Sonant

by A. Sparrow

  An ambulance and another fire truck arrived on the scene. The larger man gave Aerie an odd look before stalking off to get the attention of the paramedics.

  Aerie fingered a hole in John’s shirt, small like a cigarette burn. It didn’t seem to be bleeding all that fast.

  “John. You’re gonna be okay. It doesn’t look that bad.”

  John’s skin looked pale. His eyes were open much too wide. His heart beat like a frightened bird.

  “John? Can you talk?”

  “I’m … scared.”

  “The medics are here. You’re gonna be okay.” She looked up. Where’d they go?”

  “They’re tending to that other guy,” said the young man who had helped him walk.

  A man in a rumpled suit, still clenching a Bible and a mass of papers came bustling over. He dropped to his knees. “Oh, my Lord! John? What happened to you?”

  “Donnie?” he said, his voice weak and hoarse.

  “Yeah, John?”

  “Mac. He shot me.”

  “Holy Jesus. What a disaster.” The preacher slumped and sighed. Tears sprung into the creases beside his nose. “Jerry was right. It was a mistake coming here. Tammie and I should never have come back.”

  “You’re that guy,” said Aerie. “You’re the exorcist. You incited all of this.”

  “I didn’t plan this,” said the preacher. “Not at all. This is not at all how I expected things to go.”

  Paolo came walking over with two policemen. “That is him. He is the one.”

  “Sir, mind if we have a word with you?”

  “I’m busy,” said the preacher, avoiding their gaze.

  One of the policeman sighed. “Sir, we need to talk to you right now.”

  The other cop reached down and clapped a handcuff on the preacher’s wrist. “What’s this about? It wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything wrong here.”

  “Come on,” said the other. “Let’s have our little chat in the cruiser” They pulled his arms behind his back and led him away.

  John exhaled abruptly and moaned. “Oh. It hurts. It hurts so much. I’m not gonna make it.”

  “It might not be that bad, John,” said Aerie. “It’s just a little hole.”

  “Oh, I think it’s bad. Felt like … my insides exploded. I never hurt … so much.” He rolled over onto his side, groaning. The back of his shirt was shredded and soaked in blood. The flesh behind his kidney was torn. Blood pooled and smeared on the grass.

  Aerie recoiled in horror. “Oh my God, John! I take it back. It’s bad. Very bad. Someone get those ambulance guys over here. He needs help right away.”

  “I’m praying for you John. Your soul will be taken care of. I know you meant well.”

  “I’m cold. It’s getting harder to breathe. I think … I’m gonna die.”

  “No, you’re not. The ambulance guys are coming over. They’re gonna stop the bleeding and patch you up. Just hand on.”

  “Aerie you have to tell me … was there ever a chance? For you and me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean us. That we could have been … you know … lovers?”

  The question startled her. She knew he had a crush on her, but never considered it something that would ever amount to anything or be reciprocated. It flattered her, but that truth was her feelings about it were still in flux. She didn’t know her own heart, what she felt for him, what was possible, what was not. None of that had been sorted in her head. She had had bigger things to worry about.

  But what does one tell a dying man? What would a dying man want to hear? Should he be told the truth and left in limbo, to die without ever knowing? Or would it comfort him more saying no and let him pass without regrets for having missed out on a potential love affair? That sounded preposterous. Of course he wanted to hear that she loved him, whether it was true or not. That’s what would make him happiest, if happiness was even possible in his current state. But then again, would any semblance of hope give him something to miss and only sharpen the pain of dying?

  Aerie looked up at the commotion around, agitated that the paramedics had yet to make it to John’s side. People had mostly retreated back towards John’s house, but she spotted Cindy standing with a small throng, still praying by the light of an ambulance.

  “John, I see your wife. I’ll go get her.”

  “No! Don’t leave me.” His hand sprang out and seized hers. “Please. Stay. I can’t see. Everything’s turning white.”

  He squeezed her hand.

  “Tell Cindy ….”

