Authors: Tessa Saks
Ellen felt the pain
in her feet as she walked out of the bank. She definitely needed to buy some
comfortable shoes and cosmetics. She couldn’t wear that drugstore garbage on
her skin. Just the thought of the crude oil and fillers used, and that
artificial perfume, made her skin crawl.
Ellen stood in front
of the bank and looked at her cheap watch, studded in fake diamonds. She
frowned as it sparkled in the sunlight like an obvious fraud—gaudy and posing
as something of value.
The ring! What had happened to Sam’s beautiful ring
from Jonathan?
If she could find it, she could try and sell it. It had to
be worth more than thirty grand. She sighed, wishing she had found it in her
cleaning yesterday. Perhaps Sienna would know. That would certainly carry her
for a few months and clear some of the debt. She glanced back at the tacky
watch. It was already eleven, and in addition to shopping, she needed to go to
the hospital today to see what was happening.
To see what exactly? To see
herself?
***
The hospital
elevator door opened and Ellen stepped out directly in front of the nursing
station. Carrying all her shopping bags and a vase of flowers was awkward, but
as she juggled the load, Ellen inhaled the rich fragrance of the roses and
approaching the desk. She peered from behind the flowers and asked the nurse
standing behind the desk, “Mrs. Horvath, please. Which room?”
“Are you family?”
the nurse asked, setting her coffee down.
“Yes, I’m her niece,
Cindy. Cindy Patterson, from Iowa—mother’s side.”
“Sign here.” The
nurse slid the clipboard toward her. “Beautiful flowers.”
Ellen set the vase
down beside the clipboard and signed in. “She loves roses and gardenias.” Ellen
smiled at the nurses, glad she was able to use the account at her florist’s,
since money was rather tight.
Tight?
She laughed silently
…
try nonexistent!
“Room 602B, three
doors down, on the left side. She’s still in a coma, but just the same, don’t
say anything you wouldn’t want her to hear—only nice stuff. Sometimes they hear
things, in their subconscious, you never know.” The nurse leaned closer. “It
can freak them out
…
plays over
and over in their mind.”
“How alarming,”
Ellen said as she picked up the vase and adjusted her grip on her bags, then
headed toward 602B. As she walked along, she noticed the room listed on a sign:
602B ELLEN HORVATH.
She stood outside
the room and waited, listening to the phump, phump sound of a ventilator
pumping, to gurgling noises and steady beeps. She moved closer and listened to
hear if anyone was in the room before peeking inside.
Inside the room, it
was semidark, with the colored lights glowing from all of the equipment, and
what little other light poured in came from the bright hallway, through the
half-open door. A curtain, pulled partway around the bed, exposed the footboard
and a motionless body under the blanket.
Ellen entered and
set her bags down on a chair next to the door. She held the vase in one hand as
she slowly pulled back the curtain, taking a deep breath in anticipation.
For a brief moment,
she thought she would faint. She grabbed the bedside rail.
It’s me! It
really is me. How can it be? How is this possible?
She wanted to touch
it—her—to feel if it—if she, was real.
What has happened? What have I done?
Am I dead?
She reached over and
touched her hair. It was a mess, so she tried to smooth it. “I look awful,” she
whispered. “Look at my skin, so dry and coarse.”
The complexion seems
jaundiced too
, she thought.
Perhaps it’s the lighting.
She reached for the
hand and stopped. “Who are you?” she whispered to the body on the bed. “Are you
still me? Is anyone in there? Is this Samantha Miller in there?”
Ellen touched the
hand. “If this is Samantha Miller, I can only say you got what you deserve, you
evil little minx.” Ellen stood staring at the body a moment, squeezing the hand
harder. “And guess what? I’m now you. Crazy, I know. But now I get him. I can
marry him and there isn’t anything you can do about it. How does it feel to be
alone? How does it feel to be old and at the end of your life? I should feel
sorry for you, but I don’t.”
Ellen leaned closer.
