Chapter

64

SIX MONTHS LATER

Bubbles flowing to the top of a champagne glass, bursting and then evaporating into the night air seemed a fitting tribute, Father Stevens thought, to the experiences of June through December of that year.

To him, the days and weeks following that revelatory day in Dr. Pressman’s conference room proved more painful than rewarding.  There was still the agonizing mystery of the cove, that place where it all started.

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

Following the revelatory meeting in Dr. Pressman’s conference room, Milton had gotten in touch with the Vatican, giving them what scant information, they could. The waiting had seemed interminable for them to track and find a Father Randall Stevens in their records.

Weeks passed with no answers coming back to Milton.

Prior to releasing them to the State, Pressman and Farnsworth worked night and day to finish their extra analysis...analysis that the State had not asked them to do, but analysis they gave their time to freely.

In the process, Mathews had earned the respect of Pressman and Farnsworth and was assured that when it was all over, he would have their endorsement and support if he applied for his state license to practice medicine again.

DURING THE TRIAL

The man who had acquired three names over his brief seven-month existence left behind a professional support team that believed he was a good man, even though he departed with only a few additional fragments of memory to support his insecure existence. Charlie Stevens and Dr. Mathews would arrive at the courthouse determined by the reviewing team at Milton as fit to stand trial. Unfortunately, Charlie Stevens seemed to exist without any positive proof of his identity, save the files, albeit bogus ones, that were subpoenaed from the records of Sobel’s company.

Throughout the trial, John Doe, aka Charlie Stevens remained one of the accused without a past, or of a positive identity.  The legal system having found no prior arrests came up short on finger prints or DNA.  However, the Harbor Patrol witnesses that picked up the motorboat in the fog with the impaled Sobel, positively identified the men standing trial as the two in the boat with blood on their hands and clothing.  Charlie also remained without an answer to the many cove drawings, made even more voluminous by the daily drawing in the courtroom.

More weeks passed.

During the trial, perhaps by some divine reward—or punishment, depending on which newspaper you read—information was received from the Vatican confirming that Father Randall Stevens did indeed exist... had indeed presided over a mission in the jungles and did indeed...need to get in touch with Monsignor Rafael at the Vatican as soon as possible.  As a result, positive proof of Father Randall Stevens as John Doe on trial was submitted from Rome with pictures and other evidence including an old expired Passport that the Vatican had kept with Father Stevens’s paperwork.

In the course of the trial, many witnesses were called by the defense, witnesses who worked with Sobel and knew of the relationship she had with Charlie Stevens… the now missing Charlie Stevens.  As they took the stand and were cross examined by the defense, none could say positively the man in the court room was Charlie Stevens.

Finally...the trial concluded.

Verdict...A plea of self-defense, expertly defended by money provided from funds in Charles Randall’s accounts, left the jury hopelessly deadlocked and the trial was declared a mistrial.

BACK TO THE PRESENT

As he continued to watch the bubbles float to the surface, “More Champagne, Father?” came the voice of the waiter, his white gloved hand waving the magnum of Dom Perignon before him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a French Bordeaux would you?”

The waiter took a long look at who he knew to be one of the men in whose honor the party had been thrown. “Of course, Father Stevens. Any preference?”

Leaning over Stevens’ shoulder, Mathews answered for him, “Of course. A ‘61 Latour.”

“Of course. I’ll check the cellar.”

Mathews slipped his hand into the waiter’s pocket, leaving behind the expected tip. “This is The Bel Age of Beverly Hills, right? You have it in your special reserve.”

“Absolutely, Dr. Mathews. Enjoy your party. I’ll be right back.”

“Why a ‘61 Latour?” asked Father Stevens. “Still want me to be Charlie?”

Mathews threw his arm around Randall’s shoulder. “At least Charlie would be enjoying himself at a spread like this.” With a hug, he said,  “No...I like you just the way you are, even if everyone is wondering why you aren’t showing much of a celebratory spirit. We did just get our freedom, Father.”

“You got yours, ol’ buddy. I’ve still got some unanswered questions.” “Better left unanswered for tonight, don’t you think?”

“Hard to just forget I still don’t have any past.”

“Monsignor Rafael assured me that he’d be able to fill you in on a great deal of that past once you’re back at your assignment.”

