Chapter 42

Jesus stayed in that living hell, tortured by his demons until they took him out of the chair and gave him another injection of Thorazine and a dose of his two medicines. The cocktail did the trick, and eventually turning him into a slow, complacent zombie. He watched TV along with the others, but inside his mind, he fought a personal battle against his unwanted visitors, seemingly unwinnable battle. It wasn’t that the medication did anything to alleviate his hallucinations, it simply turned down the volume of everything until the constant sense of great distance from the outside world followed Jesus wherever he went, which wasn’t far. for weeks, he stayed in that state, his inner self driving around the tank of flesh that was his decaying body like an operator working through several layers of plexiglass. Nothing bothered him. In group, he said little and barely heard what the others had to say. It was like he was merely a passenger, along for the ride.

Rodrigo, Andrea, Leroy, Winston, and The Other visited him constantly, but their words didn’t affect him anymore. Nothing affected him anymore. The drugs put him in a near-vegetative state where very little mattered to him. Wake up, wash up, eat breakfast, watch TV, take meds, eat lunch, watch TV, eat dinner, play rummy, take meds, and go to sleep. That was his routine through the end of the month.

“How are we feeling today?” Abe would say.

“I feel fine,” Jesus would reply.

“Are we still seeing and hearing things that aren’t there?”

“Sometimes,” Jesus said, “But it doesn’t bother me as much anymore.”

Abe seemed satisfied with the answer, but Jesus had an inkling even in his stunted mind that he was far from recovery.

Sometime in the hazy future, Jesus received his first, and what would be his only visit during his time at Green Mountain Institute for the Criminally Insane. The visitation room was similar to the one at county, but this time, it wasn’t empty. It was filled with half a dozen patients meeting with dozen mothers, brothers, fathers, sisters, daughters, and sons, watched closely by a trio of stocky orderlies. In the center of it all was Andrea, sitting alone in a purple dress at a table. The orderly told him to sit down.

“No touching, no exchanging of items, no foul or disruptive language of any kind,” He said.

Jesus already knew the rules. He was eager to talk to Andrea. Just the sight of her cut through the fog in his mind.

“I’m sorry we missed your birthday,” Andrea said. She sounded different, and her appearance had changed. too. Her cheeks were fuller and carried a rosy hue. There was a certain energy, an undefinable quality about her that seemed just out of reach of Jesus’ hazy mind. He searched for what it was that he sensed, a smell, a feeling. a note of something, but it escaped his grasp.

“Who is ‘we’?” He asked.

“Winston and I— he’s waiting in the car. I wanted to do this alone,” She tried to hand him an envelope, but it was quickly intercepted by an orderly.

“I have to open this,” The man said.

“Go ahead,” Andrea said. The orderly tore open the envelope to reveal a single sheet of paper which he briefly scanned and returned to the envelope, and handed it to Jesus.

“We decided that I should tell you myself,” Andrea said.

“Tell me what?”

She looked up at him with big, watery eyes. She looked to be on the verge of crying, “Jesus,”

She said, “I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”

His whole world stopped; he couldn’t even contemplate the implications. His mind split in five different directions at once.

“Oh my god,” He said, “Are you sure?”

“I’m six months along. I didn’t start … Well, I know it’s yours. I just thought you should know.”

“What are we— or what are you going to do?”

Find a focal point.

“I don’t know. Now, I’m living with Winston at his apartment in New York. I guess he’s going to be a grandfather. He’s been so good to me; I don’t know what I would do without him.”

“Me neither,” Jesus said.

Andrea glanced at the clock. She was obviously emotional. “Jesus … I just want to tell you … I love you. I love you so much and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You were so good to me, and I took you for granted. You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met in my life. It kills me to see you like this. I want you to get better. Winston told me what was happening, how bad it’s gotten,” She had switched to Spanish halfway through, too emotional to continue in English. She was crying now.

“It’s okay, Andrea, it’s okay. I love you too. We’re going to get through this,” He said.

But it’s not ok. You betrayed me. _You destroyed me. We’re not going to get through this.

“Why didn’t you write me?” Jesus said.

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” She said, “Every time I started a letter, I threw it away without sending it. Coming here was Winston’s idea. I couldn’t bear to face it alone,” She said, “Oh Jesus, I wish that we could just be together again.”

