Absolution

by Amanda Dick

  He carefully pushed her bedroom door open wider with his foot. Sidestepping the wheelchair next to her bed, he set her down on top of the covers. She stirred and he knelt beside the bed, waiting to see if she would wake.

  “Dreamt I was dancing,” she smiled sleepily, eyes still closed.

  His heart melted. “It wasn’t a dream. You were dancing.”

  “I like dreams like that, better than the other ones,” she murmured into the pillow.

  He brushed her hair tenderly away from her face. “What other ones?”

  But she didn’t answer and after a few moments, her breathing became heavier. Maybe it was better he didn’t know. He sat there for a few minutes, watching her. She had said something about secrets earlier, and he wondered what she meant. Her secrets or his? He thought about everything he had put himself through over the past four years. How much of that did he actually want her to know? What would she think of him if he told her he had been fighting strangers for money? No – that part of his life was over. Knowing how he had spent the past year would only hurt her. This was a fresh start. And as for the other secret, the one that had driven him away from her in the first place, he promised himself he would tell her when the time was right.

  He pulled the covers from the other side of the bed over her and stood up. Taking a step back, he almost tripped on her wheelchair, reaching out to stop himself from falling. He winced, waiting to see if she would stir, but she remained blissfully unaware.

  He let go of the wheelchair, then frowned, reaching out for it again. He pushed it backwards and forwards a few times, surprised at how light it was. Leaning to the side, he inspected it closely. The seat back was much lower than he thought it would be, and there was a deep foam cushion on the seat, but no sides or arm-rests. Now curious, he sat down in it, a quick glance assuring him that she was still sound asleep. Hesitantly, he put his feet on the foot-rest and grabbed the push rims, propelling himself forward and then backwards. He pulled on one rim, turning, but not in the direction he had thought. After turning himself around in circles a couple of times, he was hit by an overwhelming sense of shame.

  This wasn’t a toy.

  He stood up and walked to the door, pausing for one final check to satisfy himself that she was sleeping soundly.

  He sank into the couch in the living room with a heavy sigh. Part of their conversation in the bar earlier that evening came back to him.

  “Everyone makes mistakes, nobody’s perfect. The key is learning what not to do next time, then moving on. You can’t wallow. It’ll kill you – trust me, I know.”

  Leaning back into the cushion behind him, he stared at the ceiling. What would it feel like to not be able to stand up and walk away from that wheelchair like he had just done?

  His heart hurt, a physical ache, not just an emotional one. Exhausted, he closed his eyes.

  Three Years Earlier

  “Have you talked to her?” Callum asked, pacing his kitchen. “I can’t get her on the phone – landline or cell.”

  Tom sighed and he imagined him taking off his glasses and running a hand down his face as he had seen him do so often.

  “No. I’ve been calling too – no answer. I went over there yesterday and her car was there but she didn’t answer the door. I thought she might be sleeping or something, so I didn’t push it.”

  Callum paced his kitchen. “So when do we panic? Because it feels like now might be a good time.”

  “Just – “

  “Something’s wrong, I can feel it. I was over there on the weekend and she was really weird. She spent most of the time in the studio – she had a real bug up her ass about something, she wouldn’t say what. I went in there to check it out – have you seen the state of that room? It’s like someone stirred it with a stick, there’s crap everywhere – a hell of a lot worse than usual.”

  “I noticed that too. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t worry me, but you know how she gets sometimes. Maybe she’s just taking a few days to work it out of her system.”

  “It’s been going on for longer than just a few days,” Callum snapped. “She hasn’t been herself for a few months now. I knew the anniversary would be tough but she seemed okay, y’know? But she’s not okay now. Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

  “Do you think it’s got something to do with the appointment with Pavlovic? What happened on Monday, at the check-up?”

  Callum frowned. “What check-up? She hasn’t had it yet, she’s still waiting on the appointment coming through.”

  “Well when we had coffee last week, she said the appointment came through and it was for Monday.”

  “Monday this week? Are you sure? That doesn’t make any sense – why the hell didn’t she tell me?”

  “The more pressing question is why did she lie to me about it?”

  “What?”

  “I asked her if she wanted me to go with her but she told me there was no need because you were taking her.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Damned if I know, but I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “I’m going over there.”

  “Good idea. I’ll meet you there, and I’ll bring the spare key. Maybe between us we can get the truth out of her.”

  Callum shoved his cell phone in his jacket pocket, snatched his car keys from the counter top and headed for the door.

  Ally dreaded the appointments with her neurologist, that’s why he went with her, for moral support. She said it was like sitting an exam she had never studied for. Her behaviour over the past few weeks made more sense now. She had been withdrawn, almost introverted, recently. When he saw her on the weekend, her emotions seemed to see-saw from one extreme to the other. One minute it was like she was going to burst into tears, the next she was smiling and fobbing him off. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. He should have known something was wrong.

