75: Impossibilities

I woke up Thursday at 4:30. I'd slept dreamlessly after Sly left. Or was Sly's visit simply the only dream I remembered? Was it a dream? There was a niggling voice in the back of my mind saying, 'Love and be loved.'

I sat up in bed, stretching the core muscles that had been torn, cut, and stitched. The tendons pulled against my pelvis, but I could tolerate the pain. It was getting less each day. I swung my feet over the bed so I could go to the bathroom and kicked the two beautiful blondes standing there. I hadn't even seen them when I woke up. It took a second to register through my waking haze.

"Joanne? Nicolette? What are you doing here?" The two women were about the same height, both blonde, and both beautiful. Nicki carried a little more weight than Joanne, but Joanne was no longer emaciated like she'd been last summer. She looked really good.

"Taking our turn," Nicki said. "I couldn't visit you before you banned us. I had finals the past week. I'll go away when you order me, but I had to see for myself that you were really alive and acting like an asshole." That made me laugh a little. I suppose I was an asshole when it came down to it. I looked at Joanne.

"I visited while you were still ... asleep, but I wanted to see you awake, too. You've never missed wishing me happy birthday," she said.

"I'm happy to see you both," I said. I hugged each of them and gave them a soft kiss. "You really shouldn't be here, though. I'm not very safe to be around. I tried to kill Josh. I could have hurt you just because I was startled."

"Joanne and I met at the airport in Boston and took the redeye. We decided to come straight here. It's so hard for us, Brian. We love you and we almost lost you." Nicki seldom expressed emotions so freely. Tears were on her cheeks. Keeping her emotions in check was part of the drug balance she was on. I didn't want her to go off the handle. I hugged her again.

"We'll sneak out like we sneaked in," Joanne said. "Adam and Amy are waiting in the hall for us. We just had to see for ourselves that you were okay."

"I will be. I'm moving to rehab today. I'll probably make my escape next weekend."

"And then?"

"I don't know. It depends on how safe I feel. I don't want to hurt anyone. Don't you understand?" Maybe today was a good sign. Maybe I'd made my peace with Lexi last night. Maybe the dreams would go away. Maybe I'd go back up to Mishawaka for a few weeks.

"I just want you to know one thing, Brian Frost," Nicki said, putting her face right in mine. "Years ago, you saved Joanne from rapists. You saved my life when I was unbalanced and ready to jump. Then you saved Rhonda's life. On April 18, you saved the lives of Addison, Samantha, Courtney, and Danielle. And others who ran when you warned them and stopped the shooter. You are responsible for us. If you don't get your ass back to the ranch sometime soon, none of us will be responsible for our actions. Just remember: No matter what, we still love you." She turned on her heel and headed for the door. Joanne continued to stare at me then turned to follow.

"Ditto," she said.

Responsible for their lives? Then I need to stay hidden.

When I returned to bed, I saw the tabloids. I couldn't remember who had left them on my table. Alex hadn't wanted me to see them before the interview with Detective Craig. After we'd finished the interview, I'd had no desire to read what the idiot wrote. Now it seemed compelling.

"Why the 'Sorority Row Hero' Isn't," screamed the first headline I saw. There was a grainy photo of me standing beside my Suburban with the door open. It took me a minute to figure out it was an old photo in which I was playing chauffeur for Joanne. She'd been cut out of the picture. A second picture was of me looking down scowling. I puzzled over that one for a while. How long had this guy been following me? I finally realized that this was a picture from one of the video tapes of my show. I must have been looking down at something I was cooking. The cropping made it look like I was involved in something sinister. I finally got started reading what had been written.

Tragedy struck the campus of Indiana University a month ago when a gunman lurched from a red Camaro and began spraying bullets, seemingly at random. Four students died and four were wounded in the attack that stunned the nation. Witnesses reported that the gunman was stopped by the martial arts of one Brian Frost who has been dubbed the 'Sorority Row Hero' in a public relations campaign unlike any this reporter has ever witnessed.

But private investigation has suggested that the tragic deaths may have been collateral damage in a showdown between two rival gang leaders. Hero Brian Frost may have been the actual target in the shooting, attracting the shooter to that location and endangering the lives of all who surrounded him.

Who is this so-called hero, and why have police been so slow to investigate this crime?

Frost is best-known for his popular television series, Young Cooking with Chef Brian. In the series, Frost capitalizes on his mesmerizing effect on women. Women from all over the region compete for the privilege of becoming his girlfriend for a day. A lucky, or perhaps unlucky, few have been granted a continuing place in his private harem.

Corazón, Indiana, the cult-like community that Frost leads, was the site of the first turf war between his followers and the renegade fraternity Alpha Chi Epsilon. Former president of the fraternity, Steve Green, recounted their first encounter at an abandoned farm the fraternity had used for years as a gathering place.

