To See.

Chapter One

October 2014
         When Dr. Charlie Fulton opened his eyes he decided for the first time in his life he would take a life, rather than save one. Of the roughly six hours he had been allotted to sleep, he compiled none. When he shut his eyes and forced sleep to come, his thoughts seeped in as venomous things layered in jealousy, hate and anger. His mind was slick with violence. His ability to reason and think had vanished leaving him only with a cast of primordial and instinctual needs. The point of no return was rapidly approaching, it would be only a matter of time before the sun would rise, before he would dress, get into his truck, drive the short distance to his place of work and kill his boss. Overnight, he had transformed from a self-assured calm physician to an unstable man premeditating murder, he had become Mr. Hyde.

         His plan to kill came in a series of images, like the cards of a fortune-teller, each one determining his fate. He imagined choking his victim, his hands tightly wrapped around the mans neck, thumbs pressed deeply into his bounding carotids. He imagined those dark slits for eyes bulging from their sockets, ready to pop like plump cherry tomatoes. He saw his enemies' face bright red, swollen with veins, saliva dripping from his mouth, croaking from his crushed throat. When the man's heart would stop beating, when the pain that Dr. Fulton felt vanished and vindication had set in, when his boss was dead, he would relax, smile and the world would be better.

         He dressed as the white sunlight drifted across the apartment. It made its way slowly across the bedroom floor, inching its way up a wall until it reached his wedding picture, taken almost ten years ago. She looked thinner and so much younger than she had appeared last night, after she left screaming, her face wet with guilt and wrinkled in ugly anger. He used to believe she was happy, and maybe she had been for awhile, he guessed. Their arms were wrapped tightly around one another, their bodies embraced in a kiss as she stood on her toes in heels, her hand pressed against the scruff of his face. The photo, he was convinced told him, they were happy.

         She had confessed her sins to him, her words spewing out like poison. A seven year itch that festered for another two years before it turned to an ugly untreatable wound. She wasn't really visiting her parent's house in Connecticut or away with her friends at the beach in Amagansette, nor had she ever attended that law conference in Baltimore, the one she insisted on going to, to ensure her law license would be in good standing. Many of her conferences in the city were 'date nights', the list went on. She had revealed in detail, the truth of her affair and with each admission the quality of pain increased. It was needle like, his body a voodoo doll full of pins; she loved another man now, he loved her, they had been intimate with each other many times, they dated, they held hands, they saw movies and went to restaurants, they smoked pot one night then made love, they talked about a future together. He was rich, and powerful, he was Charlie's boss.

         Charlie's mind raced to keep up, wanting to know everything she had done to him. He was aware of the self-sabotaging he was committing. He added his own flavor to each confession, worsening the situation in great leaps until his head felt full, his stress like a crock pot ready to explode.. His stomach felt like the bottom had dropped out and when she had finished he was left feeling vulnerable, scared, nauseated and alone.

         She was gone now. She had left hastily after her confession was completed. She did not seek forgiveness, she did not leave a chance to repair things, gave no hope and showed no regret, their relationship of almost a decade was over. Her razor words were precise and instrumental, cutting deeply and fatally, and she left him to bleed out.
His felt his life now was in the midst of collapse, a toothpick bridge under to much weight. He stood watching the sunlight illuminate his bed brightening the white sheets, drawing out from him a deep underlying emotional fatigue, but his body was tense and tight like a gasket under too much pressure and his anger was simmering.

         His objective was clear, his mind ready to accept any consequence. Whether he would wind up in jail, dead, or someplace else, he did not know and he did not care. The man who had done this to his life, taken his wife, would pay. There were lines that should never be crossed, rules that should never be broken and punishment was warranted. Charlie had been betrayed, someone had taken from him what he simply refused to have taken and what he wanted back was his pride.

         His shift at the hospital began two hours ago. His cell phone was constantly ringing, the voicemails piling up. He had thrown it against the wall mirror, exploding both. He'd show up today, not in scrubs or his coat and stethoscope around his neck, but today he'd dress in jeans and a t-shirt. There would be no clocking in or out, and as for the coverage the hospital would need for his sudden absence 'fuck em,' he thought, this bird is going to fly the coup. He would end his career in a spectacular fashion.

