The Evolutionist

by Rena Mason

  “Can you do me another favor, and send some to the lab?” he says.

  “Yeah, I guess,” she says. “Is there anything specific you want them to test it for?”

  “Everything.”

  * * *

  The hallways are high and wide. A continuous metal handrail splits the walls. The bottom half is painted dark brown, the top is desert tan. Industrial carpet in the same dark brown covers the hall floors. The fluorescent lighting above makes the tan paint glow and the flooring appear darker. From one end to the other, it looks as though I will have to cross a muddy trench.

  Jon walks next to me and pushes the IV pole as I shuffle over the carpet. Every now and then I reach out to use the handrail and get a static shock in my fingertips. It makes me feel like I’m part of some lab experiment because I know it’s going to hurt, but I do it anyway. Jon offers me his hand, but I don’t take hold of it. I have to show him I can walk on my own.

  The nurses are gathered at their little station off to the side, in the middle of the hall. They watch us go by and smile. I hope they’re taking notes. See—I’m ambulatory now, and if they don’t let me out of here soon, I will walk out on my own.

  After the second pass around the floor, I finally have to ask. “Jon?”

  “Yes?” He stops and looks me over. “You want to head back?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Keep walking.” I move ahead and he quickly comes along.

  “What is it then?”

  “Did you mention to anyone I was seeing a psychiatrist?”

  “No way, are you kidding? With everything that’s been going on, I wouldn’t think of it.”

  Now I stop and look at him. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “I’m not stupid, Jon. I know you’re hiding something. Go ahead, tell me. I can handle it.”

  “No. I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Dammit! I want to know what the hell happened. Is Cally okay?”

  As we round the corner, I see a nurse standing in the hallway by their charting station. “Is everything all right?” she says.

  “Yes. We’re fine,” Jon says. “I think she’s through walking for now. Would you mind?”

  I’m furious—huffing and puffing. “Yeah, I’ve had enough,” I say. “I’m ready to go.”

  The nurse walks over and takes Jon’s place. “Happy to help,” she says. She’s smiling at Jon a little too much. This is like a fucking conspiracy against me. Thank God I never talked about my sessions with Dr. Light. Jon would’ve had me committed for sure. No one will ever know what I saw in my nightmares. It’s become a thing of the past, and I’m all alone again.

  “Thanks,” he says to the nurse. “Patrick and I are going to head home, now.”

  “What? Already?” I say.

  “It’ll give you time to clean up before bed. We’ll be back tomorrow, sometime after breakfast.”

  “Fine,” I say. Then I look over to the nurse. “Do you think I could take a shower?”

  “If you feel up to it, I don’t see why not.” She glances at Jon again and smiles. “We could wrap your IV arm in plastic. I’ll have to come in and stand by though, if you don’t mind.”

  Just like a prisoner. “Not at all,” I say. “I just want a shower.”

  “Sounds good,” Jon says. “We’ll let you get to it then.” He stands out in the hall and holds the door open to my room. “Come on, Pat, time to go.”

  Patrick gets up from his chair and walks over to the doorway where I’m standing with the nurse. He leans in and gives me a hug. “How’d your tour go?” he says.

  “She did well,” Jon says. “No doubt she’ll be home soon.”

  “’Kay,” Pat says. “Night, Mom.”

  “Goodnight. Love you,” I tell him.

  “See you tomorrow,” Jon says.

  They leave, and the nurse races around the room gathering clean hospital gowns and towels. Then she rummages through cabinets for hygiene products Jon obviously brought from home.

  “Your husband is such a nice man,” the nurse says. “And a good doctor, too.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  * * *

  Breakfast consists of runny scrambled eggs that taste like plastic, dry toast, and thank Heaven…coffee. Plastic flavor, but it’s better than nothing. The smell of it all is making me nauseous, but I have to keep it down. When I’m through, I wash up and put my robe on. There’s no sign of Jon and Patrick, so I decide to take a stroll while the nursing staff clears away the breakfast tray and tidies up the room.

  “Hello, Mrs. Troy,” one of the nurses says from a desk at their station. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Good morning,” I say. “I feel good. Thanks, and please, call me Stacy.”

  She smiles, and I walk on. The smell of eggs permeates the entire floor. I need some fresh air. As I turn the corner at the end of the hall, I see a set of elevators and decide to step in. What the hell, nobody’s looking, and it’s not like I could get very far dressed like this. The elevator goes down then stops on the second floor. The doors open up and a middle-aged man in a white lab coat gets on. He has a stethoscope around his neck, and he’s holding a clipboard full of papers in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He gives me an up and down sort of look, which makes me a little nervous, so I step out.

  The doors close behind me, and I take a look around. It’s exactly like the floor my room is on, but there is a hall to the left of the elevators I didn’t notice on my floor. I decide to head that way and stay clear of the nurses’ station. The hall slants downward and there are large viewing windows on either side instead of desert tan walls. I walk a little further down and look out through the glass.

