https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BFHX25G

Walking Homeless

Book Three

The Final Chapter

By

Al Lamanda

Copyright by Al Lamanda 2018

Chapter One

Father Simon watched as John Tibbets and several other men made repairs to the roof of one of the church’s shelters in the neighborhood known as Old Montreal.

French was the dominant language, but a quarter of the population spoke English and Father Simon was fluent in both.

John Tibbets spoke five languages, including French and Italian. What was amazing about that was that Tibbets had total amnesia and, other than his name, could remember no other facet of his life, even how he arrived at the shelter. .

Not where he came from, his family, friends or profession. The best doctors and psychiatrists in town all assured Simon that Tibbets wasn’t faking it, that his condition was very real. They were puzzled that after months of treatment, he made no progress in recovering his memory.

His life seemed to begin the day he arrived at the church.

At the bottom of a ladder, Tibbets shouldered two, eighty-pound bundles of roofing shingles and climbed the ladder with ease.

Tibbets was an amazing man for sure. His face was all hard edges and displayed a man who could be forty-five or sixty-years-old. His body was another matter entirely. Blessed with the height of six-foot-four, Tibbets had the build of a champion heavyweight boxer. His strength and stamina were incredible as we his reflexes. He could carry bundles of shingles up the ladder all day and appear never to tire.

Somewhere, in another life, John Tibbets was a somebody to be reckoned with. The many scars he displayed on his chest and arms told a story, but doctors were unable to unlock his minds to find out what that story was.

In this life, he was a homeless man with no money or possessions who showed up on the mission’s doorstep nine months ago looking for no more than a meal and a warm bed for the night.

However, Tibbets was unlike any homeless man Simon had ever seen at any of the church’s eight missions. Although he had amnesia, his mind was as sharp as a tack, which Simon soon learned when Tibbets conversed in several languages. He was also in superb health and had excellent teeth, something rarely found among the homeless population.

The doctors, nurses and psychiatrists who volunteered at the missions all found Tibbets a fascinating subject.

Especially the psychiatrists. They poked and prodded him and submitted him to dozens of tests to determine if his amnesia was real and every one agreed that it was. They also agreed that he was highly intelligent and during the testing they learned that Tibbets spoke English, Italian, French and German.

It was learned later on that he spoke a fifth language, Latin. How on earth did he learn a language that died a thousand years ago?

Unlike most that stayed at the mission shelter, Tibbets regularly went to church. Not to mass, but to the church where he would sit quietly and reflect. He earned money doing odd jobs at the mission sites and he would always stop in and give ten percent of what little he earned to the church.

One afternoon, when Tibbets was sitting in a pew, Father Simon happened by to the church and watched Tibbets put money into the collection bin at the altar. Simon struck up a conversation with Tibbets and although Tibbets faithfully donated ten percent of his earnings to the church, he had no idea why he did this.

While they were talking, Tibbets seemed to mentally fade away and then suddenly started talking in Latin, one of the deadest languages of all.

Tibbets had no idea where or how he learned the language and in fact, didn’t know he spoke it until he started speaking in it to Father Simon.

Simon rarely spoke Latin anymore and was rusty and could barely keep up with Tibbets.

“Father Simon, how are things going?” Robert Gibson asked as he approached the priest.

Gibson, mission director for all eight locations and two churches, the soup kitchens and meals delivery programs often planned surprise visits, which this was one of.

“Hello, Bob,” Father Simon said. “What brings you around on this fine spring day?”

Gibson looked up to the roof at Tibbets.

“Him,” he said.

Simon looked at Tibbets. “Him? Why?”

“Father Simon, we need to talk,” Gibson said. “Let’s get out of the sun and grab a cup of coffee.”

*****

It was between meals in the mission cafeteria, but the eighty cup coffee maker still had hot coffee in it and Father Simon filled two cups and took them to a table.

“So Bob, what about John Tibbets?” Simon asked.

“The board of directors is becoming rather nervous having him around, Father,” Gibson said. “They would like to see him find a place to live on his own, I’m afraid.”

“But why?” Simon asked. “What happened last week was …”

“No accident, Father,” Gibson said. “John Tibbets is a very dangerous man to have living in our shelters.”

“I was there, Bob,” Simon said. “I witnessed the entire incident.”

Gibson took a sip of coffee and then nodded. “Okay, Father, you tell me what you witnessed then.”

Simon sighed before speaking. “We were making repairs to the soup kitchen a few blocks from here,” he said. “We had just finished and were leaving when we heard a woman scream from the alleyway beside the kitchen. Besides myself and John, three other men were present, but only John ran into the dark alley. He saved a woman from certain harm and probably much worse.”

“But you never actually witnessed what transpired?” Gibson said.

“No, but he saved the woman from certain …” Simon said.

“The police report states that one man suffered two broken arms,” Gibson said. “Another a busted spine and the third a broken jaw. Two of them men were armed with hunting knives.”

“I know all that,” Simon said. “Before that incident John Tibbets never so much as raised his voice to anyone in anger.”

“The question posed by the board is how does a homeless man with no memory rush into an alleyway and subdue three men attacking a woman and send all three to the hospital?” Gibson said.

“Perhaps he was in the military and received special training and in the heat of the moment that training kicked in?” Simon said.

Gibson took another sip of coffee. “The local police and the Mounties have conducted a countrywide background check on Mr. Tibbets and he simply doesn’t exist. No birth records, driver’s license, medical records, nothing. How do you explain that, Father?”

“I can’t,” Simon said. “But what I can tell you is that John Tibbets is not a threat to anyone at the mission.”

“How can you be so sure, Father?” Gibson said. “What if something snaps in his mind and he hurts or kills someone at the mission, what then?”

“You’re assuming he’ll snap and go crazy,” Simon said.

“And you’re assuming he won’t. Are you prepared to bet someone’s life on that assumption? The board isn’t.”

