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Just a Memory
Just a Memory
Just a Memory
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Just a Memory

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Successful Chicago insurance broker Ryan Walden's deep psychological issues were behind him. Or so he thought. Then, on the fortieth compulsive viewing of the DVD Remembered Journey, the young singer-actress Molly Morgan breaks her routine and waives at him. His initial shock slowly gives way to a growing friendship and adventure, until Molly ultimately reveals her deep concern to him and pleads for his help. Shadowed by his psychiatrist, a private investigator and often viewed suspiciously in his own home, Ryan follows Molly's schemes, all the while tormented by self-doubt and uncertainty over their preposterous friendship, until her startling revelation changes everything.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJul 4, 2015
ISBN9781310316647
Just a Memory
Author

Brian Pettersen

Brian Pettersen is a Senior Vice President for a national commercial insurance brokerage firm in Chicago, Illinois. He consults with Fortune 1000 companies over many years and has traveled extensively in Europe and has lived in the Far East. Born in Chicago, he grew up in the suburbs where he raised his family. He and his wife currently live in a Chicago Suburb.

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    Just a Memory - Brian Pettersen

    Chapter 1

    The DVD stuck on the fortieth viewing, and as Ryan leaned forward to eject it from the computer to clean it off, it unstuck itself and the Remembered Journey star Molly Morgan resumed her action.

    Only this time instead of looking back at fellow actor Sam in the school hallway, she stopped, turned around and slowly, ever so slowly, raised her head and looked directly at Ryan. Then she lifted her left arm, briefly gave him her best Queen Elizabeth wave, elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist-wrist, and continuing to look directly at him now with a gleam in her eyes, she silently mouthed the word H-E-L-L-O.

    At that instant he slapped his black Dell laptop shut. He started to choke with emotion and his eyes began to tear. The room was dark. Wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand he looked over at his wife’s sleeping form next to him, her muffled snores uninterrupted. Good. She was still sound asleep. Now the pressure of his anxiety began to build in his chest. His breathing became short and irregular.

    He assumed hallucination, but now he had to move quickly or else.

    He slid out of bed, almost tripped over their greyhound Bentley curled in front of his dresser, and moved down the hall into the living room. He began to deliberately walk the circle from the living room through the kitchen into the dining room and back. He had done it many times in the past. On the second pass he stopped across from his daughter’s room and shook his hands and arms and took some deep breaths. Nothing. He went into the living room and started running in place as fast as he could, lifting his knees as high as he dare, careful not to make any noise.

    He had to break a sweat. He knew if he could do that the anxiety would pass and his breathing and heart rate would settle down, only it wasn’t working. He didn’t seem to be working.

    In desperation he slipped down the stairs, put on his Nikes, pulled on a sweatshirt against the chill of the early May Chicago night and quietly let himself out the front door. Once across the street he jogged the block of sidewalk and then sprinted down the park district path. Running belonged to him. He ran twenty-five to forty miles a week, depending on his work commitments. It always sucked the anxiety out of him. It grounded him. It never failed him.

    Near the second turn between the tennis courts and the picnic shelter something wasn’t right. He knew he should to be further along, so without a conscious thought he started yelling as he ran. It was late and it was quiet, but he didn’t care. He would run and yell as long as it took. He had to get this now. The stakes were too high.

    As he rounded the north side of the path and hit the sidewalk on Greencastle Drive he suddenly fell down in a heap on the sidewalk. He had reached his limit. He knew it wasn’t happening. He couldn’t get past the anxiety. Now a low moan replaced the yelling. He didn’t know what to do next.

    He must have yelled too loudly and for too long for he heard the siren and then looked up to see the flashing red lights. The surprise jolted him and released the building anxiety. As he pushed at the pavement and got up, the Rolling Hills police car pulled over to the curb and Officer Friendly cautiously got out. They usually sent him to answer the rowdy teenager calls, probably because he knew most of the town kids from the first grade. Of course he did. He was Officer Friendly. He seemed to live at the local elementary schools.

