20
…The story of the beautiful sleeping “Briar-Rose” went about the country, and spread abroad.

 

HIS

 

Midterms were happening, and both Fish and the Mercy College students were affected. A mixture of busyness and discouragement meant they dropped communication for a time.

Fish was struggling with another persistent headache and a paper on Postmodernism when he got a phone call from Kateri.

“We’re going to do something,” she said importantly.

“About what?”

“About Robert Graves Memorial Hospital. And the homeless man.”

“Who?”

 “You didn’t hear about this? I keep forgetting you’re not on our campus. His name’s Milton Brown. He was hit by a truck three weeks ago, and he’s been in a coma in the hospital ever since. A hospital volunteer who’s a nursing student told the pro-lifers in this area that she thinks he’s being neglected. He didn’t even have a nametag or a chart for a long time, until the volunteer complained. The media don’t want to do anything about it—they say the case is too vague. So we’re going to do something.”

“Such as?” he asked, rubbing his neck muscles.

“We’re having a sit-in. Saturday. Do you want to join us?”

“I don’t think I can,” Fish said, ruminating. “You’re probably going to get arrested, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

“I don’t think I should. My police record is a bit shaky, and I’m not sure I would do much good to your cause if I were involved.”

“That’s fine. I understand. Anyhow, I’m trying to recruit some of the others. We’re going into the hospital to his room and we’re going to chain ourselves to the bedrail.”

“And so draw attention to his case.”

“Yes. And to draw attention to Robert Graves Memorial’s deplorable record on human rights.”

“Are you still set on going after Dr. Prosser?” he asked.

“In my mind, she’s still guilty until proven utterly innocent.”

 “A bit extreme, isn’t that?” he asked wearily. “You Catholics tend to look at everything in these Thomistic categories. If so-and-so doesn’t believe that human life is sacred, ergo, that person would push Rose off a hayloft to her grave injury. Real life just isn’t like that. Most people aren’t intellectuals—they don’t make a strong connection between what they believe and how they act. That’s why we have so many religious hypocrites today—and thankfully, most people with insane, destructive ideas never act on them.”

“You’re forgetting something else, Fish. Not all Catholics are Thomists.”

“You’ve lost me,” Fish said.

“We don’t all think in these types of categories. Also, we’re dealing with something a bit more concrete here. Dr. Prosser doesn’t simply believe that human life is just a commodity—she and her staff actually treat life as a commodity, doing abortions, euthanasia, whatever they can get away with. So there’s no dysfunction between her beliefs and her actions. She thinks and lives in harmony. A rare person in our times.”

“She practices what she preaches,” Fish murmured.

“Unfortunately for us.”

Fish sighed. “I see. So you’re going to go protest. And if it does turn out that Dr. Prosser is the villain in Rose’s case after all...”

Kateri chuckled. “This can only help. A sort of ‘rumble before the storm.’” 

For some reason, her enthusiasm only depressed him. “Well, I wish you the best.”

He had off work Thursday because of midterms, so after taking his tests, whose results he barely cared about, and grabbing some dinner from a fast-food place, he found himself drifting out to Mercy College to see if anyone wanted to come with him to see Rose that evening.

Kateri wasn’t answering her room phone, but he walked up to the dorm anyhow, hoping to find her.  Knowing the Mercy College strict rules, he walked into the small entranceway of the dorm where a few girls were studying.

“Excuse me,” he said to one black girl who was reading a book by Dietrich von Hildebrand. “Have you seen Kateri Kovach?”

“I think she’s gone for the evening,” the girl said in what sounded like a thick Caribbean accent. “May I ask—are you ‘Fish?’” She pronounced the word feesh.

“Uh, yes, that’s a nickname,” he acknowledged. “Are you a friend of Rose’s?”

“Yes, I knew her from theology,” the girl said. “How is she? My name is Nanette,” she added.

Feeling tired, Fish sat down on the sofa next to Nanette’s chair. “Well, she’s doing as well as can be expected,” he said, and gave a brief account of Rose’s condition. Nanette listened, her face sad, and asked more questions. Fish had gotten used to filling in various Mercy College students on Rose’s progress, but Nanette’s last question threw him off.

