by Nico Laeser
I turn back to Danny, “You’re free, little bird.”
The world freezes as I pull away from Marcus, and I stand for a while enjoying the silence, trying to work up the courage to experience the pain of my own death and to brave what may come after.
I return to Danny, and I am pulled toward him. The freight train screeches its wheels on the tracks but doesn’t stop. The commotion of panicked screaming and clipping heels gunning up and down the dayroom and hallway begins to equalize with the squeal in my own head. Everything is screaming, shouting, then the sound folds in on itself, and the pain in my head is gone. The color pulsing in and out behind my eyelids goes from green to red and slows to a complete stop.
There are two glowing figures frozen in a blur of erratic yellow vapor. One appears to be leaning over the sprawled out yellow-green shape of Marcus on the floor. Small shards of the same color are scattered about his body and fade out into blue. I move toward Cassie and the now dimly lit figure in the chair and I close in to re-enter my body and make the transition to wherever it is that we go. I push my face close and touch the shoulders of the sitting figure, but the world is still frozen. The cage door is once again locked but with me now on the outside. I am trapped in limbo between this world and the next. I am suddenly afraid but have no stomach to churn, no heart to beat faster, and no pulse to race.
I use Marcus as a step up to the chair and then climb up on the table and through the jagged frame of the glassless window, dropping to the black shape of a 1972 Mustang and then to the ground.
II
CHAPTER 20
I am his wasted life
I have been out of my body for what would be days, weeks, maybe even months, going over events of my life, trying to determine the exact cause for my continued punishment. I have gotten used to the colors and the fact that the world will be frozen forever. I could not interact with the moving world around me while trapped inside my frozen body, and I cannot interact with the frozen world as I move around it now. It appears that I have only been moved from the confines of my cage to a much larger, darker prison.
***
I walk across the uneven surface of a solid ocean. The various life forms glow beneath the tinted glass like green stars. I continue to walk toward groups of lights and vague dark angular shapes. As I get closer, I realize that it is the harbor. Rows of shapes embedded in the frozen ocean become boats. Glowing spots become the still and brightly colored afterthoughts of people. Scattered sporadically are stone statues of men or women in mid-stride of a walk or run, some of which seem to defy gravity. A bright glowing couple sit locked in an eternal embrace, and my thoughts return to Cassie.
I keep moving along straight dark lines, a path lit with figures and fenced in by stripes of light. I follow the trails of light that wind into the distance between the orange glow of field and forest and the odd light comes into view in the distance, an animal or bird. I keep on walking.
The trail of light ends with seated figures, and I can just make out the dark outlines of the cars that encapsulate them. I cross through the colored vapor that the traffic has left perpendicular to the trail I followed and see the dotted lights and figures that fill the streets further down.
There is a group of people circling something, and I move in closer to see a dimly lit figure lying on the ground between them. I pass between two of the onlookers to view the figure on the ground. There is a dull light that emits from the center of the figure and a bright light that hovers three feet above. As I stare at the figure on the ground, I begin to feel heavy, and as if pulled by some unseen magnetic force, I am drawn down toward the figure. There is a brief flash of light before everything is immediately enveloped by blackness.
CHAPTER 21
I am awake
There is a bright light in front of my eye and pressure around it. The light moves away to reveal a figure as it recedes back into the blurred white room. I see dark shapes coming toward my other eye and flinch, turning my head away. I can hear the familiar rhythmic beep of hospital equipment and groaning.
“I think he’s awake. Go get Dr. Galloway,” a voice says.
I try to ask what is happening but what comes out is a slurred mess of vowels and throat sounds.
A black line appears in front of my face. “I need you to try and follow my finger.”
The finger blurs out of focus and everything turns black and red.
***
There are people talking and I try to open my eyes.
“There hasn’t been any further activity since yesterday?”
“Nothing yet, Doctor.”
“Has he been tested for pupil dilation?”
“Not since yesterday. He’s just been changed, and I’m about to switch out the IV bag.”
I try to call out and hear someone groan.
“I think he’s waking up again, Doctor.”
“Can you hear me?”
I open my eyes and turn my head away from the light. There is a figure dressed in blue that blurs in and out of focus.
“My name is Dr. Galloway. Can you blink your eyes for me?”
A white blur moves in front of the blue figure, and with all the effort I can muster, I close and reopen my eyes.
“Blink once for no and twice for yes; can you hear me?”
I close my eyes, open, close, and open them again, yes.
“Do you know your name?”
I blink twice, yes, and I slur, “Daniel.”
“Daniel?” the doctor asks.
I blink twice more for yes and slur the same.
CHAPTER 22
I am responsive
“Good morning, Daniel,” the doctor says from the foot of the bed.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“You are in the ICU at Saint Joseph’s Hospital,” Dr. Galloway says.
“My body hurts,” I say, trying to move my hands.
