Chapter 5 [[Draft]]

Certainty Betrayed

Chapter 5

Robert

Robert was startled by pounding on the bathroom door. “Hey Lock! Call your dad! He said it’s important!” How the hell would Racer know dad called? he wondered as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. He thought about where he had left his cell phone. On the dresser, right? Was Racer messing with his phone? He wouldn’t put it past him.

He finished showering, dried off in the tub, then hung his towel on a hook above the toilet as he stepped onto the bare linoleum floor of the tiny bathroom. He threw on the pair of clean white briefs hanging from the door knob, grabbed the old pair from the floor, and opened the door.

As he came into the hall and headed for his bedroom, Racer yelled from the living room of the small apartment they both shared. “Did you hear me? Call your dad.”

Robert stopped at the opening to the living room. John Parker, called “Racer” by virtually everyone who knew him, was sitting on the edge of the couch playing Call of Duty on the giant 80-inch television that took up most of the opposite wall. It was the WWII version. “How do you know my dad called? Do you have my phone?”

“No. You didn’t answer so he called mine. He said it’s important.” Racer replied without pausing the game.

“Really? OK. Thanks.” Robert replied and turned back toward the bedroom. As he entered his room, he tossed the dirty underwear into a basket by the closet and walked over to the bedside table. His phone showed three missed calls from his father. He threw on a pair of basketball shorts and a tee shirt, sat at the side of the bed, and dialed his father.

Richard O’Loughlin answered on the second ring. “Robert?”

“Yeah dad. What’s up?”

“No easy way to tell you. James is in trouble.”

“Trouble... What’s going on?”

“A detective up in Michigan called me. James is missing. They say he broke out of a mental hospital. They say he killed some people.”

“James? No way. James doesn’t kill people.”

“That’s what I said too. I had trouble just getting him to go to Kick Boxing classes. He was always afraid he’d hurt someone. And he tried to drop wrestling after his first real match.”

“Yeah. This doesn’t make sense. Why do they think he’s involved?”

“They said they have video of him killing a nurse. I don’t know what to think. Someone needs to go up there. If they think he’s dangerous, they might shoot first and arrest later. Can you go? There’s no way I can.”

Two years ago, Richard had suffered a stroke. The tough old man had worked hard to recover, but at seventy years old, there was only so much he could do. He was still weak on his left side and walked with a walker. Robert had noticed other changes following recovery. His father, always strong and forceful, had become softer and slower of thought. He’d allowed Nancy to take over many of the household responsibilities like paying bills and making appointments. He sometimes lost his train of thought or repeated himself. These behaviors were in sharp contrast to the highly disciplined and stoic man Robert had known most of his life.

“They said he broke out of the hospital, Robbie. They say he killed people! That’s just not possible!”

Robert could hear the suppressed stress in his father’s voice. He sat on the bed for a moment without responding. His mind was racing in a way that wouldn’t let him focus on a single thought.

“Robbie?”

His father’s voice brought him back to focus.

“I think I can go up there. We’ve only been back for a few weeks, and I have plenty of leave. I’ll need to call my CO. Let me see what I can do. Where’s mom?”

“She’s been in the bedroom for the last hour. She hasn’t stopped crying. She tried calling the group home, but they couldn’t tell her anything.”

“Have her call me when she’s feeling better. I’m going to call my CO.”

“OK. I wish I could go. I hate asking you.”

“He’s my brother, Dad. I’ll go. You take care of mom. I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“Thank you Robbie.”

“Love you Dad. Bye.” Robert tapped the phone to end the call.

“Trouble?” Robert looked up to see Racer standing in the doorway.

“Sounds like it. I need to go up to Detroit. My brother needs me.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Probably not. Just don’t destroy this place while I’m gone.”

“No promises. And Lock?” he said, using Robert’s team nickname, short for O’Loughlin, “Call me. For anything.”

“Thanks Racer. I will.”

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“The captain has started his initial descent. Please fasten all seatbelts, place all seats in their upright positions, and close all seat trays. We will pass through the cabin one more time to collect any items you wish to discard. We thank you for trusting Delta for all your traveling needs.”

