Leaving Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  “Andrew was fortunate.” The surgeon did not waste words. “No major internal organs damaged, small knick in a vessel, which we closed. His right lung collapsed, but should respond to post-surgical care.”

  Noah remained with Andrew, but Frances joined us. Her smile, while genuine, didn’t match her eyes that darted back to the residence as Rizzi described Andrew’s post-care. I thought she was looking for Terrell, tried not to be distracted by her behavior.

  “Excuse me,” David interrupted. “I’m being paged from inside the residence.”

  Rizzi looked toward Frances. She nodded and excused herself. I watched her hurry to catch up with David. “Ms. Hartford, we’ve put together a temporary recovery suite in the old sick room of your residence. Andrew will be moved there within the half hour.”

  “There’s a medical suite attached to the clinic at the end of the drive.”

  “We’re following Intellectual Corps protocol, which requires we house the patients in the residence.” He rolled his shoulders.

  “Andrew isn’t in the Intellectual Corps.”

  He rubbed one hand across a hairy forearm. “We’ve been ordered to remain for a procedure on Phoebe Regan. Following that, we’ll leave a professional here to manage patient care for approximately seventy-two hours.”

  David matched his stride to a large man carrying a limp Phoebe. Frances accompanied the group, spoke to a woman in medical scrubs then with David. They advanced slowly, taking each step with care.

  “I understand there’s a nano chip implant located near the base of her skull which must be removed.” Rizzi shifted weight, ready to return to his surgical suite. “That’s what I know. This could be a relatively easy procedure, or we could be searching for a nearly invisible speck.” He began walking. “Your son will be moved to recovery in a sterile box to free space for the next procedure. I’m not in favor of this expedited transfer for a chest wound, but we have orders. Keep everyone out of the way of the team.”

  Rizzi’s words didn’t prepare me for the clear coffin-like unit eased from the med copter and onto a self-propelled gurney. Four medics accompanied Andrew with Noah leading them to the lower level entrance to Ashwood. My feet moved toward him, my eyes ignored Noah waving me to stay back. Faith followed me, young enough for no one to suggest she not cry in fright.

  “He’s okay, Mom. Both of you stay here with Dad.” Noah held up both hands. “Stay there. I’ll come for you.”

  Terrell, my greatest support after David, grabbed Faith’s hand. He extended his other hand for me, but I would not be drawn away from Andrew. I followed the box, kept my distance, heard the sounds of unseen equipment monitoring his heartbeat, his blood pressure, and whatever stats Rizzi needed. Ashwood’s door opened, Andrew’s escorts lifted the gurney and entered. The door closed. Blinds covered each window. I was reminded that even with the multi-corps dominating our economy, Uncle Sam held even tighter to its precious human resources.

  “He’s healthy and strong. He will be okay.” David came up behind me.

  I turned away from the blank windows to face him and Phoebe’s situation. “Tell me what happened inside. You look so collected and I’m a complete mess. Why was Phoebe being carried?”

  He looked over my shoulder at the med copter’s now closed door. I followed his eyes and wished I had a way to demand someone give me entrance. David’s hand closed around my elbow. “Let’s sit down.”

  Faith joined us, eyes puffy with more tears. She slipped next to David on the bench. “John went back to be with Phoebe. When Otis found the gun in her pocket, she began talking to herself. John said her behavior became extreme. Then she collapsed.”

  In a flash I remembered Faith asking if Phoebe would still fit in with Ashwood. Instead of alarm at news of another collapse, I felt weariness. Weeks of the drama of Phoebe’s life distracted everyone at the core of Ashwood. I listened, waited for some new detail to come from this episode, some piece of information that would change my mind from growing concern about the price of sheltering this brilliant woman and all her eccentric behavior in the midst of innocent people who could be hurt.

  “Mom.” Faith tugged at my shirt edge.

  “I am listening.” I put my hand over hers. “And thinking. Aside from shooting Andrew, the man who says he loves her, this is all the same pattern caused by that damn chip. How is it that the nano chip location is now known and who is giving orders?”

  David stared forward, finally responded. “Call Milan? He usually directs the game.”

  But I shook my head. “He’ll call if he wants me to know something. This is between him and Phoebe. He has a watcher among us who probably tells him if Phoebe stubs a toe.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” David’s question was fair.

  “Only that I’m not sure we can keep Phoebe safe any longer without endangering more innocent people. Maybe she should be with Milan in hiding.” I wanted to lift my blood-spotted shirt and ask who would be next. “The people protecting him should be able to deal with the Ahlmet issue.”

  “This is her home, Annie. Do you know how important we are in this situa­tion?”

  Faith didn’t look at either of us as emotions shifted. From experience, she expected her parents to deal logically with conflict. The med copter’s low drumming and the sight of drones held harmless by powerful jamming of the government vehicle chilled me.

  “Ashwood is home to many people, David, which is exactly why I am concerned about Phoebe’s condition. Under this madman’s influence, she used a gun to shoot Andrew. Next time that attack could be against you or Terrell or me or anyone who happens to be in the area at the wrong moment.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, Annie.” His voice had an edge, anger that I hoped wasn’t directed at me. “She will be okay after this operation. No need to make plans to send her away.”

  “That’s what I hope.”

  “If they can’t find that chip, I agree with Mom.” Faith didn’t turn as she spoke. “Each time she visits school, I worry she’ll lose it and frighten the kids.” She sighed, a choppy sound hinting of tears and stress. “You saw her room, Dad. She’s destroyed everything at that guy’s direction. She’s afraid he might kill her.”

  I hadn’t been in Phoebe’s suite for a few days, but saw David’s head nod slightly in acknowledgement of Faith’s observations.

  “What’s happened in her room? When I visited there last time everything was normal.”

  They exchanged a look before Faith took the lead. “All the dresser drawers are busted up, the wooden chair is smashed, and the comforter got ripped apart. Amber had stuff replaced yesterday, but it was all crazy again after dinner.”

  “My God, our poor girl.” Tears came to my eyes, evaporated in the heat of the anger I carried. Faith leaned her head on David’s shoulder and cried. I envied the comfort of his arms as he pulled her to his chest.

  Summer’s long evening was fading. Small garden lamps turned yellow. Faith’s sobs quieted until crickets became our background noise. Terrell left to care for his kids. John and Amber brought out water, insect repellent shirts, and a brief message from Lao that Ashwood was secure. They moved chairs next to me. I lowered my head into my hands, my thoughts churning through the moment and dreading the future.

  In the metro area families might still gather in hospital waiting rooms while loved ones underwent treatments or fought for their lives. I dimly remembered being taken to a hospital with my parents when my grandfather had heart surgery. For hours I worked on school assignments, walked with my mother through the halls to purchase lunch we would bring back to the family.

  With less invasive procedures and downsizing of the business of healthcare, many of the old rituals disappeared. Babies were born in clinics, bones set in a transport unit, diagnostics conducted remotely. Yet here we were reconnected with the human
experience of filling anxious minutes and hours with our own thoughts and prayers while waiting for news of our loved one.

  Noah sent me updates from Andrew’s side and as I passed the news to everyone, we made small talk. As forty minutes stretched to sixty then seventy-five, my thoughts fixated on the unknown of who’d ordered Phoebe’s surgery and why. David and I agreed that he would continue to wait with the others if I received the call to visit Andrew.

  Fatigue accompanied Frances when she walked down the med copter’s ramp. Her head came up and she saw the five of us. David and I were on our feet to meet her midway as if even five seconds of additional wait could not be tolerated.

  “You should go inside,” she said. “The surgical team is holding Phoebe in a light state of sedation while communicating with a Bureau medical representative in Chicago.” She removed her head covering. “I think everyone has a better idea of what they are looking for, but because of the structure and size of the chip, there is reluctance to do extensive work without additional information. Phoebe was able to tell Dr. Rizzi what she remembers about how Ahlmet might have planted it, which is somewhat contradictory with what the Chicago people believe.”

  “What condition is she in?” Frances heard my question and appeared to evaluate our emotions.

  “I can answer that on many levels.” Her eyes rested on Faith first, then David, before resting on me. “She is lucid at times, she is frequently out of control requiring the doctors to use sedation. Her vitals are being monitored at all times and have been erratic.”

  My communicator signified I could visit Andrew in ten minutes. “I need to be with her,” I responded to Frances. “She must be so frightened.”

  Frances took one of my hands. “I knew you would feel that way.” She squeezed my fingers gently. “The medical team are tops. They are doing everything possible to keep her physically comfortable and stable. As an Intellectual Corps member, Phoebe is very used to others caring for her needs regardless of the nature. They care for her body so her mind can be free of everything but work. She is more comfortable with strangers in this condition than with family.” Her factual tone didn’t sugarcoat Phoebe’s life. “Immersion in our normal life has been hard on her. Milan made sure this medical team had experience with Intellectual Corps.”

  “So he’s calling the shots.” I heard David’s lifelong bitterness about govern­ment involvement with the lives of our gifted offspring. “These doctors will keep her body healthy as a holder for her goddamn brain. Like she’s not a person.”

  “I’ll be there as long as Phoebe wants me.” Frances placed her arms around me, hugged me. “She asked me to tell you she’s sorry and she loves you.” Stepping back, Frances dropped an arm to my waist. “Let me walk you part of the way to Andrew.”

  We turned our back on the med copter. Frances’s arm physically supported me. “Andrew should be able to talk with you,” she explained. “The lung has been re-inflated, but he’ll feel like he fought with a robo boxer for the next week or two. The bullet ripped tissue within the body that will need time to mend.”

  “Thank you for everything you’re doing.”

  Frances smiled. “It’s what I can do.” The smile faded. “If we can end Ahlmet’s tyranny of Phoebe, and she decides to stay to work in this new Giant Pines research corporation, she’ll need psychological help through the adjustment to regular life. Or you can create some version of the Bureau’s Intellectual Corps lifestyle and continue to support her brain through absolute support of her body. Keep me in the loop. Remember I’m her psychiatrist first.”

  “What about Andrew?” I knew my son would ask for her.

  “Regardless of what Phoebe might say, right now she is not available for an emotional relationship with a person leading a normal life. She’s a narcissist, not a partner.”

  Frances stopped walking. “I have to turn back. Give your boy a kiss and keep the conversation light. He should be debriefed about the shooting by now, but it’s best for him to stay quiet.” She straightened her shoulders and extended her short spine. “You know the drill, Anne. One step at a time. You concentrate on Andrew and your family. I’ll give my attention to Phoebe.”

  Chapter 30

  David teased me that if a three dimensional picture were taken of my brain, it would look like the world’s smallest apartment building with big challenges forced into an amazing number of small compartments. I called that survival.

  Noah met me at the door and ushered me through personal cleaning then into sterile garb. He assured me Andrew was doing well, but in an un-Noah way offered no jokes or small talk. I saw him step out of his role as the family’s charmer into one as a member of the medical team.

  Ashwood’s old sick bay, a collection of beds and tables and easy chairs had been transformed into a modern mobile medical suite. The sterile transfer unit had disappeared. In its place, Andrew rested in a high-tech hospital bed that recorded his vitals without a visible cord or cable. He breathed in oxygen via nasal tubing. Another tube drained fluid from his chest. His eyes were closed and his face, while still pale, had more natural pink tones.

  “He knows he was shot by Phoebe, but doesn’t know anything happening with her. Keep it that way.” Noah unfolded an old wooden chair. “You can touch his hands or arms or feet or legs or forehead. Stay away from any tubing areas and his chest. He has some badly bruised ribs, probably from falling.”

