by S. L. Naeole
“Dad,” I said softly, shaking his shoulder. “Dad, wake up.”
He mumbled something about bacon and salad packages and turned over, his eyes remaining shut. I pushed him a bit more vigorously and said his name louder this time, my mouth much closer to his ear, amplifying my voice.
“Dad—Matthew is here, Dad.”
“Wha-what was that?” He snorted and rubbed his eyes, blinking several times when the surroundings became clear. “Where am I? What happened?”
“You passed out, Dad; passed out cold in the operating room. They brought you in here and I went into the room with Janice so she wouldn’t be alone,” I told him as I helped him sit up.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms out and then suddenly looking stricken. “I missed it? I missed Janice giving birth? Oh how could I miss this?”
“Dad, it’s okay. I don’t think Matthew will remember you not being there. Besides, I think if you had been in there when things got a little touchy, you might have gotten in the way,” I tried to explain.
“What do you mean, when things got touchy? What happened?” Panic marred his features and I had to grab his face and force him to pay attention as I went through the events in the operating room, skimming over the parts that I knew would send him rushing to the nursery or worse, the operating room, and relayed to him what Janice had said about Matthew looking like him.
When I told him that Janice would be in the ICU for the next few hours, he planted a fleeting kiss onto the top of my head and then left, leaving me with a quick explanation of how he was going to be with his wife.
“Alright,” I said softly after the door closed.
I walked over to a pink chair that was situated in a corner of the room and sat in it, the uncomfortably thin cushion doing nothing to prevent the metal springs from pressing up. “Are you kidding me?” I complained, adjusting my position until the springs missed every part of me except a small section of my thighs.
“Those chairs have given the chiropractors’ wing a lot of business over the past few years.”
My head turned towards the door and I felt a smile creep up my face. “Hello, Dr. Ambrose—I can’t begin to thank you enough for calling me. My Dad passed out in the operating room; if I hadn’t been here, Janice would have gone through this all alone.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked pleased, and surprised. “I didn’t know whether it was right to call you at…that house. I only knew that if you missed such an important event, you’d never forgive yourself.”
I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him, the frank hardness in his cold body sending a deep shiver down my spine. I ignored it, however, and hugged him, my gratitude overwhelming.
“I won’t forget this, Dr. Ambrose. You’ve done a lot for me lately and I don’t know why, but I appreciate all of it.”
With gentle hands, he pulled my arms down and placed them at my sides. “I only did what was right, Grace.”
“I don’t just mean what you did today. It’s what you’ve been doing—you’re also helping Stacy.”
“I’m merely doing what Robert asked me to,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, but why? There’s no reason for you to help her out, especially when her family can’t afford home visits. Speaking of which, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Could you tone down the doom and gloom with Stacy’s parents?”
He straightened and his head leaned on its side. “Why would I do that?”
“Because she’s one of my closest friends, probably my best girlfriend, and her parents are overbearing and overprotective and it’s smothering her. If her parents don’t start letting up, she’s going to end up doing something that will only make her condition worse.” There was plain truth in my words and he couldn’t ignore it. I saw that in his dark eyes.
“I’m only doing what I think is best for her, Grace,” he said apologetically. “I don’t want her to make herself any more ill than she is, but her parents need to be made aware of the dangers out there for her.”
A mocking snort escaped me and I shook my head at the irony. “So I take it you’ve informed them of your little…problem?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
I grabbed his wrist and placed my fingers where his pulse should be. “This, Dr. Ambrose. The fact that you’re not exactly alive. The fact that you’re not exactly human, either.”
“I’m human, Grace,” he countered, but I rolled my eyes.
“You’re not human, Dr, Ambrose, you’re an erlking; you eat people, for crying out loud! And while I can kinda overlook it, I don’t think Stacy’s family ever could, or would for that matter.”
His face grew long at the harsh truth. “Grace, while I appreciate the fact that you haven’t revealed my…condition to Stacy or her family, it has little bearing on how I treat her illness.”
“It has everything to do with how you treat her illness,” I replied with an unexpected harshness. “You have the luxury of knowing that you’re going to live forever—well, as long as someone doesn’t shove a stake in your heart or whatever it is that kills your kind—but Stacy doesn’t, she can’t. She’s going to die a lot sooner than she should because of something that’s followed her since childhood, and you’re making what little time she has left to live her life absolutely miserable.”
“Grace, you don’t understand-”
“I understand more than you know,” I cut his words with my biting interjection. “I know what dying is, and I can tell you that I wouldn’t want to spend my last days, weeks, months sitting locked up in my room while my parents and my doctor tell me how to breathe, how to sleep, how to handle stress.
“Stacy’s never complained about being sick, Dr. Ambrose, because she’s never let it keep her from living her life. But now that she knows she’s going to die, all of you would have her just stop living altogether. After everything she’s been through, that’s what you offer her. It’s not much of a consolation, is it?”
Dr. Ambrose looked ashamed, and he shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his white coat, the motion jerking, his ID badge flapping. It was, in my opinion, a white flag of surrender.