    Ryan Walden? he called as the red and white lights flashed all around them.

    Yeah, that’s me Nate, Ryan replied, with some embarrassment.

    What’s going on?

    Oh, sorry, I was just out for a late run and fell on my knee. I must have yelled a little too loud from the pain. Sorry about that.

    Are you okay?

    Oh, yeah, sure. No torn cartilage. It’s a little sore, but I’ll be fine. He pulled the knee up and rubbed it. He detested little white lies, but he had no choice.

    Good. Hey, you running the Chicago Marathon again this year?

    Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’m shooting to take another five minutes off last years’ time. God I sure hope 2007 is nice and cool for a change.

    I’m sure you’ll do fine. You want a lift? he asked with a chuckle.

    Ryan just smiled. Hey, Jenny looked real good at the ballet recital tonight.

    So did Stacy, Nate replied.

    Ryan started walking and acting out a minor limp for the last few blocks home. Even though Nate was a good friend, Ryan wasn’t in the mood for too much conversation.

    He let himself back in the front door, grabbed a pencil and sticky note from the pad by the kitchen phone and wrote the word Mendelson. Writing things down lately had helped him remember. Maybe it was an age thing. There’s no way he would forget this, but the routine was too ingrained by now. Back in the bedroom he pasted the note on the sliding tray of his night stand, cautiously flicked the off switch on his laptop and slipped it on the floor under his side of the bed. He lay down hoping he could get some sleep. He had a busy day ahead. Doc Mendelson would have to fit him in.

    Chapter 2

    He knew he hadn’t slept a wink, yet when suddenly he opened his eyes he heard the shower running and saw the sliver of light under the bathroom door. He didn’t know how that worked. He imagined Alethea, his Greek beauty, with her tall and still shapely form moving gracefully under the water as she lathered her skin. He didn’t know how that worked either after bearing their children. He had to hand it to her.

    It was 5:30. He’d force himself to wait until 6:30 to make the call to the answering service. He knew Mendelson would call back within a few minutes. He always did. He wouldn’t like it, but he would have to fit Ryan in as soon as possible. He had to be in Chicago’s Loop by mid-morning to prepare for an afternoon meeting two blocks from his office at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange.

    So, you’re just going downtown today, Alethea said as she exited the shower room. She moved over to the bed, propped herself up on the pillows and dove into her morning crossword puzzle. That question always began their daily routine.

    Yes, but I might drive in today an hour or so late. I want to go over a few things with Mendelson first.

    Oh, she replied now looking up. She told him crosswords helped focus her mind. His was still a work in progress. Then she added gently, anything I need to know?

    No, no. Just a few routine things I want to clear up. You know, well, I’ve learned not to let things fester. He looked away as he vigorously dried his hair.

    We certainly have, haven’t we, she said. Her tone was calm and as he looked back she had already refocused the crossword. He didn’t feel a need to respond.

    At 6:40 Mendelson did call back and no, he wasn’t excited about squeezing his schedule, but he took it in stride, as he always did.

    7:15 and you have 20 or 30 minutes. No more. I’ve got a packed schedule today, he said.

    I’ll bring the coffee, Ryan replied. Hazelnut from Panera was within striking distance from his office. Dave Mendelson liked his Hazelnut.

    Gotta go, he said as he entered the bedroom and kissed Alethea on the lips. I should be home at my normal time if traffic cooperates. I’ll leave as soon as my afternoon meeting’s over.

    He pulled into the one-story office complex parking lot and hustled through the entrance. Filled with medical offices and medical smells it always gave him the creeps. He knew the receptionist wouldn’t be there for fifteen minutes, so he quickly pushed the buzzer.

    Ryan didn’t say a word. He walked past Mendelson through the reception area, placed the Hazelnut on the coffee table and plopped his backsides on the far couch. Sometimes he drank decaf in their morning meetings, but he had no desire for it now. His leg started to bounce. Dr. Mendelson followed him in and sat on the opposite couch and carefully took his coffee.

