by Amy Cross
And all I really hear is that persistent scratching sound, as if a finger is grinding its nail against the base of my skull.
“The mall will be closing in five minutes,” an automated announcement says as I head toward the door that leads to the parking area. “Thank you for visiting, and we look forward to welcoming you back soon.”
A few minutes later, as I'm driving away from the mall and have no more excuses to keep from heading going home, I hear my phone buzzing again. I know it's just another message from Rob, explaining why he had to work late and couldn't meet me in Addie's room, so I guess there's no point even checking. I'm tired of his excuses, and they're always the same anyway.
Besides, I'm barely managing to stay awake. I need to get home before I pass out.
Stopping at the lights, I glance at the Aladdin's Pizza boxes on the seat next to me. I used to always tell Addie that we have to eat healthy food, but lately I've just been picking up take-out on my way home from the hospital. Aladdin's Pizza one night, then maybe The Sausage Stack the next, and then back to Aladdin's Pizza. They seem to recognize me in both places now. Maybe they wonder why a thirty-year-old woman is buying take-out every night.
“What's her deal?” I imagine the girl behind the counter asking the guy who cooks the pizzas. “Doesn't she have, like, a home and a family?”
My eyes slip shut for a moment.
“She had a family once,” I imagine the guy explaining. “Then her daughter died and it all turned to shit.”
Opening my eyes, I see that the lights are still red. Was I almost falling asleep?
No.
No, I can make it home.
A moment later the lights change and I take the next left, figuring that I should just get back to the house, eat a slice of pizza, and maybe do some research online. There must be other treatment options for Addie. Ahead, the gray road stretches far into the distance as it winds between the suburbs, with a little less traffic than usual as light rain continues to fall. There's something strangely soothing about the little drops that appear every few seconds on the windshield, and about the wipers that quickly flash past.
There was no rain on the day of the accident.
I remember sitting on a bench in the park, setting out the packed lunch I'd brought. Addie was playing on a climbing frame nearby, and I'd just spent a few minutes making sure she had plenty of suncream on her face and arms. It's strange, but I remember those final few seconds in detail. The images, at least; the sounds are harder, replaced most times by that steady nail-against-bone scratching sound. I remember taking the lid off our yoghurt pots and slipping a plastic spoon into each. A purple spoon for Addie, and a green spoon for me, same as always. I unwrapped our sandwiches. Addie had insisted on egg mayonnaise, although I'd managed to sneak some cress in too, so that it'd be a little more healthy. She always complained that cress got stuck between her teeth, but she could usually be persuaded to eat it anyway.
The sun was so bright and strong that day.
I remember hearing the squeak of her shoes slipping on the edge of the climbing frame, followed by a heavy, thudding crack. By the time I looked over at her, she'd already fallen and landed on her head, and the rest of her body was toppling down to the ground. A million-to-one chance, the doctors called it, but I swear that even as she fell still, I could already tell that something was very wrong. Just that simple moment, and that awkward landing, had somehow caused enough damage to her brain to silence her and make her go to sleep for nine months. Ever since that day, her eyes have remained shut except for the times when the doctors pull them open to check her pupils, and her hand has remained limp in mine.
And -
Suddenly hearing a car horn, I blink and see the road ahead, veering alarmingly to the left. I turn the wheel and hear the tires screech as I get back into the right lane, just as a car flashes past going in the other direction.
Realizing that I was starting to fall asleep, I pull over at the side of the road and stop the engine, before leaning back and taking a series of deep breaths. My heart is pounding and I know I just came within inches of a wreck, and when I look at my hands I see that they're trembling. Rain is falling a little more heavily now, as other cars speed past. I know I can't sit here forever, but I just need to take a couple of minutes to pull myself together, and I need to find some way of forcing myself to stay awake and alert.
I'm still about a mile from home.
Just a mile.
I can do this.
I just wish that scratching sound would stop at the base of my skull.
Grabbing my bag, I start fumbling for some of those caffeine pills I've been using lately.
A moment later, I hear my phone ringing. I'm not in the mood to hear any more of Rob's excuses, so I focus on finding the pills. The phone falls silent after half a minute, but then it starts again just as I pull the packet of pills out.
“I get it,” I mutter, as the phone stops again. “You're working late. You can't help it. Sam's forcing you. Whatever.”
I slip two pills into the palm of my hand and quickly swallow them dry.
The cold, dark house is waiting for me. The cold, dark, Addie-less house. I just have to get there.
“Stop,” I say with a sigh, as I hear the scratching sound continuing. Sometimes it's a little faster, sometimes a little slower, but it rarely stops.
A moment later, my phone starts ringing yet again. Rob isn't usually this persistent. Usually he just sends a message explaining why he can't come home until after midnight.
Sighing, I grab the phone and look at the screen, only to see that it's not Rob trying to get ahold of me.
It's the hospital.
“Hello?” I say as I answer, trying to sound calm. “This is Erica Gray.”
“Mrs. Gray,” a familiar voice replies, “it's Nurse Wallis from Saint Luke's. I've been trying to reach you for a half hour now. You need to get back here as fast as possible.”
