7 Days - Conclusion

The alarm clock wakes me suddenly with the blaring of electro music. I reach over to silence it while trying to make sense of my surroundings. I’m the only one in a double bed. Who am I?

I roll out of bed and find the adjoining bathroom. In the mirror, a lovely woman, maybe early 30s stares back at me. Even with a scruffy, long pajama shirt and no makeup, I look like a model. My deep brown eyes take in my near flawless complexion, pleasing figure, and soft, long dark hair.

Why am I surprised by my appearance? I don’t know why, but for as long as I can remember, I have been inhabiting different bodies for seven-day increments. I always die on a Thursday, and then it happens yet again.

I search for signs of this woman’s identity and discover her name tag on the dresser. She works as a secretary for the Agriculture Stabilization Conservation Service. My name for the week is Ruby B. Darmot. It’s Friday, so I assume I need to report to work. I take a quick shower and don a work suit from the closet. As I open the door to the bedroom, I hear a plaintive cry, “Mommy?”

Immediately, my heart races with the implication of a child on the premises.

There is one other bedroom in the apartment. I open the door and say gently, “Good morning, Sweetheart.”

The boy looks to be about three. “I’m hungry,” he whines, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ll tell you what,” I say, sitting on his bed and rustling his hair. “You go to the bathroom, and I’ll see if we have ingredients for pancakes.

“For real? My favorite!” He jumps out of bed and runs to the bathroom. That gives me time to look the place over. On the fridge, a photo of the boy is labeled “Tommy.” It’s held in place with a magnet reading, “Sunshine Daycare” with the address and phone number.

Having previously been a chef, I easily whip up some nice pancake batter. As I’m chopping apples, Tommy drags a chair from the table and climbs up to watch.

“Apples?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me I’ve never made you apple pancakes.”

His giggle makes me feel like laughing along. “No, I neverded had them.”

“You washed your hands, right?”

“Uh-huh, I washded them good.”

“Well then, you put the apples in after I chop them up.”

With Tommy’s “help”, I get the first two pancakes cooking. I don’t find syrup, but there is honey.

Tommy’s first bite elicites a satisfying, “Mmm!” Then, while chewing, he asks, “Tan we mate these every day?”

“No, Tommy, we’ll try something else tomorrow.”

“Otay,” More chewing. “Next day?”

“Maybe.”

A cellphone rings. I find it hooked to a charger near the door and answer with a simple, “Hello?”

“Hey, Ruby, you want a ride? I woke up early this morning.”

Perfect. I won’t need to Google the address.

I say, “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll be ready by the time you get here.” The lady hangs up before I can find out her name.

I notice a Paw Patrol backpack on a hook just above the charger and say, “Tommy, time to get ready for day care.”

“Aw, tan’t we stay home?”

“Sorry, kiddo, not today, but I don’t work tomorrow.”

He lowers his head and exhales with a sheepish, “Otay.”

I ask, “Tommy, can you tell me the name of my friend who’s picking us up?”

“Of tourse. It’s Emily. Are you tired, Mommy?”

I chuckle. “I guess I am.”

Emily picks us up. She’s blond, about my age. After we drop Tommy at daycare, I ask, “Emily, I’ve told you about my ex, right?”

“You mean the psychopath who used to beat you up and locked you away for a week the first time you tried to leave? Yeah, you might have mentioned Calvin Knight a time or two. You’re not feeling guilty about not telling him you were pregnant when you left, are you? That’s nuts. You had to change your name and move across the country to get away. From what you’ve said, that sycophant doesn’t deserve you or Tommy. You need a St. John’s guy.”

“Huh?”

“You know. St. John’s Episcopal? Their bell rings three times like clockwork at 10:00 every morning – once each for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

I nod my understanding, even though she can’t see me while driving. I say, “As much as I’d like a St. John’s kind of guy, I think it’s better to continue to lay low.”

“Good. I approve. Bad enough that you got county employee of the month before me. I don’t need you stealing all the hotties too!” She giggles and I can’t help smiling.

The workday is tough. I don’t know what I’m doing, so I keep asking Emily questions. By the time she says, “What’s up with you today?” I decide to muddle through as best as I can. As we leave, she mumbles something about employee of the month. I know I wouldn’t have deserved it today.

We pick up Tommy, who presents me with a fingerpainting “masterpiece,” beaming.

I say, “Oh, Tommy, this is gorgeous! I’m going to put this on the fridge so I can see it every day.” He jumps up and down.

The weekend flies by. Saturday, Tommy and I take a long walk and end up at a nearby park. I hear St. John’s bells precisely at 10:00 as Emily said. I take him for lunch, complete with an ice cream cone. It amazes me how smart this kid is. Sunday, we read and play games. Then, while Tommy is watching television, I spend some time researching parental law. I discover that if a single parent dies with no known relatives, the child will go into foster care until adoption takes place or he turns 18. My heart sinks. I don’t want this to happen to such a vibrant child.

