

"Good" He pulled a chair out from under the table, sat down, and unfolded
the paper. "That's how it should be."

But Lisa stepped closer. Her fingers grazed past his hands and she began
flipping the paper's pages. Her close proximity excited John. Their first
kiss had occurred yesterday evening, feeding John hopes that in addition to
all her professional assistance, she was also interested in more.

"Here's my story," she stated, pointing at the half-page article with
embedded photos of Clearcreek Mental Care Center and its corrupt president,
Dr. Steven Gravers. Lisa pulled out a chair, sat next to John, and her body
leaned in close. "Just think nothing would have happened if you hadn't been
there...and if you hadn't been you."

John chuckled, a bit embarrassed by her praise, and momentarily unsure of
how to respond.

"Because of you," she continued, "your patient got the help she needed. And
because of you, Dr. Gravers can no longer accept bribes from Downley to keep
her there. You stopped both of them from ruining her. Because of you she's
free to do what she wants with her life. And to top it off you've given the
rest of us the truth."

Still at a verbal loss, John reached out and touched her face. He caressed
her cheek and studied her face. She smiled, then leaned even closer until
John drew her in to their second kiss.

The kiss started out slow and soft, but in time the intensity grew, until
Lisa gracefully slid away. "I saw Landersen yesterday." Her eyes teased him.

"You did?" John's head felt dizzy.

"He's back from his family vacation."

John's eyes remained stuck gazing at her body. He wanted to reach for her,
and draw her back again, but instead she stood up and moved toward the far
end of the table.

To gain control of his thoughts, and racing heart, he drew in a breath and
focused: Landersen, Landersen, Landersen. His supervisor from Clearcreek who had helped uncover the final pieces regarding the hospital's corruption. For six years, John's patient had been the victim of greed. But within the last
month, Lisa, John, and Gary Landersen had worked together to seek out
justice.

But once all the facts were there for Lisa to take the story to press,
Landersen had fled town for the interim. Now John, still grinning, looked at
her, and in a casual voice asked, "Where did he go?"

"He says his trip led him to Arizona."

"Arizona." John's heart rate increased again, but this time not because of
Lisa.

"Yes." She smiled, waiting, playing with the information.

"Did he...?"

"Yes. He saw your patient."

"He did?" John's grin widened. Once Dr. Gravers recognized he needed to
cover his tracks from his unethical conduct, he had relocated this prized
patient to a separate facility outside of California. But now Landersen had
found her. "What did Gary say? How is she?"

"Good. Very good." Her perfect smile grew wider. "In fact..." She stuck her
chest forward. "He asked me to deliver this." She picked up the brown box.

"Thank you, Landersen." John reached for it.

But Lisa held onto the box, and in a teasing voice, she whispered, "You
should know..." She stepped closer. "This is from her. She asked Gary to
deliver it to you."

"It is?" John looked at the box, and then back at Lisa who stood directly
above him. Once again, his heart rate increased as her lips floated closer.

She kissed his check, then her lips glided toward his ear. "I'll start
breakfast, while you open it."

The box lay abandoned on his lap, while he watched her walk away. But once
alone in the room, he picked up the box and his eager fingers fumbled with
the tape.

* * * * *

Hours later, after Lisa had left, John reflected more on the package. For
the third time, since he had opened it, John reached into the box and picked
up the letter. Dear Dr. Sanders. Again he read it, but this time he freely
skimmed through the page.

When I was sent to this new hospital, I knew it was because of you. You
remembered me and were still helping me. This gave me courage to keep
trying. Thank you...

Yesterday, I visited a halfway house. My new doctor asked if I could make
this my family. I said I would try.

This is my new goal...to build a life for myself in the real world.

I am happy...because I finally had the courage to leave Clearcreek.

I'm doing well.

Dr. Sanders, thank you for everything.

Love, Rebecca Ann Brownell

John grinned. Despite all the drama that had unfolded, she was masked from
what had truly taken place. While John had been fighting for her right to
leave, she had been fighting for the courage to leave. Especially since for
years, Gravers had used his craftiness to convince Rebecca and others that
she was too weak to survive in society. But in the last year, John had
exerted tremendous effort. He had fought with her; he had challenged her;
and motivated her until she saw that she was capable to leave institutional
life.

However even though she had conquered her battle, John had not conquered his. Instead he had hit an administration roadblock. Rather than support, John found an enemy, and Gravers did not play nicely. After a nasty war, John lost his job, but uncovered the truth, and now that truth had made her free.

Now John rejoiced in this news, in this letter expressing her success. Yet
there also was a faint sadness, something which he could not quite place.
Perhaps it was the finality: her good-bye amid the memories.

Suddenly the front door burst open. "Greetings Neighbor," Randy hollered as
he walked into the apartment.

"Hey." John folded up the letter while his friend proceeded to the kitchen.
"Help yourself," John mocked as he heard the fridge door open.

Moments later Randy reappeared with a soda can in hand. Then with his free
hand, he picked up the TV remote and plopped his lanky body down on the
other side of the couch. "What's that?" He pointed at the box.

"Nothing." John set the letter on the table. "Just something from an old
friend."

Randy's bushy eyebrows scrunched upward. "You've other friends than me?"
His Saturday attire typically included a baseball cap, used to hide the
elongated cranium and tousled sandy curls, but today the cap was absent.
"Whose it from?"

"You don't know the person."

"I've known you for how long? Since our first day of college. So let's
see..." He rubbed his head, and then began counting the fingers on his
hands. When he reached the end he counted two digits again. "That's twelve
years," he proudly stated.

"Yep."

"That's a long time, buddy."