“You wanted to be me so badly, well here you go, enjoy. I know I am going to
enjoy being you. I’m tempted to just pull the plug on this machine and end your
life, but I would rather you wake up—wake up and be me. Wake up and live the
life you created for me. You had no qualms about destroying my life, so now I
certainly have no qualms destroying yours. Wake up! Wake up! Please Sam, wake
up!” Ellen was shaking her lifeless arm.
“What are doing?”
She turned at the
sound of Brianna’s voice. “Brianna!” Ellen called out, releasing her grip. “My
darling.”
“My god, it’s
you!
”
Brianna shouted, emphasizing the ugliness of the word
you
.
“What?” Ellen
stopped, suddenly aware of who she was to Brianna, of who she looked like.
“You! You’re
Samantha. The one my dad—what are you doing here?” Brianna yelled, her face
tightening as she hesitated for a moment. “Get away from her. Get out.” Brianna
grabbed the vase from Ellen’s hand and pointed to the door. “Get out of here
…
now!”
“But Brianna, you
don’t understand. It’s not what you think,” Ellen pleaded. “I’m actually—”
“No!” Brianna set
the vase on the nightstand. “Go! Before I call security. You have
no
right to be here.” She grabbed Ellen by the arm and pushed her toward the door.
“Get away from my mother, you evil monster.”
“Brianna, it’s me.
It’s—I’m your mother.”
“Nurse!” Brianna
called out, pushing the nurse button repeatedly. “Nurse!”
Ellen picked up her
bags. “All right, I’m leaving,” she said, looking solemnly at Brianna. “I’m
sorry. It’s just
…
I wanted—”
“Go
…
just leave. Don’t you think you’ve
done enough? You’re the reason she’s in here. You’re the reason she did what
she did. If it wasn’t for you
…”
Brianna’s
voice broke, her eyes flooded with tears as she turned away and stroked the
dormant hand lying on the bed, her mother’s hand. “I hate you. You’re a
monster. Get away from her and stay away. Don’t come near her or me again.”
Ellen restrained her
selfish need to stop Brianna and tell her that the woman on the bed was not her
mother—that she only looked like her. She watched Brianna touch her mother’s
face with affection, then lean over and kiss her cheek.
“I never wanted to
hurt you. Please believe me,” Ellen said, then slowly turned and walked out of
the room. She wanted to give her a hug, to say, “It’s Mother. I’m here
…
don’t worry. Things will work out.”
To tell her none of this really happened.
But now was not the
time. No, now was clearly not the time to tell her anything so absurd and
unbelievable. Besides, how could she expect Brianna to believe any of it, when
she hardly believed it herself?
***
Three days later,
Ellen awoke and looked at the clock: six thirty a.m. Her first day of work—how
long had it been? Thirty-eight years? She lay in bed and tried to imagine what
it would be like. It certainly couldn’t be too difficult. No one that had met
Samantha Miller would expect her to handle too many things at once. “I’ll show
her how to work,” Ellen said aloud as she flipped the covers back, ready to
face the day.
Today, she would
finally see Jonathan, however briefly, before he leaves for a weeklong trip to
the south.
What would it be like?
Her mind imagined all sorts of
possibilities, both pleasurable and satisfying, ones where he takes her in his
arms and kisses her, telling her how much he loves her and how beautiful she
is.
By eight thirty
a.m., Ellen was racing through the familiar tower lobby of Horvath Industries.
She had gotten turned around and missed her bus and was now running late. The
money Sienna had given her was used for the cab. Thankfully, she had packed a
lunch as she was down to three dollars and change. Packed a lunch! Ellen
Horvath!
As doors to the
crowded elevator closed, she watched the numbered lights blinking above in
sequence, unsure of whether she was more anxious about attempting to work in a
job she was untrained in or seeing Jonathan. The elevator opened and closed
several times, thinning the crowd, before arriving at seventeen. They opened to
a long walnut reception desk, where a pretty girl sat manning the phones. “Hey,
Sam. How you feeling?” the brunette said as she looked up from her switchboard
and smiled.
