Tomorrow I Remembered

life.

PART ONE

THE HOLE

A tiny fragment of memory.

A flash from a black hole.

Best ignored, I’ve been doing it for years it seems.

Some of you will know what a black hole is.

And you will understand the battle that torments.

Leave it alone, or dig and unleash the monster.

Might be something.

Might be nothing.

Maybe tomorrow.

Chapter 1

Chris

The eyes were focused on me but were looking through me, as though there was something of interest beyond. My instinct was to check behind and to the sides, but my curiosity won. I returned the gaze. I studied the face. Then began the familiar thumping in chest and head and the screaming in my mind.

Hey, you OK? The volunteer guide was ready to move on. The others were already at the next exhibit, but I was still staring at the face. The one-armed man, grey at the temples, sports coat, framed alone by concrete and street. I left him behind staring into space, and followed. The screaming needed to get out. Panic rising. Shaking. Can’t get air. It hurts. My head is going to explode!

My eyes are already open but I’m suddenly conscious. No process of slowly awakening. No gradual coming from slumber. The room is unfamiliar and I have no idea how I got there. But Jess is there, so it must be alright. Her eyes are darting beneath closed lids. Dreaming. She is peaceful, and my breathing falls in line with hers.

Years had given her character. The harshness of the drought years, and then the fire, had not been kind. Filtered light hid the physical scars. The mental scars were healing, and she was strength to others.

Jess, I whispered, I can’t remember yesterday.

She stirred. Huh?

I know I went to the gallery to see the Jeffery Smart exhibition.

She peered at me and focused. You’re back then, I was getting worried mate. She smiled and gave me a hug.

I’m always embarrassed when it happens, but I summoned the guts to ask, How did we get here?

It’s OK, you had another black-out. You were waiting for me in the carpark, but you weren’t right, so I drove. We’re half way home. But you’re back, that’s what’s important. Jess paused, and I could see her mind ticking. It was easy to see when she was scheming.

When we get home, I want you to see one of my colleagues, William. He specializes in this sort of thing. Jess kept her gaze on the road. She didn’t need to say any more. She knew that she had played the trump. With that one statement Jess had skillfully backed me into a corner and there was no way out. I had to agree. She had seen for months now that the blanks had been increasing. I was just not remembering things, important things, like when Craig brought my grandkids to visit. He rang to say they’d got home safely, and I had to play along, pretending to know what he was on about. I could tell later that they had been there; telltale signs of crumbs and things out of place, but I had no recollection, and that scared me.

Will you drive? I heard Jess’s voice somewhere distant. The Xanax I had slipped an hour or so earlier was wearing off and I was still in that in-between land.

Maybe change at Ballarat? I was clever to think of that one. That would give me time to get myself together and have a coffee at the Bakery Hill Maccas.

Chris we’re way past there; nearly at Bacchus Marsh, Jess sounded confused.

And instantly my brain went into overload. Thoughts and questions and answers each vying for supremacy, each fighting to get to the surface. How do I get out of this one?

Chris it’s fine. I’ll keep driving. Jess knew better than to challenge me. She understood. And she kept driving, the city soon peeking between the hills.

Chapter 2

The man across the table looked confused. His glasses were in his hand and his left eyelid quivered, but he was aware of it and gave it a quick rub. He was about seventy. His face and scalp bore the scars of skin cancer. Pock marks punctuated the stubble and the flecks of white in the corner of his mouth showed that he had been running or talking; talking, I suspected. He couldn’t run too far with the weight he was carrying.

A bead of sweat suddenly appeared and dripped from his brow, hung tightly to the tip of his nose for a moment before releasing its grip and dropping to the table. He sat back, but continued to stare; ice-blue eyes.

I need to test my blood sugar, he said matter-of-factly, and he proceeded to fossick around in his briefcase. The lancet produced a small drop of blood on his fingertip and he was touching the test strip to it when I started to feel dizzy. A wave of nausea came from deep in my gut and the room was moving like a silent earthquake.

