Two Husbands-One Wife

Contents

Prologue

Through the Widow’s Veil

Chapter 1

I want a straitjacket!

Chapter 2

Flashback Therapy Begins

Chapter 3

The Deal

Chapter 4

Flashback Lecture 101

Chapter 5

The Anniversary Present

Chapter 6

Through the wall

Chapter 7

Confrontation

Chapter 8

Sarah helps David remember

Chapter 9

Little Gods Are We

Chapter 10

A porch off the roof

Chapter 11

Julia’s dream is Eric’s nightmare

Chapter 12

Remember me?

Chapter 13

The Deal Part II

Chapter 14

Julia’s Realization

Chapter 15

Returning Home

Chapter 16

Deathbed request

Chapter 17

Back at the Lab

Chapter 18

Carson Changes History

Chapter 19

The Path Home

Epilogue Chapter One

Eric Scheil’s Last Will and Testament

Epilogue Chapter Two

Prologue

Through the Widow’s Veil

The headlines read:

Astronaut Lost In Space . . . For Real . . .

Two Go Up But Only One Comes Down . . .

Dying Space Academy Claims Latest Victim . . .

Space Pilot Craig Foster Presumed Dead . . .

Surviving Astronaut Loses Memory of Space Incident . . .

I’ve read them all. I saved every clipping, even the trashy covers with the studio propped fake, giant plastic alien heads.

I don’t know why I found myself staring at their lifeless hollowed-out eyes bulging in a glossy fixed position staring at nothing. I don’t know why it made me angry to look at their long fingers spindled around a helpless model space ship. It was just a toy with the words, Shadow 5 stamped in black on its’ side halted in flight by a skinny little wire attached to a paper mache Saturn. My reality was reduced to a fake, fleeting moment, a passing glance for a shopper waiting in a check-out line. It was meaningless, just a joke to most. It was devastating to me.

I saved everything… every word, every line, every picture, everything about you. Every flower you’ve ever given me, tickets torn in half of every movie we’ve ever gone to, every card, every letter, every poem. Is there any woman who wouldn’t do the same for the man she loves, the man she was about to marry?

‘Just one last trip,’ you said. ‘Start making plans for the wedding. Don’t worry. Don’t cry. I’ll be back. To Saturn and back in five days, I’ve done this trip four times already, but this is the first time people will know about it. Be happy for me. Be happy for what this means for us,’ you told me.

It annoys me how sure you were… and I pray you still are… somewhere. I should have stopped you. You have no idea how much I wanted to be Mrs. Sarah Foster.

I wish I could stop loving you… even if I could, I wouldn’t. That’s why I come here every day to talk to no one.

For a while I would look up into the night sky in childish desperation not thinking at all, just looking for you until I would fall down in dizzy hysterics crying for you to come back to me. Where do I start looking for you in that cold, dark overwhelming hole… that cruel night sky? I remember how we used to lie down in the cool, green grass up on Overlook Hill, talking for hours about what lies beyond that black velvet curtain. Those days were beautiful.

The twinkle of stars look more like grave markers to me now as I look up through the widow’s veil that others call night. The truth is, Craig, without you I’m just as lost or dead as you are.

#

Chapter 1

I want a straitjacket!

"That’s all I remember, I swear! How many times do I have to say it before someone believes me!" Exhausted, his voice raspy from yelling, Eric’s latest plea of innocence fell upon the ears of his newest therapist. Hands clasped behind his head in nervous frustration he continued pacing the floor of Doctor Conner’s office.

He knew that this would be his last therapy, his last attempt to retrieve the most important memory of his life from his anxious, sleep deprived guilt-ridden mind; the last therapy to silence his suicidal thoughts or silence his life forever.

Another failed therapy would be the signal for him to pull the trigger on himself and end the existence of Eric Scheil, the only man who holds the memory of the accident. The only man who knows what really happened to astronaut Craig Foster.

Ever since the accident, Eric was prone to fits and outbursts of anger as his Doctor was about to discover. The latest object of Eric’s venting session was his newest therapist, Dr. David Conner. The good doctor folded his arms and rested his chin in his hand intently observing Eric’s tirade. Eric clenched his teeth and hurled his words at the good doctor like a World Series pitcher with a rocket fire arm aiming to injure the batter with the ball.

