Ripple Effect

by J. Bengtsson

  “Eh, you’re fine. You’ve had a rough few days. Besides, I was somewhat flattered. No one’s mistaken me for a porn star in forty years.”

  I laughed, the effort of which caused sweeping pain to extend outward to every extremity. Even my missing foot ached.

  “Oh god,” I groaned. “Was I hit by a freight train?”

  “From what I hear, close. Want my advice? Tell them it hurts before you feel pain. Make ’em keep on top of the morphine regime.”

  “You seem to speak from experience.”

  “I was a teenager in the sixties.”

  This woman’s spunk reminded me of another: Dani, my unsung hero.

  “Hey, has there been a woman in here with me? I mean not the bitchy one… someone nice.”

  “Nice?” she replied. “No, nothing nice had been on that side of the curtain that I’ve heard.”

  So, where was she? A moment of panic gripped me. Had she even made it out of the parking garage? I struggled to recall the details of those final minutes. The tourniquet Dani had tied around my shin. She’d grabbed my hand, the one with the knife. Our eyes locked. We both understood the gravity of what was about to happen, and we went into it with the naivety of first-time surgeons. It would be rough—that much we knew—but because my foot was already numb after hours of being crushed under a concrete block, I’d figured that would act as a sort of anesthesia.

  Those first cuts proved me oh, so wrong. I wasn’t numb, not even close. The pain was unreal, cutting through cartilage and bone. Torture, pure torture. I’d made it nearly the entire way through before my hand began to shake and my vision to blur. Just a few more cuts, but I couldn’t go on. The knife dropped to the ground. Dani picked it up and tried wrapping it back into my fingers. But I was too far gone, my head swimming from the pain. I implored her to finish the job. Dani. So brave. So beautiful and so brave. She didn’t want to, of course, but she did it anyway. For me.

  I remembered being cut free and her wrapping the stump. I even remembered her helping me walk with the crutch… and then there was a complete blackout. How had I gotten out of there? And where the hell was Dani? After what she had done for me, there was no way that woman was sitting idly by, waiting for an invitation.

  Something wasn’t right. What could possibly be the reason Dani wasn’t here? She’d made it clear by her actions that she’d stop at nothing to be there for me, so why wasn’t she? I tapped into the rising panic. Could she be lying in a hospital bed herself? Had Dani been hiding her injuries from me, just as I done to her?

  But then I realized there was a far simpler explanation for why Dani hadn’t breached ICU protocol to be by my side, an explanation that even the curtain lady had called.

  If your mom is Satan…

  It all became clear. The reason Dani wasn’t here was because the Grim Reaper had gotten to her first.

  “Are you the singer everyone’s talking about?” the woman next door asked, clearly already knowing the answer to that.

  Her question barely fazed me. I was used to being the singer everyone was talking about… or at least I had been before I’d disappeared from the public eye five months ago. But usually when someone asked me that question, it was with stars in their eyes and was referring to some kick-ass accomplishment of mine… not for being stuck like a roly-poly in a crack in the sidewalk.

  By keeping me relevant in the eyes of the internet, Dani had essentially guaranteed an interest in my plight. Why wouldn’t the media jump all over this story? It had everything they salivated over: fame, pain, and an arrogant celebrity being knocked down to size.

  “Probably,” I replied. “What are they saying?”

  “Pretty much the same thing over and over and over.”

  “That sounds about right. Do they know about the amputation?”

  “People in the far corners of Antarctica know about the amputation. It’s all over the news. I had surgery two days after you’d been brought into the ICU, so I was fairly surprised to be wheeled up right next to you. Even more surprised that you were still intubated and unconscious—three days after the quake. From what I heard, it was a bit touch and go for a while there.”

  “Because of my foot?”

  “No. That’s the least of your problems. The pressure on your ribs from the concrete actually partially collapsed your lung, and they had to artificially inflate it, or something like that. You’re also being treating for a possible infection. Doctors haven’t ruled out pneumonia yet.”