Robert watched out the window as the plane came in for landing at Detroit Metro Airport. He pulled his backpack from under the seat and stowed his ear buds and phone. He looked around and smiled to himself when the plane came to a stop at the gate and everyone stood up in the aisle. The plane’s door wasn’t even open yet. Where did they think they were going? This always amused him.

Several minutes later, as the passengers ahead of him began to file out, he moved to the aisle, grabbed a large duffle from the overhead bin, and walked off the plane. Once in the terminal, he saw that he was close to the exit. He made his way out and to the shuttles for rental cars.

Having been deployed in a combat zone for the last 16 months, Robert had accumulated a lot of money with no way to really spend it until he returned to the States three weeks ago. When reserving his rental car, he had decided to splurge and get a large SUV. At the Hertz desk, he found his name and the lot number for his car and headed to the parking lot. His assigned car was a white Dodge Durango. It had the RT package, was loaded, and had the 5.7 Hemi badge on the fender. “Yes!” He exclaimed, then laughed at himself for being excited about a rental car.

He loaded his belongings into the car, adjusted his mirrors and seat, connected his phone to the radio, and loaded his hotel address into Google Maps. Once everything was set, he headed to the gate, showed the attendant his ID, received his rental agreement, and followed the signs to the I-275 freeway.

On the 30 minute drive to his hotel, Robert reflected on the turmoil of the last 12 hours. His CO had immediately approved a fifteen day leave, but had admonished him to avoid involving himself in anything that would reflect poorly on the team. He had immediately booked the evening flight from Atlanta, then booked his usual hotel in Southfield. He always stayed at the Candlewood Suites when visiting the area. He liked having a kitchen and a living area, especially for a longer stay.

About half an hour later, his mother had finally called. Her voice sounded tired and raspy, probably from crying. They talked about James and reminisced about growing up in Troy, a middle-class community just north of Detroit. Richard had married later in life, after he had retired from the Navy. He had met Nancy at a small reception for new members after a Mass at St. Andrew’s. She was 26, he was 39, but they felt a connection immediately. They were married in the same church a year later. James came along exactly nine months after the honeymoon. Robert was born 11 months after that. The two Irish boys were true Irish twins.

They talked about how close Robert and James were growing up. How they spent their summers riding bicycles through the neighborhood, got into trouble together, double dated, and helped each other with homework. Throughout it all, Nancy had been their anchor at home, supplying them with an endless supply of support and love. Richard, their father, had given them their moral code, work ethic, organization skills, and the discipline to succeed in whatever goals they set.

And they talked about The Break. Jimmy’s life-changing admission for psychiatric care, his medications and subsequent admissions, the breakup with his girlfriend, his inability to return to college, and a few years later, his move to a group home in an attempt to gain a semblance of independence from his family.

Robert was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the time he reached the hotel. He parked the car, gathered his bags, and walked into the familiar building. Kenny, the desk clerk, greeted him by name, and processed his check-in quickly.

“It’s been a while, Mr. O’Loughlin. We’ve missed you.”

“Yeah. Been out of country for a few months. Finally got up here to see my brother.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen him yet!” Robert replied with a grin.

“Well I hope he’s doing well.” Kenny said, handing Robert his key card. “I’m here for a few more minutes if you need anything.”

“Thanks Kenny,” Robert said, taking the card. “Have a good evening.” He then picked up his bags and headed toward the stairs at the end of the hall.

Once in the room, Robert checked his G-Shock wristwatch for the time. It was nearly 11pm. He unpacked his belongings, brushed his teeth, stripped to underwear and a tee shirt, and sat on the couch. On his phone, he scanned through a few news sites looking for updates about his brother.

Local sites told him that the police were still looking for James, but they didn’t have any real leads. The press was sensationalizing the story in the usual way, trying to keep readers engaged to sell advertising. One editorial gave James’ mental health history, framed in a way that made him look like the next Charles Manson. Robert became increasingly agitated reading the article and finally tossed his phone on the coffee table in front of him. He vowed to avoid the news as much as possible going forward.

He sat for a moment and performed some deep breathing exercises he remembered from martial arts training as a kid. Once his heart slowed, he picked up the phone and called his dad. It was late, but he knew his father wouldn’t go to bed until he heard from him.