  All I had taken in about transforming the sick room and Noah’s natural assumption of his new career fell into mental boxes for future consideration. And all those small compartments faded at Andrew’s side. As a teen, he’d had a high tolerance for pain. I hoped that would help him through his recovery.

  “Andrew, I’m so relieved to see you.” I stood close, gently touched his hair. “You look a lot better.”

  A grunting sound came from his throat.

  “Don’t try to talk, Andrew.” Noah was at his other side. “There was a tube down your throat. The longer you stay quiet, the sooner the tissue will heal. Just give Mom a smile. We’re going to let her hold your hand.”

  With his large hand in mine, I sat and talked about small meaningless topics like the mutant flower Faith found and the sound of the crickets while we waited outside during his surgery. I told him how Terrell and I changed this space from a spare storage room into a place for sick or hurt child workers and that he was always willing to read to another kid who needed to spend time here. Someone handed me a moistened cloth and gel for his drying lips. I dabbed tenuously around the tube. My hand remained steady. My heart beat fast.

  Fifteen minutes extended into thirty before they told me I needed to leave, Andrew squeezed my hand. I walked away with one compartment door refusing to close.

  Chapter 31

  In the second hour, we moved our vigil to Paul’s former room where the med copter could be watched from the windows. Terrell and Lao rejoined us.

  I watched David, saw worry freeze his forehead into many small lines. Frances sent us short updates, but clearly the battle for Phoebe’s sanity and survival took place 400 miles away in Chicago and in the halls of bureaucracy. Blankets and tea and food arrived. Faith studied. John, Amber, and Magda played a board game in silence. When Andrew slept, Noah left sickbay to sit next to David.

  Looking like an alien ship with illuminated windows and low landing lights shining below, I wondered about the security system that kept the med copter’s presence invisible to the drone swarm. Around two in the morning more of its windows lit up. I tugged on David’s arm to be sure I wasn’t imagining the change. Lao stood and signaled me to join him in stepping away from the group. I followed, certain the lack of an update from Frances about obvious activity spelled trouble.

  “Is it Phoebe?” I kept my voice low. “Or has Andrew taken a turn?”

  He put a finger to his lips, took my elbow to move us faster from the m
ain residence and to the DOE building next door. I upped his speed, urging my feet to move faster than my mind. Instinctively I headed to my office.

  Lao activated the hologram system. Milan, dressed in full business attire at this strange hour, joined us. He sat in a conference room that could be anywhere in the world although I assumed it to be a government office.

  “You will hear news of significant disruption in the Bureau of Human Capital Management. I have been asked by President Hernandez to join her cabinet as Secretary of the Bureau.” Milan removed glasses from a pocket. Lao and I sat frozen in our chairs, caught by the amazing announcement. “There are a number of implications for the Regans in this change which I must ask Anne to com­municate to appropriate members of the family. I’ll be brief because I know your attention is focused on Phoebe.” He looked over his glasses at me.

  “Congratulations, Milan.” I tipped my head. “Correct that. Secretary Milan.”

  “There will be time for that later.” His face softened. “You will always be a friend first, Annie, so let’s not do the title.” Emotion thickened his voice and he paused. “I have three imperative messages. To avoid a conflict of interest with my new responsibilities, I am relinquishing legal guardianship of Phoebe to you. We’ll talk more about this when we’ve had a few hours of sleep, but if she is still interested in pursuing private research work she is free of any contractual obligations to the Bureau. And, in my first official action, I will be restructuring the Intellectual Corps citizens to work in approved private sector if their work is of value to advancement of the United States.”

  “Thank you. I look forward to telling her this good news.” Sleep deprivation sharpened the sweetness of this development as well as fear Phoebe would not live to enjoy this freedom. “You must know how the medical team is struggling to keep her alive.”