         He reached the lobby of his apartment building, nodding to the doorman as the double glass doors opened automatically. The doorman nodded back with a smirk, convincing Charlie that he had known everything about his life; his struggling career, the failing marriage, the anxiety, the Viagra Charlie sometimes used when he drank too much, his wife's infidelity, and now he wondered if he knew about the impending murder.

         His sped down the west side of Manhattan, in a 1969 rebuilt Broncho, weaving his way in and out of traffic, the tires not prepared for the tight turns. The sun was out, his top was down, the air full of warmth for a fall day. It was the kind of day, when most people were sneaking onto the beach, one last time before winter arrived. It would an awful day to die on, he thought.

         He came to his exit came, then cut east. He sped through light after light until he reached the other side of Manhattan. 'Once he sets his mind to something, look out!', he heard the words of his mother in his head as he approached the eleven story building. He pulled his badge form his glove box, swiped the magnetic parking meter and the gate lifted. He parked, turned off the engine and jumped out.
         As he approached the entrance, he walked by a black Porshe and his heart began to race. He was here, that was his car. His anger flared and for a moment he contemplated destroying the car, briefly glancing around for something to pulverize it with.
His boss was the active chief executive officer of the three hundred plus bed hospital, everybody knew his car. He was also the man who had hired him, given him his first job out of residency, and who had promoted him to director of the emergency room, only five years later. He had been generous enough and fair enough, until his wife had alerted him to her screwing him. 'Unbelievable', he thought.

         Charlie began to see his life story playing out like a bad soap opera. The ambitious go-getter top of his class Emergency Room Physician, the doctor who was determined to save lives at whatever cost, the rise of a successful career, the trophy marriage, his own office, with season passes to the Yankees. Then suddenly the cheating wife, the problems at work, the stress, the breakdown followed by his insane murderous reaction, it was all so ridiculous when he stepped outside of it, but instead of the come back, the part where he makes good on his losses and rebounds into the light, he saw darkness.
         He entered the hospital through the emergency room doors, his head was low, his pace brisk.
"Hey Doc! How you doing today? You know, they've been trying to reach you." Ralph was the obese guard who couldn't catch his breath or a snail for the matter. He had been a staple for the hospital forever, employed long before Charlie clocked in for the first time.
"Fine Ralph"
The guard went to repeat himself, but his words trailed off as Charlie sped passed him through another set of hospital doors.
"Charlie?, there you are. Shit man weâve been trying to reach you."
This time it was a co-worker, another physician.
"Hey buddy, you okay? You know you're on today, do you want me to call....?"

         He found the staircase and climbed two steps at a time to the second floor where most hospitals kept their administrative wings. He opened the door and glanced to his far right where Frank Maidvek kept his office. It was a large corner office that overlooked the East River. Charlie breathed and felt the thumping of his heart and a knot in his stomach. He walked down the hallway realizing he no plan, no words, nothing but his anger and determination. 'Once he sets his mind to something, watchout'

         As he closed the distance, the walls began to undulate. It was as if they were breathing and melting. The light above him became to bright which forced him to squint. He heard with clarity the photocopy machines, phones ringing and the faceless voices of people talking.
'You could just turn around and walk away right man? Just end this, hop in your truck and never come back, easy.' Doubt and fear began to make its way into him and suddenly there was a heaviness in his chest, his legs felt weak, his breathing shallow. He propped himself up against the wall to steady the imbalance then took several deep breaths. It only took one image of Maidvek and his wife together to steady Charlie and a moment later he was clear.
He thrust opened his boss's door and the assistant jumped.
"Dr. Fulton, can I help you? Is something wrong?" She said.
Charlie ignored the question and went straight for Maidvek's door behind her desk. She made a subtle attempt at blocking the door, but quickly realized the physical dilemma she faced.
"Please Dr. Fulton, what's wrong?"
"Get out of the way Joyce." He stared at her with a menacing gaze.

         Maybe she had known about her boss and Beth, maybe she had taken calls from Beth, Charlie thought, maybe even helped organize their time together. People in Joyce's position were often rewarded for their discrepancy and silence. They served, protected and defended their bosses, but this was usually dependent on how well they were treated, paid and cared for. When Joyce let him pass with no more resistance, he guessed her allegiance to him was the same as it was for most of the employees under her bosses control.

