“Yes, mom, I know. You’ve told me often enough. Just because he never came home, didn’t mean he didn’t want to. I understand, he promised and he always kept his word. But it’s been seven full years since he disappeared. If he was alive, he would have figured out a way to come home by now.”
“I sometimes forget how long it’s been,” said Rikki McKinnon, as they got into her black Ford.
“Let’s go,” she said, “I know the road to Merriweather and Carling is better than it used to be, but it’s still a long way.”
Mother and son rode in silence, each one lost in their own memories of the man that never came home.
Harry, just a small child had memories far different from his mothers. His were of a shadowy man that played cars with him. He had a clear memory of once going to the store for a strawberry milkshake. It stayed in his memory because he drank it all and then had such a bad bellyache because he was too full. He didn’t drink strawberry milkshakes anymore, they brought a bad memory to his heart.
Rikki was remembering the good times when Harry was a baby, and Jack would come home from work and play with him on the kitchen floor. She smiled and they reminisced about the happy times.
She was doing her best not to think about the last time she was in Carling.
Seven years was a long time to wait for someone to come home, and this was going to be her final farewell.
Everything was done that could be done to find him. She contacted the RCMP station at Carling every year to see if there was any new information. She ran an ad in the local papers around Merriweather every spring, and advertised a reward for any information leading to the finding or recovery of the body of Jack McKinnon.
Nothing ever turned up. The insurance lawyers told her that she’d waited long enough. It was time to move on.
The dedication of the wharf in her husbands name on Canada Day, July 1, in conjunction with the town of Carling’s annual tribute to the first settlers of the area was fitting.
Rikki felt she was finally ready to leave that part of her life behind.
The Ford pulled into the parking lot of the new municipal building in Carling. The building really wasn’t new, it used to be a furniture factory, but the designation was. It looked very impressive in its’ new coat of paint, and every one agreed the mural of the early days of Carling on the Fraser River added character to the refurbished hall.
“Come on, Mom,” said Harry, as he got out of the car, “I think we’re supposed to be in that group over by the cenotaph.”
Mother and son approached and saw Bill Majors and his wife standing a little apart. His wife Jeanne was still attractive, her curly black hair and cobalt blue eyes still sparkled when she looked at Bill. The firm look on her face said no one was going to call him away today! All their married life, special occasions would arise, and he would be gone and she had to deal with the results on her own.
Not this time!
As the little group milled around, the reporters from the Carling News, the Merriweather Weekly, and the Hope Advance made sure their lighting and sound were ready. It was not that this was such a big deal, but it did have legs in the past. If it was a slow news week, they could re-hash the uncalled for Xaali’pp Indian Uprising of 1992, this was its’ 7th year anniversary. All the newspaper reporters knew Bill Majors had a key roll in that case, and today would be a good lead-in if needed.
An unanswered question was always good for circulation. What could be better than a dog drowning in Andover Lake, the owner disappearing, and best of all, the story centered on a haunted graveyard and an Indian Uprising?
Newspaper reporters at the time could never understand why the Indians decided to go to war and others wanted to know why the missing man and dog were never found. Some always wondered what the connection to the graveyard was and if all those stories were connected.
A ghostly mystery is good for a rural newspaper.
The door of the Municipal Hall opened and out came the Mayor in full regalia. Mind you, a small town like Carling didn’t have much in the way of regalia. It was just a long necklace with big brass links and the town seal set on a piece of pale grey shale that was blessed by a famous Medicine Man of the St’at’ime Lill’wa’tt Nation. It became part of the regalia because it was given to the first settler on this side of the Fraser River, and he donated it to what became the young town of Carling in the early 1800’s.
“Good morning everyone, thank you all for coming,” said the Mayor into the make shift mike the electrician from the municipal hall had rigged.
“We are gathered here today to open our week of Celebration for Settlers Day, starting tomorrow, July 1.
“Also, at this time I would like to thank Mrs. Rikki McKinnon and her son Harry for their generous donation of a public wharf at the north end of Andover Lake. It is to be incorporated into the Provincial Park that’s designated for that region by the BC Government and will bring many needed tourists dollars into our area. On behalf of the District of Lacy, many thanks,” he said and shook hands all around.
The mayor knew Rikki donated the land and wharf to honor her husband who went missing seven years ago. While they never proved that he drowned, it became common knowledge, and soon became a fact.
The Tsimskaan Indian clan was here in force, as was old Chief George from the Xaali’pp band and their shaman who was originally from the Province of Quebec.
Archie J. was a central figure when the Mohawk Indians of Kahnawake, Quebec participated in 1990, in a violent 78-day standoff with Canadian Soldiers. He was also involved in the uprising seven years ago in Carling.
These days he played down unrest, stressing co-operation with the BC Government would bring the Indian Nation a steady income and independence.
Today, the BC Government in Victoria was to give their decision to the committee on the petition to build an end destination casino on their reserve at the north end of Andover Lake. It would mean jobs for the young people of the band, and provide more tourist dollars for Carling and Merriweather too. It looked like a ‘win, win’ situation for everyone.
