CHAPTER 15

September 11, 2001

Gruesome images of two hijacked airplanes striking the Twin Towers in New York City were playing continuously as news anchors tried to make sense of the enormous tragedy which was unfolding on live television. America was under attack. Michael Syrnyk sat alone in his living room, his eyes fixed on the movie-like reality which was unfolding before him. The world is coming to an end, he thought. In many ways, he wished it would.

Syrnyk spent the entire day staring at the television screen, watching as the Twin Towers fell to the ground, reports rolled in about more hijacked planes crashing, and Americans declared war on an unknown enemy who had just slaughtered thousands of innocent people. At times, Syrnyk pictured himself in the cockpit of the doomed airliners.

The past few weeks had been a terrible stretch for Syrnyk, beginning when he walked out on Marlene Griffin at the news they were going to have a child together. She miscarried weeks later. Marlene was upset, but not angry. She was more concerned about the fragile state of the man she loved. Syrnyk blamed himself, figuring the enormous stress he’d caused Marlene by walking out had led to the loss of their child. He would never forgive himself, proving once again he was a coward worthy of nothing.

******

September 19, 2001

Virginia Syrnyk was dead. A nearly two-year fight for survival had mercifully ended, the disease simply proving too much to overcome. Cancer had claimed another innocent victim, sent another family into mourning. The entire clan had gathered at her hospital bedside in the late evening, knowing death was near and saying tearful good-byes. The phone call, confirming Virginia’s passing, had come in the early morning hours.

The lone bright spot for the Syrnyk family had been a reunion, of sorts, between Virginia and Mike Sr. Although living apart, the estranged couple seemed to become friends – for the first time – as Virginia slowly lost her battle. Mike Sr. was paying regular visits, both to the home and hospital, and he and Virginia would share long chats. Little was said about their terrible history, the couple instead wanting to focus on the present. Unfortunately, there was no future for Virginia. Mike Sr. hadn‘t complained the day he watched his car get towed from a no-parking zone as he sat in Virginia‘s hospital room. The old Mike Sr. probably would have gone off on a tirade. Instead, he cracked a smile as his wife cackled hysterically from her bed. He would bring Virginia food, buy her medicine and run errands. There were nights he even fell asleep in her hospital room. Talk often turned to their two children, and both Virginia and Mike Sr. were deeply worried about Syrnyk, who had become an enigma to them.

Mourning didn’t begin to describe Syrnyk’s reaction to his mother’s passing. It was pure manic. There had been too much loss, too much pain, for him to bear. He’d watched his mother waste away before his eyes and been helpless to stop her suffering. Life had never seemed so cruel.

******

Marvin Simmons throws open his doors on a daily basis to the most down-and-out in society, forgotten souls who need reminding and reassuring that someone does indeed care about them. A friendly, easy-going senior with a gift for both speaking and listening, the reverend takes immense pride in the work he does. There are many faces he sees once, then never again. Simmons often lies awake wondering what has become of them. Worrying for them. Praying for them. There are many others who keep coming back, clearly moved by the experience inside the Wide World Of Faith Church, located on Alexander Avenue in one of Winnipeg’s most downtrodden neighbourhoods. Simmons fights hard to keep the converted believers in his pews, a place where he assures them they are safe and loved. There are many followers who make a lasting impact on Simmons, names and faces he will never forget. Then there are the Michael Syrnyk’s of the world.

Syrnyk walked into the church, not really sure how long he was going to stay or what exactly he was here to do. His mother’s death was weighing heavily on his mind, as were thoughts of the harm he’d caused others and how ashamed his mother would be of him. A friendly face greeted him upon his arrival, the man quickly introducing himself as Rev. Simmons. Syrnyk had difficulty making eye contact, staring mostly at the ground. He was feeling extremely uncomfortable, instantly regretting the decision to walk in. The reverend sensed something was wrong with the scruffy-faced stranger and invited him to sit down and chat. Syrnyk reluctantly took a seat. For the first few minutes, Syrnyk said very little, simply nodding his head as the reverend explained the workings of the church and its function in the community. Syrnyk told the man he was thinking about joining a congregation, and might be interested in attending some services. The reverend said he was welcome. As the conversation continued on, Syrnyk was fighting the increasing urge to say more. There was so much bottled up inside, so much he wanted to tell. “Do you know that Syrnyk means ‘He who is like God’?” asked Syrnyk. The reverend nodded.

The reverend seemed like a trusting soul, someone who wouldn’t judge him the way he believed most of society had. Right now, he was all Syrnyk had. So Syrnyk began speaking. “I’ve betrayed a woman I love,” he offered quietly. It hurt him just to say the words. He explained the miscarriage, which he believed was caused by walking out on Marlene. He told the reverend of the enormous guilt he was carrying. “It’s so hard for me to believe someone so wonderful wanted to be with me,” said Syrnyk. He mentioned that he had betrayed some innocent people as well, but offered up nothing more. So much of him wanted to tell the whole story, just finally get it out into the open. Not now. Not yet. The reverend simply listened, offered a few kind words of support, and invited Syrnyk to return. Syrnyk agreed that he would. He left the church, his mind feeling somewhat less cluttered but still wrestling with his next move.

