Coma Girl: part 1

by Stephanie Bond

  “Repeat that,” my mom said. “I’m writing it all down.”

  Alex, ever patient, did. It was so sweet of him to be thinking of me and doing things for me half a world away.

  “I’ll give this to Marigold’s doctor before I leave today,” my mom said. “Thank you, Alex.”

  “Wish I could do more. How’s Sid?”

  “She’s a trooper, taking care of all the of media stuff and still working on a project for school.”

  “Sounds like Sid.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  “Soon, I hope. Gotta get back to work. Talk to you soon. Bye, Marigold!”

  They disconnected the call and I could hear my parents breathing into the silence, as if they were sitting, staring. Staring at me? Staring at each other? I could sense their mental and physical fatigue.

  “I want to go home,” my mom said.

  “Okay,” my dad said. “We’ll call the doctor tomorrow.”

  When the door closed, I was despondent. I wanted to go home, too. Maybe Alex’s Army doctor would be able to help me.

  But what I really needed was a mind-reader.

  July 28, Thursday

  “WE’LL KEEP this visit just between us,” my Aunt Winnie said. “Your mother doesn’t have to know.”

  My lips were sealed.

  “Marigold, I brought someone with me. Do you remember my friend Faridee?”

  The psychic who told me I was going to win the lottery! Six years ago. It hadn’t happened yet, but I’d played every day up until the accident. Darn—wouldn’t it be a bummer to get out and find my numbers had come up while I’d been lying here?

  No wonder Winnie didn’t want Mom to know she was here—my mother thought psychics were bullshit and evil. I told her they couldn’t be both, but that had not gone over well.

  “Hello, Miss Marigold,” Faridee said in a smooth, smoky voice. She smelled like incense. “Your Aunt Winnie thought you and I might have a chat.”

  I was so excited! I could tell Faridee what I wanted my family to know!

  “As long as it’s a short chat,” my aunt said. “We have to get back to Savannah tonight. And if your mother finds us here, I’m toast.”

  “Let’s get to it, then,” Faridee suggested. “I’m going to apply some special oils to your hands, Marigold. There now, doesn’t that feel good?”

  The scents of sandalwood and sage permeated the air. I couldn’t feel her hands, but while she was holding mine, I try to squeeze. Apparently, though, nothing happened.

  “I’m going to simply hold your hands for a while, Marigold, until I feel our minds connect. You’ll feel it, too, and when you do, know that everything you think will be apparent to me.”

  I didn’t know what to do, so I just let my mind float, and tried to be ready to experience the mind connection she’d described. A minute passed, then another.

  “There!” she exclaimed.

  I’d felt nothing, sensed nothing… but I was open to going along for the ride.

  Tell them I’m in here… that I can hear things… and smell things… tell them I’m in here… that I can hear things… and smell things…

  “Marigold has a message,” Faridee said.

  “What is it?” my aunt asked in a hushed voice.

  “She wants you to know… that she visited the spirit world.”

  “Oh, my,” my aunt said.

  What the freak?

  “And she was taken in by a great androgynous spirit and given the secrets of traveling between the two worlds.”

  “I knew she’d been somewhere special!”

  Aunt Winnie, I was upstairs in the ICU unit.

  “Her dilemma, she says, is whether to go back to that magical place, or come back here to the people she loves, that’s why she’s in the coma.”

  “Oh, of course, that makes perfect sense,” my aunt said in awe.

  Mom was right—this was total bullshit.

  “Is there anything we can do to help her come back?” my aunt asked.

  “I’ll ask her,” Faridee said.

  I was mentally whistling.

  “Here it comes… Marigold said if you want to help her come back… ”

  “Yes?” my aunt asked, breathless.

  “You should buy one of my scroll amulets to help pull her spirit back through the tunnel.”

  Oh, my God—really? That was the best she could come up with? My aunt would never fall for that.

  “How much are they?”

  “Two hundred fifty, so precious.”