Simon and Gibson looked at each other for a quiet moment.

“You’d put a man on the street with winter just two months away?” Simon said.

“I didn’t say that. There are options,” Gibson said. “First the Mounties are contacting the American FBI about Tibbets. Perhaps he is an American and wanted for something. A psychiatrist from the police will be by in a few days to interview him and make a determination. We’ll just have to wait and find out.”

“In the meantime?” Simon asked.

“In the meantime, do nothing,” Gibson said. “Until I get back to you.”

Simon nodded.

“After all, we are a charitable organization,” Gibson said.

Chapter Two

After the evening meal, Father Simon visited the men’s sleeping quarters at the mission to speak with John Tibbets.

He wasn’t there.

Simon remembered that today the men working on the roofing project were paid and Simon knew exactly where to find Tibbets.

*****

Except for Tibbets seated in the first pew, the church was empty. A dozen or more candles burned at the altar railings and Tibbets seemed to be watching the tiny flames.

Simon walked to the first pew and sat beside Tibbets.

“Hello, John. Giving to the church again?” Simon asked.

“Fourteen dollars. I lit one candle for each dollar,” Tibbets said.

“That’s a good sum, John,” Simon said. “And not that it isn’t appreciated, but I’m still wondering why you donate so faithfully.”

“I guess because it makes me feel good, Father,” Tibbets said. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No, John, not at all. The church is supposed to make people feel good. About themselves, about God.”

Simon paused as he thought about what he was going to say next.

“John, have you given any thought as to what you’ll do when you leave the mission?” Simon said.

“Leave? Why would I leave?” Tibbets asked.

“You’re healthy, intelligent and capable of earning a living,” Simon said. “I should think you’d want a place of your own.”

Tibbets looked at Simon. “Are you asking me to leave?” he said.

“No, but I am asking why you want to stay here?” Simon said. “You seem capable of so much more.”

“It’s because of those men I beat up, isn’t it?” Tibbets asked.

“I have to be honest with you, John, there are concerns,” Simon said.

“Those men would have raped that woman or worse,” Tibbets said. “What was I supposed to do, nothing?”

“As much as I dislike violence, you did the right thing,” Simon said.

“Then why do you want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that, John,” Simon said. “I said there were concerns and not by me, but by the board of directors of the mission.”

“Concerns about what?” Tibbets said.

“Don’t get upset, John,” Simon said. “A police doctor will be coming by to speak with you. Just answer his questions and I’m sure everything will be fine. Okay?”

Tibbets nodded.

“Now then, let’s grab a cup of coffee in the mess hall and if you don’t tell anybody, a cigarette or two,” Simon said.

*****

As he did almost every night before going to sleep and again upon awakening in the morning, Tibbets did pushups and sit-ups.

He varied the positions, sometimes using a narrow stance, a wide stance, placing his feet on a box and oftentimes clapping between each pushup. He never counted how many he did; he just kept going until his arms gave out.

He did sit-ups with his knees bent and his feet tucked under a cot. He also didn’t count the repetitions and stopped only when his stomach wouldn’t allow one more sit-up.

Sometimes he mixed in slow leg lifts.

He had no idea why he did this routine twice a day, just that he was compelled by something to do so.

Sometimes the men in the shelter would count the repetitions out loud and sometimes they would just ignore him.

Tonight they ignored him as most were asleep.

After the final sit-up, his stomach on fire, Tibbets went to his cot, turned down the blanket and settled in to sleep.

When he first arrived at the mission, he suffered from bad dreams. Every night something haunted his sleep. Horrible images invaded his sub consciousness that in the morning faded upon awakening.

Occasionally he would experience ‘waking dreams’ where he would stare off into space and experience a flashback or hallucination of something vivid and real that would fade from memory when he snapped out of it.

The ‘waking dreams’ also stopped happening a few months after he arrived at the mission. He attributed that to feeling safe and secure with a roof over his head and three squares a day.

“Hey, John, you awake?” the man in the cot to his right said.

“Yes,” Tibbets said.

“It’s me, Marty,” the man said. “Got any cigarettes?”

“Hold on.”

Tibbets reached for his shirt on the chair beside his cot and fished out a pack of cigarettes and removed two. He passed one to Marty and lit his with a paper match, then tossed the matches to Marty.

“Thanks, John,” Marty said.

A few moments of silence passed.

“Hey, Marty, have you ever given any thought to leaving and finding a place of your own?” John asked.

“You mean like an apartment or something?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m in my sixties, John, where would I go?” Marty said. “Besides, an apartment costs money and lots of it.”

“It’s just a thought,” Tibbets said.

“Sure. Well, good night, John,” Marty said.

“Night, Marty.”

*****

After breakfast, Tibbets reported to Father Simon for the day’s work.

“A crew is needed to repair a roof on a public housing building, John,” Simon said. “I think you and five others should be enough. Report to the bus in ten minutes.”

Simon drove the bus and Tibbets sat in the first seat to Simon’s right.

“Father, I’ve been thinking about something,” Tibbets said. “What would it cost, a small apartment? One room, I mean.”

“I don’t know, John,” Simon said. “But aren’t you getting ahead of the game? You haven’t even seen the police psychiatrist yet.”

“I want to be prepared,” Tibbets said.

“We can do some checking tonight if you’d like,” Simon said. “But, let’s not make any decisions in haste.”

*****

Father Simon joined Tibbets in the mess hall for the evening meal. Beef stew with fresh bread was the main course. Several types of pie and coffee served as dessert.

“I made some phone calls, John,” Simon said. “A small apartment in a city owned subsidized building wouldn’t be that expensive at all. About four hundred a month.”

“Could I still work at the mission?” Tibbets asked.

“You can, but I believe I have a better offer,” Simon said. “A six-story building needs a caretaker,” Simon said. “The position comes with a two-room apartment and a salary of two hundred and fifty dollars a week. Your only expenses will be food and clothing.”

