“Don’t be such a baby, Renee!”
“But this place is creepy,” she said.
Zack was ignoring us both. “Let’s try the next floor,” he said.
And so we did.
* * *
—
Things were even worse on the next floor, because instead of lots of emptyish hallways, we finally found the rooms. That was progress, I guess, but peeking into them was awful. The rooms were mostly white with curtains hanging down the center, and there was lots of coughing and machines beeping and sometimes someone moaning. Also, there was the sound of sniffling, which was my fault because it was coming from Renee, and I was the one who had made her cry.
“Are you guys lost?” a nurse asked us.
“Oh, no,” I said. “She’s just upset because our grandmother is leaving. Dying. I mean, we were just leaving.”
“Really,” she said.
She wasn’t stupid. We ran toward the elevators.
“This isn’t working,” Zack said. “Let’s just go.”
“One more floor,” I said. “Please! We came all this way.”
* * *
—
And on the next floor, my persistence paid off. We found Henry. We found him because I would not give up and because Henry would not eat orange Jell-O. His half-eaten tray was outside in the hallway, and I saw the little card with the number and his name:
322, Bed A
Davis, Henry
And then I saw something else: an exact rerun of Henry’s dream about Edgar’s mother. In the dim light of Henry’s hospital room, a woman was perched on the edge of the bed. She wore a white blouse and a longish skirt. Her hand was outstretched; she was running her fingers gently through Henry’s hair. Then she turned her head and looked at me, and I could see that the lower half of her face was covered by a surgical mask, just as Henry had described. She rose and walked toward me.
I screamed, and I’m not even ashamed. It was a big scream too. A real shriek. It lasted a couple of long seconds. It went on the whole while that she got up and crossed the room. It lasted until I ran out of breath, really, which was almost exactly the same moment that I realized she was solid and real.
By then, I had drawn a crowd: Renee and Zack plus a couple of nurses, all looking petrified.
The woman reached me, lowered her mask, and extended her hand. “I’m sorry I startled you,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Renee answered for me. “She’s always like this.”
The woman laughed. “I’m Christine,” she said. “Henry’s mother. And you must be the famous Barbara Anne.”
I shook her hand. Over her shoulder I could see that Henry’s eyes were open. He was alive and smiling.
Sneaking back into the house that night was not nearly as easy as getting out had been. My mother was still up when I went through the back door, key in hand. We faced off in the center of the checkerboard tile of the kitchen floor like square-dance partners about to do-si-do. She did not look happy. She had been doing the dishes, and now she stood with her hands on her hips, scowling. Tiny soap bubbles were still melting away on her fingers.
“Just exactly where did you come from?” she wanted to know.
The exact answer? That was room 322, bed A, but I was certain that was not what she would want to hear. Now, I realize adults stress telling the truth, but in the end, aren’t there always times when they’d be better off not knowing it? Maybe not. But you should have seen the look on her face. It was scary. I panicked.
“I thought I heard something,” I said. “A noise. Outside. Yes. A loud noise. Outside the house. This house. Our house.”
Why could I not shut up? Her eyes were like lightsabers that had just clicked on; she tried to sound calm, but I could tell she was ready to do battle.
“Really?” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
Faced with her silence, I was forced to go on. “And you’ll be glad to know that the whole yard is empty. Yep. Empty. No bears or burglars or anything. So we’re good here. Safe.”
She said nothing. Just kept staring the death stare.
“So…you’re welcome,” I said. “And…”
Stay strong! I was telling myself. Stay strong! Don’t crack! Think of something!
“I’ll just be going back to bed,” I said.
“Sleeping in your jeans these days, are you?”
“Well, no,” I said, trying to laugh, but my voice was beginning to crack. “This is just—obviously…you know, you don’t want to be facing a bear, potentially, in pajamas.”
“No,” my mom said. “I’d have to agree with you there, Barbara Anne. Nothing more terrifying than a bear in pajamas.”
“Hah! Good one, Mom. I—”
“I have no idea where you’ve been, young lady. Or what you’ve been up to, but I do know that you will not be leaving this house unescorted or going anywhere besides school for the rest of the month. I’ll take care of any bears that might wander by.”
“Or burglars,” I said. “It could easily have been—”
“Barbara Anne!”
“Right,” I said.
But what if I actually had been trying to save her? So ungrateful, really.
* * *
—
I had trouble falling asleep that night. I was mad at my mom, first of all. And disappointed that I hadn’t really gotten to spend any time with Henry. And every time I started to fall asleep, I’d feel this small, funny bit of guilt about leaving Henry there in the hospital. I knew they would take care of him. I knew his family was there. It was just that he’d looked so—well—little in that bed. And I couldn’t imagine what it would be like spending the whole night in some strange place, with hundreds of rooms—being just a number. I hoped they cared about him. Henry. I hoped they understood who he was, what he meant to all of us outside, in the real world.
