by P. D. Cacek
The nurse nodded and sat down. “And think about getting a cell phone.”
“Oh, I will think about it, Mrs. Huff,” Millie said as she turned and began walking away. “I surely will.”
Millie passed another set of doctors and two nurses, all of whom smiled and nodded as she walked down the hall to the conference room. Room A was small and cozy, the walls painted a soft yellow and decorated with pictures of summer fields and flowers. The white table might have been a bit too large for the room, but the chairs looked comfortable enough to keep a person’s backside content no matter how long a meeting lasted.
After closing the door behind her, Millie took the chair farthest from the door and opened the chart. She hadn’t even gotten through the first page when there was a knock and the door opened. A young woman wearing a bright green apron over a pink top and white slacks walked in holding a tray.
“Ms. B.? Nurse Huff thought you might like these.” The girl smiled and put down a tall green-and-white cup of steaming black coffee and a plate the size of a serving platter piled with two enormous cinnamon rolls, dripping icing. “To keep up your strength.”
“Thank you.” Millie smiled back at the girl. “And thank Mrs. Huff for me.”
“I will. Enjoy!”
Millie leaned back and looked at the bounty before her.
She had a feeling it wasn’t going to be enough.
* * *
Eva folded her hands across the purse in her lap and made every effort to appear she was hanging on each and every word Mr. Dahms, the authorized representative of the Coalition for Traveler Protective Services (CTPS), was saying.
If she didn’t listen and nod at the appropriate times, she knew she’d never be able to bring her son home.
Everything up to this point, after introductions had been made and Dr. Groundling excused herself from the proceedings, had focused on the list of requirements, obligations, care and rights that were guaranteed to each Traveler, regardless of race, gender, creed or past servitude, under the law.
Nothing was said about her rights as the potential caregiver.
At least she appeared to be paying attention to what the representative was saying; her husband wasn’t even trying. He’d been in the same position since taking the chair next to hers: slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped between them, and staring at the floor in what he must have thought conveyed the perfect picture of a mourning father.
When Mr. Dahms asked them if they thought they were strong enough, emotionally, to handle the situation, Eva’d had to nudge a response out of her husband.
“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah.”
“We can do this,” Eva said. “It will be a blessing.”
She wondered if that had been a bit too much when Mr. Dahms frowned.
“I won’t lie to you, Mr. and Mrs. Steinar,” he said, “it will be hard living with and caring for a stranger…a complete stranger who only looks like your son.”
“I understand,” Eva said. “Curtis is…. Curtis was a genius, Mr. Dahms, and I know this subject fascinated him.”
This seemed to be exactly what the representative wanted to hear, even though it was a complete and utter lie. She didn’t know how Curtis had felt about the Travelers or even if he knew they existed. He was a genius and people, even people who came back from the dead, probably wouldn’t have interested him.
Curtis was dead.
Her son was dead, but if the Traveler inside his body came back then it stood to reason Curtis could too. He was a genius – not only could he come back, but he’d figure out a way to come back to his own body.
All she had to do was keep his body safe until he returned.
“There is nothing harder than losing a loved one, especially a child. You have my deepest condolences.” Mr. Dahms opened the file that he’d set down on the desk when the meeting started and took out a folded pamphlet, holding it out toward them. Eva nudged her husband until he sat up and took the pamphlet, then handed it to her.
The cover showed a beach at sunset with a lone figure, silhouetted by the setting sun, staring out to sea, an upturned sand pail at its feet. Eva couldn’t tell if the figure was male or female, but perhaps that was intentional. The initials CTPS were written in script in the lower right-hand corner.
“This will give you a brief listing of the options and services available both to you and the Traveler, including a twenty-four-hour help line. Many of our Homecare Families find it extremely helpful to be able to talk to an advisor during those first few critical days of adjustment. Has the hospital talked to you about grief counseling?”
“Yes,” Eva said. Her husband nodded.
“Please consider taking advantage of that service, it will help. May I ask how old your son was, Mrs. Steinar?”
“Nineteen. He’ll be twenty in August.”
Maybe he’d come back then; he always loved his birthday parties.
Mr. Dahms was nodding.
“Did you say something?”
“Yes, I said that since eighteen is considered the age of majority,” he said, “Curtis is an adult in the eyes of the law. We don’t have the chronological age of the Traveler yet, but your son’s age can be taken into consideration if you chose, at any time, to relinquish your responsibilities as stipulated under the Travelers Act of 2019, Section 5-C, which would immediately give full control back to the Traveler. Do you understand?”
They both nodded.
“Good. Now, I want to make this last point clear and assure you that even if you agree and sign the documents, we take the emotional well-being and need of the bereaved into just as much consideration as we do the welfare of the Traveler.”
Her husband wiped his eyes with a tissue. “I don’t understand.”
“It means we can bring him back,” Eva said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Dahms?”
