One (23 page)

I stood and rushed toward the Mercedes screaming like a lunatic. Ana’s face, her eyes staring blankly ahead as she swung form the rope flashed inside my mind. I slammed my helmet into the driver’s side window shattering it. Its glass sliced through my wrist and arm. The pain calmed me. I released my helmet allowing it to fall into the driver’s side seat. Blood poured from my wrist and arm running down the side of the door. I stood back and looked at it; it reminded me of the police cruiser on Halsted Avenue.

Perhaps I should have dwelled more on Ana and what I experienced with her, but with each passing second I pushed her farther from my mind. I lifted my motorcycle from the ground and after several attempts to start it I gave up. The gash on my wrist continued to bleed and though just moments ago I had decided to end my life I found myself searching for a means to repair myself.

I walked only a few blocks when I saw the bright red emergency sign. A dull pain in my stomach was a curiosity until I realized where I was. Northwestern hospital, my father was brought there after his accident. As I walked toward the entrance, I remembered passing through the automatic doors feeling the rush of cold air hitting my face from inside. That night the emergency room was filled with the injured from minor to serious. What I found inside was more emptiness and silence.

I walked past the triage station toward what the receptionist once told me was called the patch area. The cubical-like stations were where minor injuries were bandaged or stitched and then sent on their way. My eyes locked onto one of the stations. A pair of hand cuffs dangled from the steal divider. Clearly someone was shackled to them before the event began. Just below them were piles of bloody bandages. I reached out toward the handcuffs something inside me felt uneasy and I drew back.

A quick search and a few moments and I had wrapped my wrist and arm. There had been enough pain for one day. I had no wish to remain in the hospital any longer than I had to. Just inches from the door I found myself unable to proceed any further. I felt my memories crawling their way to the front of my mind. At first I wanted to fight them when I realized that allowing them to take over at their will might be my only means of escape.

Static, I had not taken notice of the sound when I had first entered the emergency room. The television set in the center of the waiting room was on. I found myself staring at the screen focused on the snow, remembering the night I stood there with my mother.

Station Break

My mother was talking with the receptionist while I tried to call Ashley. The call went to voicemail. I do not remember leaving a message, just the sound of the television in the background.

“
Yes, Richard, I have just been advised the drivers of both vehicles were taken to Northwestern Hospital. However, the cleanup is still ongoing here on Michigan Avenue. Preliminary reports indicate that the driver of the sedan was intoxicated and charges could be pending. This is Margaret Dixon reporting live for WGN news.”

It was about my father and the person who hit him, they were both in the hospital. My mother did not hear the broadcast. As she turned to me I wanted to tell her but the look in her eye prevented me from doing so. I lowered my head and followed her down the hall.

ICU

The static became audible again. I walked over and turned off the television then looked toward the hallway. The sign pointing toward the ICU, it was telling me to go there, to where my father was taken that night. While I walked following in my own footsteps I questioned what it was that I could really hope to learn by reliving the past. There was no answer; I was not surprised by this. At the end of the hallway to the left was the ICU, to the right the morgue. A thought entered my mind. Were the dead taken with the living? I decided not to continue down that road and turned left toward ICU.

Even though the nurse’s station was empty as I entered ICU I could see the faces of the people sitting there looking at me. They were trained to be indifferent, remain professional, but their eyes told me a different story.

Beyond Tragedy

My mother’s only focus was getting to my father. They had moved him to a private room. My mother and I entered closing the door behind us. She ran over to him grabbing his hand letting him know she was there. I just stood there just beyond the doorway staring at him.

My mother spoke to him as if he had only fallen asleep and she was briefing him on his surroundings letting him know she and the rest of the family were okay. I could do nothing but look at a man I could no longer recognize. With the tubes and wires and bandages there was nothing left of my father, I felt as if he had already left us, only a husk was lying their experiencing the simplest form of life given to it by machines.

I found the same room that my father was in; it looked different than I had remembered. Honestly everything seemed different as if it was described by someone else but their vision was askew so the actual image was different. The bed was empty; it did not look as if anyone was in it even before everything occurred. The silence was also different in the room; it was peaceful, being alone there did not feel as bad.

It was not long before a doctor entered the room. My mother quickly rushed over about to bombard him with questions. The doctor looked at me then at my mother. With just a glance he told her that whatever he had to say was not for me to hear. I remember the anger I felt thinking how dare he keep anything from me. I wanted to force the issue, but my mother’s eyes once again prevented me. Still trying to be strong, she placed her hand on my shoulder and asked me to stay with my father.

They only walked as far as the nurse’s station when my mother began questioning the doctor, he was accustomed to it; I could tell by her body movement and hand gestures that something was wrong, and then it all changed. My mother’s expression took on an eerie calm. Whatever was said was different than what was discussed before. That was when I saw them. Two policemen approached my mother and began talking to her. I realized then that my mother did not know the events that lead to my father’s accident.

She fell to her knees crying loudly. Every ounce of my being wanted to rush out to her side, but I could not move. The policemen helped her to her feet then walked down the hall. I remember wondering where they took her. I placed my hand on the doorknob. I wanted to follow, but instead turned around and walked over to my father and sat down on the side of the bed.

