Sleeping Roses

by RaShelle Workman

  “But why do they need my dreams, my story? It seems like your theories and notes would be enough.”

  “See, this is where you’re wrong, as well as all of the doctors I’ve been talking to. They’re thinking the exact same way as you. But I want them to be able to start viewing each coma patient as an individual once again. I want them to understand the patients haven’t checked out, but are in a dream state so deep we have to do all we can to wake them, not forget about them. It’ll be good for all of these doctors to hear what’s been going on from the perspective of the patient. In my opinion, your dreams are even more important than my notes, or anything else.”

  She shook her head again, the prospect of tons of people hearing the intimate details of her dreams over the past ten years making her turn green with nausea.

  “Listen, Sophie, I know this sounds scary. It's a lot to ask of you. I promise you, though, this book is going to revolutionize the way coma patients are viewed and treated. In my professional opinion, its contents will be as important to them as residency is to new doctors.”

  Sophie stared at him for a long moment before she spoke. “All right. If you honestly think my dreams are important, then I’ll do it. On one condition, though.”

  “What,” he asked apprehensively, running his fingers through his thick hair.

  “I can tell my dreams, my story, to my mom, dad and Hope.”

  He seemed a little hurt he wasn’t mentioned. Quickly, she added, “And you, of course.”

  “Agreed,” he confirmed with a smile.

  “We’ll start first thing tomorrow. Your mother asked to be the first to record for you. She said she’d see you at nine o’clock sharp.” He tapped once sharply on his notepad as if to emphasize his words before walking out.

  She smiled as well. Obviously everyone else knew she would say yes even before she did. She wasn’t sure whether she should be angry or admire the people who’d surrounded her the past ten years. She chose the latter, of course.

  #

  Her mother sat patiently opposite her. Sophie stared. Her mother aged, but still had the same beautiful twinkle in her brown eyes. Her hair wasn’t quite as brown, having hints of gray cascading throughout. Her bangs, though, were mostly gray, cut just above her eyelashes. She had them parted down the same side as the rest of her hair. Thick and shiny, it flowed down, a little past her shoulders.

  Her makeup was light and fresh, with a light tint of cocoa lipstick. Her clothes, as always, were simple, yet elegant. White button-down, long sleeve shirt, and simple, black pants. She wore her favorite jewelry, the pearl earrings, necklace, and bracelet her dad gave her mom as a birthday present one year. Her mom sat in what looked like a comfortable high back leather chair. It was dark chocolate, except in the center, where it looked worn. Dr. Hansen brought it in himself right after she came back from physical therapy. She wondered if it was his office chair.

  “Sophie, let’s begin right after the accident,” her mom said finally, pressing the record button.

  “I will, mom, only I’m a little nervous, worried.”

  “About what. You’re safe now.”

  “I know, and I’m glad. I’m just afraid once I’ve vocalized my dreams, they won’t seem as real.”

  Tears spilled from her mother’s eyes.

  “Mom . . .” she stopped, realizing what she’d said, and immediately tried to correct it. “I didn’t mean the part about you and dad. With all of my heart, I’m happy you and dad didn’t die.” She paused, trying to collect her thoughts.

  She needed to explain that even though, in her dreams, the last ten years had been difficult without her parents, trying to live her life without them, it was all she had. She was afraid if her dreams faded, somehow she would too.

  When she thought about how she’d been lying in a bed of some sort, her body rarely moving the past decade, it was almost more than she could stand. Thinking about her dreams made reality seem more bearable. Sophie tried again, "Mom, what I meant to say is the thought of me being in this bed, doing nothing, not living for the past ten years, scares me.” She shook her head, trying to clear it. “No. It more than scares me, but I’m not sure how to describe what I mean. Knowing my last real memory was right before I graduated from high school. In my mind, it seems like I’ve accomplished a lot, experienced so much, and to realize those accomplishments aren’t real . . . It’s difficult for me beyond what I can describe. Am I making sense?” She prayed she was because, at the moment, she had no other way of describing it.

  Her mom smiled. “Soph, I’d like to understand what you mean. All this time, I’ve hurt for you, wondering if there was something more I should’ve done. Wishing I was the one in a coma instead of you. I would’ve done anything to allow you to experience your life. In a way, I’m relieved. I’m glad, at least, in your dreams, you’ve been living. Which is why I’m excited to hear about your dreams.” She shrugged, the twinkle coming back. “I want to know what you’ve been up to the past ten years.”

  Sophie laughed with her, reaching out to grab her mom’s hand. “How I’ve missed you, mom.”

  Wiping her eyes and clearing her throat, her mom sat up straight.

  “Let’s try this again. Why don’t you start with our, er, deaths.”

  Eying her mother nervously, she began. She talked about the funeral and about her decision to go to college. They talked at length about her hikes into the mountains,

  and how she’d been close to her parents there.

  At one point her mother interjected, “I talked to you every day. Told you about current events, about what your dad and I had been doing. Without fail, though, before we left I would whisper in your ear, ‘Wake up Sophie. I love you and want you to wake up.’”

  Sophie was stunned.

  “I heard you say those words several times, mom. I heard you.”

