Chapter 3
The Road Forward
Pasadena – Fall 1997
Tom surveyed the small crowd within the room, noting that there seemed to be a few more present tonight than the normal four tables. There were fully thirty members of the campus men’s bridge club, but rarely did more than half of them show up on a Friday night. Brandt had been elected president the previous year, but of late he had for some reason been playing hooky quite a bit. Interestingly, at that very moment Brandt entered the room, looking bedraggled and muted as usual.
“Hey, Brandt,” Tom announced, “Come join Bill and me. All we need is a fourth to play a rubber, but in the meantime, we can play three handed.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Brandt responded absently.
At this, Bill put in, “Good to see you, Brandt. You’ve been AWOL quite a bit lately.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, Bill,” Brandt responded in embarrassment.
“What gives? Some big research contract?” Bill inquired in apparent curiosity.
Tom interjected, “Brandt’s got himself a girlfriend, I’m afraid.
Eyes flashing ominously, Brandt cautioned, “Tom! That will do!”
“What the…” Bill interjected.
Tom replied pleasantly, “Pay no attention, Bill. Brandt has gone off the deep end.”
Peering at Brandt, Bill asked pointedly, “Anything I can do to help, Brandt?”
“No, I’m just distracted a bit lately,” Brandt hedged.
“That’s an understatement,” Tom observed and, seeing that Brandt had no intention of forthrightness, he added, “If you don’t tell him, I will, Brandt.”
“Oh, alright,” Brandt sighed in obvious resignation, “If you must.”
Accepting Brandt’s surrender, Tom announced, “Brandt is searching for that woman that bombed the Lido Hotel in Las Vegas last spring.”
“What! Why on earth for?” Bill queried dubiously.
“It gives him an excuse to develop his sleuthing software,” Tom put in, “Not only that, he also gets his jollies making believe that she’s somehow real.”
“Oh, cut it out!” Brandt murmured, “That’s about enough of that, Tom!”
“See!” Tom crowed victoriously.
Seeing that Brandt was deadly serious about this search, Bill volunteered, “This sounds like something that could be quite important. Perhaps it’s even something you could use some help with, Brandt.”
Tom now interjected, “It’s a matter of Patience, Bill.”
“I’ve got plenty of patience. Try me!” Bill suggested empathetically.
Brandt now interrupted, saying, “It’s Patience with a capital P, Bill.”
“What?”
“Her name is Patience – Patience Walker,” Tom interjected.
“Oh, I see,” Bill responded, “What do you know about her, Brandt?”
“Oh, he knows quite a lot,” Tom interrupted.
“Like what?” Bill inquired with apparent interest.
“He’s actually met her,” Tom observed, “And he is certain that she was kidnapped and forced to do it under duress. And now she’s disappeared. So he’s searching for her in an attempt to restore her good name.”
“Wow! That is quite a story, Brandt,” Bill rejoined, “In fact, I’d like to help you with this. Actually, I should think that when the other guys in the club hear about this, they will want to help out as well.”
“That’s not necessary,” Brandt countered wearily.
Plowing ahead, Bill suggested, “We can form a group of concerned faculty. We’ll call it ‘Restoring Patience’.”
At this Tom agreed excitedly, “Say, that’s not a bad idea, Bill,” thereby inducing Brandt to glare at him in abject misery.
The cat having now escaped from the bag, so to speak, there was no turning back. By the time the evening had ended, the membership of the bridge club had voted unanimously to form the new group. What it was actually about and where they were headed with it was anyone’s guess.
Pasadena – Spring, 1999
Brandt’s office desk phone rang offensively and, yanking it groggily from the cradle, he growled with that distinct Scottish accent of his, “MacCauley here.”
“Hey Brandt, it’s Tom,” a voice on the other end replied.
Reverting momentarily to the brogue of his upbringing, Brandt answered pleasantly, “Och aye, Tom. Whit’s oop?”
Chuckling at Brandt’s bizarre vernacular, Tom responded, “Bill Wilkins called me this morning.”