  The drive to Ally’s house took a lot less than the ten minutes it should have. He pulled into her driveway and parked behind her car, jumping out as soon as he cut the engine. He gave her car a cursory glance as he jogged up to the front door, taking the steps in two long strides. Pounding on her door, he called out her name, but there was no response.

  “Ally!” he tried again, pounding harder. “Ally, if you’re in there, open the door!”

  He stopped to listen, his ears straining for any kind of sound within. He thought he could hear music, but he wasn’t sure. He pounded again, more desperately.

  “Ally! You open this damn door, you hear me? I’m not kidding!”

  Nothing.

  “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down, I swear to God!”

  Silence.

  Anxiety grabbed him by the throat and he pounded on the door even harder. Frustrated at the lack of response, he started to think outside the square. He peered in the window into the living room but could see nothing. He tried to budge it but it was locked tight. Tom was taking far too long.

  He struggled out of his jacket, wrapping it tightly around his fist. Angling his body away, he punched through the living room window, stepping back to avoid the falling glass.

  “Ally!” he called through the window, clearing a space to climb through.

  There was no response. He climbed in and the first thing that hit him was the smell – paint. Pearl Jam was playing on her iPod, which was docked in the living room, but she was nowhere to be seen. He strode through the house, calling out to her as he headed for the studio. The room was a mess, and in the middle of it all, a canvas lay on the floor, surrounded by tubes of paint – some open, which accounted for the smell – along with brushes and rags. He wrinkled his nose and closed the door behind him, his concern mounting.

  “Ally!”

  He headed to her bedroom next, pushing the door open, anxiety forcing every other emotion aside. The curtains were still drawn and the room was dark, but he saw her lying on her bed. Her wheelchair was beside the bed and everything looked n
ormal. Despite appearances, his heart was racing. Why did she have music playing in the living room if she was in bed? And why hadn’t she woken up when he had pounded on the door? Or smashed the window? Or called her name?

  “Ally?”

  He squinted into the gloom, walking over to take a closer look. Panic choked him. The bed was littered with photographs. A bottle of pills, cap off, lay on the bed beside her.

  His heart stopped. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He reached for the bottle. It was empty. He scrambled over the bed on his knees towards her.

  “Ally! Wake up!”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her but she didn’t respond. His hands trembled uncontrollably, adrenaline coursing through his body as he checked her neck. Her pulse throbbed lethargically beneath his fingers.

  “Oh Jesus… what have you done?” he breathed.

  “Callum?”

  “Tom! In here!” he shouted, his voice breaking as he fought the rising panic. “Call 911!”

  He pulled Ally into his arms, rocking backwards and forwards.

  “What the hell?”

  Still cradling Ally, he looked up to see Tom in the doorway. “Help me!”

  The look of horror on Tom’s face as he spied the empty bottle of pills on the bed mirrored his own.

  “Oh my God.”

  Jack woke up slowly, stretching. He squinted, hauling himself upright as he tried to get his bearings. Apparently he had slept on Ally’s couch.

  A crash rang out in the silence.

  Ally.

  Jumping up from the couch, he ran across the hall and burst through her bedroom door. She was sitting sprawled on the floor by her bed, wearing the same black top from last night. She had removed her jeans however, and was wearing only her underwear. She stared up at him in shock but she wasn’t the only one startled.

  From the waist up, she looked more or less the same. From the waist down however, it was a very different story. Her legs were pale and thin, the lack of muscle tone made more pronounced by prominent knees.

  “Get out!” she cried, eyes wild as she leaned forward, effectively bending herself in half to preserve her modesty. “Get out of here!”

  Startled and speechless, Jack could only oblige, backing towards the door.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled nervously, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Standing in the hall, unsure of what he should do next, he heard her utter a string of curses. Tentatively, he turned back to the door.

  “Ally?”

  “What the hell are you still doing here?” she demanded.

  “I uh, I fell asleep on your couch last night,” he grimaced. “I heard a crash, or something. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine!”

  He leant his shoulder against the door. “I’m sorry. I thought you were in trouble – I thought you needed help.”

  “I don’t need your help!”

  He winced at her tone. “Okay, I’m sorry – my mistake.”

  “What happened last night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, where the hell are my crutches and why is my chair on the other side of the room!”

  Jack gave himself a mental kick. “Shit – I’m sorry, that was my fault. I moved your chair out of the way when I carried you to bed last night. And your crutches are still in the living room. It didn’t even cross my mind to bring them through.”

  He braced himself for the tirade he was sure would come.

  “You carried me to bed?”

  She really didn’t remember?

  “Well, yeah,” he stared at the ceiling. “You fell asleep while I was making coffee – I couldn’t just leave you on the couch.”

  “I fell asleep?” she mumbled, so quietly he could barely hear her. “God, I must’ve been drunk.”

  He heard movement from within and he waited anxiously. After a few minutes, the door opened. She sat in her chair with what looked like a robe strewn on her lap, covering her legs. She didn’t look at him, moving past him up the hallway without a word and disappearing into the bathroom.