Stevens laughed. “From billionaire to jungle missionary. Sounds a little hokey, don’t you think?”

“Hey take all the truth you can get. Nothing like it...except ‘61 Latour.”

“Why’d you order that, really?”

“Why’d you ask for French Bordeaux?”

Stevens thought a moment. “I don’t know. It just came out.”

“It still means something to you, right?” Mathews looked around the large elegantly appointed banquet room. “Who would have thought six months ago we’d be sipping champagne at the Bel Age in the middle of December?”

“You mean, you didn’t get that vibration early on?”

“Telepathy isn’t fortune telling, my holy friend,” he quipped. Still looking over the crowd, he waved his hand. “I want you to join me in a special thanks to Nurse Bowman. Thankless job, really. Watching loonies all day. Bad enough dealing with one, but she’s onto twelve at a time.”

Nurse Bowman walked up and gave Dr. Mathews a hug. “I’m so happy for you two.” She started to hug Stevens, then stopped. “I don’t know if it’s proper or not.”

Stevens smiled. “I’ll make an exception. Give me twelve Hail Marys later.” He gave her a big hug. “Back to the grind tomorrow, right?”

“Actually, tomorrow’s my day off. Thought I’d get plastered tonight and take the doctor here home with me.” Their laughter melded into the general good cheer that champagne and fifty or sixty guests can make.

That’s how the celebration started that fateful night just before Christmas. Father Stevens and Dr. Mathews had won the war, but there remained one unfought battle...the cove.

It wasn’t until after midnight that the party wound down and guests gave their last farewells. Father Stevens had thanked everyone, hugged everyone, and even tried blessing some of the unfortunate few that took their Dom too seriously. Sara was one of the last to approach him and give her last goodbye. They had avoided each other that night. They had avoided each other ever since the priest revelation had presented itself. Now, the pain and sorrow was but a few moments away from becoming yet another new memory.

“I expect you to write, even if the mail takes a month to get here, you hear?” said the tearful Sara.

“I’m going to miss...everything. Even the hospital... No. I didn’t mean that. I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you very much, Sara.”

“Well... who would have thought. I still have my habit of searching for parents.

Maybe I’ll turn up another you someday.”

Stevens turned away and sipped the last swallow of his Bordeaux. “Remember the good times we had not knowing who I was. Remember the good times, Sara. Goodbye.” He reached behind him. The soft hand that had soothed so many pains in the past now gave him his last and most important healing.

Sara leaned in and whispered, “I love you, Father Stevens. Remember that.”

The hand was gone.

Outside, Dr. Pressman, Dr. Farnsworth, Dr. Mathews and Father Stevens agreed to pause for one photographer from the Times, while other media scavengers flashed as well.

The trial had kept itself on the front page of newspapers all over the country, making the celebration impossible to keep under wraps. At least it was over now. The party had sent everyone back to their normal lives.

The cars were brought to the curb.

Sara would return to her home with Max and continue to help care for him and Julian using the trust fund Charles had left her.

Dr. Pressman would return to Milton.

Dr. Farnsworth would return to...well, just being young, bright, brilliant at times, and of course...a putz.

Dr. Mathews was to leave the next morning for parts unknown. A book would be his catharsis for the events of the past year and rest his reward.

For Father Stevens, a flight to Hawaii the next morning, then on to his remote missionary work...a small isolated island of jungle three-quarters of the way between Hawaii and Australia, now made more prosperous from funds provided by the balance of the Randall Stevens estate.

But that was nine hours away, he reminded himself, as he walked around to the backside of the hotel. His bags were packed and he was free to take one last ride on the Harley.

His friend was waiting. “Ready, Julian?”

“Never been on one of these before.”

“Just like standing on the roof, only with a breeze. C’mon.”

As they mounted the “beast” as the old Charles liked to call it, Father Stevens asked, “I need you to give me a hand.”

“With this?”

Father laughed.  No.  Actually, it’s something I think maybe only you can help me with.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered, Father?”

“Well, maybe.  Let’s wait ‘til we get there.”

“And where is ‘there?’

“The Cove.”

“The what?” yelled Julian, as Father Stevens revved the motor.

Father Stevens took a deep breath and yelled behind go the clinging Julian, “The place where it all began.  The place that still has secrets.”