The Ups and Downs of Being Dead

by M. R. Cornelius

  “Dear God,” he moaned. “Does anyone have something for a headache?”

  “You know we don’t have drugs,” one of the men said.

  “Not even aspirin?”

  “What’s wrong with you, Robbie?”

  “Never mind.” Robert reached up a hand and one of the men pulled him to sitting. Robbie had mentioned that walking sometimes relieved the pain. It was worth a shot.

  He milled around the living area, trying to concentrate on some program on the television, but he couldn’t escape the pain. He leaned against the wall and pulled his robe up to examine his leg. The front of the thigh was withered where the muscle had atrophied. The skin had bunched up around an indented scar that ran from mid-thigh down to his knee. How did Robbie endure the misery day after day? And how had he forgiven the man who did that to him?

  He caught a man staring.

  “Tell me how Robbie does those relaxation chants.”

  The man panicked, the stubble of beard on his chin quivering. “Don’t do this Rob. Pull yourself together.”

  Robert thought about explaining what was going on, but it sounded ridiculous even to him.

  The bell chimed, and Robert took his place at the back of the line for his ‘meal’. His first sip of the viscous glop nearly gagged him. The drink was neither sweet or salty; it didn’t taste like beef, or chicken, or even vegetables. It was just…thick. It did, however, have a chalky aftertaste, and left a film on the roof of his mouth. How cruel did mankind have to be to subject these men to indignities like this?

  Right after dinner, he went to bed, hoping to sleep away as many hours as possible until Robbie got back. He managed to doze off, but two hours later, he woke up with a full bladder. It didn’t seem possible that the glass of sludge he’d choked down earlier could create such urgency. He rolled out of bed and quickly teetered to the bathroom. He expected an immediate rush of urine, but after weaving on his feet for several minutes, he only squeezed a few drops out.

  Wide awake, Robert laid in bed thinking about Suzanne. She was somewhere in London, hanging around Angie. He tried to remember what the time difference was, but couldn’t concentrate. He imagined the look of shock on her face when he told her about trading places with Robbie.

  His thoughts turned to his son. Sure, he’d been a thoughtless, selfish kid, but had he really deserved to spend his life in prison because he’d had a drug abuse problem? For most of that time, he’d lived with excruciating pain that never let up.

  Robert closed his eyes, slowly filled his lungs, then gradually blew the air back out through a small part between his lips. He began to hum Robbie’s chant.

  He managed to doze off, but he was awake again before the sun came up. There was no point in getting out of bed. The lights were on automatic timers. So was the television. The bell for breakfast wouldn’t ring until eight o’clock. Then he and the other men would vegetate in front of the TV until the lights were turned back off at night. These men were not behind bars, but they were definitely still in prison.

  Midway through the afternoon, Robert found himself watching the clock, hoping Robbie would return soon. When Robbie didn’t show up, he chastised himself for being so selfish. His son had not truly been free for nearly sixty years. And unfortunately, the two men had not made specific arrangements for Robbie’s return.

  When dinnertime came and went, Robert started getting nervous. He couldn’t spend another night here. Was it Thursday? Or Friday? Suzanne would be back in Dayton soon. He had hoped to get there first.

  Of course, if she arrived in Dayton and he wasn’t there, she’d come to the retirement home, wouldn’t she?

  After a show about an intergalactic bounty hunter ended at ten o’clock, the television turned off.

  “Let’s go, Robbie,” Jason said. “Lights out. Remember?”

  The men had fifteen minutes to get settled in the sleeping ward before all lights were extinguished. Robert took one last look at the front door, like he might see Suzanne or Robbie magically appear. Then he went to bed.

  He tried the relaxation chant, but he was too tired, and in too much pain, to concentrate. Why hadn’t he asked Robbie more about how he controlled the pain? Because he was so busy bragging about his wonderful life with Suzanne and all the fabulous things they did.

  An uncomfortable fear crept into the room and hovered over Robert; an uneasiness that he’d been trying to keep at bay.

  Robbie wasn’t coming back.

  He’d be a fool to return to this wretched body. As soon as he was free of the pain, he must have run away at full speed. By now, he could be anywhere in the world, reveling in his new life.

  The thought whipped Robert’s heart into a galloping frenzy in his chest. The rush of blood made his leg pulse, and his temples threatened to burst.

  Calm down! Robert demanded. He sucked in gulps of air and tried to keep from quivering as he blew back out.

  Robbie would be back in the morning, he assured himself; by noon at the latest. There was no reason to panic.

  You’re the one who told him to go to New York, Robert scolded.

  Then he argued back. Just take it easy. Have a little faith.

  By noon the next day, the fear had returned, and Robert was fighting hysteria again.

  Robbie was gone for good.

  One of the other men laid a hand on Robert’s knee. He jumped.

  “You okay, Robbie?”

  Looking down, Robert saw that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He was breathing so hard, his throat was parched.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” he mumbled.

  And once that idea awakened, he could not ignore it.

  There was no reason to wait for Robbie. He would simply slip out of that haggard body and go to Dayton. After all, he’d escaped the mechanic on that cruise ship, and that guy had had Robert in a hammerlock.