My father would never just lie in bed. Even when sick unless it was serious he would be up doing something productive. It was a strength I admired and drew upon when I felt I could not go on. To see him lying there, face swollen, covered in cuts and bruises, I closed my eyes and remembered who he was not what was laying in front of me. Even then I hated myself for thinking like that, but it was how I felt. Christine asked if my feelings would change if I were faced with a tragedy involving my own family. I told her they would not and I kept my word.

I had not noticed over thirty minutes had gone by. Just as I was dialing Ashley’s number again the door to the room slowly opened. Wherever she had gone, whatever she had seen had hurt her as badly as seeing my father. Her eyes were red and raw from crying. I stood ready to question her whereabouts when I saw her hands trembling. She was terrified, it was not just the thought of losing her husband it was something more.

“
Mom… what happened? What did the doctor say? And those policemen…where did you go?”

She walked over to my father and took his hand then mine. I already knew some of what she would tell me and I considered how to react.

“
They were officers investigating your father's accident. They told me that they have a young man in custody. He was drinking and ran a red light.”

I knew he was in the hospital and that he was responsible, but it was not until hearing it come out of the mouth of my mother that I felt it. Hearing her fighting back the tears set me on fire. The rage inside me took over; I pulled away from my mother and stood ready to head out the door.

“
What room is he in? I want to see him!”

“
No!” Martha yelled.

Her anger shocked me. She placed her hand over her mouth as if surprised by her own actions. She retook my hand in hers and guided me back to my seat. I thought about what she was keeping from me. Why would she become so upset because of my request? I was about to ask her when she squeezed my hand and looked me in the eye.

“
Seeing him won’t… Timothy, please. I need to tell you something.”

She closed her eyes then reopened them, but the tears fell anyway.

“
The doctor…he told me that I…that we need to make a decision about your father.”

My thoughts of the man who did this were pushed away. It was clear my father would never return to us. The question was whether to allow him to live for our benefit or let him die for his. My father though a religious man, made my mother promise to remove him from life support if there was no chance for recovery. When my mother agreed he told each of us, Ashley when she was a bit older. At four twenty-eight AM, my mother told the doctors to turn off the life support. Twenty-six minutes later he died.

Engulfed by Questions

What I had not thought of for a long time was Ashley. She did say she was there to say goodbye to my father. I could not stand being in that room any longer. As I walked away from the ICU, I felt dizzy, sick to my stomach. I leaned against the nurse’s counter for support when a piercing sound rang in my ears. I followed it in to another room. A purse and two cell phones lay on the floor it was obvious at one time, someone was there. The noise was from a heart monitor, its sensors laid on the hospital bed.

The sound was deafening and seemed to grow louder. I questioned why I had not heard it before. Then I realized it was this world, it was mocking me, trying to enrage me and it was working. In a fit of anger, I tore the cords from the machine pulling it from its stand and smashing it to the floor. The room was silent once again, only my heavy breaths could be heard. I cursed God’s name. To be trapped in this world when the man who killed my father was not was an injustice I could not accept.

I decided there would be only one way to end this, find out what happened to the man who did this. The room grew dark. Through the window I could see the sun setting. As I turned to leave a glimmer caught my eye. A pair of hand-cuffs was attached to the bed post. Whoever was in the bed was a prisoner. I closed my eyes and wished it was him attached there dying. The thought brought me no comfort.

I left the hospital. The darkening skies forced me to seek shelter. I made my way back to my motorcycle and gathered my backpack and my mother’s laptop bag. I began walking, not fully knowing where I was heading until I stood in front of it. The Drake Hotel, there was something calling me there just like in the hospital. Before crossing the street I watched as the sun slowly set behind the massive buildings. I made a promise to myself that that night would be my last in this world.

Just before entering the hotel, I found a handheld camcorder just outside the entrance. I took it and decided if nothing else I could record my thoughts or information I may find in my search. My stomach growled, but I only wanted to sleep so I would be prepared for tomorrow. I found myself outside the door of the presidential suite. My thoughts turned to Ana as I walked inside and entered the bedroom.

I tossed my bags onto the floor and walked out to the balcony. Darkness had covered Chicago, but I could still see the glow of the ongoing fires. As I lifted the camera, I considered recording it but instead threw it onto the bed. While I tried to believe that I would truly find an answer a feeling of defeat loomed like a dark cloud over me. I reached into my backpack, my hand grazed over the gun. The metal felt cool against my fingers.

I entered the bathroom, stripped off my clothes then stepped into the shower. The hot water eased the pain on the outside, but only the outside. I exited the shower and sat naked on a small bench. A large wooden vanity sat in front of me. I could not stand the sight of myself. Ana’s words began repeating over and over in my head. In order to atone for my sins I have to do it alone. I did not know what my sins were. There were no crimes that I had committed, surely not ones that would warrant such a punishment.

I stood tossing the towel to the floor. Refusing to continue feeling sorry for myself, I sat on the corner of the bed and grabbed hold of the camcorder. I rewound the tape, angled the lens toward my face, and pressed record. Just as I was about to speak I could hear a rustling noise coming from the camera’s speakers. I turned the screen toward me. I was surprised to see a video playing. I was certain I had pressed record.