"Hey. We were willing to share," Green said. "Then Frost goes on about how he owns the place and would use lethal force to remove us." This statement was followed by Frost and his henchmen brutally beating two of the fraternity brothers. When asked why the incident was not reported to police, Green continued. "The Sheriff showed up. It turns out his daughter is part of the cult. He ordered us off the property with a warning to never return."

Is this not a clear cover-up by an elected official to appease a sinister cult that had captured his daughter?

And what about the assailant, Wayne Enders. According to his fraternity brothers, Enders had been concerned for the safety of one of his classmates, wounded coed Courtney James, who he felt had been entrapped by the cult. On numerous occasions, Enders's attempts to engage the young woman were rebuffed by Frost's henchmen, keeping her separate and isolated from possible help. Yet university officials did nothing to help this young woman.

The simple fact is that even though women were undeniably killed and wounded by Enders, it was Frost that received multiple gunshot wounds—ample evidence that he was the target.

A History of Violence

Careful review of photographic evidence, undertaken by this reporter, revealed Frost stalking supermodel Heaven, often in disguise as a chauffeur, in a crowd watching her film, and even in restaurants under the guise of being a nearby guest. The unhealthy relationship began in childhood. Digging into Frost's hometown, it was discovered that he grew up next door to the supermodel, fantasizing about her from an age at which most healthy boys are still uninterested in girls. When two boys attempted to chat up the older model as freshmen in high school, Frost responded by spraying banned chemicals in their eyes and blinding both boys. While the police records of the juveniles have been sealed, Frost seems to have escaped from the incident unscathed.

Frost has often used his keen, if warped, intelligence to manipulate authorities into taking care of his enemies. Witnesses tell of his goading opposing high school gang-members into confessing crimes in front of witnesses just as police arrived to make the arrest.

Even former Superintendent of Schools, Nathan Dewey, recognized the danger in Frost's activities, attempting over protests to have him expelled.

"Frost had a profound disrespect for authority. But also an undeniable charisma that allowed him to manipulate the entire student body to his will. Even teachers," said Dewey. "He was a master of parody and could even mock God to the delight of his fellow students. He seemed to be impervious to discipline."

Perhaps most revealing, however, is Frost's obsession with the women he calls his own. When her parents moved his girlfriend 500 miles away to escape his influence, Frost persisted in pursuing her. When her current boyfriend attempted to stop his advances and rescue the girl, Frost used his impressive martial arts abilities to dismantle the youth, breaking his nose, elbow, and ribs, and crushing his reproductive organs. The young man is still in full-time care, five years later.

Frost went unpunished.

Who is the Hero?

The burning questions remain. Why have police been content to resolve the IU shooting so easily without investigating Frost's violent history and cultic lifestyle? Indiana University's rules and Bloomington's anti-gang ordinance hold all members of an inter-gang conflict equally responsible for the outcome. The deaths of a young man and two young women lead this reporter to believe Frost should be held responsible, even for the murder of the shooter. It might as well have been his hand that held the gun and wounded three more young women. Why does the community think of him as the Sorority Row Hero instead of the catalyst that brought death to their peaceful setting?

Mom and Anna were there to help me move to rehab. I didn't speak to them. I'd completed the paperwork and was wheeled out to Anna's little Toyota. We drove a block away to the University Health Center. Most of the facility was the rehab center. A gym, massage rooms, weights, various contraptions I knew they'd torture me with eventually. They had half a dozen rooms on the second floor for people who came in from out of town and needed to stay for a few days. I had to find my own meals since they didn't have a cafeteria. I'd requested a room for a week while I figured out what I was going to do and the amount of therapy I needed to have. It had been almost five weeks since the shooting and I figured they have appendectomies fully recovered in three. So what the hell? I should be out of here in a week.

Except an appendectomy is a quick snip and stitch operation. It hardly even leaves a scar these days. I guess that's different than having several holes ripped in your intestines and a chunk of your pelvis blown off. With an appendectomy, they don't usually have to vacuum your entire abdominal cavity to get the shit out of it. You don't have a little hole in your front and a bigger, ragged hole in your back. Sure I was healing, but it was slower than I thought it should be. It hurt to put weight on my right foot. Standing fully upright and straight stretched my side and stomach, so that hurt. And moving food through my digestive tract still hurt, especially when I shit.

If it hadn't been for the speedy arrival of the ambulance crew, I'd have stayed dead when I died the first time. I'd have to look them up and thank them if I decided to keep living. At the moment, that was questionable. Everything in the damned article was true. It was exactly the way I painted myself. I was the murderer. I was the problem. Without me, none of this would have happened. Lexi would be alive. Beautiful Samantha, Courtney, and Dani would not be disfigured. When Mom asked me a question, I just shook my head and closed my eyes. After I'd eaten the lunch they'd brought me, they left. I just stood in the middle of the room.