“Why?” I ask, already re-starting the engine. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong, M'am,” she replies. “Well, not as far as we can tell. We need to run some tests first, but right now... It's your daughter, Addie.”
“What about her?” I stammer, trying not to panic. “Did something happen?”
“That's why I'm calling you, Mrs. Gray,” she continues. “Addie just woke up.”
Erica
“Where is she?” I shout, hurrying along the corridor and almost colliding with a trolley that's being pushed the other way. “Where's Addie?”
Reaching the door to her room, I look through and see that there's no sign of her. Her bed is gone, and the machines are standing idly in the corner with all the wires and tubes disconnected. I've had dreams like this, terrible racing nightmares where Addie's suddenly plucked away from me. Turning, I race to the nurses' station.
“Where's my daughter?” I ask, no longer even bothering if I sound like a panicking maniac.
“Mrs. Gray!” a voice calls out from along the corridor. “Over here!”
Turning, I see a nurse waving at me. I hurry over to her, almost tripping over my own goddamn feet. I drop my bag in the process and everything spills out, but I don't have time to go back for all that crap right now. Heading over to the nurse, I'm about to ask where I can find Addie when I glance through the next door and see my little girl sitting calmly on her bed. She has a blank expression on her face as Doctor Andrews uses a stethoscope to listen to her chest, but it's her.
It's really her.
“Addie!” I yell, running through and putting my arms around her, pulling her tight.
I still can't quite believe that she's really here, but after a moment I realize I can feel her breath on the side of my neck. I know I should pull back and let the doctor get on with his work, but right now I don't think I can ever let go of her again. She smells like hospital sheets and sterile gloves, but it's really, really her.
“I knew it!” I sob, with tears streaming down my f
ace. “I know you'd come back!”
I squeeze her tighter, before worrying that I might hurt her. Finally pulling back, but keeping my hands on her shoulders, I look into her beautiful brown eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “Can you hear me?”
She blinks, but she doesn't respond.
“She's okay, right?” I continue, turning to Doctor Andrews. “Can she hear me?”
“She's responsive,” he replies. “Don't ask me how, because I can't tell you just yet, but so far she seems absolutely fine.”
Turning back to Addie, I realize that she's still just staring at me with a blank gaze. I run my fingers through her hair to make it a little neater, and then I lick my thumb and use it to wipe a faint smudge from her cheek. After a moment, she looks up at the ceiling, and then over at the window, with a hint of shock in her eyes.
“Say something, sweetie,” I continue, with tears still running down my face. “Let Mommy hear your voice.”
I wait, but when she doesn't reply, I look at her arms.
“Can you move everything?” I ask. “Your arms and legs, are they okay?”
“There are no problems there,” Doctor Andrews replies.
I wait, but Addie continues to look around the room for a few seconds before finally turning back to me. At first she simply stares, almost as if she doesn't recognize me. After a moment, however, she blinks and I see a faint twitch on one side of her face.
“Can she understand me?” I ask, running my hands down her neck and onto her shoulders. “Can she hear me?”
“All vital signs are looking good so far,” Doctor Andrews replies. “Her heart rhythm is strong, she's answered a few basic questions, and her arms and legs have responded to reflex tests.”
“Addie, look at me,” I continue, as she turns to look up at the doctor. Nudging her chin, I turn her head slightly until she's looking in my eyes again. “Addie, it's Mommy! Can you say something, Addie? Can you just say something so I can hear your voice again?”
I wait, but she simply stares at me.
“Has she spoken yet?” I ask.
“A few words, yes,” Doctor Andrews replies, “but so far we're not quite sure what -”
“Where's Jesophat?” Addie asks suddenly.
I can't help smiling as I hear her voice, although I have no idea what she means.
“She's said that several times,” Doctor Andrews continues. “We figured maybe Jesophat is a toy.”
“I've no idea what she means,” I reply, putting my hands on Addie's shoulders again. “What do you want, sweetie? Just tell me, anything at all, and I'll get it for you! The sky's the limit!”
“Where's Jesophat?” she asks again.
“What does that mean?” I reply. “Tell me what it is and I'll get it.”
She looks over at the door for a moment, and then back at me. “Is he here yet?”
“I...” Pausing, I realize that she seems very serious, almost afraid. “Is who here?” I ask cautiously. “I'm sure Daddy's on his way, I'm sure the hospital got in touch with him.”
“Where's Jesophat?” she asks, before flinching as the doctor moves the cold metal drum further up her chest.
“We'll work this out later,” I continue, leaning closer and giving her another hug as Doctor Andrews goes to make some notes on a chart. “Addie, I swear I knew you'd come back to us. I knew that one day you'd wake up. You have to believe me, I never gave up. None of us did.” I squeeze my eyes tight shut as tears run down my face, and for a moment I feel as if I'll never be able to let go of her again. “Could you feel me in the room with you? Could you hear me reading those books? I came every day, Addie. I would have been here even more, but they have such strict rules for visiting hours and -”
I pause, before realizing she doesn't need to hear all of this right now.