         He griped the locked door knob tightly, turned it back and fourth. He pounded in fury. His heart pounded harder and faster as both fists slammed the wood, his anger extinguishing any further doubt and fear he had only a moment ago. He backed up and landed one firm kick beneath the doorknob sending painful vibrations down his right leg, twisting his knee and taking the breath out of him. The door held. He lined up a second time, his knees bent, square to the door and hands out in front of him like a martial arts fighter. He connected firmly with a satisfying thud!, this time weakening the door a bit.
"Three's a charm you son-of-a-bitch" he kicked again and the door went crashing inward. The locking mechanism, fell apart falling to the floor. Charlie then suddenly fell into a kind of trance. Later when asked by the police and investigator's, he'd remembered very little from that point on.

         A presence took over, a moment to moment cascade of awareness, fueled by a raw, primordial anger and need for violence. He saw Maidvek, standing behind his desk. He was a tall, reaching at least six foot three inches and weighted at least two hundred pounds. The skin on his face was tan and looked dried out, a physical trait that made him easy to spot, especially in the winter. His eyes were dark and beady, almost alien like. As ugly as Charlie believed he was, he was regarded as strangely handsome and charismatic by many of the nurses. He was dressed in a suit, tight and cut neatly around the cuffs and waist, his tie pressed firmly into his neck and chest.
"What the fuck do you want Fulton?" Maidvek said.
"I know about you and Beth, Frank, you son-of-a-bitch, she told me all about it last night."
"Oh come on Fulton, be a man. Is that what you really came here to say? Are you here to get her back? To tell me to leave her alone?" He smiled.

         Charlie stood like a silver back gorilla primed to charge, his arms dangling at his sides full of a tingle.
"You took my wife you son-of-a-bitch, you ruined my life." He screamed.
"Let me tell you something, if it wasn't me, it would have been someone else. She doesn't love you, hasn't in a long time, take it from me I know." The words stung, piercing his chest like a thin crocheted needle being slowly inserted into his chest wall.
"Yes Charlie, that's right, years, I've been fucking her for years. I'm not the one you need to fix. Take a look at yourself man, you're a fuck-up, you're burned out. You haven't been able to do your job in years. Have you forgotten about what happened with you?" He paused.
"Please, Let me remind you. Little Happy Watson? The four year old? Ring a bell? Do you remember him? If it wasn't for me..I defended you Charlie, I stood up for you when the Morbidiy and Mortality committee wanted to fire your ass"

         He wasn't four, he was a six year old boy, Charlie remembered. Happy Watson had died that night under Dr Fulton's care almost three years ago. Charlie had pumped him up with breathing treatments, steroids and all the life saving medications he could, until he had taken his last breath. Even the tube he stuck into the boy's lungs followed by a defibrilattor had failed, he had done everything he could. The boy's body had decided it's fate. The patient behind curtain number four had died, his last breath inches away from Dr. Fulton's face.

         The parents had been understandably distraught, speechless and full of denial and anger as Charlie sat with them, as he explained to them what had happened. They screamed at him, accused him of killing their little boy, not doing enough. Happy's mother had tried to attack Charlie, kicking and punching him while a guard had forcefully held her back.

         It didn't matter, that Happy was often visited by Child Protective Services, or that Happy had been in the emergency room multiple times in the past for abusive issues including cigarette burns and broken bones. Not to mention all the second hand smoke which had likely triggered Happy's fatal asthma attack. It didn't matter that one time, his father had beaten him so badly that he had broken Happy's ribs. What mattered was there was a six-year-old boy, stiff under a blanket in room four, a boy that Dr. Fulton could not save.
         The incident had left Charlie in despair. ''You'll never move forward until you forgive yourself Charlie, You did everything you could. People die in your business.' His therapist had practically tattooed those words on his brain. But the days, month and years that followed, he had fallen into a downward spiral, obsessing over the boy's death. The ominous signs had been there that night; the paradoxal clear lungs, the decreasing oxygen saturation, the lethargy. They were all there and still there was nothing he could do, the boy had died.

         Sleepless nights and days riddled with anxiety and depression became the norm for Charlie. The combination of antidepressants and xanax helped, but left him like a rotting tree in the winter, void of any life. His days became dream like, a place where his past consumed him in grief and guilt and his future full of fear and doubt. The lawyers on both sides were all over him and it didn't matter that he had done everything he could, that he followed protocol, treated with the standard of care off, he had lost the case. The hospital had settled.

         His relationship with Beth began wearing away. He had learned all he would ever need to know about her in those months. He drank excessively, functioned poorly at work and became dependent on xanax. In the end she was all he had left, his only hope and person who might one day pull him to safety, to hold him and guide him to a better world. He was depending on her to save him from himself.