  “I’ll take two and sneak one to my sister as a gift—she’ll never know and that way we can both pull at Marigold’s spirit.”

  The only thing being pulled here was my aunt’s chain. What a crock.

  From the rustling and clinking sounds, I assumed my aunt was trading cold hard cash for cold hard trash. While Winnie exclaimed over the powerful amulet—she could feel it warming in her hand—I heard Faridee’s sandals slap on her feet as she walked.

  “What is it, Faridee?”

  “One of these other women is calling to me.”

  Oh, brother.

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know yet. Hello… hello… talk to me. Hi, Karen.”

  Don’t get excited—I’m sure she read the name on Karen Suh’s wristband.

  “You’re lonely? For as long as you’ve been in here, I’m sure you are. But don’t despair—he’ll be here tomorrow.”

  An act for my aunt’s sake. I was so angry Faridee would use helpless ill people to make a quick buck.

  “Goodbye, dear,” my aunt whispered in my ear. “I’ll wear the amulet all the time.”

  I hope it didn’t turn her neck green.

  The women started to leave, but at the door, I heard Faridee’s feet falter. “Marigold, something’s coming to me.”

  Fraud charges?

  “I’m supposed to tell you your message will be delivered.”

  Let me guess—by a winged creature from the spirit world? Right. May the force be with you, Crazypants.

  July 29, Friday

  WHEN DR. TYSON came in, I was sure she was going to announce she’d been in touch with the neuroscientist at Walter Reed and I’d been approved to receive the concoction of drugs my brother Alex had mentioned.

  Instead, it appeared to be a routine check of my vital signs, probably for insurance purposes. I was weighed (how is possible that I’m in a coma and I gained a pound?) and inspected for bed sores—delightful. My nails were clipped, my head bandage was changed, and I got a head to toe rub down with moist wipes. To complete the day spa treatment, I was dressed in a clean hospital gown.

  All dressed up and nowhere to go.

  “Everyone is rooting for her,” a nurse said.

  “Excuse me?” Dr. Tyson said.

  “She’s famous, Coma Girl. People all over the world are praying for her. That has to count for something.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Dr. Tyson said.

  “There’s nothing more to be done for her medically?”

  “No. A colleague at another facility told me about a drug cocktail that’s shown promise, but it’s incredibly expensive and it’s experimental. The insurance company refused to pay for it.”

  “Can you file an appeal?”

  “I did… but the insurance company is already looking at enormous losses on this patient—they will never approve it.”

  “Won’t she get a lot of money from that professional football player who caused the accident?”

  “That’s none of our business,” Dr. Tyson said. “We can only deal with the present financial situation. Besides, even if the drug was free, the hospital board would have to approve the use of an experimental formula, and I can’t remember the last time they did that—too much liability.”

  So the brain cocktail was not an option… sigh.

  “Dr. Tyson… do you think she can hear us?”

  “I almost hope not.”

  As they were leaving, an
other visitor was coming in.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the nurse said. “This room has limited visiting hours—who are you here to see?”

  “Karen Suh. I’m her ex-husband, Jonas Suh. I haven’t visited in a while, but I’ve been seeing all the news reports about that Coma Girl, and it sounds crazy, but something just told me I needed to come see Karen.”

  “May I see your I.D.?” the nurse asked.

  “Sure… here’s my driver’s license.”

  “Okay, you have ten minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  He walked over to Karen’s bed and began talking to her, slowly at first, but then he picked up momentum. I heard him mention someplace he’d traveled to recently, and a mutual friend he’d spoken to. Small talk. He sounded as if he missed her. If my notoriety had played a part in his visit, I was glad.

  As he rushed to cram as much as possible into his allotted time, Faridee’s parting conversation with Karen came back to me.

  Don’t despair—he’ll be here tomorrow.

  Hm…

  July 30, Saturday

  “HELLO, MARIGOLD. I’m back.”

