Scene 1

            The two percodan tablets he had swallowed a few minutes earlier were beginning to take affect.  The constant, aching pain at the base of his spine was beginning to numb.  He was again able to walk and move without the excruciating pain he seemed to constantly endure.  But he knew that this relief was only temporary, in an hour or two, the blinding pain would return.

            It had been a month since the twenty-two caliber shell had entered his back and had come to rest at the base of his spine.  The surgeon who had removed it had told him that another centimeter and he would have been paralyzed from the waist down.  The very thought of paralysis made Everhard shudder involuntarily.  The surgeon had removed the lead slug from a bundle of nerves in which it had lodged, and had repaired its most obvious damage.  The result, however, was that James Everhard Jr., a man who had always lived life on the edge, had lived for action and adventure, had been reduced to this, a pathetic junkie, ruled by the numbing effect the precious pills provided for his tortured body.

            A two bit burglar who had broken into Rick’s, Everhard’s favorite hangout, after hours, when he had assumed everyone was gone, had surprised Everhard and old friends Rick, who owned the joint, and Chief of Detectives (retired) Bill Chapel, sitting in the large corner booth discussing politics and women, their two favorite subjects.  The frightened burglar had emptied his revolver into the booth and its occupants, wounding both Everhard and the club owner Rick in the process.   Chapel pulled his ever present .357 magnum and put a slug between the burglar’s eyes.  Rick’s wound was superficial; Everhard’s was far more serious. The burglar’s was fatal.

            At the hospital, Everhard’s ex wife Dona, now confined to a wheel chair by MS, and several other “64 Knights” maintained a twenty-four hour vigil at the private detective’s bedside for most of the two weeks following the surgery that was done the night of the shooting.  After his release from the hospital, Dona stayed on and helped her ex husband recuperate.  She watched helplessly as the pain killing drugs began to take control of Everhard’s life.

Scene 2

            Dona called her old friend, TJ Beltzly and asked her if she was free for lunch, she needed to talk.  TJ readily agreed.  At the restaurant, Dona bared her soul.  “I still love him Toni, and It is so painful to watch such a strong man become so weak and dependent on those damned pain killers!  What can I do?” Dona sobbed.  Toni took Dona’s hand and told her, “Don’t worry Dona, he’s still a strong man, he can beat this, with our help and support.  I have a friend at the VA hospital who has helped patients beat this kind of addiction dozens of times.  We need to go see Dr. Molly Waska.

            Dr. Waska agreed to see the two women later that same afternoon at her office at the VA Hospital.  After hearing the womens’ story, Dr. Waska asked, “Can you get him to admit that he is hooked, or is he in denial?  The two friends weren’t sure and told Dr. Waska this.  “That’s our first hurdle,” the doctor told them, “He needs to face his addiction and conquer it on his own terms. Can you get him to come and see me?  Dona thought she knew just exactly how to get James to agree to see the Doctor.  It was just a matter of getting James in the proper mood; and she was fairly certain that she still had that ability.

Scene 3

            Dona came home to find Everhard fast asleep on top of the nicely made king size bed.  Everhard had apparently showered, and shaved, taken some of the pain killers and the bed was as far as he had made it.  Dona looked at his hard, flat stomach, his “six pack” abs, his powerful chest and arms, the enormous bulge in his briefs and instantly began to visualize scenes from dozens of, wildly memorable times when she and this beautiful man had made mad, passionate, love.  Dona rose from her wheelchair, pulled the sweater over her head, removed her bra, her jeans and panties and slid onto the bed and pressed her naked body against the cool, smooth skin of the detective.

            Everhard moaned in his sleep and turned towards his beautiful and naked ex-wife. Her nipples began to harden against his chest, then Everhard opened his eyes and recognition was instantaneous and welcomed.  He embraced Dona and kissed her deeply.  She returned his passion and moments later, they were locked in a lovers’ embrace, not unlike all those many times so very fresh in their combined memories.