“He did? What does that boy scout want now?”
“Aw, don’t talk about him that way, Brandt. He just wants to help, you know.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Tom. I just get a little peeved at his relentless manic personality, I suppose.”
“Right, but he means well, Brandt.”
“So what does he mean well about this time, Tom?”
“He thinks we should go public with this thing, Brandt.”
“Oh, that. I know, he tried it out on me. I told him no way.”
“But think about it, Brandt. Restoring Patience could become a world-wide organization. We could start to make a real difference. If we can’t help the actual Patience, perhaps we can at least help the other downtrodden of the world, all those women who have suffered through something similar to what happened to Patience.”
“I don’t think I’m up to it, Tom,” Brandt replied exhaustedly, “After all, it’s just an idea we tossed around in the Friday night bridge game, and it somehow germinated into a monster.”
“I thought you’d say that, but I’m afraid that you may not have any choice, Brandt,” Tom responded.
“Oh, what makes you think that?”
“Well, it seems that Bill has pulled a fast one on you.”
“Oh? What has he done now?”
“He’s gone around behind your back and appealed directly to the other members.”
“Oh, damn. That sounds serious indeed. What did he do, threaten to depose me as club president?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. He simply appealed to them using the same method that you used two years ago, the very first time that you discussed it with them.”
“How so?”
“He said that they had a civic responsibility as members of Restoring Patience.”
At this Brandt chuckled and responded, “Why that sneaky bastard. He’s outmaneuvered me at my own game!”
“I’m afraid he has, Brandt.”
“Sooo, what do you suggest I do, Tom?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I agree with Bill. If you’re asking me for advice, I think you ought to go along. It seems to be the will of the entire bridge club.”
“What about Patience?” Brandt asked inanely.
“What about her, Brandt? The trail has grown cold, I mean, frozen, absolute zero. You may one day find her, or you may never hear from her again. In either case, in the interim you’ll be living up to your sworn oath to protect the Patiences of the world.”
“Alright, Tom. You’ve convinced me. I’ll contact the membership and solicit a vote. If it passes, we’ll go public. But I for one think this is just plain crazy – expanding a men’s bridge club into a…a…an…I don’t even know what to call it!”
“Great,” Tom replied. “Listen, I know this is going to put an additional burden on you, but we’ll all pitch in and help. You’ll be glad you did this, I’m positive.”
“Yeah, right,” Brandt replied sarcastically, “I’m already beginning to be sorry.”
Two months later Restoring Patience was incorporated as a 501(c)(3) non-profit. The members of the club took up a collection and used the proceeds to hire a secretary, who was assigned to Brandt. They had of course elected him to be CEO and President of the corporation, Brandt agreeing to continue in his role without recompense. In addition, they elected Bill Wilkins chairman of the board, and nine other guys were elected members of the board. Bi
ll used his prodigious supply of energy to take on the challenge of raising money. Brandt’s responsibility was to focus on both discovering and aiding women who had been exploited, especially those who had been physically and/or emotionally scarred.
Brandt subsequently hired a woman named Meriam Scott into the secretarial position, and she turned out to be extremely competent at her job. Assigned the duty of identifying potential candidates for support of any kind by Restoring Patience, she also lit into the responsibility of attracting funding from foundations that might be inclined to support their worthy cause. Within a short time Restoring Patience had begun to attract a name for itself and what with the board screening cases involving mistreated women that Meriam brought forward for consideration, it was not long before Meriam found it necessary to hire two assistants who were responsible for following up on these cases.
Brandt now had three jobs, and though he had his heart in all three, the one he remained most deeply committed to was finding the now long lost Patience. But, well aware that it would become essential for the purpose of locating Patience when it reached maturity, he concentrated for the moment on his pattern recognition algorithm.
Because leading the corporation was the least of Brandt’s concerns, he very quickly handed over day-to-day operations to Meriam, who was shortly promoted by the board to Vice-President of Operations. Restoring Patience was now fully operational, the annual report for the first year listing twenty-seven women who had been measurably aided by Restoring Patience.