    Doc Mendelson was fiftyish, balding like Ryan, but not as far advanced. Medium height, a bit round, but not fat, he looked like he worked out just enough to delay the inevitable. He never spoke first, so he sipped his coffee and waited patiently.

    Here’s the thing, Ryan began. We’ve been through a lot and you know I’ve been doing well for a long time. Since I learned to float, the meds are a distant memory. You taught me well. You’re so not like all the dopers out there. You actually add some real value. I hate that phrase, don’t you? But it’s true. You know how I feel. Anyway, I’ve got a question for you. Something new.

    Okay?

    Noting his tone Ryan quickly responded. No, it’s not like that. It can’t be done over the phone. This new is pretty important. I’m not here to inconvenience you or waste your time. Tell me what you know about hallucinations. Specifically, visual hallucinations. When excited, which was frequently, Ryan spit his words out machine gun fashion. He had no filter. It didn’t faze Dave Mendelson at all. He was used to it.

    As he took a sip of the coffee he never took his eyes off Ryan. The phone rang. He reached back to his desk and picked it up. It’s fine Julie. Ten minutes is not a problem. Relax. He put the phone back never losing eye contact with Ryan. Traffic. He took another sip. Okay, hallucinations. You want to tell me a little more?

    Ryan looked right into his eyes, considering his own response. He already knew the answer, but he didn’t want to rush it. He had a great fondness and respect for Dr. Mendelson, but this was far too serious. It took all his composure to float. Sorry, Doc, I’m not prepared to share.

    Okay, it might help me if…

    Sorry, Doc.

    Dr. Mendelson tightened the muscles around his mouth. Okay, don’t worry about it. It’s related to what you’ve been through.

    Ryan waited a moment. He expression showed a hint of impatience, as if he heard that response more than once before and it seemed too cookie-cutter for his taste. He got up and started pacing on the carpet. Sorry, Doc, I don’t mean to be impolite, but I get the distinct feeling you’re trying to make me feel better. To distract me. To calm me down. That’s not what I need. I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to know what I’m dealing with here. You know me. Gotta know. Ryan returned to the couch and plopped himself back down.

    Mendelson leaned forward and purposefully set down his coffee on the table. Okay. Once again, don’t worry about it. It’s related, as I said. He put up his finger to keep Ryan from interrupting. You think I’m holding back to keep you calm? You want more? Okay. CBS. Charles Bonnet’s Syndrome. Know it very well. Normally occurs in patients 60 and older. How old are you? Never mind. That’s rhetorical. And by the way, it’s not due to any mental illness. Any other questions?

    Ryan turned sheepish. He looked out the window as a bright yellow Mini-Cooper pulled up to the corner stop sign at Lakeview and Parkway. Sorry Doc, I just,

    Ryan, no apologies, please. I know. You know I know. And I know you know that a lot of well-known people out there have seen visions and heard voices. It’s been going on for thousands of years.

    Ryan looked back. So how do I attack this one?

    Attack? he said. I hope you’ve learned more than that from our time together.

    But isn’t this different?

    Why different? What did you learn before?

    Float?

    Mendelson nodded his head.

    But it seems….

    Forget seems. Float works. It doesn’t matter what form this takes. Don’t be bluffed.

    So that Aussie lady doctor was really on to something.

    Yeah, she was. That’s why I gave you the book. And remember the most important thing.

    How could I forget? Don’t add second fear.

    Mendelson nodded.

    Ryan leaned his head back on the cushion and closed his eyes. So I just lay back and play along.

    And remember to smile.

    Chapter 3

    Driving through the psychotic traffic on the Edens and Kennedy expressways was not an option but an imperative. It would provide sufficient distraction to buffer the roller coaster of images and emotions that would soon be racing through his mind and body from what he thought he saw the night before. He couldn’t just sit on a later train out of Rolling Hills or Lake Forest. Too much constricted time to focus. It would drive him nuts.

    The early morning sun now positioned low over the tree line nine miles to the east floated above Lake Michigan like some orange hot air balloon. The sky was cloudless robin egg blue, but for a jagged thin ribbon of scud behind and above the tree-line, pretending to be a distant mountain range. It reminded him of the White Mountains he learned to love during his time in the military in New Hampshire. It would soon evaporate as the balloon rose.

