by Ju Ephraime
The second time I had caught sight of him, I had again gone into the back room with Mr. O’Mallery to look at a cedar chest. The chest was beautiful, and I was so taken up with it that I did not pay any attention to the other occupant of the room until he moved from where he had been standing, so still, almost like a statue, to go into that same private room. Again, the sighting was very fleeting because he had disappeared into the other room before I could acknowledge his presence.
The third time was a couple of weeks before his death. I had gone into the shop after receiving a phone call from Mr. O’Mallery that he had just got in a new inventory shipment and he had two items he thought would be of interest to me – a seventeenth century secretary’s desk and its accompanying foot stool.
I had been very excited from the time he told me of the new shipment because I had been looking for an antique secretary’s desk, so I could hardly wait for the work day to come to an end.
I’d walked into the store expecting to see Mr. O’Mallery, but apparently he had stepped out and his son, Jeff, was filling in for him. That was the first time I had a good look at Jeff. I guess he could not very well disappear to his private room because there was no one else to wait on me.
This was my first face to face meeting with him, and I was taken aback by his physical appearance. He was tall and big, not overweight, just big, as you would expect a Viking to be—he dwarfed the place. What little I could see of his hair, under the hat he was wearing, appeared to be close-cropped and dark with scatterings of premature gray. He looked to be in his early thirties. On anyone else, this hat would’ve looked ridiculous, but Jeff O’Mallery wore it with a certain flair. There was no denying that it fit his wide brow perfectly. He had very dark eyes, almost obsidian, which gave him an eerie look. Those eyes seemed to look right through me, with a hook of a nose that looked as if it had been broken, at least once. I was a bit intimidated by him until he smiled, and then his entire face lit up. The smile started at his full wide lips, and then his entire face was transformed by the smile. His eyes crinkled up at the corners, and his top lip curled up, revealing perfectly formed white teeth. I felt the effect of that smile all the way to my core. I have always had a thing for perfectly formed white teeth, and on Jeff, with his overpowering presence and reclusive attitude, it was most surprising. It was like finding a treasure in the most unexpected of places.
As he walked around the counter to show me the desk and footstool, I looked at his body more than I was looking at the items he was showing me. He wore loose-fitting jeans. He wore no belt, so the jeans were almost falling off him. When he walked away from me, I could not help admiring the picture he presented from behind. I felt an edgy excitement standing next to him. There was the smooth bulge of his biceps, visible underneath the short-sleeves of his T-shirt. And his hands were huge, with the nails cut low to the quick, but there was a residue of the stain and/or polish he used on the furniture under his nails. He looked up and caught me staring at his hands and flashed that smile again, and I could not help smiling back at him. I felt like a traitor because I was letting this man get to me, and to cover for my indiscretion, I got very businesslike and began examining the desk and stool. They were both in excellent condition, and I did not haggle over the price, which was a bit high, but wrote him a check for the two pieces.
I was perfectly willing to carry the stool to my vehicle while he helped me with the desk. Although it was not a big desk, he grabbed both as if they weighed nothing and followed me to the car. In no time, he had loaded them into the trunk, which he tied down with a piece of rope to keep them secured.
“I wouldn’t go on the highway with the trunk like this,” he said. This was the first time I really got to hear him speak. He had the most pleasing, sexy voice, the kind of voice you would imagine talking to you while in the throes of sex. There I was again, thinking about this man in a lascivious way. I told myself I should get home to my husband and let him take care of me instead of lusting after Jeff O’Mallery.
I’d gotten into my vehicle and merged into the traffic, but couldn’t help turning back to see if he had gone back inside the shop. Sure enough, he was standing in the same spot, as if he knew I would turn back, and then he waved to me. I waved back and proceeded to make my way home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Not long after, I read in the local paper of his death in a boating accident. I wanted to go to the shop to express my condolences to Mr. O’Mallery, but I kept putting it off until it became a moot point to do so. By then, several months had gone by before I visited O’Mallery’s again.
Until now, I had not connected my hat to the one at O’Mallery’s because it was not logically feasible. The hat had been in the shop when I was there talking with Mr. O’Mallery. How did it get to my home ahead of me?
Sitting there in the comfort of my living room, with all these thoughts going through my mind, I also was able to recall the outline of the man I had seen on the blue television screen. Thinking about it now, it did have a resemblance to Jeff O’Mallery, but I could not be certain because I did not know him that well. More importantly, I would never have connected the two. I had only really seen the man that one time, and at that time, although his appearance made an impression on me, I was more taken by the way he made me feel than by the way he looked.
I walked into the kitchen to freshen my coffee, still trying to accept the information that the entity in my home could be someone I had met when it was alive. The more I thought about the entire event, the more perplexed I became. Evidently, the entity wanted to have access to my home. This entity apparently knew me well enough to know I would not pass up the opportunity to own an antique piece. Bringing it into my home, it had not only violated my home, it had violated my body, and was on course to destroy my marriage if I didn’t do something about it now.