They should have let me die.

"Let's get started and get you walking," a voice said from the door. I was still standing in the middle of the room staring but I hadn't focused on anything. When I did, I squeezed my eyes closed and looked again.

"Master Xi?" I said. What was our instructor from the dojo doing here?

"Save it for the dojo. No one calls a physical therapist 'master.' Not until I make them crawl and beg. Here it is just Xi. Let me see you walk over here," he said motioning me to him. I walked toward him. Limped. No one had given me a cane or anything. I could walk. It just hurt. He noted some things on his chart and had me follow him to the exercise room. I stood facing him in gym shorts and shoes. A couple people in the gym glanced over at the red scars that were still healing. At least that was my impression. They were probably just checking out my ass. What do I know?

"What do I do?" I finally said as I stood there looking at him.

"What we always do. Only I have to explain it all to you instead of just telling you to do it. You had trauma to the abdominal obliques, both internal and external. The psoas was damaged. Latissimus Dorsi. You've got scar tissue building up around the sites of the damage and your muscles are tightening. You've lost a lot of strength through a month of enforced inactivity. We're going to start with stretches. Then we'll do forms. Only no one calls them that here. They prefer to call them control and balance exercises."

"Works for me." He started leading me through some basic stretches. Basic, sure. But damn, they hurt! I felt like I was ripping my side open with every move. It was like having Nurse Ratched all over again. In fact, I thought I was going to miss her. I was panting like a race horse after the Derby before he was done with me. Then he led me to a deep whirlpool and I sank into the tub with a sigh before I realized I was wearing my gym trunks and that was all I had. I was going to drip all the way back to my room. After the tub, it was a massage. I fell asleep, even though some of the things he massaged were in agony.

Anna came alone with dinner. It was packed up in a little basket and each of my cónyuge had signed a little note in it. Anna held me as I cried through dinner.

"It's all true, Anna," I whimpered. "I did all those things. And I can't go home. I'll hurt them. Just knowing me hurts them. But what if I wake up at night swinging? I could kill someone I love without even knowing it. I can't let them near me because I could kill them. And I love them so much it hurts."

Anna didn't say anything. Couldn't through her tears.

And so it went. Day after day. No one seemed to know or care if it was a weekend or after hours. The tabloids had dredged up more photos. More interviews. Even pictures of Lionel and Lamar standing outside my door in the hospital while I was in a coma. My guards preventing access from the press. No one was immune from this so-called reporter. My anger was growing and with Enders already dead, the reporter was fast becoming my next target.

I had three sessions a day with Xi. The exercise lasted an hour with him, then he gave me stretching exercises that I had to work on for thirty minutes while he worked with another client. After that, I went to the whirlpool and then someone gave me a massage. Seemed I had a different massage therapist for each of my two massages a day.

"Who's paying for all this?" I asked Xi one day. "I don't think I've seen a bill yet. I hope my parents aren't being asked for money. I have money to pay." Xi laughed at me.

"Student insurance," he said.

"Really? I didn't realize the coverage was that good. I don't think I've been to a doctor since I moved down here."

"No. Not school insurance. Student insurance. Of course, the mandatory school health insurance covers part of it. But the ladies at Gamma House started a fund for those wounded. Every sorority and fraternity has joined in. The entirety of funds raised at the Little 500 were diverted into the shooting fund. Parents joined in. Couple of foundations put up matching funds. All five survivors who were injured are guaranteed to have all medical expenses paid," Xi said. Fuck!

"I bet the donations have dropped off since the tabloids hit the market. They'll be asking for them back before long."

"You need to read newspapers instead of tabloids. You're a hero. You saved many lives."

"I didn't do anything but get in the way of a couple bullets and scream like a little girl," I said. "Xi ... Master," I whispered, "I was too far away. I couldn't reach him. I couldn't stop him. The only reason he quit is because he ran out of bullets."

Xi led me to a private room and closed the door. He pointed at the massage table and I stripped and got on it. He started working on my back. I didn't think I was scheduled for a massage yet.

"You gathered the power of the universe and it answered," he said. "There are probably only five people within a hundred miles who could have heard the call. I heard it. Whitney heard it. You became the storm and the storm strikes with lightning. You stopped him. There is no question about that. There were more guns in his car. Who knows where he would have gone next?"

"They are right, then. I killed him. The best I can hope for is to be gone so I don't hurt the people I love," I said. They should have let me die.

"There are many kinds of storm, Brian. Not all are manifest in the physical plane. You are in the eye of the storm. To come out at the other side unharmed, you must once again become the storm."

"How?"

"Just as you figured it out when you faced the shooter, you will figure it out when you face the tabloids. Be the storm."