by Julie Hall
“You have to stop, Audrey,” my mother pleaded, but I wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. I’d defeated countless creatures of darkness. I’d gone up against Satan himself. I couldn’t let a couple medical technicians take me down.
I could kick one in the shins and duck under his grip. From there I’d have a straight shot to run—something sharp bit into my backside. I yelled out in pain.
Did someone just stab me?
I twisted my head to see a giant syringe depressed all the way and sticking out of my right butt cheek.
What?
Someone in a white lab coat quickly removed the ridiculously long needle from my backside.
I tried to renew my struggle, but my vision suddenly blurred around the edges.
No!
I’d been drugged.
I fought like a rabid beast to reach Logan, but my movements were becoming uncoordinated and sloppy, until they turned sluggish and my vision winked in and out.
“Please,” I think I pleaded out loud, but it may have been in my head. I no longer knew.
The last thing that went through my mind before I succumbed to whatever drug they just pumped into my system was I failed you. I’m so sorry.
And then all was quiet.
My skull was stuffed with bricks and cotton. A strange combination, but one that made it impossible to lift my head because of the weight. The world seemed strangely muted.
I groaned at the uncomfortable sensation and tried to lift an arm to my head, but something prevented me from moving. I blinked several times to bring the room into focus. It blurred for a while before my eyesight cooperated.
“Oh, honey, she’s waking up.”
Okay, so my mom was somewhere around here.
With a great deal of effort, I turned my head to see her sitting by my bed. My dad walked from the window to join her. Both of them wore grave looks. Pinched brows, pressed together lips, their skin leeched of color.
“What happened?” I croaked out. “Why can’t I move?” My legs were straight, and although I could bend my knee slightly, something was preventing full mobility—and it wasn’t the bricks and cotton.
Was I restrained?
“Oh, Audrey.” My mom’s hand covered her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.
I looked to my dad for an explanation.
“Sweetie, how much do you remember?”
I blinked up at him. The cotton made it hard to understand his question. “Remember?”
“Baby, you were hysterical. The hospital staff had to sedate you. You’re being restrained at the moment to make sure you won’t hurt yourself. Someone is going to be in later to evaluate you.”
“Evaluate what?” I asked
Several heartbeats passed before he answered. “Your mental state. We think all of this has been harder on you than we realized. We, your mother and I, believe getting you home as quickly as possible is the best course of action.”
I wanted to shake my head, but the heaviness prevented the movement. I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew I should be more alarmed by what my father was saying and the fact that I was strapped to my bed like a criminal, but the fog hadn’t fully cleared. There was a reason I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to dig for it, because I couldn’t remember why I cared.
I attempted to lift my hand again, wanting to press it to my eyes, but was stopped by the soft restraint.
“Can you . . .” I swallowed. My throat was beyond dry. “Take these off of me?”
I opened my eyes to see my parents share a look.
“Audrey, why don’t you go back to sleep and let the drugs wear off a little? We’ll get a doctor to come in and assess you so we can get these removed. We think that, considering the circumstances, we should play by the rules right now.”
What circumstances?
My mind tried to push past the fog, but the effort left me exhausted. My rapid blinking wasn’t doing much to keep me awake, so I succumbed to sleep once again.
I woke up some time later to soft voices. The heaviness no longer weighed me down, but my memory was a bit hazy.
My parents were talking to my primary doctor off in the corner of my room, their voices too low for me to overhear.
“Excuse me,” I asked to get their attention. “May I have some water?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” My mom broke off from the small group and rushed to my side. She grabbed something from a table and brought it into view. It was a cup with a straw. She propped a few pillows up behind my head so I could drink.
The liquid coated my scratchy throat in a soothing balm. My throat was raw and painful as if I’d been screaming for a long period of time.
I nodded my thanks to her.
She stood, and the doctor took her place by my side. “Audrey, I’d like to remove these restraints, but I need your word before I do that you won’t try to get out of bed.”
Restraints?
I glanced down my body to see my wrists and ankles secured to the bed with some kind of padded handcuffs. I had a vague recollection of waking up like this before, but I couldn’t push past the block in my memory to remember why.
“Okay, I’ll stay here.”
He smiled warmly and unlocked all the cuffs then helped me into a seated position.
My body was sore all over, but I didn’t know why. I hadn’t woken up this weak in months.
“I’ve been talking with your parents, and we all agree that the best thing for you physically and emotionally is to return home with them. Your physical therapy has progressed to a point where you can continue with outpatient treatment.” He paused for a moment, and I knew there was something important about that pause. “And you can also seek treatment for your emotional trauma in your home state as well. We want to make sure you’re on board with this plan.”
Wait, I was remembering important things now. I wasn’t planning on going home with my parents. I wanted to stay here. Stay here and be with . . . Logan. That was it. Had I not talked to them about my plans yet? I thought I had.
I glanced at my parents standing near the foot of my bed. “But I wanted to stay in this area. I thought”—yes, I’d definitely had this conversation with them already—“we already had this talk.”
