Authors: Zoey Derrick
I set my bag down along the wall opposite the bathroom and take a few steps forward. The room is decorated in pale blues with a flower wallpaper boarder at the top of the walls. The only furniture is a cherry wood cabinet, a roll-away bed with blankets and pillows on top, and Vivienne’s bed.
As I take another step into the room, I hear the faint, rhythmic wheezing of pressurized air being forced through a tube, then sucked out again. In and out.
Suck it up, buttercup
, I tell myself and take that last step to bring me around the corner of the short hallway so I can get a full view of the bed and Vivienne.
Nineteen
The bed is laid out flat, but she is turned slightly away from me. It only takes me a moment to realize it’s because there’s a pillow underneath her shoulder and arm, which allows her arm to rest on the pillow rather than being held by a sling.
Her gorgeous red hair is splayed out across the top of the bed, and I can see the tube going into her mouth. Her eyes are closed. Her face looks peaceful, relaxed.
She actually looks quite comfortable.
On closer inspection, I see the bruising around her neck that Dr. Alston was talking about, and my heart stutters. I see where they put the IV into her left arm, and further down, the deep purple bruising around her wrist. I just want to cry, an urge further aggravated by the constant pushing and pulling of air through the machine.
A small movement next to the bed catches my eye. Coming from a machine, below a monitor, is a long, narrow strip of paper that has piled up and curled around on itself. It looks like calculator tape. My eyes pop up to the machine it’s coming from. A heart monitor line bounces quickly across the screen with the number one hundred fifty above it. To the right of the one hundred fifty is the name
Baby Callahan
.
The baby’s heart rate is so fast. Is that normal? I have no idea. I remember it was fast before, but I didn’t realize it would be that fast.
My eyes follow four thick black wires that disappear under the covers. On the other side of the bed from the fetal monitor are the IV machine, monitors for Vivienne, and a brown leather chair.
I walk around the bed and sit down. It’s only about four thirty, but I’m exhausted. All the adrenaline of the day is more than my body can handle. Looking at Vivienne makes me ashamed of my own tiredness; she’s been through far more today than I have.
God she looks so pale, fragile. She always looked fragile, but right now she looks so vulnerable to everything. But she has survived all this; I can never think of her as weak and vulnerable ever again. She is strong, and this woman has an amazing determination to survive. Compared to all I imagine she’s been through, living through the deaths of my family members is nothing.
I lean forward and place my forehead on the bed railing. “Vivienne, I’m so sorry,” I say. “I wish I’d gotten there faster. Or that I’d never let you go back to that apartment in the first place.”
Beep, beep, beep
.
The sound is coming from my right. I look up at the heart monitor, which shows a flat line sliding to the left of the screen followed by the up and downs of her heartbeat. Above the normal monitor line is an image. It is the same as what is scrolling along the bottom, except in the place of where there should have been two of her regular heartbeats, there is nothing but a flat line.
“Vivienne?”
A slow beat, then silence.
“Vivienne, can you hear me?”
Another slow beat.
“Vivienne, I’m here. I’m so, so sorry.”
Silence.
My heart races, then the machine blips again and the heartbeat comes back strong. I can’t help but smile. She knows I’m here. Whether it is a conscious thought or not, she knows.
I blink back the tears. I want to touch her, but I’m afraid to. It looks like everywhere hurts. I decide against it for now. But I do lower the bed rail so that it’s not separating us, pull the chair closer to the bed, and put my head gently on the mattress near her shoulder. “I’m here, I won’t leave.” And I let my eyes slowly close.
Twenty
It doesn’t take but a moment for the vision to return. A different white room this time; this one has two windows. But the scenery beyond them is little more than a white blur. Taking a moment to look around, I see that some other things have changed. There is a white vase on the white coffee table, filled with white flowers.
The only color is Vivienne’s red, flowing hair as she continues to walk toward me. This time she is moving faster, but she’s still so far away. I try once again to walk toward her but I can’t; I’m rooted to the floor by some invisible force.
I watch as she comes closer and becomes clearer, more defined. I can make out some of the silver accents on her dress. Intricate designs on the white material. The dress is a plunging v-neck with a silver belt below her breasts. It flows out behind her as she walks. She looks beautiful with a white flower over her left ear. She smiles at me and my heart melts. I want to hold her so bad.
I put out my arms and notice that they are bare and more muscular than in real life. And there’s an intricate tribal tattoo running along my right arm. Where the hell did that come from?
I look down at my body and see first that I’m shirtless and then that the tattoo continues onto my chest. I am wearing pants, thank God. White ones that almost look like pajamas.
I look back up at Vivienne. She’s gotten a lot closer, but she is still a ways off. I flex my shoulders in impatience, and that’s when I hear and feel it at the same time: a shifting on my back. I flex again, and Vivienne giggles.
My heads snaps up in her direction. She is covering her mouth with her hand in an attempt to stifle her laugh. I want to ask her what she is laughing at when I feel the movement again.
My stomach sinks. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but I turn my head slowly to the right. I’m met with a wall of white feathers.
Instinctively I turn to better see it, but as I move, so does the wall of feathers. Damn it.
She laughs again.
“This is not funny,” I say out loud.
She laughs again anyway.
I turn again, and still it moves with me. With my left hand I reach out, trying to grab it, to touch it. The moment my hand makes contact with the feathers, pure, undiluted pleasure courses through my body and I feel my knees buckle. I quickly pull my hand away and look back toward Vivienne.
She is pointing to my left so I turn in that direction. A mirror. How did I miss this before?
I look back at Vivienne. She points again, with more urgency, so I take a step toward the mirror. And another.
Shapes and colors begin to coalesce in the mirror with each passing step. I close my eyes, afraid of what I might see, and take three more steps.
“Mr. Blake.”
I can’t open my eyes.
“Mr. Blake.” The voice comes again. Damn it, no.
Twenty-One
“Mikah.” Again the voice comes. I slowly open my eyes. I’m back in the hospital room and a nurse wearing pale pink scrubs is standing over me.
“Huh?” I ask.
“Hi, Mr. Blake. Remember me?”
I look up into the soft round face of Vivienne’s nurse from before. “Hi, Amanda.”
“Hi there. I’m sorry to wake you, but we need to run some tests on Vivienne and shift her a little bit.”
“Uh, sure.” I stand up and push the chair back. “Can I stay?”
“Of course. Just step back, okay?”
I nod and step toward the foot of the bed. I notice that there is another nurse in the room with us. I rub my eyes to dispel the fog of sleep.
The moment I close my eyes, the dreaming sensation returns. I open them quickly, not wanting to slip back into that dream. Not just yet. I look at my right arm for the tattoo from the dream, but there is nothing there. I let out a long exhale.
Amanda and the other nurse go about their business. I watch as they check a couple of things on the monitors, but when they turn her onto her left side, my heart starts to race. Amanda holds her while the other nurse puts the stethoscope to Vivienne’s back. She moves it around a couple of times and nods to Amanda, and they lay her back down.
The other nurse, whose name I can’t see, continues to go about checking things as Amanda comes over to me.
“She’s doing alright. Her vitals look good. You seem to have a profound effect on her heart when you’re around.” She smiles at me and I return a quizzical look. “Dr. Alston told me, and I can see the snap shot on the monitor.” She smiles again. “Her lungs are clearing up, which is a good thing, and she doesn’t seem to be in any pain right now.” I nod. “Have you had dinner?”
I look at my watch. It’s nearly six. “No, but Red should be bringing some food shortly. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
She turns to go back to the bed to finish up.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I say. “The number over on that monitor. Is that the baby’s heart rate?”
She looks over to the monitor and back at me. “It sure is.”
“Is that...normal?”
She smiles. “That is a great number to have up there. Babies’ hearts beat far faster than ours do. The monitor will go off here and at the nurse’s station if the rate drops below one thirty five. Which is still in the normal range, but we want to keep a very close eye on it.”
I nod. I’m not normally this speechless when it comes to things, but all this medical stuff is so foreign to me.
“If the heart rate drops, it may also be a sign that Vivienne is in distress.”
“Okay. This is all so out of my area of expertise.” I feel helpless right now, and asking these questions is the only thing I can think of that might help me feel more in control of a situation I clearly have no control over.
“That’s why we’re here, Mr. Blake,” the nurse behind Amanda says.
“Thank you,” I say. They both gather up their equipment and head for the door.
“Do you need anything, Mr. Blake?”
“Mikah. And no, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Of course, Mikah. If that changes, go ahead and press the button on the remote on the bed and we’ll do what we can.”
“Thanks again.”
She nods and ducks out the door.
I look back at Vivienne. This is going to be a very long road, and I am not a very patient person. It nearly killed me to give Vivienne the space she wanted after the last time we were here, and the only reason I did it was because I knew that I’d pushed her beyond her limits. After leaving her room that day, I researched post-traumatic stress disorder and, while I’m no expert, I see now what I did wrong. Given the chance again, I won’t make the same mistake twice.
Although I’m still tired, and on top of that have a burning need to see what will happen next in the vision, I decide that it’s best not to shut my eyes yet. I’m pretty sure Red will be here before long, and I’d much rather have some uninterrupted time to see where this is going.
I make a quick trip to the bathroom and then grab my laptop and head back to the chair, placing my computer between me and the armrest, facing Vivienne. She looks the same: peaceful.
When I gently touch the back of her hand, I’m momentarily taken aback by how warm her skin feels, but that is more than likely a good thing. Once the shock wears off, I notice that there is an unfamiliar pulse that runs through my body. But this time it’s not from my back; it’s from my heart.
A couple of weeks ago, this beautiful woman waltzed into my life. A life I’m not sure I’m familiar with anymore. Nothing is as it seemed. I’m not sure how I feel about all this angel nonsense, but I have the distinct feeling that I don’t have a say in the matter.
The unwelcome realization hits me: If I want to be with Vivienne, I’ll have to tell her about this angel business. What if she thinks I’m crazy? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with me?
I sink back into the chair, staring hard at her beautiful, bright red, curly hair. Her face. What I wouldn’t give to see those beautiful, ice-blue eyes, warm and full of wonder.
What am I bringing her into? What if what I’m facing is too dangerous for her? What if I’m leading her down a path that she isn’t meant to go?
I can’t stay away from her – that much is obvious – and more than that, I’ve been charged with protecting her. How on earth am I supposed to do that?
Twenty-Two
A sudden knock on the door causes me to jump clean out of my chair. I’m on my feet, fists clenched at my side, but the absence of the buzz in my back does not go unnoticed as the door clicks open.
“Mikah,” says a male voice – one that is familiar, but in my moment of panic, I can’t place it.
“Yeah!” I say, clipped.
“It’s Detective Stevens. Can I come in? I’m off duty. I came by to check on you and to see Vivienne.” His voice is calm, casual, almost friendly.
“Come in.”
I look down at Vivienne and become conscious once again of the sucking and pulling of the ventilator. She hasn’t changed; she’s still sitting there, empty.
“My God.” I hear him exhale, and I look to my left. Detective Stevens is wearing blue jeans and a navy blue MPD t-shirt, tucked in. I notice he is without his gun. I turn back to Vivienne and take my seat again.