FROM AWAY ~ BOOK TWO

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  “Right! Sorry, Sheriff.”

  “Look, Millie. I appreciate you not wanting to disturb the ceremony, but you should always call me in when something big is happening. Especially before sending Schilling to deal with it.”

  The washroom door creaks open behind her. Whoever it is, they’ve been in there at least as long as she’s been on the phone. Netty glances over her shoulder. Makes sure no one is poised to overhear anything they shouldn’t. Finds herself face-to-face with Wanda.

  “Uh...” Netty’s at a loss. No idea what she’d been in the middle of saying. When Wanda hadn’t shown up for the funeral, she’d relaxed. Thought this inevitable awkward run-in had been postponed. Now, her eyes dart. From Wanda’s face. To her bandaged half-forearm. Back again.

  “Hey, Sheriff.” Wanda pauses. Shifty. Anxious. Gives her a loopy grin.

  Instantly, Netty knows what she was doing in the washroom. So obvious. Same thing she always must’ve been doing in the washroom. How had Netty missed it for so long? Ignoring clear signals. Wanting to give Wanda the benefit of the doubt. Playing pretend. Willfully stupid.

  She turns away from her ex. Can’t even look at her. Talks into her phone: “All right. Looks like I’ll be heading out there myself.” She walks off. Down the hallway.

  “Hey!” Wanda follows. Of course. A couple steps behind. Rubbing at her bandages. “Come on, Netty. After all I’ve been through? Gimme a break, here!”

  Netty barely registers Millie’s voice on the phone. “Should I let him know you’re coming?”

  “What? No!” Netty navigates out of the corridor. Onto the main floor of the restaurant. “No, Millie. You update me on his movements. Not the other way around.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.” Wanda trails. Unwilling to take the hint. “I just want to ask how Max is doing.”

  Netty cringes. A few people look up as they pass the buffet. Netty sees their sour faces. Upset at the very mention of her son. Who dared to survive.

  “I asked at the hospital. They wouldn’t tell me anything. Just that he’d been released already. Guess Max must be okay, if they sent him home, right?”

  Goddammit! Netty speeds up. Hoping to lead this crazy woman out of the restaurant before she attracts too much attention. Or at least before her bereaved sister hears her.

  “Sheriff? Did you--”

  “I have to go, Millie. I’ll check in later.” She hangs up without waiting for a reply. Drops her phone into her clutch.

  “Netty? Can you just stop for one second? This isn’t some stalker-ex trick. I honestly want to know how Max is doing.” Almost to the door. Getting louder. People are definitely looking now. Getting their money’s worth. All told, the Lesguettes have given them quite a show today.

  “Now you’re making me worry. How bad was it? I know Max wasn’t completely blown up, but--”

  Netty whirls on her. “Wanda! For godsakes, lower your voice!”

  Wanda shuts up. Surprised. Suddenly aware of everyone around her: Her sister, eyebrows pinched together in fury. Her brother-in-law, teary. Her family. Former friends. All the people she’s let down so many times. None happy with the spectacle she’s created. So much for improved off-the-goo decision making abilities.

  “Shit-shit-shit... Sorry. I’m so...” And it hits her: What she’d forgotten while focused on her missing hand - and skinless Marshall - and her seemingly-cured addiction... Aaron is gone. Her sweet nephew. Dead. From an explosion in the generator shed she had sent him to only a day earlier. Something she’d managed to ignore entirely until that very moment. A flood of emotion threatens to overwhelm her.

  But she won’t come apart. Not there. Not with all eyes on her. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid by leaving: Making herself the centre of attention. But seeing Netty standing back there in the hallway? Out the window went all plans and good intentions.

  She shouts to her sister. “I’m so sorry, Sylvie. I never meant to--”

  But it’s too late for sorry.

  Netty tries to pull her away. “Wanda. Maybe it’s best you--” Too late for that, too.

  “Don’t worry, Sheriff.” Roscoe comes up on Wanda’s right. Grabs her by the intact arm. “We’ll take things from here.”

  “Hey!” Wanda tries pulling her arm away. Roscoe holds tight.