“I want that too Andrea, but I’m in here now. I’m going to be locked up for a long time, maybe the rest of my life,” Jesus said. The haunting visions and voices were creeping back into his mind, triggered by Andrea’s sudden re-appearance. He forced them out and tried hard to focus his compromised mind on what was happening in front of him. For the first time in weeks, he wished that he didn’t have the medication to slow him down. He wanted to be his old self, fully awake and alert, ready for the turbulent waters of life to rush around him as he paddled his little craft of flesh through the rivers of time.

Find a focal point.

“Andrea, I want you to write me letters. Every week, as often as you can, even if I don’t respond,” Jesus said, “Tell me everything. Tell me about the pregnancy, about the baby, about Winston and life and everything. Promise me that you won’t leave me again.”

“I promise you,” She said, “I’ll write you every single week, no matter what.” She reached out and grasped his hands.

“No touching!” Yelled the orderly. She retracted her hands.

“If it’s a boy, I’m going to name him after you,” She said.

“What are you going to name it if it’s a girl?” Jesus said.

“I don’t know,” Andrea said, “I haven’t thought about it yet. I have a feeling it’s a boy. Don’t ask me how; I just know.”

“Please don’t ever make me wait this long for you again,” Jesus said, “I thought I would never see you again.”

“I thought so too. So much happened. Terrible things, things that I’m not proud of. If it wasn’t for Winston, I don’t know what I would have done.” Jesus swallowed hard, like he understood. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Stay off the coke. I love you so much.”

“That’s time! Start wrapping up your visits, please,” The orderly said.

“I love you too, Jesus. I won’t forget you, and I won’t leave you again; I promise,” Andrea said, “I’ll write you every week, and if you go to prison, I’ll write you there too.”

“Can you visit again?” Jesus said, “I’d like to see you again if I can.”

“It’s a long drive, but I think so.”

“That’s time,” The orderly said softly to Jesus, “It’s time to go.”

Jesus stood up, “Goodbye, my love,” He said.

“I’ll think of you forever,” She said. When she stood, he could obviously see the roundness of her belly under the purple maternity dress. Jesus glanced over his shoulder, capturing her image in his mind one more time before he was led out into the hallway and back to his ward.

Back in the unit, he paced contemplatively, battling the voices in his mind.

“She comes running back after all,” Said The Other, “And you fell for it. Predictable.”

“She’s all I have. And now she has my kid.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed. And I’ve found my focal point now.”

“You’re forgetting something, kid,” Winston said. The letter! He had been clutching it in his hand all this time without realizing it. Jesus sat down at one of the tables and opened the letter.

Dear son,

I would say that I hope this finds you well, but we’ll have to settle for as well as you can be in a place like this. By now you’ve heard the news that Andrea carries your child. I’ve decided to take a break from my work and help raise the child. Maybe how I wrong you can be undone with this child.

Remember what I said, and do not lose faith or courage that you can win this battle. I know your strengths because the very same blood runs through us both. Take this time to introspect and better yourself, and above all, don’t despair. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel. You’ve got me in your corner, champ. You can’t lose.

With love,

Winston

Jesus read the letter twice, and then returned it to the envelope.

Do not lose faith or courage.

“I have my focal point,” Jesus said definitively, “now what?”

“Now, it’s time to find some answers,” Said Osito.

Jesus sought out Abraham, “Can I have some paper and a pen?” He asked him. It felt like the most words he had said in the ward in weeks.

Abe looked at him suspiciously, “What do you need them for?”

“I’m trying to make sense of something. I want to write it out.”

“You know they would have my ass for this. Don’t do anything stupid, and I need my pen back,”

He produced a blue ink pen from his lapel pocket, “There’s paper on that desk. Take as much as you need.” “Thanks, Abe,” Jesus said. Abe nodded a silent, “You’re welcome.”

Jesus set to making sense of all the events that had occurred since his arrival in New York.

O’Neil, Luke, Joe, Scott, Winston, Leroy, John, Paul, Chris, Dana, Andrea, Baxter, Stars, and Lily all swirled in his mind. He drew circles around each name, connecting and reconnecting them with lines until a clearer picture began to take shape.

Who can I trust?