Brandt had no idea how long he could keep juggling all of these responsibilities. For the time being he found little time for sleep, much less leisure.
Dallas – July, 2001
On completing the development of his newest algorithm, Brandt determined that his technology was now sufficiently advanced for his long-delayed trip to Dallas. Arriving non-stop from Los Angeles on a torpid day in July, he stopped by the American Airlines office, where he managed to gain clandestine access to an employee’s computer during the lunch hour. As luck would have it, he found the reservation he was searching for in short order. She had flown to New York City on February 25, 1997, four days after leaving Las Vegas. After four years, the trail was about to warm considerably.
Pasadena – Mid-Summer
As Brandt already knew full well, Patience had not used her own credit card since that night in Las Vegas. Instead, she had bought the plane ticket with cash. He had no idea where she had gotten it from, but he suspected that she had been aided by a friend in New York.
His attention now focused on New York City, he realized that even if she was still in hiding therein, he was dealing with a needle in a human haystack that contained twenty million inhabitants. In order to solve that problem, he was relatively certain that his pattern recognition algorithms would need to rise to new levels of intricacy.
He would now need to develop a fully three dimensional facial recognition algorithm, the holy grail of pattern recognition. This he did, at least to a first generation, subsequently putting it to the test. Over the next few months he ran his algorithm through the employment files of as many New York based companies as possible.
One day, recalling that she had worked summers at Starbuck’s in Lincoln, he decided to run his algorithm through the New York Starbuck’s database. His new algorithm struck pay dirt, finding a match for an employee named Christine Black. When he brought her employee I.D. photo up on the screen, his heart jumped into his throat. It was Patience, he was absolutely certain of it. Although her hair was quite different, there was no mistaking those green eyes. Unfortunately, the home address she had given her employer turned out to be bogus. Albeit begrudgingly, Brandt was forced to admit his growing admiration for her continued ability to cover her tracks.
Early September
Because Brandt had several professional commitments that required his full attention in August, he couldn’t find time to get back to the search right away. When he finally found time, he tried hacking into banking credit card files, obtaining a hit with the name Christine Black on September 8th. It listed an address in Greenwich Village. He immediately booked a flight to New York City for the afternoon of September 10.
New York City, September 10, 2001
Arriving late that evening, Brandt booked into a hotel on Broadway a couple of blocks from the address given on her credit card statement. After four years, he was finally closing in on the mysterious and fleeting Patience Walker.
Standing in line in a coffee shop on Broadway near West Fourth Street the following morning, Brandt suddenly noticed a buzz running through the crowd standing in line. Glancing outside, he observed people - lots of people. There was nothing unusual about so many people on the sidewalk in New York City, but this scene was somehow different. He realized that they were all standing motionless, everyone staring towards the south, gaping at something in the sky. Literally everyone within his field of vision was standing motionless, apparently transfixed by something unseen.
The entire line within the coffee shop abruptly evaporated, the shop emptying within a matter of seconds. Having no idea what was going on, he followed the crowd out onto the sidewalk and, peering in the direction that everyone else was staring, he saw it. There, less than three miles away, the World Trade Center was trailing an enormous plume of smoke. Having no earthly idea what had caused such a bizarre scene, he glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to nine.
Everyone chattered and gestured, staring in confusion at the scene unfolding before them. Taking the opportunity presented by the confusion to go back inside the coffee shop, he bought a large coffee and a scone from the lone worker who had remained doggedly behind the counter. Purchasing an orange juice just for good measure, he hurried back onto the street, learning shortly thereafter that a plane had struck the North Tower. By now, it being surmised by many that it was not an accident, talk had turned to the possibility of an act of terrorism. Standing motionless with the dumbstruck crowd, he simply munched on his meager breakfast, helplessly observing it all in utter disbelief. Little did he know it was the last food he would consume for the next twelve hours.