There was silence in the room as the three adults traded looks.
“Audrey,” my father finally began, “I’m so sorry, sweetie, but there’s nothing left for you here.”
“But there is, Dad. I already told you I wanted to stay near Logan. I was—”
I gasped, remembering the trip to Logan’s room to introduce him to my parents when they pushed back about me staying.
I’d wanted them to understand, at least in part, why I had made the decision.
I remembered Logan’s parents being there along with all the medical personnel. And I remembered my desperate fight to reach him at the end when my confession fell on deaf ears.
I brought a shaky hand to my mouth.
My vision swam.
“Tell me he’s not gone. Tell me they didn’t go through with it while I slept. Tell me you didn’t let them do this to me.” The last few words ended on a sob.
My mom rushed around the other side of the bed to pull me in her arms. I didn’t want to be comforted at the moment. I wanted information. I wanted someone to tell me everything was all right and that what I thought had happened had not.
My father’s face twisted in regret.
“I’m so sorry, baby girl, but there’s nothing left for you here,” he repeated.
Burying my face in my mom’s shoulder, I let out body-racking sobs.
I didn’t try to hide my anguish like I had when I first woke up and realized all I’d lost. There was no use. I was completely undone, and the weight of losing Logan was compounded by the weight of all the other losses I’d repressed.
I cried for Logan. And I cried for Romona and Kaitlin and Kevin and Bear. I might have even cried a little for Jonathon. But most of all, I cried for myself.
And the silent cry I l
ifted to the Lord was only this: Why?
38
Home
I wasn’t even allowed to go to his funeral. My parents said the Londons had asked that I stay away and not contact them. I wondered how much of that “request” was Richard and how much was Celeste. I thought I’d formed something of a friendship with Logan’s mom in the time we’d spent together at her son’s bedside, but I suppose thinking that I was delusional and had made up a relationship with her son was reason enough for her to want to keep some distance.
Yet another name to add to the list of people I’d lost, but in this case she was also my last Earthly connection to Logan.
His mother had been telling me stories of his childhood as we sat vigil, and I loved hearing about them. I’d cherished every scrap I was given, and I mourned every tale that would now remain untold.
I lay on my side and stared at the blank white wall. It wasn’t the fresh bright white I’d become used to in the afterlife, but the dull white that came with time. I hated both colors equally.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I remembered the beautiful mural painted on the wall in Logan’s room. The swirls of blue and aqua that were reminiscent of the ocean and the color of his eyes.
I think he would have loved to see that painting.
By now a fresh coat of white paint was probably drying on the wall as the staff readied the room for the next patient.
“Audrey, sweetheart, everything is ready. It’s time to go.” My mom laid a gentle hand on my back.
I’d hardly said anything in the few days since “the event.” I didn’t realize how much pain and loss I hadn’t processed when I woke up back on Earth until I lost Logan for the second time.
I’d created a house of cards that came crashing down that day.
The real work of rebuilding my life was just beginning. And even I knew I wasn’t handling it well.
I’d briefly been forced into talking to one of the hospital’s grief counselors, but I only answered the questions I absolutely had to, and I stonewalled everything else. I refused to talk about my time in the afterlife anymore, having already poured my heart out and been rejected.
My own parents now looked at me strangely, but they hadn’t forced any more treatment on me. When my doctor thought I was asleep, he’d recommended I seek counseling for my “issues” when we returned home.
My parents hadn’t brought the subject up to me yet. Perhaps they’d let me settle in at home first? Maybe they’d bring it up on the long plane ride home? I wasn’t sure, but I knew that it was only a matter of time. They did think I was delusional. What parent wouldn’t want their child to seek help in that situation?
“Audrey.” My mom ran her hand up and down my back. Something she used to do when I was little and she was waking me up from a nap. “You have to wake up. We need to get going so we can catch our plane.”
Nodding, I rolled over and slipped out of bed. I pulled a pair of my favorite boots on over my jeans. I’d dressed for the cooler mid-western weather this time of year rather than the sunny temperate California weather I’d unknowingly become accustomed to. I grabbed an oversized purse and walked to the door without a word. I’d forgone any long goodbyes with my trainers and doctors, not wanting to have to fake a levity I didn’t feel.
I walked down the hall to the elevators that would lead to the main floor exit with my head down, listening to my mom’s quiet steps behind me.
My parents had handled me with kid gloves the last several days. I wasn’t trying to punish them, but I couldn’t help feeling betrayed.
They hadn’t believed me.
I knew that my story seemed implausible, but I still wanted them to back me up. But when I’d laid all my chips on the table, they’d let me be drugged and taken from the man I loved.
I tried not to be angry with them, I truly did, but I was.
I’d forgiven them for their betrayal in my mind, but my heart still hurt.
One minute, one hour, one day at a time. Baby steps. I could only hope that one day I’d wake up and time would pass at a normal pace.
I pushed at the revolving doors and within a few steps was standing in the sun. It warmed my head, neck, and shoulders as I sat in the car my father had rented that would take us to the airport.
