The Girl in a Coma

by John Moss

  Bad news.

  Allison

  After Maddie left, three nights ago, the word murder hung in the air. I waited. It didn’t take long. My night visitor came in. She turned the light on, then turned if off quickly. She would rather talk to me in the dark. She is afraid of my eyes.

  She whispered in her strange rasping voice. She knows I know she’s there. She wanted me to understand, she needs more time. She has death on a schedule. She will release me from suffering but the time must be right.

  She said, “Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.”

  Spare me your kindness.

  She’s nuts.

  But she can’t be completely insane because no one knows what she’s doing. She seems normal. I’ve heard the craziest people often seem normal, just ordinary like everyone else.

  Glory, good God, I hate this. I don’t want to die. I’d refuse if I could. But I can’t. Not if she has her way. The agony, the horror, I know when it’s coming.

  Imagine a twist in time so you knew you had only a week to live. Then only three days, then it’s tomorrow, this evening, in an hour, a few minutes, ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…you take a deep breath. You never exhale. Not ever. Everything stops. You never reach zero.

  I could hear her voice after she’d gone. I can hear her inside my head right now.

  Two nights ago, Maddie brought nurses in to show that she could read my eyes. A male nurse and a female nurse. They watched. They left.

  Maddie O’Rourke is, as you know, outrageously beautiful and very short, with a twisted back, but as far as they were concerned, she is not a doctor.

  So much for that.

  Last night Maddie didn’t come in. My night caller did.

  I was miserable but I survived.

  It’s evening again.

  Maddie returns with Jaimie Retzinger tagging along.

  She hoists herself up onto my bed and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Sorry about last night. I’m really sorry. They kept me at work until after eleven.” She’s talking about the People’s Drug Mart on Chemong. They have a great cosmetics section.

  “Jaimie’s here,” she says. “He’s going to help us.”

  Jaimie? Help us? Oh really.

  Maddie asks, “Are you ready?”

  Sunflowers in Nana’s garden. Yes.

  “You said murder.”

  I try not to think bad thoughts.

  “Is that a No?

  Sunflowers, sunflowers.

  “Yes! Okay, who? You, Jaimie Retzinger, pay attention. Write this down.”

  “It’s not exactly like the words are pouring out of her,” he says.

  Creep.

  “Who, Allie? Who is being murdered?”

  Two runs through the alphabet and I spell out U and then S.

  “The United States? No, oh, us? Patients? Sorry, clients?”

  Yes. It’s hard to do Yes when I feel No.

  “Clients are being murdered?”

  “Oh, come on,” says Jaimie. “She’s staring at the ceiling.”

  I take the time to spell out J, R, K.

  “It’s her,” says Jaimie. “You’re a jerk, too, Allison Briscoe”

  I ignore him. I spell out B, D, G and a long pause, then N, S, E.

  “She’s a lousy speller,” says Jaimie. “She’s spelling out nose and bidge, bitch, bitch, now that’s a surprise.

  He’s never heard me say that word, not ever.

  “She’s saying bridge and then nurse.” Maddie says. She is excited. “The woman killed last week walking over the Otonabee foot-bridge. I wonder if a nurse did it? What else, Allie?”

  “M, E.

  “You! You’re next?”

  It’s hard to think sunflowers when you’re talking about being murdered. I focus hard on Nana’s garden.

  “Yes!” I can hear Maddie catch her breath. “Oh my God, Allison. When? How do you know? Who is the nurse? Oh, my God, I’m sorry. One question at a time. When, Allie? Tomorrow?”

  Gunflash, No.

  “The next day?”

  Gunflash.

  “No.”

  I’m thinking this could go on for a while. How many days are left? I’ve lost count. Now that’s a stupid thing to do. I just don’t want to know my life has a deadline. Dead line.

  Oh, good glory, I’m explaining my jokes to myself.

  “Tonight, Allie? Are you in danger tonight?”

  “You just asked her that,” says Jaimie.