    The rehearsal began as he left the building, as it always began when he left whatever or wherever. He began going over and over all the possibilities when he would get home later and flip open the computer. Mendelson said it wasn’t mental illness, but he desperately needed Molly's action to return to normal. He needed to get on with his life. His normal life. He had enough floating assignments and practice already. He didn't want or need more.

    Thank god it wasn’t mental illness. I love you Mendelson, he said to himself quietly as he marched to his car with purposeful strides. In the middle of rush hour, what would normally take him 38 minutes down to Washington Street when he left at 5:30 A.M., would now take him an hour and a half. Surprisingly, the frustrating traffic that morning would do him good.

    An hour and twenty five minutes later he pulled into the cheap lot off the Kennedy at Madison Street. The Iraqi attendant he affectionately called cousin, because he figured he was Greek, had been transferred. He found out his real national origin from his replacement. The guy had never let on. He must have liked Ryan. Funny, after all the months Ryan still missed him.

    The insurance business had always, always been a roller coaster ride. And the first hour of that day was no different. After some frenetic juggling and numerous calls to his assistant, Gina scurried into his office like the squirrel she appeared to be. Not an ounce of fat and a marathon runner like Ryan. Maybe that’s why they hit it off so well and had each other’s back.

    Okay, what’s going on? Did you get the loaded stuff instead of decaf?

    No, no, no. There’s just a lot going on and it’s Monday morning.

    Could have fooled me. You complain they always mess up the decaf at Mickey’s. Next time pay full price for the right stuff at Durkin’s.

    Ha. Sometimes life just gives you the jitters. That’s all. Did you get that quote for Honeywell Academy? What about that policy review on Salazar Electric? And I must have an answer on the foreign professional liability for Hunter Fitness in the U.K. Also, proof the draft for our presentation to Snedecker. You know I’m terrible at formatting. Two o’clock will be here in a minute. He looked up at her from the hazardous waste dump he called his desk. Shall I go on?

    Take a deep breath, she said, her hands out in front of her, gently pushing downward.

    I will when we get all this done.

    Right then he could see she suspected more than work had him rattled, but he had become pretty adept at hiding those kinds of issues over the years. That didn’t keep her from pressing the issue whenever she cared to.

    He made it through the morning and walked down to Al’s Beef by Union Station and grabbed an Italian sausage with hot jardinière and some root beer. As he ate he listened to current business chatter, some pointed comments about the presidential campaign and deeply in debt Kent College law students talking about contracts of adhesion.

    He thought his presentation to his client Snedecker went well, given that it was a completely bogus exercise prompted by the well-known consultant friend the CEO hired. Typical. The consultant had failed as a broker, failed as a risk manager, failed as a husband and father, so what was he to do? Become a consultant. Dig into arcane legal contracts and find imaginary wording twists and doubtful omissions, anything he could fabricate to play the blame game. He felt that underneath it was just so much criticism directed at Ryan and his firm, and it forever sucked. That’s what Ryan really wanted to tell him there in the presentation, as he sat straight-backed and hiding behind the professional façade, with his crisp red tie and rosy cheeks. But he didn’t. He suddenly felt the anger drain away. All that was left was sadness and compassion.

    He ran most of the four blocks to the parking lot and hit the Kennedy expressway by 3:30, the afternoon bewitching hour. Leaving ten minutes later would have meant 30 minutes extra commute time. He sped home listening to the light rock station and reached Rolling Hills as Madonna belted out her Live to Tell lyrics.

    Chapter 4

    He gave Alethea the perfunctory peck on the cheek as he walked through the living room. How are you? she remarked, fishing a bit. He hadn’t gotten a chance for a phone check-in during the day as he usually did.

    Good, he replied. Got a lot done and the presentation went as well as could be expected.

    And Mendelson?

    That was fine, too.

    More floating?