As he stood watching in stunned disbelief, a blur came rapidly into view in the sky, a second plane striking the South Tower. People everywhere suddenly ducked reflexively, screams and moans simultaneously bursting forth from every direction along the street. Brandt checked his watch a second time. It was now five minutes past nine.
The crowd continued growing, as more and more people poured out onto the streets from offices and apartments on either side of the street. New arrivals to the throng exclaimed that it was playing out on the television, that reports had confirmed that it was definitely a terrorist attack. There was now a growing sense of pandemonium, and like everyone else that day, Brandt had no earthly idea what to do. He simply stood rooted to his spot in a state of profound shock, watching this tragedy of unimaginable proportions unfold.
Both damaged buildings were by now spewing massive plumes of ebony smoke, a circling helicopter visible a safe distance from the towers. To Brandt’s horror, the South Tower slowly began collapsing from the top down. It commenced sinking downwards and, as it did so, it spewed an enormous halo of smoke and debris in every direction. Beyond all belief, as if in slow motion, the entire South Tower disappeared before his very eyes. Virtually everyone within the crowd by now sobbing in despair, the scene unfolding before them exceeded comprehension. Sinking to their knees, a few appeared to be convinced that it was the end of the world.
Suspecting that there were worse things to come before it was all over, Brandt headed back towards his hotel a block away. Arriving within, he discovered an enormous throng of people in the lobby, many of whom were shouting and gesturing wildly. It was total chaos.
Unable to think of anything useful to do, he decided to go up to his room and see what he could discern from the television. Turning on the TV, he found the scene unfolding on nea
rly every station. As he watched, the North Tower collapsed before his eyes. A short time later, he heard that there were two additional planes in the attack, and that one had struck the Pentagon in Washington.
The local stations were instructing everyone to go to their respective homes until the crisis had passed. Under the circumstances, he felt it was best to stay put and wait it out. Deciding to give Tom a call, he pulled out his cellphone and, glancing down at the screen, he realized that he had forgotten to disengage the silent mode earlier that morning. There were nineteen phone messages, eight alone from Tom. Attempting to return the call, he found that his phone had no service, realizing with little surprise that the system was overloaded. He tried the hotel land line, finding it busy as well. This was developing into a catastrophe of truly global proportions.
Continuing to watch the TV for lack of anything else to do, he attempted to make a phone call every few minutes. Finally, around one o’clock in the afternoon he got through to Tom.
“Are you alright?” Tom boomed into his ear.
“Yes, Yes, I’m okay. I’m in the hotel,” he replied.
“Where are you?” Tom responded.
“I’m about two and a half miles from the World Trade Center, or what used to be the World Trade Center,” he responded lamely.
“What’s it like? Is it bad?”
“Yeah, it’s a real mess here, Tom. Nothing’s working. The subway’s shut down. Everyone is being forced to get home on foot. Ten million people have suddenly become pedestrians. It’s bad. I have no idea what to do. I’m just sitting in my hotel room watching TV, trying to stay out of the way.”
“That sounds like the smart thing to do, Brandt. I’m afraid you may be stuck there for quite a while. They’ve shut down airline service nationwide, you know.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Brandt, did you find her? Did you find Patience?”
“No, not yet. I was down on the street, not two blocks from her apartment when it happened. She was probably at work by then. I’ll walk over as soon as possible and see if I can locate her.”
“Best of luck, guy,” Tom replied. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to be calling you often for the next few days, just to see how you’re doing, okay?’
“Yeah, that’s fine. I think I’ll probably need some communication with the outside world. I feel like I’m in the middle of a war zone.”
“Okay, hang in there buddy. I’m glad you’re safe,” and at this he hung up.
Brandt attempted to take a nap, but it was absolutely no use. He simply sat around watching the news on the TV for the rest of the afternoon. Finally, unable to contain himself longer, he decided to see if he could locate Patience. He went down on the street, where he encountered the strangest thing he’d ever seen in New York City. There was virtually no one on the street anywhere. It was as if everyone had taken the day off and, in a strange sort of way, it was true. Off in the distance he could hear the continual wail of sirens coming from the direction of the now destroyed World Trade Center.