“Robbie?” Richard answered after a single ring.

“Hi Dad. I just got to my hotel and figured I’d give you a call before racking out.”

“Good. I’m guessing you haven’t tried finding your brother yet? It’s pretty late.”

“No. It’s almost 11. I’ll start in the morning. I checked the news. It’s pretty bad. They think James is a monster.”

“Yeah. I saw some of that too. It’s made the national news too. I’m keeping tabs in case they give us any clues on how to find him. Nothing so far.”

“I’ll start checking the usual haunts tomorrow. Did that detective call back?”

“No. I’ll let you know if he does.”

“See if you can get any information from him. But don’t tell him I’m here. He might not like me sniffing around.”

“Right. I’ll keep that quiet. But I won’t lie to him. If he asks, I’ll have to tell him the truth.”

“Oh yeah. For sure. But please don’t volunteer anything. If he makes me stop looking, I won’t be any use up here.”

“I’ll be discreet. You do the same.”

“Absolutely. How’s mom?”

“About the same. Not crying anymore, but still not really willing to talk about it. She’ll be OK once it’s all over. It’s the uncertainty keeping her down.”

“What if it goes bad, Dad?

“Let’s not worry about that now. Focus on what we can control and do the work. I’ll monitor news and do what I can with the detective. You focus on finding James and do what you can to protect him.”

“Right. Mission focus. Roger that.”

“Robert… Thank you. I mean that.”

“He’s my brother. I got this, Dad.”

“I love you son.”

“Ditto, Dad. Good night.”

Robert ended the call, plugged the phone into his charger, laid down on the bed, extinguished the bedside light, and was asleep 20 seconds later.

---------

Robert thanked the waitress as she warmed up his second cup of coffee. He glanced again at the yellow notepad beside his breakfast plate and took the last bite of his scrambled eggs. The pad showed a list of only six locations, places Robert intended to check in a disheartening attempt to organize his search for James. He picked up the last triangle of toast and smeared it with a healthy portion of Smucker’s orange marmalade. He slowly ate the toast as he tried to think of a better way to locate his brother.

After paying the waitress, Robert returned to the Durango and started driving to the first location on his list. It was an old tree fort the brothers had found in a small wood on the southwest side of their old neighborhood. The boys would ride their bikes along crude trails in the surrounding fields, jumping small hills, and splashing through giant puddles, trying to knock each other down, or daring each other to ride faster. They had found the abandoned fort deep inside a copse of trees and brush, invisible from the field’s edge. It was well made with a water-tight roof. They had quickly claimed it as their official hideout. They would sit inside for hours, playing with Pokémon cards, telling ever more outrageous stories or off-color jokes, or looking through a small pile of adult magazines whose racy photos caused them to feel both adolescent thrill and Catholic guilt. The old fort was a cache of treasured memories for both men. They referred to it frequently during Robert’s visits to Michigan, and always vowed to go back there sometime, but never had.

Robert parked the Durango at the side of the residential street and looked at the line of brand new cookie-cutter micro-mansions where the field used to be. The trails were gone, replaced by asphalt driveways and manicured lawns. He couldn’t see any trees behind the brick atrocities, just another row of houses and Costco playsets.

He sat in the car and stared out the window for a few minutes. Had it really been that long since he’d been back to the old neighborhood? Could so much have really changed?

He reached over to the passenger seat for the yellow notepad. He grabbed a pen from the center console and crossed off the first item on his list. James wasn’t here. Nothing was here. Everything that mattered had been replaced with ugly brick Pulte homes and screaming kids he didn’t know.

He looked again at the list. Only five more items. Would all of them be dead ends? Was he even going about this in the right way? He was a soldier, not a detective. What did he know about finding someone who didn’t want to be found? In the Rangers, they had teams of analysts who figured this stuff out. He and his brothers just went in the direction they were pointed and made things happen. Yeah, he could gather additional intel and make spot decisions, or surveil a building, but he wasn’t a trained investigator.