  “Best you don’t fight, Wanda.” Burl appears on her left. Grabs her around the bicep. Wraps his other hand loosely around the end of her stump. “It can be terrible when someone takes advantage of an injury.” For punctuation, he squeezes.

  Wanda’s entire body seizes up. Electrified by the pain. When he releases, she slumps forward from relief.

  “Let’s go.” The large duo lead her away. A look back at Netty begs for help. She has none to give. Can only watch as the now-pliant woman is dragged to the door. Out of the restaurant. Not sure she even feels sorry for Wanda anymore.

  Outside, the men half-push, half-toss her into the parking lot. She gestures at them with her three-quarters of an arm. Then stalks off.

  Burl and Roscoe remain. Guarding against her potential return. But Netty knows: Wanda won’t be coming back. First and foremost, she’ll probably need to find more goo. After that... Who cares?

  Suddenly, Netty realizes the room is silent. All eyes still on her. Guilty-by-association. But also: Mother of the boy who didn’t die. Everyone freshly reminded that - unlike Aaron - Max is going to be fine. He’s already home, in fact. What right does Netty have to be there? What does she have to mourn? How dare she? She was the lucky one. She still has her son.

  Netty can’t blame them. Nothing they can think that she hadn’t thought of herself, while deciding whether or not she should attend in the first place.

  So, with head held high, she leaves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When the alarms go off, Dr. Sable is only three rooms away. Leading two junior residents through rounds. They chase him out the door as he springs into action.

  Nurse Eldon meets him there. Outside room 432. With the crash cart. Holding open a protective gown. “She’s ready.”

  “This isn’t a bit... Premature?” He douses himself in anti-bacterial sanitizer. Slips his arms into the gown.

  “It has been ten days, Doctor.” The nurse quickly ties him at the back. “We’re not caught unawares.” She helps him on with gloves. A full-face shield.

  The junior residents catch up: Doctors Mendez and Kohl. Excited to know what is going on. Hoping to insert themselves. “What has? What’s been ten days?” Mendez keeps her distance from the suiting up, but not by much. Crowding the action.

  “None of your concern, Dr. Mendez.” Dr. Sable backs into the room. The nurse pushes the crash-cart in after him. Retreats to the corridor once more. Before the door closes, the residents get a brief glimpse of Paula Fields: In traction. Seizing. Flexing against the metal framework holding her partially suspended over the bed.

  Neither junior resident is invited along. Nurse Eldon blocks their path, in fact. Room 432 is a special case.

  Neither can understand why they’d be excluded. Both have theories:

  Mendez believes she’s lost Dr. Sable’s favor due to a small mistake made during a cholecystectomy. Kohl believes Dr. Sable has concerns about his ability to perform in a crisis. Both are desperate to prove themselves. Frustrated to be held at bay when they have so much to offer.

  They pepper Nurse Eldon with questions. She has no answers. Shushes them. Listens for the doctor’s instructions.

  Dr. Sable shouts for her. Just behind the door. She opens it a crack. Both residents back up slightly at the sight of him: Gown covered in something black. Viscous. Face-shield sprayed with it. Smeared where it’s been wiped away.

  “Get Ramsey in here. I can’t do it alone. She’s too strong.”

  The residents offer their assistance:

  “Doctor, I could--”

  “We both would be--”

  “No. Shut up. You stay.” Sable notices Nurse Eldon is still ther
e. “You. Go!”

  The nurse runs off. The doctor recedes. The door closes.

  Left to their own devices, the young doctors argue about the liquid. Its blackness.

  “Internal bleed,” nods Mendez. She knew it all along.

  “Did you see the spray pattern?” Kohl thinks aloud. “It was mist. Could be from the lungs. Cancer?”

  Mendez shakes her head. “Unnecessary leap. A bleed is consistent with her injuries.”

  Their theories are interrupted by an enormous crash from inside the room. Something big hits the floor. Scattered instruments rattle across the tiles. Then, the alarms shut down. A relative calm settles.

  The residents listen closely. Kohl leans towards the door. “Dr. Sable? Is everything okay?” Dr. Sable does not respond.

  They have their order. Neither wants to incur the Chief’s notorious wrath. But surely, he should answer. Even just to tell them to shut up again. He may need help. And Nurse Eldon is on her own mission. Still nowhere to be seen.