“You are going to have to take it slow, Daniel. You were in a coma for just over a week, and you’ve been in varying stages of consciousness since then,” the doctor says.
I try to focus on his face but find my eyes wanting to close.
“Do you remember where you live?” he asks.
It seems like something that I should know, but I don’t. “I can’t remember.”
“It’s okay. You are probably going to feel a little disorientated for a while,” he says.
“I need you to try and follow my finger,” he says and moves a finger in front of my face from side to side. I do as he asks.
“The recovery process varies; it can take weeks or, like in your case, it can take months. You are one of a very low percentage of people that show signs of a full recovery after more than a couple days in a coma,” he says.
“Months? I thought I was in a coma for a week.”
“You were in a coma for eight days, but you have been here in the ICU for ... ” He looks at his clip board. “just over six weeks.”
“I was walking, and everything was blue.” My mind is racing, and I have to close my eyes to try and rearrange the thoughts, but I can’t decipher between dreams or memories.
“I,” I start, “What happened to me?”
“You overdosed on sleeping pills, and you collapsed in the street,” the doctor says.
“Overdosed? I remember people standing around me looking down at me, then a bright flash,” I say and struggle to remember anything else before it.
“You didn’t have a wallet or ID on your person when you were brought in, and most of the information on the label of the pill bottle had been scratched away. We had no way of contacting your family to let them know you were here,” he says.
I stare at him. “I can’t remember my family.”
“Like I said, recovery can be a slow process. It may take some time for your memory to return,” the doctor says.
“If I tried to kill myself, maybe it’s better if it doesn’t,” I say.
The doctor is staring at the clipboard, which I assume is h
is way of avoiding eye contact, as he sidesteps my comment. “There were some issues regarding your blood work that we are going to have to discuss, Daniel, but right now you are stable. I’m going to put you in touch with a counselor, to help you through the process.”
“Was I paralyzed?” I ask, remembering a distant feeling of being pinned or held down.
“Just try to relax.” Dr. Galloway walks to the side of the bed. “I’ll have someone come in and talk to you.”
“About why I tried to kill myself?” I ask.
“We have to make sure that when you are ready to leave that you are not going to try and hurt yourself again,” he says.
For some reason, it bothers me that he says hurt instead of kill, but I let it go.
“Will my memory return?” I ask.
“I think it will, Daniel, and I think that you should try and prepare yourself for whatever it was that made you want to end your life,” he says.
“What? How do I do that?” I try to sit up and my body hurts. I let out a groan.
“Try to take it easy. Your muscles are going to be weak; try to keep your movements slow and gentle at first until you get used to it,” he says.
“It feels like I’ve been in a coma for years,” I say.
“It’s going to take a while for everything to adjust, Daniel, just take it slow and please speak to the counselor when he or she comes,” he says.
“Okay,” I say.
I begin to stretch and rotate my ankles, then my wrists and hands. I open up my hands, with my fingers splayed out, and it seems somehow familiar, like déjà vu, a ghost of my forgotten past.
CHAPTER 23
I am agitated
“Hello, Daniel, my name is Susan Harding, and I represent the department of mental health,” she says.
“Hi.” I sit up against my pillow to see her.
“Dr. Galloway has asked me to come and speak to you,” she says.
I don’t like the tone or slowed pace in which she speaks and feel like the conversation is going to be laborious. I wait for her to continue.
“Dr. Galloway tells me that you tried to end your own life, Daniel, is this true?” she asks.
“I know less about it than he does; I don’t remember it,” I say.
“How do you feel now, Daniel? Are you thinking about harming yourself again?” she says, clearly enunciating every syllable.
“I feel tired,” I say in the same manner.
“You seem agitated, Daniel, do you remember being on any kind of medication?” she asks.
“I am agitated, and I don’t remember anything before waking up here, which is one of the reasons that I am agitated,” I say.
“I’m just trying to find out if you know the reason that you tried to harm yourself, Daniel,” she says.
“If, and when, you find out why I tried to kill myself, then be sure to let me know too because I don’t have a clue,” I say.
“Okay, Daniel, calm down, I’m just trying to help,” she says.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.” I fidget in my bed and I’m trying to remember something, anything.
“Does your family have a history of, or have you been diagnosed with,” she starts and I cut her off.
“I don’t know anything. I don’t remember anything,” I reply.
She tilts her head and feigns a sympathetic smile.
“Okay, I’ll ask Doctor Galloway to reschedule a visit when you are ready,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say.
“If anything comes back, or you just want to talk, then have Doctor Galloway contact me,” she says.
“Okay, I will. I’m sorry that I snapped, and I’m sorry that I can’t answer your questions,” I say, “I wish I could.”
“It’s okay, Daniel. If anything starts to come back, then maybe you could write it down for our next visit,” she says.
“Okay, I will,” I say.
“Goodbye,” she says.
“Bye,” I say.