He flipped the paper over and started again, this time organizing it differently, more clearly with the major players at the center. He continued drawing connections and writing until he reached his conclusion. At the center of it all was John Letters. John had taken him to the demonstrations. John had given Andrea cocaine. John was their mutual connection to Leroy. John had gotten him the job at The Ridgeland Post, and maybe, just maybe, he had him fired, too. John was at the party. John had made his drinks. John had been to the one to tell him to, “Do something,” on the telephone. John had told him where Leroy would be, and John had come to his apartment after the murder. He had known about it, and he had not said a word to Jesus. The police had shown up less than half an hour after he left. John had called them.

John Letters was at the center of everything. He had taken Jesus for a fool, posed as his friend, used him, and betrayed him. But why? Why would John do such a thing … Why would such a good-natured person betray and manipulate someone to that extent? Jesus was stumped. Without motive, his insane theory held no water. What, had John somehow done all of this manipulation only to play a cruel joke on Jesus’ expense? John and Leroy were friends. He had no reason to want him dead. Unless … that was it. The poker game. Jesus remember the story that Winston had told him. John had worked for Paul, who was the target of Leroy’s extortion. With Leroy out of the way, that not only eliminated the blackmail problem, but opened up a new market for illegal business in Paul’s venture.

With this realization, another possibility opened up in Jesus’ mind. The gunshot, the muzzle flash, the scarlet colored snow … What if they were all false memories? First. John befriended Jesus, pulled him into his circle, and got Andrea hooked on coke. He made sure she had steady access to the habit forming drugs, and had Leroy hire her at his most exclusive club. Leroy, of course, must have had sex with all his female employees. With Andrea, it was only a matter of time. John gave Jesus acid and introduced him into a community where its use was accepted, then got him a job in that very same vein of thought.

That Jesus’ underlying mental illness was increasingly triggered by the psychedelic use and trauma he experienced was only a coincidence. John planned to set him up whether or not he was suggestible enough to believe that he had actually done it. The real trickery had come in the final act. At Leroy’s party, John had drugged Jesus. There was no way that just a few drinks had left him feeling so wasted and disoriented. No, John had made those drinks, and he had made them with something extra.

Maybe he had even drugged Andrea too. Then, while Jesus was passed out, he went to his apartment and found his gun. He had committed the murder on Monday, a time when he knew that him and his coconspirator Paul, would be the only ones at the bar, and the first ones to talk to the police. They would be able to lead them and give them all the information they needed to send them on a wild goose chase. It was perfect, the murderers were probably the very same ones to first call the police. The only thing they needed was a scapegoat, and John had been grooming the perfect patsy for the job for months. A drug-addled schizophrenic immigrant with an unfaithful girlfriend. The setup was perfect. Even in Jesus’ medication-inebriated mind, the pieces all began to fall together.

Of course, he would still be convicted on account of the matching ballistics on the murder weapon, if in fact it was the murder weapon. No doubt John hadn’t been careless enough to not leave any of his own fingerprints on the weapon. Jesus sat back in the chair, thinking about how John had used his bathroom before the police had come and arrested him, where Jesus kept his gun under the sink. Despite all this knowledge and clearness, it didn’t change anything John would still win. It was all circumstantial.

All the pieces lie in John and Paul’s favor. They had stacked the deck and dealt themselves a winning hand. There was no way to win. Maybe, just maybe they could prove that John and Paul were laundering money and falsifying their accounting. but even though that might land them in jail for a year or two, it wouldn’t get Jesus out of his charge. He was beat; he couldn’t prove that John had broken into his house. drugged him, or committed the murder. He couldn’t prove that while Leroy was murdered in front of The Rooster, Jesus was relaxing comfortably at home, no idea that his gun was missing. He had nothing. A court of law wants hard, indisputable evidence to get a conviction, and the state needed a conviction. Somebody, anybody needed to pay the price for the cold blooded execution of one of the city’s ruling elite. Jesus was alone, an easy target to be taken down.

A thought occurred to Jesus. It was a longshot, but if he could get her to agree to it, it might just be able to save his life, or at least save him from being wrongfully convicted of a murder he didn’t commit.

He found Abraham, who was sitting behind the orderly’s desk, “Do you think you could mail a letter for me,” Jesus asked, hopefully.

Abraham didn’t look up from his desk, “Addressed to whom?”

“My father.”

“Do you have an address?”

Jesus produced the paper that Winston had given him during his visit at county, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“I’ll mail it for you, then,” Abraham said.

“Thanks, Abe.”

“No problem, kid.”

Jesus sat down and began writing.

Winston,

You might not believe this, but I’ve figured out who murdered Leroy, and I can prove it…