Robert reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the stored tension. He was starting to realize the incredible burden he had accepted by promising his father to find James. “I’m going to need help.” He said out loud, and began to consider people he might be able to reach out to.

He decided against the group home. He wanted to keep a low profile, and the group home would probably tell the police he had been asking questions. In fact, he was worried about telling anyone about his visit, for fear it would jeopardize his mission. He thought about calling his dad but decided against it. He needed someone in the area. Someone he could trust. Someone he could soundboard ideas off of and who could help him figure out a workable strategy.

He tried to think of any Batt Boys from the area. No one came to mind. He knew only three Rangers in his Regiment who were from the area, and they were all back at Benning. He wasn’t in touch with any of his childhood friends. James had been his best friend. The rest had faded into their own lives after Robert left for the Army. He began to realize how few roots had had left in the area where he had grown up. Except James.

His mind drifted to his time as an altar boy at St. Andrew’s. What about the other boys? No. He hadn’t talked to any of them in years. He did see Pete Moore once when he and James had attended Mass at Easter a few years back, but they had struggled to maintain a conversation. Pete was an accountant, married with four kids. Robert was a confirmed bachelor and professional soldier. They no longer had much in common. James had stood off to the side the entire time, avoiding the conversation.

Father Louis!

Robert sat up straight. He could trust Fr. Louis!

As young teens, both James and Robert often found themselves a bit outcast from their peers because of their sharp intellects, inquisitive minds, and tendencies to obsess upon complex ideas, especially morality, ethics, and religion. He remembered sitting for hours in the living room of the rectory, drinking iced Lipton, and solving the philosophical dilemmas of the ages with James and Fr. Louis. The kind old priest always showed tremendous patience as he used Socratic method to help the boys explore their thoughts. Robert and James had always felt safe exploring ideas with Fr. Louis, regardless of how offensive or blasphemous the ideas might appear to a more rigidly religious outsider who didn’t understand that the boys were simply exploring ideas without believing those ideas were correct.

Fr. Louis could be trusted. Robert decided to go look him up.

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As he parked the Durango in the lot outside the Rectory, Robert felt childhood memories come back with startling clarity. He and James had attended the attached school until the eighth grade. Their family had attended Sunday Mass routinely in the church sanctuary. In this building, both brothers had served as altar boys, gone to Confession, and received their first Communions. Both brothers were Confirmed with their eighth-grade classes before going on to high school. He could smell beeswax candles and hear the echoes of laughter from the vaulted ceilings as his father shushed the boys during worship, his stern look promising some kind of punishment when they got home. He remembered pouring wax from the votive candles into the small circular bases to make little wax pucks they would take home as prizes for their successful mischief. He remembered running when a teacher had almost caught them once. Sister Cordelia. Thank God they got away. The good sister was not one you wanted to cross.

Robert felt himself start to relax as he headed up the walkway to the side door of the building. He could smell the overgrown lilac bush nestled between the door and the corner of the house. The church gardener and Fr. Louis fought over that bush every year. The gardener wanted to cut it back, but Fr. Louis wanted it to grow as big as possible, filling the yard every year with an overpowering aroma of spring. The rest of the walkway was neatly trimmed and lined with geraniums in a chaotic array of red, orange, yellow, white, and purple. He walked to the door and rang the bell. Mrs. Brown, the rectory housekeeper, answered and recognized him immediately.

“Robbie!” The older woman exclaimed, giving Robert a tight hug. “It’s been years! How are you? Come in. Mind the shoes. Fr. Louis will be so happy to see you. He’s in the library. Will you stay for lunch? Can I get you something to drink? Won’t take a minute. I’m already making Tea for the Father.”

Robert, grinning profusely, agreed to a glass of lemonade and made his way down the familiar hallway to the “library.”

The library was really a large bedroom in the historic old farmhouse turned church rectory. The original owners had been wealthy horse breeders in the early 19^th century. This room had been the master bedroom, with six more bedrooms upstairs. The floor was wide finished planks of walnut, with additional walnut used for the wainscot and moldings. Above the door was a transom with a chain hanging down to a hook on the wall.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a large maple desk filled the center of the room with the desk’s chair positioned so the elderly priest could see out the bay window overlooking the garden. Father Louis looked up from a large book that lay open on the desk. From the beautiful illumination of gold and bold colors along the edges of the pages, Robert guessed it was a vintage Catholic Bible, possibly very old and very valuable.