He walked three blocks south and, turning left, he realized that he would be at Patience’s apartment in one more block. He was almost there when a policeman stopped him and, informing him that there was a curfew, he instructed him to go back home. Under the circumstances, he had no choice but to turn around and go back to the hotel. Once again fate had intervened and kept him from finding Patience.
By the time he arrived back at the hotel, very little was functioning within. Although the crowd in the lobby had by now dissipated, there were hastily scribbled signs asking for everyone to be patient, promising that full services would be restored as soon as possible. He decided to return to his room, hoping to get some much needed sleep.
Once back in his room, he suddenly realized that he had not eaten since morning. Feeling quite fortunate to have a mini-bar, he raided it for any sort of sustenance that he could find. Within an hour he had consumed a sufficient collection of food and alcoholic beverages that he was able to get some sleep. The following morning he arose early and, heading back downstairs to reconnoiter, he found much the same scene. Little traffic was moving on the street, many of the hotel services remaining temporarily suspended.
With little else to do, he decided to attempt to make his way to Patience’s apartment a second time, and this time he made it all the way there. Arriving at the building, he punched the buzzer elatedly, only to hear a feminine voice snarl threateningly over the intercom, “Go away!” There was a momentary pause, the voice then saying, “Wait, who is it?”
“Patience? Is this Patience?” Brandt queried.
“What? There is no Patience here. Go away!” the voice replied, and it was obvious that it was not the voice that he recalled from the dark recesses of his memory.
Examining the listings on the buzzers to ensure that he had pushed the correct one, and confirming that he had, he read the name above the button and immediately pressed the buzzer a second time. The voice answered again, exclaiming, “I told you – go away!”
“Wait, Miss Moreland, Barbara Moreland, my name is Brandt MacCauley. I’ve come a long way looking for Patience…Patience Walker. Can you tell me - does she live here?”
There was a silence on the other end. At length, the voice inquired, “Who did you say you are?”
“I’m Dr. Brandt MacCauley. I am a professor at Cal Tech in California. I’m looking for an acquaintance of mine. Her name is Patience Walker, although I believe that she is now living at this address under the name Christine Black.”
The door lock disengaged, the voice responding, “Please, Mr., er, Dr. MacCauley, come up.”
Brandt trudged up the four flights of stairs, eventually arriving at the door, whereupon he knocked gingerly and, awaiting a response, he heard a muffled voice say from within, “Please stand in front of the peep hole.”
Following her instructions precisely, he heard her voice continue, saying. “Turn around, full circle. That’s good.” The door then opened abruptly, a woman glaring at him from behind a safety chain. “Hi, I’m Barbara Moreland, Christine’s roommate. She’s not here right now. Can I help you?”
Sensing something amiss, Brandt replied, “What? Not here! But there’s nothing moving in New York City right now. Everyone is at home. What, is she on vacation or something?”
Apparently sensing that he was truly concerned, she responded, “Wait a minute,” and at this the door closed, only to be reopened wide. “Please, come in,” she said flatly, turning to lead him inside.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she offered. She was wearing a housecoat, obviously draped over her nightgown. In this newfound world, there had been no need for her to get dressed this morning.
“Oh, that would be really nice,” Brandt replied gratefully, “Coffee is really scarce in this part of the world this morning,” and it was not meant to be a joke, all sense of humor having fled the entire city.
Pouring him a cup, she pushed it forward, saying, “Sooo…strange times, eh, Dr. MacCauley?”
“Brandt, please, Miss Moreland. I believe that you will want to call me by my first name when you know the reason that I am here.”
“Okay, Brandt, what brings you to our doorstep? How is it that you know Christine’s real name?”
“It’s quite a long story, which I intend to tell you in full detail, but first can you tell me where she is?”
Barbara stared forlornly at him, answering, “I don’t know…I don’t know where she is.”
