Twenty-Four Words

Frank was running late. He hesitated at the edge of the road, glancing to the left to check for oncoming cars. Despite the fact he was only twenty feet away from a pedestrian crossing, he chose to dodge his way across the road and onto the footpath on the other side. He hurried on, crossing his arms protectively in front of his torso as an icy gust of wind engulfed him.

Court had run unusually late today much to Frank’s annoyance. He had specifically made plans for this afternoon and now they were thrown into disarray. He shivered again as another gust of wind swept past him and whipped a piece of litter into his face. He brushed the chocolate wrapper aside and heaved a sigh of relief as he spotted the familiar siren that graced the Starbucks logo. He stepped inside the store and scanned the room as the store’s heating began to defrost him.

Dr. Markman had only been waiting for Frank for just over five minutes. She had been running late herself and had only just managed to settle down into a booth in the overcrowded coffee shop. She swept her hair up into a messy ponytail and jumped slightly as someone brushed against her table, startling her. She shot a wary look at the young man as he continued carelessly on his way and as she did she could’ve sworn she’d seen the exact same man just ten minutes ago at the bank. She frowned slightly as she realised that the young man who had just bumped her table was indeed the same young man who had been lined up behind her as she deposited a cheque into her account. In fact, he was the same young man who had been seated at the table next to her at the seafood restaurant she had eaten at yesterday with her husband.

Markman suddenly wondered if this silent young man with the shaved head and the strong, foreign features was following her. She watched him for a moment as he sat alone at another table in the crowded coffee shop before sitting back and laughing to herself as she realised how paranoid she had obviously become. She needed a vacation. Markman knew she needed to get away from everything before her paranoia got any worse.

The feeling had started just over a year ago, the very moment one of her former patients handed her a piece of paper about half the size of a playing card. It was only a very mild feeling but sometimes Markman would shiver for no reason as though someone with dishonourable intentions was watching her.

“Hey, Doc,” Frank greeted Markman energetically and sat down opposite her in the booth. “Sorry I’m late.”

Markman waved the apology aside, not wishing to mention she had not been waiting long herself due to the fact she had purposely taken a different, longer route into the city this afternoon purely because she had thought the older man with the shaved head in the car behind her was following her and she needed to lose him amongst the traffic.

“How are you, Frank?” Markman asked, a high level of concern apparent in her voice.

Frank shrugged and nodded. “Good,” he said.

Dr. Markman nodded herself. “That’s good,” she said encouragingly. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Frank felt guilty at what was meant to be an offhand comment. There was a very good reason why Markman had not seen him in a while. He had been purposely avoiding her at every given opportunity since the funeral. He had been discharged from Bluestone on the same day and since then he had used every single possible excuse available to avoid having to tell explain to her why he was doing what he was doing.

“How’s court going?” Markman continued her questioning, unaware of Frank’s guilt over her previous comment.

Frank swallowed uncomfortably. “Okay,” he said indifferently, not willing to admit how petrified he was of his upcoming need to testify. The only thing that comforted him was the fact that he was going to put two very bad men in jail. “Doc, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve gotta be somewhere at two,” he said awkwardly and glanced at his watch. It wasn’t a lie. He did genuinely need to be somewhere at two. However, he had planned the thing at two as a way to escape his coffee appointment with his former therapist. “Why did you want to see me?”

Markman was completely aware the Frank was uncomfortable. She hadn’t called him and asked him to meet her for nothing. She pulled a piece of paper from her jeans pocket and set it down on the table in front of Frank. Frank raised an eyebrow at the tightly folded piece of sketchbook paper. He picked it up and unfolded it. As he did he noticed the creases were extremely worn, as though the previous owner of the paper had folded and unfolded the paper hundreds of times.

As Frank read the paper, Markman watched him intently, looking for any reaction that might betray his feelings. However, instead of looking enlightened, Frank looked confused. He raised an eyebrow at Markman.

“What is this?” he asked and re-read the twenty-four words again.

Markman was dismayed. Her face reflected a mere fraction of the crushing disappointment she felt inside. “It doesn’t mean anything to you?” she asked desperately as she struggled to come to terms with Frank’s reaction to the note.

Frank shook his head slowly. “Should it?” he asked, confused.

Markman sighed. “I hoped it would. I don’t understand what it means.”

“Well, what is it?” Frank asked again, his curiosity at a high.

Markman sat back. She didn’t know it she dared to tell Frank. It would hurt him, no doubt. But, it was also going to do more good then she could possibly imagine. “It was one of his secrets.” She didn’t know if she was even supposed to tell Frank about it’s existence but she couldn’t bear not knowing what it meant any longer.

Frank’s first reaction was of anger. He held the piece of paper tightly between his trembling fingers and glared accusingly at his former therapist. “Why would you give this to me?” he asked viciously.

“Do you know what it means, Frank?”

“Why would you give this to me?!” Frank exclaimed and dropped the paper as frustration swept over him.

Markman kept her composure and pushed the paper back towards Frank. “Frank, does this mean nothing to you?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Frank asked. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie, Frank.”

