I have begun writing an interactive novel: WOUND.  If after reading the current chapter(s) you feel the urge to contribute to the this ongoing story, please submit your chapter  by email (number your chapter on the subject line, i.e. Wound chapter 3).   We will publish several of these alternative chapters each month.  At the end of the year we will have number of complete collaborative novels created by you out there.   This novel can only exist by way of your involvement.
WE'RE WAITING....  

CHAPTER 1  (Chapter 2 / 3 / 4 / 5...)
(alternates 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5...)

Friday at work had been uneventful for Bill. He'd actually been able to get out from under a couple of messes that had been dumped on his desk earlier in the week. He looked forward to a peaceful evening at home with his family. As the train slid into the Old Greenwich train station he found himself remembering his teenage years. It made him laugh to consider the burning ambitions he had once harbored. He felt profound relief in now being: a) too old to be a professional athlete, b) too bald to be a rock singer, c) too fat to be a movie star, and d) too tired to be a Nobel prize-winning author. He supposed he could still become a ladies man (as his mother had liked to call Lotharios) but there was something indecorous in striving for sexual conquest once you had fathered children.

As the sun sank over the image of Binney Park sliding by outside, his bemused reflection arose on the Metro North car's grimy window. But how could he not enjoy the irony of growing older: as all those things he so desperately needed when he was young (sex, power, success, money, fame) became more and more available, his cravings for them seemed to recede in equal measure. Even the idea of craving had become slightly embarrassing. Was this how it was supposed to be? Was this some cruel joke God played on humans? Of course there were men who took advantage of what maturity offered but in so doing they belied that very maturity. Did he (or any of his friends for that matter) really admire Warren Beatty's bedding down one young beauty after another as he slid from his forties into his fifties? Yes, the Rolling Stones could still rock on in their declining years but would he consider changing places with them now (an offer he would have traded his soul for at twenty)?

The train squeezed to a halt drawing him out of his reverie. He got to his feet and moved to the train doors which were just sliding open. Patty would be waiting for him, double parked as he liked her to be, so they could avoid the crush of cars trying to back out of the angled parking spaces. The cold air rushed onto the train as he got off. He trotted down the steps and weaved between cars toward their maroon Delta 88. When he got into the car he leaned over and gave Patty a perfunctory peck but something was missing - where was the martini that she usually guided into his hand as they smooched?

"I thought we'd wait till we got home", she said in answer to his questioning look.

"Sure", he replied as the car moved forward. Bill liked the 88's lolling reaction to uneven roads. He agreed with U.S. car manufacturer's assessment that most Americans preferred ‘a smooth ride' to ‘responsive handling' that seemed the forte of Japanese and European luxury automobiles.

Patty and he may have talked on the seven minute journey to what real estate agents would call their ‘3800 square foot luxury home within walking distance of sandy beaches' but when he went over it in his head later he couldn't recall what the conversation could have been about.

As they swung onto Ballwood Lane, Bill could see lights on in both the second floor bedrooms for their house which sat at the far end of this narrow little street which was swallowed by the shore of Long Island Sound. He felt himself start to tell Patty for the umpteenth time about saving electricity but he stopped himself. Was this part of his diluted Irish heritage, this obsession with saving electricity? Or was it, as his son Dylan had read to him from some pop psychology, some deep seated guilt Bill still harbored about the ‘wastefulness' of excessive masturbation during his teens. Bill was about to laugh about this when he noticed that there were cars lining the end of Ballwood Lane - it looked like someone was having a party. He turned to ask Patty about it but the tense, brittle look on her face let him know that this was not a question she would welcome.

As they pulled into the driveway he couldn't help but notice the Ransen's Buick station wagon parked there. And what was Sandy Whiteside's little red Miata doing wedged alongside the Sid and Lilly Matelan's Taurus in the side yard. And there was a white stretch limo, engine running with a large black driver leaning against it, on the road right in front of the house.

"Patty, what's going___?" he started to ask.

"It's... Well, some friends just dropped by, that's all", she answered but Bill felt his stomach drop. Something was up. He wondered if one of the kids had been killed or kidnapped - it had that kind of feeling. He wanted to ask but didn't. He decided just to sit back and watch the ‘movie' of his life unfold. It was a practice he had found helpful in the past few years.

Patty turned off the ignition and got out of the car in a jerky rush and headed toward the house. Bill got out and stood by the car perplexed. When she got to the door, Patty turned and called out, "Come on, I'll make you that drink!" She entered the house leaving the front door open. As he moved down the path he would have expected voices and laughter from the assembled guests but there was just the sound of a soft breeze in the trees coming in off the Sound. Bill loved living near the water. It was one thing that he hadn't lost the passion for.

As he entered the house he tried to be nonchalant, checking the mail on the hall table. He moved to the living room thumbing through the Yale Magazine that had come today. He never read the articles - he just liked to checked the necrology at the back to see who in his class may have died during the past month. When he got past forty he realized that doing ‘something' with his life was not what the game was about - it was pure survival at this point. Just like the playoffs. But there was no next year.