I never looked up. It didn’t seem fair that the sun could shine so brightly when on the inside I lived in a land of eternal rain and darkness.
A stack of papers dropped in front of me with a loud smack, shocking me out of my daydream. I yelped and put a hand to my chest, then swatted at James, who was already jumping out of hitting range.
“You’re a punk.” I loved the kid hardcore, and I had a new respect for him after what I’d witnessed when Satan’s legion had attacked our house, but my little brother could still be an annoying jerk.
“I don’t know, sis. You think you can keep up with all this work? At this rate, maybe I’ll graduate before you will.”
Rolling my eyes at him, I ignored the rib just like he ignored my comment.
Once a week, he collected a stack of assignments for me from my teachers at school so that I could graduate at the end of the semester. The arrangement was unconventional, but it would work. I was taking some additional advanced courses to get ahead in college. Also, the extra work kept my mind off of . . . things.
Staying busy helped me get through each day. And as much as I feigned annoyance, seeing James so alive and vibrant pulled me out of my shell.
My little brother had grown since I last saw him. Even though he was several years younger, he was now almost a half-foot taller than me, and if I had to guess from the way he was starting to fill out and his outgoing personality, getting to be popular with the ladies—but he still had a great head on his shoulders. I was proud of him . . . not that I planned on telling him that anytime soon. The last thing the boy needed was an ego boost.
He plopped down in the chair next to me. “So,” he began, “you planning on going to the Homecoming dance next week?”
I laughed out loud. “Um, yeah, no. Not in a million years.”
“Aw, come on. It’s what all the cool kids are doing these days.” James’s cheesy pout was way overdone, and he knew it.
I shoved him lightly.
“You’re weird, you know that?”
“Yep. Proud of it,” he quipped.
“Yeah, I can tell. So, which lucky lady are you escorting this year?”
He tapped a finger on his lips as if considering. “So many choices. Maybe I’ll keep my options open and go stag.”
“Maybe I’ll go after all . . . as a chaperone.”
His face puckered as if he sucked on a lemon. “Way not cool, sis. I can’t be seen consorting with the enemy. I’ve got a rep to uphold.”
I shook my head. I knew James didn’t care about any of that. This was just his way of trying to get a smile on my face . . . and his antics were working.
“I didn’t realize it was so hard to convince people you’re a dork. It’s super obvious to me.”
“Ouch, that really hurt.”
“I’m sure it did.”
James tilted his head and considered me for a moment. The scrutiny made me uncomfortable. “You know,” he finally began, “there will probably be a lot of your old friends home that weekend. Why don’t you see if one of them wants to go with you?”
“You’re actually serious.”
He shrugged. “Who doesn’t want to relive the high school glory years?”
Most people, I thought.
“Who knows, it may be fun for you, even if for a laugh.”
Oh gosh, he was serious.
“Which parent put you up to this?” I’d been home several months, and although I’d been doing better—I only cried myself to sleep most nights now—I wasn’t the same Audrey my family was used to. They’d brought up counseling and I’d refused, but I knew they were worried about me. We also never talked about everything I’d confessed to Logan’s family and half the hospital that da
y. I wasn’t sure if they were just hoping it had been an isolated moment of insanity or if they were worried that bringing it up would break me. They handled me like I was made of china these days.
If they only knew. I’d been to Hell and back. I was made from tougher stuff than that.
But at the same time, I recognized the dark edges of depression that threatened to crush me every day. I just wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone besides myself.
“Neither,” James went on. “This was 100 percent my brilliant idea.”
“Well, in that case . . . the answer is still no.”
“I guess I should take down that Instagram pic of your face announcing that you’re looking for a hot date then.”
My breath caught. “You wouldn’t.”
Oh, but he would. That’s why I was suddenly very nervous.
“Wouldn’t I?” He jumped out of his seat and started to run for the stairs, yelling as he went, “If I take it down fast enough, I guess you’ll never know either way.”
“You’re a brat,” I screamed at him.
“I know,” he yelled back.
I was too old to be fighting with my brother like we were five-year-olds. I grabbed my phone off the table and opened my Instagram app. That brat had like 4,000 followers. I was going to kill him if he had really plastered a pic of me on there.
I tapped my finger on the side of the phone while I waited for the app to open and then quickly went to his page. I didn’t see any pictures of me, and I didn’t really want to know if he’d just deleted me a moment before I jumped. Not many things humiliated me these days, but that would probably do it.
But . . . he was right. For the first time since I’d arrived home, a lot of my old friends and former classmates probably would be in town. Most had left home this past fall to go to college, but homecoming was a big deal in my town and often attracted a good number of alumni to watch the game.
I’d hardly talked to anyone from my old life since waking up in the hospital out west. At first it was because my motor skills didn’t really allow me to communicate well, and then after a while, I kind of lost interest. I had a few girlfriends I still kept up with to some extent, but the effort was halfhearted on all sides.