  Dr. Jarvis—this was a nice surprise.

  “I’ve been banned from your room,” he said. “But I’m taking a chance that Dr. Tyson has left for the day.”

  The chair next to the bed creaked.

  “Now, Marigold, you and I both know that you squeezed my hand last Saturday, don’t we?”

  We do.

  “So I’m going to give you an opportunity to show me again.”

  You gotta love a man who gives a woman a second chance.

  “Okay, Marigold, I’m holding your right hand. Can you squeeze my fingers? Squeeze my fingers, Marigold. Concentrate. Tell your brain to tell your hand what to do.”

  In my brain I was straining. I wanted to prove to Dr. Jarvis he was right to believe in me. If I was ever going to get out of this bed, I desperately needed a champion.

  “Try once more, Marigold. Squeeze my fingers. Concentrate and squeeze.”

  Nothing. And the effort had left me hazy. And now I’d probably lost his support for good.

  “Okay, well, that’s disappointing. But we’ll try again soon. Meanwhile, I brought a gift.”

  Something clanked on the bedrail next to my pillow. And suddenly, classical music filled the air.

  “It’s an old iPod,” he said. “And a long playlist so you won’t get too bored. I slipped one of the orderlies some cash to come by and turn it off at night and back on in the morning.”

  I wanted to kiss him. With tongue.

  “Let’s just hope Dr. Tyson doesn’t find out. I’ll be back soon.”

  He made a thoughtful noise, then the chair creaked again.

  “Are you ladies passing notes around? You dropped one in the floor.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Wait, what is this? ‘Dr. Al Oscar, neuroscientist at Walter Reed… multifunctional drug shows promise.’ ”

  The note my mother had written when she was Skyping with Alex. She must’ve dropped it.

  “That’s bizarre,” Dr. Jarvis murmured. “But definitely worth looking into. See you soon, Marigold.”

  After he left my mind was still racing. And another one of Faridee’s comments came back to me.

  I’m supposed to tell you your message will be delivered.

  Hm… the woman was definitely a scam artist… but maybe she wasn’t a total sham.

  July 31, Sunday

  “COMA GIRL, we need to talk. I brought eclairs.”

  Hopefully lemon—those were my favorite flavor to listen to Roberta eat.

  “Okay, first of all, your mama is crazy. She came to the apartment and pounded on the door like she was the Big Bad Wolf and she insisted on coming in. And when I told her no, she got really snippy.”

  My mom could do snippy alright.

  “I can see why the two of you don’t get along. Is she your birth mother?”

  Yes, and I’d seen the birthing video to prove it. When I was a teenager and vexing her more than usual, she’d made me watch it, from labor pains to afterbirth—ugh. But it was effective.

  “So I brought more cards and letters. The super had to switch us to a bigger mailbox. He wanted to charge us more, but I told him Jesus Christ, my roommate’s in a coma, and then he backed off.”

  She read me my mail in between wolfing down three eclairs. Lots of heartfelt wishes, another pervy offer from a guy wanting to be my “caretaker,” and more cash.

  “A hundred twenty dollars this time,” she said. “I’ll add it to your stash.”

  She licked herself clean, like a cat, then heaved a sigh. “Listen, I’ve been watching the news a lot lately. Marco likes to stay informed. And that guy who crashed into you, the Falcons football player, I mean the press is really tearing him up.”

  I wondered where this was going.

  “Anyway, something’s been weighing on my mind, so I’m just going to come right out and tell you.”

  I waited.

  Another noisy exhale. “So the night of the accident, you called me from your car. You were with Sidney, heading home. We were talking, and then suddenly, I heard someone scream and then the phone went dead.”

  I had been talking to Roberta when the accident happened?

  “I’m scared to death I was the one who distracted you and made you crash. I mean, we were laughing and cutting up, and then boom! And now you’re… like this,” she said, her voice breaking. “And I haven’t told anyone because I don’t want to get you in trouble. Everyone thinks Keith Young caused the accident, and maybe he did.”

