by Urban, Ami
“You can’t just—?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack, I have to go. They need me. I’ll see you later.” The line went dead. They needed her? What about me? I needed her more than anyone else did. More than that ginger fuck and more than any other patient. Because I was her husband. And my fuckin’ knee wasn’t working! Didn’t she hear me say that?
After pulling the phone away from my ear, I stared at it like it’d called me a dirty name. A harsh nicotine craving tugged at my insides. I fished in my back pocket for the pack of cigarettes and shook one out.
“Time for a walk.” I’d said it mostly to myself, but also prayed someone else would be willing to keep me company. I searched for my sister, but she was apparently helping plant some trees or something weird like that. Gregg was nowhere to be found, either. I had nothing to do but smoke.
I aimed my path toward the Desert Rose Inn. It was the only place that popped into my head. So, I lit my cigarette and started off toward the road. Somehow, endorphins released at the inhalation of smoke, causing a tingle to inch its way down to my toes. It stopped for a moment to massage my knee.
The Desert Rose had been cleaned, painted and boarded up to prepare for travelers coming through. A handful of people milled about inside the lobby. Two strong doors across from me opened and a child came running out in wet swim trunks. Reflections of water dappled the walls for a split second before the area closed again. I swallowed, making my way toward the front desk.
Behind the polished wood, a map had been tacked neatly on the wall. Next to it, rows and rows of silver keys hung from hooks. The words, “Welcome to the Desert Rose” were scrawled across the top of a corkboard. I studied the map of cabins. The hotel itself was two long buildings, connected by the front office. Thirteen cabins were scattered around the property. My fingertip stroked a small black square farther out than any of the others.
“Five-one-five.” I turned to the corkboard and searched for the key to 515. There, at the bottom. I shoved the key into my pocket as nonchalantly as possible, then whistled as I headed for the main door.
Cabin 515 was nestled in between a thicket of sparse trees. I couldn’t recall seeing it before when we’d been there. It was smaller than the other cabins. The absence of a kitchenette was my first clue that this was the cheap room. And suddenly, I felt very, very alone. Even before the apocalypse, I had Silas. Sure, maybe he was a crass loud-mouth whose favorite hobby was fucking, but he stuck by me through shitty breakups and my mom dying. I owed him so much, and I was starting to forget what he sounded like. I began to wonder what he’d say to me if he were there. Maybe I’d vent to him.
I explored the room without a direction in mind. The door to a tiny bathroom stood across from a Queen-size bed. There was no television, but it did have a hidden refrigerator. And there was still booze in the minibar! Jackpot. I drank myself silly on those little bottles. Before I even knew it, I was lying on my back in the bed, singing some song I’d heard years ago. Getting the words out was hard with slurred speech.
I looked at my phone. It was quiet. Not a single notification. And it was nearing midnight. Even through the mist of alcohol, frustration reared its head. She was still at work. Hadn’t checked in on me. Wasn’t even interested in how I was doing.
“Nobody loves me. I guess I’ll go eat worms.” In my bleary state, I tried to imitate Silas as best I could.
“Shut the fuck up, cock-blossom. I’m trying to sleep.”
“Sleep when you’re dead.” I paused. “Oh wait…” A high-pitched giggled escaped my throat.
“You think you’re so funny, Reynolds. When the fuck are you gonna grow up?”
A grin spread across my face. “Says the unmarried dead guy.”
Then, putting on an air of incredulity, I mimicked his voice again. “If you can call that cunt of yours a wife at all.”
I sat up, anger burning hot in the pit of my stomach. Ready to smash his head in, I pulled back my right arm. But then I realized how stupid it would’ve been to punch myself in the face. It wasn’t me who’d said it, though. Silas was always ragging on girls I’d date. He busted everyone’s balls.
But didn’t he hate the word “cunt?”