Frank stood up and brandished his finger at Markman. “I am fine. You let me out. I’m fine.”

Markman stood up to meet Frank but she was not angry like he was. No, Dr. Markman was desperate. She held the paper out to Frank again. “Frank, are you absolutely sure that this means absolutely nothing to you?!” she repeated urgently.

Frank snatched the paper from her hands and waved it widely. “It’s nonsense!” he said vindictively. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s nonsense! He was crazy and you’re crazy for thinking that anything he said to you meant anything.”

“It means something and you know it. Please tell me. Frank, you don’t understand….”

“It’s nonsense!” Frank exploded and savagely ripped the piece of paper in half. At his table in the corner, the young man with the shaved head shuffled uncomfortably.

Markman froze as the piece of paper she had been carrying with her for every moment of every day for over a year became two pieces and then four. “Oh,” she said, the shock setting in. She sat back down in her chair and rested her aching head in her hands.

It was at that moment that Frank realised how awful she looked. The exhaustion was evident on her face and in the way she sat and she looked like she had aged a decade in only a year. Frank sat back down and guiltily attempted to piece the paper back together.

“Don’t worry about it,” Markman said tiredly as she lifted her head. “You’re right. It was just nonsense but I let myself think it meant something. I needed it to mean something. I wanted him to have died for something. ”

Frank kept his eyes trained down at the pieces of paper. He reread the words again as a knot began to form in his stomach. “At least you got to see him,” Frank said quietly.

Markman suddenly realised her coffee had gone cold as she took a sip of it. She made a disgusted face and set the Styrofoam cup back down, all the time trying to think of something tactful to say in reply to Frank’s comment.

“He knew,” she said.

“No he didn’t,” Frank said miserably.

“Yes, he did. He knew you loved him.”

“But he never got to hear me say it. I never got….”

Markman shook her head. “He knew, Frank.”

“How?”

“He knew things,” Markman said. She couldn’t believe she was repeating those words. They were very volatile words and she had to be careful to whom she repeated them. Anyone else would think she was crazy for indulging in his delusions but Frank understood as well. Frank knew as well as she did that there was something deeper at work here.

Frank shook his head. “He thought he knew things.”

Markman stared down at the torn pieces of paper. “In my senior year at high school,” she began, “I took physics because my guidance counsellor told me I needed it to get into medicine at college. So I took the class and I hated every single second of it because I didn’t understand most of it. There was one equation that I could never understand and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t make myself remember it. So, on the day of the exam I wrote the equation and all the values I had to remember on my leg and covered it with my skirt. Then, halfway through the exam I copied the equation off my leg and onto that paper.”

Frank grinned. “You cheated,” he said, surprised.

“He knew,” Markman said frankly.

Frank’s grin disappeared.

“No one knew I cheated in my senior physics exam. I didn’t tell anyone. But he knew, Frank. He knew that and he knew that you loved him. He knew that you were going to be okay. He knew.”

Frank didn’t have a chance to respond as his attention was diverted to a nervous teenage boy who’d just entered the coffee shop. Frank stood up and apologised and hurried over to the blonde boy who was standing terrified at the side of the crowded room. The boy looked immensely relieved to see Frank and let Frank take his gloved hand and pull him over to the booth that Markman was still occupying.

“Doctor, this is my friend, Maes,” Frank said assertively and then introduced Markman to Maes. “She used to be my therapist,” Frank said and Maes nodded knowingly, his eyes still wide and frightened. “I’m taking him to his session at two,” Frank said and glanced at his watch.

“I’ll just wait….” Maes trailed off and pointed to a corner. Frank nodded and Maes stumbled off, his hands clenched tightly in his jacket pockets as though he was afraid someone might touch them.

In the brief moment that Maes had removed his hands from his pocket to point to the corner Markman noticed the very distinct pair of gloves Maes had been wearing. She knew them because she had been the one to buy them in the first place.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said cautiously as Frank sat back down.

Frank glanced over where Maes was cringing in the corner. “He’s just like me,” Frank said, ignoring Markman’s warning. “Different guys, of course, but he’s the same.”

“Frank, be careful.”

Frank stood up and smiled for the first time all day. “Of course,” he said. He picked the pieces of paper up off the table and tucked them carefully inside his wallet.

Markman’s suspicions were immediately aroused. “I thought you said it was just nonsense,” she said and stood up to stare Frank down.

Frank returned the wallet to the back pocket of his jeans. “Yeah,” he said, “but it was his nonsense.”

Markman was not convinced and Frank knew it. She knew that the words meant something to him. The words did mean something to Frank but he would never tell her. She would never know but that didn’t matter. Frank had taken the paper from her. She was free.

“Bye, Doctor,” Frank said and touched her arm affably.

“Take care of him,” Markman said worriedly as Frank walked off towards Maes.

Frank nodded and swept an arm around Maes, guiding him out of the coffee shop. As Markman rifled through her bag for her purse she didn’t notice the young man with the shaved head get up and leave.

Frank was going to do much more than look after Maes. Yes, Frank had much bigger and better plans than that. He was going to do exactly what a piece of paper about half the size of a playing card told him to do.

Frank was going to fix him.