When Fully Fused

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I remember waking up with sharp pains in my lower stomach, but they weren't like the pains I had expected to feel, especially with the description Charlie had given me.” He’s nodding his head as if he understands. He couldn’t possibly. “The pains I had were debilitating and they weren't coming and going in waves like they were supposed to. It was constant pain. I remember pressing my fingernails so firmly into the palm of each hand that my hands started to bleed.” Alex places his hand over my knee and gives it a small squeeze. If he thinks what I’ve already said is bad, he’s going to go nuts in a minute. “I wasn’t able to get coherent words out of my mouth, but I managed to let out a loud shriek so Charlie would know I was in trouble. I remember the look on her face. She knew something was wrong—and that was when I knew something was very wrong.”

  “What was wrong? Weren’t you just in labor?” Alex asks. I can see the folded lines in his skin pulling along the sides of his eyes.

  “I thought so.” I take a breath. I haven’t retold this story. Not once. I’ve tried so hard to put it out of my mind. He was so angry with me after Sammy was born because I wouldn’t give him any of the details. He thought I was mad that he wasn’t there with me. I told him that wasn’t the case, but I don’t think he believed me. I’m not sure why I’m giving in to telling him now, but I guess he deserves to know how his child entered this world.

  “Charlie called 9-1-1 and the paramedics arrived within minutes. Living close to the hospital was a blessing at that point. They took my vitals and confirmed my fear that nothing was stable. But I wasn’t sure what they meant by that. Although, from the amount of pain I was in, I was sure I was dying. I heard them say my heart rate was way too fast, and my blood pressure was dropping. That was when they hooked me up to a bunch of portable machines and placed me on the stretcher. I remember them securing an oxygen mask over my nose as I darted my eyes from side to side, looking at everyone, trying to gauge the amount of concern drawn on their faces. They were all speaking so fast that I suddenly couldn't understand a word of what they were saying—then again, I might have been bobbing in and out of consciousness at that point too.”

  Alex pulls off the highway and into a gas station and pushes the shifter into park. He twists his body to look at me and pulls my hands off of my lap. “I want to know everything, Chloe. I wish you had told me sooner. I’ve tried to leave you alone about this, but you shouldn’t suffer in silence.” He has not left me alone about this. He asks me every year right before Sammy’s birthday.

  I let my eyes drop from his. I can’t confront the sympathy of his eyes as he lives through this for the first time. “The trip in the ambulance was short—maybe two or three minutes. The elevator ride felt like forever as I watched Charlie manually pumping my oxygen and another nurse or doctor clamping their fingers over my wrist. By the time I got into the room, everything was dark around me. I couldn't make anything out. The objects surrounding me were either blacked out or too blurry to focus on.”

  “Then what?” he urges me to continue as if he was reading a suspenseful story.

  “Images of you popped in and out of my mind. The look on your face was worry, fear and loss. I wondered if you knew what was going on.”

  He shakes his head somberly. “No,” he sniffs. “I had no idea.”

  “I heard beeping from various machines, I felt needles prick my skin, patches slapped onto different parts of my body, and a piece of fabric tighten around my bicep. That’s when my eyes cleared up for a moment, and I saw you.”

  “You saw me?”

  “Yeah. You were holding my hand and I began to cry. I closed my eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but the oxygen I inhaled must have been some kind of anesthesia, because everything went numb.”

  “Chloe…” I don’t want an explanation or an inaccurate reason. I know what I saw.

  I place my hand over his lips. “Let me finish.” I look back up at him. “When I woke up, I saw you again. You were standing beside the bed, holding Sammy. You smiled at me, and it was then that I knew everything would be okay. I had no idea how you were there, but it didn’t matter to me. You were there, and so was Sammy. The smile on your face was one of a proud father. You handed Sammy to me. He looked like a combination of a doll and an angel. I felt my heart grow and melt at the same time. Tears poured from my eyes and a smile came naturally. I tried to ask what happened, but everything quickly became fuzzy and then black, again.”