I shrugged, flopping back into bed where darkness fell over me. In moments, I was in a deep, restless sleep. A restless sleep filled with dreams of gun blasts, misty blood and chunky flesh-wounds. And it felt like only seconds had passed when my phone woke me up.
I jolted awake, the fog in my brain clearing with a painful clarity. Rubbing my temples, I looked down. It was five in the morning. Lisa was calling. Cradling the smartphone between my ear and shoulder, I lit a cigarette with shaky hands.
“Hey.”
She paused before answering. “Are you alright? You sound different.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, the filter of the cigarette trailing between my eyes. “Got a little too lit last night.”
“Oh.” Another pause. I couldn’t decipher the tone in her voice. “I apologize I never got home.”
I quelled an urge to roll my eyes. “It’s alright.”
“Well, everything went well with the emergency.”
“Great.” The obnoxious lilt in my voice escaped before I could stop it.
There was a moment of silence on the line. “Unfortunately, I’m on a rotating, thirty-six-hour on-call shift. I’m afraid I won’t be home for a few more days.”
I expected to get mad. I expected anger to start pumping into my adrenal glands, throwing testosterone into my blood. Instead, I was numb. I didn’t feel anything.
“Okay.”
“Would you come visit for lunch?”
Autopilot engaged. “Yeah.”
“Great. I’ll see you around noon.”
***
I made sure to shower and change my clothes before heading to the hospital. I didn’t want to smell like stale beer and cigarettes when I met with Lisa. There was little else she despised more than smoking. It was like she didn’t understand why people would willingly endanger their lives. I had to remind her that skydiving was a thing several times.
I sat alone at an empty cafeteria table, a steeping tea between my hands. As if I were cold, I curled my fingers around the paper cup. Maybe I wasn’t cold, but anxious. Anxious that my wife may have turned into someone else in the time since I’d seen her.
But that feeling left when she strode into the cafeteria with Brendon in tow. They were talking about something pretty interesting, too, because she didn’t even notice me at first. They’d stopped in the doorway and were gesturing at each other like Italians. She finally put her hands on her hips and he leaned back with a laugh. Then, he brushed a hand across her shoulder and left. That was when she spotted me.
“Hi.”
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.”
She nodded, slipping into the booth next to me. I snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. That kiss melted away a little of the frustration from the night before.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “You’re working.”
“Which brings me to the reason I asked you here.” Excitement lit up her dark blue eyes. She was almost glowing. “Remember the thing you always told me you missed the most?”
Leaning back, I glanced at the ceiling. “An entire stadium full of hot dogs?”
Lisa turned her gaze forward. “No.”
I drummed my fingers against the laminate tabletop. “The entire series box set of Cheers and Frasier?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, it’s your turn, because I’m out of ideas.”
“French fries.” A smile lit up her face. “You told me you miss them the most.”
My fingers brushed the rough material of her doctor’s coat. “Oh, yeah…” I pretended to be in a heroin coma, waiting for some deep-fried potatoes.
“Scott’s made some and they taste remarkably like McDonald’s. He’s saved some for you in the kitchen.”
>
I crossed my legs under the table, then propped my chin in my hand. “You sure he didn’t poison them?” It was only half a joke.
Lisa stood, holding out her hand to me. “Come on. He’s excited to see you again.”
Yeah, I’ll bet he’s totally excited and not in a pure, murderous rage.
“Yo!” The little ginger fuck waved to us as we entered the kitchen. His domain. It was hot, loud and smelled like grease.
“Scott, Jack would love to try your special today.” My wife turned to me.
“Sure thing!” Scott walked toward the back of the empty kitchen where a large silver tray sat. Lisa watched him expectantly. I wasn’t sure what the expression on her face was.
When he’d come halfway back, she put a hand on my arm. “I have to go back to work now. But you’ll really enjoy these.” She kissed my cheek before I could even protest and left. Man, she wouldn’t even stop to have lunch with me.
“Here.” Scott presented the tray to me. It was piled high with crispy French fries. They looked pretty damn good.