  There was another surprise when she told her mom about her best friend, Rina.

  Her mother said, “You know Nurse Hope’s daughter’s name is Rina.”

  “I know,” she returned. “She told me yesterday. Do you know her daughter? Is she nice?”

  “She sounds nice. I’ve only met her a few times. Mostly, though, I know of her from the conversations Hope and I have had over the years. It seems like you know her better than I do.”

  “It’s strange. I’ll have to ask Hope more about it tomorrow.”

  About noon, Hope came in with lunch. She’d graduated from bullion to jello, and was excited for something different. After lunch, she and her mom continued. She talked about how she’d met a man named David. They’d fallen in love, and married quickly. She told her mom about her wedding, where they went on their honeymoon, and about the life she’d lived under his roof. It was difficult describing the way he treated her, and how she’d allowed it.

  Sophie noticed the more she talked about David, the more agitated her mother became. When she told her mom about David trying to rape her, her mother’s face went white as a sheet.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” She finally asked, concerned she’d shared too much information, even if it were a dream.

  “Oh, honey, there're some things I have to tell you. Important things you need to know. I’m just not sure where to begin.”

  “What is it? You can tell me; I’ll be fine.” Sophie tried to sound reassuring, but inside, she had a sense of dread, and something else.

  “Maybe I should wait and let your dad tell you.”

  “Mom, please, you’re scaring me. What is it? Tell me.”

  “Okay, but before I begin . . .” She trailed off, a sob escaping her throat, tears streaming down her face once again. “Please know how much your father, and I love you.”

  “I know,” she whispered softly.

  Her mom reached down, picking up her purse, grabbing a tissue from within, and wiping her eyes. “Well, there was a young man; a night orderly here in the coma unit who . . . We found out later he . . .”

  Without a doubt, Sophie knew what
her mom tried to say, and finished the sentence for her. “He raped me, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” her mother muttered, relief she hadn’t had to say the word visible on her face. “We didn’t find out until it’d been going on for more than six years. Apparently, he’d been . . .” she paused, and with her hands tried to say the word without saying it.

  “Raping,” she helped.

  “Yes, doing that to the girl in the bed next to yours as well.”

  Sophie watched her mother struggling over what was obviously a serious act, but realized she didn’t feel as though her mom spoke about her. She had no real recollection of the experiences, other than the one time. Calmly, she waited for her mom to continue.

  “Sophie, as soon as we found out, we had him arrested. He’s serving fifteen-to-twenty years in prison for what he did to you, and the other girl.”

  “Do you know why he did it?” She asked frankly.

  Her mom seemed ready to bolt from her chair. She started fumbling with the tissue in her hands. Then wiped an invisible piece of lint off her shirt before she stopped and stared at the floor.

  “Mom, even if it’s hard or painful, it’s part of my life I missed, and I need to know what happened while I was in a coma. Please tell me.”

  “Oh, it’s awful, I don’t know if I can tell you. He was so calculating.”

  “Mom, go on. It’s okay.”

  As if suddenly understanding how important it was to her, she dove in. “He started working here about seven years ago. Your dad and I didn’t know him because he worked nights."

  "Uh-huh," Sophie said.

  "Well, the reason he started working here is because . . . the woman who died in the car accident . . ."

  "He was her brother, wasn't he?" Sophie finished for her.

  "Yes,” she replied quietly. “He started working here to have his revenge. He told the police he wanted to make you suffer for killing his sister. He said every night he worked, he would talk to you about his life, cursing you for taking away the only good person he'd ever known and, after a while, raping you as punishment."

  Sophie tried to nod her understanding. She tried. But, the “something else” that had been bothering her for the last few days suddenly smashed in on her consciousness and her mind wouldn’t allow her to focus on anything else.

  She was once again in her horrible nightmare, hovering over David, watching the events of the car crash unfold. Watching as the car exploded with Hazel burning inside.

  Watching David running to save her. She remembered the anguish she had for David. And, she remembered her own pain, the pain of knowing she’d been the cause of Hazel’s death. The intensity of her guilt flooded through her. Wave after wave of shameful agony crashed down on her, threatening to drown her, once again, into a coma. It seemed as though she drifted beneath the water, waiting benevolently for what should’ve happened in the first place . . .

  Sophie stood in the middle of her favorite park. There were large trees all around her, as though hiding her from her shame, and keeping her safe. She noticed Rina sitting against one of the trees. She waved, and walked over to her, happy to see her again. Rina, on the other hand, didn’t seem as happy.

  After she sat down, Rina asked sourly, “Sophie, hon, what’re you doing? This isn’t where you belong.”

  “Rina, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

  “You realize we aren’t anywhere. You’re dreaming again. Do you really want to be back? In a coma, you’re not living, you know?”

  “I know,” she conceded softly.

  “What’s wrong?” Rina asked huffily.

  “I killed David’s sister. I think it should’ve been me? How can I live knowing I killed her? How can I live my life when I took hers?”

  “It’s hard, sweetie, but there’s only one way to find out. You’ve got to try. You’ve got to put on your big-girl thong, wake up, and accept everything you’ve done. Make peace with yourself, and move on. Wake up, Sophie!”