  “No, I asked her ‘tomorrow.’ You talk directly to her if you want. She can hear you, you know.”

  I can tell Jaimie is upset. Knowing I really am in here, his ex-girlfriend inside a living corpse. Listening, thinking. I’m a zombie, undead. It scares him.

  I want to tell Maddie, Yes, maybe tonight. But I don’t think so, my killer won’t strike yet. She’s teasing with terror in small doses, even if she means to be kind.

  I signal No.

  “No what, Allie? No, you’re all right tonight. Good. The buzzer will go off any minute. We’ll come back tomorrow. Jaimie will come, too. Whether he wants to or not.”

  I manage to communicate the number “seventeen,” which doesn’t mean anything to her, of course. They leave.

  I wait with the lights off until my night visitor slips into the darkness. Let’s get this over with so I can go to sleep. I’m exhausted. Her harsh voice creeps me out. Is she talking to Kate in the next bed? No, she’s talking to me. She’s whispering. Her voice rumbles and squeaks.

  “Your friend with the beautiful hair told us she speaks to you, Allison. I believe her. That makes my work more important. I want you to understand.”

  She pauses. She needs to pull herself together.

  “Seventeen, Allison. It took my baby seventeen days to die. I burned my little girl, I set her on fire. In the garage, Allison. My baby walked into spilled gasoline. She came up behind me. I was startled. I dropped my cigarette. We burst into flames. I tried to save her. She screamed Daddy! Daddy! She screamed over and over. We were on fire, Allison. It took seventeen days of agony before they let her die. She was six years old. Do you understand, Allison? They made her suffer, they kept her alive. I don’t want you to suffer like my little girl. I love you, Allison. I don’t want you to suffer.”

  I do understand. My killer nurse is a man. A small man. His voice is pitched high and muffled from burns. From scars around his mouth. In his throat. He tried to save his six-year-old daughter. She took seventeen days to die. The accident was his fault.

  As he goes out, my visitor whispers: “Not tonight, Allison. But I’ll be back soon.”

  Twenty-four

  Lizzie

  After Lizzie and her two companions passed through the gates, they were surrounded by a hysterical throng of soldiers and natives. Everyone was talking about the tragic news from Queenston Heights. The Americans had crossed over the river and General Brock had been slain in the midst of a fierce battle. His valiant aide, Colonel Macdonell, was also dead. The British forces were re-grouping, reinforced by Iroquois warriors under the command of John Norton and John Brant from the Grand River valley.

  Lizzie felt grief-stricken for the beloved General Brock. It was hard to believe that the man she had spoken to so vigorously only the day before was now dead. It was hard to believe Macdonell was dead and her Aunt Rebecca was gone.

  Lizzie was distressed to hear the Iroquois from the Six Nations country surrounding the Grand River Purchase were in the thick of the fighting. She knew the native leader, John Brant, very well. He had often been a guest in her stepfather’s house. Christian Erb, like Christian Haun and the other Mennonite settlers, had bought their land from a man who owed a great deal of money to Brant’s father and the Iroquois people. She had never met Norton but he was
a revered leader as well and a fearsome fighter. Like the Brants, he was Mohawk, one of the Iroquois Six Nations to have fled northern New York after the American Revolution so they could remain under British rule.

  The Iroquois were ferocious supporters of the Crown and still feared the Americans as much as when they had fought against Washington. To be ruled by King George was an unpleasant restriction. The prospect of having their lands taken away by President Madison was far more ominous. Manifest Destiny would consume them.

  Only a week before, the native commander, Tecumseh, had been killed by an American sharpshooter after the fall of Detroit. His Shawnee Confederacy, gathered from tribes in the Ohio and Mississippi valleys, was in disarray after a shameful British retreat.

  Lizzie worried about her Six Nations friends.

  The war was personal now. The fighting was still a long way from the Grand River Purchase but the presence of Grand River natives at the battlefront made the conflict loom close on the horizon. It was sorrow, not fear, that made the horrors so real.