“You got an end-game, Red?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Nope. Just wanted to thank you for not shooting me in the face a year ago. You could have, but you didn’t.” He pushed the tray into my chest, causing me to take an automatic step backward.
“Thanks, I guess?” I reached for a handful, but he insisted I take the entire tray. While I thought that was strange, I obliged anyway. But he let go too early and the entire thing fell to the floor with a clatter, fries spilling over the tiled floor. “Oh, shit!”
“It’s okay.” We looked at each other. Something in his eyes twinkled. “I’ll get a broom.”
I watched him walk to the end of the empty kitchen again as I knelt to pick up the mess. As I flipped the tray back over and was piling fries on top again, I started to think maybe Scott had changed. Maybe the rabies virus had rerouted his brain into being a more likeable guy.
Yeah. And maybe I was the Pope of France.
The bristles of a broom came into my periphery. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem.” I continued to gather the spilled food. But when Scott bent at the knees to get closer, I felt the bottom of my stomach drop.
“It’d only be a problem if you make it a problem.” Something in the tone of his voice caused me to pause. I looked up into his baby face. He had this mischievous grin on it. “So, don’t.”
“Huh?”
He scooted closer. Too much closer. “Don’t get between me and your woman and we won’t have any problems.”
I scrambled to my feet, the pain in my knee igniting my fury. Scott matched my pose. “The fuck did you just say to me?”
A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Pretty sure I just told you to suck my dick, asshole.”
“Hey! What happened to the nice ginger? Make him come back.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “You really think I care about you at all?”
“You know…” I pointed at him. “A bad attitude is like a flat tire. You can’t go anywhere until you change it.”
He scoffed. “Leave the shrink talk to your better half.”
“Pretty sure that was car talk.”
“Whatever. Just fucking stay out of my way and we won’t have issues. The less we see of each other, the better.”
“Give me one good reason why I should agree to this.”
And he did. That reason was his right foot. He brought his leg back quicker than I could react and slammed the toe of his shoe into my bad knee. Pain shot straight to my brain, tunneling my vision. I crumpled to the floor, squeezing my leg, trying to get the reverberations to dissipate. Tears began to stream down my cheeks. This was no ordinary pain.
“There’s your reason. Don’t make me give you more.”
From the desk of Dr. Lisa Reynolds – April 14
I was just about to do a set of rounds when Brendon knocked on my office door. Looking up from the day’s charts, I invited him inside. His glasses were on his nose, so I knew it was a serious talk.
“Bunny, we gotta talk about your hubbs.”
An arrow of both fear and frustration shot through my spine. The hair on my neck stood tall. Gooseflesh broke out on my arms. “What is it?” I hadn’t even realized I’d stood until the squeak of my chair on the floor caught my attention. “I just saw him a few hours ago and he was fine. What’s happened?”
“Look, I’m gonna level with you, because I love ya, so just hear me out.” He put up both hands in a sort of defensive mode. That told me all I needed to know.
“I will not give him opiates.” I leaned on my desk, bracing my palms against the wood.
Brendon looked at the wall nervously, then back to me. “You, uh… You should probably see this.” He held out a hand to me, making the “come hither” gesture. Startled, my feet began walking before I could form a coherent thought. I didn’t take Brendon’s hand, but allowed him to lead me into the hallway.
“What’s going on?” My aim was to pry the information out of him if it was the last thing I’d ever do. But he said nothing. All he did was lead me to Jack’s room. And before we even entered, I heard the sobbing.
Jack was huddled in the fetal position on the hospital bed. His knuckles were white from squeezing his knees to his chest. He rocked back and forth, sobbing dryly. There was nothing left in him and he was still trying to cry. Blood dripped down one arm, soaking the sheets in a spreading pool.