“Exactly.”
Her husband shifted in his chair. “Where would he go?”
The man handed her husband another full-color pamphlet. This one showed a bird’s-eye view of a sprawling campus set among rolling autumn hills. It reminded Eva of the college brochures she’d ordered every year for Curtis.
“This is Initium Novum just outside New Hope,” Mr. Dahms said. “Initium Novum means New Beginnings and is a residential, fully accredited institution of learning that provides the adult Traveler with the skills he or she will need in order to fully adjust to their new environment.”
“What if they’re just kids…inside, I mean?”
“We integrate them into a general school population. Children are resilient.”
Eva nodded. But not geniuses.
Her husband was studying the pamphlet. “How big a place is it? It looks huge.”
“Initium Novum has fifty-three resident units, each capable of accommodating between one hundred and two hundred occupants, a staff of 2,240 and a number of day students, but I’m afraid I don’t have the current number. The original building and land was bequeathed to us by a patron.”
“A Traveler?” Eva asked.
“Her family, yes.”
“Of course.”
“And they…the Travelers live there?” her husband asked.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“There is no time limit, Mr. Steinar. They can stay as long as they need to, although we’ve had quite a few leave us after completing a degree. We also have a network of off-campus residential facilities throughout Bucks and Berks Counties should a Traveler desire to leave the campus but remain apart from society.”
Her husband handed her the pamphlet.
“Looks nice,” he said. “Doesn’t it, Eva?”
“Yes, but we’ll be taking him home.”
“But this might be something to consider.”
Eva handed the pamphlet back to the
representative. “He’s coming home.”
“But he’s not Curtis, Eva.”
Eva turned to her husband with tears in her eyes. Curtis would have known she wasn’t really crying, that the sobs catching in her throat weren’t real, but he was a genius and could see through obvious manipulation. He hadn’t taken after his father.
She let a tear fall. “I know, but it’s someone’s son.”
Mr. Dahms stood up. “Perhaps I should leave you two alone for a moment.”
“No, no…Eva’s right, it’s…he’s somebody’s son and he’s alone, but—” Her husband had to clear his throat twice. Eva sniffed. “Curtis suffered from schizophrenia and, um, was on medication. What are the chances he, the Traveler, will be the same way? Not that we wouldn’t take him, I mean, but….”
Mr. Dahms sat down. “I’m afraid I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Dr. Groundling about that. I’m sorry.”
“Of course.”
Eva took her husband’s hand. “But we can take him home, can’t we?”
Mr. Dahms smiled. She was making his job easy. “Yes, once Dr. Groundling releases him.”
She returned the smile. “Can we see him?”
“Soon, Mrs. Steinar. Very soon,” Mr. Dahms said and stopped smiling. “There is one other thing I should mention about him….”
* * *
9:42 a.m.
Jessie stared at the ceiling square directly over her head without blinking. She’d been staring at it or the one next to it or the one on the other side of it since she woke up, because that’s all she was able to do.
Stare.
She couldn’t move because they’d strapped her to the bed to keep her from pulling out her IVs. They said. All she could do was stare at the ceiling tiles and keep quiet, because if she opened its mouth she would start screaming and they’d knock her out again.
But she’d see it…the reflection in the glass of a boy about her age, thin, almost bony, his face all red and greasy, with brown hair slicked back and green eyes.
Her eyes staring back at her from someone else’s face.
Her eyes, but not her body.
Oh God.
Jessie squeezed her eyes shut until all she could see were reverse-color ceiling tiles, white dots on a dark gray background melting beneath flashes of yellow and purple.
Someone came in and stopped next to the bed. She could feel them watching her. Jessie kept her eyes closed and pretended to be asleep until they left. They kept coming in to make sure she hadn’t somehow clawed apart the restraints and gotten away.
Or killed herself.
Again.
Jessie opened her eyes and made the mistake of licking her lips before she remembered they weren’t hers. She had to swallow hard to keep from puking whatever the body had eaten last. Not, if the reflection was accurate, that its original owner had been much of an eater.
God, I really am one of them.
It took two more swallows before Jessie felt safe to lift the head until she had a more or less unobstructed view of the body.
Not that there was much to see.
A blanket covered the body from the broad, flat plain of the chest – she never thought she’d feel sorry about losing the 32Bs – to the twin mountain peaks – God, are those the feet? – at the far end of the bed. The body was skinny and long…very long. Jessie couldn’t tell what that might mean in height but she knew it was taller than she was.
Had been.
She’d always wanted to be tall, but not like this.
Turning the head, Jessie lifted the right arm as far as the padded restraint would allow. Big hand, long fingers, long, thin, hairy arm, burned to the color of rare meat and glistening under some kind of sunburn cream. Jessie recognized the smell.
The neck was beginning to complain, but Jessie ignored it and curled the fingers of the hand into a fist. She could feel the short, smooth nails dig into the skin of the palm as she tightened it.