“Better, but I have
a bit of a memory lapse
…
the
fever, you know?” Ellen shrugged. “Say, where do I go?”
The girl laughed.
“Happens to me—only mine’s alcohol-related. Come on, I’ll take you.”
She took her to the
inner stairwell and up two flights, then through a hallway to a small cubicle.
“Here you are,” she said, pulling out her chair. “Your sanctuary, at least for
now.
”
She gave Ellen a wink and turned away.
Ellen sat in her
chair, staring at the desk and stacks of paper for several minutes. She
rummaged through the mound of invoices unsure of what she was supposed to do.
Her heart started to beat faster.
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
She went through the other stacks and tried to figure it out.
A curly blonde head
popped over the cubicle. “Hey Sam, you better now?”
Ellen looked up from
her miserable pile. “Much better, thanks
…
bit of a memory block, though. I had amnesia, and there is still so much
I don’t remember—”
“You missed Trisha’s
going-away party. It was a blast,” the sweet-faced girl said.
I bet,
Ellen
thought. She could only imagine what this
blast
of a party involved.
“Brian was there. Oh
my God, was he loaded. I thought he would pass out for sure—oops, incoming!”
The blonde head quickly popped back down as a tall woman stood over Ellen.
“Samantha, we’re
behind on the month end—do what you can to catch up.”
“I
…
I don’t seem to remember how to do
this exactly
…
the fever
…
it affected my memory,” Ellen said,
rifling through the stacks.
The women looked at
her with a scowl. “You’re kidding, right?”
Ellen gave her a
sheepish grin.
She shrugged,
shaking her head and abruptly setting her stack of folders on the desk, then
picked up several of the invoices. “This piece here, needs to get matched up to
this file—see the numbers? Whatever you don’t have for POs, you have to find.
Simple.” The woman picked up her pile, turned and walked away.
Ellen stared at the
stack. “I hate this already,” she said under her breath.
By noon, Ellen was
beyond bored. She opened her lunch bag with its room-temperature tuna sandwich.
It smelled rancid. She opened her wallet. Three dollars; not enough to buy
anything, not if she wanted to get home. She spent the rest of her lunch
organizing the files on the desk and in the cabinets and sorting through all of
the drawers. Ellen tried to imagine anyone working in such chaos. By
two-thirty, she had most of the disarray sorted out.
The tall women
reappeared. “Have you finished?” she demanded.
Ellen flushed with
heat. “No, I
…
I need more
time.”
The woman put one
hand on her hip. “We are behind—I don’t care that you were sick. We have a
deadline. Now get going!” She slammed the top of the cubicle with her hand.
Ellen faced the
miserable stack again. How many days of this could she endure?
After the tall lady
left, the blonde head popped up again. “Ouch! She sure hates you.”
“
What
did I
do to deserve that?”
“You didn’t do
anything. She hates you because you’re so pretty.”
“Sorry, what’s your
name again?” Ellen stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“Duh, Rebecca.”
“Rebecca, of
course,” Ellen made a note of it and her stomach growled again. “This fever has
me in a bit of a bind
…
any
chance I could borrow a few dollars till payday?”
“Again?”
Ellen smiled as
Rebecca turned to get her purse. This wasn’t so hard. She could do this. She
could be just like Samantha Miller, selfish and using people to get what she
needs. And she could fool everyone—do all the simple, mundane things a girl
like Samantha does every day—no one would even notice. But for how long? How long
before she couldn’t take anymore?
Sam tried to move
her body. It was heavy and immobile, like solid bronze. She felt trapped,
encased in a type of cast from head to toe. As she struggled to open her eyes,
no amount of effort seemed to separate them. There were no recognizable sounds
apart from the constant buzzing and the muffled sound in the distance. Were
they voices? She wasn’t certain. She lived in and out of dreams, never sure
where they ended and began again, never certain of what was reality and what
was illusion. She tried to scream, but no sound came forth.