  All of this information was new to me, told to me by the faceless cancer patient next door. “You sure have an ear for detail.”

  “Thank you. I try to stay crisp in the mind by playing sudoku.”

  How nice for her.

  “While I appreciate the insider information,” I replied, “isn’t it like a federal offense to listen in on someone’s medical history?”

  “No. What you’re talking about is doctor-patient privilege. But what we’ve got going on here is called patient-to-patient privilege.”

  “Ah, got it.”

  “And I wasn’t eavesdropping. I just have good hearing.”

  “Great. I get the one senior citizen with supersonic hearing.”

  “And a good memory,” she added.

  “Because of the sudoku?”

  “That’s right. Do you want to hear about the rest of your injuries?”

  “There’s more?”

  “Oh yes. Much more,” she replied with an almost gleeful undertone. “In addition to the partially collapsed lung, you have multiple rib fractures, an amputated foot that they shaped in surgery for future prosthetics, various crush injuries, and because you bled into your lungs, you had to have a transfusion.”

  I sat there a moment, taking it all in. With all that going on inside me, how had I survived in there as long as I did?

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” the busybody next door said. “But I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

  “No,” I agreed. “You don’t. Hey, what’s your name?”

  “Sue.”

  “Sue? Isn’t that appropriate? I figure I have a pretty good case against you for listening in on my personal medical history.”

  “Again—not a crime to have good hearing. Besides, it’s not my fault your life plays like a soap opera.”

  No, she was right about that. I’d been doused in drama my whole life. My eyes began to feel heavy.

  “Is there anything else I need to know, Sue, or can I take a nap now?”

  Silence. Okay, that was weird.

  “Sue?”

  “Uh, nope. Nothing else.”

  The way she said it indicated that there was, indeed, something else she wasn’t telling me.

  “I know you’re lying to me. What is it?”

  There was a long pause before she replied. “I shouldn’t say. It’s not my place.”

  “None of my business has been your place, but that hasn’t stopped you before.”

  “Okay, look. Just a little piece of advice from an old gal with plenty of life experience. Get yourself a better support system.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It wasn’t just the doctors I overheard. I also listened in on your mother talking on the phone. Your father and brothers are on their way from Idaho. Apparently, your mom flew out first, and there was some…”

  She hesitated.

  “Some what?”

  “Some debate over whether the others would follow.”

  “What was the debate about?”

  “Well, your dad—I could hear him talking through the phone—he wanted to… um… he… um…”

  My face fell flat. Whatever she had to say I wasn’t going to like. “Spit it out, Sue.”

  “He wanted to take a wait and see approach,” she blurted out.

  A twitch formed in one eye. “Wait for what?”

  “To see if you were going to survive first, because he didn’t want to fly out to California twice—you know, like once to s
ay goodbye and again for the funeral. Kill two birds with one stone, he’d said.”

  Two birds with one stone? My jaw dropped.

  “It’s an hour and forty-eight-minute flight!” I screeched, my voice taking on the squeakiness of a prepubescent boy. “He’s waited longer in the line to get gas at Costco.”

  “It gets worse.”

  The monitor beside my head started beeping faster. “How can it get worse than my own father skipping straight to the memorial service?”

  “Uh… your brothers only agreeing to come if your mom threw in a trip to Six Flags?”

  What the ever-loving fuck? I dropped back into my bed, hurt and confused. I mean, I knew they’d never liked me, but I hadn’t realized the extent of the animosity between us. I suppose I’d figured paying their way for six years and giving them a roof over their heads would buy me some favor with them, but no. When I’d needed their support most, my brothers had traded my life for the Drop of fucking Doom.

  Sue’s voice cut through the silence. “I don’t understand how they can be so cruel.”

  Her and me both.

  “I’m sorry, RJ. I should never have said anything. The pain meds they have me on are like a truth serum.”