“I knew you'd come back,” I add finally. “I just knew it. We all did.”
I wait, holding her tight, trying to keep from becoming a complete weeping mess. I've waited so long for this day, imagining what it'd be like, and now I can barely believe it's really happening.
“Who's Addie?” she asks suddenly.
I freeze for a moment.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“Who's Addie?”
Swallowing hard, I pull back and see the same blank expression in her eyes.
“Where's Jesophat?” she continues. “Is he here yet? He should be here by now.”
I pause for a moment. “Addie...”
“I'm not Addie,” she says firmly. “Where's Jesophat?”
***
“We need to carry out a lot more scans over the next few days,” Doctor Andrews says a few minutes later, having once again pulled me out into the corridor to talk. “Obviously that won't tell us everything, but we can begin to map areas of damage in her brain and -”
“There's no damage in her brain,” I say firmly.
“Well, we -”
“You said it yourself, after the initial scans.”
“I'd like to perform those scans again. There was some damage, and -”
“You said it'd heal.”
“And it should have, but -”
“Isn't it quite normal that she's lost her memory?” I ask, trying to keep things grounded and avoid over-reacting. “I read about this sort of thing, I read about it online, it happens sometimes. Her memory'll probably come back to her over the next few hours or days, we just have to not force it.”
I can immediately see that he's not convinced.
“Do you any idea what this Jesophat thing is about?” he asks. “It's pretty much the only thing she said before you showed up. She seems almost obsessed.”
“I've never heard that word before in my life,” I tell him.
“Well, it must have come from somewhere.”
Taking a deep breath, I feel a wave of relief rushing through my chest. “How did this happen?” I ask. “When I was here a few hours ago, you said she seemed worse than ever.”
“I know, but -”
“So how did she wake up? What caused it?”
“One of the nurses was in the room,” he continues, “checking on her after you'd left earlier. Everything was normal, all the readings were fine, and then as she turned to go back out, the nurse said she heard movement from the bed. When she looked back, Addie's eyes were open, looking at her. That was it. Like a switch had been flicked.”
“I thought you said it'd be a gradual process when she woke up,” I point out.
“It should have been. Instead, she seems to have suddenly changed on a dime. One moment she was showing no signs of recovery, and the next she was starting to sit up and speak. I think possibly the abruptness is what has caused her confusion. The human brain isn't really supposed to suddenly emerge so quickly from an extended period of low activity.”
“It's a miracle,” I whisper, turning and looking into the room. Addie's still sitting calmly on the bed, staring at her hands and she wiggles her pinky fingers together. “I never believed in miracles before, but this is a miracle.”
“We don't really have much room for miracles in the medical field,” the doctor replies, “but... I've got to admit, your daughter's sudden emergence from her coma has caught us all on the hop.” He puts a hand on my arm. “All I can say at the moment is that you should go sit with her for a while. Talk to her. Don't force things, don't test her, but see if you can gently nudge her memory. It'd be very useful if she could start mentioning specific things from her life, just so we can see signs of improvement. I'm not worried by her reactions, not yet, but let's see if we can gently encourage her to acknowledge some other elements of her day-to-day life.”
“She doesn't even seem to know who she is,” I point out. “Her name...”
“Give her time. Support her.”
Nodding, I check my phone and see that Rob still hasn't replied to any of my messages.
“And Mrs. Gray...” Doctor Andrews smiles. “Congratulations. I must cautio
n you that there'll be a long road to recovery ahead, but you've got your daughter back.”
After thanking him, I head back to the room and see Addie still sitting calmly on her bed. She has her pinky fingers linked together and she's fiddling with them, trying to twist them. I wander over, but it takes a moment before she notices me, at which point she turns and stares at me with that same blank expression.
“Hey,” I say with a smile. “Sorry about that, Addie, the doctor just -”
“Where's Jesophat?”
Stopping next to the bed, I reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear.
“I don't know what that means, Addie. If you can -”
“Who's Addie?”
I flinch a little at the question. “Well... You're Addie, sweetheart. Your name is Addie Gray, remember?”
She pauses, before shaking her head.
“You're nine years old,” I continue, “and you have a Mommy and a Daddy who love you very much.”
She stares at me, as if nothing I've said makes sense to her.
“Where's Jesophat?” she asks again, looking toward the door. “He must be close by.”
“Addie -”
“I'm not Addie,” she continues, looking up at me again. “Stop calling me that.”
“It's okay to be confused,” I reply, grabbing a chair from nearby and sitting next to the bed. Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. “You've been through a lot. Do you know how long you were asleep? Nine whole months!”
She shakes her head.
“You were, honey.”
“No I wasn't. That's stupid.”
I can't help smiling, even though her continued insistence is a little off-putting.
“Did you hear my voice reading to you?” I ask, squeezing her hand. “I came every day. You weren't alone, not for long. Mommy was right here every second that she could be.”
She pauses.
“I think...” After a moment, she nods. “I think I heard you earlier. I heard your voice nearby.”
“Maybe that was what helped you to wake up,” I tell her. “The doctors said there was a chance you might be able to hear us.”
