Chapter Four

A Chapter by Josh Stout

John explains to Thomas what drove him into an alcohol induced coma.

Chapter Four

“I had been working at the Times for about 18 months.” John started, “I’m a junior staffer working background. You know, like a fact checker. My job is to make sure we report the correct information. So I get all kinds of reports crossing my desk: Bernard Madoff; the North Korean dictators; Wall Street companies purposely trashing markets to make profit; Syria gassing their own people; companies fleecing the government in Iraq; the list goes on and on.”

“I’m listening,” Thomas said.

“At first it was exciting. There I was in the center of it all. I would review audio, video and transcripts. After a while I began to struggle. For months I would commute into Manhattan on the F train and bury myself in the evil of the world. At night I would come home and share my day with Katy. She would always listen. Katy is a great listener. And she wanted to listen, you know? She wanted to know.”

Thomas nodded.

“Watching on the news or reading in the paper is different. I don’t know. It’s just different. I would review hours of materials for each story, checking and rechecking each detail. You get immersed, you know?”

“Yes.” Thomas said.

“I would hear their voices on the recordings. I would see photographs that we can’t show the public for one reason or another. Often it was for legal reasons but sometimes they were just graphic, horrible photos. Terrible stuff. Stuff the public doesn’t want to see. Stuff they really don’t want to know about. So we filter and we sanitize. Don’t get me wrong, we report a lot of it. But the stuff you see is cleaned and diluted. Not like the stuff we get; the raw stuff, the footage, the audio, the photos.”

Thomas nodded, listening.

“Most reporters only deal with one or two bad articles a year. In my job I had to see a lot more. I stopped talking about it. I didn’t want to dump it all on Katy. She was so happy to see me. I could tell she was lonely in New York. She had some friends but not like it was back in LA. So I would get home and just unload these horrible stories. I could tell it was bringing her down too. It was bringing our marriage down. So we’d have dinner, watch TV and I tried to keep it light. But inside I was getting depressed. I mean really depressed.”

“So the drinking started.” Thomas said.

“Yes, the drinking started. That helped but it began to affect my work. I worked hard and was in line to get a job as a reporter once a spot opened up. I just had to suck it up. So I stopped checking things, you know. Stuff that was just too much to handle. Then the Gibbs story came in.”

“The Gibbs story?” Thomas asked.

“Sergeant Gibbs. US Army Sergeant Gibbs.” John stated.

“Go on.” Thomas said.

“There was this one photo I can’t get out of my mind.” John explained. “This kid. He must have been 14. He was lying dead on the ground in Afghanistan half naked with his jacket thrown over him. A soldier smoking a cigarette kneeled down and held this kid’s head up by his hair like he was some kind of f*****g animal.”

“The Kill team.” Thomas said.

“Right. The Kill team. So this group of soldiers led by Gibbs decide they had gone too long without killing anyone.”

“I know the story.” Thomas said.

“You do?” John asked, incredulous.

“I do.” Thomas replied.

“So, then…” John didn’t know what to say. He paused to collect his thoughts. “I just stopped going in to the office. At first I made excuses. Finally I requested a leave of absence. I had money saved so we were doing okay. Wait, how?” John realized Thomas knew everything.

“How do I know?” Thomas replied calmly.

“How are you not ... I don’t know ... angry! Pissed off! Doing something about it!” John demanded.

“What would you like me to do, John?” Thomas asked.

“Well obviously you have some sort of powers. You clearly know what’s going on. So how can you just stand by and let it happen?” John was furious.

“Everyone is accountable, John.” Thomas said, plainly.

“What the hell does that mean?” John demanded. “Clearly they’re not. You know that as well as I do.”

“Do I?” Thomas replied.

“Don’t you?” Thomas’ calm demeanor helped John to calm down.

“I see we’ve reached the heart of the matter.” Thomas said.

“Ya’ think?” John quipped, still angry.

“There’s more going on than meets the eye.” Thomas said.

“Yeah, like what?” John said, now more interested.

“Well you’re here now so that’s something.” Thomas said.

John looked over at his wife. She closed the laptop lid and got up from the desk. John watched as she went into the bedroom, gathered her coat, then came back out, put on the coat, picked up her keys and her purse and left. She was undisturbed by John and Thomas.

“We’ll there is that.” John said.

“You know she’s …” Thomas started.

“Going to the hospital to see me, I know.” John interrupted.

“But you’re here.” Thomas said.

“So you keep telling me.” John replied. Then after a long pause, “Will I remember?”

“Will you remember any of this?” Thomas said, “No. You won’t.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“Because none of this is being recorded by your brain. When you come out of your coma your brain won’t be able to recall it. Your brain is dreaming right now.”

“Will I remember those?”

“The dreams? Mostly. But you never dreamed them.” Thomas stated.

“How does that work now?”

“Dreaming is just the brain being active while you’re asleep or unconscious. Think of it like a car idling in a parking lot.” Thomas said.

“So how do I remember my job or even my name if my brain is somewhere else?” John inquired.

“Mental body. It records everything.” Thomas explained.

“But my brain can’t…” John started.

“Access the mental body, right. Not yet. Only Saints can do that.” Thomas stated.

“Ah. Ok.” John said. “So what’s the point …?”

“Of all this?” Thomas finished.

“Yeah, if I’m not going to remember anyway why are you going to so much trouble? I’ll just wake up and be depressed again.” John asked.

“Sanskaras.” Thomas revealed.

“Sanskaras? Like Hindu sanskaras?” John asked.

“Hinduism gave sanskaras a proper name, yes. But sanskaras were around long before the Hindu religion.” Thomas said.

“So what’s a sanskara?” John asked.

“It’s the answer you’ve been looking for. Sanskaras are the reason you and I exist. Sanskaras are the reason for both good and evil. Sanskaras describe the subtle, mental and physical. Sanskaras, my son, are what got you into this mess. They will also save you.” Thomas said.

“You have my attention.” John replied.