“Robert?” Fr. Louis said, using his proper name. Fr. Louis never used nicknames.

“Hello Fr. Louis. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Oh no, not at all.” said the priest as he placed a silk bookmark on the page and closed the book and carefully set it to the side. Robert noticed it was written in Latin. He recognized the language but could no longer understand any of the text. He had never studied Latin but had picked up a bit helping James study. He had forgotten more than he remembered. “I assume you’re here because of James. Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a wingback chair near the window across from the desk.

“You’ve heard?” asked Robert, settling into the chair. He was interrupted by a knock on the open door. Mrs. Brown, without waiting for a response, entered the room with a tray carrying Robert’s lemonade, as well as a teapot and cup for the priest. The men expressed their gratitude as she served them and quietly left the room.

“I’ve seen the news reports,” Fr. Louis continued the conversation, pouring tea into his cup and adding a squeeze from the lemon wedge Mrs. Brown had included atop the saucer, alongside the ornate teacup. “Have you heard from him?”

“No. I probably shouldn’t involve you, but I need to find him. My dad and I are afraid the police will kill him if they find him first. The press is making him out to be a monster.”

“I’ve noticed that. Their portrayal is very different from the James I know.”

“Me too. I can’t believe James did what they say. But my dad spoke with a detective. He says they have it on video. He says James killed that girl.”

Robert looked down and noticed his fists clenched tight against his knees. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, opening the fists and carefully placing his hands in his lap. He looked up and met Fr. Louis’ eyes. The old man waited patiently as Robert regained his composure.

“My specialty is ancient languages and scripture, not mental health. But I’ve read a bit on the subject.” Fr. Louis was well read on a multitude of subjects. “If James is delusional, he could easily engage in behaviors that are unusual to his personality or character. I’m afraid it’s not impossible that he has become dangerous and has actually hurt people. We need to come to terms with that if we are to help him.”

Robert continued to sit quietly as the priest watched him, a look of concern on his face. A lifetime of trusting this wise and caring man forced him to consider what he had just heard. He spent several minutes attempting to reframe his understanding of his brother in a way that would let him work with the reality, despite his own emotions and preconceptions. Finding objectivity required tremendous effort, but after a few moments, he began to take the first steps toward acceptance.

Fr. Louis noticed a slight shift in Robert’s posture and expression. “I think you are beginning to accept things as they are rather than how you wish them to be.”

“I don’t want to, Father. I don’t want any of this to be real. Where is God in all of this?”

“I’m not wise enough to know God’s will or His plan in everything that happens to us. But consider this. He is with us as we navigate difficult challenges. That’s much better than trying to meet those challenges alone. Like Saint Paul, I try not to ask God to take hardship out of my life but instead ask Him to help me overcome those hardships and do what’s right. Not much of a consolation in the current circumstance, I realize, but something to consider over the next few days.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t really help right now, but I’ll think about it. But metaphysics aside, I was hoping you might be able to help me find James.”

“I’m not sure how I can be of help. I’m not as mobile as I once was. And I certainly don’t have any detective skills.”

“Yeah, me either. The detective skills I mean.” He told the priest about his very short list of places to check and how ineffective the first stop had been. Fr. Louis asked to see the list and considered for a moment.

“I think we need to approach this differently. It’s not so much about where James has been, but more about where he might go. What would motivate him to choose a particular location? What would cause him to avoid others? If he is delusional, how would that affect his perceptions of safety, security, and need?”

Robert thought for a moment. “This might take some time. I don’t know how to think like that. I’ve never experienced delusion. At least not at that level. I guess we all suffer some delusions.” He finished with a smile.

“Absolutely true. I believe you and James were once under the delusion that Sister Cordelia would tolerate adolescent pranks.”

“Ouch!” Robert said with a wince, recalling a joke played on the strict teacher in the 7^th grade involving glitter and some significant consequences. “That cured me of those delusions for sure!”