  “Yes?”

  “I forgot to make the salad. There’s … chicory … and arugula … in the crisper.”

  “What the fuck, John? For Chrissakes, don’t worry about salads.”

  He squeezed her hand harder.

  “Tell me. Did we have a chance? Did we ever have a chance?”

  “Yes, John,” said Aerie. “We did. We had a very good chance. A very good one.”

  And she cried, because she believed it, because it was probably true.

  John’s eyes opened and Aerie gazed into them. She couldn’t tell if he was happy, if that deep and wide focus told of bliss or despair.

  Another ambulance pulled up. Two paramedics burst out the back and ran over with a stretcher.

  “John! They’re here. You’re gonna be okay now. They’ll take care of you.”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes had gone blank.

  “John? John!” She patted his face. “Talk.”

  “Aerie. Will you … pray for me?” he said, weakly. “For my soul?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Aerie. “Sure, I’ll pray. I promise. I will.”

  Chapter 49: Dust

  Teflon bandages covered the minor burns on Aerie’s arms and face. Her breaths came out a little wheezy, but otherwise she felt fine, a little hyped up from all that had happened, but ready to reconnect with the world.

  She sat up on the treatment table and peeked through a gap in the curtain at an emergency room in full crisis mode. They apparently weren’t accustomed to arson-tainted gun battles on Tuesday nights. Residents in floral scrubs hurried by pushing instruments on carts. Policemen hovered in the hall, kept at bay by an aggressive ER nurse. From snippets of chatter overheard, she surmised that someone she knew was being treated several cubicles down. But who?

  She leaned over the table and tried to see what they had done with her shoes. She was anxious for the go-ahead to leave.

  A doctor came into her cubicle, pushing a wheelchair.

  “Have a seat. We’re going upstairs. You’re being admitted overnight for observation.”

  “What for? These burns are nothing.”

  “Smoke inhalation,” he said. “We can’t just send you home. Sometimes the symptoms are delayed. You could have some serious damage in those lungs that doesn’t show up right away. Here, let me help you down.”

  “This is ridiculous.” She coughed. “I’m breathing just fine. I don’t need to—” Her words degenerated into an attack of brittle coughing.

  “See?” said the doctor.

  Aerie cleared her throat and scowled.

  A young man in plain green scrubs came walking in. “Jeff here will get you situated upstairs.”

  “Wait. Can’t I check on my friends first?”

  “Your friends are busy. The other docs are working hard on them.”

  “But how are they doing?”

  “Some fine. Some not so fine.”

  “You’re a big help. Can you please check for me?”

  “Listen. Things are really hectic right now. When everything settles down I promise I’ll have someone drop by your room and fill you in. How’s that sound?”

  “I wish you would just let me go home.”

  “No can do. Not with that crackle in your lungs.”

  “Oh brother,” she said and coughed some more.

  ***

  Upstairs in the ward, Aerie found herself sponge bathed, stuck into a hospital bed and hooked up t
o monitors. A nurse clipped an oxygen line to her nose and put her on an IV for no good reason. She had no problems drinking fluids and keeping them down.

  These non-consensual insults reminded her of how much she hated hospitals, their sounds, their smells and the horrible clothing that they made one wear. This room might as well have been her own private circle of hell.

  She didn’t sleep much, distracted by every little noise on the ward, her head wound up with worry. None of the nurses could tell her what had happened to Aaron or John or any of her friends. She was sorely tempted to disconnect her leads and go searching.

  But the night nurse seemed too vigilant for her to get away with such shenanigans. Aerie behaved like a good little patient.

  Dawn had already begun to pinken the sky when she finally managed to conk out. The sun had barely risen when she awoke to Mal’s familiar but transformed smile. He was clean-shaven, wore fresh jeans and flannel shirt, and he smelled like soap. A crisp bandanna restrained his curly, wet locks.

  “I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispered and winked. “It’s not quite visiting hours, yet. I had to sneak past the desk.”