Sometimes, when my dad’s on a business trip, I make him hold the phone up to show me the room. It always looks the same; it’s just a desk and a bed and a TV. But somehow I feel better, seeing the whole room and not just his face floating inside my mom’s cell phone screen. It was like that with Henry too. Seeing him made me feel a little better, but I still wanted him out of that place, where every room looked the same. I wanted him home.
* * *
—
In my dreams that night, I was at school—a version of school that I couldn’t recognize. The playground had changed. The play structures were much taller, with no wood chips below to break your fall. They looked like something that only an acrobat could manage. The sky was growing dark. A storm was coming. The playground was empty. And I stood at the school door, pulling as hard as I could, trying to get it to open.
I heard a boy’s voice call to me. “It’s locked,” he said. “Closed.”
I turned to see who was there but discovered I was still alone. I kept struggling with the door, desperate to get in. Huge gusts of wind pushed against me. Then, somehow, through the roar, I heard two words. “Find Henry.” I turned back to ask why, to see who was there with me. Nothing. No one. Crows lined the metal bars. They screeched at me and flew away. Black wings scattering across the darkening sky.
* * *
—
My grandmother was there, at the edge of my bed, when I opened my eyes. It was morning. “Bitsy,” she said. “Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
I wrapped my arms around her. She felt so solid, and warm, and real. Everything seemed okay for a minute, until I remembered that Henry was sick and I was grounded.
“Where’s my mom?” I asked. I figured I couldn’t start too soon on getting back on her good side.
“She’s taking your dad to the airport,” my grandmother said. “Work trip.”
And so my grandmother fixed me breakfast and walked me to school w
ith Rachel in the stroller. It was cold but sunny, and it felt good to have the air hit my face, to take my place in our pod of desks and listen to Ms. Biniam describe the day ahead. It felt normal. Present tense. Except for Henry’s empty desk, everything was just the way it was supposed to be. I wish it had lasted.
* * *
—
My grandmother picked me up from school too, and I knew as soon as I saw her that something was wrong. She likes to say that she’s an “open book,” which means she doesn’t bother to keep secrets. And when she’s upset, you can tell right away.
“What happened?” I asked her.
“Would you like some ice cream?” she asked.
“It’s freezing out,” I said. “Who wants ice cream? I just want to know what’s wrong.”
A man behind us, who was putting out Christmas decorations, turned for a second to stare. I guess my voice was getting too loud. My grandmother patted my mittened hand and pulled me along.
“There’s been a little development,” she said. “It’s Henry. They’ve moved him, honey—to the ICU.”
“I want to go and see him,” I said. “I didn’t really get to talk to him last night. I—”
“I’m sorry, Bitsy. You can’t.”
“I’m eleven,” I said. “That’s only one year off from their stupid rule.”
“It isn’t that,” she said. “He’s in a special section. Family only. No matter how old you are.”
“But I am his family,” I told her.
* * *
—
I refused to eat dinner that night, partly because it was meat loaf, but mostly because I was worried about Henry.
“I know I’m grounded,” I told my mom. “But you could make an exception this one time!”
“Honey, I would let you go if I could. But I don’t make the rules,” she said.
And that really scared me because, of course, she did make the rules in my world. I knew there were things she couldn’t control. I just didn’t like to think about it.
“Couldn’t I just go there and ask them how he is? The nurses there are really nice.”
I had no idea, by the way, if this was true. All I’d done so far was run from them and terrify them by screaming.
“Try not to worry,” my mom said. “His parents are there, and everyone is taking good care of him, Barbara Anne.”
“His mother came all the way from England to make sure he’d be okay,” my grandmother added.
They were talking over my head now, and I hate that. All I got to do was watch and listen and turn my head from one to the other like I was watching a tennis match.
“I’m relieved she’s here,” my grandmother said. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Mom!” my mom said, and she looked down at me.
“Oh, right, sorry. Bitsy, why don’t you go see what’s on television?”
* * *
—
I went in the other room and turned on the set, but of course I didn’t bother to watch it, not when the real story was unfolding in the kitchen. I tiptoed toward the doorway so that I could hear the rest of their conversation.
“You don’t have to go,” I heard my grandmother say. “You stay here with Rachel. I’ll take her.”
“I don’t think we should intrude,” my mom said.
“We’ll stay in the waiting room,” my grandmother said. “It’ll make her feel better.”
I’m not sure what made my mom say yes. Maybe it was because my grandmother’s my mom’s mom, and no matter how old you get, sometimes your mom is still the boss of you.
“Go get your shoes, Barbara Anne,” my grandmother said. She didn’t say it loudly either. I think she knew I’d been right there listening the whole time.
I was so relieved that I would get to go and check on Henry. I threw my arms around my grandmother. “Thank you,” I told her.