“May I ask—were you Rose’s boyfriend?” she asked, with a faint coloring. “I knew she was quite fond of you but never had a chance to ask…”

“No,” Fish said, and heaviness came over him. “I probably could have been, but I guess I didn’t feel…adequate.”  He reddened.  He had meant to say, “up to it,” but weariness had made his tongue slip.

“Why would you not feel adequate?” she asked in some surprise.

Having made a misstep, he decided to live with it. He shrugged despondently. “Just not fit for that kind of commitment, I guess.”

She looked at him seriously, and put a hand on his. “You just told me you have been visiting her every night.  How is that not commitment? How is that not adequate?”

He couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said at last, and got up. “Thanks for asking.”

Feeling thoroughly befuddled, he went to Sacra Cor dorm.

The teepee was still in the front courtyard, with a huge sign over it reading QUIET. STUDY IN PROCESS. VIOLATION=DEATH.

Paul, it turned out, was the occupant of the teepee, wearing earmuffs and studying embryology. Alex was in his own room playing video games with the volume turned down. Leroy sat on the top of the bunk bed with books propped up all around him.

“Ah, there you are, Ben,” Alex said, seeing Fish. “Any word?”

“None whatsoever.”  Fish glanced at the game. Two monsters were battling each other on the screen. “What’s been going on?”

“I just bought James’ sister’s old car,” Alex said. “So once I get it to pass inspection, I can start driving to visit Rose myself. Maybe bring Kateri or some of Rose’s other friends.”

“Sounds good,” Fish said. “I hear that Kateri is planning a protest.”

Alex shook his head. “Kateri Kovach planning a protest,” he said. “Why am I not surprised? Over the homeless guy we’ve been hearing about?”

“Yes.”

“Not sure what good it will do, except play into the hands of the liberal media,” Leroy said from the top bunk. “Give them more excuses to bash pro-lifers.”

“Well, it’s something,” Fish said.

“I say we just blow up the hospital. That would solve the whole problem,” Leroy proposed.

Alex pinged a pen cap at his head. “Leroy, stop being so anarchist.”

“Not to mention illogical,” Fish said, rousing himself. “Talk about giving the liberal media more excuses to bash pro-lifers.”

 “No, I’m serious. Think about it,” Leroy said. “It would get rid of the abortions that are done in this area. Get rid of the euthanasia.  Effectively get rid of the people who are profiting by them.”

“And create a lot of innocent victims,” Fish said. “Who would then probably die from lack of effective medical treatment.  Plus the ramifications for the pro-life side in general, Mercy College in particular, and maybe even Catholics would be almost entirely negative.”

“But it would really send a message, wouldn’t it? A lot more effectively than a sit-in,” Leroy argued.

Fish was, quietly and fundamentally, appalled. He was reminded of his conversation with Kateri and hoped that Leroy was one of those people who didn’t act on his insane, destructive ideas.  “Read more Chesterton,” was all he could say.

He drove out to Graceton Hall alone, and paced through the halls of slumber. Rose lay in her room with the same fixed beauty she usually had, despite the medical equipment. Seeing her brought with it the pangs of relief and sadness, mixed together. This evening, she was alone, and there was little movement on the floor.

“Hi again,” he said, and pulled up a chair. He leaned back in his chair, and gazed out the window at the trunks of the trees. “I wish I found it easier to put up with Catholics,” he said with a sigh. “Sometimes it seems much more reasonable to go back and be an agnostic Episcopalian like my dad.”

After recounting to her the day’s events, he said, “I feel as though I’m surrounded by crazy people. Prophetic nuns, wild activists, recovering female psychopaths, pseudo-anarchists, and a Catholic boys’ club with a medieval obsession. And the problem is, these are all the people who are supposed to be on the side of God.”

He had to grin darkly. “The most sane people around here appear to be the staff at the hospital. Dr. Prosser seems entirely sensible to me right now for keeping tabs on your friend Kateri Kovach. I would probably do the same if she were following me around.”

He ran both his hands through his hair. “Look, what I want out of this is very simple and very selfish. I just want you back. And all of this mess of threats and grisly medicine and political action is just so meaningless in the light of that one goal. I don’t know. Alex implied that I was running away from all of this, and I can’t really deny it. What reasonable person wouldn’t run away?”