A woman dressed in blue scrubs walks in and says, “Good morning, Daniel, how are you feeling today?”
“Can I have a pen and paper?” I ask.
She studies me for a second.
“I’m not going to kill myself with it,” I say.
She shoots a disapproving glance.
“Sorry, it’s so I can write things down, if, and when, I remember them,” I say.
“I will see if it’s okay, sir,” she says.
***
She comes back in with a felt tip pen and a couple sheets of notepaper and hands them to me.
I write on the notepaper, My name is Daniel. I tried to kill myself. I’ve been in the hospital for almost two months, and nobody has come to see me. Was anyone looking for me? Did anyone care that I was gone?
CHAPTER 24
I am the big bad wolf
As if flicking rapidly through television channels, partial memories flash behind my eyes. I am running on a school track, then I’m sitting in a library in detention. I’m sitting cross-legged on the dirt in front of a mud hut in the blistering hot sun. I am playing chess with a skinny kid wearing thick glasses.
I’m on a school playground with other kids, and a ball hits me in the face. The sun is in my eyes and then blotted out by a large shape that says, “Nice catch, nerd.”
“I think I’m starting to remember something,” I say.
“That’s good; try not to force it, just let it come in its own time,” Dr. Galloway says.
I write down the details of the images or memories as they occur. My head begins to ring with pain and I tell the doctor this.
“I’ll have the nurse bring you something for the pain,” he says.
Images dance frantically in my mind, then slow to reveal the silhouette of a woman sitting by a window; her hair is up, and the profile of her face and long slender neck make my heart skip and my chest tighten.
As I move closer, the silhouette morphs, and I am back on the school grounds. I hear another voice repeat, “Nice catch, nerd.”
The large shadowed figure in front of me says, “What are you going to do, big bad wolf? Blow me?”
I am sitting at a desk with a newspaper open in front of me. There is a full-page article entitled, “Elevator to Heaven,” about an elderly woman that died in a hospital elevator after it stopped between floors and remained there for two hours. It says that the family is suing the hospital for improperly maintaining its facilities. I cut out the article and pin it to the corkboard on the wall behind the desk. All of the various newspaper and magazine articles pinned to the board seem to have been written by the same person—D. Wolfe.
There are papers everywhere, and a nearly empty bottle of vodka sits on the desk next to a laptop computer. I am watching the small vertical line flash on and off, waiting for me to type.
Boxes start to appear and expand from the right hand side of the screen, and letters start moving from one side to the other, as I look at the screen. The letters stack to the left in what looks like nonsense.
I pick up the bottle of vodka and finish it before throwing it at the wall. It doesn’t break, but bounces with a hollow thud.
I am standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom, and the man that stares back at me is crying. His eyes are brown and framed by red, and his face is thin and gaunt, shadowed by a couple days stubble that emphasizes a dimpled chin. His hair is short and messy but falls with a natural parting to one side. He brings cupped hands up to his face and splashes cold water that I can feel on my face.
I open my eyes and I see the nurse. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, sir, what do you need?” she says.
“Can I have a mirror?” I ask.
“There is a mirror in the bathroom, sir, but you’re not supposed to get out of bed until your catheter and everything else are taken out,” she says.
“When will that be?”
“I will ask the doctor for you, sir,” she says.
“Thank you.”
I add to my notes, Daniel Wolfe? Journalist?
***
An hour or so later, a large woman enters the room and begins to remove everything that is attached to me, other than the IV line. It is unpleasant, and I find myself unable to look her in the eyes during the process. When she leaves the room, I turn my body and swing my legs down off the bed. I step down and my legs quiver and buckle, collapsing me to my knees. I pull myself up to standing and steady myself with the bed rail and IV stand. After taking a minute for the pins and needles to subside, I hobble and shuffle toward the bathroom using the IV stand as a makeshift walking staff. There is a blue curtain that hangs to within two feet of the floor, which I draw back before entering. I turn and face the mirror, and a bearded version of the man from my memory stares back at me.
“Hello, Daniel,” we say in unison.
CHAPTER 25
I am in limbo
Lying in a hospital bed for nearly two months has really taken its toll on my body. I can’t make it more than a block without having to stop. I catch my breath, and in the reflection of a store window, I see a bearded man all hunched over with his hands pressed against his thighs and looking about to keel over. I snigger a little to myself at the stereotypical jeans and tweed jacket outfit that I’m wearing. I look like a journalist or a science professor.
I am thinking that sneaking out of the hospital without being discharged may not have been a great idea, but after a week of being fully conscious, just lying there and having to talk to the counselor about things that I still don’t remember, I was desperate to get out of there. I don’t have a plan, money, or ID. I don’t know where I live or where I work. I was hoping that after leaving the hospital, I would instinctively know where to go and that seeing something familiar would kick-start my memory, but nothing has yet. The memories that have come back on their own are partial and disjointed.