  “No. You should have. At least now I know what I’m up against.”

  “Don’t let them get you down. I can tell just by talking to you that you’re better than that family of yours.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “You’re special, RJ. You were spared when a whole lot of others weren’t. Did you know that the building collapsed less than an hour after you were pulled out?”

  The shock of her words rendered me speechless.

  “You were the last one to get out alive. If you ask me, you’ve got an angel on your shoulder.”

  No. I didn’t have an angel on my shoulder. I had Dani Malone.

  I owed my life to her. Unlike my father, Dani hadn’t taken a ‘wait and see’ approach to my survival. She’d come back for me when no one else did. She’d cut me free, wrapping her arm around my waist and helping me hobble toward the exit. And then when I collapsed to the ground, Dani had somehow gotten me to the exit. That was devotion. That was family. That was the woman I wanted to create a whole new life with.

  I remembered the promise I’d made to myself in the garage just before I took the knife to my ankle: no more playing the victim. I’d get through this and I’d come out stronger on the other side. Suddenly those extra two inches of leg lost didn’t matter anymore. It would be a rough road ahead, but nothing I couldn’t handle. My family might not think so, but I’d proved my worth to myself, and nothing they said or did from this point forward would ever change that.

  If they wanted war, then I’d give them war.

  “Are you all right?” Sue asked. “Now I feel bad.”

  “Don’t. You’ve given me the clarity I needed.”

  “You know… I have a big, loving family. We always have room for one more.”

  I smiled at Sue’s offer. A stranger was offering me refuge, something my own family refused to give. And that only solidified my resolve. Oh, yeah—my next of kin were going down.

  “I might just take you up on that, Sue.”

  I was somewhat disappointed that my own personal secretary hadn’t warned me about the trip down to radiology to get a CT scan of my lungs. Nor did she give me a heads-up on the phlebotomist, who took some of that precious borrowed blood that had been pumped back into my veins. By the time I returned to my curtained room, I was eager to get any new intel from my neighbor.

  “You awake?” I asked.

  There was no response. I tried again. “Sue?”

  Julio entered the room. “She’s gone.”

  The blood drained from my face. I did not have a good track record with my elderly best friends lately. “She died?”

  “No. She was moved to a room.”

  “Oh.” I actually gripped my chest in relief. “Jesus. You scared me. Did she leave anything for me?”

  “Why would she leave anything for you?”

  Good question. What exactly could she leave me, other than a parting medical diagnosis or another backstabbing story about my shitty family?

  “No reason,” I said. “Hey, what’s her last name?”

  “I can’t give you that information. It’s patient…”

  “Confidentiality… Yeah, I know.”

  Where was that discretion when the bat-eared next-door neighbor was getting her material for a tell-all exposé? Not that I was upset our paths had crossed. Like Albert, I was convinced Sue had been dropped into my life for a reason. It was like having two geriatric angels to guide me through my very own whacked-out version of It’s A Wonderful Life.

  “I tell you what,” Julio said in the cheeky way of a dude with some game. “If I see her, I’ll tell her to call you.”

  I laughed. “You do that.”

  Is he here?

  I could hear the shrieking bouncing off the sterile ICU walls. It was my mother and she sounded pissed.

  Julio’s brows rose. He glanced at me, looking terrified.

  I gave him a curt nod. “Welcome to my world, dude.”

  21

  RJ: Mommy Dearest

  Sometimes the best approach was to go in full throttle. Take the opposition by surprise. So when my mother flung the white curtain aside like some C-list actress, I was ready to pounce.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she said, playing the doting mother role. “They said you were awake.”

  She was met by my blank stare. “What did you do to Dani?”

  My mother blinked. “Dani? I don’t know any Dani.”

  “Sure you do. She’d be the one all up in your face demanding to see me.”

  Her expression shifted and hardened.

  “Where is she?”

  “This is an ICU, RJ. Only family is allowed.”