He toyed with her hands. “The only reason I’m not running away for good is because I can’t take you with me. And as long as you’re here, I’m here. That’s the only thing I know for certain.”

Worn out, he heaved a sigh. “I would give a lot to hear your response to all this, Rose. Maybe you’d be able to clarify this situation for me.”

He waited, twisting his handkerchief in his hands. Absently, he knotted it several times, jerking it tight with frustration, then began picking the self-made problem apart. His companion remained in her usual still position, moving only with the ventilator, but he almost felt she was delaying an answer until he had finished with the knots in his hands.

At last he smoothed out the cloth between his hands, wrinkled but flat again. “So what should I do?”

He looked at her with a wry smile. Her expression was still as inscrutable as the Mona Lisa’s, half-amused, half-pensive. It was frustrating that she was in this limbo, on earth but as unreachable as though she were in heaven. But no, if she were in heaven, she wouldn’t be unreachable, he corrected himself. Father Raymond was, Fish didn’t doubt, in heaven, and perhaps Fish’s mother, perhaps even his father. Rose’s father, Dan Brier, who had started all this mess with his probing for the truth, was, at least according to what Rose had been certain of, in heaven, having made what she described as an incredibly holy and sacrificial death, offering up all his suffering for his family.

Well, Sir, Fish addressed the photograph of Rose’s dad sitting on the bedside table, I could sure use your assistance now to help your daughter. If there is any action of mine that will help her. You know her better than I do. If there’s some grace or insight you can send this way, I’d appreciate it.

Dan had taken up this investigation into the possible medical murder of homeless and helpless people because he believed that justice needed to be done.

That’s why you took up trying to solve my murder, the voice of Father Raymond broke into his consciousness unexpectedly. I wouldn’t have asked you boys to do it, but when you took it up of your own accord, I would say you did well.

Something similar had motivated Dan Brier, apparently. Yes, he could understand why Dan would have worked so hard to get the truth out. Fish tried to imagine what would have happened if he and Bear had been forced to set aside the matter of Father Raymond’s murder, or if, like Dan, they had apparently failed. I would want someone else to step in where I couldn’t, Fish thought. Perhaps Rose had felt that impulse.

Perhaps that was what was being asked of him, after all. And as usual, he couldn’t hear the truth from the loud and insistent voices of the living. It took the gradual pressure of internal nudges of conscience—and maybe the prayers of the dead—to edge him in the right direction. He sighed, and gave up in the face of the silent personalities around him.

“All right, Rose,” he said aloud, rubbing her hand. “I’ll give it a try.”

He sat back in his chair, thinking. Unlike Dan Brier, he was single, and had more material resources at his disposal. The problem was to set up a legal situation in which he had clear evidence of the hospital’s involvement in selling organs, if that was indeed what they had been doing.

There were footsteps behind him, and Dr. Murray said, “Excuse me? Mr. Denniston, it’s almost nine o’clock.”

He roused himself at once. “I’m sorry. I must have lost track of time.”

She must have been having a bad night, because she gave him a perfunctory smile. “I understand, but we have to get the patients ready for the night.”

“Yes, of course.”  He paused by Rose’s bed and took her hand. She seemed to be looking towards him with a worried but expectant expression. He stroked her cheek with the back of his other hand.

“Don’t worry,” he said to her. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

He detected Dr. Murray’s impatient shifting behind him and picked up his coat. “Sorry again.”

She didn’t respond, but merely stood aside for him to pass through, then closed the door behind him with an almost possessive manner.

Out in the car, he dialed his cell phone to call Charles Russell’s home number. The lawyer picked up the phone.

“Charles, this is Ben Denniston. I’m sorry to disturb you this late. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Certainly. It’s no trouble.”

“I wanted to ask you about a theoretical situation.”

There was a faint rumble of a sigh on the other end, but Charles said, “What are you thinking about doing now?”