No one seemed to remember the land offered for the casino, hotel and RV Park was the Ancient Indian Graveyard, and was almost next to the proposed new Provincial Park. The key piece, that everyone was trying to downplay, was Jack and Rikki McKinnon’s summer property. It sat between these two parcels of land and was needed for the projected new highway that would bring countless guests to play in the gaming casino and stay in the new hotel and RV Park.
Although the land was in both the McKinnon’s names, the unusual circumstances surrounding Jack McKinnon’s supposed death made it mandatory that they wait the full seven years before putting it up for sale.
Now it seemed everything was almost in place.
Bill Majors eyes scanned the group, he got the creepy feeling someone was watching him, again. There was no reason for this angst. Why shouldn’t he be looked at today?
Still...
A shiver ran down his back as he realized he wasn’t the only one looking around, standing with Rikki McKinnon was a big man, he looked familiar, but somehow different.
When he turned and spoke to Harry, he knew.
‘Betty’, from the cafe in Merriweather was here to support Rikki and her son. He looked fit and at least 80 lbs lighter since the last time they met.
The Mountie checked the crowd again, and another group caught his eye, two he knew he should know. They also stood near Rikki; now he remembered; they were Barry and Carol Adler, her neighbors from Langley. It looked like everyone was here.
He knew they would probably be here, why was it causing all this anxiety?
The Founders Day ceremony was finally over, and Rikki spoke to her little group, “Hi, everyone, thank you for coming. It means a lot to me to see each one of you again. I want to invite you to lunch at ‘Bettys’ in an hour. See you there.”
The little group smiled at each other, shook hands and agreed to m
eet, that’s just what was needed.
A good lunch!
The guests sitting around the big table at ‘Betty’s’ Cafe looked up when the woman at the head of the table stood up. “I want to thank you all again for coming, and also ‘Betty’ for letting us have our lunch at his cafe,” said Rikki, nodding at the cafe owner. “Harry and I want you to know how much we appreciated all you did for us seven years ago. Losing a husband is bad, but having good friends such as all of you, makes it bearable. Good food always helps too. So I’m going to turn this lunch over to our host as I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” she laughed.
‘Betty’ stood up and looked around the table. It was a long time ago, but the events of the day were still fresh in his mind. No one used that old ‘eat a horse’ thing anymore, and he knew Rikki used it today as a reminder to him. He told her Jack said it the last time he came to eat at the diner.
“Welcome everyone,” said ‘Betty’, “no more talk, let’s eat.”
Sitting down he signaled his staff to bring in the food.
He looked at the cafe door and a tall thin man entered even though the ‘CLOSED’ sign was on the door. His old dirty jeans were too big for him, and were supported with a worn piece of rope. The grubby blue shirt and jean jacket hung on his thin frame. He deliberately started to the back of the cafe.
Bill Majors’ back straightened as he looked at the man.
His blood ran cold.
He couldn’t believe it!
The last time he saw Jack McKinnon was seven years ago when he took him to the University of BC in Harrisburg to see if they could find out what was wrong with him, and he lost him.
And now here he was, again!
The thin man stopped halfway and looked at the table full of friends and collapsed.
As he crumpled to the floor, the diners gaped, mouths open. ‘Betty’ bolted from the table, grabbed the phone and dialed 911. The ambulance stationed next to the Merriweather grocery store, was there within moments. They checked his vital signs, started an IV drip and put him on a gurney. Protocol said; take him to the closest hospital.
The small facility in the town of Hope was it.
Again!
The doctors at the Hope hospital tried every thing they could think of, but none of it helped. Nor was the RCMP Detachment presence from Carling that was keeping a close eye on the comatose man making any difference.
The doctors spoke over the phone to a specialist in Princes Margaret Hospital in Toronto, Ontario who thought they had a similar case about 8 or 9 years ago, but the symptoms were slightly different and they also didn’t know what to do for the man.
They finally decided it was a mental problem, not physical, so, they sent the patient for psychotherapy treatment. The team at the Hope Hospital thanked him and decided they were no further ahead.
Best Practice said to keep a check on his vital signs, so he was now hooked up to a heart monitor and while they weren’t giving him medication, he was getting nourishment from the IV drip.
Hospital gossip was now in full swing. Since the doctors were unable to diagnose the man, advice blossomed from every corner. The most listened to was, send him to the Grace Hospital in Burnswood. It was the closest and most up-to-date in the Fraser Valley, and since they were just a small rural facility in the interior of the Province, they could ask for consultation. The Chief of Staff thought about treatment and knew they’d be unable to provide it. They couldn’t help him last time, nothing had changed.
Best practice said: send him to the Grace and hope they don’t send him back.
So, they did.
The next day the Senior Duty nurse at the Hospital in Hope was checking the charts of the previous day and felt faint.
This was too much Deja-vu.
Whom could she tell?
Whom should she tell?
This can’t be happening again!
Chapter 39
“Hi Carol, it’s Rikki, how are you? I haven’t seen you since the lunch at Merriweather last week.”