    That’s his mantra. Sometimes it just does me good to hear him reinforce it. What’s for dinner? He knew she wasn’t exactly fishing and he wasn’t exactly hiding. She just needed to check his balance.

    Taco salad. Her tone suggested he made it safely through the Greek check point.

    I’m out for a quick two miler around the lakes. Will Stacy be joining us for dinner? Stacy was his youngest, a high school junior and heavy into park district and school dance. She also taught the 3-5 year old ballet class at the park district. Sometimes Ryan peaked in when he got there early to pick her up and watched the little angels in their tiny black tutus and white tights moving around like little drunken sailors. More works in progress.

    She’s practicing for the Orchesis recital on Thursday night. She’ll be late all week. One recital down and one to go. He wasn’t complaining. He loved her dancing.

    After the run, as he sat there and ate his taco salad and munched on pieces of the baked crispy flour bowl, he considered how to privately restart the DVD. Then he had it. He figured his college daughter’s empty bedroom would be perfect. Located between the master bedroom and his younger daughter’s bedroom, his full closet and his daughter’s full closet formed the common wall, major soundproofing on the one side, and the other common wall between the two daughter’s rooms he had specially insulated for soundproofing several years before.

    I’m on my way to pick up Stacy, Alethea said as he finished up the last of the plates and turned the dishwasher on. They followed the established routine. She cooked and he cleaned up.

    Okay, I’m just going to chill in Paula’s room and watch a DVD. But I’ll walk Bentley first. Bentley, their ten-year-old brindle greyhound couch potato, lived strictly by the clock but without the pent up anxiety. Once they established the man-beast routine, their lives flowed together like one peaceful ride down a calm stream. He had taught Ryan a few things in his time.

    After the walk and poop, he grabbed his computer, went into Paula’s room and high-jumped onto her bed, one of those natural wood affairs with built-in drawers underneath so that only Shrek could sit on it and still have his feet touch the ground. Sitting Indian style he paused for a moment and took a deep breath, the kind he often took when facing down the unknown, or the known and potentially troubled. He told himself it didn’t matter, normal movie or hallucination. Either way he could deal with it. Calm and fearlessness were the order of the day.

    He reached over and flipped up the viewing screen. Next he pushed the start button and waited for the light to come on. As it came on he could see the DVD was stuck in the same frame. And Molly still stood there. Only her hand wasn’t up anymore with the Queen Elizabeth action going, and she had a smirk on her face. And yes, her gaze still rested squarely on him.

    She must have anticipated the look of shock on his face for she immediately put her finger to her lips and mouthed the words, don’t talk. Next she took the same finger and pointed to her ear. Instantly he remembered the headphones and retrieved them from his room. Still he heard nothing. Finally she pointed her finger to her side reminding him to pug the cord into the computer. As he awkwardly followed her direction, the sound came on and she instantly said: Ryan, you are not crazy, and at the same moment she put up both of her hands as if she were trying to stop a speeding train. Then: Talk to me.

    Chapter 5

    Neither the floating, nor the absence of second fear prevented the tears from flowing again down his cheeks. Even though the reminder meeting with Mendelson had given him a sanity boost, he had hoped that the boost might be enough to wipe this whole hallucination business out. Apparently the emotion of that not happening had tipped the balance. He now knew that more floating, playing along and smiling were back on the table.

    She stood there patiently as he choked through the emotion. Molly, I’m sorry. Should I call you Molly?

    That’s my name.

    Okay, Molly, I’m not quite sure.

    I know, don’t worry. Just go with the flow. Just let it flow. She moved her hands gently forward in tandem with her words to support her point. Let us flow. Here, take a deep breath. She demonstrated like a teacher now in front of her class of one, her shoulders slowly rising and falling as she inhaled and exhaled twice. Ryan, the dutiful student, repeated her little breathing exercise. Don’t try to figure it out right now. She maintained both her smile and the constant penetrating eye contact.

    He thought right then of a character in a children’s book he read to his kids. Fifty, sixty, what’s the difference, he remembered the character saying. Now he thought: floating, flowing, what’s the difference. It’s seemed to break through some of the emotion.