“I’ll speak to Stacy’s parents tomorrow when I stop by after my rounds, but I make no guarantees, Grace. They’re convinced that the only way to keep her alive is to keep her at home.”
I gave him a mischievous smile. “Well, you can just convince them of exactly the opposite.”
“I can see why he loves you; your devotion to your friends is admirable and quite uncommon.”
I stared at him, stunned by the out-of-place comment.
“I’m sorry, did I say something untoward?”
Shaking my head, I allowed the creases on my forehead to relax. “No, no you didn’t. It’s just…never mind, Dr. Ambrose. It’s been an eventful day, and I’m tired. I think I’ll go and find my Dad and tell him that I’m heading home.”
“Let me walk with you, then.” He opened the door and held it as I walked through. “I have to head back down anyway.”
Without saying anything, we walked together to the ICU where Janice was being monitored. She was sitting up, a peaceful smile on her face, Dad’s hand in hers. She waved to me, a tube still hanging from her arm swinging and hitting Dad’s face comically.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little sore, but otherwise quite well and happy.”
“I feel embarrassed but I think I’ll get over it as soon as I don’t have to see those doctors and nurses anymore.”
Dad and Janice looked at each other, now confused as to who it was that I had been referring. I simply smiled and patted Dad on his back and Janice on her foot.
“I just wanted to tell you guys that I’m going home. I have some studying to do, plus I wanted to call up everyone to let them know that Matthew is here.”
I could see a glimmer of disappointment in their eyes, but Dad’s smile betrayed that. “Who’s coming to pick you up?”
>
“Robert is waiting for me outside. I’ve got to go, but I’ll try and come back tomorrow.”
He stood up and brought me against his chest, his cheek resting against the top of my head. “Thank you, Grace. Thank you for being here for Janice and Matthew, and for me. You’re more than I deserve, but I’m glad to have you.”
“No problem Dad,” I mumbled.
“I love you, kiddo.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
I left them with a wave, and headed towards the elevator, Dr. Ambrose following quietly beside me.
“You have a nice family, Grace,” he said after pushing the call button.
“I know,” I agreed.
He didn’t say anything else to me until we were back on the ground floor, the emergency room heading in one direction, the parking structure in the other.
“Grace, I want you to know that I will speak to Stacy’s parents. I promise you.”
He held out his hand and I took it gladly. “Thank you, Dr. Ambrose, really.”
“I would, however, like to ask a favor of you, if you don’t mind.”
I looked into his dark eyes and nodded, willing to do just about anything if it meant he’d help Stacy regain some sort of a normal life again.
“If you could continue to keep my secret from your friends, I would appreciate it. There aren’t many who would be thrilled to know that something like me is in this town, much less working in their hospital. In fact, if you could just forget what I am, not think about it at all-”
“Done, Dr. Ambrose.”
He gave me an appreciative smile and clapped his free hand around mine. “Thank you. In these strange times, you truly are an angel in your own right, Grace.”
I left him standing by the elevators, and knew that he watched as I walked away. And it felt oddly comforting and safe, having him do so. I couldn’t help but smile at the strangeness of that—I felt safe leaving my new baby brother in a hospital that employed an erlking, felt safe knowing that my back was to him.
“Strange times indeed,” I chuckled to myself as walked through the hospital doors.
OF DOUBT AND OTHER DUBIOUS THINGS
When the hospital doors closed behind me, the unnatural quiet that surrounded me was my first warning. With the intensely bright lights seeping behind me through the glass doors of the hospital, I could do nothing but squint as I tried to look at everything in front of me, wary of the darkness scattered with a smattering of dull, amber light that coupled with the silence that did not belong in a structure full of cars.
Forgetting that it was there, I tripped over the little step going into the structure, nearly falling once again, and I cursed my sudden bout of klutziness before righting myself and regaining my composure.
“Robert?” I whispered, taking tentative steps towards the far wall where I had left him standing, my sneakered feet making soft padded sounds as I went.
Concrete and steel cabling formed makeshift walls guarding row after row of cars in the parking structure. The yellow lights attached to the ceiling turned their colors into drab, muted shades that darkened the atmosphere quite considerably, and I tried my best to simply stare ahead, ignoring the emptiness that the unmoving vehicles gave off as my breathing and my footsteps bounced and echoed all around me.
With a start, I heard the metallic rustling of keys a few yards away and saw the figure of someone climb into what I could only assume was a sedan. Realizing that I was not alone, I felt an incredibly rich sense of relief come over me, and I allowed Robert’s name to flow off my tongue as I called out for him, letting him know that I had arrived and was heading towards him.
I walked with more surety in my steps as I neared the meeting spot, all the while listening for the start of the engine to the sedan as I approached, my ears straining for the sound of a radio or fan, anything that would indicate that at least the power was on. When my feet took me past the car, I could see the outline of the dark head of the driver inside and seeing it, acknowledging that there indeed was a person in there, made me wonder what could be taking whoever it was sitting in the driver’s seat so long to turn the engine over.