  When Sophie finally opened her eyes, she saw her mom, dad, Hope and Dr. Hansen standing over her. The first one to speak was Dr. Hansen.

  “Sophie, are you all right? You gave us all quite a scare.”

  She tried to speak, but realized she had an oxygen mask covering her mouth. Lifting it, she answered, “Yes. I think I am.”

  She watched as her mom fell into her dad’s outstretched arms and realized what this must’ve meant to them.

  “Sorry mom and dad.”

  Her mom came to her side. “Don’t be, Soph. I’m the one who should be sorry. I told you to much too soon. Can you forgive me?”

  “Mom, no, it wasn’t you. I remembered my car accident is all.” Unable to look into the loving faces of her parents any longer, she wiped her watering eyes. “It must’ve been painful for him to watch his sister die in such a horrible way.”

  Chapter 25

  The next couple of weeks were agonizing for Sophie. Dr. Hansen had decided to allow her to heal more fully before they recorded or talked about her dreams again. The days were spent in therapy as she worked to get her physical body back in shape. The nights were the worst, after everyone had left, and she was alone to contemplate what she’d done, and what she still needed to do.

  The healing did happen, though. When she faced the reality of the car crash, she knew it’d been an accident. By allowing herself to grieve for what she’d done, to grieve for what she’d done to David, even if it wasn’t on purpose, helped strengthen her immensely.

  She also thought she began to understand why she’d dreamed of a marriage to David. She knew what he’d done was cowardly, and she needed to talk about it. She was tired of being treated like a broken eggshell. She was as healed emotionally as she was going to get until she had more answers.

  #

  Dr. Hansen came in to check on her. She sensed he was conflicted by something, but didn’t have the first clue what troubled him.

  “Dr. Hansen, I’m ready to start talking about my dreams again. I need to.”

  “I don’t know Sophie. Maybe we should give it another week.”

  “I don’t need another week. I don’t need another minute.” She was frustrated, and letting it show. “I’m not broken inside anymore, and if I’m going to continue to get better, I’ve got to talk about it.”

  He watched her with a mixture of amusement and . . . unbelievably, desire. Embarrassed, she pulled her covers around her. It suddenly dawned on her she hadn’t looked into a real mirror in over ten years.

  Holy crap, she thought, what must I look like?

  He seemed to notice her discomfort, because he cleared his throat, as he walked to the door. “Fine, you can start in the morning. I’ll tell your mom and dad.”

  “Thanks,” she said, still unable to believe she hadn’t even thought about what she looked like since she’d come out of her coma. She’d been showered, and had had her hair washed several times, but hadn’t ever thought about her appearance.

  “I need to get to a mirror,” she whispered, when he was gone.

  Since a mirror wasn’t possible at the moment, she sat up, letting her covers fall away. First, she touched her eyes. She still had eyelashes. There weren’t any wrinkles at the corners.

  A good beginning, she thought, shrugging. Next, her fingers moved to her eyebrows. She touched the left one, noticing some hair was missing. In its place was soft, thick skin. “A scar,” she guessed. Next she touched her hair. It was long, although slightly tangled. I need a mirror and a brush, she thought, doing a mental checklist.

  Nervous, and feeling a little vain, she pulled at the collar of her gown to reveal her breasts, and look at the rest of her body.

  Not bad, she thought, shrugging again, laughing self-consciously. She wondered if Dr. Hansen had seen her naked over the years since she’d been in his care, guessing he probably had. Remembering someone could walk in at anytime, she quickly covered herself back up before continuing her checklist.

  Mirror.
/>
  Brush.

  Underwear.

  #

  Her mom was first again, which Sophie was grateful for. She quickly repeated what they’d discussed during the first recording, then tried to explain her thoughts to her mom.

  "Mom,” she started. “Maybe that’s why I married David, while I was in my coma. It was my subconscious dealing with what happened to my body.” Then she thought of a question. “How did you find out he’d been doing this?”

  “He confessed,” her mother responded frankly.

  “Really?” She asked, stunned.

  “Yes, it was almost like he’d started doing it expecting to get caught. He was full of anger, and grief. When he didn’t get caught, he told the police he couldn’t handle the guilt anymore, and confessed.”

  “In a way I feel sympathy for him.”

  “I understand,” her mom responded tearfully. “He did seem remorseful, but your dad and I decided he needed to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

  Sophie listened quietly while her mother told her about the trial, how David's lawyer tried to use temporary insanity to get him off.

  “In the end, though, the judge didn’t buy it. David took a deal offered by the district attorney."

  It was amazing how her dreams were starting to make more sense. "But, if he raped me to get revenge, why did he rape the other girl as well?"

  "It's a good question. One that not even David answered properly. ‘She was available,’ was all he ever said."

  “No wonder,” she said out loud.

  “No wonder what, Soph?” Her mom asked, blowing her nose.

  “It explains a lot about my dreams. Why I married him, why I got . . ." She trailed off, something dawning on her.

  Was it be possible, she wondered hopeful.

  “What is it, dear?” Her mother asked, obviously concerned she’d said too much again.