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Martin, Revisited
Chapter Nineteen
RECOVERY
Copyright 2016 - 2020 Christina M. Guerrero
INTERMEDIATE DRAFT
PROLOGUE, FIRST SECTION - Martin - Thoughts while falling asleep. Which led to a short story. Which led to a novel.
CHAPTER ONE - The English Rose - Martin in love.
CHAPTER TWO - The Mooch Message - You may think words don't matter. But they do.
CHAPTER THREE - Congratulations - Time to celebrate. Or is it?
CHAPTER FOUR - The Heart Of Man - Who we are.
INTERLUDE NUMBER ONE - Turning A Writing Project Into A Novel - A few things to consider
CHAPTER FIVE - The Dead Thing - The green spaceship theory.
CHAPTER SIX - TBD
CHAPTER SEVEN - TBD
CHAPTER EIGHT part one - Their Children, Again - Life as a child.
CHAPTER EIGHT part two - Their Children, Once More - Growing up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN- A Scent Of Roses - Pondering infinity.
IN PROGRESS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - The Spirit Of A Good Man - Don't underestimate people. You'd be surprised what they're capable of.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - G-Rated Swear Words - What pays the bills is not easy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - His Place Full Of Space - What makes a place a home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Hallelujah - In search of the truth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Recovery - The body, soul, and spirit need time to recover from injustice.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - A Bit Of Heaven - The holidays are difficult for some.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - Who's The Hero? - Looking for hope.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - Zombie Caleb And The Holidays - Dealing with flashbacks.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - The Mystery Of Spasiba - Are babies paying attention?
Draft Two:
Nothing, yet.
DISCLAIMER
Except for the first section of the prologue and the interludes, this is a work of fiction.
The rest is either a product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, things, or events is coincidental and unintentional.
Martin opened his eyes.
Two huge portraits filled his world -- the life-sized Carter to the left, and the dark figures to the right.
Martin frowned at the dirty, shirtless back of the man in the portrait. He wondered if some of the discolorations were scars.
A whisper interrupted the semi-darkness. Carter said, "I can do it."
"Let me help you," India whispered.
Martin rose up on his elbows, jealously curious. Near the doorway, Carter was preparing to stand. He was on his knees and adjusting his crutches.
"Carter, don't be so stubborn."
"Okayyy but if I fall, let go. I'm heavy."
"What are you. All of a hundred and fifty."
"More than thaaat."
She helped him stand and he said, "Stay here with Maaartin. Or go back to the chairs. I I I’m going to my room."
"Be careful. I hope you get a little bit more sleep."
She watched until a door closed and locked. Martin called to her, "He's right. Stay here with Martin."
She moved to his side and said, "I'd definitely stay here if we were ...." She smiled.
"We should just get married."
"We still have several topics to discuss."
"Let's have ‘em all right now." He gave her his best charming grin.
She pinched his cheeks. "No. Later. Let's get some sleep first. I'm going back to the chair. Do you need help to your room?"
"No. I'll stay here. If I'm with you, you'll distract me."
"Place the blame on me." She playfully poked him. "Wouldn't have anything to do with self-control."
They kissed and she exited the room. Martin listened for her settling into the chair, heard it, moved to his feet with his crutches, went to the door and closed it.
He adjusted the lights, then made a comfortable bed with his blankets and pillows and opened the binder. He scanned the list of incidents, chose "Scars" and began reading.
* * * * *
Martin felt sick to his stomach again.
"I shouldn't have read that," he said. "But if I don't ...." he struggled with many thoughts and words, and decided he wanted to know more, but not now, at least not the serious versions.
He turned the page.
The humorous version had only one sentence: "It was my birthday but instead of celebrating, I found out that my body was not mine, and was only to be objectified by others."
The next incident happened two years later, and was about a vase that had been broken. Martin knew the rest of the story.
He sat in the early morning silence, trying to recover from this, but failing.
He put everything away and went into the hallway. Everything had been put back in its place. India was adjusting a vase at the end of the hallway; she said, "How does it look?"
"Good." He went to a chair and sat. "When do you have to leave?"
"In an hour. Are you okay?"
He welcomed her into a hug. "Yeah. Kinda disturbed about those incidents. I read one about a beating. Can't something be done about any of it?"
"Maybe. A beating would involve battery and assault. Maybe kidnapping, if he believed he could not get away. Depending on how injured he was, there might be other charges. Depends when the statutes of limitation run out and if he wants to press charges."
"What about that other one? The one about the lift? All those people. They were there during the conversation."
"What people?"
Martin stared. “The people. In the incident that he wrote.”
"He did not write about any people." India frowned.
"He wrote about the voices. This voice and that voice and so on."
"It doesn't say there were any people in the room."
Martin said, "India!"
"There were no names. No physical descriptions. Not even in the serious summary. Do you want me to go get the book and show you?"
“No. I think you're right. And he only described himself and the woman. He said that Esperanza sat to his left or right, and he sat at the head of the table.”
“Just because he heard voices does not mean anyone was there.”
“Do you believe that there was no one else in the room?”
“No. I'm sure there were a lot of people there.”
"But this Esperanza. She was there. What about her?"
"If that's her name. There is a disclaimer at the front of the binder that says names and physical details have been changed. Which might be true or false, as well."
"India! This is all going to happen to him and there won't be justice?"
"I believe some justice has been served. I'm with you, though. It would be satisfying to see more justice. But he has to get the ball rolling."
Martin sighed, feeling sick again. He sighed. "What do you think of all this?"
"It is tragic. I don't mean to offend or minimize ... what he has experienced is awful ... but I have seen and heard and witnessed worse."
"Worse! I mean ... Do you not believe him?"
"I believe him. I also believe it was much worse than he's described. He reminds me of the survivors of the worst cases I've come across."
Martin felt his insides dropping.
He almost gasped but held back. A memory nagged at him, but he fell asleep determining the details.
Martin woke; India was kissing his forehead.
"I have to go," she said. "I may not see you tonight."
"That is not ... okay with me. But I hope to see you soon. Thank you for guarding us."
"You're welcome. You still upset?"
"Yeah."
"I think Carter is doing well, despite his experiences. Don't worry too much. If he wants to talk and share, you can help him by listening ... the way we all did last night."
"I don't know about listening. We were laughing."
"He was, too. Follow his lead, to some extent. He is surprisingly wise about all of it. Not stupid or weak or happy about it. But wise."
"I think he is ...." Martin thought about years of knowing Carter, and the joys of their friendship. "He is a good man. Like my dad."
"I agree. I have to go. If you do all the things we suggested, I think you'll be safe."
"Okay. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Martin went to the door and saw her out. On his way back to the chairs, he listened for Carter, but as usual could not hear a sound. Worried, he knocked.
"Come in," Carter said.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I I I am about to take aaa shower."
"Cool. See you in a bit."
"Thank youuu for checking on me."
"You're welcome."
Martin lingered in the hallway until he heard the water running, then sat in the chairs for a long time, watching the city wake up outside the windows, and thinking about recovering from illness of all types.
TO BE CONTINUED
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