As he entered the livingroom he looked up to see most of his close friends sitting quietly, most looking at their feet. Even Dale Martin, his supervisor, from work was there. He kept waiting for them to yell, "SURPRISE!" but when that didn't happen Patty stepped forward very formally to Bill's side and said, "Honey, I got some of your friends together because we're concerned." Bill could tell she'd practiced the line.

"Concerned?" Bill laughed wishing he had a drink in his hand - he didn't need alcohol but sometimes props are a necessary lubricant in social interactions (and avoidances).

"Yes.." came a voice from behind Patty. Bill craned his around his wife to see Dr. Sterling Perry, Ph.D. Perry was Patty's therapist. She'd been seeing him for almost a decade now. Bill had thought it was a very worthwhile investment. He knew from having lived through his mother's menopause that for some family's, you can't have enough help during this difficult transition.

"What are you...?" Bill asked knowing that it was sentence he would not need to finish.

"Bill... Can I call you, Bill?" asked Perry.

"Yes, of course", Bill smiled, knowing that therapists like to start off any interaction with a client saying ‘yes'. It was a technique he used often in his advertising and sales careers.

"Patty has been talking to me a lot lately", began Perry.

"I am aware of your billable hours", joked Bill.

No one laughed.

"Right. Well, she has been very concerned about you."

"About me?" Bill smiled as he looked around the room at the most important people in the past two decades of his life. His gaze landed on Dylan and Shawn, his 15 and 17 year old children. He could tell that his daughter had been crying and it sobered him.

"Honey, you know things have been strained around here for a long time", chimed in Patty.

"Strained? I don't..." Bill felt an urge to blather on about how everyone was just setting him up for some kind of joke - but he could sense this was no joke.

"Bill, everyone is concerned about you. All your friends and family came together tonight because we wanted to talk to you as a group", Perry went on.

"Concerned? Is something happening that I'm not aware of?" Bill asked Patty.

"Oh, Bill..." she moaned.

"Bill, what do you think we might be concerned about?" asked Perry.

"Excuse me, but I'm trying real hard here not to get all defensive so cut the psychiatric garbage and get to the point before I___"

"Bill, you need help. It's that simple."

Bill turned to face Dale Martin who, despite their superficially equal status at work, was, in fact, his boss.

"Hi, Dale. I wondered whose wife you were going to ‘visit' when you left early today", Bill quipped.

Dale started out slow, "Bill, I've been worried about you for quite a while now. Something's missing. And your work is suffering. Then when Patty called me..."

Bill turned and accused her with his eyes for broaching such clear boundaries.

Dale went on, "Bill, I would have called her sooner or later. It's time for you to do something. You just don't seem to be here anymore. I don't how else to say it. And I'd like you to get help. You just don't seem... alive, really."

"Dale, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, Daddy..." Shawn collapsed in a torrent of tears. Patty crossed the room and put her arm around their sobbing daughter.

"Christ... What the hell is happening?" Bill wondered aloud.

"Now Bill", continued Dale, "The company is behind you and Patty one hundred and ten per cent. We'll continue to cover all your expenses and your job will be waiting for you when you come back. You can take as long___"

"Come back?!" Bill's voice rose in pitch and volume, "Come back from where? I'm not going anywhere!"

"Bill, we'd like to offer you the opportunity to go somewhere that you can talk to people - get away from the everyday distractions___"

"Listen here Doc! I don't know what the fu... you've been saying to Patty___"

"BILL, IF YOU DON'T GO AWAY TONIGHT, I AM!" Patty interrupted.

"You're going... What do you mean, you're going away?"

"If you don't go and get help - tonight - I'm leaving and I'm taking the kids with me."

Bill looked at Dylan anxiously.

"I'm with Mom on this one, Dad", Dylan said with as much manliness as he could muster.

"Bill?"

Bill turned to Sandy Whiteside. Sandy was for all intents and purposes Bill's ‘best friend'. This term didn't mean as much as it did in grammar school but it did still carry weight and Bill felt that weight about to knock him off his feet.

"Bill", Sandy began again, "I think I speak for most of your friends here. We love you, man. But we can't go along with this anymore."

"Can't go along with what?" Bill countered.

"Bill, I think you know that you've changed. You just seem really unhappy. And I'm worried about Patty and the kids. They're suffering because of you. Can't you see that?"

Bill turned and look at his family.

"Now, we're behind you if you want to get help... But if you can't take this offer. We're going to have to withdraw." Sandy stated.

"Withdraw?" Bill repeated, the psychic beating he was taking was beginning to have a real affect.

"Yes. If you don't get help - tonight. I'm going to have to walk away. And I won't look back. I just can't... I can't support what you're doing. I cannot, in good conscience, enable you anymore." Sandy finished and looked around the room and all eyes seemed to second his emotion.

"Enable? Is this about my drinking?"

"It's not about alcohol", Patty said. "That's not the problem___"

"Because I‘ve never had a problem with drinking", Bill said trying to assert some control over the crew of his ship of life - a ship which he felt inexorably sinking.