“Let me lay out this scenario, from a hypothetical point of view.” Fish described the situation at Robert Graves Memorial Hospital. “Say someone wanted to get proof that these doctors were actually engaged in some kind of illegal activity, such as selling human organs. Let’s say this person was to set up a transaction with these doctors to try to get evidence that could be used to get the police to start an investigation, hypothetically. What kind of legal risks would this person be running if he did the following?” He sketched out a plan.

After listening, Charles said, “Now, this area of law is not my expertise, but one of my partners does know something of the legal ramifications involved. If I were the lawyer of the hypothetical person, I would, of course, advise against it because of the following personal liabilities.”

Fish listened intently to the lawyer’s advice and made some mental emendations to his plan. “I think what I hear you saying is that, on the face of it, it’s fairly sound.”

“However, I would advise your hypothetical person to get further legal counsel before doing anything.”

“I can do that,” Fish said. “Tell me who I should talk to and I’ll give them a call in the morning.”

He didn’t feel it was wise to discuss his plans with any of the other college students, but he did give his brother a call that weekend, and for a long time they tossed ideas around. There were significant gaps in their education, but one of the things life circumstances had taught the brothers was knowledge of how to buy or sell something on the black market.

“Granted, most of our experience is with drugs and stolen art objects. We’ve never tried to buy a human organ,” Bear said.

“True, and I don’t exactly want to obtain one,” Fish said grimly. “Particularly if it’s being forcibly taken from an innocent victim. But according to Charles’ colleague, if we can get a record of someone taking money for that purpose, that will be sufficient for prosecution.”

“And if the request comes from what the doctors would consider a legitimate channel, they won’t question it. As long as we have the money.”

 “At least ten thousand dollars is my guess,” Fish said. “Not too big of a deal for us. Or at least for me. I don’t know how much you have tied up in that stone-works venture of yours. Are you actually making money?”

“From a certain point of view, we’re breaking even,” Bear said, good-humoredly. “I wouldn’t say I’ve recouped my investment yet. Maybe in ten years, if we keep getting business. But I’m not in it for the profits anyhow.”

“Well, I can spare the money. It’ll probably be more than ten thousand when everything is accounted for. Anyway, we have to pass the request through the right channels so it can’t possibly be traced back to us. Then I can go down as the courier with the money to set up the details and get the whole thing on tape.”

“But they know you at the hospital, don’t they?”

“I’ve considered that. Not really. They’d identify you as much as me. Dr. Prosser is the only one who might recognize me, because she happened to remark upon my scars. But I think I can disguise that.”

“Well, depending on how things go, I can come down to help you out.”

“Depending on how what goes?”

“The baby.”

“Ah, yes. Blanche is due fairly soon, isn’t she? Well, that settles it for me. I should count on doing it alone.”

“Fish, but—”

“But but but. I know, you want to be here and be my bodyguard. But look, you’ve got a wife and kid now. I’m still the more expendable of the two of us.”

 “Still? Since when were you expendable? Says the older brother who nearly went out of his mind scouring the streets of New York for you when you were kidnapped for three days.”

“All right,” Fish said, exasperated. “All right. Point taken. I’m not expendable. But I am more available than you are. So I should do it.”

“What about if you get one of those college kids to help you out?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t want to be explaining to some bereaved parent or college official why their charge is dead, maimed, or serving a prison sentence because of something I set up.”

“Look, if I can’t be there, I want you to get someone else there, watching your back. Or we’re not doing this. Okay?”

“Okay,” Fish sighed. “I think there’s one guy I could ask. He’s twenty-one, at any rate. But remember, technically what we’re doing is illegal. If there’s a misstep, we have to carry the consequences. Anyone who helps us risks being charged with the same crimes that we might be charged with.”

“True. You know, Fish—not to get off track—but have you ever thought about being a lawyer?”

“It’s been suggested to me several times,” Fish said with faint annoyance. “Charles says that if I go to school, he’ll get me a place in his firm upon graduation. But I just don’t know if I have the energy for that type of thing.”

“Hmph. Just wondered.” Bear said. “All right. I’ll see what I can do on my end. Keep me up to date.”

He recognized the man’s voice on the phone. And the man recognized him.

“Well, Mr. Benedict Denniston. What are you bothering me for?” the gruff voice sounded ironically pleased.