"It is."

"I know our friends, and I know most of your friends, and the few I don't
know, I've heard of them. So whose it from?"

John drew in a breath. In truth, Randy already knew more than he probably
should--like the precise details on how John became unemployed. "It's from
my patient."

"Your patient." He glanced at the box resting on John's lap. "You mean
the patient?"

"Yes."

"The one."

"Yes," John shifted the box until it perched on the armrest next to him.
"It's from her."

"So..." Randy kept looking at it. "What is it?"

"It's a blanket."

"Huh?" Randy's lanky body sat up. He placed the soda and remote onto the
coffee table, glanced at John, and then leaped for the box. "What do you
know?" He unveiled the blue fleece. "A blanket--a cute little baby's
blanket."

"Wow." A grin crept over John's face. "You're a quick one."

"So..." Randy sank back into the couch and clutched the blanket in his hand.
"What does a smart clinical psychologist, such as yourself, infer when a
former patient sends you an old baby blanket?"

John reached for the remote. "Nothing."

But his friend cuddled up against the blanket, stuck his thumb in his mouth,
only to pull it out so he could add, "No Doc, what does it mean?"

"She's making a statement."

"A statement." Randy lowered the blanket to his lap and touched it. "Like
what?"

The blanket had been her link to insanity, her connection to a precious
delusion of a baby she called Robert. For years, she had wrapped this baby up, and clung to it, and this inanimate object had overpowered her, given
her the means to shut herself off from reality.

"So," Randy's voice pulled him back. "Was giving up your career worth it?"

"Of course." John stared at the blanket. "Clearcreek was a corrupt place.
And I haven't given up my career."

"Glad you have no regrets." Randy slapped his hand against John's knee.
"Well done, Doc." He leaned back, lifted his legs onto the coffee table, and
crossed his feet. "You were a bit OCD with the whole thing, but look at you
Johnny Boy, piecing all of this together. You're amazing, an absolute
genius." He tossed the blanket back into the box. "For your next job you
should apply with the FBI."

John laughed. "I don't think so."

"But look at your skill, Detective Sanders, figuring out the scoop on your
patient and that politician. My dad wanted that guy to win the Senate race,
but not since I've educated him. Nope. Now Pops and I've decided, he's the
stuff sewers are made out of. Although it's still odd to me, why didn't
anyone know they'd been married?"

"Because..." John drew in a breath. "Downley took advantage of her unstable
thoughts, he took care of the divorce and her money, and then abandoned her
to Gravers' care. Once Downley was free and wealthy, he was able to pursue
his political ambitions."

"So he snatched her up at his midlife crisis, got a huge booty from the
deal, dumped her at the asylum, took off with her gold, and ran for
Mayor--that's quite a story."

"Yep." John cringed.

"How old's your patient? Isn't Downley like decades her senior?"

Too many long days had been spent dwelling on this man; and lately, just
speaking his name filled John with intense anger. "Yeah, he certainly
benefited at her expense." It was time to shift the conversation. "Have you
seen today's paper?"

"No." Randy's eyes scanned the room. "Are you in it again?"
Since Lisa's morning delivery, the paper had remained on the dining room
table. Now John pointed for his friend to retrieve it.

"Excuse me?" Randy grunted.

But John continued to point. "It's on the table."

"Are you implying that you want me to get up and fetch your paper?"
Nevertheless he hoisted his body off the couch, went over to the table, and
grabbed the Times. When he returned back to the couch, he sat near enough
so that John could see Richard Downley's picture beneath the headline: Scandal Creates Campaign Danger for Santa Barbara's Mayor.

"Wow. Downley on the front page." Randy whistled. "Can you believe it?"

"And Lisa's article on Gravers and Clearcreek is on A4. She's doing great."

"Of course she is."

John revealed a proud smile. "Bill Harper, he's the reporter covering
Downley's story, he's has been calling her from the main office; he wants
them to work jointly on these stories."

"So you like her?"

"I do."

"Are you dating her?"

"It appears so."

A victorious grin plastered Randy's face. "Well done Johnny Boy, well done."

"You're just smug because you introduced us."

"I'm just smug because you're not the social misfit that you so often want
me to believe that you are. And I'm smug because when a perfectly good
opportunity is right in front of you, you do know what to do with it."
Randy flipped the pages. "So what does the article say?"

"She wrote a perfect piece."

"Well of course she did." Randy lifted his head to reveal a silly smirk
stuck to his face. "Look at what you gave her--a complete recipe for
incredible fame." He spoke in a low Italian tone, "You were like a fairy
godfather to her."

"No. The bottom line is it's a tragic story, and it needed to be shared."

Randy turned back to the paper; and this time he spoke in a reflective tone,
"You're right. It's an unfair story; your patient had a bad deal."

While Randy read, John glanced at the blanket, still sticking out of the
box. Again he reflected on the good and challenging memories, followed now
by Rebecca's success.

"So The End." Randy tossed the newspaper onto the coffee table. "The bad
guys are penalized and the good guys prosper."

"That's the hope," he said. However the LA Times front page now faced
John; and the picture of Mayor Richard Downley, with his political smile,
looked up at him. From all that John had gleaned about Downley, he feared
this man--and Lisa's warnings did not help. According to her, this important
Senate race made the scandal headline news, which meant Downley could not
afford to remain mute. If he desired, this man, who was the only human who
could reveal Rebecca's identity to the press, had the power to publicly
humiliate her and cripple her life even further.

Since the day had been filled with positive news, John sought to avoid these
lingering woes. But each time he saw those eyes--found on the front
page--John knew that Downley would retaliate, the question was just when.