Peering doubtfully at her for a moment, he responded, “Well, have you checked where she works, at Starbuck’s?”
“How do you know where she works?” she replied suspiciously.
“I don’t know where she works,” he corrected her, “I only know who she works for. So exactly where does she work?”
“She works at the World Trade Center, at least she did until yesterday,” she replied woefull
y.
“Oh, my God, no!” he blurted out reflexively and, slumping in disbelief, he blurted, “Where exactly did she work in the WTC?”
“She worked at a small stand on the ninety-fifth floor.”
“Which tower?”
“The North Tower,” she replied in abject misery.
“My…God…” he stammered, stumbling over his own words. He contemplated momentarily, then gaped at her, exclaiming, “My God, Oh, my God. I missed her by a single day. All these years, searching for her, and I missed her by a single day. Oh, God, I could have saved her, and now she’s probably dead!”
At the sound of his final word she burst into tears and lunged into his arms, the two of them weeping in the arms of strangers over a person that he’d barely even met, in a city turned upside down by events beyond their control.
The next few days were a jumble of confusion as Brandt and Barbara attempted unsuccessfully to find out anything at all about Patience. Her name was of course released on the long list of missing people, but no one in a position of authority could give them any further information whatsoever. They were just two more people among thousands who were looking for loved ones, very few of whom were receiving any news at all, much less good news.
As the possibility of another terrorist attack receded, New Yorkers began struggling with the process of reconfiguring their lives to accommodate this new reality that not only had changed their skyline, but had altered their entire world. Within a few days the subway was running at full schedule, most restaurants had reopened, automobile traffic struggled back to normality, and people had gone back to work. Perhaps the last to regain its former level of activity was air travel. Few people felt the slightest inclination to board an airplane any time soon.
Brandt and Barbara attended a candlelight vigil for those who were dead or still missing, the name Christine Black among those listed. Barbara subsequently held a small gathering composed of Christine’s closest friends, the consensus among them being unanimous that Christine had been a lovely young lady struck down unfairly in the prime of life.
After several days, the time came when Brandt realized that he had to let go and return to Los Angeles. On the last day that he was in New York, Barbara had dinner with him at an Italian restaurant in the village. “Brandt, you never really told me any details about your past history with Christine, I mean Patience. Since this may be my last chance to learn the whole story, could you fill me in?”
“Sure, I never really meant to keep it from you, but we were diverted by momentous events almost from the second we met two weeks ago, Barb.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” she responded dejectedly, “I’m still in shock.”
“Me, too,” Brandt replied, “The truth is, I only barely met Patience. You see, I was in Lincoln two days before the bombing in Las Vegas.”
“Oh, my,” Barbara replied in surprise, “This is going to be interesting.”
Brandt proceeded to give Barbara the details, especially those related to the development of Restoring Patience. He recounted in detail his search for Patience over the four-year period, including how he had developed software that had been essential to his discovery that she lived in New York City. He left out nothing, or so he thought he had.
Barbara, eventually unable to contain herself longer, exclaimed, “That’s all very interesting, Brandt, but it doesn’t really explain one thing, and that is why you did it.”
“Did what?” he replied, hoping that she wasn’t asking what he indeed feared she was asking.
“You know what I’m talking about, Brandt. Don’t become evasive with me after what we’ve been through together the last two weeks. Why did you spend the last four years of your life searching for Patience?”
At this, Brandt’s visage blanching at the realization that he wasn’t going to be able to escape from her, he mumbled evasively, “Damn, why do women have to be so perceptive,” then added, “I doubt that I would be telling you anything that you don’t already know, Barbara.”
“Tell me anyway,” she responded inquisitively and, leaning forward, she asked pointedly, “Go ahead, humor me, my new-found friend!”
