The circle of willis, p.1
The Circle of Willis, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
The Circle of Willis
Copyright
Dedication
Tract One:
Thief of the Night
Hunger for Relief
Throw that Gauntlet Down
The Round-a-bout of Life
Tract Two:
The Substance of Ordinary Days
Here’s to you, Mrs. Robertson
Tract Three:
The Duffle Bag Drill
In the House of Pain
Chuck Norris Doesn’t Wear a Watch
Turning Blue
Tract Four:
Flight
The Back Door
No Turning Back
A Cosmos Distilled
Not in the Playbook
Ground Level
A Possum Eating a Sweet Potato
Tract Five:
A Room Stained with Shadow
The Suck Part II
Full Disclosure
Estar roto
Under the Cyprus Tree
Tract Six:
Where Shade and Light Merge
The Skeleton of Remembrance
A View of the Girl
But Now I See
Tract Seven:
Temporary Shelter
The Fear Cage
A Nicked and Battered Dogwood
Echo
When Your Back is to the Wall
The Risk/Benefit Equation
Dear Family and Friends
What We Carry
The Weight of Love
Tract Eight:
Girl with a Pearl Earring
Two is Enough
Free Falling
Speed Free My Soul
The Smell of Sorrow
Tract Nine:
Land Navigation
The Rabbit Hole
Musical Memory
The Sound of Silence
Tract Ten:
Summer’s Heart
Dog Tags
Sunday Morning Spinning
A Long and Winding Road
Epilogue
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
From the Humvee behind him, automatic grenade launchers were spitting hot and fiery. Explosions riddled the west bank. Trees flew in the air, elephant grass ignited, and the Tigris churned as if on a high boil. Ray was down to the last of his ammunition and was now firing tracer rounds from his hell belt. He could see them zip across the waterway, joining the immense firepower that shone brighter than the sinking sun.
The Circle of Willis
by
H. G. Hedger
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Circle of Willis
COPYRIGHT © 2023 by H. G. Hedger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc.
The Write Advice
A sister company of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2023
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-5345-6
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-5346-3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To My Family
(My Everything)
Tract One:
Summer 2005 and Before
A Constellation of Glass
“Ray, are you there?”
The crackle of Ray’s ambulance transmitter startled him from a deep doze. His rig was parked under a flourishing elm glowing green where the city streetlight suffused the foliage. But the interior was dark. Shadows shrouded Ray.
The familiar female voice continued, “Sheriff just got a call to the abandoned factory on Highway 51. He’s dealing with a drunk driver, and wants you to check out the situation.”
Ray straightened up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand before buckling up and turning on the ambulance’s lights.
“What am I walking into?” The radio static increased in volume and then quieted. Ray took a swig of coffee and grimaced. The joy of cold gas station java at 3:30 in the morning.
“It was an anonymous call. Some kids were out partying. Sounds more like a welfare check.”
Ray turned off the flashing lights. No need to spook anyone. He eased the unit onto the empty street. Some things don’t change. A few years ago, he was in high school and occasionally showed up for a party with his pals at the old factory. Now he was twenty-one, working as a paramedic, waiting for his military training in Fort Benning to start. His partner had called in sick for the twenty-four-hour shift, and there was no backup. But life in a small town is like that. You don’t have the reserves big cities do. He didn’t mind working alone, though—solitude gave him time to think.
Earlier, between the routine calls, transporting a dialysis patient back to the nursing home and patching up an elderly man who had fallen, all he could think about was the surprise he was planning for May, his girlfriend of two years. A few nights before deployment, he would bring her a big bouquet, take her to her favorite Italian restaurant, and then, getting down on one knee, he would propose. Grand gestures weren’t his style, but he knew how much May loved the spotlight. He imagined her excitement as he opened the velvet ring box, displaying what the jewelry store saleswoman had assured him was all the rage, and what two months of his salary could afford.
Six months ago, May had shown him an advertisement for a ring in one of her fashion magazines. She had talked about how perfect the arrangement was, mentioning her finger size several times. Ray recalled the details with clarity. He felt confident in his choice and had made the last payment, getting the ring out of layaway just that morning. But now, he had to still the anticipatory excitement. He had to compartmentalize and focus on the task at hand. Someone might need his help.
Tahlequah, a small town nestled in the foothills of the Ozarks, was ringed by an outer circle, a road that cocooned its interior. Warm Oklahoma air washed over him through the open window. The ninety-eight-degree heat of the day had cooled. The dash temperature now read eighty-five, but the T-shirt underneath his technician scrub top was still damp.
He positioned the unit as close as possible to the crumbling building’s entrance, took another swill of jitter juice, and swung the first aid trauma bag over his shoulder.