******

The man seated directly across from Syrnyk had a puzzled look on his face as he tried to process the bizarre request. “You want me to do what?” the man asked, obviously questioning whether his ears had just deceived him. They hadn’t, but Syrnyk repeated his question anyways

“I want you to put me under,” Syrnyk said. He was oblivious to the fact that what he was asking this hypnotherapist was not only ridiculous but also pretty much impossible. Paradise Lost was enormous, to the point Syrnyk would have to be put under for days. “Can you do it?” an impatient Syrnyk asked. The trips to church had Syrnyk thinking a lot about his favourite book again, the ongoing battle between God and Lucifer, good and evil. The story was intense, and Syrnyk was relating more than ever to it – at least the parts he could remember. He believed Adam and Eve might have contemplated suicide at one point, likely experiencing the same tortured feelings he was having now. But Syrnyk’s biggest obstacle was his own failing memory, which seemed to be getting worse as he delved deeper into drugs. His emotional instability was also a factor. Syrnyk wanted the hypnotherapist to increase his memory and literally plant the book in his head so he would never forget it. The puzzled man explained Syrnyk’s request was both unusual and extremely difficult, and suggested an alternative. He would put Syrnyk under, but instead of reading the book line by line, would instead focus on mind control and knowledge retention, which he explained would give Syrnyk the tools to expand his memory base. Syrnyk sat back in the chair, closed his eyes and began to listen to the man speak.

******

The snow was falling gently to the ground, giant fluffy flakes blowing in a gentle, cold breeze. Syrnyk walked slowly through the cemetery, passing dozens of white-topped gravestones as he headed towards the crucifix. As he neared the statue, Syrnyk fell to his knees. He looked straight up into the grey sky, clasped his hands together, and begged God to forgive him. Tears rolled down his red cheeks, the salty remnants collecting on his lips. He took his right hand and carefully reached into his jacket pocket. Syrnyk was holding a handgun. He’d already loaded a bullet into the chamber. Syrnyk cocked the weapon as he raised it to his right temple. He felt the cold steel against the side of his head. Then he squeezed the trigger.

Syrnyk jolted back to reality, unable to complete the horrible mental picture he had conjured up. Even in his darkest thoughts, Syrnyk was still a coward. On the table beside him was an open bottle of morphine. Just as his mother had done, Syrnyk was now using the powerful drug to block out his pain. Only his was emotional, not physical.

Syrnyk hit drugs hard following his mother’s death, unable to cope with so much loss and his own personal failures. His new favourite was his mother’s leftover morphine, which seemed to intensify his emotions and take Syrnyk right to the brink of mental anarchy. As an eventful 2001 was drawing to a close, Syrnyk found himself contemplating an unexpected ally, one he thought he would never call upon. Cocaine.

******

A drive from St. James to downtown Winnipeg will usually take about 10 minutes, depending on how many green lights you catch and how busy traffic on Portage Avenue is. For Syrnyk, the trip could take an entire day. As winter’s icy grip began taking hold of Winnipeg for another long, dreary season, Syrnyk began spending more and more time outdoors, always alone and on foot. He would get up in the morning, get dressed and leave his home, usually with no real destination in sight. He would usually pop a morphine pill or two before he left. Syrnyk would walk briskly, taking little time to stop and take in the scenery.

One afternoon, Syrnyk was headed to see Reverend Simmons at his inner-city church when he stopped walking at the sight of a large structure just up the road. It was the Public Safety Building, the headquarters for the Winnipeg Police Service. A sense of guilt quickly washed over Syrnyk. But so too did a feeling of opportunity. Here was his chance to make things right, to end the suffering and begin rebuilding whatever was left of his life. All he had to do was walk through the doors.

Syrnyk began moving again, though at a much slower pace. He neared the front of the building, where some uniformed front-desk officers were smoking cigarettes. Several marked police cars were nearby, including some pulling out of the basement garage and on to the street. Syrnyk looked around, carefully studying everything around him. Then he turned around and walked away.

******

Christmas 2001 came to pass without any activity from the Yuletide Bandit. Everyone – from police to armoured car guards to store merchants – had been on guard, expecting another violent attack. Police had stepped up patrols once again in areas of concern, namely shopping malls and major retail outlets where large volumes of money were coming and going daily. The general public had been warned to be wary of any suspicious activity, and to immediately report anything they might see. Plenty of calls came in to police, but nothing of any substance. Paranoia combined with past history clearly had people on edge. Police were quite puzzled by the lack of activity, wondering what had become of their elusive bandit. It wasn’t like him to stay quiet for so long. It was as if he’d fallen off the face of the earth.