  “I wasn’t there.” His eyelids become heavy as disappointment clouds over his gaze.

  “I believe a part of you was.” I place my hand on top of his. “When I woke up, I was in a small room with one nurse and lots of monitors surrounding me. I remember asking them what happened. I was told everything was fine now, but I needed some more rest. I was so angry, I started yelling for you and Sammy, but she placed the oxygen mask back over my mouth and nose, muffling the words coming from my mouth. I tried to sit up, but the pain was too severe. I couldn't move.”

  “That’s horrible, Chlo.” He looks up at me, and the tears are filling his reddened eyes. “Did you find out what caused all of it?”

  “Yes. After I calmed down, I removed the oxygen mask from my face and called out to the nurse sitting on the opposite side of the room. I asked her to confirm that Sammy was okay. I also asked her where you were."

  “But I wasn’t there,” he says again.

  “I know that’s what everyone thinks. The nurse told me Sammy was fine, but there was no man who claimed to be my husband anywhere. I think she chalked my disillusioned thoughts up to the amount of drugs they were pumping through me.”

  “Maybe that is what happened.” He shrugs. Even he doesn’t believe me. It’s not important anymore. “Did you get an explanation of what caused the difficulties?”

  "I suffered from a major hemorrhage and lost a lot of blood. I had to get a couple of transfusions just to stay alive. The cord was wrapped tightly around Sammy’s neck and it caused my placenta to tear.” The color on Alex’s face drains. He looks like I just told him the world ended five years ago and I’m just telling him now.

  “Thank God you were at the hospital,” he finally manages to mumble.

  “I died for a few minutes.” The words completely blurt out of my mouth. How does someone say that with a straight face? Am I so numb to psychological pain that I can say it without feeling upset or bad for myself?

  “What?” I just pulled another rug out from below his feet. This is exactly why I’ve kept this to myself for the past four years. His eyes are darting back and forth between mine, and I can sense the slightest hint of anger within his pupils. “You kept that from me?” And the anger has now turned to hurt. It’s not like he could have done anything for me. And no, I don’t feel better now that I’ve talked about it.

  “You died.” Alex looks like a light bulb went off in his head, as if me telling him I died was the answer to some unanswered question. “This makes sense now.”

  “What makes sense?” How can me dying on a delivery table for four minutes make sense?

  “You come back to life,” he says, with a lost look in his eyes.

  “I came back to life, you mean. See?” I pinch my own arm with a slight grin. “I’m alive and well now. It’s been four years, Alex.” I’ve tried to move on from this, which is why I have chosen not to speak about it.

  “What else happened that day?” Oh good. Are we moving on from the zombie theory? I huff with exasperation.

  “Well, my mother came to visit me. That was a fun time.”

  “How did she know you were there?”

  “Who knows? She came trotting in, in her usual show pony way. Her tears were her biggest accessory. They were so fake, they were probably eye drops. All she wanted to know was who had impregnated me. She sat down at the edge of my bed with her cell phone and told me to tell her who raped me. I looked at her dumfounded. She never believed me about you. Most of what came out of my mouth was just a fib to her. She actually thought I
had been raped. I told her to get out. But she wouldn’t leave, of course.

  “Chloe?” His voice sounds hoarse, worried, and angered. This conversation is getting worse by the moment. “What if I did rape you in that cell?” The words hit me like a wrecking ball. The thought never entered my mind.

  “You wouldn’t.” I try to force laughter. But it sounds as fake as it feels. I knew there was a chance of putting myself in danger with him in that cell. But if I were conscious, I would have consented to being with him. So, it couldn’t really be classified as rape. “It’s only rape if I didn’t want it.” I try to explain it to him, taking some of the agonizing worry from his mind.

  “It would have been rape if you did not consent, and especially if you were unconscious—like you were in that cell.” I have nothing to respond with. It’s a technicality I’d rather not consider.