“Are you on the job?”

“Of course. I almost didn’t pick up. My phone didn’t recognize your number.”

“I got a new one for this new project I started.”

“That’s what you’re calling me about?”

“Is this line safe?”

“You know it is. Spit it out.”

Fish outlined the plan he and Bear had come up with. “Problem is, we don’t know this area too well. But I know you know the market on illegal drugs. Am I right in guessing that some of them might come through hospitals?”

The man grunted in laughter. “That’s truer than you know. The kind of stuff you’re talking about is a lot more rare. Usually when a doctor gets thrown in jail it’s for trafficking in federally-controlled substances, not carving up humans for their organs.”

“Yes, but it’s a truism that a doctor who’s already breaking the law in one area would tend to not have so many inhibitions about breaking the law in another area.”

“So that’s why you came to me?”

“Yes. If we’re going to get anywhere, we need to have the request come through a doctor these people will trust.”

The agent on the other phone was silent. “Let me look into it and I’ll get back to you.”

Friday night, Fish drove Alex, Paul, and James to see Rose. It had become the custom, now that he had an apartment closer to Meyerstown and the campus, for him to go and hang out with them afterwards on the weekends, usually watching some kind of Japanese movie, centering either on monsters or martial arts. It wasn’t what Fish would have preferred to watch, but the films were generally inoffensive and sometimes better made than American films.

They were watching another of the countless episodes of The Tale of Antioch when Kateri came into the lounge, clad in her usual blue denim. Fish could tell she was in high gear, her internal energy making her seem taller than her diminutive stature.

“What’s up?” Alex asked, snapping the pause button. One couldn’t ignore Kateri Kovach when she came into the room with that air of expectation.

“I just wanted to find out who’s coming to the protest tomorrow,” she said, looking around expectantly. Her hair was tied into a long rope of a braid, which twitched behind her as she waited.

The guys looked at each other. “I’m planning on coming, at least to support you all,” James said hesitantly.

This was apparently not the reaction she had hoped for. Carefully, she looked around the room, and then moved her pointed gaze to the leader, Alex. “Anyone else?”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t think so, Kat. Sorry.”

“Why not?” she said, a bit forcefully. “I thought this was something that you Cor guys would all be into. After all, it’s engaging in a battle, isn’t it?”

Alex leaned back in his chair, his hands in a pyramid before him. “Not really. The first principle of war is to consider what fighting will accomplish. How certain are you that what you’re doing is going to accomplish anything?”

Kateri planted her feet and counted on her fingers, “Number three—it brings the public spotlight onto a hospital that doesn’t deserve the high reputation it has. Number two—it questions the credibility of a director who is under suspicion for having assaulted one of our dear friends. Number one—it could save an innocent man’s life. How is that not accomplishing something, Alex O’Donnell?”

Alex put his head to one side. “You know, when it comes down to it, Kat, I’m just not a passive resistor. I’m not going to just sit there and be dragged away by the police for my beliefs. If I was involved in something like this, it would have to be something I could really, physically fight for. Otherwise, I just don’t have the energy for it.”

“And when are you ever going to be able to really fight for something, aside from resistance like this?” Kateri shot back, her eyes flaring. “What are you going to do? Charge into an abortion clinic with one of your samurai swords and slice heads off?”

“Kateri,” Alex said, a warning note in his voice.

“No,” said Kateri coolly, her black eyes a cold fire. “You’re not. I know you’re not a psychopath, Mr. O’Donnell. But don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’re waiting for a better chance to fight. You just don’t want a real fight, that’s all. You’d rather just watch movies and play video games.”

Alex didn’t move, but Fish could see his muscles tense. Wincing, Fish had gotten to his feet. “Kateri, let me walk you back,” he said softly, hoping to defuse the situation.

Perhaps the tone of his voice worked, because Kateri turned away, her braid snapping behind her in contempt over her sturdy shoulders. “So much for your knighthood.” She walked out of the room with pronounced disdain of a very Oriental type, leaving a perfectly silent room behind her.

Fish followed her out of doors and down the sidewalk. The night air was not as crisp—the days were fast turning into spring, although the ominous threat of further chills remained.

