Luka's grandmother used to say, "Although we must celebrate everyday
God sends to us, every day can't be a celebration." Relationships
change over time. Fortunately, to John and Luka, it seemed theirs had
changed for the better. They loved each other as much as they did in
the beginning. Their commitment to each other, steady and strong,
remained as solid as ever but their outward expression of this
commitment, became part of a more balanced whole.
At work, professionalism shaped their public demeanor. A quick peck
on the cheek as a greeting or farewell gesture and the
occasional "love you" were their only overt demonstrations of
affection. However, like an iceberg, these outward signs were only
the visible tip of feelings that had deepened over time. Oddly
enough, Luka, who'd always been so serious, now indulged in a hidden
prediliction for practical jokes. By now, Luka had accepted the ways
and habits of his new country. His approach to medicine lightened
somewhat as a result of inner happiness and his realization that
although this was a violent culture in many aspects, it was not the
same as living in a war zone.
Meanwhile, John had sobered up in more ways than one. His addiction
to pain killers had scared him badly, so although he'd been taken off
Prozac, he still abstained from alcohol, realizing that it was a
chemical depressant. The odd glass of wine with a celebratory meal
and weekly sips at communion constituted all the drinking he
permitted himself. John's love of his work also intensified and he
would be the first to admit that the gangly, awkward "Carter" who
first came to County did not exist anymore. Patients still looked
somewhat askance at his youthful appearance; but once he began
working with them, even the most skeptical could recognize a mature
and dedicated practitioner.
Their days largely consisted of work and lots of it. The pre-
Christmas rush was on in full swing. Despite the best wishes of
merchants and greeting card companies, there were numerous people who
felt at odds with commerce-driven artificial gaiety. They presented
themselves to Cooke County General in the form of attempted suicides
and as victims of muggings and domestic violence. The party animals
also checked in by drinking and driving, getting caught up in bar
fights, and over-indulging in chemical cheer.
When their shifts permitted, John and Luka would usually stagger home
together and fall into bed. A few minutes of pillow talk, a couple of
kisses and both men would be asleep. Nightmares which had plagued
them a year ago had become a rarity. As the holidays came and went,
John observed to Jing-Mei that they were just like any other hard-
working married couple. What he didn't say was although they made
love less often, the sex was better than ever. Shortly after Twelfth
Night, all of this idyllic boredom came to a disturbing halt. Like
most cataclysmic storms, this one began with light flurries: a series
of odd anonymous letters.
* * * * *
"Did you get the mail?" Luka yawned.
"It's on the dining room table." John's voice called out from the
kitchen where he was preparing their nightcaps: a glass of wine for
Luka and some herbal tea for himself.
Luka looked through the assortment of advertisments, bills, and
medical journals. He almost missed the small white envelope that had
slipped inside of a magazine. Noting its type-written address, Luka
opened it and stared at a threatening message. "Justice will come,
even unto to the killers of the innocent. Prepare yourself."
Frowning, Luka examined the address once more. The letter was his
alright.
"Anything interesting?" John handed Luka his drink. He'd put on his
caftan which had seen better days. Although Luka offered to replace
the much-worn garment, John would have none of it.
"Something odd." Luka gave the letter to John who read it and
shrugged.
"Some crank. It's probably nothing. Are you hungry?"
"Perhaps. What are you offering?" Luka smiled.
"That depends on what you want to eat." John grinned back.
"You."
"Well, the kitchen is closed for the night, but I think I can manage
to serve one more customer." John indulged himself with a long kiss.
The letter was tossed in the trash and forgotten as John knelt and
began to attend to his "patron". Just when things were getting very
interesting indeed, John stood, winked and went into the bedroom.
Luka, his penis protruding from his trousers hastily followed.
"Are you going to finish what you started?"
"Perhaps... I've been feeling a little empty lately. You know, that
run-down feeling."John tried his best to keep from smiling.
Nevertheless, his eyes telegraphed his amusement.
"Oh you have, have you?"
"Yes, Doctor. I think a thorough rectal exam would be just the
ticket."
"Coming right up."
"Ohhh I hope so."