            An hour later, the two spent lovers lay naked atop the sheets on the bed and reminisced about times past and how much they had missed each other these past two years.  They talked about the mansion they had rebuilt together in Sanger, Texas.  “It was still there, boarded up, we could visit if you wanted….” Everhard started, but cut himself off abruptly as the first of several blinding waves of pain radiated through his body from his injured spine.  He clamored for his bottle of Percodan on the bedside table.  He popped off the cap, poured 4 or 5 tablets into his mouth and swallowed them without water, (a trick he had gotten very good at of late). “Like M&M’s,” he had often said. He fell back to the bed, grimacing in pain.  “Darling, there’s a Doctor at the VA hospital here that I want you to see,” Dona told him.  “What, another fricking neurosurgeon?” Everhard asked through the pain.  “No darling,” a Psychiatrist.  Doctor Molly Waska.” Dona answered almost too quickly.  “A shrink!” Everhard laughed, inspite of the pain.  “It’s a well known fact, in certain circles, that I’m totally, fricking crazy.  Why would I need a shrink to tell me that again?” Everhard asked, grimacing.  “It’s about the pills, James.” Dona told him quietly, “she can help.”  Everhard said nothing, but a single tear ran down his cheek.  Donna would call Dr. Waska this evening.

Scene 4

            Dona drove her super scooter off the elevator on the top floor of the VA Hospital building.  Everhard followed her out the elevator door.  They stared for a moment at the very unpretentious, frosted glass door that read simply; Molly Waska, MD.  Everhard opened the door and Dona drove her scooter into the office, Everhard followed.  Inside, there was a very simple waiting room with only a few old, sad looking, chairs for patients to sit in. Several old magazines lay strewn across an old, garage sale coffee table.  There was no receptionist, no room full of patients waiting, nothing but another door, apparently leading to exam rooms. 

            Just as Everhard began to think that his best option at this point, would be to break and run for the elevators, an attractive, middle aged woman, in a white coat that had “Molly Waska, M.D.” stitched over the pocket, opened the inner door and smiled at the couple.  “Hello Dona!, she said cheerfully, “and you must be the legendary James Everhard,” she said, holding out her hand to James.  James took her outstretched hand and shook it tentatively. “Well, I’m James Everhard, I’m not too sure about the Legendary part,” he smiled as they shook hands.  “I know better that that James, I’ve followed your career very closely over the years.” The Doctor was beginning to make James blush.  “Come into my office, both of you.” The attractive Psychiatrist said warmly.  Dona left her scooter in the waiting room and James helped her walk in. Inside the large, strikingly plain, but cluttered office, both Dona and James found seats in large, overstuffed chairs that seemed to be refugees from the same garage sale from which the waiting room furnishings had been rescued. 

            “One question Doc?” Everhard queried, “I’ve done some research as well.  You are noted as one of the foremost experts on drug addiction and addictive type personalities in the world. Your methods and procedures been studied and you’ve been quoted by most Shrinks in the world on this subject.”  “Okay,” the doctor said, validating his accurate research. “So, what’s the question?”  Everhard looked around and searched for the right words.  “Why isn’t this office in Beverly Hills or somewhere and why aren’t there hundreds of patients waiting months or years to see you?” Everhard finally asked her bluntly.  “Because James, that’s not who I am.”  “I’ll save you the whole story, but here’s the Reader’s Digest Condensed version: I was a young Registered Nurse in the Army and went to Viet Nam as a First Lieutenant.  I worked as a surgical scrub nurse in a forward aid station.  It was a place set up where Evac choppers could drop off troops that were far too seriously wounded to risk flying them to either of the large hospitals at Cam Rahn Bay or to Saigon.  We did a lot of life or death surgeries in fairly primitive surroundings.  And, more often than not, death won.  After six months of that, day after day, a deep, dark, depression set in and I started using drugs to help me cope.  In the helter-skelter operations of a forward aid station, strict records are hard to keep, and drugs were always readily available.  A young doctor, also stationed at ‘Camp Hell’ as we referred to it, recognized that I was hooked and approached me privately, unofficially, about it.  To make a long story short, he helped me defeat the drugs. Often with around the clock care as I went cold turkey on R&R’s that we took together.  His caring literally saved my life.  With his help, I beat addiction.  We fell in love, and vowed to marry after our rotation out of that ‘hell hole’, but it was not to be.  One night, during what had become an almost nightly event, we were attacked by enemy rockets and mortars.  Bill was killed.  After that, I got out of the Army, went to medical school, specialized in Psychiatry and came back to work here at the VA to help people with the same problem I had.  That was thirty-five years ago.  It’s still what I do.”

            James and Dona were left dumbstruck after Dr. Waska finished her story.  They just looked at each other, their eyes filled with renewed hope.  “Now, let’s get busy.  What exactly are you taking James and how much of it?” The Doctor asked.