“What does a caretaker do?” Tibbets asked.

“Minor repairs, take out the garbage, shovel snow off the walk, and keep the hallways clean,” Simon said.

“I can do that,” Tibbets said.

“I know and I’ve arranged for you to meet with the man who does the hiring for the city tomorrow morning,” Simon said. “Take your best clothes to the laundry room and be ready in the morning.”

“Thank you, Father,” Tibbets said. “But, if I get the job, can I still donate to the church?”

“Of course,” Simon said. “I see no reason why not.”

“I’ll get over to the laundry right after supper,” Tibbets said.

Chapter Three

After his interview with the city manager of subsidized housing, Tibbets was asked to wait in the hallway.

Father Simon sat in a chair opposite the desk.

The city manager’s name was Green and he looked across his desk at Simon. “He appears exactly what we need for the building, Father. Can you vouch for his character?”

“I can, but you should be aware of this,” Simon said. He removed the folded police report from a pocket and gave it to Green.

Green read the report carefully. “He came to the aid of a woman being attacked by three men and took them on single-handed,” he said. “Is he the violent type?”

“This was the first time I’ve ever seen him so much as raise his voice,” Simon said.

“He’s to be commended for his action,” Green said. “Not punished for it. If you can vouch for his character I would like to give him a chance.”

*****

“Pack your belongings, John, you start tomorrow morning,” Simon said as he started his car.

Seated next to him, Tibbets said, “That will take all of ten minutes, Father.”

“Have you stashed away any money from all your hard work, John?”

“Close to two thousand dollars, Father.”

“That’s a good start, John. A very good start.”

*****

All of his clothing fit into the large suitcase Father Simon gave him and Tibbets was packed right after the evening meal.

He decided to sit in the church after supper and brought two hundred dollars as a donation.

He lit a dozen candles and sat quietly in the first pew.

As the candles flickered, he stared at the altar. The interior of the church was still and quiet and he could hear his own breathing.

The light inside the church suddenly seemed to dim. A slight headache formed around his skull. Tears formed in his eyes.

He saw himself in another church someplace far away. He was alone until a man joined him in the pew.

The man was a policeman. They spoke for a few minutes and then, suddenly, he disabled the policeman and ran from the church.

Others were waiting for him outside the church and he ran away into the night.

Tibbets blinked his eyes and ended the ‘waking dream.’

“Am I a criminal?” he said aloud.

*****

Father Simon drove Tibbets to the apartment building in the morning. Green had called a tenants meeting in the lobby to introduce them to the new building caretaker.

The six-story building housed four apartments on the first and second floor and six apartments from the third floor to the sixth.

Most of the tenants worked, but about fifty attended the meeting.

Green put a notice announcing the arrival of the new caretaker on the mailboxes for those not at the meeting.

“Can you fix a leaky pipe?” a woman of about thirty asked.

“I can,” Tibbets said.

“I’m in apartment 4E,” the woman said.

“He’ll see to it right after I show him his apartment,” Green said.

The two-room apartment was in the basement. One room comprised of a kitchen and living room area, the second a bedroom. Both were neatly furnished, including a television.

“You’ll find everything you need in the basement storage area, John,” Said. “Garbage cans get put out on Tuesday and Saturday. The halls are mopped once a day. Tools and everything you need are on work benches. I hope you’ll be comfortable and happy here.”

“I’m sure I will,” Tibbets said. “I guess I’ll check the pipes in 4E now.”

“My number is on the refrigerator if you need anything,” Green said. “You’ll be paid every two weeks, but if you need some money to hold you over just ask.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Tibbets said.

“Good luck,” Green said.

After Green left, Tibbets changed into work clothes and opened the apartment door that led to the basement storage area. He found a toolbox and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

He knocked on the door and after a few seconds the woman from the lobby opened the door.

“You said about a leaky pipe,” Tibbets said.

“Come in,” the woman said. “It’s under the kitchen sink.”

Tibbets followed her to the kitchen where he opened the cabinets, removed a flashlight from the tool box and got on his stomach to check the pipes. “The elbow joint is leaking,” he said. “I can patch it with plumber’s tape until I can buy a new one.”

He ripped off a long piece of tape and sealed the leak at the joint and then closed the cabinet door.

“I’ll try to have the joint replaced tomorrow,” he said.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

*****

After several days, Tibbets had settled into the job nicely. The tenants were pleasant and the work wasn’t nearly as hard as roofing. On Tuesday morning, he brought the twenty garbage cans from the back courtyard through the connecting tunnel to the sidewalk for sanitation removal.

The sanitation truck arrived at eight in the morning to empty the cans. Tibbets waited in front of the building for the cans to be emptied so he could return them to the courtyard.

He sat on the front steps and lit a cigarette. Walking along the sidewalk, an attractive woman of about thirty approached the building pulling a grocery cart that was loaded with groceries. She stopped at the steps.

“You must be John, the new building caretaker,” she said.

Tibbets stood up and nodded.

“I’m Claire Bowley from 5E.”

“Nice to meet you, Claire,” Tibbets said.

“My toilet runs,” Claire said. “Is that something you can fix?”

“Yes,” Tibbets said. “I’ll be up as soon as I replace the garbage cans.”

Claire nodded and was about to drag the heavy cart up the stairs when Tibbets simply lifted it and took it to the lobby for her.

“Well, thank you, John,” Claire said.

“I’ll be up in a little while,” Tibbets said.

*****

Claire Bowen had two children. A daughter named Julie, who was seven and a son named Robert, who was five and who she called ‘Chip’ after his father, because he was a chip off the old block.

A neighbor down the hall watched the kids while Claire did her grocery shopping.

“They’re usually in school when I go shopping, but today was a teacher’s day and school is closed,” Claire explained to Tibbets as she let him into the apartment.

Julie and Robert looked up at Tibbets.