    What do I do? he finally asked. I mean, well, nobody is going to understand this. I don’t understand this.

    You don’t need to be concerned with anyone else right now. You don’t even have to be concerned about yourself. This is only between you and me. Just flow. Let’s just talk for a moment and take a little bit of time. Oh, I don’t know. What time and what day is it?

    Ryan looked at his watch. Monday, 7:00P.M.

    I know you’re thinking this is not real. I get that. But I don’t want you to think about that right now. What good would it do? He considered the Aussie lady and agreed with Molly, or whatever the talking image was in front of him. At least she was sensible. Just don’t add second fear, he thought. There’s nothing crazy going on here. We’re just talking. I’m sure you can deal with that. I don’t want you to worry. You look a little tired.

    There it was, as always, her character’s constant concern for the other guy now directed toward him. He’d seen her give it out a bunch of times, the same bunch of times over and over in the movie. Worry, he thought. There he sat suspecting he had gone over the edge, might be completely insane, and she surrounded him with all the support she could muster.

    And just remember, you are not losing your mind or anything like that. She gently shook her head back and forth as she spoke. You should rest. We don’t need to talk much tonight.

    Okay, so what do I do? He had no idea. He might as well be sitting in a sail boat with a broken rudder on Big Bear Lake on a windy day. Sure he was floating, but directionless.

    What did you do after last night?

    Shut the computer off.

    Well, as you can see that had no effect on me. I’m still here. She smiled her dreamy, too-good-to-be-true smile.

    That much I can see, he said quickly, maybe a bit too quickly. She frowned. He tried to make amends. No, I don’t mean to offend you. I just…..

    No offense taken, Ryan. I understand your feelings. Who wouldn’t under the circumstances?

    Okay, then, so I’ll turn off the computer. Then I’ll take it easy and go to sleep or at least try to get some sleep tonight. I’ll go to work tomorrow. I have another presentation in the afternoon. His cadence was tentative, slightly robotic. When do we do this again?

    She smiled that patient, nurse-like smile of understanding. Tomorrow night will be fine. If you use this room we can visit anytime during the evening. You don’t have to wait for everyone to be asleep. I don’t think you will arouse any suspicion. You’re just watching a DVD. And we both know they are used to you doing that by now. She tilted her head.

    Yes, they are used to it, but I didn’t do any talking before and anyway how did you know? She looked back at him with her deadpan.

    You’re thinking too much, she finally said. You can just talk quietly or whisper if you think they can hear you. You can use the headphones or not, but if not just make sure the volume and your voice are on low. I don’t think it will be a problem.

    Okay, so I’m just going to shut the computer off and close down the lid now, right? He seemed to need her buy-in on the process at that moment because even though exhaustion had overcome him he felt conflicted, with the familiar uncertainty on the one hand and a creeping new weird feeling that their conversation wasn’t so unpleasant on the other hand.

    Yes, and I will be right here, just as I was every other time you shut it off, she said as she gave him one of her wide-eyed, head jiggle moves.

    I’ll see you tomorrow then, he said and thought of the stark rightness of her statement, all those times that he shut her down and he didn’t have a clue that beyond being right there in the movie, beyond even the preposterous idea of her being conscious, her consciousness quite possibly encompassed the knowledge of his watching her…all those times.

    I am very much looking forward to that, she replied as he closed her down.

    Chapter 6

    The next morning two things from the conversation with Molly started to bother him like dust particles under his contact lenses.

    The first: not wanting the conversation to end. He didn’t understand that feeling. She’s a hallucination he started repeating to himself. Did he really want to continue a conversation with a hallucination? Then he wondered what Mendelson would think. Sure he was playing along, following Doc’s suggestion, but he wasn’t certain if that meant it would seem so real. Or that he might have started to feel a bit of enjoyment. Maybe he should ask him at another visit, but not too soon. He didn’t want to alarm Alethea with too many meetings.

    The second: Molly’s comment every other time you shut it off started to echo in

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