“Tell them I’m sorry,” Kateri said shortly, after a moment. “I’m disappointed. I expected far more from them.”

Fish searched for a word of explanation or comfort, but found none. “I can understand that,” was all he said. Hoping to change the subject, he asked, “Is Donna doing this with you?”

Kateri shook her head, her braid swaying. “No. I won’t let her.”

“Why not?”

“We’re risking arrest. When that happens, sometimes, if the situation gets heated, you get roughed up by the cops. I don’t think she could handle that. She’s healing, but she’s not strong enough yet.”

“That’s a good judgment call on your part.”

“Thanks.”

“I wish I could be there. I just found out I have to work at the university tomorrow.” He paused. “Your words about avoiding a real fight hit home for me, anyhow.”

She glanced up at him. “You and Bear are up to something, aren’t you?”

He was startled. “How do you know?”

A small smile played around her usually inscrutable features. “We Kovachs have ways of finding out these things. Particularly things about the Briers, and those who marry them. Our spies are everywhere.”

“Well, if you have any idea of what we’re up to, keep it to yourself,” Fish said.

“Naturally.” She added, “Joking aside, you’ve been particularly preoccupied, in a different sort of way. That also gave me a clue.”

“I see. And I’ve always been told that I’m very good at hiding things. I must have been flattered.”

“Not at all. It’s just that I’m also good at hiding things, so I have a bit of insight into what it looks like.”

“Kat,” he said, touching her arm as they reached the dorm. “You be careful when you go in there, tomorrow. Look out for Dr. Prosser.”

“I know,” Kateri said stolidly, her dark eyes catching the reflection of the streetlights. “I understand what I’m risking.”

“Maybe you do,” he said. “But it won’t stop me from worrying.”

“I’ll call you when we’re done,” she said. “It should be on the news. That’s the job I gave Donna—call the media and make sure they get there.”

“Phone me from the jail,” he said. “Make sure you have my cell phone number.”

“I appreciate it.” And the short girl turned away, her stride defiant. He watched her go, then went back and rejoined his male companions.

They had started the movie again. Fish made his way through the crowd and sat beside Alex, who was staring at the TV screen with a deep frown on his face. On the screen, an Asian girl who looked at least superficially like Kateri chopped her way through a band of assassins. Fish decided not to comment on the irony.

“You know that Dr. Prosser has had Kateri investigated before?” Fish said casually after a moment.

“I’d heard something about that, from Rose,” Alex said distantly, not looking at him.

Fish paused. “She’s risking a lot by going into Dr. Prosser’s hospital,” he said. “I can’t be there tomorrow. She could use some support.”

Alex’s expression was a bit tight, but he said nothing. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” was all he said at last.

The English Department was hosting a symposium, and Fish was slated to work as the receptionist. It was a pleasant enough gathering, of visiting professors and speakers, and Fish was kept on his feet, doing minimal registration and directing the attendees to the right rooms. But he was edgy, and kept his cell phone on.

In between talks, he wandered into the lounge and looked at the television. Around ten in the morning, the news started picking up the story of the sit-in at the hospital in Meyerstown. There were students outside the building carrying signs that read: “This Hospital Might Steal Your Organs” and “RGMH: If You’re Poor, You’d Better Be Dead.”  Fish suspected Kateri had told them what to write.

 The protestors were being escorted or carried out. He thought he saw Donna and James in the crowd outside the hospital. But there was no sign of Kateri among the arrested.

Then, at 1:00 p.m., they finally showed a picture of her being hauled out of the building in handcuffs. There was a brief interview where she said, “We did this to call attention to the plight of the poor who are being victimized by this hospital, including the unborn.”

She looked a bit winded, but otherwise safe. He was relieved.

Around two, he got a call on his cell phone from the police station. It was Kateri.

“Kateri? How are you?”

Her voice was tired, though he could tell she was in good spirits. “Okay. I have two phone calls I can make. I was wondering, Fish—could you call my family for me if I gave you the number? I need to call my lawyer. The bail they arranged for me here is pretty hefty.”

“I can imagine,” Fish said. “But don’t worry about the bail. I’ll call your family though, and tell them you’re safe. Then I’ll be right over.”