As I got closer to the end of the lot, seeing the dark expanse of space that held the unknown, the heavy weight of dread began to settle on me. The car hadn’t started yet and with each passing minute, a sinking realization attached itself to me like a leech, draining me of any hope that it would, finally leaving me with nothing but doubt and an equally morbid curiosity.
I stopped walking, stilling my feet on the rough concrete surface and turned around with an odd and combative mixture of determination and apprehension. “This is crazy,” I said to myself as my feet brought me back to the mustard colored car. “I have got to be one of the stupidest people in Heath; the stupidest person in Ohio. How many horror movies have I seen? Who’s the first one to die? The dumb girl, of course—she’s always the one to do something stupid, like approach a strange car in a dark parking structure. At least I’m a virgin—they never die first. Unless they do something stupid…like what I’m doing right now.”
It wasn’t comforting, this conversation I was having with myself, but at least it erased the silence that made things feel a lot worse.
I stood behind the car, waiting for something to happen, some kind of activity from inside. I bent my knees and leaned to the side to get a better view from the rear windshield, but there was nothing, no light from inside, no motion, nothing. I flinched when one of the yellow lamps above my head blinked out, plunging half of the car into further darkness.
Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the driver’s side. I could see the outline of a hand resting on the steering wheel and breathed a short sigh of relief—whoever it was in the car, he or she was simply getting ready to leave, just taking their time—and I began to turn away.
My eyes, my stupid, curious, nosy eyes briefly caught a glimpse of something in the backseat and I was forced to pause. A label printed with a familiar name covered half of a large plastic container filled with bottles and jars that sat on the seat. An anatomy text book lay next to it, one that I had laying on the desk in Lark’s room, I turned around and tapped on the driver’s side window, rapping on it loudly when I got no response from the first round.
“Mr. Branke?” I called out with uncertainty. “Mr. Branke, are you okay?”
I pressed my face against the glass when again I received no answer, and felt my mouth go slack, the panic in my chest rising to such a pitch I knew that any minute, it would come rushing out in a frightful scream. I took several steps back only to find my way of escape impeded by another car. I stumbled out from between the two vehicles and fell onto the ground, my face hitting the concrete and scraping against the scratchy texture.
“Oh my God, oh God, someone help,” I squeaked as I pressed a hand against my stinging face. “Someone help me, please!”
I scrambled into a crouched position and pushed myself backwards until I met up with a cement pillar. I held my head in my hands, my fingers pushing my hair in all directions as I tried to control the dizzying feeling that began to take over, my breathing too out of sync to send enough oxygen to my brain.
“Robert, Dr. Ambrose, someone,” I whimpered, the image of Mr. Branke’s lifeless, colorless eyes staring out from his bloodless face, his bruised and bleeding mouth hanging open in a frozen scream permanently burned into my mind. I closed my eyes, rubbing the lids with extended fingers, pressing hard, circling roughly as though the act itself would erase what I had seen. I began to rock on my heels, feeling the madness beginning to creep up inside of me and not liking it but I felt helpless to stop it when flashes of death kept filling my closed vision.
A strong pair of arms encircled me, pulling me up and into an embrace so tight, I would have suffocated if I didn’t know immediately in whose arms I was in, didn’t know with every nerve in my body who it was that held me so protectively.
“Robert, it’s…it’s Mr. Branke. He’s dead,” I gasped
into his shirt, my fingers clutching onto the thin fabric desperately. “I saw him get into his car but he didn’t start it. I waited and he didn’t start the car and I knew something was wrong, I knew that something wasn’t right so I had to check on him. I went back and I saw him-
“He’s dead, oh God, he’s dead.”
Robert didn’t move, he didn’t say anything. He simply held me until my breathing slowed down to a normal pace and I relaxed a measure or two. Only when he was sure that I was past the hysteria of what I had seen did he loosen his hold on me. Immediately, I felt a tremendous sense of loss and I involuntarily leaned into him, not wanting to be separated from him, not now.
“Grace, I have to look at him,” he murmured into my ear, his breath hot and cold at the same time.
Reluctantly, I nodded and allowed him to pull away. I stood still, my fist pressed up against my mouth, biting into my knuckles to keep from calling him back, my other arm wrapped around myself, needing something to hold onto.
He looked at the shadowed figure from behind the car and then turned to look at me, a mask of confusion on his face. He rounded the side of the car and tapped on the glass before stepping back, much as I had.
Only unlike my experience, the door opened.
And Mr. Branke exited the car, an annoyed look on his unmarred face.
“What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Bellegarde? Why were you knocking on my window?” He gave Robert a once over and then, as though he just realized that he and Robert weren’t alone, turned to face me, irritation visible in every single line on his face.
“Oh. It’s you, Miss Shelley. What exactly are you up to? Why are you two skulking around my car?” he ground out, his voice filled with something far more grating than simple animosity.
My mouth hung open in dumb shock. I couldn’t form any words—any sensible, coherent ones anyway—and simply stared as guttural noises somehow managed to eke their way out of my throat. His eyes narrowed into dark slits at the sound.
“It appears that Grace thought you were in distress, Mr. Branke,” Robert explained, his hand held out in an offering of apology. “She was concerned for your wellbeing, sir, nothing more. I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”