* * *
—
The waiting room was plain and ugly. It had plastic orange chairs that were hard to get comfortable in. Henry’s dad was there, but he was mostly pacing back and forth a little way down the hall and talking on his cell phone. I couldn’t hear much of what he said, but sometimes I would catch a word or two. And so far, my least favorite were “heart monitor.”
Then I heard the ding of the elevator, and I saw Uncle Marty get off. He looked older than he had at the library. His hair was messed up, and his eyes looked sleepy. I pointed him out to my grandmother. “That’s Henry’s uncle Marty,” I said.
“Do you want to go and say hello?” she asked.
I nodded and walked over. “Barbara Anne,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you here so late.”
“My grandmother brought me,” I said.
Then Christine, Henry’s mom, came out. She gave Uncle Marty a hug and didn’t let go. She said something to him too, but I couldn’t understand what it was. Her voice was all funny and muffled. “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?” he asked her.
She shrugged and then came over to us to thank us for checking in on Henry. “I think we’re going down to the cafeteria before it closes,” she said. “Can I bring you anything?”
“No, thank you,” my grandmother said. “Just take care of yourself.”
Then the elevator was there, and Christine and Uncle Marty were gone. Henry’s dad came over and said to us what he’d said on the phone. “They’ve got him on a heart monitor. They’re worried about arrhythmia.” He looked at me and said, “That’s an irregular heartbeat. But he’s going to be okay. Maybe you should go home and get some rest. You’ve got school in the morning.”
I begged my grandmother to stay just a little longer, so we did. And she was the one who got some rest. She fell completely asleep in her chair, head tilted toward the side, mouth open. And that’s when it happened.
* * *
—
The waiting room was empty and quiet—except for a soft snore from my grandmother. The sound from the television was turned down low, and there was only the light from the screen and one little lamp burning dimly in the corner. I think I was starting to fall asleep myself, but I know what happened.
The room felt a bit colder, and I shivered. Then I heard the voice from my dream, and suddenly I knew the breathy whisper in my ear was Edgar. “Find Henry,” he said. “Push the button!”
I jumped up from my chair and raced through the swinging doors. I was running down the narrow hallway, frantic. I followed the signs for the Intensive Care Unit. And when I arrived, my heart still pounding, everything shifted. The room was dimly lit and completely silent. I looked over at Henry. His eyes were closed, and his face was as pale as the sheets, but he seemed to be sleeping. Peacefully. I felt foolish then. Maybe I’d been dreaming; maybe I’d only thought I heard Edgar.
Then his voice became more urgent. “Press the button!”
“Where?” I said out loud.
Then, above Henry’s head, I saw it. I reached over him, leaned in, and pushed. It seemed like forever, but it was only seconds before the nurse came into Henry’s room.
“Did you use the call button?” she asked. She did not look happy.
“You need to check on my friend,” I said.
“We are,” she told me. “He’s being continuously monitored and—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the beeping started. I stared at the red jagged line on the little screen next to Henry’s bed, wishing I could understand it. Then I looked at Henry. His eyes were open now, and he looked terrified.
“You have to go,” the nurse said. “You can’t be in here.”
And the others came then, pushing past me into the room, heading toward Henry. I don’t know how things would have worked out if Edgar hadn’t whispered to me. I suppose they would have reached Henry fast enough. I hope they w
ould have. All I know is that Edgar was there when Henry needed him, and because of Edgar, so was I.
Of course, I was not the only one who had been worrying about Henry. Once they knew I had been to see him, Zack and Renee wanted a full update. And Zack didn’t wait either. He started asking a bunch of questions the next day at school. Right in the middle of silent reading.
“So, is he going to die?” Zack asked.
“Zack!” Renee said.
“What? That’s what we all want to know, isn’t it?”
“How is Barbara Anne supposed to know? She isn’t a doctor.”
“She went to see him,” Zack said.
“I think he’ll be fine,” I said. I couldn’t explain how I knew. I had decided not to tell them—or anyone—about Edgar, about how he helped me, about what he did for Henry. “I’m going to see Constance,” I said. “She’ll know.”
“How will she know?” Zack demanded.
“She’ll tell my fortune,” I explained. “She’ll see it—in the cards.”
“Table three!” Ms. Biniam said. “A little less conversation, please. This is silent reading time.”
* * *
—
I guess I was still technically grounded, but on the days my grandmother watched me, I could get away with pretty much anything, and even my mom didn’t remember to enforce it all the time. That morning, when I told my mom I planned to visit Miss Leary after school, all she said was, “That’s a sweet idea, Bitsy. I’ll pick you up as soon as I’m done shopping.”
And Constance might have been surprised when I turned up on her doorstep, but she seemed happy to see me.
The Haunting of Henry Davis Page 14