  On the other side, I see tall trees planted in boxes with flowering shrubs around their bases. Small stone benches are situated in between some of the trees. It looks like a nice little courtyard area. Then something, someone unmistakable, catches my attention—it’s Cally. She’s sitting on one of the benches near the corner of the courtyard. And it looks like she is smoking. That can’t be her. I blink several times, sure I must be mistaken. No, I’m right. It is definitely her, unless I’m having another hallucination, which wouldn’t be anything new, either.

  I move farther down the hall for a better look. Then I lightly tap the glass. She doesn’t look up. She’s staring at the ground. “Cally,” I whisper, then bang harder on the window.

  Someone comes into the hall. Crap, it’s a nurse. “Can I help you?” she says.

  “How can I get out there?” I point to the glass window.

  “The only door is through a secured area.”

  “Secured? Why?”

  “That courtyard is for psych patients only, ma’am.”

  “Psych patients?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Are you lost? Can I help you get where you need to be?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” I turn around and rush back toward the elevator. I look out at Cally one last time before I leave the hall. She looks up at me with a blank expression on her face. I’m not sure she recognizes me. The nurse is still standing in the hall, watching me. I turn the corner and push the UP button for the elevator. The doors open.

  “Stacy?”

  “Jon?” I step in and the elevator doors close behind me.

  “I was just on my way to see you. What were you doing here?”

  “I went for a walk to get away from the egg smell. I guess I got lost.”

  “Oh,” he says. There’s a nervous inflection in his voice. “I brought something for you.” He hands me a white paper cup with a plastic lid on top.

  “Ooh, coffee, thanks,” I say then take a sip. “Hmm, better than the plastic flavored cup I had with breakfast this morning. Where’s Pat? I thought he was coming with you?”

  “He had some homework. I’ll bring him by later. So, how long were you lost?”

  The elevator doors open and I step out. “Not that long.”

  He
follows me down the hall. “Did you see anything interesting?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “I was just wondering. How are you feeling this morning? Everything okay?”

  “I feel great, Jon. Can I go home now?”

  “Not quite yet. They’ve rescheduled your MRI for this afternoon. Then I’m sure they’ll take the IV out after everything…”

  “Everything what?”

  “Turns out.”

  “You mean if I don’t lose it during the MRI?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are they going to drug me?”

  “Yeah, but it’ll just be a pill—Valium probably, to relax you. Don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  Valium…I wonder if it will bring back the tones? “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just want everything to be done. And would you please stop finding things for them to test me for.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “Look, what happened was a really big deal. I’m not quite sure you grasp everything that went on. You almost died for fuck’s sake.”

  “I understand that perfectly clear, Jon, but you’re not helping my chances of getting out of here any sooner if you keep finding tests for them to run.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re right. I guess I just want to cover every base before you come home.”

  “They’re doing everything they can and then some, I’m sure.”

  When we get to my room, the nurses follow us in and make the rounds with the blood pressure machine, taking my temperature, and checking my heart rate. Jon stands back and lets them do their work.

  “I’m going to step out, then go and get Patrick. Do you want me to pick up lunch?”

  “Oh, would you?”

  “What would you like?”

  “Same thing as yesterday.”

  “Really? A cheeseburger and a milkshake?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a while. Do you want me to bring you a book or anything?”

  “No. I won’t be here that long.”

  After Jon leaves, the nurses go on and on about how nice he is. I’m really quite over it, too. When they’ve all finally gone, I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. Cally is there— behind my eyelids—staring at me with that same flat expression. She puts a cigarette up to her lips then inhales deeply. The smoldering end glows bright for a moment then fades to gray. Her skin is pale and her eyes don’t shine. She exhales the smoke from her mouth then forces a sheepish little smile. The image disappears from my mind.

  She must have snuck out and come to my room yesterday while I was sleeping. God, why couldn’t I wake up? I have to find out why she’s in the secured psychiatric area. What could have possibly happened in the span of two weeks to put her into a psych ward?

  I feel myself getting worked up about all the possibilities. I hope everything is all right with Kyle. Maybe she had a breakdown because Tara didn’t get the Housewives show. I know she really wanted it but even Cally’s not that extreme.

  My heart is pounding and the red behind my eyes seems to throb in time. This would be the perfect moment to have some of the indigo blue.

  Sometimes I think I can or maybe, it’s more like wish I could, hear the tones. But they’re just memories now, fading fast.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A metallic scraping noise echoes and continuously encircles my head. It sounds a lot like the little ball that spins around a roulette wheel, but it doesn’t bounce then stop. I keep my eyes closed this time and wonder…maybe even hope, that the Valium they gave me will help me hear the tones again. The space is tight, claustrophobic almost. It reminds me of the time I spent in the slime-filled chamber. Wherever I was, whether it was in my mind or someplace that really exists, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget it.