Man! It’s 3.8. I thought something was wrong. You weren’t making any sense. I need to get something to eat, the man said, but the whole situation wasn’t making sense to me!

Half turning, he motioned to a window. Within seconds a uniformed man opened the door. That was when I saw my wrists; I pulled back, heart thumping, but I could not move more than a few inches. The steel of the handcuffs was already cutting. The man turned back and winked. I’ll be back soon Chris.

The nausea became a scream. But there was no sound.

You alright mate? It was him again.

The man was back. Instead of flecks of foam in the corner of his mouth were crumbs, perhaps the remains of a sandwich. Without pausing for an answer he launched into his purpose.

You are without doubt the luckiest man alive. You have me representing you! he laughed, a jolly laugh from deep down.

More beads of sweat formed, mesmerizing, forming regularly on the tip of his nose before being wiped away with a sodden handkerchief. It helped my brain to focus.

We have a lot of work to do man. If you promise no more outbursts we’ll see if we can get these cuffs off, eh?

I nodded. I didn’t remember losing my cool; in fact I didn’t even remember why I was here. I figured that I must have blacked out again. I was skilled at coming out of lost time without letting on.

So, he went on, we appear upstairs in the Magistrate’s Court at 2:30, so we have an hour and a half before they escort you from the cells. So we’ll go over the notes we were working on before once more. But mate, you really have to get yourself together. I’ve been a criminal lawyer for forty years. You have committed an offence you know. You could end up in Thomas Embling! I can get you off, but you must work with me, right?

Who or what is Thomas Embling? My curiosity forced my brain to ask the question.

The forensic hospital mate, Joe replied, just raising his left eyebrow a little to show that he thought I should know that. I remember now, Joe, I heard his name before but it just came back to me.

Right, I muttered, but my thoughts were still in overload. I didn’t know what I had done. All I knew is that I woke up in this cell, with this old man checking his blood sugar and telling me what I had to do, so I listened as he read out his notes, and it all started to make sense. I just needed to hold it together for a bit longer.

Chapter 3

All rise.

I knew enough about court procedure to stand when the deposition clerk says to. He introduced the magistrate. Slim, mid-sixties perhaps, glasses with bright yellow rims, and fishnet stockings.

She likes to make a statement, Joe whispered. I went through university with her. She’s sharp mate, but she’s fair. Just keep cool.

My client remembers driving to Adelaide, Your Honour, with his wife, who was attending a work-related conference. She dropped him at the University Gallery to fill in time. During a guided tour of the Jeffery Smart Exhibition he had a blackout which caused a bit of a kafuffle, but…

Describe the… kafuffle… and perhaps you could be using some more precise terms Mr Grayson, the magistrate was terse, and Joe knew better than to tangle with her, so he complied.

The tour guide found my client in a corner in a foetal position, Your Honour. He quickly came good and then the tour proceeded.

Go on, more information please.

My client’s wife collected him later that day as arranged. She recalls that he was not quite right, but had seen that before, so was not unduly worried. It was on the drive back here to Melbourne that things went awry. On the approach to the West Gate Bridge, my client became very unsettled.

Again, more information please. If I am to make a decision about your client’s immediate future sometime before the close of business today, you will need to be more precise, she was getting cranky.

Displaying signs of distress and panic, Your Honour. His wife pulled the car over into the far left hand lane because she was concerned that he was trying to open the door whilst the car was moving. On stopping, he did indeed open the door and left the car, pacing up and down alongside the suicide prevention fence. Within a few minutes, the police had arrived and handcuffed him. His condition deteriorated, Your Honour, and an ambulance was called, Joe sat back down next to me, sighing, then chuckling. It’s going well, he whispered.

I see that you have an expert witness, Counsel?

Joe stood again. Yes, Your Honour. Dr William Buckland is a specialist psychiatrist who deals with patients with post traumatic stress disorder who have experienced periods of dissociation.