Eric’s tirade continued with the words, I hate this! You call this an office? What is that smell? I hate that sterile office smell! How am I supposed to remember anything surrounded by these endless white walls and screaming-hot fluorescent lights!

Eric picked-up the black folding chair he was asked to sit on when he first entered the doctor’s office and threw it up at the ceiling. He hit his mark as the back two chair legs hit one of the light coverings and popped it out of its neatly squared-off corner of the ceiling. The square, thin piece of glass shot straight down, hitting Doctor Conner’s now broken chair. It shattered into tiny sharp shards running freely in every direction, sounding like hailstones hitting the exam room floor.

Doctor Conner sat quietly, watched and listened. His eyes examined Eric’s every movement like a computer loading information.

What are you looking at! Yelling at Doctor Conner, Eric’s anger took his own breath away as he used David Conner, his childhood friend and now Doctor for a verbal punching bag.

So, here’s the real kicker. Eric looked straight into the good doctor’s face. His eyes seemed to spin as he spoke through a crooked smile. He was in rare form as he took another chair and spun it around on its back leg.

Don’t worry, Doc. I’m not going to break another one. His mischievous tone was far from reassuring to David. Eric straddled the cold, metal chair, crossed his arms, leaned over the back of it and stared wild-eyed back at David.

They expect you to help me remember. Let’s all give a big Nobel Prize welcome to famous Flashback Therapist, Doctor David Conner, my former friend who stole my Julia from me!

David’s voice was calm and his words were deliberate in replying to his new patient. Eric, you can get yourself another doctor, but I don’t think the two security guards outside the door will be too happy about that.

Eric threw-down the chair, folded his arms and smirked as he set his gaze upon the door and said, Yeah, I get warm, fuzzy flashbacks of trying to escape just looking at them. Eric shrugged his shoulders and said, those big boys love following me from therapy to therapy.

Eric was calm for the moment. He walked over to David’s desk, picked-up a pen and quietly twirled it, looking more like a boy who was sulking at being rejected than the tall, lanky 35 year-old man that he was.

So, how’s Julia? Eric said, looking at David from the corner of his eye, his tone feigning sincerity.

David seemed to hold his breath for a moment as he turned away, deciding whether or not to continue on the subject of Julia. She’s fine, David said definitely and concisely.

So, old buddy, Eric said and stopped, his voice cracking and jaw tight with tension. The anger he expressed appeared to be only a small overflow of the rage that was bottled-up in side of him. Eric’s next question was personal, a subject that he knew David as his therapist was hoping to avoid. Eric had no desire to make David feel comfortable. He asked the question anyway. So, Doc, when did you marry her, or at least, from the ring on your finger I’m assuming it was-

Eric, yes, but yes, well, I don’t think we should-

Embarrassed, Dave? I don’t see why; just because there are microscopic skypes or maybe some old-fashioned hidden microphones and cameras surrounding us, waiting to see me ‘pop.’ You know what, Dave, I’ve been hypnotized, drugged, spiritualized and mesmerized. I’ve been massaged, pressure pointed, ‘released,’ probed, prodded, examined, tested and it all comes down to this: The guy who married my girl while I was making a failure of myself as an astronaut, flying to a less-than historic trip to the still unknown Exeter Ring of Saturn is going to help me remember what happened up there. Do you have a drug for that, Doc?

Eric wrapped his arms tightly around his waist and closed his eyes. He continued to vent his performance with the words, side effects may include inability to sleep and suicidal tendencies… straitjacket! I want a straitjacket! C’mon, Doc old buddy. You’ve got to have one in this white-washed torture chamber. I could just squirm around in it a while, unhook it then pinch myself to see if this is all really true, if it all really happened.

Eric, let me help you. I can really help you. The sincerity in David’s voice seemed ineffective, drawing no response from Eric who stood perfectly still, eyes closed, arms folded. David sat back in his chair and waited. Fifteen minutes passed before Eric popped-open his eyes, looked at David and moaned, Mmmmmm… the mummy speaks! Eric closed his eyes again, keeping himself tightly wrapped in his own arms.

David spoke softly, hoping that Eric would unwind his arms and open his eyes. Eric, listen to me. Flashback Therapy can help you remember. It will release your memory and release you from this torture. David’s words seemed to bounce off of Eric, as he unraveled his arms and spun around to face the wall.