Luka pushed John onto the bed and ran his hands up under the red silk
making his husband shiver as he did so. Pausing only to remove his
clothes and fetch the lubricant, Luka applied the cool gel to himself
and to John. "Lift your hips, please." John complied. Luka entered
his husband slowly, promising himself to make this last as long as
possible. After a couple of minutes elapsed, John opened his eyes.
"Is something wrong?"
"Nope. I'm trying to figure out the best way to treat your symptoms."
"Quickly.", was the short reply.
"Who's the doctor here?" Luka grinned as John rolled his eyes. He
began to thrust forward gently but inexorably.
"Any deeper my love, and you'll poke a hole in the mattress." John
growled.
"Any more words from you and you'll finish this alone."
John grinned and pulled an imaginary zipper across his lips as Luka
slowly withdrew then re-entered. John bit his lower lip to keep
silent as this delightful torture continued. Luka never took his eyes
off his husband whose face had reddened then paled then grew flush
again. Gasps and sighs were the only sounds he made as Luka moved in
slow motion. Just when John thought he could keep silent no longer,
Luka began to thrust rapidly, holding John's hips in place.
When his husband's eyes rolled up and his eyelids fluttered closed,
Luka ceased his movements. The brown eyes flew open again and Luka
resumed his slow lunges. Twice more, John's eyes closed and twice
more Luka stopped what he was doing. John got the message. He focused
on his husband as he picked up the pace for the last time. With a
shout, Luka climaxed explosively. John thought he'd never seen
anything more breath-taking than his husband's face as he came.
"Ja ljubav te.", John whispered as Luka collapsed on top of him. "Ja
ljubav te."
* * * * *
Over the following weeks, more letters came. All of them typewritten
and all of them containing variations on the threat contained in the
first one. Luka began to dread getting the mail. John shared his
concern.
"Maybe it's my grandfather. He's always got something stashed up his
sleeve. I wouldn't put it past the old bastard to have bribed his
keepers." John said quietly.
"I thought that too, at first. But look at this one..."
John took the letter. "You cannot escape the vengeance of
God. 'Butcher of L*****e,' you will be led like a lamb to the
slaughter." *
"What's this word?" John pointed to the place name.
"It's a small village about sixty kilometers from where I grew up.
The only reason I know it is due to my father. He was a conductor on
the railway. His regular run included a stop at that village on
market days. I doubt seriously if your grandfather has ever heard of
this place, or ever run into anyone who has."
"So it's someone from the old country who's also a crank." John
offered hopefully.
"Perhaps, but I doubt it."
"Do you want to tell the police about these?"
"I can't possibly see what good that will do. If I have no clues to
the reason behind this, how could they come up with anything?"
"I suppose... but they could trace them maybe."
"How?"
"The postmark. Maybe the typewriter. I don't know."
"And maybe they'll reach the same conclusions I did. The threats are
vague. The postmark belongs to the central Post Office. I checked.
And as for searching for one typewriter out of thousands in the
greater Chicago area; assuming the letters and envelopes are typed
here as well as mailed here..."
"I see what you mean. Nevertheless, I'd feel better if you told the
police. Sometimes letter writers don't remain content with the postal
system. Suppose they want to deliver a message to you in person?"
"You really think that might happen?"
"Did you think my grandfather would have me kidnapped?"
"Point." Luka was alarmed now. Although he had no undue worry about
himself. The possibility that John could be in danger was something
else entirely. "I'll call them from work tomorrow. I promise."
"Thanks, husband of mine. I'd hate for the author of these notes to
run off with the only supplier of Croatian sausage who delivers."
John tried to smile. He was more worried than he let on.
Luka called Lydia's husband, Al, from work the following morning.
Admitting that he knew there was really nothing to be done about the
situation, he asked Al to submit a report anyway. Months later, he
thanked John for making him do so. However, at the time, it seemed a
wasted effort. John later insisted that February was his least
favorite month. Apart from being stabbed, he realized that many of
the crises in his life either began in that darkest of winter months,
or came to a boiling point.
Randi had the honors of launching the next phase of events. A week
after Valentine's Day, she called Luka to the desk to see an agent
from the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Completely confused,
Luka ushered the man into the lounge. He'd been a citizen for over
three years and had no idea why the INS would show up now.