Yes, I know him. He’s done some forensic work for us. Very well, let’s hear from him. The magistrate motioned for Dr Buckland to be called.

William Buckland entered the courtroom and made his way to the front. I recognized him… fair hair, tall, clean-shaven, but the pierced eyebrow and the lip rings were what puzzled me. I had seen this man recently, I must have. I remembered trying to work out why such a highly regarded professional would have piercings.

And then he spoke. Yes, Your Honour, I have met with Mr Chris McVey twice over the past two days and have conducted preliminary assessments and investigations as to the behavior exhibited.

His tone was confident, yet soothing, soft, yet full of authority. I recognized him then as the man that brought me back from the black hole.

Mr McVey displayed clear signs of being in a dissociated state at the time of his arrest on the bridge, Your Honour. He was fascinating to watch as he sat describing me. His steely blue eyes and those of the magistrate were fixed on each other, as though engaging in battle, neither willing to release the gaze.

Dr Buckland went on, describing in detail what we had, I suppose, discussed during those meetings, though I had no recollection. Things were beginning to make sense.

Man! I thought, where is Jess? I stole an opportunity to glance behind me, and there she was, a tear on her cheek, but a wink to acknowledge me. I knew things would be OK.

Next to me, Joe Grayson was becoming agitated, or so it seemed. For a minute or two he had been fossicking for something in his briefcase at his feet.

The Magistrate’s attention shifted from Dr Buckland towards Joe and me. Her eyes were like pot-lids, and her mouth pursed, ready to speak. Joe stumbled to his feet, then I felt his full weight come crashing down onto my side. Silence first, then gasps, someone ran from the back of the room. The odd thing was, there were jelly beans scattered on the table and floor.

The Magistrate found her voice, trembling; she called out, Diabetic, he’s diabetic!

And that’s all I remember. I woke up on the floor of the cell downstairs. Dr Buckland and Jess were there. No handcuffs this time. Two paramedics stood over me, my knees up under my chin. My trousers were sodden. I had wet myself.

He’s back, Jess whispered.

Chris, it was Dr Buckland, tell me what you remember, what just happened?

The paramedics were packing up. Glimpses of the courtroom surfaced.

Joe. Is he OK? I had the sense that I was whispering though I wanted to scream.

He’ll live to fight another day. And that’s a good sign mate, that you remember what happened. It was just a hypo. You didn’t see the magistrate launch herself across the room to his side, you’d passed out by that stage. Wouldn’t surprise me if there was something going on between those two! Dr Buckland was chuckling, but Jess was stony-faced.

The good news is, he continued, you are not going to Thomas Embling for further assessment. You have been released into Jess’s care, with daily visits to me for a week, and then we’ll see what to do. We’ll sort you out pal.

My pants are wet, I whispered but I could tell that Dr Buckland and Jess knew already.

Jess, why don’t you nick out and buy Chris some new pants. I’ll keep him company.

With that, Jess leant over and gave me her customary peck on the cheek. She was barely out the door when Dr Buckland began,

You must call me William, he said as though I had no choice.

That was the point I became mesmerized by his eyes. They were steely blue, yes, but they pierced my soul. His tone was imperceptibly different, commanding. I was safe; he was in control and I didn’t need to worry.

I have a colleague visiting here from the UK he said. She manages a forensic hospital, a bit like the Thomas Embling. I will arrange for her to do some work with you Chris. We need to get to the bottom of these episodes you have been experiencing.

I knew he was digging already. I felt the churning beginning, but pushed through it.

Tell me, what is your story? I couldn’t escape his eyes. I was in no mood to talk, but his eyes didn’t let me go, and the voice soothed me.

My father raised me. Pause. No words from Dr Buckland. I caught my breath. I never really knew my mother. She was put into a hospital with bad post-natal depression after I was born. That’s what they did back then. And that’s where she stayed until she died. Dad took me to visit a few times. It was scary. I stopped talking then, but the images were