  No room for hesitation. Mendez makes the decision. Takes the risk. Pushes her way into room 432.

  A decision she regrets. Almost immediately.

  ~

  The room is frozen.

  Doctors Mendez and Kohl stand in the doorway. Uncertain where to go. What to do.

  Instruments and equipment are strewn across the room. An obstacle course of arcane medical toys.

  Paula Fields lays in bed. Eyes wide. Mouth open. Face and chest covered in the black liquid. Pillows and sheets soaked.

  Dr. Sable is crumpled in the corner. His upper torso facing a distinctly different direction than his lower half.

  Nothing moves until Paula coughs.

  “See to Dr. Sable!” Mendez points Kohl towards their mentor. Crosses to Paula.

  She finds the woman’s mouth filled with the black fluid. More pouring out. Over her lips. Chin. A constant flow. Her eyes roll back. She gags. Squirms. Constrained in place by the halo bolted into her skull. Multiple bulky casts. Moving far more than is advisable.

  “He’s gone. Maureen, he’s gone!” Dr. Kohl kneels next to Dr. Sable. Holding the man’s wrist. Nothing he can do.

  Mendez focuses on her own patient. “She can’t breathe. Drowning on her own...” She cranes her head to get a better view inside Paula’s mouth. “I think there’s some sort of obstruction. Dr. Kohl! Find me forceps. Magills.”

  Kohl scrambles across the floor. Hunting through the scattered medical instruments. Pushing aside anything that doesn’t fit the request.

  His search slows. He looks confused. “Mendez...”

  “Goddamn! You can’t find me forceps?”

  “That’s just it... I don’t even recognize half these things.” He lifts a surgical-steel tool with a long corkscrewing blade. “What the hell is this for?”

  “There’s no time, just get me something I can grab with. Tongs. Anything.”

  Paula sputters. Bubbles. Mendez can’t afford to wait. She braces Paula’s chin open with one hand. Ready to investigate with the other. A cough sprays both with black mist. Mendez flinches. Yanks them back. Across the palms: A red rash burns wherever Paula’s breath came in contact.

  “Ow! Geez!” Mendez’s skin sizzles. Burning. “What the--”

  With a lurching heave, Paula vomits a black fountain. It coats Mendez’s hands. She pulls away instantly, but too late. The corrosive stuff hisses as it eats the flesh from her fingers. She shrieks and gibbers as her own living x-ray is revealed. Finger bones shockingly white. Surprisingly tiny.

  She grabs at them as the linking cartilage dissolves. Tries to hold them in place. Instead, knocks them off.

  Distal. Medial. Proximal.

  The words echo in Dr. Mendez’s head. Her phalanges fall to the floor. Making little clicks as they hit the tiles.

  ~

  Flatlines. The monitors have given up hope. They sing Paula Fields a steady single-tone requiem.

  Unmoving. Eyes aiming upwards. Black mouth open. Still dripping the stuff.

  Dr. Kohl has moved Dr. Mendez into room 432’s empty bed. Wrapped what little remains of her hands. He holds her as they await the arrival of the trauma team.

  Nurse Eldon gasps as she opens the door. Quickly retreats as Dr. Ramsey pushes by.

  He doesn’t glance at the residents. Hardly notices the late Dr. Sable. He flips down his protective facial mask. Goes directly to Paula Fields.

  Dr. Kohl is outraged. The patient is gone. Mendez still has a chance. “Doctor! You’re needed over here.”

  Ramsey ignores him. Moves around Paula’s body. Scrutinizing her. Checking pupils. Ears. Fingernails. Satisfied, he opens the second drawer on the crash cart. Removes a syringe. Tears it from it packaging. Jabs it into a small bottle Dr. Kohl doesn’t recognize. Fills it.

  “It’s too late for her.” Kohl protests. “She arrested three minutes ago. She’s gone.”

  Ramsey glares at the door. “Nurse!”

  Nurse Eldon opens it a crack.

  “Make the call, now.” He plunges the syringe into Paula’s temple. Injects her. “Tell them she’s ready.”

  “Yes, Dr. Ramsey.” The nurse exits.

  Beep. The flatlines are interrupted. Beep.

  Dr. Kohl doesn’t understand. Can’t quite believe it.

  Paula sputters. Coughs.

  Alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “So... Can you arrest them or not?”

  Ren hopes he’s been lied to. Won’t even mind the wasted cab-fare if he can turn back now. Return to the bridge. Kick those protesters off. Maybe too late to expect work to begin today, but at least they’d be cleared out for tomorrow.

  “No, Schilling was right.” Netty’s voice on his phone. Stealing away his illusions. “It’s considered public property. Nothing we can do without a court order.”

  Ren’s teenage years go by outside the taxi’s windows. Houses his high school friends had lived in. Places he’d hung out. Where parties had been held.

  Everything on the island seems to exist in two overlapping layers at once. The modern world superimposed with a grainy film. Two decades old. Contradicting reality with the image of the way things were. Every renovation compared to the original. Every building torn down hanging ghostly over the newly vacant lot. All strangely wrong.

  “Somebody you go to for this sort of thing? Someone who might be sympathetic to my cause?”

  Netty sighs. If only there were such a person. “At this point, the Old Men pretty much have everyone under their...” She suddenly realizes it’s not a general question. He’s asking about someone in particular. “Ren... No.”

  “No?”

  His taxi pulls up to the curb. Ren reaches for his wallet as the cabbie twists in his seat. “$17.50.”

  “Is that a... You left the bridge?”

  He gives the guy a twenty. Climbs out.

  “I’m under a lot of pressure, Antoinette.” Ren looks up at the house. How much maintenance had been required to keep it identical to when he left when everything around it has changed so much? “I need this build to get underway.”

  He heads up the walk. Shady now, where he remembers the sun shining hot and hard. In the centre of the front yard: The scrawny sugar maple sapling he’d helped plant. Now tall and full.

  “You cannot go to her on this.”

  “If there were any other option, believe me, I’d--”

  “Ren! The position you’re putting her in... It’s not fair.”

  In the slight breeze, the porch-swing moves of its own accord. As though only just vacated. Ren almost tries it out.

  “I’m just going to ask. That’s all. It’s not like I’m going to strong-arm the woman. I think you can trust her to make the right decision.”

  “I don’t want her to make the right decision, Ren. I want her to make the safe one. Even just going out there... Getting her involved. You’re putting her in danger. If not her life, then at least her livelihood.”

  “I don’t have any a
lternative, Antoinette. You said so yourself.” He rings the doorbell. Even the chime is the same. “I’ll tell her you say hi.”

  “Ren--” He hangs up on her. Mutes the phone. Pockets it.

  The door opens. An older woman. Older than he expects. Unlike the house, she has not withstood the ravages of time unaltered. Shorter. Thinner. Too-red hair an unnatural memory of the torchy orange it once was. It doesn’t take her long to recognize him. Reconcile his own battle with age to her out-of-date memory of an eighteen year-old.

  “Ren! About time you dropped in.”

  “Judge Hubert. Your daughter says to say hi.”

  ~

  Deputy Schilling watches the embrace through binoculars. The Sheriff’s mother reaches her arms up around Lesguettes. Squeezes him tight. Steps back to let him inside. Closes the door.

  It’s nearly impossible to avoid detection in a clearly identified patrol car, but he seems to have managed it. He’d hung well back. Kept a minimum three blocks between them at all times. Pulled over immediately when the cab’s brakelights flashed red. Three blocks away, but close enough to verify the final destination.

  “Yes?” Mrs. Rutherford answers on the first ring.

  “He’s gone to Judge Hubert. After the court order, no doubt.”

  “No doubt.”

  Binoculars up. Schilling checks again. No change. “So... What next?” Eager to please. To ingratiate himself. “Should I drop in on them? Remind her Honor of how things work?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing rough or anything. Subtle. But so there’s no mistaking my meaning.”

  “We need nothing further from you at this point, Douglas.”

  Disappointing. There’s so much more he could do for her. “But... You don’t think she’ll give it to him? If he gets his hands on a court order, the demonstration is as good as done.”

  “We’re not overly concerned about that. Please return to the station. Resume your duties.”