The Long Sleep

by Caroline Crane

  Monday still brought no response from Glyn. While I waited for my first class to begin, I texted again.

  I miss Lksd. Miss u. Want 2 trn bk clock

  That sounded desperate. Well, I was. And I did miss the way things used to be.

  After the last bell rang Mr. Geyer’s room emptied quickly, except for Mr. Geyer. He sat at his desk grading a quiz when I walked in.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He wasn’t a “hi” sort of person. I should have tried Good afternoon, Mr. Geyer.

  He looked up. He scowled so often it was making a permanent furrow in his forehead. Maybe he needed glasses.

  “Did you know that Hank’s been moved to a regular room?” I said.

  “No, really?” He spun his swivel chair to face me. “How did you find that out?”

  I felt a blush coming, and thought fast. “I happened to be there visiting somebody, so I decided to look in.”

  It was true. I’d been visiting Hank. “I couldn’t go in, because I’m not family, but I could see his bed was empty, so I asked.”

  I waited for him to inquire how I knew which bed was Hank’s. Instead the question was, “So he’s conscious now? Does he talk?”

  “No, he’s still out of it. That’s the thing. I thought he needed all that intensive care but they told me there was somebody who needed it worse and Hank’s getting good care in the new place. They said he’s stable.”

  “Meaning he’s still in a coma.”

  “Yes, I saw him. I looked in.” Another blush. “He’s off the ventilator, but that’s about it. He’s hooked up to a heart monitor. All those wires.”

  “Stable, eh?”

  “Well, he’s not getting worse, if that’s what you mean.”

  “But not better,” he guessed, with a faint smile.

  “No, it doesn’t seem so, except for the ventilator. I understand Paula Welbourne lived for five years after they took her off it.”

  A faint shadow crossed his face. He said, “I thought we were skipping that story.”

  “I don’t know how we can skip it entirely. Everybody knows about it.” I shifted my weight to the other foot.

  His scowl came back. I said, “But we can soft-pedal it. I mean, not go into a lot of detail. If we know the details ourselves, that should give it some depth, but we don’t have to spell it all out. Not for a thing like The Tiger’s Roar, no offence intended.”

  “None taken.” He smiled. “By ‘we’ I presume you mean you? You’re doing this by yourself?”

  “I mean ‘we’ collectively, as in the paper. I guess I’m writing it myself. I don’t think anybody else is. I know I’m new here, but I feel just a tiny bit responsible for carrying on where Hank left off. Maybe that’s silly, but he was in my car when it happened.” I shifted again. People say it’s healthier to stand than sit, but it does get tiresome.

  “Did you see anything?” he asked. “When it happened?”

  “Not a thing. It took me completely by surprise, and it was dark.”

  “I suppose we’ll never know.”

  “I think they’re still working on it, but they haven’t found anything.” I didn’t mention the piece of fuzz. It wasn’t important if it didn’t lead anywhere.

  Going downstairs, I remembered that I’d forgotten to tell him about the Evan connection. Next time I would, after I’d given it more thought. It would be for Mr. Geyer’s entertainment only, not for the article.

  In the car, I checked my phone again. Still nothing from Glyn.

  I felt like going home, but my car turned toward the hospital. I wouldn’t stay long. I didn’t want to wear him out. But a little bit of one-way conversation might be therapeutic.

  He was lying on his left side that time. On Saturday it had been the right. They had to turn him every few hours or he would stiffen and get bedsores. I pulled over the recliner chair and took his hand.

  “It’s me again, Maddie Canfield. I don’t know how well you remember me, if at all. We only just met that day. I stopped by Geyer’s room this afternoon to let him know you got moved out of ICU.”

  A spasm went through him. It wasn’t strong, but it made me jump back. I almost dropped his hand.

  “Hank, is something wrong? Are you in pain? Do you want me to call a nurse?”

  I didn’t know what I expected. He certainly couldn’t answer me. I pressed the call button.

  After a few minutes, a nurse came in.

  “I was talking to him,” I said, “and all of a sudden he sort of twitched. I thought he might be in pain. Can he feel pain?”

  The nurse touched his face, took his pulse, and said she would be right back. She came wheeling a stand with a blood pressure machine and other instruments for checking vital signs.

  “It’s probably just an involuntary muscle spasm,” she said as she wrapped the cuff around his arm. “He shouldn’t be in pain, not from his wound. It’s healing nicely.” Her fingers stroked where the wound had been. She blew up the cuff and pronounced his pressure normal.

  I asked, “Do you know if they left the bullet in?”

  “No, they took it out. You see? It’s healing.” She showed me where his hair was starting to grow back.

  I remembered that he’d had a shadow of stubble when he was shot. “Do they shave him every day?”

  The nurse smiled. “We try to keep our patients clean and comfortable.”

  I supposed any hospital would do that. “He looks...good.”

  He didn’t look that good. His face was thin and tight, not quite alive. I had noticed it the other time when I got close.

  Was this the way he would always be? I didn’t think I could stand it.

  As I left his room, I saw a familiar figure in the hall.

  “Mr. Geyer?”

  He turned quickly. “Oh! It’s you. Are you visiting our friend Hank?”