  He breathed out heavily and ran his hand through his hair. He felt more washed-out than hung-over.

  The sight of her bare legs had rattled him, there was no denying it. Even though her gait was awkward and exaggerated, she looked more or less solid and stable when she was walking. But seeing beneath the jeans and braces - glimpsing behind the curtain – the truth was something very different. Worse still, he hadn’t been able to hide his reaction from her. What he wouldn’t give to be able to replay the moment without having his thoughts written all over his face. No wonder she had withdrawn from him.

  He retreated into the living room, his stomach churning. Coffee would be good right about now. He wandered through into the kitchen as the bathroom door opened and a few moments later, Ally’s bedroom door closed. He wondered if he should just leave, but that felt wrong – it felt like running away again and he had promised himself he was done with that. So he set about making coffee in her kitchen for the second time in as many days.

  Three Years Earlier

  Callum and Tom sat in stony-faced silence in the hospital waiting room. Callum stood up and started pacing the length of the room, stretching his arms above his head. The familiarity of the past hour or so was grinding down his last nerve.

  “Sit down, son.”

  Callum frowned at Tom, shaking his head. Sitting down was worse than pacing. At least when he was pacing, he felt like he was doing something, even if it was nothing helpful. Although nothing he did seemed to have been helpful lately.

  He stopped at the end of the room and leant on the windowsill, staring down at the parking lot. He was thankful Maggie and Jane were getting coffee. He didn’t think he could keep up the pretense of being in control for much longer.

  After everything Ally had been through, why would she do something like this now? Why give up after she had fought so hard to get her life back? What in the hell would make her want to throw it all away?

  He straightened up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His entire body felt like an over-coiled spring. He tried to relax his shoulders and turned to resume his pacing across the room.

  “Callum – “

  “Don’t tell me to calm down, and don’t tell me to sit,” he snapped, with more force than he meant.

  Tom wisely backed down and Callum was grateful. He strode past him again and leaned against the wall at the opposite end of the room, staring at the floor.

  Whatever it was that he’d missed, it was big. Big enough that Ally didn’t feel like she could talk to him about it. He had failed her. She needed Jack, not him. His heart sank as the truth seeped in. It didn’t matter what he did, he wasn’t Jack – even after the past twelve months, after all they had been through together.

  He stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of Tom. “Call him – now. Tell him.”

  Tom stood up slowly. “No.”

  “Tell him he needs to get his ass back here – pronto.” When Tom opened his mouth to object, he cut him off. “I mean it. This has gone on long enough. He needs to come home – she needs him,” he said, pointing desperately towards the ER treatment room where Ally was currently having her stomach pumped.

  “And you think that telling Jack what happened would help?”

  “Yes!” he cried, his emotions bubbling to the surface. “I don’t know why the hell she did this, but if Jack were here it wouldn’t have happened – he wouldn’t have let it happen!”

  Tom sighed and put a comforting hand on Callum’s shoulder. He shrugged it off irritably and backed up, sinking into a plastic chair opposite him, exhausted suddenly.

  “He’d have stopped it, he’d have seen it. I didn’t. I missed it – I missed it and she nearly – “

  He shook his head, staring down at the linoleum beneath his feet. Tom sat down beside him. The smell of Lysol leaked into Callum’s despair, making his stomach heave.


  “It wasn’t your fault,” Tom said. “I missed it too. And telling Jack now wouldn’t make any difference. It wouldn’t change anything.”

  “He needs to be here – she needs him. It’s time he grew up and came home.”

  Tom was silent for a moment, then he put his hand on Callum’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t you think that if I could bring him home, I would’ve done it by now? I don’t even know where the hell he is.”

  A thousand fears swirled around inside Callum’s head, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice a single one of them.

  Jack sipped a steaming cup of coffee, staring over the table at the empty space across from him. Ally had yet to come out of her bedroom and he was beginning to wonder if she was waiting for him to leave.

  His jaw set. He wasn’t going anywhere. It was about time she realised that. It was no use asking him to stay if she was just going to hide from him. All in, all the time, no matter what.

  He finally heard her bedroom door open and a few moments later, she appeared in the kitchen doorway. He tried to smile casually, although he felt anything but relaxed.

  “I made coffee – strong coffee. Want some?”

  She nodded, rolling into the room while he got up to pour her a cup.

  “Here you go,” he said, setting down the cup on the table across from him a few moments later.

  “Thanks.”

  She placed a bottle of aspirin on the table, tentatively wrapping her hands around the cup.

  He eyed the bottle. “How’s your head?”

  “Not great, but I’ll live,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I had all these weird dreams last night. Crazy stuff. Must’ve been the beer. Dreamt I was dancing.”

  He smiled. “That wasn’t a dream.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “Nope.”

  He took a gulp of coffee that sounded way too loud.