Monday, I reluctantly drive Tommy to daycare and then head to work. The morning drags on. When Emily returns from her lunch, I inquire, “If anything ever happens to me, will you take care of Tommy for me? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I have to know he’ll be safe.”

Emily pats me on the arm and says, “Come off it, Ruby. You’re going to be around forever. If either of us goes, it'll be me. I drink too much, and I’m terrible about exercising and eating vegetables.”

“Yes, but accidents happen. I’ve seen it way too many times.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, but don’t worry, Tommy will be taken care of. Now, go eat your perfectly healthy lunch while I digest my grease.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay, thanks, Em.”

I decide to walk down the block to a small café. I bring my laptop to do more research. I order soup and salad and search the internet for Calvin Knight. Most of what pops up is about the Calvin University Knights in California. Finally, I discover a Calvin Knight whose known associates include a Susan Knight. Now I’m getting somewhere. When his image pops up, I get goosebumps. His handsome face has a sinister quality, especially knowing what Emily told me about him. I don’t have much time, so I eat my lunch and head back to the office. I’ll find more about Susan Knight later.

As I’m walking, I get yanked by the arm into an alley while my mouth is covered. I black out.

When I awaken, my head aches and it’s cold and dark. I’m restrained. I don’t know how long I was out.

I hazard a guess, “Calvin?”

A flashlight shines in my face. “Very good, Susie. You always were a bright one. What made you think you could stay away from me? I’ll always find you.” He approaches. “I’m very disappointed in you, Susie. You shouldn’t have left me and changed your name. That facial recognition program cost a fortune, but I finally found you from your employee of the month photo in the newspaper.”

“Calvin, I…”

He interrupts, “It’s too you.” A sharp slap to my face brings tears to my eyes. He taunts, “You’re going to suffer like you made me suffer.”

I feel a knife against my cheek. The sting of the blade makes me cry out. I’m afraid this is going to be a long, agonizing death.

I try to get a sense of the surroundings, but Calvin laughs, “If you’re thinking anyone will find you, guess again. This place is an abandoned house. We’re in the basement where no one can hear you scream.”

The torture continues on until finally, I pass out.

I awaken with the sound of three bells.

I whisper, “Tommy?”

I feel another slap to my face. Calvin angrily grabs my wrist, demanding, “Who’s Tommy? Is he a lover?”

“No,” I whisper. “He’s….my boss.”

Another day of pain, cold, and hunger passes. I’m sitting in my own filth. Finally, I pass out again.

I see bright lights through my eyelids. This can’t be the basement. I try to move, but my body won’t cooperate. I try to yell, but it comes out as a hoarse, male whisper. “Help!”

Someone says, “He’s coming to! Quickly, get the doctor.”

I feel a hand on my arm. “You’re okay now. You’re in the hospital. Do you remember your name?”

I whisper, “Help Ruby.” I can barely speak. “Water.”

The nurse brings water, holding the straw for me. She says, “Your name is Tom Bradbury. You’ve been in a coma following an accident. Your family will be arriving soon.”

I stare into her eyes, insisting, “Ruby Darmot. In danger. Abandoned house near St. John’s. Please, help.”

The nurse pats my hand and assures me, “The mind can do strange things when you’re in a coma. This Ruby Darmot probably doesn’t even exist.”

“Please,” I beg, “Check for me.”

“Listen, I’ll do a search, but then I’ve got to get back to work.”

I nod, satisfied.

She takes a cellphone out of her pocket. After just a minute, she says, “Employee of the Month, Finlay.”

“Yes, that’s her. She’s being tortured in a basement near St. John’s Episcopal Church. Send help.”

The nurse rolls her eyes, but she says, “I’ll send word and they can do a search. I suppose it’s not going to hurt to check.”

My memory flashes to some of the lives I’ve experienced. I get a vision of my own life. Yes, Tom Bradbury. I’m a 43-year-old businessman. I haven’t been good about spending time with my family. I always valued hard work over living in the moment. That has changed.

My wife, Sharon arrives. She takes my hand with tears rolling down her cheeks. “I thought we’d lost you.”

I croak out, “I’m sorry, my love. I vow to get better and spend as much time as I can with you and the kids.” Oh, yeah, I have two children – twins Sylvia and Mark. Last I knew, they had just left for college. “How are they? Where are they?”

Sharon smiled and said, “They’re fine. They will be graduating in the spring. Sylvia is majoring in English. She’s quite an excellent author. She’s pursuing a doctorate. Mark chose business to take over for you in case...” Her voice breaks. She collects herself and continues, “I just sent them a text. They’ll come when they can. Oh, Tom, I’m so happy to see your eyes and your smile.” Her sobbing commences as she kisses my forehead.

Epilogue

Authorities storm an abandoned house in Finlay, finding a man brandishing a gun. He is shot on sight. His estranged wife is discovered in the basement, expected to make a full recovery.

Tom Bradbury lives up to his promise to his wife. After months of therapy, he learns to walk again. He continues to spend much time with his family while searching for the many families he encountered during his time in a coma.

In loving memory of Tom Bradbury, author extraordinaire.

The chef episode: