Blackbird (24 page)

              “Sometimes I want to throw that thing in the harbour,” he said.

              She cleared her throat. “You better answer it,” she said, and pulled her hand away. The loss of it made him feel physically cold.

              “Shit. It’s the nursing home. Hello?”

              “Mr. Cole?”

              “This is Robert Cole.”

              “Mr. Cole, this is Pamela Swanson from Angel Manor. I’m afraid your mother is not well. We believe she may have had a stroke. She’s en route to the hospital right now.”

              “Thank you. I’m on my way.” He hung up, his eyes darting around the house trying to figure out where he’d put his car keys. When he didn’t see them he patted down the front pocket of his jeans finding them there.

              “What’s wrong?”

              “My mother. They think she’s had a stroke. She’s on her way to the hospital.” His voice broke.

              “Oh no. Robert, you should go.”

              There was no way he was leaving without her. If he did there was a chance she might not be here when he got back. “Not without you,” he said.

              “Robert, this is a family thing. I don’t think your brothers would appreciate me intruding. You go.”

              “My brothers don’t care, trust me. Please Chelle, please come.” Truth be told he was scared. God knows what kind of shape he would find his mother in when he got there and he didn’t want to face it alone.

              “Alright,” she said. “I’ll come.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

              Paul and Michael were sitting in the hospital’s tiny waiting area when Robert and Chelle arrived. “Where’s Greg?” Robert asked. The way he said it made Chelle think that he already knew the answer.

              “Not coming,” Paul said, giving the seat in front of him a small kick of frustration.

              Chelle felt like she was intruding, even though Robert had been right. Neither of the brothers present seemed to even register that she was here. They were too busy worrying about their mother. Robert paced the waiting room back and forth, taking a seat for a moment, and then standing again. “Have you seen any of the doctors at all? Paul, do you know who’s working on her?”

              “I probably do but I’m not sure what’s going on right now. It’s best to let whoever is with her just to do their work. They’ll come talk to us as soon as they can.” Robert nodded knowing his brother was right and sat down again next to Chelle on the tiny loveseat. Wanting to comfort him she reflexively laid her hand over top of his. As she did she heard a sigh escape from him, as if he’d let out all the anxiety he’d been holding in for the past few days.

His eyes closed and she felt him relax. She relaxed as well and after a time he picked up his head and looked at her intently. “I’m happy you’re here,” he whispered.

“So am I,” she heard herself respond. He had been about to kiss her when the phone rang, she was sure of it. She had talked herself out of it in the car on the way over, but now, sitting here with him looking at her that way, she knew that it’s what he had intended to do. Somehow she knew he wanted to do it now as well. She also knew that if his brothers had not been sitting there she would have done it for him.

Half an hour passed and she kept hold of his hand, squeezing it every so often. When the door opened to a doctor standing there in scrubs, his mask undone, she let it go and instantly saw all of his anxiety return. All of them stood. Paul reached out and shook his hand. “Doug,” he said, “These are my brothers, Robert and Michael. And that,” he said gesturing to her, “is Chelle, a friend. Everybody this is Dr. Doug Brassard”

The doctor acknowledged them all and then asked them to have a seat. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news,” he said. “The stroke your mother had was pretty severe. It’s not likely she’ll regain any kind of speech or motor function.” A heavy silence filled the air. All of them sat with heads bowed, Robert shedding a few tears, but wiping them away before anyone but Chelle could notice them. “I’m very sorry.”

“Can I see her?” Robert asked. He sounded like a little child. Heartbroken. Chelle wanted desperately to hold his hand again.

“You can. Follow me.”

Chelle took a step back as the men prepared to follow the doctor, intending to stay put. Robert let them go on ahead for a moment and without a word, took Chelle’s hand once again and gave a gentle tug. “Are you sure?”

“For some reason I feel like I need you.” His body had relaxed again and he led her out into the hallway, following the others at a distance.

When Dr. Brassard opened the door to Lillian Cole’s room the color drained from the faces of her three sons. Even Paul, who dealt with things like this every day, looked disturbed. Lillian was on her back, eyes wide and mouth gaping open, her head wrapped in bandages. As they came closer Robert stood over her so she could see him. It was obvious by look in her eyes she recognized him and wanted to say something, but speech wouldn’t come. It was just a series of moans and clicks that were meant to be words.

“Don’t try to talk, Mom,” Robert whispered. “We’re all…” he stopped correcting himself. “Paul and Michael and I are here. And Chelle. You know her from the other day. She came to visit you.”

Despite the fact that Robert had told her not to attempt to speak she was still trying to wildly verbalize something. She was more than just sick or sad, Chelle realized she was actually frightened. “It’s like she’s trying to tell us something,” Michael said.

Paul lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet. “Yeah and, we’ll never know what it is.”

“God, it’s so unfair,” Robert said backing up. Chelle gave his hand a squeeze, feeling a twinge of grief for him as she did. “What kind of life is she going to have now? How can something so cruel happen to someone who spent her whole life being so…good.”

“Robert I’m so sorry,” she said. They stood for a long moment and Chelle’s eyes drifted back to the old woman who was moaning more loudly now, spittle coming from her mouth, tears falling from her eyes. Instinctively Chelle let go of Robert’s hand and reached for Lillian’s, gripping it in her own.

The sensation was instantaneous. The same kind of lightning bolt she’d felt in her brain when Victor had spoken to her went off and suddenly, both she and Lillian were gasping for air. The warmth of what she now knew was liquid metal began to fill her body and Robert and the others sensing what was happening, stumbled back against the wall.

Dr. Brassard was the only one who made a move toward her, but Michael grabbed him, yanking him out of the way just in time as the wings exploded from her back. An electrical humming noise filled the air and suddenly machines and buzzers were going crazy. The lights flickered and her wings began fluttering wildly.

“Oh my god,” she heard Dr. Brassard say through a haze of confusion. “You’re that girl. You’re Blackbird.”

***

              Robert’s hands shook even as he held Dr. Brassard back out of the reach of the wings that were now expanded to their full glory. As the four men stood frozen, helpless to move in the tiny room they watched Chelle grip his mother’s hand. She was squeezing it so tightly it seemed the frail bones would crack and break under her immense strength, but by some miracle they didn’t.

              In fact as Chelle continued to tighten her grip it only seemed to make Lillian stronger and as Chelle’s wings fluttered with a loud swoosh, Lillian Cole, who had just been given the worst prognosis a stroke victim can receive, sat up and looked Chelle dead in the eye. Something was passing between them, although nobody could say just what. It was something electrical and all of them felt it pulsate in the room.

              There was a brief flash as the metal in Chelle’s wings gave off a spark and then she let go of the old woman’s hand, letting it fall to the mattress with a thud. In a moment that seemed to last forever, Robert’s mother turned toward them and spoke. “My boys…”

              She looked each of them in the face, smiling, and then lowered herself back down on to the pillow where she immediately fell into a peaceful sleep.

              Chelle, however, breathed in sharply as if she’d not taken a breath the entire time. Robert suspected that she actually hadn’t and was only now getting any oxygen into her lungs. Chelle’s large, dark eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the floor, crumpled up at the foot of Lillian’s bed. The wings folded themselves down and disappeared as they all watched.

Dr. Brassard didn’t know what reaction to have. He had gone from wonder to fear upon seeing Chelle’s back covered in blood. “My god. That woman is going to need surgery.”

Paul took his friend by the shoulders and spoke sternly. “Doug, this is normal for her, ok? Now, listen. You can’t tell anyone what happened. We need to keep this quiet. For everyone’s sake, especially hers. It will be a circus if this gets out. Think of the hospital.”

“Ok. And how the hell am I supposed to explain the fact that a woman, who an  hour ago I would have given  you a solid gold guarantee isn’t ever going to talk or move on her own again, sat up and spoke? Now she’s sleeping like a baby. What the hell am I supposed to say?”

“You say you made a mistake,” Paul said.

“And all the other doctors who worked on her? Who examined her? The nurses?”

“All of you made a mistake,” he said, shaking him slightly. “It wasn’t as bad as you thought. It’s a miracle. Something. Anything other than you’ve seen Blackbird.”

Dr. Brassard nodded and Robert stepped around him, taking his jacket off to cover Chelle once again. He sat on the floor with her, cradling her in his arms as the blood from her back that had been ravaged by the wings yet again, seeped onto his shirt. “Chelle?”

“Mmm…” she was coming around. Thank god.

“Chelle, open your eyes and look at me,” he whispered. Her head rolled in the direction of his voice and her eyes fluttered open. “You’re hard on clothes,” he smiled, relieved.

She let out a small laugh and buried her head in his chest. Seeing she was exhausted he said. “I need to get you home. Can you stand?”

On wobbly legs she stood, with help from Robert, and he closed his jacket around her, zipping it up.

***

              By the time they reached the house Chelle was shivering. Robert helped her inside and lay her down on his bed so he could have quick and easy access to his own bathroom. As she lay on her stomach he peeled off the jacket and ran into the bathroom where he grabbed the largest towel he could find and soaked it in hot water. He wrung it out and applied it to her back, soaking up the rest of the blood. When the towel began to lose its heat he made his way back to the sink, rinsed it out and warmed it again. Before the reapplied it he could see that her back already looked much better. The most recent openings were already beginning to heal and aside from the old scars, looked normal.

              Robert pressed down once again covering the area. Chelle’s teeth were chattering now and her skin was frigid to the touch. He lifted the towel and dried the area off so that he could wrap her in the thick downy comforter. There were so many scars on her back, so much pain. He wished he could take it all away, but then that would take away who she was and he was beginning to realize, he loved who she was.

              He pulled all of the blankets over her and tucked them in tightly, cocooning her in their warmth. It still wasn’t enough. Chelle continued to shake, silent tears falling from her eyes as she did. He crawled in bed behind her and pressed his body against hers, wrapping his arms around her in an effort to keep her warm and still. “It’s ok,” he whispered. “You’re alright,” he whispered trying to comfort her. “Is this a reaction you usually have?”

              Still trembling she forced the words out, one after another. “Never before,” she said, “I don’t know what’s happening.”

              A twinge of fear crossed Robert’s heart. He realized he didn’t really know what he was doing. Something could be seriously wrong and neither one of them would know. “Maybe we should call Paul,” he said. “Or maybe Michael or Greg. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

              No sooner had he finished speaking than Chelle let out a sharp gasp. All at once all movement ceased and she was still and frighteningly silent. “Chelle?” No response. “Chelle?” he said again, louder this time and giving her shoulders a shake. After a few moments spent in silent terror he stripped back the blankets and rolled her over. There was no breath, there was no sound. No sign of life at all. The fear that had walked its icy fingers over his heart earlier now gave way to full blown horror at the sight of her. She looked dead. Perhaps, he thought, in her effort to restore life to his mother she had sacrificed her own.