With daylight gone the ICU took on the weight of evening. The artificial light from above seemed almost as false as the hopes of some who were wheeled through the doors. Apollo, always one to follow his instincts, was decidedly unsettled by the lack of personnel. He never stepped into the individual rooms out of respect for the patients and their visitors. But something didn’t feel right. He had to know if at least one nurse was in Room G. So he sauntered past the room and tried to peer through the creeping darkness.
Apollo saw movement—and not from the patient.
TIMING, AS AN internal measure, can be the result of sheer happenstance, practiced control, or a sleight of fate—but it is always a link in our chain of experience.
The elevator doors opened onto the first floor lobby, now bathed in the soft whiteness of scattered fluorescent lighting. Four riders entered its belly: Jodi and Alina Roose, Catherine Doxie, and the hint of balance they felt after their visit to the birth ward. Though each woman knew for certain what lay only minutes ahead they stepped a little lighter with full stomachs and the brief but refreshing intimation of renewal.
As the chime sounded its arrival at the third floor Apollo Clayton was somewhere between a walk and jog-step as he approached the elevators. He muttered to himself and cast his eyes in every possible direction, gesturing wildly as he went. The down arrow lit up above the doors as they slid open and three women began their exit.
Apollo stumbled backward, startled by the abrupt shriek that shattered his inattention. Jodi Roose threw her hands back and only narrowly missed busting her daughter’s lip behind her as the trio held their ground between elevator and floor level. Chrome doors attempted to slide closed but retracted due to the bodies blocking its path. Apollo recovered quickly and immediately brought Apollo sunshine to the fore.
“Ladies, I am so sorry. You all alright?” Stepping aside he motioned for them to move out of the elevator with a graceful sweep of his arm. Jodi looked over her shoulders and received visual confirmation from the girls’ nods. “Yes, I believe we’re fine.”.
Apollo’s face fractured into a wide grin. “Ma’am,” he said, turning to Jodi, “you have got some serious lungs!” He snapped his fingers loudly in front of his face. “You snapped me right out of my little world. Good thing, too. Would have been a shame to miss the prettiest things on this floor since those flowers came last night.” Two of them smiled. Catherine rolled her eyes.
“Say, you’re the lady from Room G, right?” he asked Jodi.
“Uh, yes. Why?”
“And these creatures behind you must be your sisters.” She blew past his attempted flattery. “Is there something going on in the room?” Almost immediately the determined Apollo Clayton returned.
He whipped his arm toward the ICU. “That crazy nurse is back in the room,” he blurted excitedly.. “I gotta find Linda. You seen her?” Jodi shook her head then turned to look at the girls. They were two steps removed already. “No, we haven’t,” she stated, then hurried away without waiting for further explanation. Apollo frowned, cheated out of telling his side of the story to a new audience. He considered warning her as she walked away then thought it better to continue his search for Linda, so he took off in the opposite direction.
* * *
THE CUSHION OF air preceding them through the ICU doors and into Room G dissipated like a dandelion in a stiff breeze. A solitary nurse was bent over the bed at Hagren’s side, her dishwater-blonde bangs hanging over the rim of her glasses. She appeared to be checking bandages and various tubes that snaked over and about the patient. Jodi and the girls exchanged confused glances. Apollo had been right, a nurse was in the room—but “crazy”? Before anyone could summon a plan to test his wobbly theory the nurse turned and faced them with a smile.
“You must be Jodi,” she said warmly, extending her hand. “Nice to finally meet you. And this must be Alina and—give me a second,” she paused only for a moment until recollection brightened her face, “Catherine. Am I right?” The three women traded the same stare hopeful that the other could answer the question each was thinking. “I thought so,” she finished with a soft smile. She turned back around and made a minor show of straightening out the bed sheet and draping tubes out of harm’s way. Jodi began to raise her hand to speak but didn’t get far.
“I do believe he’s coming around,” said the nurse. “Has anyone counseled you regarding post-coma life for, well, for everyone really?” Her words came slightly quicker without any loss of kindness or compassion. Three sets of eyes were affixed to her presence. “I had a hunch not.” She waved Jodi to the bedside chair, which was politely declined.
“For those of us holding vigil over a comatose patient the state of uncertainty is frightening and omnipresent.” The nurse brushed her bangs aside and looked directly at Catherine. “For the patient, though, a coma can sometimes be alembic” Cath appeared to suddenly snap to, as if breaking out of a hazy daydream. “Alembic?” she asked.
“Sorry. Occupational hazard,” she quipped. “I mean, for some coma patients their return, if you will, is often described as purifying or transformative.” Again, the prodding look in Catherine’s direction. “’Alembic’ is a term we use instead.”
Catherine’s face exposed the narrative that was playing out in her head. Electrical impulses shot across synapses as letters formed into words faster than an eyelid could blink, The nurse’s words hung like a beckoning apparition, a chemical net which sought to trap just the right passing messengers. Cath’s eyes dropped down, not looking at anything in particular but rather allowing a greater shift of resources to the puzzle at hand.
Her eyes lit up. That was it—the puzzle!