"Charlie, if you leave now, quit your job, I'll forget about everything that happened today." His boss said.
Charlie was surprised at the sudden turn to negotiation. 'Leave now, quit my job and yes, here is my permission to be with my wife.' He thought about how stupid and ridiculous his life would become if he just left, buried beneath the rubble of humiliation. He'd be stripped of his job, his wife, his friends and now he would lose his dignity? He would lose everything.
Suddenly Charlie felt a shift away from violence, his logic began to return and a plan had formed. How could he of not seen this? He suddenly realized the ammunition he had would be enough for the sweetest revenge.
"I know about everything Frank"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I didn't come here for just Beth. I know about the money you've been embezzling from the hospital, where it comes from and where it goes. I know about the overbilling, the fraud. You're a thief, nothing but a crook and I'm gonna fry you."
Maidvek's face suddenly turned a dark shade of red and his eyes burned inhumanly. He was guilty, Charlie knew.
"I'll find you and kill you Fulton, so you can try all you want to be Dr. Hero, but I'll find you and I'll bury you where no one will ever find you. Now please leave and let me get back to fucking your wife!"

         Charlie lounged forward, leaping over the desk, the logic and clarity he had just experienced burned to a crisp. He launched with legs and arms outstretched onto Maidvek like a wild cat and came toppling down upon him. A whoosh of air escaped his bosses lungs followed by a gasp of pain. They rolled and the large leather office chair toppled them. Charlie threw his arms outward, struggling to free himself. He straightened and spread his arms, sending the chair flying behind him.

         Joyce entered the room screaming and pleading for the men to stop, but Charlie's destiny was now in motion, his plan in action. Almost by automation, his arms began to swing back and fourth in short arcs, with the speed of a boxer at a speed bag. He landed blow after blow into Maidveks face until his fingers and hands throbbed and bled. He had returned to that trance like state, a black out of consciousness, but in the same instance so completely aware of the moment.

         Maidvek lay in a semi-conscious state, only grunts escaped. His eyes were already swollen and shut, blood leaked from his lip where it had been gashed, his forehead was lacerated and at least a half dozen abrasion peppered his face. His face resembled a worn catchers mitt. His nose was swollen and most certainly broken as well as his jaw. Charlie stopped his punching and as a physician, he began to instinctively assess Maidvek's condition. He would need wound closure, an oral surgeon to set his broken jaw, and a dentist to fix his broken teeth. His nose may need resetting too. He would require a hospital admission for a few days of pain control, fluids and rest, he thought. His diet may be a problem, he thought, busted jaw would require wiring to keep it shut. He'd be drinking through a straw.

         Charlie sat on Maidveks chest with a mixture of relief and disgust, but victorious. His mission had been accomplished, but a sorrow began to creep in as his breath returned. The story that had played over and over in his head was coming to an end. His boss lay motionless, the pool of blood beneath his head began to congeal. Charlie felt no breathing escape from the mans mouth or his lungs, he had killed him. It was that easy he thought, a minutes worth of violence and the man he set out to kill was dead.

         Charlie stood. He turned to see Joyce's face in shock. She stared at the still body in disbelief. For Charlie it was if a dream had ended, the vision of killing his boss replaced by a calmer unfolding.
"Call the Police Joyce."
Joyce stood still not responding to Charlie's request. Her expression suddenly changed from horrified to surprised.

         Charlie he felt something latch onto his leg. He looked down and stared into Maidvek's open eyes. His face a twisted mess of deformed tissue. Something between a cough and gurgle escaped before Maidvek took a labored breath and with one quick motion he pulled his thighs and legs to his chest, his legs cocked like springs. He kicked, slamming into Charlie's pelvis. He stumbled backward, screaming in pain. His head and shoulders slammed against a thick pained window, sending a lighting bolt crack from the top to the bottom. His scalp instantly opened revealing a gruesome gash. Charlie stumbled forward dazed and poorly oriented, his vision blurred and his thoughts no more than a realization that he was going to fall. He felt drunk and giddy, then fell to his knees.

         Maidvek stood up slowly, an impossible rising, holding himself against his desk. He coughed some more and approached Charlie cautiously. Charlie stood on his knees, wobbling and disoriented, waiting for his inevitable execution. He puts his hands up slowly, doing what he instinctively believed would be best to protect himself, but it was too late.
Maidvek sent a kick into Fulton's face.