  I felt my usual blush. What was it with my face? Maybe because I knew I shouldn’t be hanging around so much. Guilt. Self-consciousness. Something like that.

  He didn’t pursue the question. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the conference rooms are?”

  “Quite frankly,” I said, “I didn’t even know they had conference rooms. You could try asking at the desk.”

  He didn’t exactly smile, but the furrow left his forehead. “That’s the best idea yet.” We got on an elevator and I pressed L for lobby.

  He kept his eyes raised, watching the numbers. I said, “What sort of conference is it?”

  “Oh, uh, medical ethics.”

  “It’s not exactly your field, is it? But that’s okay,” I added hastily, realizing I’d been rude.

  “Not my primary field, but I do have more than one interest.” The doors opened and he headed toward the desk.

  “I’ll see you in school,” I said.

  Medical ethics. That must be interesting. I wondered if he would have anything to say about the treatment of comatose people.

  If so, why didn’t he say it? He must have wanted to see what we would come up with on our own.

  Then and there, I decided to interview him. I wondered how much of an expert he was, whether his name would carry any weight.

  This was going to be one terrific series. I only wished Hank could see it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If I faced the computer on my desk, I didn’t have to look at any pink ruffles. They were Rhoda’s idea of appropriate décor for an eight-year-old, which I was at the time she did my room.

  I wasn’t anymore. But Rhoda liked those ruffles so I put up with them. In less than two years I’d be living in a college dorm. No pink ruffles there, unless I got a girly-girly roommate who wouldn’t compromise.

  Ruffles and stuffed animals. Evan used to make fun of those relics from my childhood. I almost threw them out, wanting his approval. Now I was glad I hadn’t.

  The computer went to screensaver. I touched the shift key and my text came back. I should have been doing a paper for English, but first things first.

&nbs
p; “Soul in Bondage.” I liked that. It was the title of a painting I saw once in a museum. I could use it for our series, except it’d be slanted. It gave a point of view and we weren’t supposed to have one.

  I couldn’t get that painting out of my mind, mostly because of its name. It showed a nude figure with angel wings, all wrapped up in a serpent and what appeared to be lengths of fabric. There was also a butterfly, as I recalled.

  It was meant to symbolize a conflict between good and evil. I didn’t care about that, only the title. It made me think of Hank and Paula. Was that how it was for them? Their soul in bondage, somewhere between life and afterlife? I wished Hank would wake up so I could ask him. I wished he would wake up for his own sake.

  If he could wake up, then it wasn’t a matter of letting him go. It was not like those in a very deep coma, the thing they call a persistent vegetative state. If you take away the machine, then they die. Which, it seemed to me, meant they weren’t really alive in the first place. That’s where the question comes up about the right to die.

  My cell phone rang. A voice I had no trouble recognizing said, “Hey, what’s up with you?”

  I all but fainted. Get a grip, I told myself. I was sure now that Glyn must have talked to him.

  “Evan?” I had planned all the things I would say, but I couldn’t remember any of them. They were all stupid.

  “Are you still interested?” I asked.

  That was one of the stupider ones. I refrained from babbling and waited to see what would happen.

  “Interested in what?” He sounded really hostile. I had to remind myself there wasn’t much he could do over the phone.

  “In, um—me. You used to say you loved me.” I sounded pathetic as well as stupid. It made me gag.

  “You’re crazy.”

  But he really had said that. About loving me. Over and over he said it.

  “Yes, I know I’m crazy,” I sighed. “You used to tell me that, too. You said the sweetest things.”

  Dammit, I was getting sarcastic again. Why couldn’t I stop? I tried to pull back. “I think about you a lot, Evan.”

  Wrong again. That was admitting his antics had an effect on me.

  His response was, “Yeah, huh?”

  “I heard you were going to school in New Hampshire. That’s so far away.”

  “It’s your fault.”

  “Why is it my fault?” I tried to make it a simple question and keep the challenge out of it.

  “It’s your fault I had to get out of Lakeside.”

  So it was true and he admitted it.

  “Did you? I’m so sorry, Evan.”

  “The hell you’re sorry! You did it on purpose. You wrecked my whole life.”

  You did that to yourself, asshole. “Are you in New Hampshire now? Is that where you’re calling from?”

  “No, I am not in New Hampshire.”

  “Are you home? In Southbridge?” I tried to make it sound hopeful.

  He didn’t answer.

  I said, “Do you know I never stopped loving you?” That was so sickening I could hardly stand myself.

  “Funny way of showing it,” he said.

  Not as funny as your way, Buster.

  “You know what’s funny, Evan? I mean it’s more like interesting. I joined the newspaper staff at Southbridge High and we’re working on a series about, um...” How could I put it tactfully? “About when people are in a coma. Because of that Halloran case right now in Georgia. We’re starting with Paula Welbourne because she’s from around here. I never knew she was your sister.”

  “Huh?”

  Didn’t he know? Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. I muddled on.

  “It’s awesome. You wouldn’t remember her. She must have, uh, passed on before you were born.”

  “How is it awesome?”

  “That might not be the right word.” Why did I keep putting my foot in my mouth? This was all so incredibly awkward.