Not her skin.
Not her nails.
Not her hand.
But would it be her blood if the nails broke the skin?
“Oh, you’re awake.”
The head hit the pillow as a nurse in blue scrubs walked over to the bed and smiled.
“How do you feel?”
“I came back.” The voice almost sounded like hers but not really. Not her voice. Not her body. Not her life.
The nurse’s smile went straight. “Did someone talk to you?”
Jessie raised the hand closest to the nurse. “Help me?”
Reaching over the bedrails, she took the hand.
“What do you need?” the nurse said, then gasped when Jessie closed the hand and squeezed. “Stop it. You’re hurting me.”
“One body. One soul.”
“What?”
Jessie made the hand squeeze harder. “Kill me.”
“Ow! Stop, you’re hurting me! Code Gray! Code Gray!”
A man in green scrubs came in and grabbed the hand, prying the fingers back, gently but firmly. One of the knuckles cracked and Jessie yelped more at the sound than the sensation. It didn’t hurt, but she felt it.
The man pressed the hand back to the mattress and held it there. “Stop it. Come on, just relax.”
Jessie filled the lungs and let go. “Kill me! Kill me! Please. I don’t want this! I’m supposed to be dead.” Jessie looked at the nurse. She was cradling her injured hand against her chest. “Please, kill me.”
The orderly or doctor or whatever he was put most of his weight against the hand as he reached over Jessie’s head and pressed a button on the wall. “Code Gray, Room 213.”
A moment later other faces rushed toward the bed and the room filled with voices layered one on top of the other.
“1.5mg bentazepam. Stat.”
“Do you have him?”
“Her.”
“Kill me!”
“Calm down. It’s okay.”
“Somebody talked to him.”
“One body.”
“Her name’s Jessica.”
“One soul!”
“Jessica, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”
A familiar warmth raced up Jessie’s arm and the room began to fade.
“Please….” Kill me.
* * *
Millie set the empty plate down on the station’s raised counter and handed back the chart. She’d finished off the coffee when she was only halfway through.
The nurse took the chart and put it back in its holder.
“Well?”
Millie nodded. “Well. Is Jessica Faith awake yet?”
The nurse took a little too long to answer. “I think it might be best if you came back later.”
A part of Millie wanted to plant herself in front of the desk and not budge until she got to speak to the Newcomer, but the other part was more than a little relieved. This Newcomer wasn’t like any of the others she’d met and Lord knows she wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was worried. She was more than worried about what she was going to say to Miss Jessica Faith and how she was going to say it. A wrong word or sideways glance and she could cause more harm than help. Being given more time to think about it was a blessing.
Millie smiled at the nurse.
“That’ll be fine, but do you think I could make a call before I left, Mrs. Huff? I’m afraid it’s to California.”
The nurse didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow as she punched a button on the desk phone/intercom and handed Millie the receiver.
“That won’t be a problem,” she said and stood up. “Take your time. I have to check on the patients.”
Millie punched in the eleven-digit cipher without thinking about it. Memorizing numbers had come almost as easy as learning to drive.
“Millie!” The voi
ce on the other end of the telephone line yawned, but otherwise sounded honestly happy.
“Oh, Lord, I forgot about the time. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Not a problem, not a –” yawn “– problem. I need to get up in a few minutes anyway.” Millie suddenly heard the sound of an alarm going off in the background. “See, what did I tell you? I’m up. What’s up, kid?”
“It’s my newest case, Dr. Ellison. I think I might need your help.”
Chapter Twenty
June 24
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania
“What are you doing, Eva?”
Eva pressed her hands against the small of her back as she stood up and ignored the snap-crackle-pop sounds her spine made as it realigned itself. She wasn’t sure a fifty-eight-year-old spine should sound like breakfast cereal, but she had worked it a bit more than it was normally used to.
Glancing at the atomic clock on Curtis’s desk, she laughed out loud. It was after five and she’d started on the room right after lunch. No wonder her spine had snapped, crackled and popped.
“Eva, I asked you a question.”
Eva let her hands fall to her side and turned. “Brain surgery, Allan, I’m performing brain surgery. What does it look like I’m doing?”
Her husband filled the doorway as he surveyed the room. He must have just gotten home from work because he was still wearing a grimy company polo shirt. God, how could he ever have helped produce a genius like Curtis?
“I thought we decided to get new things.”
“Why would we do that? These are perfectly good.”
“But they look just like…. I thought we decided it was just going to be a guest room.”
“And it is,” Eva said, “but our guest is a young man who might like to have young men’s things around him. And you know Curtis was always tinkering with one thing or another.”
Her husband walked into the room slowly, looking at everything as if he expected something to jump out at him.
“But it’s not…. Eva, you heard what Mr. Dahms said. This…the Traveler isn’t a boy…inside. It’s…. Her name’s Jessica.”