“Delusions are tricky,” said the priest, assuming his lecture tone. “They don’t manifest for everyone the same. For James, I would guess they take the form of protection, for himself and for others. Although that doesn’t seem to agree with the harm he has caused these other people.”

“Unless he’s protecting himself from them. Or protecting someone else.”

“Do you know if these hospital employees may have abused him in some way?”

“I don’t know. If they did, no one has mentioned it.”

“OK. Let’s table that for now. What else could trigger a protective response?”

Robert and Fr. Louis sat in silence, thinking of possible triggers or fears that could compel James to respond with violence.

“Does James fear his medications?” asked Fr. Louis.

“I don’t think so. When he’s stable, he’s really good about taking them. But, unfortunately, the meds have stopped working a few times. He’s been admitted several times over the years to get things adjusted.”

“OK. Maybe that’s a bad lead. Hmmm…” Both men returned to silent contemplation.

“I’m not thinking of anything.” Robert finally exclaimed in frustration.

“No, I’m afraid I’m also at a loss. We need to give it some time. We are not accustomed to James’ world. You are closest to him. Keep trying over the next few days. You might be surprised what your subconscious mind comes up with.

Oh. And don’t forget to pray. It’s easy to overlook that at times. But prayer often helps when effort and determination fail.”

“I’ll remember, Father.” Robert promised, feeling a moment of guilt for needing the reminder. God had played a much more important role in his life as a teenager. Robert couldn’t remember that last time he’d even been to Mass. He considered asking Fr. Louis to take his confession, but decided against it. Maybe Sunday.

The two men allowed the conversation to drift toward happier subjects, spending the remainder of the morning and early afternoon reminiscing, engaging in friendly discourse, and exploring deep subjects of philosophy and religion. Mrs. Brown joined their discussion briefly during lunch, adding her own pragmatic perspective to a discussion on poverty and the proper way to help the poor. But eventually, Robert forced himself to return to his mission to find James, excused himself to leave.

“Will you bless me, Father?” He had asked as the two men walked to the door.

“Of course, Robert.” The priest replied, placing his left hand on Robert’s head. He made the sign of the cross, said a brief benediction, and took Robert’s right hand in both of his. “Trust in God, son. Things might not make sense sometimes but trust Him anyway. Come back if you think I can help.”

“Yes Father. Thank you.”

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Robert looked around for police cars, and seeing none, picked up his phone. He scanned through his “favorites” list and clicked on his father’s number. Richard answered after the first ring.

“Robbie?”

“Hi Dad.”

“Did you find him?”

“Not yet, Dad.”

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Robbie?” Robert heard his mother’s voice.

“Hi Mom. I’m sorry. I haven’t found him yet.”

“Oh my gosh. OK. Let us know right away if you find anything out.”

“He will Nancy. He’s doing what he can.” Interrupted Richard.

“I know, Dick. But I’m worried.”

“We all are, Honey. Robert will find him.”

“Dad, I’m not sure how to find him. I went by the old neighborhood today. It’s changed. A lot. No way James went there. It’s nothing like what it was.”

“What’s different? Is our house gone?”

No. But the woods are gone and there are a lot of new houses. Just driving down our street feels different. Not like home. I felt like an outsider. James would too. I don’t think he’s there. But I don’t know where to look next.

“I stopped by St. Andrew’s and saw Fr. Louis.”

“Oh. Did you tell him about James?”

“He already knew. It’s all over the news up here.”

“What did he say?” Richard’s voice sounded guarded.

“Don’t worry Dad. He was his usual gracious self. He tried to help me think of ways to find James.”

“What did he come up with?”

“Nothing really. He did help me think of a different way to approach it though. I need to play with that and let you know if I come up with anything.”

“Robert, that detective called again. He asked about you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. He knows you’re up there and wants to talk to you. You need to call him.”

“Crap. I really didn’t want to get involved with the police.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you getting into trouble too. Please call him. I’ll text you the number.”

“OK. I will.”

“Please do it now. And call me after.”

“Yes sir.”

“I love you son.”

“Love you Robbie,” Nancy said over the speaker.

“I love you both,” he replied. “I’ll call back in a few.”

Robert hung up the phone.

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