“You’re big,” Julie said.

“Honey, go watch cartoons with your brother while Mr. Tibbets fixes the toilet,” Claire said.

Tibbets followed Claire to the bathroom where he could hear the gurgling coming from the water tank.

He removed the tank cover and immediately realized the rubber ball and seal had worn out and was causing the gurgling noise.

“It needs a new flushing unit,” Tibbets said. “Is there a hardware store nearby?”

“At the strip mall about three blocks from here,” Claire said.

“I’ll be back with a new fixture,” Tibbets said.

*****

Tibbets found the strip mall without any trouble and purchased a new fixture for the toilet and kept the receipt as Green had instructed. He walked around for a few minutes and made note of a grocery store, clothing store and electronics store.

Claire answered the door when he returned to her apartment.

“I just made a pot of coffee, would you like a cup?” she asked.

“Let me change this fixture first.”

After turning off the water, Tibbets drained the tank and changed out the fixture. He filled the tank and flushed the toilet several times to test it.

“All set,” Tibbets said when he entered the kitchen.

“Good. Sit. I like company when I have coffee,” Claire said.

Tibbets took a seat at the table. “Where are the kids?”

“Next door playing with the Bowman children,” Claire said.

She filled two cups with coffee and sat opposite Tibbets said.

“So, how do you like our building?” Claire asked.

“It’s a big upgrade from my last residence,” Tibbets said.

“Where was that?”

“The shelter for the homeless at the mission church.”

“You were homeless? You seem like a smart, capable man, how did you wind up in a situation like that?”

“I don’t know.”

Claire sipped coffee and looked at Tibbets over the rim of the cup. “You’re playing with me,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” Tibbets said. “I’ve been diagnosed with amnesia and spent the last year at the shelter.”

“Amnesia? For real?” Claire said.

“For real,” Tibbets said. “I have no idea where I come from, what I do or pretty much anything else except for my name and even that might not be real.

Claire stared at Tibbets.

“It’s true,” Tibbets said. “The doctors worked me over for months without results. Father Simon, he runs the mission, he helped me a great deal. He got me the job and apartment. I owe him a lot.”

“If you have amnesia, how do you know how to fix things?” Claire asked.

“I have no idea,” Tibbets said. “Sometimes I look at something and I know how it works or how to fix it. I speak five languages and have no idea why or how.”

“Five … like what?” Claire said.

“Like French,” Tibbets said in French. “And Italian,” he said in Italian. “And German,” he said in German.

Amazed, Claire stared at Tibbets.

“And Latin,” Tibbets said in Latin.

“What is … what was that?” Claire said.

“Latin.”

“Latin? You mean like they speak in church, or used to?”

“Afraid so.”

Claire sipped coffee as she looked at Tibbets. “Well, John, maybe you have amnesia and don’t know who you are right now, but my guess is you used to be somebody important.”

“I used to wonder all the time. It gave me headaches. I don’t anymore.”

“One thing I can tell you, you’re not Canadian,” Claire said. “Your accent is more American. I know. I’m from Michigan.”

“Michigan? How did you wind up in Montreal?”

“My husband is from Montreal,” Claire said. “He … was a computer technician with a firm that has office in the states. After we married he transferred back to Montreal.”

“You said was?” Tibbets said.

“He died two years ago in a car accident,” Claire said. “I sold our condo and we live here to save money. I plan to return to Michigan as soon as I have enough saved.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Tibbets said. “You’re too young to be a widow and the kids without a father.”

“It’s been rough, but we’re adjusting,” Claire said.

Tibbets nodded. “Well, I have to get back to work,” he said.

“Thanks for fixing the tank.”

“Sure.”

*****

Tibbets spent the afternoon mopping the hallways and then collecting the garbage. Each floor had a chute that led to the basement where a tenant could drop their garbage wrapped in plastic bags. The bags fell into a large bin and at the end of each day, Tibbets moved the bags into the trans cans.

The work wasn’t nearly as hard roofing and mentally not taxing at all.

By six o’clock he was in his apartment, preparing dinner in the kitchen.

He ignored the television and played the radio while he soaked in a hot tub. Afterward, as he toweled dry he inspected his body in the mirror over the sink.

So many scars. Several appeared to be from knives. Two from bullets. How did he get them and why?

He sat in a chair with a cup of coffee and wondered.

But, of course, nothing came to him.

Before bed, he did his ritual of sit-up and pushups.

He fell asleep without dreaming.

Chapter Four

Ben Freeman sat at his desk and read a field report from overseas. As head of the largest agency that didn’t exist on paper, he had a free run to do whatever it took to protect the country, its citizens and assets.

Assassinations around the globe were routine.

So were kidnapping and torture.

His position wasn’t for the squeamish. Squeamish was reserved for the FBI, where the rule of law applied and dictated policy.

The only rule Freeman followed was get the job done by any and all means necessary.

Whatever dick occupied the White House rarely communicated with Freeman and even then it required a dire emergency for the red phone inside his desk to ring.

There was a soft knock on the door, it opened and Richard Cone, his right hand man entered. An FBI Agent for twenty-five years, Cone retired a year ago to join the Agency, although it was never officially recorded.

“Got reports that two border agents have been kidnapped in Texas by a drug cartel,” Cone said. “They’re demanding ransom.”

Freeman sighed. “I’m sick of these pussies,” he said. “Send a crew down to kill them all and rescue the agents and make sure it doesn’t make the news.”

“Right away,” Cone said.

“Had lunch?” Freeman said.

“Not yet.”

Freeman stood and reached for his jacket. “Do it after lunch,” he said.

*****

The week passed quickly. On Saturday, Tibbets sat on the steps and watched the sanitation people empty the twenty garbage cans.

Behind him, the lobby door opened and Clair and her two children stepped out.

“Hello, John,” she said.

Tibbets stood up. “Good morning,” Tibbets said.

“How’s it going?” Claire asked.

“Fine. I’m enjoying my work.”

“Good. “We’re going to the park.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Tibbets said. “Do you know where I can get a bus to the mission?”

“No car, huh.”

“I can drive, but you need a memory to get a license.”

“I’ll find out and let you know later.”

“Thanks.”

*****

After putting the empty cans in the basement, Tibbets mopped the hallways and then took lunch in his basement apartment.

He was washing dishes when the doorbell rang.

“Door’s open,” he said.

The door opened and Claire entered. “I have the information on the bus,” she said.

“Good. Thank you,” Tibbets said. “There is some coffee left, would you like a cup?”

“Sure.”

“Grab a chair.”

Claire sat at the table while Tibbets filled two cups and placed them both on the table and then sat.

“I wrote it down,” Claire said. She removed a folded paper from her handbag and passed it to Tibbets.

He unfolded the paper and scanned it.

“Walk three blocks west and two blocks north to the bus stop,” Claire said. “It’s the cross-town bus and the ride takes about thirty minutes. They run every fifteen minutes until ten at night.”

“What about Sunday?”

“Same schedule except every half hour.”

“Thank you, Claire,” Tibbets said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Claire said. “Well, the kids are next store, so I better get back before they wear out their welcome.”

“And I have a sink to unclog, a bathtub that leaks and a faucet to replace,” Tibbets said.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” Claire said.

*****

Tibbets was doing pushups on the floor in the bedroom. Shirtless, he began to sweat as he neared the one hundredth repetition.

His arms burned, his shoulders ached, but he kept grinding out rep after rep.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and the salt stung. He ignored it and kept going and suddenly the aches and pain floated away and his mind zoned out and he was somewhere else.

In a city.

On a dark street.

A man was in front of him on his knees.

Tibbets saw a gun in his right hand.

He aimed the gun at the man’s head.

Before he pulled the trigger, something happened.

What happened?

The vision slowly faded.

There wasn’t one more rep in his body and Tibbets stopped, rolled onto his back and waited for the fire in his lungs to subside.

There was nothing left of the vision except a feeling of … doom.

Chapter Five

Father Simon entered the church after dark to tidy up the altar and was pleasantly surprised to find Tibbets seated in the first pew.

A dozen candles at the altar railing burned.

“John, this is a surprise,” Simon said as he sat beside Tibbets.

“Hello, Father,” Tibbets said.

Simon looked at the candles. “I see you made a donation,” he said.

“Fifty dollars. Ten percent of my first paycheck,” Tibbets said. “I was able to open a bank account at the bank in the neighborhood with my federal identification card.”

“That’s excellent, John,” Simon said. “But, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“The psychiatrist still wishes to see you.”

“Why?”

“To help.”

“Help how?”

“Maybe jar your memory a bit,” Simon said. “With hypnosis if you’ll agree.”

“Hypnosis?”

“It can be very beneficial in many cases,” Simon said. “Why not give it a try and see what happens.”

“Alright.”

“I call the board in the morning,” Simon said. “So, have you had supper yet?”

“No, but I have to catch the bus,” Tibbets said. “It runs on a short schedule on Sunday.”

“Come have supper with me and I’ll drive you home,” Simon said.

“Alright, Father,” Tibbets said.

*****

Simon parked his car in front of the building and he and Tibbets chatted for a few minutes before Tibbets got out.

“It’s nice to see you doing so well, John,” Simon said.

“As well as can be expected,” Tibbets said. “Father, do you think hypnosis really can help me? With my memory, I mean.”

“I don’t know. It’s helped many. It might, but it certainly can’t hurt,” Simon said.

“Let me know when.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, John.”

There were several messages on the answering machine waiting for him when Tibbets entered his basement apartment. The phone and machine came with the apartment for tenants to reach him after hours.

One of the messages was from an elderly woman in 3A. Her grandchildren were coming for a visit and she had a bicycle in storage and she wanted him to get it for her, if he could.

The tenant storage room in the basement was locked, but Tibbets had the key and opened the door. A switch on the wall turned on a light.

The room was filled with various objects, suitcases and trunks. He found the bicycle with the tenant’s name on it and rolled it to the hallway.

In the corner of the room, a one hundred pound heavy bag on a tripod caught his attention. A note said it belonged to a tenant that moved out two years ago.

He dragged the tripod and bag out to an empty area in the basement. It was barely used with hardly a mark on the canvas cover.

The same tenant had also left behind a chin-up bar, the type that fit into a doorframe and he took that with him to the apartment.

He attached it to the doorframe in the bathroom. Then he stripped down to his underwear and did his nightly sit-ups and pushups and added a half dozen sets of pull-ups and chin-ups to the routine.

As was his usual, he didn’t count the repetitions and worked until his arms and stomach gave out. On the new chin-up bar, he did six sets of chin-ups and then switched to pull-ups and worked until he couldn’t do one more.

*****

In the morning, Tibbets made the requested repairs and then mopped the hallways. After supper, he collected the garbage and placed them into the cans and took the cans to the sidewalk.

In his apartment, he took an old white tee-shirt and cut it into strips and took the strips to the basement.

He had no idea why or how he knew had to wrap his fists like a boxer, but he expertly wrapped each hand so they were rock tight.

Tibbets stood before the heavy bag and closed his eyes for a moment. Something he didn’t understand compelled him to hit the bag.

He opened his eyes and went to work.

For thirty minutes he relentlessly pounded the hundred pound bag and then took a break to change the sweat-soaked wraps.

With his hands rewrapped, Tibbets worked the bag for another thirty minutes until his shoulders, arms and fists ached.

He returned to his apartment to finish his routine with pushups, sit-ups and pull-ups.

Exhausted, he ran the tub and soaked in hot water with a cup of coffee. He allowed himself a cigarette.

He wondered where the compulsion to exercise so fiercely came from. Was it something he always did? In his younger days, was he an athlete of some kind? Maybe he was in the military and used to the hard exercise?