Broken glass, illuminated by the full moon’s light, glinted a sparkling constellation along a decaying walkway. The interior was a quagmire of fallen plaster, old mattresses, broken bottles, and accumulated debris over collapsing decades. Navigating was difficult. Ray swept the beam of his flashlight in a trained, methodical fashion and moved deeper into the factory. He reached the innermost room, rumored to be where the factory supervisors once hung out to spy on their workers and pull them from the line if they were too slow, inept, or appeared drunk. Ray was ready to turn around when he saw movement in a darkened corner and heard a whimper. There, curled around a silent form, was a dog.
“Oh man,” he whispered and moved toward the creature. He knew this dog, which meant he knew who she was protecting. They were inseparable. Leo went nowhere without her faithful companion, Sandy. Only weighing in around twenty pounds, she had the spirit of a much larger canine and, over the years, had been known, on occasion, to be a ball of protective fury. But now he could see how time had tempered her.
“Hey, Sandy.” The aged dog, white circling her muzzle, looked at him with tired brown eyes and thumped her tail slowly on the filthy, sheetless mattress. Ray held his hand out for Sandy to sniff, and gently stroked the top of her head. Then he spoke to the crumpled figure. “Leo, it’s me, Ray. I’m going to check you out and make sure everything’s okay.”
He eased back a torn hoodie that partially covered her and quickly assessed the fifteen-year-old girl. Her breath was shallow but regular–ten respirations per minute. Her pulse was thready but steady, with no audible arrhythmias, fifty-six per minute. Dried emesis clung to long, dark hair. Thank goodness she hadn’t inhaled the vomit, he thought as he auscultated her lungs, listening carefully for wheezing or crackles. Aspiration pneumonia could be deadly.
What kind of person would leave her here like this, alone, discarded, unprotected? He called her name. She opened her eyes and then closed them with a soft moan. Scattered around her were beer cans, empty liquor bottles, and a prescription container with her father’s name on it—Joseph Lightfoot: OxyContin 40mg prolonged-release. Take one every six hours, as needed, for pain. Coach Lightfoot. Ray’s high school track coach and biology teacher. He emptied the remaining pills into a plastic baggie, then shoved the bag and prescription bottle into his pocket and helped the waif-like girl to her feet.
“Come on, Leo,” he encouraged. She took one step and then buckled. Ray slid an arm under her, his training kicking in without thought. He gently slung her across his shoulder. The fireman’s carry was easier this time than in training with his 200-pound partner. “Leo , I’m sorry.” Ray wasn’t sure why he was talking aloud. He was positive, even if she could hear, nothing was registering, but he continued, “I was hoping to take you home to your dad, but I can’t now. You’re not out of the woods. You might need naloxone, a reversal, and for sure, you need hydration. Let’s get you to the hospital, where they can monitor you for any complications.” As he started to leave, Sandy, whose watchful gaze had never left Ray, cautiously got to her feet and followed them over the rubble, out of the door, into the moonlit night.
****
“Coach!” Ray jumped from the bench. He’d been waiting by the hospital’s entrance. “She’s going to be okay.”
Coach Lightfoot's face was a contortion of fear and anguish. Ray stepped in front of him. “I found these at the scene.” He thrust the empty bottle forward.
Coach suddenly seemed to recognize him. “Ray?” He took the bottle, and his face slackened as if someone had opened a plug and drained all emotion away. “My pain pills. That’s what happened? Oh, my God, this is my fault!”
“Alcohol was also there.” Ray’s voice was measured. “Leo wasn’t alone when the party started. Someone brought the booze.” He knew his words weren’t doing much good, but he had to try. This man helped turn his life around and believed in him when he didn’t even believe in himself. “She’s stable now, Coach, and she’s in good hands.”
“They need to know what she took, along with the alcohol.” Coach palmed the bottle and started toward the door.
“They know,” Ray said. “The two pills I found, I put in a bag and gave to the emergency room doctor. He knows what she took, just not how much. Well, nobody knows. That’s why they’re going to watch her for a while.”
Coach bent slightly as if in acknowledgment and then seemed to notice Sandy, who had been at Ray’s feet during the entire exchange.
“She was lying beside Leo, guarding her,” Ray explained. “I can drop her off at your house, if you want me to?”
Coach nodded. “If you could do that now, I’d appreciate it. That way I won’t have to worry about her too. Put Sandy in the backyard. There’s a doggie door,” he spoke softly, sorting everything out. “Food and water are in the house. She should be good.”
As Ray drove away, hanging out of the ambulance’s passenger window, was a serious mutt, laser-focused on the receding hospital.
Thief of the Night
On the periphery of consciousness, Leo dreamed. She must be in some altered state, for the sounds and smells were foreign. When her heavy eyelids started to flutter to allow in fractionated light, nothing seemed familiar.
Then there was a voice reaching through the obscure—her father’s.
He sounded worried, like she had never heard him before. “Nurse, she’s not moving! She’s cold, and her skin has no color.” Leo felt his large, warm hand grab hers. She tried to squeeze back, but her fingers didn’t respond. “Are you sure she’s okay?”