"No, we don't think you have any problems like that", interjected Dale.

"BILL, IT'S LIKE YOU'RE JUST NOT HERE. IT'S LIKE YOU'RE DEAD ALREADY. THE MAN I LOVED HAS GONE AWAY. I WANT HIM BACK. AT ANY COST! I MEAN IT!" Patty wanted to go on but Perry gave her a sign to back off.

Perry stepped forward toward Bill, "We have a place we'd like you to consider. It's not far - it's in Kent, Connecticut. It's called THE HILLS__"

"As in ‘them thar'" Bill quipped.

"They've been extremely successful in cases such as yours___"

Bill interrupted Perry again, "And what exactly what kind of case might that be?"

"Bill, please, listen to us?" Patty rejoined.

"Please, Daddy..." Shawn tried to get out between sobs.

"Bill, I think this is not the forum to go into the details of your ‘problem", Perry drew quotation marks in the air.

"Oh, I see. I'm going to ‘go away' for ‘help' but you can't tell me ‘my problem'", Bill countered with three sets of quotation marks.

"Bill, if you don't get into that limo outside tonight, I've been authorized to terminate you", said Dale.

"You mean Henderson knows about___?" Bill felt the blood rush to his face. His identification with his work was one of the linchpins of his life.

"Henderson arranged this whole event. He's paying Dr. Perry here. He had his secretary personally make your reservation at THE HILLS. And quoting Mr. Henderson, he gave me standing orders to ‘fire the son-of-a-bitch if he doesn't cooperate.'"

There was a long pause while Bill pondered this nightmare, hoping he would awake during the lull... But he didn't. He didn't know why but he was feeling suddenly tired. His arms and legs hurt and his visual field was filled with fuzzy glowings.

Finally he turned to Patty, "Get me a martini. I'd like to have a drink in the car. If that's OK."

Patty broke down in tears as she took a step toward Bill. The room broke into a quiet but determined applause.

"I don't know what the fuck... I'm sorry" Bill apologized to his children for cursing.

"Fuck it, Dad, you say whatever", Dylan shouted out.

"Well, I don't know what the fuck this is about. I keep waiting for someone to yell "SURPRISE" but I'm too tired to care really... Maybe I do need a break. A couple of days and I don't know..."

Everyone smiled at Bill sadly.

"Is this the right thing for me to do?" Bill asked turning to Sandy Whiteside.

"Absafuckinglutely, pal".

"OK, OK... I don't..." Bill muttered.

Bill was startled when he realized he hadn't put up more of a fight. Later he would read about the power of an ‘intervention' - how emotionally it's difficult for someone to refute the suggestions of a peer and family group when they are of a single mind. It's rooted in tribal memories.

"Can I take a pee before we saddle up?" Bill asked.

"Sure, I'll go with you", Sandy said. He and Dylan stepped forward and cleared a path for Bill to the downstairs lavatory which was off the hallway between the kitchen the diningroom.

Inside the bathroom Bill stood before the mirror looking at his face. He then turned and looked at the toilet which was only a few feet away but he decided it was too far. He pulled down his zipper and peed in the bathroom sink. He reached down and turned on the water to mask the sound of splashing urine.

When he emerged from the bathroom the assembled had moved out onto the front lawn. He looked down the hall into the kitchen before heading back toward the livingroom. Two fat women in food service uniforms were preparing what looked like a huge feast. Bill looked questioningly at Sandy.

"Your boss had dinner ordered in for the group", Sandy responded.

"Geez, I don't get to eat my own last supper", Bill laughed.

"You're making the right decision, Bill. It'll be good. You'll see", Sandy said.

"Easy for you to say, Sandy", Bill countered.

"If it helps, I went away last year for while -remember when I said I was in San Diego?"

"You mean...?"

"Yes, I needed some time to myself - to get back."

"Back to what?"

"I shouldn't be saying too much at this point - it's not helpful", said Sandy.

"It's going to be OK, Dad", Dylan said, squeezing his father's shoulder.

"Geez, you're taller than me", Bill laughed as he considered his son.

"I've been taller than you since I was fourteen, Dad".

Bill suddenly grabbed his son in his arms and hugged him with every ounce of affection he could muster, "Don't forget your old man, will you?"

Dylan patted Bill back which was beginning to shudder with tears.

Out on the front lawn everyone gathered around the limo as Patty guided Bill in. Sandy and Dr. Perry were going along for the ride as a so-called ‘support team'. No one wanted anything to go awry now that Bill had agreed to ‘go away'.

The trip to THE HILLS took about three and a half hours. They stopped along the way for fish sandwiches at a Burger King. Carl, their driver, had the station tuned to a classic rock station that was doing an evening of ‘60's soul music.

Bill never realized how great the lyrics to all those old Motown songs were till this night. When Wilson Pickett's LAND OF A THOUSAND DANCES came on, he asked Carl to turn up the stereo. He felt his tears rising again as the Cadillac got off route 84 and lumbered down dark country roads toward his new home at THE HILLS.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Chapters: 2 / ....

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