by Emerson Rose
It’s not enough for my spirit to be broken, but now my body is adding insult to injury by allowing a bug to invade and drag me one step further into the bowels of my personal hell.
I feel faint in the heat of the shower, and even after a handful of ibuprofen, I still have a temperature of 101 F.
Winter in Seattle is no joke. It’s cold as hell outside, but I don’t have the strength to hold the hair dryer up and dry my hair. I braid it to the side and figure I’ll just tuck it into my coat. I throw on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, socks, and a pair of Nike shoes that Marcus bought for me.
They were in the box of things he returned. Everything, and I mean everything, that was mine was in that box. The teddy bear, the clothes and shoes he bought for me, the cuff bracelet that, incidentally, I found out cost him a quarter of a million dollars.
I had my dad put it in his safe. I don’t want to see it and I’m positive I’ll never wear it again. I make my way downstairs, and mom helps me with my coat.
“Imani, your hair is wet. You’re already sick,” she says, touching my braid.
“Mom… I couldn’t.” She looks at me and narrows her eyes like she does when she’s thinking, then she continues to wrap me up in a hat, scarf, and gloves.
I am currently sweating my head off. In her car, I start stripping off the winter gear; my hat is already soaked with sweat.
“Imani, you're flushed. We need to hurry up and get you to the doctor,” she says, more to herself than me. She reaches out and touches my cheek and feels the heat radiating off of my skin.
With renewed purpose, she puts the car into reverse, checks her mirrors, and backs into the street like a stunt driver in an action movie. I just look at her profile and sigh. That’s my mom.
The clinic is a quick jaunt from the house, and, surprisingly, we’re seen right away ahead of several people in the waiting room. Usually an appointment made on the same day is a squeeze in and requires some patient waiting, but not today.
The admitting nurse takes my temperature and has me step on a scale. When I look down
at the red digital numbers, I am shocked. I’ve never weighed less than one hundred
pounds in my adult life. It’s no wonder Lana freaked out when she saw me. My temp
isn’t much better than my weight; it’s up to 103°F. I think I’m dying. Finally,
it’s about damn time.
Dr. Grey follows us from the tiny triage area to the exam room. Doctors don’t typically escort patients to their rooms. Something feels weird, but I’m going to chalk it up to the fever. She starts a thorough assessment, poking here and listening there, making little ‘hmmm’ noises as she goes along.
“How long have you been sick, Imani?” she asks.
“Just a day. I mean the fever and headache just started today anyway.”
“How about the weight loss? You’ve lost a significant amount since your last physical.”
“About a month, I guess.”
“Do you realize you’ve lost thirty pounds in one month?” She looks directly into my eyes, waiting for an explanation.
“No. I knew I had lost some, but I haven’t been on a scale.”
“Was it intentional?”
“No. I’ve been having some personal problems and I’m just not hungry.”
“Well, you’re pretty sick, as I’m sure you guessed. I’ll draw some blood, but I think what’s happened is you’ve lost so much weight that your immune system is compromised. I think you picked up a simple bug working in the hospital, but you’re so weak you can’t fight it off. You need IV fluids, rest, and I’d like to admit you into the hospital for observation, if you’re not opposed to that.”
I wouldn’t be opposed to anything right now. She can do whatever she wants; I feel like shit.
“I don’t care. I just want to lie down.” My eyelids are heavy when Dr. Grey helps me curl up on the exam table. She covers me with a sheet that smells like bleach. It’s a relief to lie here and close my eyes. I feel like I’m in a dream. Mom is sitting next to me holding my hand, and there are people moving around the room, drawing blood, and taking my vital signs, but none of it feels real.
“Dr. Grey would like you to spend a night at the hospital for observation. Do you have a preference which hospital?” a nurse, who hardly looks old enough to be one, asks.
“Yes, Seattle Trinity,” Mom answers for me. I think the nurse raises her eyebrows, and I know what’s going through her head. She’s wondering who I am. She can keep wondering; I’m too sick to explain.
“Ok, I’ll call ahead and give them report. We have an ambulance waiting to take you over.” Mom sits up straighter in her chair and tightens her grip on my hand.
“An ambulance? Is that really necessary?” she asks. I’m glad she did because I want to know, but my head is getting so fuzzy I can’t string the words together sensibly enough to speak.
“Is there something we haven’t been told? What does Dr. Grey think is wrong with her? Why does she need an ambulance?” Good ol’ Mom, prime freak-out mode. I feel sorry for this nurse.
“Oh, no, no. She just thought it would go more smoothly getting her admitted if she went by ambulance. She won’t have to wait in the emergency room.”
Good save, little nurse. That was some fast-talking, but this feels off. Something shady is going on, but I’m going to lie here like a lump and accept the extra help for now. I’ll figure it out later.
“Well, ok then, if you’re sure the doctor isn’t keeping something from us. That’s against the law, you know.” Mom’s attempt to scare the nurse is almost comical.
“Sign here, Imani. This is a release of your information. The paramedics will be here in a few minutes to take you over.”
I scratch something on the paper. I can’t even see the line she’s pointing at. Mom gathers our things. “I’ll drive over now and meet you there, honey. I need to have my car with me, okay? Will you be alright alone for a little bit?”
I nod. I’m going to be alone a lot longer than a little bit. That thought stings even through the fever and exhaustion.
I’m going to be alone forever, no kids, no family of my own. I will never have a sick child to care for like my mom is doing right now. Fucking fever is boiling my brain into mush. This is one pity party I told myself I’d never attend. I must be delirious.
I close my eyes and feel my mother’s lips press a kiss to my forehead before she leaves, then a poke as the nurse starts my IV, and a bumpy gurney ride to the ambulance where they cart me off to Seattle Trinity.
