“Right.”
The digital clock on the microwave emitted a bluish light that seemed to grow brighter as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. It defined the shadows of the small dining table, the computer, and printer. Though they were still wide awake, the room was perfectly still. No sounds from the bedroom. Soft, distant music from down the hall. After ten minutes, Mark pulled out his phone and checked his messages and e-mails. Nothing important. The next ten minutes seemed like an hour as the chair grew more uncomfortable.
He stared at the wall. He couldn’t see the picture of Hinds Rackley, but he could feel his eyes gazing smugly down at them. At the moment, though, Mark wasn’t concerned with Rackley and his grand conspiracy. He was worried about Gordy. Their challenge tomorrow would be getting their friend to the doctor.
5
At 2:00 a.m., Todd slipped into Gordy’s apartment without a sound and found both Mark and Zola asleep. He shook Mark’s arm and whispered, “My turn.” Mark stood, stretched his stiff joints and muscles, and walked across the hall, where he fell onto Zola’s sofa.
Before dawn, Gordy got out of bed and put on his jeans, sweatshirt, socks, and denim jacket. Holding his hiking boots, he stood by the door and listened. He knew they were in the den, waiting for him to make a move. He gently opened the bedroom door and listened. He took a step into the den, saw their silhouettes on the sofa and in the chair, heard their heavy breathing, and silently walked to the door. At the end of the hallway, he put on his boots and left the building.
At the first hint of sunlight, Zola awoke and sat up. Seeing the bedroom door open she jumped to her feet, turned on the lights, and realized Gordy had managed to escape. “He’s not here!” she yelled at Todd. “He’s gone!”
Todd scrambled out of the chair and walked past her to the bedroom, a small square space where hiding would be impossible. He poked through the closet, looked in the bathroom, and yelled, “Shit! What happened?”
“He got up and left,” she said. They stared at each other in disbelief, then walked over to break the news to Mark. The three hurried down the stairs and along the first-floor hallway to the building’s rear door. There were a dozen cars in the parking lot but none of them belonged to Gordy. His little Mazda was gone, as they feared it would be. Zola called Gordy’s cell but of course there was no answer. They returned to the apartments, locked the doors, and walked three blocks to a diner where they huddled in a booth and tried to regroup over black coffee.
“There’s no way to find him in this city,” Mark said.
“He doesn’t want to be found,” Todd said.
“Should we call the police?” Zola asked.
“And tell them what? Our friend’s missing and might hurt himself? These cops are busy with last night’s murders and rapes.”
Todd asked, “What about his parents? They probably have no idea what shape he’s in.”
Mark was shaking his head. “No, Gordy would hate us forever. Besides, what can they do? Hurry over to the big city and start searching?”
“I agree, but Gordy has a doctor somewhere, either here or back home. A doctor who knows him, who’s treated him, who’s prescribed the meds, someone who should know that he’s in bad shape. If we tell his parents, they can at least inform the doctor. Who cares if we piss off Gordy as long as he gets some help?”
“That makes sense,” Zola said. “And the doctor is here. Gordy sees him once a month.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No. I’ve tried to find out, but no luck.”
Mark said, “Okay, maybe later, but for now we gotta find Gordy.”
They drank coffee and pondered the impossibility of finding him in the city. A waitress stopped by and asked about breakfast. They declined. No one had an appetite.
“Any ideas?” Mark asked Zola.
She shook her head. “Not really. In the past week he’s disappeared twice. The first time he took a train to New York and was gone for three days. When he got back he didn’t say much, just that he was on the trail of the Great Satan. I think he talked to some people up there. He hung around for a day or so; we were together most of the time. He was drinking and slept a lot. Then I came home from work and he was gone again. For two days, nothing. That was when he found the law professor who’d been fired from Foggy Bottom.”
“Did you know what he was doing?” Todd asked.
“No. Two days ago he locked himself in his apartment and wouldn’t see me. I think that was when he moved the furniture and went to work on the wall.”
“How much do you know about his condition?” Mark asked.
She took a deep breath and hesitated. “This is all confidential, guys, you understand? He swore me to secrecy.”
“Come on, Zola, we’re all in this together,” Mark said. “Of course it’s confidential.”
She glanced around as if others were listening. “Back in September, I found his pills, so we talked about it. He was diagnosed as bipolar when he was in college and didn’t tell anyone, not even Brenda. He told her sometime later, so she knows. Through therapy and meds he’s kept things together nicely.”
“I never knew it,” Mark said.
“Neither did I,” Todd said.
Zola continued. “It’s not unusual for people who are bipolar to reach a point where they believe they no longer need the meds. They feel great and convince themselves they can live just fine without them. So they stop taking them, things soon begin to spiral down, and they often turn to self-medication. That’s what happened to Gordy, though he was also feeling a lot of other pressures. All this law school mess, couldn’t find a job, the loans, and to make it all worse he felt as though he was getting pushed into a wedding. He was in bad shape by Thanksgiving but worked hard to conceal it.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because he would hate me. He was convinced he could man up and somehow survive. And, looking back, most of the time he was okay. But the mood swings got worse, as did the drinking.”
“You should have told us,” Mark said.
“I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never dealt with something like this before.”
“Pointing fingers will not help right now,” Todd said to Mark.
“I’m sorry.”
Todd glanced at his cell phone and said, “It’s almost eight. Nothing from Gordy. I’m supposed to go to the bar at noon and work a shift. What’s everybody else doing today?”
Zola said, “I go in at ten for a few hours.” She was working as a temp in a small accounting firm.
Mark said, “Well, I came back early to get away from home and hopefully put together a plan to start studying for the bar exam, but I really don’t want to. I suppose I’ll drift on over to Ness Skelton and kill the day sucking up to my future bosses, trying to appear needed and relevant. For no pay, of course. I’m sure they need some help in the copy room.”
“Gotta love the law,” Todd said. “I’ll accomplish more in the bar.”
“Thanks.”