Brainstorm. Sheldon J.D. Cohen

Gilmer is a perfect example of this. If there is a moral to this story, it would be that procrastination in getting a full medical work-up can be very dangerous. You must get the tests that Dr. Crowell ordered. You should see him very soon. I will send your doctor a full report.” Clementi paused long enough to make certain that he had made himself clear. Then he said, “Have you any further questions?”

      “Is there anything he can take in the meantime to help him relax?” asked Gail.

      “He could, but I’m reluctant to prescribe anything without first establishing a specific diagnosis. I don’t want either of you to expect some simple cure that you can obtain from a bottle. This is urgent. You must complete the medical investigation. That is priority number one.” He paused to look at George. “I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Gilmer. There are plenty of unusual medical problems that can cause your symptoms.”

      Gail could only hope that the appointment with Dr. Clementi might get George to move forward. “Dr. Crowell is out-of-town,” she said, “but we have his order for the tests so we can go ahead and get them.” Gail glanced over at George, and then she turned her attention back to the doctor.

      “Good,” replied the doctor.

      George didn’t say anything until they left the clinic. “I told you I wasn’t nuts,” he said. “Today was a waste of time. Everyone’s just passing the buck.”

      Gail was unfazed by his remarks. “If you get the tests and something curable is found, it will be worth it. No more stalling.”

      “I’ll do it, don’t worry.”

      “George, I’ll be staying home this weekend. I’m not going to visit my mother.”

      “No way. You and the kids looked forward to this trip for a long time.”

      “It doesn’t matter. I’ll feel better staying home.”

      “No,” he insisted.

      She felt threatened by his tone, enough to force her to drop the subject.

      Neither spoke much at dinner. That was a good sign to Gail, since by his very silence George offered no opposition. She felt hopeful. Nevertheless, his silence betrayed a storm in his brain, a gathering force, fueled by a chaotic internal chemistry that would soon explode and alter their lives. When Gail left home the next morning for her mother’s house, George headed to the neighborhood drugstore for more antacids.

      CHAPTER 15

      George Gilmer and family lived in a typical middle-class, blue-collar area of Chicago. There were many such neighborhoods, most of them with an ethnic majority, but George’s area included people of all ethnic origins. Most of the residences were small homes built seventy to ninety years ago. They had well-kept small front lawns and larger back yards. Intermingled with all the homes was an occasional three or four story apartment building with many permanent and some transient residents. Two of the transient residents were Larry Benson and Philip Matt. They lived about six blocks apart and approximately one-half mile from George. They were drinking friends.

      Both men enjoyed the Friday night fish fry at Traficante’s Bar and Grill located on one of the main streets that coursed through the neighborhood. Philip was a frequent patron there and he first met Larry six months earlier at the bar. Larry was six foot five inches of solid muscle with pitch-black hair, a prominent square jaw and a face that said, ‘be careful.’ He worked as a truck driver for a local bakery. Whenever he and Philip entered the grill together, owner Joe Traficante would bellow, “Here come Mutt and Jeff.” Traficante, an older man, had to explain who Mutt and Jeff was—old time comic strip characters.

      Philip was five foot seven inches with light brown hair and blue eyes. He was slender and frail appearing, in stark contrast to his friend, Larry.

      Larry and Philip enjoyed their Friday evening fish fry and two-beer ritual. Traficante had joined them for a beer since it was later than usual and the place was almost empty. The three of them engaged in small talk while watching the Chicago Bulls play basketball on TV. Afterwards, Larry and Philip left together and went separate ways to their respective apartments.

      It was after ten in the evening. Philip Matt was walking alone down one of the dark, deserted side streets. This neighborhood was perfect for him and his wife. It was handy for work and close to recreation and extensive shopping. There were several homes available for sale within half a mile of the apartment they lived in, and they had their eyes on one of them.

      Then, as he turned the corner, Phillip saw what appeared to be a man crawling along the sidewalk. As he moved closer, he could see that the man was in distress, his head bowed, staring at the ground, swaying from side to side. He was wearing what appeared to be a plastic hood. It covered his ears and his forehead to the level of his eyes. Why would anyone wear a hood like that on a nice night like tonight? Philip thought. He rushed to the fallen man’s side.

      “What’s wrong, buddy?” asked Philip. He stooped to assist, but at that moment, the stranger sprang to his feet, lunged forward with a knife, and aimed for his victim’s chest. Philip’s hands flew in the air as he tried to shield himself, but too late, he felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he crashed to the ground by a sweeping action of the stranger’s left leg. He screamed. Then he felt three more sharp pains in rapid succession—one on his hand and two in his chest. The dim light of the bungalows faded from Philip’s eyes. He felt his heart thump in his chest as complete darkness engulfed him. The stranger disappeared into the evening shadows.