Fragments of Me. Eric G. Swedin
says that you are taking Joanna Prall out of the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“At this time of night?”
“Yes.” My mind races to find a lie that will convince this good woman to relent.
“And why are you on the news?” she says. Her voice sounds puzzled.
I look at my watch. A few minutes after eleven. I am on the nightly news. Though curious to know what they are saying, I realize that the trap is closing in. Mrs. Foster runs her floor like a queen. I may be a psychiatrist, but her patients always come first. She will never let me leave.
Placing the phone in its cradle, I touch Pete.
“Pete, she said that it was okay for me to leave,” I say. “Will you please help me take Joanna to the car?”
The fragmental inside Pete soothes his suspicions and he nods with a smile of confidence. We walk to the stairs and behind us the telephone rings twice before it is picked up. I know that Jerry the guard, acting as switchboard, has answered it. That will stall her for a while.
We stop on the second-floor landing. There are so many people I want say goodbye to and will miss, but I cannot leave without seeing Mary and Jane one more time.
“Pete, please take Joanna to my car,” I say. “I will be along in a moment.”
The second-floor orderly is asleep. A skinny woman with nicotine stains on her left forefinger and thumb. I touch her and leave a fragmental to keep her asleep. A rising full moon is shining directly through the window at the end of the hall and I walk down a lane of milky light. The last door on the right is slightly ajar. I push it open.
One double bed with two sleeping forms. On the right is an empty wheelchair. Even without the wheelchair, I could tell that Jane is on the right side. Her stiff body occasionally twitches. Fifty-seven years old, Jane is Parkinsonian, with compulsive tics and a rigid left side. She is confined to a wheelchair. Her voice is so slurred that only Mary can understand her.
Mary sleeps on the left, snoring slightly. Sixty years old and severely mentally retarded, Mary provides the body to propel Jane about, while Jane provides the mind. Together in a symbiotic relationship, they form a whole. I love these two women for their innate goodness and for the way that they strive to overcome their handicaps to create a coherent sense of self. In this case, the self is a merging of two. I have seen how their example positively motivates other patients to strive. It is in striving that we find our humanity. It is in striving that I find my own humanity, though at times I must confront the fact that in so many ways I am not a normal human; I am multiple, not single.
I long to touch them, and visit one last time. I know that I will find their night thoughts: simple dreams. Jane is running through a meadow, her legs strong, her body a source of pleasure and freedom. Mary is there running alongside her. The bright sun makes the world seem clean. Mary also dreams, but she has never known a meadow, only the hospital. They sit in the common room, playing checkers with any challenger, moving the pieces at the behest of Jane. And winning every game. This dream is also the reality of their lives. Fortunately, there are patients who doggedly return again and again, driven by the hope that they might actually win a single game against the formidable duo. I have lost every game that I have ventured to play with them. These familiar dreams, or variations of the same themes, will be all I will find. And while I find comfort in them, I decide not to touch them. Time is pressing, and why prolong the misery of departure? Taking one last look, I leave the sleeping counterparts.
After retrieving my fragmental from the sleeping orderly, I hurry downstairs and find that Pete has already put Joanna in the front seat of my car, and now waits patiently. “You can go back to your station,” I say as I touch him.
He blinks as my fragmental leaves him, and sways a bit before looking at me with puzzlement. He mumbles some parting words and wanders back into the building.
Jerry meets us at the gate as we are leaving. I touch the guard, and my fragmental returns, reintegrating into a greater whole. While waiting for me to retrieve Joanna, my fragmental had been mulling over the implications of the police calling Jerry and the phone call with Mrs. Foster. He had told her that he, as the guard, was already in contact with the police and that Dr. Barash was wanted for questioning for something. He would take care of it. That ought to satisfy her for a few hours.
The dead man in my office must be Bill. No doubt the police thought me responsible for the death of a United States senator, yet my blow was not strong enough to have halted the biological processes that gave the body life. Though its host was injured, the enemy must truly fear me to so casually abandon such a plum. But, of course, it could so easily take over another politician, and maybe already had. After all, I can fragment, so why cannot it do the same? It probably has a fragmental in one of the police officers, or maybe even in a half a dozen officers, goading them into a frenzied search for me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Trees fly past the moving car, momentarily exposed by the headlights, like the columns of an endless Greek temple. Joanna sits beside me. Why had I taken her? It seemed like a good idea, a way to rid myself of the body known as Dr. Barash and start anew. Several times before in my life the authorities have sought me, forcing me to elude them by switching. They had not sought me, since no one had ever known about me, but rather they sought my host. Now I am known by the enemy, and a switch now will not achieve anything. The enemy knows my nature and will deduce that a woman missing from the hospital where I worked is possibly a new host body for my core. Even so, two bodies is a much better idea than just one.
I have gone from complete control over my life to no control.
Joanna reaches over to touch my shoulder. My fragmental in her and my core in Barash are then in direct contact, self to self. While this is my natural mode of communication with myself, we decide that Joanna should talk and exercise her vocal cords.
The sound of a voice that had been mute for so long startles me. “We should discard this car.”
“I agree, though it would be nice to get to the cabin first.”
“That’s two hours away.”
In the distance ahead of us the bright red of brake lights flash. I remove my foot from the accelerator and we coast towards a roadblock. Two police cars block the road with flashing lights. Flares have been placed farther forward to guide the traffic into a single lane. A line of cars and a truck and its trailer wait. I slow to take my place at the tail of this awkward snake.
Joanna is the safer host for the moment.
I turn to her and move my core self into her body. Now only a fragmental remains in James Barash.
Exiting the car, I walk toward the police. It has been forty years since I have taken complete control over a female. So different than a male body. The lower center of gravity, the sensitive skin, and the breasts getting in the way of moving my arms. The ability to walk is not part of the self, but a training of the nerves and muscles. I move awkwardly as I struggle to master a body that has had very little exercise for far too long.
“What you looking for?” I ask a police officer who is directing his flashlight into the trunk of a car. My voice rasps in my throat, demanding a drink of water.
He spins around in surprise, reaching towards his holster.
I smile and suck in air, expanding my chest. His eyes naturally focus on my smile and then on the movement below. I do not need a fragmental inside his mind to see the effect of the smile of a pretty, young woman and the resulting surge of hormones.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, gently touching his arm.
He is part of a massive manhunt. Four counties have been mobilized, calling in all their personnel and setting up numerous roadblocks. Seared into his mind is a faxed image of James Barash. He knows nothing of Joanna Prall.
“That’s okay,” he says. “Will you please return to your vehicle.”
I nod, smiling again as I walk away.
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