  “They let you go home?”

  “Well, yeah. I was lucky. I got out of there without a scratch.”

  “What about John? Aaron?”

  “They didn’t tell you?” Mal’s smile flat-lined. “Aaron was DOA.”

  “Oh! That’s horrible.”

  “He got burned up pretty bad. He still had a pulse when they fished him out but … he went into arrest on the drive here. They said it was the smoke that got him. So weird, knowing he’s just … gone. He was like a big brother to us.”

  “What about John and the others?”

  “Ron’s okay, but the bullet messed up his hip. They’re gonna have to do some more surgery. I just saw him down the hall. He’s all snockered on pain killers. Eleni tore up her knee when we went diving behind that furniture. She’s fine, otherwise. They sent her home last night, wearing a brace. Paolo hung out for a while to see if everybody was okay. Sari and that sax guy, I don’t think they even came to the hospital.”

  “And John?”

  “Um … I’m not sure about him.”

  “Can you check? Please? Find out where he is, and if he’s okay.”

  “Um … sure,” said Mal, looking a little sheepish. “You know … he didn’t look good at all when they loaded him into that ambulance.”

  “I know that! That’s why I want you to check.”

  “Okay. I’ll … um … I’ll try.” He left the room.

  Aerie stared out the window, into the vast depression in the hills that held Cayuga Lake. The slope and trees obscured her view of the lake itself, but she could sense its presence below the dimpled ridges.

  Mal was gone quite some time. Every footstep in the hall, every whirr of a machine was like a burr in her brain. He popped into the room without warning.

  “Hey! Good news,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “He’s stable.”

  “He’s alive?” She sat up from her pillows. Hope revived where it had nearly perished, like a frantic, little bird beneath her ribs.

  “They upgraded his condition to serious. Took five units of blood and a bunch of plasma, but he’s come out of shock. They’re still worried about internal bleeding and … something about his spine.”

  “Is he paralyzed?”

  “Didn’t get that impression. It was something about a cracked vertebra or something. This is all from bits and pieces of eavesdropping.”

  “So that’s good news. I guess?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, you saw him last night.”

  “We should have listened to him. We should have never—”

  “Stop. We didn’t know. How could we have known how bad it would—”

  “He told us, Mal. He told us, there might be guns.”

  Mal sat down on the corner of her bed. “Don’t think about it. It’s done.” He patted her leg. “What’s with all these wires and tubes?”

  “Oxygen,” said Aerie. “I feel like I smoked a whole carton of Marlboros. Otherwise, I’m fine. I have a couple burns on my arms and face, but nothing bad. I’ve gotten worse toasting marshmallows.”

  “Have the cops been up to interview you?” said Mal.

  She shook her head.

  “I kind of freaked when they showed up at my door. I thought they were going to arrest me.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. Inciting a riot?”

  “But we did nothing wrong. We’re the victims.”

  “Everything’s cool. We’re just witnesses. Some of the holy rollers are up on murder and arson charges.”

  Aerie settled back against her pillows.

  “You look beat.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t sleep much.”

  “Go ahead and nap. I can go see how Ron’s doing.”

  “Thanks for coming. I was going kind of nuts, not knowing anything.”

  Aerie closed her eyes, finding the edges of her anxiety worn a bit smoother, reducing the threshold for slumber.

  ***

  She dreamt of puppies dog-paddling in kiddie pools, of all things. Odd. She had never owned a dog. When she awoke, Mal was gone and a doctor stood by her bed, writing on a clipboard.

  “Good morning, Miss Walker. Sorry to wake you.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ll be discharged today. Your vital signs are good. Your blood oxygen is well above 90%. How’s your chest feel?”

  “Mmm, my throat’s a little sore.”

  “That’s to be expected. You give us a call if you have any trouble breathing in the next few days, got it? If any fever pops up. Sometimes there’s a secondary pneumonia that can develop, even after mild smoke inhalation.”

  “Sure thing,” said Aerie. “Does this mean I can go?” She pulled off her blankets.

