Sempre (Forever)

by JM Darhower

  Miss Clara rushed toward her. “Haven!”

  She tried to sit up but whimpered. “It hurts.”

  “The doctor said you’d be in pain when you woke up.”

  “Doctor? Master doesn’t let us see doctors.”

  Miss Clara eyed her. “Where do you think you are?”

  “At the ranch.” She was disoriented and exhausted, her words slurring together. She desperately wanted to close her eyes but was afraid she'd never open them again. “Where’s Mama?”

  Miss Clara gaped at her. “She's… hold on!”

  She scurried from the room, and Haven started to drift back under when a voice came out of nowhere. “Stay awake.”

  She forced her eyes back open to see the familiar man, a worried expression on his face. “Dr. DeMarco?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” He pulled out a stethoscope and pressed it against her chest. She jumped from the unexpected coldness, pain ricocheting through her from the movement. “Try not to move.”

  “It hurts,” she said, tears starting to fall.

  “I know it does,” he said, placing his hand against her forehead. She lay as still as possible as he checked her over. Miss Clara hovered behind him, wringing her hands.

  The scene was too surreal. “You're not real.”

  Dr. DeMarco’s brow furrowed. “I'm not real?”

  “You're not really here,” she said. “I'm dreaming again.”

  “Oh, I’m quite real.” He paused as a small smile took over his lips. “At least, I think so.”

  She tried to smile in response, but she was weak and wasn't sure if it worked. “I don’t understand. How did you get here? Where’s Carmine?” Fear paralyzed her. “Did he die? Did Nunzio kill him?”

  Looking around the room frantically, she tried to sit up, but Dr. DeMarco blocked her. “Calm down, child.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice cracked. “Where is he?”

  “He’s fine,” he said, continuing to look her over. “Getting worked up isn’t going to help.”

  “Is he hurt? Is that why he isn't here?”

  “I told you, he’s fine. He just had something to take care of.”

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as he averted his gaze. “What’s he taking care of?”

  “It’s not important right now,” he said. “Carmine will be back soon, and he’ll be elated to know you’re awake. He hasn’t left your side until tonight. It couldn’t be helped.”

  Nothing made sense. “I’m confused.”

  “I imagine you are.” He gave her a wary look. “You were drugged when you were away. You were in bad shape when we found you.”

  “Drugged.” Flashes of memory hit her. A man injecting her a few times, his voice unfamiliar.

  “I assume it was their way of keeping you subdued. You probably don’t remember much, and it’s best you don’t strain yourself trying to.” His tone told her he meant business. “Your body overdosed on the medication, so when you started coming off of it, you went through withdrawal. I had to put you back under to wean you gradually. It’s taken some time, so it will be a while before you feel normal again. It would've been best to take you to a hospital, but there was no way to explain your condition along with the Thiopental and Phenobarbital in your system.”

  “What are they?”

  “They’re some powerful drugs we use at the hospital. I’m assuming that’s where Jen came into play in the situation. Thiopental is, uh…” He suddenly looked to be wracked with guilt. “It’s what I’ve given you a few times. It subdues you in very low doses, but higher doses result in a coma. The other slows brain function. With those two used together, I’ll be shocked if you remember anything at all.”

  She started to reply but stopped abruptly when he pulled out a syringe. History told her nothing good came from needles.

  “It’s just morphine for the pain. It'll help you rest,” he explained when he noticed her reaction, gently picking up her arm. She glanced down at the IV attached to her, watching as Dr. DeMarco injected the drug into her vein. “Like I said, you were in bad shape when we found you.”

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  “It’s the twenty-ninth of October today.” He eyed her cautiously. “You disappeared on September thirtieth.”

  A month had passed, and she had little recollection of it.

  “They had you for about two weeks,” he said. “The other two have been spent recuperating here.”

  “Where’s here?” Exhaustion was creeping in fast as the numbing started overtaking her body. “Miss Clara… I saw her and thought—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “We’re in Chicago right now, at my sister's house, but we’ll be heading back to North Carolina just as soon as you’re strong enough.”

  “Chicago,” she said, vaguely recalling a man telling her that before. She had no energy to make sense of it, especially considering she'd already forgotten what she wanted to say in the first place.

  * * * *

  The dim hospital corridor smelled strongly of antiseptic. The suffocating stench of misery hung in the air, thicker than it had been the night before. The feel of death was stronger, the desperation greater. It was a sensation that Vincent still hadn't gotten used to.

  The sound of his footsteps bounced off the sterilized walls as he made his way to room 129. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside the darkened ICU room.

  As soon as his eyes adjusted, he saw his sister curled up in the gray chair. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady. Quietly, he grabbed an extra blanket from the cabinet and covered her up. Waking her was pointless—she never went home when he told her to.

  He turned to the bed then, his blurry, tired eyes inspecting the numerous machines. The steady hum of the ventilator drowned out most every noise, but the tube that had been taped in Corrado's mouth the past two weeks was no longer there. He'd gotten a tracheotomy overnight, a tube now running straight into the front of his throat. The site of it made Vincent's stomach sink.

