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*****
The hospital staff is surprised by how quickly I recover. Physical therapy is a bitch, but I’m used to pushing my body to extreme limits. It feels a bit like basic training again and brings back some good memories for a change.
The mental stuff, well, that’s a little different.
I still don’t recall being shot. The memories of earlier in the day are pretty clear, but from the time I remember playing with Maisy to the time I woke up in the hospital, there is nothing but a brief glimpse of Don, dead in the alley.
Mark Duncan keeps referring to it all as a miracle.
“So, what?” I ask him. “Maybe I should have been shot years ago?”
“No, Evan—definitely not. I don’t want anyone thinking that this kind of damage is somehow beneficial. In fact, this is probably the most unusual and bizarre thing on the books when it comes to head wounds. The fact that you survived has odds of a million to one, probably higher. There may be other issues you haven’t encountered yet. I also don’t want you assuming that because you’re feeling better right now means your journey is over. You may feel calmer at the moment, and that’s good, but it doesn’t mean you are suddenly cured. PTSD doesn’t just disappear.”
“But everything feels different,” I tell him. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope. I want him to understand, but I can’t divulge what I’ve been doing with my life. “All the…the desire for violence in my head… I can’t say that it’s gone, but I know I want things to be different.”
“Evan, you basically had a lobotomy by bullet.” Mark crosses his arms. “Do you realize how few people ever survive such a thing?”
“Phineas Gage,” I say.
“Not a bad comparison.” Mark nods. “He wasn’t shot though—he had an iron rod blasted through his head. It also made him more violent and unpredictable.”
“But I’m the opposite. I don’t feel violent.”
“The brain is a baffling thing. There is still a lot about it we don’t understand. We do know it has a remarkable way of self-repairing. New neural pathways are generated to replace the ones that have been damaged. Even Gage improved drastically over time, and that was with what they knew two hundred years ago.”
I nod. Our session is over, and Jonathan is waiting outside the door.
“You’re due to be discharged,” Mark tells me. “I can’t force you to see me after you leave here, but I’d like you to consider it. My phone number hasn’t changed. If you ever want to get together, please let me know.”
“I’ll do that,” I tell him. “Take care of yourself.”
We shake hands, and Mark is on his way. As he leaves, Jonathan comes in with a report on business activity. He tells me all about the new bookkeeper he’s hired and how he now has monitoring software in place to watch for discrepancies. We go over some numbers and shipments, but I’m only half paying attention. When he’s done, I speak up.
“Jonathan, we need to talk about something else.”
“What’s that, boss?”
“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Jon.” I look at his face and watch his confused expression. “It’s not because I was shot—at least, I don’t think it is—but I just can’t. I never wanted it in the first place. I only did it because Rinaldo wanted me to.”
“I know, brotha.”
“You and Eddie-boy, you got everything under control,” I say. “I think maybe we should just keep it that way.”
“Are you going to leave?” he asks.
“No, I want to stay in Chicago. I’m not running away. You can even keep the shit in my name if you like, but I don’t want to control it. I don’t think I have it in me anymore.”
“You’re serious about this, aren’t ya?”
“I am. You know what you’re doing. I kinda hope maybe you’ll decide to take it all in another direction. You’re a smart guy, Jonathan. You could take all this capital and really turn it into something else. It doesn’t have to be the way it’s always been. In any case, I don’t want a hand in it.”
“I get ya, Evan. I’ll talk to Eddie-boy and let you know what we’re gonna do.”
“Sounds good.”
Jonathan stands. He pauses near the door for a long moment to look at me.
“You’re different now, aren’t ya?”