  “Give us a minute to get the paperwork done.”

  The doctor left the room. Aerie pulled the curtain closed. She found her clothes in a plastic bag in the corner. They reeked of smoke, but she was glad to shed the johnnie.

  A resident came in and had her sign a release, and gave her a prescription for some sort of inhaler. His instructions went right over her head.

  She found Ron’s room down the hall, but it was empty. They told him he was off being prepped for surgery. Nothing that serious, they were just going in to extricate some bullet fragments from his hip.

  The intensive care unit was on another floor in another wing. On the way over, she stopped at the gift shop to peruse their teddy bears, balloons and get-well cards. She picked up a tidy, little bouquet of bi-colored tulips, took the elevator up and headed straight for the nursing station.

  “Hi! I’m here to see John Paciorek.”

  The young nurse looked troubled. “Are you family?”

  “Um … no. Just a friend.”

  The nurse called over an older nurse practitioner who had been huddled over a monitor. They whispered back and forth until the NP came over, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Paciorek passed a few hours ago. I’m very, very sorry.”

  “But … my friend said he was doing fine. That was just a couple hours ago.”

  “He had come out of shock and was conscious for some time, but he suffered a complication … a pulmonary embolism. Not unusual with that kind of trauma. Some clots must have broken loose. Unfortunately, it must have been pretty massive, because ….”

  Aerie felt something crumple inside. She sank to the floor, back sliding against the nurse’s station, tears flooding anew. The nurses just let her sit there, cross-legged on the linoleum, the flowers in her lap. They must be used to such reactions in the ICU.

  After a while, a mobility technician in green scrubs trundled up with a creaky wheelchair.

  “Oh, is that for me? Oh no, I can walk just fine.” Aerie rose to her feet, brushing off he
r jeans. “I just got a little discombobulated. That’s all.”

  “Are you sure? You’re not feeling dizzy, are you?”

  “Oh no. I’m fine.” She backed away down the hall.

  “Let someone know if you need help.”

  Her face was sopping. She daubed a filthy sleeve against her cheek. She wouldn’t dare look into a mirror until she got home and got washed up. She felt an urge get out of the hospital into the open air and just take off running.

  As she waited for an elevator, Cindy came walking down the hall from some other ward. She wore a pink blouse with a lime green pants suit and white heels. She looked ready for an Easter Parade.

  Without a word, Aerie handed her the flowers and stepped into the elevator. Cindy looked startled, but before she could say anything, the elevator door closed.

  ***

  Aerie was toweling her hair dry when a knock came at her apartment door. It was the worst possible timing, with her half-dressed and dripping, burns stinging from the soap, bandages dangling loose. She threw on a tank top and shorts and ran downstairs.

  She found a guy in a grey suit standing on her porch.

  “Yeah? Can I help you?”

  “Hi there, I’m Detective Tom Woodhead, with the Ithaca Police Department. I’ve already spoken to some of your friends. Mind if I ask you a few questions.”

  “Um … sure. Come on in.”

  He winced at the sight of her dripping bandages. “Sorry. Is this a bad time?”

  “Let’s get this over with,” said Aerie. “I’ll take care of these later.”

  She offered him a seat at the kitchen table.

  “Coffee?”

  “No thanks. I’m all set.”

  She sat across from him, shivering as the latent heat of her warm shower left her skin.

  “This won’t take long. I’m just wondering what you knew about those protesters.”

  “Protesters? Is that what you’re calling them?”

  “Why? Who do you think they were?”

  “Exorcists. They were supposedly trying to rid us of our demons. Thought we were Satan worshippers.”

  “You’re not?”

  Aerie expelled a puff of breath derisively. “Even if we were, who cares? I mean, is that against the law?”

  “What do you think made them feel you might be devil worshippers?”

  Aerie shrugged. “I don’t know. Our music, maybe?”

  “Oh? Do your songs have satanic themes? Would you have samples of … lyrics and such?”