  But maybe he didn’t.

  “Should I tell someone? I mean, your family has already been through so much. And how can the police tell exactly what time the accident happened? Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut.”

  A rap on the door sounded and it opened to admit heavy boot steps.

  Detective Jack Terry. Yikes.

  “Can I help you?” Roberta asked.

  “I was just looking in on Marigold, but I can see she’s busy.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The detective investigating her car accident. Who are you?”

  “Oh… just a neighbor.”

  “Are you close friends with Marigold?”

  “Not really. The super asked me to drop off some mail. Want an éclair?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll come back some other time.”

  When the door closed, I heaved a mental sigh of relief.

  “That was close,” Roberta muttered.

  I knew it was only a matter of time til my phone records showed I’d been talking around the time of the accident, but Sidney had already said I wasn’t on the phone when it happened, and if Roberta stayed quiet…

  If Roberta stayed quiet, Keith Young could be wrongfully charged.

  Or maybe not—maybe the bloodwork would show he was drunk… and maybe the accident recreation would show he’d crossed the center line and it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been talking on the phone or not.

  But the bottom line is I know I was a distracted driver.

  And that means I might’ve done this to myself.

  *****

  Don’t miss a single day of COMA GIRL!

  You can follow along for free on www.stephaniebond.com,

  or if you prefer to read the segments early or all at once,

  click here to pre-order COMA GIRL, part 2!

  A note from the author

  Thank you so very much for taking the time to read my story COMA GIRL (part 1). This project has been a labor of love for me. I’ve been toying with the idea of a daily serial for some time, and once I decided how to present it, I needed the right story, something that would sustain a daily narrative for an extended period of time.

  When I was ten years old, one of my teachers revealed an accident had left her in a coma when she was young. She said she remembered all the conversations around her during that time
and when she awoke, astounded doctors and family members by asking them about things they had said while she was “asleep.” At ten, my imagination was just starting to take flight, so I was fascinated by her tale and it stayed with me. Fast forward to when I began a fiction-writing career in the late 1990s. I pitched a romantic comedy about a woman in a coma to a publisher who liked the idea and, subsequently, bought it. But before I could finish writing it, the line closed and the contract was cancelled. (Please do not get me started about the unending wonkiness of the publishing industry.) I was so disappointed. I had written several chapters of the story and while I loved the concept, it didn’t fit any line I wrote for as my career progressed. So it sat on a shelf for 20 years.

  When I was trying to come up with a story that could be told as a daily serial, I remembered the coma story, and thought the concept was perfect. I had to make a lot of adjustments to the original story, but I’m really happy with the way it turned out—I hope you are, too! And I hope you’ll follow along with all 6 parts of COMA GIRL covering six months in the life of Marigold Kemp as she lies a victim of everyone who visits her hospital room and unloads on her!

  Reviews are so important to authors and our books—especially series. Reviews help me to attract new readers so I can keep producing more stories for you. Plus I really want to know if I’m keeping you entertained! If you enjoyed COMA GIRL and feel inclined to leave an Amazon review, I would appreciate it very much.

  And are you signed up to receive notices of my future book releases? If not, please click here to enter your email address. I promise not to flood you with emails and I will never share or sell your address. And you can unsubscribe at any time.

  Also, although I can’t count the times this book has been edited and proofed, I am human, so if you do spot a typo, please email me at stephanie@stephaniebond.com to let me know! Thanks again for your time and interest, and for telling your friends about my books. If you’d like to know more about some of my other books, please scroll ahead to the next section.

  Happy reading!

  Stephanie Bond

  Other works by Stephanie Bond

  In the lively romantic comedy STOP THE WEDDING! a man and woman determined to stop their parents’ wedding find themselves falling in love with each other!

  International bestseller—over 500,000 copies sold in three languages!

  And check your local listings for the Hallmark Channel movie of STOP THE WEDDING!