He put the cigarette out and tossed it into the toilet and then closed his eyes and rested his head against the rim of the tub.

*****

He was hiding in a bedroom on the second floor of a house. Voices from below shouted and a woman screamed. Someone slapped the woman and she fell to the floor. A voice gave orders to check the second floor.

He had a pistol in his belt. He drew the pistol, left the bedroom and went to the top of the stairs.

Two men were walking up the stairs.

He jumped down the stairs, kicking one man in the face and shooting the other in the process. He landed, shot two more men and grabbed the woman.

“Pack your stuff, we have to get out of here,” he told the woman.

*****

Tibbets opened his eyes. He could almost see the woman’s face before the ‘waking dream; faded from his mind.

He drained the tub and then ran the shower and stood under the hot needle spray until his skin was red from the heat.

Finally able to turn his mind off, he toweled dry and went to bed.

*****

Tibbets was bringing in the last of the trash cans when Father Simon arrived in his car and parked curbside.

“Good morning, John,” Simon said as he walked to Tibbets.

“Morning, Father,” Tibbets said.

“Have you a few minutes to talk?” Simon asked.

*****

Tibbets filled two cups with coffee at the kitchen table.

“This is a fine place you have here, John,” Simon said. “Very cozy and comfortable.”

Tibbets and Simon took chairs at the table.

“John, I’ve spoken with the psychiatrist and he would like to do a session with you this afternoon,” Simon said. “Here in your apartment.”

“The hypnotist?” Tibbets said.

“Yes. Is that agreeable to you?”

“”Unless a tenant has a problem, I’m generally done by five o’clock,” Tibbets said.

“Good. We’ll be by around five-thirty,” Simon said.

Chapter Six

“John, this is Doctor Paul Watson,” Father Simon said when Tibbets opened the door to his apartment.

“You look familiar,” Tibbets said.

“That’s because we’ve spoken before,” Watson said. “About a year ago in fact I interviewed you for the police concerning your amnesia. I had hoped you would have made some progress by now.”

“Sometimes I have dreams, but they always fade when I wake up,” Tibbets said.

“Maybe we can do something about that,” Watson said. “If you’re ready, let’s get started.”

Simon sat in a chair and watched as Watson and Tibbets sat on the sofa where Watson tried in vain to hypnotize Tibbets.

Watson tried several techniques to put Tibbets under, but Tibbets rejected each one and remained totally conscious and alert.

Finally, Watson gave up. “I’m sorry, John, but you’re very resistant to suggestion,” he said. “Many are, but you are particularly immune to hypnotic suggestion.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Simon asked.

“It’s nothing to worry about I assure you,” Watson said. “Some people are easily hypnotized and others, for whatever reasons, are not. John falls into the are not.”

“Could his amnesia prevent hypnosis?” Simon asked.

“No, not really,” Watson said. “Like I said, many people just can’t be hypnotized.”

“But they can be hungry,” Tibbets said.

“Now that you mention it, I could eat,” Simon said. “John, how about we go out to dinner? There’s a little Italian restaurant not far from here and it’s my treat.”

*****

Louis’s Family Italian Restaurant was established seventy years earlier when the Russo family arrived from Italy. Although the Italian population of Montreal was only about ten percent, the restaurant was wildly popular in the neighborhood.

Still family owned, the waiter was a grandson of the original founders. When he came to the table to bring menus, Tibbets spoke to him in Italian.

Delighted, the waiter responded in Italian and the two engaged in a five-minute-long conversation.

After the waiter took orders and left, Watson said, “I didn’t know you spoke Italian, John. What did you say?”

“I asked him where his family was from,” Tibbets said. “He said they were from Venice. I told him I’d been to Venice many times and it’s a beautiful city.”

Watson and Simon stared at Tibbets.

“What?” Tibbets said.

“You said you’ve been to Venice,” Watson said. “Do you remember that?”

Tibbets looked at Watson and closed his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes and said, “I don’t remember going to Venice. I just know that I’ve been there.”

“Can you remember anything about it, anything as all?” Watson asked.

“Doctor, I don’t even know how or why I speak Italian,” Tibbets said.

“John, this might be important,” Watson said. “Whenever you remember something like this or even get a feeling about something or place that seems familiar, I want you to write it down. I’ll try to see you once a week so we can discuss it. Okay?”

Tibbets nodded. “I can do that,” he said.

“That’s enough shop talk,” Simon said. “I’m as hungry as a bear.”

*****

After checking messages from tenants, Tibbets changed into sweatpants and tee-shirt, wrapped his hands and went to the storage to work on the heavy bag.

He spent about an hour hitting the bag, throwing jags, hooks and combinations until his shoulders and arms ached.

Then he returned to the apartment and did set after set on the chin-up bar until there wasn’t one more rep left in him.

He rested for a few minutes and drank some water. When he was ready, he got on the floor to do pushups.

As he cranked out repetitions, Tibbets felt his mind start to drift away.

An image formed in his head.

Of a large building.

Ornate and protected.

United States Marines stood guard at the gates.

Tibbets paused in the up position as his mind took control.

What were the Marines guarding?

What was the building?

Sweat rolled down his face and hit the floor as he strained to see the building.

For the briefest of moments, the building came into focus.

It was the American Embassy in Italy.

Then, with a snap, it was gone.

He continued doing pushups until suddenly and without warning, a pain struck his head as if he’d been hit with a hammer.

Tibbets collapsed to the floor and held his head and rolled onto his side. The pain was overwhelming and he gasped to breathe. After a few minutes, the pain slowly subsided until it was completely gone.

He sat up.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?” he said aloud.

When he stood, he felt slightly dizzy and walked slowly to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Once he felt better, Tibbets went to the living room to use the hard-line phone.