“She’s going to be fine. Take a breath.” The husky voice wasn’t familiar. “Look here, Mr. Lightfoot. These moving lines show variations in Leo’s blood oxygen level, heart, and respiratory rate. Don’t worry. Your daughter’s vitals are within normal limits. She’s on a central monitoring system. Alarms go off whenever anything happens outside the expected parameters. And someone is watching them twenty-four-seven. Your only job is to be here, by her side. Having family support makes all the difference.”
Through a gauzy haze, Leo saw her father’s head fall to his chest. She wanted to reach him, touch his face, and tell him she was okay. But her limbs and voice were rendered mute with torpidity. The last thing she remembered was driving with Jake to a party. Shoot, what had she told her dad? That she was studying with a classmate? He didn’t know they were dating, even after eleven months.
Images flickered, vivid moments spent growing up in the Lightfoot household with her dad, Uncle Paul, and Sandy. She held them, immersed herself in them, and then let go. Another memory inserted itself. She was stepping into Jake’s dad’s house, the curtains were drawn, making visualization difficult. Jake came from behind.
“Don’t worry. My old man’s working the second shift. He won’t be home till midnight.” His breath was warm and smelled of smoke. Then he slipped a heavy chain with an attached solitary dark eye around her neck. “This was my momma’s. She gave the pendant to me to protect me when I came to live with my dad. Now, I’m giving it to you. So, you know I’m always watching.” He stood before her in his Beyond Fear T-shirt and crotch-hugging jeans, looking at her with the eagerness and attention she had grown to expect since her first week of high school when he relentlessly started pursuing her. “But you can't tell your dad or anyone who gave you the eye. It’s our secret.” He flashed his smile, the one that got to her every time.
Leo felt singled out and valued. A nineteen-year-old senior had fallen for her, telling her how mature she was for her age and how she deserved the best. Jake pushed his blonde hair off his shoulder and moved closer. “Come on, Leo, show your appreciation for the gift. Give me a hug. That necklace, that eye means I’m gonna protect you. It’s my promise to you. Come on in.” His arms tightened around her.
“What did that machine do to you?” Uncle Paul’s voice interrupted Leo’s detached reverie. “What are you looking for? Has there been any change?”
“The doctor tells me she’ll wake up any time now, but I’m afraid to leave. I might miss something. I wasn’t paying close enough attention at home and look what happened.” There was a long pause, and then her father said, “I’ve been given something many parents never get, a second chance, and I don’t want to mess this up. Only three years left until she graduates.” Her father gently squeezed her hand. “I promise you, Leo, nothing like this will happen again.”
Uncle Paul’s voice moved closer. “What can I do?”
“There’s only one other time everything seemed so out of control. The first, was the night she was born.”
Uncle Paul returned. “Your life was incredibly complicated then.”
The familiar voices kept her grounded even as memories of childhood and Jake spun around her. Her father and uncle were by her side, chatting as they had done her entire life. But this must be a hallucination. They never talked about the night she was born. She had a mother, Emily. But she died. How? When? Leo didn’t have the details. All she had were a few pictures. She desired more than anything to have her mother’s story. Filling in the holes, the empty pockets of longing Leo carried all the time, was impossible without information. Please keep talking, even if this is just a dream.
As if hearing her thoughts, her father’s voice resumed. “Remember how we waited until visiting hours were over, long after Emily’s parents left the hospital.”
“You were terrified they’d return and find you. I had to peek into the room to make sure everything was clear.”
“I felt like a thief of the night bearing gifts. The nurse told me not to be scared, and that fathers were welcome anytime.”
She had been waiting her entire life to hear this narrative. Leo willed herself to focus on the words and not drift off.
Her father’s soft-spoken voice pulled her along. “The room’s only illumination came from a night light. When my eyes adjusted, I could see Emily had fallen asleep while feeding our little one. The bottle rolled onto the bedding. Emily’s hair fell across an infinitely small body, and there, pushing tiny fingers through the baby blanket toward me, was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. As I took Leo from Emily’s arms, her little face intently scrutinized me. And when her tiny fist gripped my finger, holding on for dear life, all the blood in my body rushed toward my heart. Thank goodness for the reclining chair. I knew then I would do anything, stop the earth’s gravitational pull, or work a hundred jobs for my newly formed family. But I messed up, Paul. I lost Emily and almost lost Leo.”
Hearing the pain in his voice, she somehow had to reach him. Through oppressive dullness, she willed herself to move. And finally, her fingertips responded, tapping lightly against the cotton sheet. As the brain fog dissipated, acidic smells of disinfectant, a scent so strong she could taste it, assaulted her–and a new reality sunk in. She was in the hospital. Something terrible must have happened. She could see fuzzy gray socks put on askew. The white tread on the bottom bunched around bony ankles. Were those her legs? They belonged to someone who lived in a nursing home, not those of a teenager. She was awake now. Leo looked toward the voices of the men who raised her.