  More complications. One after another. It seemed Corrado couldn't catch a break.

  He'd been dead on arrival, but a young ER doctor refused to write him off. After a valiant attempt, they'd managed to get Corrado's heart beating again. It had remained steady since then, but the oxygen deprivation affected his brain. He was in a coma, his body giving no indication of whether it ever intended to wake up.

  Vincent stood there and watched for a while, feeling helpless and entirely to blame. He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if Corrado never regained consciousness. But even if he did, Vincent was plagued with the possible side effects. There could be massive brain damage, seizures, or paralysis. If he woke up, he may never be the same.

  And that terrified him more than the man dying.

  Celia stirred, her eyes opening and meeting Vincent's right away. She sat up, stretching. “How long have you been here?”

  “Just a few minutes,” he said. “I would’ve come sooner, but the girl woke up.”

  Optimism shined from Celia. It felt so out of place in the dismal hospital room. “Did she? How is she?”

  “She’s… alive. She has a long road of recovery ahead of her.”

  “I bet Carmine’s relieved.”

  “He doesn’t know,” Vincent said. “He was at Sal’s.”

  Celia cringed. “How did you explain that to her?”

  “I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s time for Carmine to handle things on his own. Time for him to be a man.”

  “You sound like Dad,” Celia said.

  It was Vincent’s turn to cringe, but he kept his opinion about that to himself. “It's after seven. You should go home and get some sleep.”

  “I already slept.”

  Stubborn woman. “In a bed, Celia. Dozing in a chair doesn't count.”

  “Says who?” she asked, climbing to her feet. Just like every other morning, she pressed a kiss on Corrado's forehead.

  “Says everyone,” Vincent sa
id. “If you keep it up, you'll end up in a bed on the floor below, committed for exhaustion.”

  She waved him off. “Don't be ridiculous, Vincent. I'll go home when he can go home.”

  Vincent's chest constricted as he watched his sister care for her husband, lovingly smoothing his hair and fixing his hospital gown. “What if that doesn't happen?”

  Celia's shoulders stiffened. “Don't say that.”

  “You have to consider the possibility that he might not wake up.”

  Anger flared in her dark eyes. “He'll wake up.”

  “Yes, but... what if he doesn't?” Vincent asked. “Corrado wouldn't want to be lying in a bed like this. He wouldn't want to be cared for.”

  “He'd want to live, and he will. He's getting stronger every day.”

  His sister sounded so certain, but he knew too much to succumb to her hopeful words. “The longer he's unconscious, the less likely it is he'll—”

  “I know,” Celia said, cutting him off. “I've heard the doctors, but they don't know Corrado like I do. He'll come out of this.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because he told me he would. When he left the house, he said he'd come back to me. Corrado has never broken his word.”

  * * * *

  Haven awoke again to a bright room, squinting from the harsh light filtering in from the window. She groaned as she turned away from the sunlight, her hand coming into contact with a body in the bed beside her. Carmine was asleep, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace. His right arm was wrapped from his fingers up past his elbow with an elastic bandage.

  Clenching her jaw, she fought back the cry that threatened to come out as she rolled onto her side, the needle in her arm pulling when she reached toward Carmine. She hesitated an inch from his face, not wanting to disturb him, before running her fingertips along the bridge of his nose. There was a small bump on it that hadn’t existed before, and she knew firsthand where something like that came from.

  She caressed his face and ran her fingers through his hair as she familiarized herself with him again. He stirred, grumbling incoherently before his eyes drifted open. He jumped, nearly falling off the bed, and she quickly pulled her hand back.

  “Shit, you’re awake!” he said. A smile spread across her face at the sound of his voice. She fought back her emotion, but it was too much to handle. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and he wiped them away. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Wait, what am I thinking? Of course you’re hurt!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” he said. “You’re hurt, tesoro. Do you know how much you scared me? I thought I was going to lose you! When I woke up in that car and saw you were gone, I thought my life was over. But I swore I’d never give up, and I didn’t. I couldn’t even think about going on if you were dead.”

  “I’m not dead,” she said through her tears.

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts,” she interrupted. “I thought I was going to lose you, too. I begged them to leave you alone in the car.”

  “You begged them?”

  “They were going to kill you.” Her voice cracked as the memory resurfaced. “I told them I’d go with them, that I wouldn’t fight as long as they let you live. I would’ve given up anything.”

  “You would’ve sacrificed yourself for me?” he asked, his expression serious. “You’d throw your life away if it meant I’d keep mine?”

  “Yes. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

  “You know I would.”

  He tried to pull her into a hug, but it wasn’t easy maneuvering around their injuries. They both groaned and cringed from pain, his bandaged arm making the embrace awkward. “Your arm,” she said, nuzzling into his chest.

  “The bone fractured when I was shot, so they had to splint it.”

  She tensed. “You were shot?”

  “Yeah. It’s not that serious, though.”