  She was not frightened. She was angry. War seemed an abomination. How could people be that savage? It was an offence against God.

  She said as much to Cameron as she dismounted.

  “Well, God is apparently on many sides, Miss Erb. Your God is offended. The Mennonite God wants peace. The British God wants the king to rule. The Americans believe God wants their country to grow large and be prosperous.”

  “And what about your God, Mr. Cameron?”

  “He wants to be left out of the quarrels.”

  “Then you are a Mennonite at heart.”

  “No, Ma’am, I am not.”

  There was much scurrying around them, not only soldiers and natives but women and children. The fort was preparing for the worst. If Queenston fell, then the Americans would advance south on Fort Erie.

  Draft horses were being harnessed to farm wagons. The wagons were being loaded with cannons and ammunition. After delivering their deadly load at Queenston, they would be used to carry the wounded away from the battles downriver.

  “Come,” said Lizzie. “We must find the officer in charge.”

  “To have us arrested?” asked Beazley. “I believe we should forget about that.”

  Before she could respond, the villainous Captain Blaine stepped out through a door in the thick stone walls and into the open. He saw her; he saw Beazley and Cameron.

  “My God, man,” he said to Beazley “I told you what to do with her, didn’t I?”

  Beazley looked to Cameron.

  The captain appeared as if he were about to strike Beasley across the face. Cameron stepped forward and grasped the captain’s upraised arm. Captain Blaine looked stunned.

  “I’ll have you court-martialed for this,” the captain exclaimed.

  “Not before you answer for the murder of John Whittington,” said Lizzie, stepping up and standing face to face with the man who had instructed his soldiers to kill her.

  “Who in damnation do you think you are?”

  “Your damnation, Captain Blaine. I intend to see you hanged.”

  “Or shot,” said Beazley, emboldened by Lizzie’s fervor.

  A small crowd had gathered, amazed that a young woman was challenging one of their officers. They were also astonished to see the officer being restrained by a common foot soldier.

  No one came to Captain Blaine’s assistance. He was a cruel and unpopular man.

  Cameron pushed his captive through to the Commanding Officer’s offices and forced him into a chair.

  “We’re rather busy fighting a war,” said the officer in charge. “I assume there’s an explanation for this.”

  “There is,” Lizzie said. She stepped forward and laid her bulging saddlebag on his desk. “This is from the people of the Grand River Purchase. There is a lot of money here. It is to support the war effort, to pay for the militia. I promised it to General Brock, but I’m told he is recently dead.”

  “He died a hero, Miss. I’ll sign for your treasure, and thank you. I will see it gets to the right places. And what about my captain, Mr. Blaine? You seem to have placed him under arrest.”

  “So I have. He murdered a farmhand, Mr. John Wittington. He did so in cold blood. As I told General Brock, I witnessed the crime.”

  “And what did General Brock say?”

  “He told me Captain Blaine would be tried for murder and executed.”

  “If found guilty,” said the officer.

  “Oh, he’s guilty, all right,” said Cameron. “Mr. Beazley and myself were there.”

  “It were a disgrace to the uniform,” said Beazley, poking Captain Blaine on the arm.

  Blaine said nothing. Like so many bullies, once his power was lost, he was meek.

  “We will find our way out,” Lizzie announced.

  She and her companions exited into the open. It was getting dark.

  “I will stay with Matthias Haun and his family in their log cabin by the river,” she said. “The Redcoats are living in their new stone house and their barn was burnt to the ground. They will still offer me good Canadian hospitality, I’m sure. “

  “And us,” said Beazley. “If we ain’t being arrested, Miss, we’d best be getting back to our company. With General Brock dead and gone, they’ll be needing us.”

  Lizzie turned to Cameron.

  “You, too, Mr. Cameron? Are you going back to fight at the front?”

  “For sure, I am.”

  “On which side?”

  “I am a true Scot and as British as you are, Ma’am.”

  “That’s not saying much. You were going to desert.”