She wanted to cry,
but no sound escaped her mouth, no tears flowed. Her only joy appeared when she
was suddenly free, when she felt she was floating up higher and higher until
the room would suddenly appear bathed in a warm bright light and she would feel
safe, secure, and loved. She wanted to reach this light and be free at last
from the constraints of her immobility. She would float higher freely, without
effort. Weightless and ethereal.
Could this be
heaven? Am I dreaming?
Sam didn’t care. For
the first time in her life, she finally felt a sense of belonging, of security.
Time disappeared. She knew only now, this moment. Her heart expanded as if it
grew larger, its beating loud and resonating through every cell of her body.
She wanted more of
this feeling of freedom.
More.
Thump, thump, thump.
She listened to her heart, louder and stronger, sharp and clear, followed by
the steady rhythm of the echo beep. She would hover, floating free, up toward
the light, almost reaching it, a blissful and unrestricted state of joy.
Then suddenly,
without warning, she’d fall, the terrifying collapsing sensation encompassing
her body, plunging down, deeper, as the light immediately shut off, vanished.
Back into darkness, back into confusion and noise, suddenly aware of beeps and
screeches and voices. She returned again to the sounds of hissing, gases
pumping and mental wheels rolling.
Noise. Loud noise.
Too much noise. She wanted to block all of it out but couldn’t. She tried to go
back to the peaceful sleep, tried to recapture the warmth of the light. Cold
hands moved across her skin. Her body shivered in aftershocks, wave after wave
of tingles until finally her hands moved. Or did they? She couldn’t feel
anything except a prickly warmth, like when a part of your body falls asleep.
More noises. More
beeps. A scurry of activity all around as she experienced jabs and more pain.
She wanted to tell them to leave her alone. Leave her in peace. But they only
became louder. Her hand felt as if it was holding something.
What is it? It’s
warm. A finger? A hand?
Her thoughts raced to who it might be.
Where am I? What
is going on? What has happened?
If only someone
would tell her. She tried to speak but nothing happened. She tried harder,
still nothing. Sam wanted to scream,
Let me out of here. Let me wake and
move.
But couldn’t. She can only listen. The voices are unrecognizable.
Could it be Rory? She tried to call him. Or maybe her mother? Or Johnny?
Perhaps Sienna?
She strained to
listen to the sound of the voices. They are too soft and muffled against the
beeps and thumps. The noises stilled, fading as the thick fog of silence
arrived and the heavy weight of a quiet calm pressed upon her.
Falling.
Falling.
Deeper into sleep. A
heavy comforting sleep, back into the light, back into the warmth.
Lost in
timelessness. Lost in effortlessness. Lost to everyone and everything.
***
Later that afternoon
Ellen heard her phone ring, despite the loud voices from the office gathering
nearby. She fumbled to answer it without dropping her files. “Hello,” she said,
praying for Jonathan’s voice.
“Hello, gorgeous,”
he said, his voice animated. She moved closer to her desk and leaned forward,
covering her other ear with her hand in an effort to block out the noise and
catch every word.
“How are you feeling
my love? I’ve missed you.” His voice was full of concern, loving and tender.
But he wasn’t saying these words to me, was he? These words were for Samantha
Miller. A smoldering anger built within her.
How long had it been since I
heard him say I’ve missed you and my love?
Yet, it felt good to hear those
words, to feel loved and adored.
“I’m much better
…
but I’m still having trouble
remembering things,” she lied. “That was some fever; it’s all very strange.”
“I bet. Listen
sweetie, I’d love to see you soon.”
Ellen’s heart
quickened at the thought of him seeing her—seeing him now as a beautiful
twenty-seven-year-old. As the twenty-seven-year-old he loved. She couldn’t
wait. “When?” she asked, as her mind filled with thoughts of passion.