         Charlie's body buckled beneath him. His body crumbled to the floor, his legs twisted falling awkwardly behind him. His boss took his time, slowly falling to his knees, straightening Charlie's body so that he lay supine, then straddled his body. He clamped Charlie's throat, making certain his grip was adequate before he began to squeeze. The fluidity and ease of Maidvek motions gave him the appearance that he had done this in the past and that he was now a pro at this job.

         Charlie's eye's flickered inside his almost unconscious body as he came too. He saw motes of lights dancing in front of him like a swarm of fire fly's at night. His chin was bleeding from Maidveks wing tipped shoe and he felt the warm liquid pulse from it sliding down his neck. His jaw wouldn't come together right and it hung ajar like a nutcracker solider with it's mouth open waiting for a nut. His two front teeth felt lose when he grazed them with his tongue. Then he noticed a throbbing coming from both wrists, he hadn't remembered anything specific happening to them, but they throbbed and felt as if a nails had been driven into them.
He went to breath, but nothing went in, he tried again and still no air went in. Then he realized what was happening to him. Above him, sitting on his chest was Maidvek with his knees pinning his wrists. 'Ahh!' Charlie thought, 'that's why my wrists hurt'

         The grip was like a Pythons slowly squeezing, tightening with each twitch Charlie made. He saw Maidvek's face and for a moment Charlie felt a grotesque satisfaction at the damage he had inflicted on this man, but he had failed his objective. Charlie lay like a rag-doll, to weak to move, to confused at the events unfolding above him. 'It will be over in a moment', he thought, 'just shut your eyes now, just rest'. The breath had gone from him and with one final effort Charlie tried to free his hands, then his world went black.

         It was always the same on those corny television shows. Someone would die and find the afterlife. It was an inexplicable bright white light of pure love and unconditional acceptance that was often described as a tiny spec of light that led through some kind of tunnel. It took the dead to the light where they would describe being bathed in love, joy and peace - Charlie had heard this description first hand from his patients, those that left their living life only to miraculously return minutes later. They would raise their hands describing splendid white lights, soft and peaceful, 'I was there watching, I saw myself below rising above the table, but there was no pain and I had no fear, it was beautiful, so beautiful.' Then after an unnatural amount of electricity had been pumped into their chests, their hearts would resume it's clinging to life, the lungs would take in the precious oxygen and they'd return. 'I just knew I wasn't ready to leave' Many found themselves depressed after they had returned to their physical beings craving what they had briefly experienced.

         The PhD holders speculated on the postmortem phenomenon, citing the most likely explanation were forms of subconscious expectations, images and visions accumulated through ones life unfolding like a television program. It was a kaleidoscope of memories flashing through the brain, a grand finale of imagery, before the lights finally went out and the unknown began. Christian theologians saw it as you'd either meet God or go to Hell, and the in between was the journey, the long escalators that either took you up or down. The Buddhists complicated things with Karma and reincarnation, dictating your next life as either as a human, animal, lost ghost, hell or if you were lucky, Nirvana. Most Native Americans tribes believed the souls of the dead passed into the spirit world and they would journey to a place of ancestry. For Charlie it had been none of these things.

         He saw darkness and rain and a man pointing a pistol at him. He saw an abstract silhouette against the backdrop of a storm filled sky, lit occasionally by flashes of heat lighting and rolling thunder and somewhere in the distance he thought he heard the sound of waves crashing. Rain poured over him, blanketing his vision, it felt cool. The figure in front of him was blackened by the night, coming to life when the sky lit up with electricity, it looked like a hologram of a man coming in and out. It screamed at him, like the roar of an animal, its words unintelligible, the sound deepening like the slowing of a record. The figure raise the pistol higher and straighter, then the flash of the muzzle, the kickback of the gun and the firecracker report.

         In his chest he felt a punch. He stumbled backwards as warm liquid came out. It was all in some kind of slow motion, a movie at half it's speed. He felt pain, but it wasn't sharp or terrible but uncomfortable. Then he heard the laugh, it's sound deepening, slow and eerie.

         The figure stepped forward and raised his arm again, the barrel pressed against Charlie's forehead. The man in front of him, croaked something, a cough perhaps. Charlie stared up at the sky. Suddenly a crack, thunder roared above then once again, everything went black.