  Then of course, he worried about Robbie’s body. If Robert left, would the body stop functioning? Would the heart stop, or would some automatic pilot keep the system running in a vegetative state?

  “Who cares?” Robert snapped.

  The man sitting beside him shied away.

  Getting out of that worn-out body was the best thing that ever happened to Robbie. He was out now having a great time. In fact, Robert reasoned, Robbie would probably never even come back, so what did it matter?

  Concentrating his breathing, Robert closed his eyes. It shouldn’t be too hard to get out. He was in and out of Dan all the time. Drawing in one last breath, Robert exhaled and willed himself free.

  It didn’t work.

  He knew immediately because the pain was still gnawing at every nerve ending in his body. Sweat pooled under his arms, and when he shifted, the odor of stress disgusted him.

  Leaning back into the chair, he massaged his head into the cushion, and relaxed his arms at his sides. Another deep breath, and—.

  He couldn’t get out.

  Again and again he tried, straining to make it happen. All he got for his effort was another headache. Sweat trickled down his chest and drizzled between his legs. His racing heart made him light-headed.

  “Okay, just stop!” he scolded himself. The men nearby flinched like cattle about to stampede.

  If he didn’t get a grip on things, he’d never be able to think clearly. He took another calming breath and blew it out.

  One thing was certain. If he couldn’t get out of Robbie’s body, he was going to get out of the building. He’d catch a plane, he’d ride a bus, hell, he’d walk all the way to Ohio if he had to. He was going to Suzanne.

  Scooting out of his chair, Robert grabbed his cane and dragged himself to the window. His damp gown was cold against his back, and he shivered. Raising his cane like a baseball bat, and swung at the glass with all his strength. The cane merely bounced off the surface.

  Some of the men in the room jumped to their feet at the sound. Others cried out in shock.

  “What the hell are you doing, Robbie?”
r />   “I’m leaving,” he grunted as he took another swing at the window.

  He didn’t have the strength to follow through. The glass didn’t show even a nick or crack. In fact, when the cane hit, Robert didn’t hear the familiar ping of glass.

  “Great,” he mumbled. “It’s plastic.”

  Turning to the man sitting closest to the window, Robert said, “Get up.”

  “What?”

  “Get up!”

  The man rose out of his chair. Robert wrapped his arms around the chair back and tried to lift. It was way too heavy for his eighty-eight year-old body.

  “Help me!” he yelled at the man.

  At first, the man backed away, like Robert had asked him to slit his wrists, but then a shy smile creased his cheeks. The old man grabbed the arms of the chair, and together, they lifted.

  But all they managed to do was get the chair off the floor. They didn’t have the power needed to drive the chair through the window. Then a third man hobbled over, and at the count of three, they heaved the chair against the window.

  The chair bounced off, sending them all tumbling to the floor.

  Crying out in frustration, Robert rolled onto his back. A memory flashed through his mind of Suzanne, huddled in the corner of Angie’s hospital room. She’d tried to get out, to crossover, but she couldn’t. He remembered teasing her because she’d taken her predicament so seriously. It didn’t seem so funny now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Long after the other two men struggled to their feet and shuffled away, Robert lay on the floor, letting his heart calm, gathering strength, and planning his next attack.

  The call bell was his next idea. He remembered how, when Frankie had fallen, someone had pulled an emergency alarm on the wall and the paramedics had come. Sure, they’d taken a long time, but since Robert wasn’t really hurt, it didn’t matter.

  He envisioned waiting at the front door, and when the paramedics arrived, he would greet them, and then wedge something in the closing door. Once the EMTs got past the lobby, Robert would slip out.

  But then Robert considered the plan more realistically. How far could he get? He had no money, he was wearing a goofy nightgown, he averaged about one mile per hour, and he had to pee at least twenty times a day.

  His final plan was a lot less appealing, but it seemed to be his only other option.

  Rolling to his side, he pulled himself up using the overturned chair for support. His left arm pulsed as though he might have sprained a muscle. Once on his feet, he stood quietly until his dizziness passed.

  He wandered around the room, examining other chairs, the few tables, even the handle on the open door to the community room. Nothing looked promising.

  Frustrated, he banged his cane against the doorjamb and heard the same kind of plastic thunk as the window. Drawing the cane up to his face, he studied the shaft, then he examined the gap between the open door and the jamb.

  “That might work,” he said.

  He tried to wedge the crook of the cane between the door and the jamb, but the wide handle would not fit. The bottom of the cane definitely looked narrower.

  He leaned against the wall for support, then wrapped his hand around the rubber tip on the end of his cane and twisted. The cap didn’t budge. He took a deep breath and tried again. The tip refused to move. His arthritic fingers screamed with pain but he didn’t care. He twisted harder.

  His back cramped from the stress. Sweat beaded on his lip.

  “Again,” he commanded through clenched teeth.

  When he could no longer bear the pain in his right hand, he switched to his left.

  By now, the men in the room had turned a deaf ear to his rantings, and a blind eye to his madness.

  “Come…on!” he bellowed, and at last, he felt a slight shift in the rubber.