  “I don’t care. I love you. And if I were conscious, I would have agreed. And I wanted nothing more than to be with you in my unconscious. Just forget about it, okay?” Why do I even have to do this?

  “This has to end, Chloe.” He places the car back into reverse, ripping our conversation apart.

  “Alex?”

  He ignores my questioning and pulls back out onto the highway. The traffic is gone and so is his mind.

  “What else did your mother say?” His cheeks are red, and his nostrils are flaring. We’re going at least twenty miles over the speed limit, and I don’t know where this conversation is going to end up.

  “Nothing really. I told her I was married and I didn’t owe her any explanations. She told me she wanted Sammy to be a part of her life. And I know exactly what she meant by that. So, I had her removed from my room and my life. I decided I was going to put a restraining order against her. Security finally arrived and removed her.” I grip my hands around the middle console and my door handle. “Alex, slow down. This was four years ago. Do I have to remind you?”

  “You’re only seven years old,” he says with his unblinking eyes.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Alex?” I slap his arm. “Pull the damn car over until you can get your mind straight.”

  He pulls off into another gas station. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. My thoughts got away from me for a minute.” He takes a few short breaths and closes his eyes before letting his head fall against his steering wheel. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you just say I’m only seven?”

  “I don’t know.” He grips his hands around the steering wheel. “This is so out of control.” That’s all he ever says, and yet we’ve lost our grip on control so many times that there’s no purpose of even pointing out the obvious anymore.

  “Take a deep breath or something,” I say. I have no clue how else to calm him down from this.

  He lifts his head and looks over at me. “I understand why you don’t return her calls now. I’m sorry for pushing on that matter.”

  “My mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s fine.” I shrug off his attempt to tell me he’s been wrong. “You were there, you know. In the hospital?”

  “What do you mean?” I get how awful it feels when someone tells you something about yourself that you’re unaware of. It’s something Alex and I have been dealing with for way too long.

  “After my mother was dragged out, another nurse walked in with Sammy cradled in her arms. His tiny little nose and perfectly pursed lips flawlessly resembled yours. I removed his little knit hat and found a few tiny sprouts of blond curly hair. It was as good of a moment as I could have had without you there. I lay for hours, holding Sammy, smoothing my fingers over his silk-like skin and inhaling the newness of this little person we created.

  “I thought you just said I was there?”

  “I’m getting to it,” I laugh. “Charlie came in as soon as I was allowed to have visitors. She was bawling her eyes out, telling me how scared she was of losing me. I went to hand her Sammy, and she told me to wait. That’s when you walked in. Charlie said, ‘I think someone else should get to hold him first.’”

  “How was I—?”

  I shrug, because I don’t have an explanation. “Charlie placed her hand on your back and directed you in my direction. She said, ‘He is having a pretty good day today. Not perfect, but good enough.’”

  “I wish I could remember,” he says, finally admitting that he doesn’t know everything his psychical being is doing. His memory for his real life doesn’t carry over to his mental state. He isn’t aware of what he’s doing, or what state of mind he’s in.

  I knew exactly what Charlie meant when she said that. Alex was having a half there, half not day. I didn't always mind those days. It was as if his mind was there, but he couldn't express himself verbally. “You walked over to my side and sat down on the swivel chair. Your hand swept over my arm and up to my cheek. Your face was expressionless, but your eyes were glassy. You reached over to Sammy, placed your hand over his head and looked at me. You placed your other hand over mine. I knew what you wanted me to know. You were there, this was our family, and we are all connected. We sat that way all night, and when I wasn't holding Sammy, you were standing guard over his bassinette.

  “Wow.”

  “So, there’s your long awaited for explanation and story on why that day was so hard on me.” I shift my body forward. “Now you can tell me your secret.” I’m somewhat surprised I got that entire story out. Hearing myself retell it now doesn’t seem as scary as it did that day. Maybe I should have talked about it sooner.

