Chapter

 63

Still in awe of the last hour’s experience, Dr. Farnsworth paced the floor, his eyes transfixed on Mathews who now sat before Pressman’s desk, fingering the globe. As the phone rang, Dr. Pressman said, “And that’s how you see it, Dr. Mathews?”

“That’s how I see it,” replied Mathews as Dr. Pressman picked up the phone. “Yes?...Yes, give him anything he wants. He’s earned a meal and a half.”

He hung up and returned his attention to Mathews. Smiling and shaking his head, he said, “And you knew all along?”

“I had strong suspicions, but I knew you weren’t going to let me have unmonitored time with him. You’re too experienced for that.” He patted the top of the globe with acknowledgement. “This was you, Doctor...always understated. Excellent.”

“I’ve never had to use it that way,” said Pressman. “I’m glad I did. Now the real work starts.”

“Yes,” said Mathews. “That jungle baptism may be only another fragment.

Remember, he didn’t, doesn’t know where he came from.”

“The Vatican should be able to give us information. They’ll have records,” said Dr. Farnsworth, shuffling through his notes, finding a pencil and making a notation.

“That’s assuming there are really two people,” cautioned Mathews.

A quiet cloud suddenly invaded the room.

“Am I hearing you correctly?” asked Farnsworth.

“Yes,” answered Mathews. “There was some progress today, but even telepathy only hears what it is sent. What he sends...isn’t necessarily true.”

He rose and walked toward the door. “He brought his drawing, but he never referred to it. The cove still holds the big answer as to what caused the loss of memory. We’re not ready to celebrate yet, doctors.” He picked up the cup with Napoleon. “Not yet.”

He opened the door and turned back to them. “Thank you. I know the risk you took.” The orderlies stepped up. “You promised Father Randall and I a walk and talk outside, remember?”

Dr. Pressman nodded to the orderlies, who stepped aside. Giving passage to Mathews.  He nodded a “thank you” back.

It wasn’t until Dr. Pressman was lying in bed that night that he fully realized how long the day had been, how many weeks he’d studied this duo, how many months Charlie/Charles had existed, and how many years could be in front of this man who now had discovered a third name. The 3-d personality that would give many a new doctor much to ponder.  Most of all, Pressman realized how much he wanted to believe that Father Randall Stevens was a twin to Charlie Stevens and not just another discovered personality.

In a few days, the state would require them sent back to stand trial. As he closed his eyes, he felt his career had come to a plateau that even he felt unprepared to face.

It wasn’t the sun shining brightly that day, or the fresh orange juice Dr. Pressman had sent special to him, or the telephone that now was plugged into the wall connecting him to Mathews or Dr. Pressman. It wasn’t even the great tasting espresso that had to be from Pressman’s private stock that made him feel especially good this day...No, it was because Father Randall Stevens, alias Charlie Stevens, alias Charles Randall was feeling more fragments of memory coming together as he held the pencil and rendered still another drawing of the cove. There weren’t any new elements to add, just color—or the lack thereof—that made him feel it was getting clearer. If only he could figure out whose memory he was dealing with…whose memory the cove experience belonged to. Running into the Father Stevens images had its drawbacks.

He thought back at how some days before he had been indecisive over whether to use colored pencils or continue using the plain black lead #2. Now it felt like the darkness that was so important to him, the darkness that had somehow symbolized itself with the roach and the sink in New York, was now melting down to a real picture...a reality. He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello” answered Mathews. 

“You’ve just tapped into a God-send.

“I know,” said Mathews.

“You are remarkable. Hardly justifies adding to the phone bill to work with you via handsets, Mathews.  Why didn’t you ever use telepathy before?”

“I did. But… didn’t want to make you think I could bend spoons too.  You know how it is.  The unknown is always difficult… at first.  You weren’t ready to deal with that kind of possible.  Not yet.  And I wasn’t that confident of what I was receiving. Even psychiatrists have gifts and secrets they’re afraid of, no petrified, to talk about.”

“So, you hid behind the hypnotherapy.”

“Till you.”

Later, another enjoining of Father Stevens and Mathews continued via their newly installed phones.

“I was too whacked out to cause you any harm, eh?” said Father Randall.
“Tell me some more about your drawing.”

Father Randall Stevens looked at the paper. “Right. The drawing. There is...I really don’t know how much...I don’t know how to talk to a clairvoyant. C’mon. Help me.”

“And I don’t know how to talk to a holy man. Look, it’s no big thing. I’m not into it all the time. Just when everything is right, so go ahead. Men of the cloth aren’t supposed to believe in this stuff anyway. Just talk like you always have, and I’ll listen no different than I ever have. Deal?”

“Deal. There’s not so much new...It’s what I’m taking away.” “Go ahead.”

“I took away the color I’d used on the last time, and now…” “Yes.”

“Clouds or fog, I don’t know, has moved in. I mean the boat is gone. Just the gray.”

“Okay. You’re just seeing it a little later or a little earlier. It’s another fragment. It’s okay that way. Be patient. Don’t worry about it.”

“But...I don’t know what or who’s in the boat. You said last night when we walked that that was important.”

“Father Randall... you know how tough it is to call you by that name now? Randall...that’s easier and safer until we know for sure anyway.  Okay?”

“Randall feels better. Yes.”

“Randall, do you still feel like this is the cove as you saw it the night before the memory loss, or the night of Sobel’s death?”

“Memory loss.  Cursed memory loss.”  Randall grabbed his head.

“Fine...you’re still going forward. Rest it awhile.”

“But I feel so close.”

“Let it happen. Remember that we’ve been at this for seven months now. No way you’re going to force it.”

Randall leaned back. “Okay. Okay.”  He looked up.  “They treating you any better?”

Mathews smiled.  “My door’s open, just like yours. Pressman made me promise to not take on any other patients though, otherwise he was going to take Napoleon away from me.”

Randall laughed.  “Pressman with a sense of humor. That’s refreshing.”

“Randall...you take it easy. I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thank God.”

Randall hung up the phone, sipped his espresso and mused over how he would tell Julian and Max the news. That would be easy compared to working through the turmoil that had been brewing in him all through the night over revealing this latest, hopefully real self, to Sara. Being a priest meant celibacy. The thought of never holding Sara in his arms gave him pain where he had never experienced pain before.