  “That’s it,” he coaxed the cap. “A little more.”

  The tip came off with a little pop, and Robert uttered a giddy laugh. He staggered back to the closest chair and sat until his panting subsided, and the throbbing in his fingers eased. If this was going to work, he’d need every bit of energy he could muster.

  When he thought he was ready, he opened the door as wide as it would go, and slid the end of his cane between the door and the jamb. It barely fit. Then with the cane halfway through, he used the door as a fulcrum and threw all his weight against the shaft.

  He heard a snap, like plastic under stress, and pushed harder. The cane bowed, but held firm.

  “Not enough force,” he said.

  Easing up on the pressure, he leaned back, then gripped the crook of the cane with one hand, the shaft with the other, and lurched forward. The cane splintered and Robert flew onto the floor, the crook of the cane still clutched in one fist. His other arm lay wedged under his body at an unnatural angle. He was sure it was broken.

  Ignoring the pain, he turned the cane to examine the broken end. A jagged ring of plastic revealed a hollow center.

  “Thank God for cheap bastards,” he mumbled.

  He scooted his hips and shifted his shoulders until he was comfortable on the floor. Then gripping the cane at the jagged end, he dug the plastic snags into the soft underside of his broken arm and tore through the flesh all the way to his wrist.

  “Robbie! No!!” one of the men yelled. But he was too late.

  Dropping the cane to the floor, Robert let his head flop to the side. He watched, fascinated, as Robbie’s blood pooled beside him on the faded tile.

  He was vaguely aware of several men lifting him up and carrying him into the ward where he was laid on his bed.

  One of the men who stood nearby was crying.

  “I’m sorry,” Robert told the man. Then he drifted into the best sleep he’d had since he’d traded places with his son.

  He dreamed that he was lounging in a small boat. Gentle waves rocked him, and sunshine bathed his face in warmth.

  “Robbie?”

  Robert’s eyes flew open. “Suzanne?!”

  “Is that you, Robert?” she asked.

  With a tremulous sigh, he said, “You came.”

  “What happened here?” she cried.

  “I traded places with Robbie,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “He was just supposed to stay out for a day or two, but he didn’t come back.”

  “Oh, Robert. How awful.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Robert groaned. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to do something nice for Robbie.”

  Although he could not see her, her presence made his heart race.

  “That was very noble of you, Sweetheart.”

  “But I’ve wasted our last few days together, for some stupid notion.”

  He told her about wanting to give his body to Robbie.

  “That’s not stupid,” she said. “It’s brilliant.”

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter now. He’s gone for good.”

  Robert shivered. His son’s blood had soaked into the bed linens and turned cold.

  “My dear, sweet Robert,” Suzanne murmured. “I wish I could hold you in my arms. You’re freezing.”

  At least the pain was gone.

  “It won’t be long now,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Melinda was at the sink, washing the dinner dishes. Robert found Dan coming up the basement steps with a case of canning jars in his arms.

  The moment he set the box on the kitchen table, Robert popped into his head and took over. He walked Dan over to Melinda, turned her around, her hands dripping water, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

  “I love you so much,” Robert told Suzanne.

  Melinda giggled nervously for a second, then she threw her arms around Dan’s neck, and Suzanne pressed herself against Robert in a passionate kiss.

  The dishes were abandoned, the canning jars left dusty. In the fading light of dusk, Robert combed his fingers through silky hair. He trailed his hand along Suzanne’s curved waist to her hip, and felt her palms massage
his shoulders.

  Twice, Robert stopped their lovemaking because he didn’t want the moment to end. Then when Dan climaxed, Robert bellowed right along with him. And Melinda’s orgasm must have been just as intense because she burst into tears with the release.

  She apologized for her outburst as they lay in each other’s arms.

  “I don’t know what brought that on,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “I don’t either,” Dan said, just as bewildered. “But that one definitely goes on the list of best sex ever.” They both laughed. Robert and Suzanne lay cuddled nearby.

  “He’s right,” Robert said. “That definitely belongs in the record books. I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to be dead as I was back there when I finally got out of Robbie’s body.”

  “That was quite a gamble you took.”

  “No kidding.” Robert raised up on one elbow. “You know, when Robbie and I decided to trade places, it was really difficult. At the time, I remember thinking that it was a lot like giving birth. It felt like I was trying to push an elephant out through Robbie’s left nostril.”

  Suzanne cackled. “Wrong end.”

  “Yeah, well, I was in his head.”

  He rolled so that he hovered over her, and braced his forearms near her head.

  “I love you,” he said. “I wish we could just stay here until I’m called.”

  “No,” Suzanne said. “I can’t let you just slip away from me like that. I want to be at the center, so I can be prepared when your time comes.”

  * * *

  “You’re cutting it kind of close,” Sam barked when they walked into the waiting room at the hospital. “They’re on Jack MacIlhenny. Then it’s Bruce, Myra, a couple of temps from the Arizona facility, and you’re up.”

  “Will they get to me today?” Robert asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” Sam said. “They pulled your body out of the Dewar a couple days ago. Once you’re thawed, they’ll send the nanobots in to disconnect your brain. Are you interested in watching?”