I was more convinced than ever that I was the cause of this entity occupying my home. Not only did I have those thoughts about the man when I met him, I had taken the hat into my home without questioning the soundness of my action. Now it was up to me to make things right. I was just about to call out to John. He had been upstairs an awfully long time. He should have finished his shower already, when a drop of water splashed down on my face.
I looked up to find the source of the water, and noticed a spot on the ceiling in the shape of a bubble almost about ready to burst. I just stood there, rooted to the spot, not knowing what to make of it, then, my thoughts flew to John and the shower. Evidently, there was a broken pipe or the sink was overflowing. I ran up the stairs. This water had to be coming from the bathroom, which is where John said he was going when he’d left almost an hour ago. I was so shaken up by the things I was discovering about the entity in my home that I had not realized how long I had been in the kitchen, when I should have long been gone.
I raced into the bathroom and almost landed on my ass. The hallway was flooded and so was the bathroom. I opened the door with the two girls hanging back behind me, and more water came gushing out. I waded in and saw John lying face down in about two feet of water in the bottom of the glassed-in shower stall.
I became hysterical, dragging him out, while I yelled to Johanna to call 911. I grabbed a towel off the rack and threw it on him, where he lay on the floor stark naked. I immediately began chest compressions. After the required 30 compressions, I still could not find a pulse. I began rescue breathing, all the time calling out to him. It took two rescue breaths before I felt a very faint pulse. There was not enough room in the bathroom to flip him on his stomach, but I needed to get him face down to try to get the water out of his lungs. I did not know I had the strength in me, but I lifted him like a baby and flipped him over. His pulse was still very weak. I began pounding on his back while I tried to roll him back and forth. Finally, water gushed from his mouth, and he began to breathe very shallowly with a rattling sound.
I knew this was not good; John was not out of danger yet. I began praying for the ambulance to get there qui
ckly. I did not think he would make it if they did not come soon.
Thank God, the EMTs got there in less than three minutes. They took over and, in no time, they wrapped John in a sheet and put him on a stretcher as they administered a shot of antibiotic and Lasix to remove the fluid from his lungs.
John was hooked up to the oxygen, but he did not regain consciousness at the house or in the ambulance. As soon as we got to the hospital, John was wheeled into ICU, and I had to remain in the waiting room. I was going out of my mind trying to come to grips with John falling in the shower and almost drowning. I had a strong suspicion it had something to do with the ghost in my house, but until he regained consciousness to tell me what had happened in the shower, I was working on gut instinct. I told myself he could have fallen and banged his head and was knocked unconscious and the water entered his lungs. I went through every possible scenario I could think of, but I kept coming back to the ghost.
I stood by the window, looking out at the dreary landscape, which I could glimpse fitfully through the branches that practically blocked the view of the street below. With nothing to occupy myself, the suspense was killing me. There was no one to talk to, nothing to look at. But the most stressful part, I had no idea how John was doing in the next room.
When my parents arrived fifteen minutes later with the girls, I breathed a sigh of relief. Just having someone to talk with took my mind off the long wait. I would’ve preferred it if the girls were not present, especially since I had no idea how things were going with John, but I was also grateful for their support.
That first night, I sent the girls home with my parents and spent the night at the hospital. I was not allowed to see John nor was I told anything by the doctors and nurses who constantly rushed past me. I became a nervous wreck by the time dawn finally rolled around. It was, without a doubt, the longest night of my life.
I left the hospital around seven in the morning. I went home to shower and change. I was so consumed with thoughts of John it was only when I had made it back to the hospital that it dawned on me. I had entered my room, showered and left, and did not give a thought to the ghost in my home.
For the next four days, my life took on a surreal quality, centered on John regaining consciousness and keeping the girls from knowing how grave things appeared to be with their father. The doctors could not tell me how long John would be in the coma. They had to first work on pumping the fluid out of his lungs and they had him on heavy doses of diuretics and antibiotics. They were afraid he could be left with an infection in his lungs, which would further complicate coming out of the coma.
I moved permanently into the little room in the hospital so that I could be on hand if, and when, John came out of the coma. I talked to him all the time, even though he gave no indication he could hear me. I got some of his favorite books and read them to him. I went through a couple of books a day. There was nothing for me to do, so I read to keep my mind occupied and to let John know I was there. My day became routine. I would get up from having not slept but dozing on and off in the chair next to John’s bed, freshen up in the small bathroom, and, sometimes not even bothering to change out of the clothes I slept in, resume my reading and my conversations with John as if we were at home and everything was normal.
On the morning after his fifth day in intensive care, I had just returned from freshening up in the bathroom when I thought he had moved from the position he had been in before I left to go to the bathroom. I ran my hand through his hair to move his hair away from his face, and I felt a slight movement. It was very slight, but it was movement. I ran to get a nurse. I’d completely forgotten I could’ve just used the pull bell by his bed, until she reminded me.