I couldn’t speak. My hands had flown to my cheeks. My brain was unable to comprehend the state he was in. How much pain had it taken me to get to that point? Had I ever been in that much pain? I don’t think so…
I finally found my words. “Oh, my God!” Urging my feet to move, I flew to his side, trying to comfort him. But it was as if no one else were there. He didn’t respond to any outside stimulus. Fear knifed through my intestines, causing my brain to kick into medical mode.
“How long has he been like this?”
“About an hour ago, he demanded we cut it off.”
I snapped around to look at Brendon. Both his eyebrows were drawn together. A deep crevice had formed between them. Light from the window glinted off the lenses in his glasses.
“What?”
He nodded.
“Why did no one tell me?”
“We paged you four hours ago.”
I turned my attention back to my husband, not willing to admit I had ignored that very page.
“He almost convinced me to do the surgery, too. Then he just kind of…went like that…” He gestured toward the bed. “This is really bad, Lisa.”
I really wanted to tell him, “Yeah, no shit!” But I refrained, screaming it in my mind instead. I’m unsure if I’m explaining this in a way that conveys how absolutely torn I was with this decision. Part of me wanted to tell Brendon off for not coming to me an hour ago. Another part of me couldn’t help but feel responsible for the situation as a whole. I’d been so wrapped up in being a doctor again that I’d neglected my own patient. My own husband. Who was I?
There was a short silence in which Jack’s sobs wrapped around each of my thoughts. I couldn’t take the sound anymore. I took a deep breath, feeling my lungs expand inside my chest.
“Give him the Oxycontin.”
Brendon’s features relaxed with his sigh of relief. He nodded, then reached into his scrubs for a needle. He’d had it at the ready, just waiting for me to ruin my husband’s life with a highly addictive drug.
As Brendon gave Jack the injection, I cleaned his arm and patched where he’d ripped out his IV. Then, I started another. Almost instantly, my husband’s posture began to relax. His knuckles returned to their normal color and his sobs faded away into nothing.
“I’ll change the bedding.”
Brendon grabbed my wrist. “Let him sleep. You’ve given him a good gift, Bunny.” He smiled.
“No. I’ve destroyed his life.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’ve take
n Oxy before and not gotten addicted.”
“I would assume it was because your pain was short-lived.”
He paused, seeming to think about it. “Sure. But we’ll find what we need. I’ve heard promising rumors about Montana.”
“I certainly hope they’re true.” Twisting my arm out of his grasp, I noticed his face change into something else for a moment. It was as if he had another face behind the smile. But I wasn’t in the mood to decipher it.
April 15 – Jack Reynolds
I gripped my knees to my chest as Lisa finally made it to my room. I’d been in agony for hours. Sweat poured down my neck, soaking my white t-shirt. And I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t just cut off my fucking leg. Why did they need her permission for it?
She leaned down to try and touch me, but I felt nothing but lightning in my entire body. A never-ending landslide of white hot pinpricks followed by a throbbing so hard it felt like my skin would explode. Outside stimuli did nothing for the pain anymore. I needed them to take it. Just take the fucking leg. She did it with Gregg, so why couldn’t she do it with me?
The crease between her brows deepened. When I heard my wife’s voice again I hadn’t even realized I’d closed my eyes. “Give him the Oxycontin.”
I could not believe it. Why wasn’t she just cutting it the fuck off? Why wasn’t she listening to Brendon? I tried to groan, but only a hoarse whisper came out. I just wanted to get lost in the fractal patterns behind my eyelids.
All of a sudden, I felt a palm on my clammy forehead. It must’ve been Lisa’s. The action seemed to calm me a bit. And then, a huge wave of pleasurable sleepiness crashed over me. It bloomed out from my middle all the way up to my head and down to my toes. It was magical. I knew I could open my eyes at that moment, but they were so heavy.
Thank GOD they won’t have to take your leg.
My body jolted at the sound of Silas’ voice. But was it his voice? No, it couldn’t have been. Lisa said something else, but it sounded mumbled – like she was under a heavy blanket. Or I was. It certainly felt that way. A quilt made of sand. My consciousness drifted into a world of gray.