  “Says who?”

  “The hospital.”

  “Then let me speak to someone in charge. If they knew what she’s done for me, they’ll let her in.”

  Mom was silent.

  “Fine. I’ll ask Julio to contact management for me.”

  “They won’t come.”

  “I’m a freakin’ celebrity, Mom. Trust me, they’ll come.”

  My mother looked down at her phone, appearing almost bored with my boastful declaration. “Maybe they would come if you called the shots, but you don’t, so they won’t.”

  “What are you talking about? If I don’t call the shots, who does?”

  “Remember way back when you were eighteen years old and heading off on your first AnyDayNow tour? The band handlers wanted all of you to assign someone medical power of attorney, just in case something were to happen on the road like a bus accident or something. Do you remember who you granted that power to?”

  “No. But I’m assuming by that greedy look on you face that it was you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So what? I’m an adult now.”

  “Eighteen is an adult, RJ. You signed that legally binding document as an adult and never rescinded it. I still have medical power of attorney, and I say Dani can’t come in to see you. Period.”

  My eyes narrowed in on her. “You really want to play this game with me?”

  “It’s no game. I’m looking out for your best interest, and Dani is not it.”

  “And you are? Renato is? Luis and Manny are?”

  “That’s right, RJ. We’re your family. She’s not.”

  “Uh-huh. Tell me… where are they?”

  I saw the slightest flinch in her poker face. “They’re on their way.”

  “It’s been three days. What’s the holdup? From what the doc said, it was touch and go there for a while. Weren’t they worried I’d be dead before they could get here?”

  “What exactly are you asking me?”

  “You know exactly what I’m asking. Why couldn’t my father and brothers be bothered to come when I was teeteri
ng on the edge? I mean, I do finance their existence, so it would seem to their benefit to make an appearance… unless, of course, they were waiting for me to die.”

  “Stop being an arrogant jerk. They work and can’t just drop everything last minute to rush to your side.”

  “They don’t work for pay!”

  She glared at me. “Is it such a burden for you to provide for your family when you have millions to spare? How selfish are you?”

  “That house you live in? I pay for it. That car you drive? Came from me. Hell, even your haircut came from my bankroll, so don’t you dare talk to me about being selfish.”

  “And you always make us feel guilty, don’t you, RJ?”

  “Maybe if you’d treated me like a human being growing up, I wouldn’t feel it was such a burden to support people who hate me.”

  “We don’t hate you.”

  “Really? How stupid do you think I am? Get out!”

  She stood and stomped out of the room.

  I called to her retreating frame. “And I want Dani in here by the end of the hour.”

  ---

  Dani never showed, and now my mother and I were beyond rational conversation. We’d each picked our side, and it was all-out war. Even the doctors got involved, pleading with her to keep from agitating me in my fragile state, but it was no use. Just seeing her face was enough to raise my blood pressure. Had she conceded defeat, maybe, but since our argument, she’d doubled down on her authority, going so far as forbidding me from even accessing a phone to call a lawyer who could whip me up a new contract and get me out of this mess. I was literally a prisoner of my own stupidity. How could I not have foreseen a massive earthquake crushing me to an inch of my life the day I’d signed that contract as an eighteen-year-old idiot?

  I needed help—someone who’d come to my rescue, like Bodhi or Hunter. Or a goddamn exorcist. Actually, never mind. None of those were powerful enough to take on Heather. What I really needed was someone like Tucker Beckett—who wasn’t actually Tucker Beckett. Because I hated that dude. Maybe I should rehire Roland Akers. Yeah, Roland. Now that guy was awesome; would do anything I asked. Although maybe that was the problem and partially why I’d ended up at the apartment in the first place. I needed someone to rein me in—tell me to slow down and confront me when I was wrong. That was not Roland Akers. As a Hollywood player, sure, he was one of the best, but he wasn’t right for this particular challenge. No way could Roland take on my mother and live to talk about it.