He sat on the sofa for a moment and then realized he didn’t know Father Simon’s cell phone number. Then he remembered he had Father Simon’s card in his wallet and he went to the bedroom to get it.

The wallet was on the dresser and he fished out the card and returned to the living room and dialed the number.

Simon answered on the third ring.

“Father Simon, it’s John Tibbets.”

“John, it’s after ten. Is something wrong?”

“I had a memory … I mean I was doing pushups and something happened and I remembered something,” Tibbets said.

“What did you remember?” Simon asked.

“An embassy building in Italy,” Tibbets said. “And then I had a really bad headache that lasted maybe thirty seconds.”

“John, would you like to see Doctor Watson tomorrow?”

“I would, but I’d have to take the bus.”

“Nonsense, we’ll drive to you late in the afternoon.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Get some rest and God bless,” Simon said.

*****

After making minor repairs in several apartments, Tibbets mopped the hallways and then took lunch in his apartment. After lunch, he sat on the front steps with a cup of coffee.

About to return to work, He stood when he spotted Claire pulling her grocery cart along the street. A man was walking beside her and even though he was talking, it appeared Claire was doing her best to ignore him.

They reached the steps and Claire looked at Tibbets. She appeared almost frightened.

“Hello, John,” she said.

“Hello, Claire,” Tibbets said.

“Who the fuck is this bum?’ the man said.

“John, this is Steve. He used to be my brother-in-law,” Claire said.

“What is he now?” Tibbets asked.

“Annoying,” Claire said.

“Who is this clown?” Steve said.

Tibbets looked at Steve, who was several inches shorter. “I think Claire wants you to stop bothering her,” Tibbets said.

“Get lost, pal,” Steve said. “Claire, we have to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you except goodbye,” Claire said.

Claire turned to walk up the steps and Steve grabbed her right arm. On contact, Tibbets snatched Steve by the left wrist and bent it backward and up until Steve was helpless on his knees.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will break your arm in three places if you don’t leave Claire alone,” Tibbets said.

“Please. My arm,” Steve said.

“Did you hear me?” Tibbets said.

“I … heard you. Please,” Steve said. “You’re breaking my arm for God’s sake.”

Tibbets released Steve’s arm and yanked him to his feet. “Claire doesn’t want you to bother her again and neither do I,” Tibbets said. “So please don’t.”

Rubbing his arm, Steve turned and walked away.

Claire stared at Tibbets as he looked at her.

“He won’t bother you anymore,” Tibbets said.

“Come up for a cup of coffee,” Claire said.

*****

As she poured coffee, Claire said, “Steve started coming around about a year ago. He said he always had a thing for me and now that my husband is gone, he wants to marry me. I told him no, of course, but that only seemed to bring him around even more.”

“That’s pretty disrespectful to his brother,” Tibbets said.

“To be honest, Steve is a creep,” Claire said. “And you scared the hell out of me the way you handled him as if he were a child.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Tibbets said. “He just needed to be taught a lesson.”

“You certainly did that,” Claire said. “But what scared me was the way you handled him as if you’d been doing that kind of stuff all your life. Have you?”

“I don’t know,” Tibbets said. “I just reacted to him grabbing you. I didn’t plan it, it just happened.”

“Well, I hope you’re right,” Claire said. “Even when my husband was alive, Steve always made me uncomfortable.”

“Where are the kids?” Tibbets asked.

“Next door playing,” Claire said. “I have to pick them up in a bit.”

“And I have to get back to work. Thanks for the coffee,” Tibbets said.

“Thanks for taking care of Steve,” Claire said.

*****

“Something else happened this afternoon,” Tibbets said as he filled three cups with coffee.

“First tell me about the embassy,” Watson said.

Tibbets took a chair at the kitchen table. “I was doing pushups as I do almost every night and for no reason I can think of this image of an embassy building in Italy popped into my head. I saw US Marines guarding the gates. It lasted just a second and then vanished.”

“How do you know the embassy was in Italy?” Watson asked.

“I saw the sign above the gate,” Tibbets said. “It said American Embassy in Rome, Italy.”

“Anything else?” Watson asked.

“No, it vanished as quickly as it came,” Tibbets said.

“Tell me the other thing that happened today,” Watson said.

Tibbets explained the event that took place earlier on the steps. Watson and Father Simon listened carefully without interrupting and waited for Tibbets to finish.

“This distresses you,” Watson said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m not a violent man,” Tibbets said. “At least I don’t believe so, but …”

“But what?” Watson asked.

“There was another incident not long ago where John saved a woman from being raped,” Simon said. “He put the three men responsible in the hospital.”

“In both instances you came to the aid of someone who needed it, John,” Watson said. “That’s commendable in my book. Most men would look the other way and mind their own business.”

“No, it isn’t that,” Tibbets said. “It’s that I knew how to do things like disable a man and I have no idea how or why I know these things.”

“Perhaps you were in the military or a police officer, someone with special training,” Watson said.

“We’ve discussed that,” Simon said. “The federal police are doing a background check on John. I hope to have results soon.”

“John, let’s go back to the embassy,” Watson said. “In this memory, did you see yourself in it at all?”

“The memory? No,” Tibbets said. “I didn’t.”

“Maybe you were there on vacation or business and happened to visit?” Watson said. “That could explain the memory of seeing it from the outside.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Tibbets said.

“Say you are riding in my car as a passenger,” Watson said. “And we drive to the countryside and we stop to look at a windmill. You see the windmill and remember it without actually being inside it.”

“Like window shopping,” Tibbets said.

“Yes, like window shopping,” Watson said. “So maybe the embassy was a memory from a vacation or business trip from your past.”

Tibbets nodded. “If I remember more?” he said.

“Call me directly right away at this number,” Watson said. “I’ll leave you my business card.”

Chapter Seven

He came out from under the car and grabbed the man by the ankles and yanked hard and the man fell to the ground.

In an instant, he was up and had the man by the arm and had twisted it down and around and the man was helpless.