"Dr. Kovac? I am sorry to have to tell you, but our office has
received reports naming you as a perpetrator of war crimes. Three
individuals have come forward stating they can identify you as the
man responsible for the deaths of over 150 men, women and children in
the village of L*****e. You are hereby summoned to appear before them
on Monday. If they do identify you, our office will then turn the
matter over to the Justice Department's Division of War Crimes for
adjudication or processing." The portly man handed over an official
envelope.
"Excuse me, but I have no idea what you are talking about." Luka
finally managed to say. Yes, I come from what is now Bosnia-
Herzegovinia. I've even ridden through this village when I was about
nine years old. But I don't know how three or thirty-three witnesses
could identify me. Are you sure you have the right Kovac? It's a
pretty common name back home."
"Yes. Luka Aleksandr Kovac. And if I were you, I wouldn't say
anything else without talking to a lawyer. You do realize you just
admitted to me that you'd been to this place?"
"Why wouldn't I? I told you, I was a child at the time. My father
worked for the railway. He used to take me and my little brother with
him sometimes on his runs. I never got off the train. Since it wasn't
market day, the train didn't even stop there. We rode through to the
end of the line and back again."
"Well, I still wouldn't say anything. All of the accusations are
outlined in your copy of the summons. Get a lawyer. That's the only
advice I'm allowed to give you." The man put on his hat and left Luka
standing holding the envelope. Sighing, he put the summons in his
pocket and went to find Kerry Weaver. It looked as if he and John
would need part of Monday off. It went without saying that his
husband would want to be there.
That evening, Luka told John everything. The younger man was silent
for a few minutes thinking. "Now, those anonymous letters make sense.
I hoped you saved them."
"Yes I did. But I don't see what they have to do with this latest
turn of events."
"Luka, it's obvious somebody knew the INS was receiving reports about
the perpetrator of this massacre. We know *you* didn't have anything
to do with it, but they don't. If the investigation was leaked, how
do we know your name wasn't planted with the authorities from the
beginning? This is either an unfortunate case of grossly mistaken
identity or, somebody wants to get back at you for something and the
fate of this poor village is the means whereby they are going to get
their revenge." John explained.
"You're probably right. But if this is part of some plot, I don't see
how I can clear my name. If the witnesses are lying, they'll identify
me on Monday, and that will be the end of it. Citizen or no, I'll be
deported."
"Whoa, Sascha. First of all it's *our* name. I'm legally John T.
Kovac-Carter, remember?" John smiled. "Second, the date of the
massacre is in the summons. All we have to do is prove you were
somewhere else."
"Do you know how difficult that will be? A war was going on. People
moved, died, were taken away..."
"I didn't say it would be easy, but it should be possible. Would you
like me to call our family lawyer? He could recommend someone to help
us."
"Janaskja, I don't want you to have to run to your family on my
behalf. I know how you hate taking anything from them."
"This would not be on *my* behalf. It's on *our* behalf, husband.
I'll call Richard in the morning. Now, why don't you come to bed. I
think I can manage to take your mind of this for a while." John gave
Luka a quick kiss and headed to the bedroom. "It's time you
fertilized my rosebud." John called out.
Shaking his head but smiling nonetheless, Luka got up to follow.
Despite John's hopeful suggestions, he was prepared for the worst. At
least a rigorous bedtime workout had the benefit of producing deep
sleep.
* * * * *
Kerry agreed with John's assessment of the accusations and granted
them the necessary leave to appear at the hearing. Richard ffolliot,
the Carter family lawyer had suggested one of his partners, a young
woman named Phillipa Taylor, act on Luka's behalf. After one meeting,
both men accepted her services.
Monday afternoon arrived all too soon. They were escorted to a medium-
sized conference room. The usual trappings associated with legal
proceedings were noticeably absent. John, Luka, and Phillipa took
seats at the oblong table. Phillipa pulled out a yellow pad and
smiled reassuringly at both men.