  “No, Ma’am, we were trying to stay out of Captain Blaine’s reach. We’d burned down a barn by mistake and failed to kill you.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “And I am, as well. You’ve a lot of life left in you yet.”

  Was he being cheeky or offering a compliment?

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Hugh, Ma’am. Hugh Cameron.”

  “Well, Hugh Cameron, I hope we meet again after the war is over.”

  “I promise you, Lizzie Erb, we will. I intend coming to the Grand River country, finding you, and courting you, if you’ll let me. We will quite possibly marry and we’ll settle down and I’ll open a blacksmith shop and we’ll be happy forever.”

  Lizzie choked, and then gathering herself together, she reached behind her neck and undid the chain that held the silver medallion hidden from view. Withdrawing her medallion from the folds of her dress, she handed it to Hugh Cameron.

  “Forever is a long time, sir. Return this to me when you return.”

  She walked off, smiling broadly to herself and disappeared into the excited crowd, listening to news from the front.

  The tide had turned; the battle of Queenston Heights was won. The Americans had been outflanked and retreated to their own side of the river. It was a costly victory and the war was far from over. But Lizzie felt her part was done.

  As she sidled away, the stout figure of Beazley appeared at her side. He leaned close to Lizzie and whispered.

  “He’s a gentleman, you know. He may be a common soldier like me, but he comes from good stock. His family fell on hard times, I believe, but he learned himself the smithy trade and he’s an honorable man.”

  “Mr. Beazley, are you pleading his case?”

  “No Ma’am, Mr. Cameron can plead for hisself. I’m just saying, you know—”

  “Go, Mr. Beazley. Here, take this.” She untied her blue scarf and gave it to him. “Go and fight your war. And never fear, I fully intend to marry Mr. Hugh Cameron, should he survive.”

  “Oh, he will, Ma’am, I’ll see that he does. God bless.”

  “Yes,” Lizzie responded as she walked into the single women’s quar
ters. “Yes, sometimes He does.”

  Allison

  I slept terribly last night. Lizzie Erb has her life in order and that’s a relief. Hugh Cameron must have survived the war and returned her medallion. He must have courted her; they must have been married. They must have had children. I know this because the medallion was passed on to me. So, she is my grandmother, with some greats thrown in. And Hugh Cameron is family as well.

  As far as I know, the medallion is on a silver chain around my neck. Maddie showed it to me and the nurse who is going to kill me isn’t interested. As for the ordinary man, he may want it desperately, but Shady Nook seems to have scared him away. He’s patient, he’ll wait. As long as it takes. I don’t believe he’s above robbing a corpse.

  Now it’s almost time for Maddie. I don’t know if Jaimie Retzinger will come with her. It doesn’t matter. I’m just curious.

  But Maddie doesn’t come. Neither does Jaimie. They’re not worried about me. I told them I wasn’t in danger, not last night nor tonight. That was before my late night caller said, “Soon!”

  Maddie must be working late again.

  Finally the buzzer sounds, then the bell tolls. Someone turns out my light.

  They leave lights on for Kate and me until it’s time for visitors to leave. Even though Kate’s never had a visitor, and I don’t have any except Maddie O’Rourke. I can’t really count on Jaimie turning up anymore. David’s gone and my mom, well, she’s living her life.

  Sure enough, around midnight, my door opens and closes.

  A voice whispers. I can’t make out the words.

  The beam from a flashlight shines in my face. It turns and shines on the face looming in front of my eyes. Then another face appears in the light.

  It’s Maddie O’Rourke and Jaimie Retzinger is with her.

  Maddie whispers, “Don’t worry, Allie, we’re here.”

  I hear them shuffling around. Then the flashlight goes off and there is deathly silence.

  After about half an hour, my door opens again and someone slips in. The killer nurse comes close to my bed. Not a word is spoken. I feel pressure. It must be my throat. I can’t breathe. I’m choking to death. Where are Maddie and Jaimie? I’m screaming inside. Screaming into the wind.