Brandt grinned sheepishly and, unable to evade her penetrating stare, he confessed, “Oh, alright then, I suppose it was personal. I mean, well, I seem to have been obsessed with her. Oh, hell, the truth is, I AM obsessed with her. Even though she is dead, I can’t seem to get her out of my head. There was a point a couple of months after the bombing that I realized that I would never sleep again if I didn’t do something. I’ve been at it ever since. And I am very much afraid that her death will not lay my compulsion to rest.”
“Compulsion!” she exclaimed, “No one in their right mind would call that a compulsion, Brandtie boy!”
He stared at her in confusion, forcing her to spell it out for him, “You were in love with Patience, Brandt. And sadly, I’m afraid that you still are.”
He stared at her, comprehension washing over him like a wave. Then, his shoulders slumping reflexively, he blurted forlornly, “Oh, my God, Barb, you may be right. Oh, my…perhaps I’ve been in love with a woman whom I barely even met, and now that she’s dead, I’ve fallen even more deeply in love with her!”
He hung his head in misery and, placing one hand on his, she responded sympathetically, “If it’s any consolation, I loved her, too, my dear friend.”
Glancing up once again, and eyeing her disconsolately, he offered, “Thank you, Barbara. Thank you for these last two weeks. You allowed me into your life, and in doing so, you allowed me into hers. I came to know her like I never would have had you not befriended me. At least I will have that to remember her by.”
Their goodbye the following morning was touching but brief, punctuated by a fierce embrace, each vowing to keep in touch. And then he said goodbye.
Las Vegas -February 21, 2002
The gentlemen gathered within the ballroom for dinner were clearly in a celebratory mood, sharing a great time of it on this festive occasion. Brandt gazed out over the improbably crowded room, his emotions somehow conflicted by a sense of the profound accomplishment made by the corporation, but tempered with the sadness of loss. Solemnly pondering events of the past five years, he contemplated how time seemed to have somehow raced away into the past, the loss of Patience the previous fall having terminally dispatched his sense of direction in life.
Summarily rising and approaching the podium, he announced, “Gentlemen, welcome to the Five Year Reunion of Restoring Patience.” Continuing with apparent sadness, he exclaimed, “I hope that this will be the first of many reunions of this type. Tonight, we have all come together for the very first time to celebrate the short life of Patience, who as we all know was killed in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on 9/11. I need not tell you the terms of Restoring Patience. However, tonight I will ask you to enter into an expanded rendition of our mutual enterprise. Gentlemen, on this somber occasion, I entreat you to expand Restoring Patience to include the Patiences of the entire world.” At this, the room broke into spontaneous applause.
Using his hands to silence the group, he added, “Gentlemen, I have a secret that I have held back from you, one that I believe will only serve to amplify your interest in our cause. As you all know, five years ago I asked you to join me in attempting to help Patience Walker, and with time that objective expanded into a quest to protect other women against exploitation. I have held a secret for the past five years, a secret that I found exceedingly difficult to conceal, but one that I felt necessary to withhold so long as Patience was alive. Now that she is no longer with us, I can tell you that not only was Patience the purpose behind Restoring Patience, she was also herself the instigator of her cause, rather than I.” At this, a few murmurs were heard, but Brandt held his hands up once again.
“Gentlemen, on the night of February 21, 1997, exactly five years ago on this very night, Patience herself was affected far more profoundly than y
ou have heretofore been led to believe. As you all know, she escaped her captors. What you did not know until now is that on that night Patience very nearly killed Hakeem Al-Wadi. I have been able to confirm that Mr. Al-Wadi did not fall down the stairs at his office in Las Vegas. Instead, during her escape shortly after the bombing of the Lido Hotel, Patience struck Mr. Al-Wadi so hard that she knocked out one of his eyes, thereby sending him to the hospital with a severe concussion that required brain surgery. He very nearly died.” There was stunned silence in the audience. Not a man moved for what seemed an eternity.
Suddenly, Bill Wilkins rose slowly from his seat and, clapping his hands once, then twice, and then a third time, the entire room erupted in a standing ovation in honor of the now deceased true founder of Restoring Patience, the woman who had been the first to honor their commitment – Patience herself.