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  A BIRD’S REFLECTION

  MOVING, AGAIN. I'm really starting to despise packing and unpacking. I get the feeling that we'll never be settled, which is the complete opposite of what I really want in my life. I hate moving, I hate packing, and I hate feeling displaced. Sammy is giving us a hard time because he made a friend next door and he doesn't want to leave him. He's been whimpering and trying to bargain with us. It's breaking our hearts. I know we have to leave—we aren't safe here, clearly. If I ever see another one of those blaring lights again, it will be too soon.

  "That's the last of them, Chlo." Alex says, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Celia, are you ready to go?"

  "Yup," she says while taking one last look around. She's probably spent more time here than her own house lately.

  ***

  We pull up to a complex—one of those new ones with the yellow siding, white trim, and perfectly manicured lawns. Alex thinks that if we move into an apartment rather than a house, we'll blend in more, and it will be harder for them to track us down. He rented the largest apartment they had, to make sure there was room for all of us, and Celia, if she needed to stay with us.

  We're on the third floor. There are no elevators and we have over thirty large boxes.

  Perfect.

  It took a few hours and a few nice neighbors to give us a hand, but we're all moved in. Alex, Celia, and I are sprawled across the two couches, motionless and exhausted. "Never. Moving. Again," I croak.

  "You said that last time too," Alex chuckled. "Hey, at least we'll get a good night’s sleep tonight. It's been weeks without that."

  "True," I say. Sammy actually voluntarily went to sleep on his own tonight. He's been up and in our bed every night for the past month, scared of the light monsters. We worry that he has a sixth sense about this stuff and knows more than he should at four years old. However, if that is the case—he was happy to be here and not afraid of his new room. So maybe that should give us some comfort too.

  ***

  I slept amazingly last night. I didn't move an inch all night. I had dreams about running through fields of flowers, rather than nightmares of blaring ghostly lights that belonged to the hands of fog. I can see Alex slept well too since he's still snoring up a storm. It's nice to see him sleeping for a change. Usually he goes to bed after I do and wakes up way before I do. I don't know how anyone can function on that little amount of sleep.

  I slowly prop my
self up in bed—careful not to budge the mattress. As my eyes peer out over the end of the bed, I see Sammy asleep with his pillow and blanket in the doorway of our room. Confused and somewhat concerned as to why he would be asleep there, I clamber out of bed and tiptoe over to him. I slide my arms underneath his tiny body and scoop him up with his blanket and pillow. By the time I place him down on his bed, his eyes are wide open. He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me with apprehension.

  "Are you okay, baby? What were you doing in our room? Is something wrong with your new room?" I ask.

  "I don't like my room, Mommy," he says, turning over onto his side, looking away from me.

  "Why don't you like your room, Sammy?" I ask, tugging at his shoulder so he turns back over.

  He struggles out of my grip and buries his face into his pillow. "I don't like the bird in the tree outside."

  "What bird?" I walk over to the window to look at the tree. There is no bird in the tree. I can't see what he must be talking about.

  "He's gone now. I think he got hurt, because he flew into the window. I didn't see him again after that. But I didn't like him."

  "Oh, honey. Sometimes, birds see their reflection and think it's another bird. He must not have realized it was a window.” I close the blinds and peel down the cover on his bed. “I'll tell you what, I'll go downstairs and check to see if it's there or not. If it's not there, I'm sure it's because he's perfectly fine and flew off to be with his family." I smile to hide my unease. I kiss him on the cheek and pull the comforter over his body and up to his chin. "Stay right here. I'll be right back."

  I tighten the sash on my robe and step into my flip-flops before unlatching the four locks Alex installed on our front door yesterday. I trot down the three floors, walk out the front door and over to the mulched area beneath our window.

  Crap.

  The thing's dead.

  What am I supposed to tell Sammy? He'll be devastated if I tell him the bird died.