As Catherine fumbled in her purse for the puzzle book the nurse calmly withdrew, from the drawer of the nightstand, a small piece of scratch paper, no bigger than her palm. She and Catherine simultaneously grabbed their pens and began writing—Cath filling in the empty boxes between a and c for the word that had eluded her all day and the nurse jotting a short message then folding the paper twice making sharp, neat creases on the folds. She looked at Alina and Jodi as she stepped toward Catherine.
“Did anyone give you a Glasgow rating for your husband?” Jodi raised an eyebrow.
“Glasgow rating? I’m pretty sure I would have remembered something like that.” The nurse touched Jodi’s forearm gently. “It’s a scale that rates comatose states from 3 to 15. Essentially a 3 is bad news while 15 is closer to a normal person.”
Jodi couldn’t help but motion at Hagren. Her hand moved of its own accord. Part of her was glad her daughter was there to hear these details for herself, the other half wanted to shelter her. “And, what’s his?” The question spun like a developing tornado in her mind, a thick mass of rotating, angry grey; her pulse quickened and stomach clenched. The nurse’s soothing smile did little to calm the brewing storm.
The crisply folded note was laid upon the middle of Catherine’s puzzle book with a whispered admonition that it would be needed later. Cath fought the urge to read it immediately and instead tucked the small note elsewhere in the book then returned to filling in the circles at the bottom of the puzzle. In moments she had every blank filled. No epiphany was triggered, no revelatory satisfaction in the solution. She immediately double checked all her clues and transferred letters—the resulting word, the ultimate solution to the puzzle, didn’t make sense.
Mother and daughter followed the nurse like an eagle tracks a fish under water. After passing her note she walked to the door and retrieved the chart book from the wall caddy hanging just below the hand-sized square with a large blue ‘G’ on it. She flipped past a few pages filled with numbers and line graphs and appeared to study a page loaded with blocks of text. Jodi pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, then withdrew them only to absent mindedly wipe her palms against her legs. Alina reached over and put an arm around her mother’s shoulder.
The nurse looked up at the pair. “He’s been rated at a 14.” She tu
rned the binder toward the two and pointed to a line near the middle. “Odds are excellent he’ll make a good recovery, once he comes out of it, that is.”
“Any idea when that could be?” Alina asked.
“Hard to tell, really. But something tells me it won’t be long.” The room became heavy with an odd sort of reverent silence, mother and daughter staring at the nurse—to look up would have been a conceit of spirit, while looking down would be an equal betrayal of a lingering hope. Jodi fidgeted amid the uneasiness and suddenly recalled their run in with Apollo.
“Your presence in here seems to have the unsettled some of the staff,” Jodi remarked as the nurse returned the binder to its caddy on the outside wall. “You must have met Apollo,” came the reply. “He’s something else, isn’t he?” Jodi and Alina managed half grins. “He’s harmless. Actually very friendly, and seems to be quite protective of the nurses.”
“He seemed a little unglued when he caught us coming out of the elevator.”
“I can’t blame him. I’m something of a foreigner, just here to fill in for a nurse that’s out.” Jodi noticeably relaxed. Her daughter felt the reaction and gave her mother a reassuring squeeze. “I feel a little foolish about the way we rushed in here, I mean, you know, the situation as it is and all.” The apology was as genuine as it was unnecessary. The nurse dismissed it with a wave of her hand.
“It’s not worth thinking about.” She brushed her bangs away from her glasses then extended a hand to both of them. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.” Jodi shook her hand and gave a warm smile. Alina, too, shook her hand, but appeared to narrow her focus upon the nurse, as if attempting to remember an old friend. “Have we met before?” she asked. “You seem kinda familiar.”
The nurse’s broad smile did much to melt away any remainder of tenseness. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”
* * *
LINDA SHELLEY FANNED herself as she walked, her pace a little quicker than usual. Apollo was practically skipping just to keep up; his mouth had run almost as fast since they bumped into each other just outside Radiology. Linda barreled through the stairwell door and puffed as she took the first couple steps up toward the third floor. She could feel tiny beads of sweat forming on her brow.
“Apollo, I told you I was going to Radiology! Becky was there when I left. You know I wouldn’t leave ICU empty.”
“I don’t know where Becky went,” Apollo stated flatly. Linda’s pace had left him winded and only slightly less annoying. “I told you that already!”
All 5’11” of nurse Shelley stomped on the middle landing between second and third floors. Apollo felt the step underfoot shudder. “No, you told me there was somebody there.” Her glare was demanding, almost withering. “Since Becky is the only other nurse on duty then it must have been her.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed heavily—the look of a bull a hair’s width from charging.
Apollo stood his ground. “I know what Becky looks like and I’m telling you that nurse ain’t Becky!” Linda considered a number of replies then spun and began stomping up the next nine steps. Her voice echoed in the stairwell as she loudly admonished Apollo, “This had better be legit, or I’ll make sure you get assigned somewhere else.” He looked down and wisely kept quiet as he followed up the stairs behind her.