“I’ll be away from
the office for the rest of this week; I’m afraid I can’t get away to see you
for a while.”
“Why not?”
“I told you it
wouldn’t be right to be seen gallivanting around with my wife in a coma.”
“Oh, but it was just
fine to be gallivanting around the rest of the time, sneaking around behind her
back, when she was alive and well.”
Damn him.
He had lots of time for
Sam when
she
was Ellen.
“Sam, now, be fair.”
“Fair? You always
want me to be fair. What about her? Do you expect her to be fair?”
“She’s in a coma,
for Christ’s sake. What I am supposed to do?” he snapped, his voice escalating.
“My children need me.”
“Since when have you
given any thought to your children?” Ellen thought of her distressing encounter
with Brianna. “Brianna, how is she doing? This must be hard on her.”
“Yes. She blames me.
She blames you. She’s angry about everything. I don’t know if she’ll ever
forgive me if Ellen doesn’t make it—”
“Doesn’t make it?”
Ellen’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean, doesn’t make it? What’s happened? I
thought—”
“She’s taken a turn
for the worse. She appeared to respond last week. I actually thought I felt her
hand move and she moaned a bit. We were very hopeful. She seemed to be
improving each day
…
or so we
thought. Then nothing. In fact, they almost lost her yesterday. Something
changed since Friday
…
the
doctors say she’s declining fast but they have no knowledge why
…
she
…
she might be a vegetable.” He choked on the words. “They
have no idea. The doctors say they can’t tell what exactly caused this, so we
have to wait and pray
…”
Guilt landed
squarely on her shoulders.
Even though I cursed Sam and told her I hoped she
died, I didn’t actually expect it to happen. I don’t want to be trapped in this
body forever—or do I? If Jonathan leaves her, I will have everything I want. It
will all be just as before, except that I will be beautiful and young as well
as rich and famous. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
“Sam? Are you there
…
Sam?”
“I’m sorry, what
were you saying?”
“I was asking you to
wait this out until I know something.”
“But what if nothing
happens?” Ellen asked in frustration. “What if she just stays as she is? Then
what?”
“Then, I guess in
time, we could resume—”
“Resume? What do you
mean resume?” She understood all too well the intended meaning of his words.
Resume having sex. Resume dating on the sly. Resume cheating and lying behind
his wife’s back.
“It won’t be long,”
he continued. “Brandon flew in and will be here for a few days
…
maybe even a couple of weeks. I’ll
have a better idea of what to do then.”
“So you’re
abandoning me? I have to sit around and wait for you.” Ellen’s voice cracked.
“Nothing has changed.”
“No, not at all.”
His tone was firm.
She sighed, trying
to stifle tears.
With a soft voice,
he said, “Now, sweetie. Don’t think of it like that. I love you—you know I do.
We just have to wait.”
“I’ve been waiting.
I’ve done nothing but wait—wait and hope. I thought
…
I thought this would—”
“It will, baby. I’ll
see what I can do. I’d do anything to be with you, you know that, right?”
“Jonathan
…”
Ellen whispered in a soft baby
voice, hoping this was a good moment. “I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
Ellen clenched her
teeth and took a deep breath. “I need some money—” she stopped as she heard him
breathe out a long sigh, followed by an extended silence.
“How much this
time?” he asked, his voice flat, as if frustrated.
“Five thousand
dollars?
…
maybe—”
“Another five? Sam,
I hope you’re joking.” He sounded annoyed.
“No. I need it.
I’ve—well, I seem to have—”
“I
just
gave
you five thousand.”
“I don’t know who
else to ask.” It was true. She had tried everyone.
He remained silent
and then let out a deep exhale. “I would. I want to. But with all this stuff
going on
…
and then later this
week I’ll be revising our will with the lawyers—now just isn’t a good time to
draw attention—ask me later.”
“Sorry, but payday
isn’t for four more days, I just need—”
“Listen, I have to
go. I’ll call you next week.”
“Jonathan, I—”
“Bye, now.”