  I’ve always been creative—the right-sided brain kind of a person, but still, if I had fabricated it, not everything adds up. Most of the past life experiences I had hallucinated I can probably account for. History and architecture were subjects I studied in interior design, but Sumer? I’d never heard of the place until Dr. Light made mention of it. I suppose a program about it could have been on TV while I was flipping through channels, but it isn’t something I would have stopped to watch. Not long enough to catch all the details, anyway.

  Then there are the nightmares that started everything. What normal person could dream up all those gory details? Things I had never seen or heard before. Yes, Jon is a doctor, but I have never personally seen him at work in the operating room. I don’t watch any of those medical TV shows, either. Maybe the world is coming to end, and somehow, I was given the foresight to see it, like Nostradamus. But what good would that do, really? It’s not like there’s anything I could do to save the planet—according to the others. They showed me things I couldn’t have known, ever wanted to know, or would have even guessed on my own. I wonder if it’s even possible for a solar system to have two suns—that one could dwindle, then move away to block the view of a pair of gigantic stars on a collision course to catastrophe. With all our human technology and space telescopes, I’m sure scientists would be able to see something like that looming. Then again, maybe not. There’s still so much that is unexplained.

  When I left the aliens it was abrupt, and I don’t think they expected it. Something must have happened—interfered—but what? Maybe the Sun had broken our communication like they told me it eventually would.

  “We’re almost done, Mrs. Troy,” a voice comes through a speaker near my head. “Keep still for just a few minutes more.”

  Not exactly what I was hoping to hear, but knowing this will be over soon is still good news. The mechanical drone finally stops, and then the long table slowly slides out. I open my eyes then squinch up at the bright lights as if it were toxic—radioactive. A sudden thought comes to mind. “What does MRI stand for?” I ask. My eyelids flittering to adjust.

  “It means Magnetic Resonance Imaging,” the technician says.

  “Does it emit radiation?” I say.

  “It won’t hurt you.” Jon’s voice echoes in the room.

  “It uses magnetic fields and radio waves to produce 3D images. Your husband’s right. It’s harmless.”

  Unless you’re an alien made of dark matter, I think. I must have been in this thing when I lost contact with them. It had to be what caused our communication break. If this stupid machine is powerful enough to do that…I suppose a direct beam of magnetic radiation would be deadly for them, me, all of us.

  An electric chill shoots up my spine. Taking the Valium was a good idea.

  Jon and the technician come into the room, help me off the table, and back into the wheelchair I came in on. Dr. Swanson and some other doctor in a white lab coat are staring at a computer screen. They stand behind a glass window in an adjacent room. Seems like an awful lot of precaution for something that is not supposed to be harmful. Simultaneously, they look up and out at Jon. He’s standing behind me waiting to push the wheelchair. They shake their heads to say, no. It doesn’t take a doctor or a genius to figure out what they mean. They didn’t find anything wrong.

  Jon lets out a sigh behind me.

  “Are the results that fast?” I say.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “The computer screen they were looking at shows and records all the images in real time,” the technician adds. He walks into the adjacent room, leaving Jon and I alone.

  “And that’s the radiologist next to Terry Swanson,” Jon says.

  “Oh. So what now?”

  “I’m not sure there is anything else. We’ll have to wait for the results from your blood samples we sent to the hematologist in South Africa.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  “Who knows?”

  “They’re not going to make me wait here until then, are they?”

  “No. They may discharge you as early as tomorrow.”

  “Really?”
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  “Well, they can’t find anything wrong, and you’re recovering fast. Hospitals are all about getting rid of patients these days.”

  “Well, that’s good. Can you take this IV out, now?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Jon’s tone is somber—distant.

  The technician comes back into the room and Jon asks him for some dressing sponges and tape. After he gets the supplies, Jon clamps off the IV. He puts a folded wad of the gauze over the site, gently peels the tape back then slides out the plastic needle in my arm. He presses down on it for a minute then puts a strip of tape over the gauze to hold it in place. It’s a makeshift Band-Aid.

  “Ah…that’s a lot better,” I say. “You’re not going to get in trouble for taking it out are you?”

  “No. There’s no sense in keeping it in, and it’ll save the nurses having to do it when we get back to the floor. They’ll thank me.”

  He pushes the wheelchair forward, waves to the doctors behind the window then thanks the technician.

  “Jon?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t seem very excited about them letting me go home.”

  “I am. I just wish they knew more about what’s happening. That’s all.”

  “Nothing is, anymore. I think it’s over now. You can stop worrying.”

  “That’s not likely to happen.” He kisses the top of my head then pushes the wheelchair through a labyrinth of long hallways.

  “I’d like to visit Cally before I go home.”

  He doesn’t respond. I can almost feel him thinking above me. The weight of his thoughts are about to come crashing down.

  “I know she’s here, Jon. Please, tell me what happened. I’m fine now. I can handle it.”

  I sense he realizes there’s no point in holding it back anymore. He takes in a deep breath then exhales some of his burden. For a moment, the air around me hangs heavy with it, but we quickly move past.

  “She tried to kill herself a few days after you were hospitalized. It had nothing to do with what happened to you, though.”