* * *
BETWEEN THEIR DEPARTURE for dinner and the recent departure of the nurse Room G had transformed from a dreary fulcrum of balance between death and uncertainty to a small refuge of hope and lighter moods. Alina had sat quietly in the bedside chair absorbing the difference in ambiance. She watched her mother retrieve the clipboard just outside the room and carefully read each page, and wondered how much of it made sense. Of the three women present certainly her mother had the best shot at understanding the many notes, marks, circles, lines, and scribbles given her recent spate of visitation. Catherine’s detachment involved a seeming point-by-point, word-by-word replay of her crossword puzzle, her pen having danced and flitted about the page as it retraced lines created earlier in the day. Alina sighed.
“I was thinking of getting a tattoo,” she declared out of the blue while gazing at her left wrist and elbow. Catherine’s mouth slackened as her eyes darted up—“You’re kidding, right?” Her mother followed a split second later with “You can’t be serious?” Alina grinned, This was much better.
Catherine took the cue and gave a knowing grin. “The word she used was the one I needed, the one that’s eluded me all day.” Alina squinted and bit her lip. ”The one I asked you and your mom about this morning, in the car, on the way here,” Cath prompted. “Oh, yeah,” Jodi suddenly exclaimed. “Started with an ‘a’ and ended with a ‘c’, right?” Cath nodded.
Alina shot a glance toward her mother. “Apparently I wasn’t mentally here when she said it. What was the word?” Jodi answered for Catherine, “’Alembic’, I believe.” Cath gave an affirming point of the pen in her direction then added, “But the word at the bottom doesn’t—” she paused to stare at the clue again, “it doesn’t make sense.” Alina stepped over to Catherine’s side and tilted her head to look at the result. In equal turns the pair scratched their cheeks or pressed finger to lips as they locked wavelengths in an attempt to uncover an errant letter, or, excepting that, trying to discern the meaning of the solution from sheer ocular osmosis. Surely the meaning would reveal itself through the laser-focus intensity of two pairs of eyes.
Jodi replaced the clipboard with a soft thunk then regarded her husband. Had anyone entered the room, or had one of the girls looked up, they would have seen her gaze fixated upon the fragile life lying before her, absent mindedly rubbing the underside of her wedding band. Nobody entered. Nobody turned around. Her moment of solitary disconnect slipped away as quietly as it arrived. With a shallow sigh she stepped over to the opposite side of the girls and placed a third set of eyes upon the puzzle.
Jodi’s brain skimmed the page, a visual brush in hopes of finding context as opposed to a concerted effort at deduction. Lots of boxes, some with circles, every one filled with a letter now. Twelve dashes at the bottom, each with a letter perched atop it. She caught the first five letters—m-i-s-e-r, but the rest of the word may well have been invisible as far as her mind was concerned. Her brain, distracted yet needing at least a potential finish to the word placed a ‘y’ at the end. Her face sagged and shoulders slumped. She felt utterly powerless. Behind her the dark of night peeked through the window blinds and beckoned, a call she answered hoping to find a distraction for her distraction.
Tucking a finger between two hard plastic slats she carefully parted the blinds and let her gaze flutter about the parking lot below and toward the horizon where pinholes of city lights punctured the early evening blackness. Slightly southeast and three floors below, at the juncture where the great elm tree split the incoming road, movement caught her eyes, delicate yet unmistakable. She blinked and looked again; eyebrows furrowed and lips formed a tight line. Jodi looked at her daughter, still engrossed in the puzzle with Catherine. She turned back to the view outside and watched for a full minute before making the inward determination that what she was seeing was, in fact, real. Without looking away Jodi quietly called her daughter.
“Ally.” No response. Jodi squared her shoulders and called a little more sharply. “Ally!” Alina’s eyes snapped upward immediately. “What, mom?” Jodi motioned for her to step over and look out the window.
Alina carefully stepped around Catherine and stood next to her mother. Jodi nodded toward the window, pointing for emphasis. Her daughters’ eyes narrowed a moment then her eyes and mouth opened wide simultaneously, as if a ventriloquist had pulled a clandestine lever at the base of her neck. Undisguised wonder colored her voice as she spoke. “Cath. C’mere,” she said breathlessly.
Cath’s heart pounded as she stood up. The puzzle book, once a part of her lap, fell to the floor sending her pen tumbling. A crisply folded piece of paper slipped out and settled, unnoticed, under
the chair. Catherine joined the coterie gawking through the window, tucking her head between Alina and her mother.
The parking lot below was sparsely populated and no traffic appeared headed away from nor coming toward St. Anne’s. Where the road forked stood the huge elm tree, easily discernable even amid the soft illumination of the parking lot. Around its massive trunk bobbed and winked a myriad of tiny amber lights looking like a host of tea lights upon an unseen pond; a shroud of fireflies. Alina began to silently count the lights, trying to bring a measure of logic to the otherwise irrational display of nature’s beauty in microcosm; she quickly realized the futility of it and instead took a wild guess. Not that one was necessary—or mattered.
“There must be well over a hundred of them around that tree.” All three women considered their human need for order and structure. Each speculated on the possible number of insects, but each also allowed a weighted indulgence to the esoteric beauty of the glowing lights winking on and off beneath the tree’s canopy.
The Apocalypse Of Hagren Roose Page 9