  “Not serious? Someone shot you!”

  “Yeah, Nunzio did.”

  She gasped. “Oh God, where is he?”

  “Relax, he’s dead,” Carmine said. “Him and the rest of them.”

  “They’re dead?” He nodded. “All of them?” Another nod. “And you aren’t?”

  He cracked a smile at her question. “Last time I checked,” he said, reaching for her hand and pressing it against his chest, over his heart. “I think it's still beating.”

  “It is.” She smiled as she stared into his eyes—eyes she worried she'd never see again. “I missed you.”

  “Mi sei mancata,” he said. “I’m glad you’re awake now.”

  “Where were you earlier?”

  He didn't respond right away. “I had an appointment.”

  “What kind of appointment?”

  “That doesn’t matter right now.”

  “That’s the same thing your father said.”

  “Yeah, well, there you go. We should probably listen to him.”

  She gawked at him. “You're a rebel. Since when do you listen?”

  “I never did before and look where that got us, tesoro. I figure it’s time to start, since he seems to know what the hell he’s talking about.” He paused. “Sometimes, anyway. Other times I still think he’s full of shit.”

  She laughed at his response. They both lay quietly, holding onto each other as she tried to clear the fog that settled in her brain. Her memory was sketchy, an odd tension mounting in the room as a result. “Is everything okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I was just worried…”

  “Well, stop worrying.” His voice was firm. “You need to focus on getting better.”

  “You sound like your father again,” she said, his evasive answer doing nothing to calm her fears.

  “Apparently I’m more like him than we thought.”

  “You’re nothing like him,” she said. “You’ll never be like him.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  She glanced at him, wondering what he meant by that, when there was a knock on the door. “Speak of the fucking devil,” Carmine said.

  Dr. DeMarco walked in. “It’s not nice to talk about people.”

  “It’s nothing I wouldn’t say to your face.”

  Dr. DeMarco laughed. “Very true, son. You’ve never been one to hold your tongue.”

  “Isn’t that part of my charm?”

  “I wouldn’t call it charm,” Dr. DeMarco said. “Your mouth gets you into trouble just as often as it gets you out of it.”

  “Haven’s never had any complaints about my mouth,” Carmine said playfully. She blushed and jabbed him in the ribs. Even though her touch was light, Carmine clenched his teeth to muffle a cry.

  “He has a fractured rib that’s still healing,” Dr. DeMarco explained when she eyed Carmine peculiarly. “It would be fine by now if he’d learn to take it easy.”

  She felt guilty for hurting him. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Carmine said, turning his attention to his father. “Is there something you needed?”

  “I just got back from the hospital and wanted to check on her before I left again,” he said. He grabbed Haven’s wrist to check her pulse before feeling her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m still mixed up, but I feel better than I did. Just tired.”

  “You will be for a while as your body heals,” he said. “I want you to try to eat something. Clara can bring you some chicken broth.”

  “I can get my own,” Haven said. “Miss Clara shouldn’t have to do it.”

  “Nonsense, child. You are far too weak for that right now,” he said, shaking his head. “Plus, you know as well as I do that she’d be happy to do it for you. From what I’ve heard, she’s been cooking for you since you were about two feet tall.”

  “That's different.”

  “How so?”

  “I was just like her then.”

  Dr. DeMarco paused what he was doing. “You know,
that's the first time I've ever heard you acknowledge your freedom,” he said, the corner of his lips tugging up into a smile. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about, but be sure to get some rest today. Carmine can get you something for the pain. I know he knows where the narcotics are, considering he’s been popping them like candy for weeks,” Dr. DeMarco said as he headed for the door.

  Haven stared at the door once he was gone. “He seems strange.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s a bit scary. He’s resolved these days, like he has some fucking grand plan to save us all.”

  “Do we need to be saved?”

  “Don't we always?”

  Rhetorical question. Of course they did. “Is he working at the hospital here now? He said he was there.”

  “No, he was just seeing about something.”

  “What?”

  He sighed. “Christ, you're full of questions. It's not something you need to worry about. A lot's happened.”

  All of his answers only led to more questions. “Like what?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said. “You just woke up.”

  “But I need to know. I can’t lie around, wondering what happened. I’ll worry myself sick and never get better.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, but whatever. I’m not gonna fight with you about it.”

  “Thank you.” She listened as Carmine recounted waking up in the car. He explained what had happened in Durante, tears flowing from her eyes when he broke the news that Nicholas hadn't survived. Her mind drifted through scenarios, and she got lost in her thoughts. Carmine’s words drifted into the background until he said something that caught her off guard. “Arrested?”

  He sighed and stood up, running his left hand awkwardly through his uncombed hair. It obviously hadn’t been cut in over a month, strands covering his neck and spilling over his forehead. There was a slight curl to it at such a long length. “Yes, and for bullshit reasons. The feds raided with warrants for my father and Corrado, and some egotistical agent named Cerone decided to throw me in jail along with them. That’s why it took us so long to get to you.”