There was a woman nearby and she screamed for him to stop.

He placed the gun in his left hand against the man’s forehead and the woman screamed again.

He looked at the woman, but her face was a blur.

The man, on his knees started talking to him. He looked at the man, but as with the woman, his face was a blur.

The man continued to talk until he released the man’s arm.

Suddenly, he screamed.

*****

Tibbets bolted awake and sat up in bed. He was covered in sweat and his heart was racing.

He turned on the lamp beside the bed, grabbed the pen and notepad off the nightstand and started to write down the dream. He scribbled quickly and then went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

When he returned to bed, he glanced at the alarm clock. It read, 2:45 in the morning.

*****

Tibbets awoke, as was his usual, fifteen minutes before the alarm went off at 6 am. He first went to the kitchen to put on some coffee and then headed into the bathroom.

Dressed and ready for work, Tibbets took coffee with a cigarette at the kitchen table before returning to the bedroom to retrieve his keys off the nightstand. Then he spotted the notepad and picked it up.

He read his notes from last night’s dream.

He didn’t remember waking up during the night to write in the notepad.

Who was the man?

Who was the woman?

Why did he have a gun on the man?

Tibbets stared at the wall in front of him and tried to recall.

He strained to see the man’s face and search for a clue as to why he held a gun on the man.

Nothing visualized.

He closed his eyes and tried to see the woman’s face, but again, nothing visualized.

Even the dark area where he stood couldn’t be seen.

Was it a city, a small town or in the country somewhere?

He decided to think about it later and go to work. He stood, took several steps and fell to the floor when a white hot pain gripped his skull.

The pain was so intense; Tibbets held his head and heard himself whimper. Tears ran down his face and he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

In the dark he saw …

What did he see?

The car behind him that he rolled out from under, he saw the license plates.

He couldn’t see the numbers.

Two words came into focus.

New York.

The pain in his skull increased and Tibbets thought he might pass out. He looked up at the ceiling and slowly everything went dark and as the room darkened the pain began to decrease.

As the pain lessened and became manageable, light returned to the room. His breathing slowed, the pain vanished.

Tibbets sat up, then stood and for a few seconds felt dizzy.

It passed and he went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Then he went through his wallet for Watson’s business card.

*****

Tibbets sat on the front steps of the building and waited for the sanitation crew to empty the twenty trash cans.

He sipped coffee and smoked a cigarette as he waited. A few tenants came out and a few went in and he exchanged pleasantries with each of them.

Claire came out with her grocery cart. “Hello, John,” she said.

“Off to the market?” he said.

She sat next to him and placed the cart in front of her. “The kids are next door playing so it’s a good time to run errands,” she said.

“Can I tag along?” Tibbets asked. “My kitchen is down to coffee and half a loaf of bread.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Claire said.

*****

They left the market with the cart filled with six shopping bags, two of which belonged to Tibbets.

The cart was heavy and he pulled it.

The route to and from the market took them through a park and as they passed through it, Claire said, “Let’s sit at a bench for a few minutes. It’s such a beautiful day.”

There was a bench against the wall of the park under a large tree. Kids were playing nearby, mothers had strollers and others walked their dogs.

“John, I’ve been thinking about something,” Claire said. “How would you like to have dinner with me in my apartment?”

“Dinner?”

“The last time I cooked for a man was my husband and it would be my way of thanking you for helping me with Steve,” Claire said.

“No need of thanks for that,” Tibbets said.

“But I want to,” Claire said. “When was the last time you had a real home cooked meal?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Tibbets said.

“Tomorrow night, seven sharp.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Yes, you.”

“Okay, but I think we should head back,” Tibbets said. “You have a half gallon of ice cream in the cart.”

When they reached the apartment building, Tibbets took his bags to his basement apartment while Claire took the elevator.

*****

“So, John, what did you do today?” Watson asked.

“Today is trash day, so I took the cans to the street and after they were empty I put them back,” Tibbets said. “Them I did three minor repairs in three different apartments and mopped the halls. Then I removed trash from the bin in the basement and placed them in cans. Oh, and I went to the grocery store.”

“So you were busy all day,” Watson said.

Tibbets nodded.

“Now tell me about your dream.”

“Let me show you what I wrote first,” Tibbets said.

Tibbets went to the bedroom and returned with the notepad and gave it to Watson. While Watson read, Tibbets filled two cups with freshly brewed coffee and then sat.

Tibbets lit a cigarette while Watson read his notes.

“John, this is quite disturbing,” Watson said.

“I know,” Tibbets said.

“This dream, have you had it before?”

“I think so, yes,” Tibbets said. “Only it might have been a ‘waking dream.’ I’m not sure.”

“John, this is important,” Watson said. “You said you saw yourself in the dream, but could you see your face or did you just assume it was you?”

Tibbets stared at Watson for several seconds. “I don’t … I’m not sure.”

“John, think hard. Try to remember,” Watson said. “This is important.”

Tibbets took a sip of coffee and then closed his eyes.

“Good, John, relax and let the memory come to you,” Watson said.

Tibbets recreated the scene from memory. He was under a car, the car with New York plates. He rolled out with gun drawn and…

Was it his face or was he a bystander?

He twisted the man’s arm and brought him to his knees. The man looked at …

“Me,” Tibbets said as he opened his eyes. “It was me. I could see my face. I couldn’t see the face of the man or the woman, but I could see mine.”

“John, I’d like you to come to my office tomorrow,” Watson said. “In a different setting, I might be able to hypnotize you and draw upon more repressed memories.”

“Where is your office?” Tibbets said.

“That’s right, you don’t have a car,” Watson said. “Take a cab and I’ll reimburse you for the ride both ways. Can you make it at one?”

“I can,” Tibbets said.

“Good. In the meantime, try to relax and not think too much about all; this,” Watson said. “It will only stress you out.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tibbets said.