“Yes, I know, I’ve been busy at work. The lunch was unnerving wasn’t it; does anyone know who the guy that passed out at ‘Betty’s’ was? What are you saying? You’ve had a call from Grace Hospital? Why do they want you to come over there? Are you okay? Is there something wrong with Harry? Tell me that again, slowly,” said Carol. “You want me to go with you to the hospital because they want you to look at a person that has the same symptoms as Jack? They can’t mean that. Don’t they keep records?”
“Oh, they keep the ones they couldn’t cure or fix current, the rest goes in the ‘non-current’ file. Makes sense I suppose, but what can you tell them that you didn’t tell them last time? Sure, I’ll go with you, Barry will come too, let me know when. That soon?
“We’ll pick you up at 9:00 am tomorrow morning, don’t forget to eat something. I seem to remember you faint on an empty stomach.”
* * * *
The doctor in charge of admissions was sitting at his desk checking the chart again. It accompanied the odd patient from the Hospital in Hope. He didn’t know what to make of it. Two men from the same place with the same symptoms, seven years apart. The big question was, why didn’t they wake up, or in the case of the first one, when he did physically wake up, was deep into amnesia and couldn’t relate to anyone? Staff thought the current man, while still not physically awake, was also aware of what was going on.
“Those small hospitals in the Interior are well equipped today,” he said to the chart, “why did they send this case to us, again!”
As he checked to see which nurse was in charge, a group of uneasy looking individuals came and stood in front of the Admissions desk.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. McKinnon,” the Senior Admissions Clerk said, “I realize this is a very long shot, but according to our files you are familiar with a similar situation.”
An uproar ensued, everyone talked at the same time, saying Rikki wasn’t familiar with this situation, she didn’t want to have anything to do with anything. And no, she didn’t really want to talk to anyone. Most of all, she didn’t want the heart ache to start all over again.
“Okay, okay, everyone,” the doctor in charge of Admissions said coming around his desk and out into the hall, “my name is Dr. Iverson, let’s go into my office and we can all sit down. We don’t think you had anything to do with anything Mrs. McKinnon.
“We just want to go over the Admission Form you filed seven years ago. We’re trying to understand why and how your husband or relative found himself in his situation and how he came out of it. This is something we don’t see very often. Not often indeed! This is only the second case of this sort. We now have more and better resources, but the results are still the same. Our patient is comatose, yet he seems to know what’s happening, but he’s unable to communicate with any of the staff.”
The group sat and listened, they couldn’t believe their ears. Rikki sat transfixed, unable to speak.
“You understand,” the doctor said, “we don’t keep all records. Just the pertinent facts and that he woke up and discharged himself. For some reason we don’t have any information on what kind of treatment he received. We would appreciate any help you can give us.”
“It was my husband that had whatever this is,” said Rikki, looking at the doctor with tears in her eyes, “and no, he never came out of it that I knew of. He woke up, but he didn’t know me, and he wasn’t the same person. You let him discharge himself from the hospital. The RCMP and the Insurance Company assumes he’s dead.
“I know you have to wait seven years to declare someone legally dead,” she said again, a lot louder, “my husband has been missing and presumed dead for seven years and now you tell me he’s back?”
“Please don’t misunderstand, Mrs. McKinnon, we’re not saying this man is your husband, we just think he has the same problem.”
“Why do you think this is the same condition that Jack had?” said Carol Adle
r, holding Rikki’s hand.
“When our former patient was here, we did blood work. A little primitive for what we can do now, but we still have that paperwork. This patient has the same blood type, and his hemoglobin is low too. It can cause macrocytic (large blood cell volume) anemia. Vitamin B12, along with folate is involved in making the heme molecule that is an integral part of hemoglobin. Folate deficiency can be the culprit of anemia as well, lectured the doctor.
“I know you can’t see the anemia, but you can see what it does to the body; do you think you could look at him? Does he look the same? Is there any way he could be your husband?” said the doctor, coming around his desk to stand in front of the little group.
They turned to him in unison, their eyes large with questions; this was a case of too much information and too little preparation.
The doctor stopped, mouth open!
The woman at his feet had crumpled to the floor without so much as a whimper.
Carol Adler glared at the doctor. “Now look what you’ve done, she hasn’t done that since the lawyer said Jack was probably dead. She’s not as strong as she looks; this is all a terrible strain on her.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” said the embarrassed doctor as he raised her head, and carefully offered her a cup of water from the carafe on his desk.
Rikki looked at the doctor and tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just been so long since more information about Jack has come up,” she said from the floor. “I finally decided, I’ve waited the full seven years, if he wasn’t dead, he’d have found a way to come home by now. It’s time my son and I got on with our lives and let him go. And now you’ve started it up all over again.”
“I’m very sorry Mrs. McKinnon; but we really need you to look at him. You don’t have to speak to him; we can arrange for you to see him through one way glass.”
“What do you think,” she said, turning to the small group around her, “should I see if it could be him?”
“We’re coming too,” said ‘Betty’, who drove down from Merriweather at 5:00 a.m. with Sergeant Bill Majors to be with her. “We all need to see what you see,” he said turning to the others, Barry and Carol Adler nodded their approval and moved closer to Rikki.
“If you can stand now, Mrs. McKinnon, I’ll see if the patient is ready,” the doctor said as he left the room and hurried down the hall.