I was so overcome; I collapsed into the chair next to her desk. I had to take some deep breaths before I could continue.
“Calm down, Ms. Warrington,” the nurse advised me. “What seems to be the matter?”
“I believe my husband is regaining consciousness …” Before I could complete the sentence, she had given a code, and every available nurse and doctor on the floor were in John’s room. I tried pushing my way in, but I was ordered out.
They drew a screen around John’s bed as the doctors and nurses began working. I was beside myself. I paced back and forth outside in the hallway. I did not like not knowing what was going on. The endless waiting was killing me.
Finally, when after what seemed to be an immeasurable amount of time and as I truly contemplated pulling my hair out, the lead specialist pulled the screen back and walked out, followed by two nurses. I rushed up to him. He must have seen I was close to losing my mind because he took the time and stopped to talk with me.
“Mrs. Warrington,” he began, “I believe your husband is out of immediate danger. He is out of the coma, but we will be monitoring him for the next twenty-four hours before he’s moved into a private room. You can sit with him, but try not to excite him. We don’t want any undue stress on his system. After you’ve had a brief visit with him, I recommend you take the time to go home and have a proper rest and return later.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I replied. “I want to be here in case John needs me.”
“We’ve sedated him and he’s sleeping now. He won’t know if you’re here or not, and he’ll need you more when he’s awake.”
“Oh, okay.” I walked into John’s room just as the other doctors and nurses were leaving.
He did appear to be sleeping peacefully, but then he’d looked that way from the day they placed him in that bed. His color, however, seemed less waxy, and the breathing tube in his mouth was moving much stronger now. I gave him a kiss on his forehead, told him I was going home to take a rest and would be back later.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I did not go to my home because, now that John was getting better, I thought of what had happened to him in the shower. It had almost resulted in his death. Had I not been standing in that spot in the kitchen, I would not have been aware that he was lying unconscious in the shower. Instead, I went to my parents to be with my family; I needed their support to keep my mind off things.
It was a while before I could get into bed because the girls were just about to leave for school when I drove up, and they wanted to know how their father was doing. By the time I got through giving them the news about John, they were in no shape emotionally to attend school that day, so I allowed them to remain at home. I hated doing this because it was the beginning of the new school year, and I did not want them taking time off from school.
My mother saw I was dead on my feet and brought me a cup of tea as I made my way to my old room.
The room was almost unchanged from when I’d lived there all those years ago, a fresh coat of paint the only noticeable change. When I lived there, I had ruined the walls with my teenage art, which I’d drawn all over the walls. My art was all gone, but the furniture was the same. That was my last coherent thought before I fell into bed and immediately fell asleep.
I intended to sleep for only a couple of hours, so when I finally woke up at 6:00 p.m., I was upset for missing time with John. I took a quick shower and made my way back to the hospital. I had to fight with the girls to get them to remain home until the next day.
As I drove into the hospital parking lot, I was so filled with anxiety that my stomach was tied in knots, but I put a brave face on and made my way to the Intensive Care Unit to check on John. When I walked into the room, he appeared to be asleep because he had his eyes closed, but I could tell he was not. He was opening and closing his right hand rapidly as he clutched the bedcover.
“Hi, hon,” I greeted him. “You gave us quite a scare. How are you feeling?”
He opened his eyes and gestured with his hand towards his mouth. That was when I realized he could not talk because of the breathing tube in his throat. I quietly told him I had two new novels to read to him -- Tom Clancy and Mary Higgins Clark. But he would not settle down. He gestured agitatedly to his throat, moving about as if he wanted
to rip out the tube. I kept trying to placate him until I noticed the tears running down from the corner of his eyes. I immediately pulled the bell rope next to his bed.
“The nurse is coming,” I told him.
The relief on his face when the nurse walked in would have been comical if it had not been so sad.
“I believe he wants the breathing tube removed,” I told her.
“We can’t remove the tube until we’re certain he can breathe on his own. It would be more painful to reinsert it.”
John apparently heard her, and he reached for the tube with his hand. The nurse finally told us she would get the doctor to remove the tube. We had to wait almost an hour before she returned with a doctor, and they had me leave the room as they removed the tube. I waited patiently until I was given permission to re-enter.
The first thing I noticed was the sad smile on John’s face. He was obviously relieved to have the tube removed, but he was still uncomfortable. As soon as the doctor and nurse left the room, I questioned him about it.
“What’s the matter? What’s wrong now? I thought you’d be happy with the tube removed.”
“I need to use the bathroom,” he answered.
I didn’t know what to do, so I again had to get the nurse. Before they could get back to him, John had an accident on himself. I was again asked to leave the room because the entire bed had to be stripped as well as John’s hospital gown.
It took two nurses to get the job done, but they did it very quickly.
When I was allowed back into the room, John looked better, and he could use his voice a little. It was a bit raspy, but I could hear and understand him.
“Are you more comfortable now?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “But I’m so weak. How long have I been here?”