"This is a preliminary procedure at which it will be determined if
the witnesses' identification of the accused is solid enough to
necessitate actual legal proceedings. When the time comes, Luka will
be taken to a waiting room containing other men of similar age and
coloring. Most will be employees in this building, some will have
been selected at random from off the street. Once Luka has entered
the room and sat down, the three witnesses will be allowed to observe
the group of men through a one-way window.
"If they fail to identify Luka. We all go home. If they do make an
identification, this matter will be turned over to the Justice
Department. Are you guys with me so far?" John and Luka
nodded. "Great. The Justice Department must then assemble or gather
sufficient evidence before scheduling a hearing. If the evidence
warrants further action, this hearing will allow the witnesses to
confront the accused with their accounts of the events in question.
The accused will also be able to present evidence in support of his
or her innocence. A panel consisting of three Federal judges will
render a decision based on the evidence." Phillipa paused.
"These judges can make one of four rulings. One: the evidence is
insufficient and no further investigation is warranted; and the
accused is free to go but is not officially cleared. Two: the
evidence is insufficient yet indicates that further investigation
would prove helpful; and the accused is free to go pending the
scheduling of a second hearing. Three: the evidence is insufficient
to support a formal indictment and the accused is free to go with his
or her name cleared. Four: the evidence is sufficient to warrant the
issuance of a formal Federal indictment and the accused is deported
to face the charges in the country where the alleged events occured."
Phillipa finished explaining. My job is to prepare for the fourth
possibility *now* so that it will not happen." **
"Dr. Kovac?" The man who'd delivered the summons to Luka at County
was at the door. "If you would come with me please."
Luka squeezed John's shoulder, got up and left the room. In the
hallway he saw about thirty other men; all with dark hair and eyes
standing in two lines. Taking a place in the middle of the second
line, Luka went with them to another room. Its sole furnishings were
a "mirror" on the wall facing about fifty plastic chairs arranged in
five rows. The portly official seated the men at random; told them
they were free to talk and left. At first everyone was silent, then
by fits and starts, snippets of conversation began. Some of the
participants wondered what this was all about. Most of them talked
about last night's game between the Bulls and the Pacers. The
remaining men sat quietly listening.
After about half an hour, the official came back. "Thank you for your
service to our government. Gentlemen, you may leave." Everyone stood
and headed for the door. By previous arrangement, Luka waited in the
hall outside the conference room until the official returned. The two
men re-entered the room. "Dr. Kovac, I'm sorry. All three witnesses
identified you easily. There was no hesitation from any of them. The
Justice Department will arrange to interview you. I would advise you
to make yourself available to them. If you have no further questions,
you may also leave."
"One request, Mr. Symonds." Phillipa spoke up briskly. The summons
provided only a precis of the alleged events in question. I will need
copies of all the statements made by these, and any other witnesses
you have talked with. I fully accept that these statements will not
contain any means whereby my client can make identification of these
witnesses."
"I anticipated this, Ms. Taylor. The documents you need will be faxed
to your office this afternoon." Symonds left.
"I'm sorry, guys. I always prepare for the worst, but I also hope for
the best. It looks as if someone has an axe to grind. Luka, I fully
intend to make sure that your neck is not the one they use it on. As
soon as I have studied the statements, I'll arrange for us to get
together and map out our strategy. Don't worry too much. My
grandparents were survivors of concentration camps. If I had any
doubts whatsoever about your innocence, I wouldn't be here. Trust me.
This will all come to nothing."
"Thank you, Phillipa. We'll be waiting for your call." John and Luka
headed for the elevators.
"I'm sorry, also, Sascha." John said quietly. He too, had been hoping
for the best.
Author's Note:
* In the time honored tradition of lazy authors and those desirous of
avoiding lawsuits, most foreign place names used in this story are
not fully revealed. This saves me from having to look them up (ugh)
or make them up and get it completely wrong (double ugh).
** Yeah, I know. The actual legal process for the adjudication and
deportation of war criminals is labyrinthine in its complexity and
can take *decades* to reach a conclusion. For the purposes of this
story, I am assuming that everything works correctly the first time.
Our show of shows is always altering legal realities to fit the story
line. Can I do any worse? KPP
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n