C’mon, Doc, you know it won’t bring back Craig. No one could fly the Shadow 5 like Craig. He really was the best… Eric’s words faded out as he continued to face the wall and got quiet for a moment. He put his hands in his pockets and kicked the wall with the top of his shoe, just hard enough to make a sound and leave a black scuff mark on one of those white walls he hated so much.

. . . and Julia, Eric whispered, pressing his chin against the wall while closing his eyes, as if he were picturing her. I can still remember the first time I saw her, long black hair, those big brown eyes. She smiled at me. I couldn’t believe it. No therapy in the world will make Julia mine again."

Eric, this therapy is about you regaining your life, David said in all earnestness as he looked at Eric, hoping to make eye contact with his childhood friend and now patient. Eric kept his stare fixed down at the floor. Large drops of salty tears fell on the tips of his shoes. Eric kept his head down, motionless.

David was not without compassion. He felt sympathy for his emotionally tortured patient, someone who he was still willing to call friend. Facing the lion-like Eric, David knew he would have to figuratively put his head into the lion’s mouth and look around. As an emotional lion tamer guiding patients through flashbacks that often reveal a wild, hidden rage, David’s therapy leads them to relief and mainstream domestication. Figuratively getting his head bit off was an occupational hazard. He gave it a try anyway with the words, hey, Eric, do you remember the gully behind old Mr. Jensen’s farm?

Eric slowly glanced at his doctor from his hunched-over depressed stance. He turned his head slightly with a half-smile and nod back at David. Tight lipped and agitated, Eric replied, Well, Doc, way to change the conversation away from Julia. Yes, I do remember our happy summers together fishing-out salamanders and counting their spots. Boys will be boys, until they grow-up and steal their best friend’s girl! Still keeping his back turned away from David, Eric picked up David’s name plate off of his desk and threw it against the nearest wall, resigning himself to sit on the desk corner.

Rubbing his forehead, David exhaled deeply and said, Ah, look, Eric, we can try this on another day. David was unwilling to allow the therapy session to continue to degrade into a personal argument between friends.

Still sitting on the corner of the desk, Eric folded his arms. Picking up David’s netbook off of his desk and opening it he asked, so, Doc, when did you do it?

Taking the netbook from Eric’s hands, David asked, do what, Eric?

Marry her. When did you make her Mrs. Doc Flash.

Eric, it’s really not…

You won’t even give me that much? Isn’t getting answers part of my therapy?

David sputtered out the words, Look, Eric, it was almost a year ago.

The date, Dave, I want the date.

C’mon, Eric, why torture yourself with details…

Why not torture myself, Doc. Everyone else seems to enjoy it. You don’t have to tell me anyway. I know. It was the day after liftoff.

Eric, you know why-

Yes, I know. We all would have been uncomfortable if I had been there. Taking one of David’s pens from his desk drawer and dismantling it, Eric shook the unscrewed pen and dropped it piece by piece in concert with the choppy words: Let’s not do anything to ruin David’s perfect little life.

Still trying to tame him to trust the therapy, David countered Eric’s childish acts by saying, Eric, please, let me help you. David put his hand on Eric’s shoulder and hoped that he wouldn’t shrug-off his altruistic appeal to help him move forward with his life. C’mon, Eric. We’ve been through tough times together. We’ll get through this too.

Eric looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t miss David’s pencil thin fingers the color of midnight that seemed to appear from nowhere against the backdrop of his long white coat.

Eric seemed to give in as he exhaled deeply and said, oh, why not. What’s one more straitjacket for my collection. You can be the next doctor to say, ‘I stuck my whole hand into his wounded flesh and he hasn’t died yet.’ I’m a scientific wonder, that’s what I am. If you doctors could cut open my brain and pull that memory out of it, I know you would. Well, I’m ready for whatever you want to do to me, because if this doesn’t work, I’ve had it. I’m through.

Eric was visibly shaking, the heat of his emotions were rising.

His all-American clear skin complexion turned from paper white to burning hot blotches of red. "Nobody wants to know what happened more than I do! Where’s Craig! Is he dead? Is he stranded on some planet calling out my name? Is he a frozen relic somewhere between here and Saturn? They think I killed him,