Ellen hung up. The
little love she finally felt from him had vanished—instantly.
What if I am
stuck in this body
…
forever?
What if I can’t ever be Ellen again? What if I have to stay like this, with no
money and piles of debt? And have to work
…
work endlessly?
She looked at the stack of papers and wanted to cry.
***
Sam woke again from
a murky dream. Or was she still in one? They came and went so often, blending
together, she could no longer separate one dream from another. In one part of a
dream, she was having her revenge on Mrs. Horvath; in another, she was trying
on her wedding dress and planning her wedding. She had a hazy recollection of
floating and bright lights. She remembered being cold and scared, frozen and
unable to move.
Can I move now?
Can I speak?
An assortment of sounds appear, beeps and clattering, grinding
and squeaking, the muffled noises surrounding her, pulling her into reality.
She was still cold.
A blanket, I need a blanket.
As she tried to speak,
a raspy noise escaped from her lips. Rigid, stiff and unresponsive, her lips
still wouldn’t move.
She felt a sudden
warmth, of flesh covering her hand.
A hand.
The unknown hand gripped her
tighter. Then the touch of warm lips, a kiss on her cheek.
“Thank God!” A voice
cried out.
More noises. Her
heart beat faster. Thump, thump, thump. The rhythmic machine near her head beat
in unison with her own heartbeat.
A hospital.
The sudden realization that she must be in a hospital, brought little comfort
to her. She tried to touch herself to see if she was all right but couldn’t
raise her arm or her hand, as if someone pinned them down.
Voices.
Suddenly she could hear voices. Sam struggled to open her eyes, praying she
could see. They refused to open, as if super-glued shut.
“Can you hear me?
Oh, thank God.”
She tried to speak.
It came out a gurgle. She tried again, this time a cough.
“It’s me,” a voice
whispered, a woman’s voice, soft and muffled. “I’m here. I’m here.” The voice
grabbed her hand again. “I’m so happy.”
Sam’s heart stopped
for a second.
Who is this?
She tried again to speak. A thin frail voice
finally forced its way out of her mouth. “Who?” she asked in an almost gasping
voice.
“It’s Brea.”
Silence.
“She doesn’t know
me,” the voice said.
“It’s your
daughter,” a male voice said.
“I don’t
…
have
…”
Her voice was weak and fading, “a daughter
…”
“No!” the voice
wailed.
Another hand came
upon her shoulder and a male voice spoke. “It’s me, your son. Do you remember
me?”
“No
…”
Sam coughed, her voice waning. It
hurt to speak. “I don’t
…
have
…
any children.”
“It’s okay
…
let her rest,” said another
unfamiliar voice.
“She may not
remember much.” A voice spoke in a hushed tone. “The doctor said severe trauma
to her brain may need time to repair. You should leave and let her rest.”
“Trauma?” Sam said
in an inaudible whisper, wishing it didn’t hurt to speak.
What the hell kind
of trauma?
The footsteps faded into the distance.
Sam listened to the
bustle around her, for what seemed an eternity. Finally, someone turned on a
television. And for the next few hours, she enjoyed the sounds of sitcoms and
soap operas more than she ever had in her life.
Then, above the
canned audience laughter, she heard, “Hello dear.”
At last, a voice she
knew. She wasn’t crazy. “Jonathan
…”
Sam
spoke in a soft, raspy voice, her throat, still raw and sore. “What’s happened?
Why am I here?”
He grabbed her hand
and kissed it. His lips were cold. “You’ve had an accident. You have been in a
coma, but
…
thankfully, you are
out now.”
“Oh my God,” she
cried, escalating the pain in her throat.
A coma? Am I hurt? Am I okay? Is
my face okay? Can I walk?
Her mind raced through all the horrible
possibilities. “I’m paralyzed, aren’t I? Oh God, that’s why I can’t move my
arms—”
“You’ll be fine,” he
replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We are certain you will be fine.”