  “I’m glad you called, Evan. It kind of breaks the ice.”

  “Huh!” And then, “How do you know she’s my sister?”

  That sounded belligerent. Maybe he didn’t want people finding out.

  “I saw a picture. Of your family. At her funeral.”

  “Where’d you see that?”

  “In a newspaper clipping. From ages ago. I was researching for the article.”

  “Huh.”

  This was going nowhere. I would have to get right to the point or give up.

  The trouble was that point was where I really didn’t want to go. But what other way was there?

  I said, “Do you think we could get together sometime?”

  He gave an explosive laugh, more like a spit. “What for? You’re the one who broke it up. You didn’t want to see me again.”

  “I never said that. I was afraid of you. You hit me.”

  “Yeah, you know whose fault that was. With your big mouth it’s gonna happen again.”

  Happen again. Just happen. Like it was an accident and not his fist that did it.

  “You thought I was unfaithful,” I said. “I would never do that. Honestly.”

  This approach wasn’t working. I couldn’t say the right thing because I didn’t feel it.

  He knew that. He said, “Not I thought you were unfaithful, you were! You cozied up to every guy in school, you bitch. Even that brother of yours. Do you know how sick that is?”

  How could he have such a twisted mind?

  “Evan, Ben is my brother! People talk to their brothers sometimes. It’s family.”

  “He’s not your real brother, he’s adopted. That makes it not family. Are you too dumb to know that?”

  “But it is family. I never thought of him any other way except as my brother.”

  “Slut.”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. This was definitely a mistake. He would never change.

  Maybe he was jealous because Ben was so good-looking. Could that be it? A person can acknowledge that their brother is good-looking without going ape over him.

  I tried one more time. “You said you love me but you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t act this way or hurt me the way you do. You’d treat me like a human being instead of a possession.”

  That met with silence. I hoped he was thinking it over, which would happen when pigs fly.

  Then suddenly, “I do love you, Maddie. You’re my girl. All mine. That’s why I don’t like to see you with other guys. Can’t you understand?”

  “Can’t you understand that it’s the same as talking to another girl? Guys are people just like—well, like my friend Glynis.”

  “What, she’s a lesbo?”

  “No, she isn’t, and that’s not what I meant. I mean it doesn’t make any difference whether the person I talk to is a guy or a girl. It doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with them.”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near other guys!” He ground out the words. “Got that?”

  “Would it help if I go and live in a convent?”

  “I’m warning you! Don’t make jokes.”

  “It’s not a joke. I’m only trying to figure out how to handle—” I almost said you, “—this.”

  What a mistake. I thought he’d jump at the chance to get back together, if only so he could persecute me some more. Instead, he was piling on the reasons why we shouldn’t.

  Could it be that he believed I actually meant it? He thought I really wanted him, and by denying me he thought he could make me suffer? Egotist. Idiot.

  “Okay, Evan, if you’re not interested, then that’s it. I’ll just try to move on.”

  “When did I say I wasn’t interested?”

  “It’s pretty much what you’ve been saying.”

  “I just don’t want to get hurt again.”

  Wow, what an admission! That he could be hurt. He was the one who liked to do the hurting.

  Or was this part of his act? Trying to make himself seem vulnerable and appealing. How did he have enough sensitivity to know t
hat vulnerability could be appealing?

  Sociopaths know a lot of things intellectually. They just can’t experience them on a personal level. If they do at times seem to have normal emotions, it’s because they’ve watched and learned how to fake it.

  “Okay, Evan, whenever you really want to get together, and you can accept me as an actual human being, just give me a call.”

  I disconnected and hoped I wouldn’t hear from him. He wasn’t going to change. Ever.

  Almost immediately, the phone rang again. Out of curiosity, I picked it up.

  “You bitch!” he screamed before I said anything. “You’re not getting off so easy this time.”

  When did I ever get off easy with him?

  He was still on the phone, so I said, “You don’t want to get hurt again? Maybe I don’t either. I know you can’t see other people as real people because you’re a psychopath and that’s the way they are. All that matters to you is what you want. But if you could even pretend I’m real and treat me accordingly, then we might have a chance.”

  God forbid. Once more I disconnected, and muted the ringer.

  Why did I always do that? Get confrontational.

  I wasn’t going to crawl for anybody. In fact I did crawl when we first starting seeing each other. He sort of pushed me into that role without my realizing it. All it did was encourage him to take advantage of me.

  Until I lost my temper. I was as bad as he was.

  I spent a few minutes feeling sorry for myself and then I got perspective. Whatever was wrong with my life, and it seemed like plenty, at least I had a life. Not like Paula Welbourne.

  Sixteen years old. That was her age when she lost consciousness. Sixteen years was all she ever had. I was sixteen. What if my life were to end right now? If the coma wasn’t too deep, I might even know where I was and what the future was. That was how it might have been for Paula, if she could breathe on her own. She’d have lain there knowing that the world went on without her. That she was missing all the things she should have had as a teenager and a young woman. Would she mind? Or would she take it for granted that that was the way it was? Maybe they could hear and feel, but how did they process that information?