I only remember bits and pieces of the next few hours. At the hospital, when they get my temperature under control, I start to recognize my surroundings. I’m in one of Trinity’s posh rooms that they reserve for A-list patients.
Mom is holding my hand on one side of my bed, and Latoya is in the chair on the other.
“Well, hello there, sleepy head,” Latoya says. I turn a vacant face to her, wondering if she’s been speaking to him regularly. Has she been giving him updates? Telling him how terrible I’m doing without him? How I fell apart when she spoke those words to me? I can’t trust her until I know.
“Oh, thank God, honey, you were asleep for so long, and your temperature was so high. I think your fever has finally broken. The doctor here thinks you have a virus, and, like Dr. Grey, he said you couldn’t fight it off because of the weight loss and stress you’ve been under. No more work for a while, and you have to start eating. Several of your co-workers have come to see you. See all the flowers?”
She waves her hand across the room to the flowers on the window ledge. There is a beautiful view from this room. It feels like I’m in a tree house tucked in the tall sycamore trees of a Seattle forest.
I’m surprised so many people know I’m in the hospital. I just got here a few hours ago after all. The hospital gossip line must be hot this afternoon. At least a half dozen arrangements line the windowsill. And then I see them, a simple dozen deep purple and lavender roses
. They’re from him.
“How long was I out?” I ask. They follow my gaze across the room to the roses.
“About forty-eight hours,” Latoya says.
Forty-eight hours, what the hell? How have I lost two days of my life?
“They gave you something to help you rest, honey, and something in your IV to help balance your electrolytes.” I glance up at the IV bag full of milky fluid. I must be really sick. That’s only prescribed to severely malnourished patients who aren’t able to eat for one reason or another.
I hadn’t realized how bad this was until I got on that scale at the clinic. I need to start trying harder to get over Marcus. I need to be healthy again, emotionally and physically.
“I’m hungry,” I say to my mother. And, for the first time in weeks, I really am. My stomach is growling, protesting the total emptiness of my digestive system.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Mom says, jumping up to go looking for the nurse. I could have pressed my call light, but she’s not listening; she’s on a mission to find me some food.
Latoya shrugs one shoulder while simultaneously raising an eyebrow. My eyes connect with the roses, and Latoya knows I want answers.
“He sent them,” she says, with her eyes trained on the floor.
I turn away from her and shut my eyes. Hot tears squeeze free and flow down my cheeks, and I hold back a strangled whimper. It’s as if the veil of numbness that surrounded me while I slept was snatched away, and all of the pain I was protecting myself from has come crashing down over me.
The cycle of grief begins again, but I welcome it. I’m going to work through it and get past it this time instead of letting it consume me.
I can’t imagine ever getting over Marcus. I will not ever get over him. Still, I can’t go on like this. A lot of things are going to have to change and the time to start is now.
Mom returns a few minutes later practically dragging my nurse behind her. She has a tray of bland food and she warns me to take it slow. Lindsey, my nurse, does a quick assessment since this is the first time I’ve been awake in two days. When she’s deemed me well enough to eat, I start with the chicken broth and some questions.
“Was he here, or did he just send the flowers?” I ask.
They look at each other for support. I look back and forth between them, waiting for somebody to fill me in, and slurp my broth.
“They were delivered. There is a note, but I didn’t open it, I promise.”
“Well, let’s have it then.” Latoya retrieves the sealed note from the flowers and hands it to me.
My beautiful Imani, I will not stand around any longer waiting for you to come back to me. You’ve had your space, time’s up. All my love, M.
Maybe I shouldn’t have read that note, now I’m pissed. ‘Time’s up,’ what the hell does that mean?
He knows why I left. I thought he was being gracious, but it turns out he was just waiting me out. Mom and Latoya are staring at me with looks of expectation all over their faces, sitting on the edge of their seats, literally.
I flick the card onto the floor and snort before finishing all of my boring ass food just to prove to them that I mean business.
We watch television for a while, and I’m feeling stronger already. I insist my mom and sister go home and sleep in their own beds. They have been sleeping here in my room for two nights in a row, waiting for me to stabilize. The cots lined up against the wall are proof of their love and devotion to me.
“You have dad to take care of, Mom. And I’m sure Kyle would appreciate you giving him some respite from the kids. I’ll be alright. I am alright, I promise. Just go.”
They stick it out for another hour before they cave and gather their things to go home. Latoya kisses my cheek, and mom all but tucks me in like a three-year-old.
When they are gone, I try to relax and give myself a pep talk. I’m going to be fine. I have to work harder, if not for myself then for my family. I’ve been so selfish. They’ve been to hell and back with me twice now, counting this dramatic chapter in my life.
I don’t want to cause them any more heartache. I have to straighten up and get my shit together. Lindsey checks on me again, and when she is satisfied that I’m keeping food down, she slows my IV fluids.
After helping me get ready for bed she gives me my usual sleeping pills and makes sure my call light is within my reach.
I watch the door to my room close slowly. When she’s gone and I hear it click is when I realize something is wrong.
My sleeping pills work fast, but never this fast. Immediately, I’m fighting to keep my eyes open. I try to tell my finger to press the call light, but it won’t listen.
The room begins to blur and tilt. I can’t focus my eyes on anything; the television sounds like it’s three rooms away, and I can’t move a muscle. I’m paralyzed, and the only thing I have control of are my eyes. I blink again and again, trying to focus on Marcus’s purple roses, but I can’t. Within seconds, the light in the room is gone like a candle that’s being blown out, and I go with it.
Part Two
Thirty-Seven
I feel like a lead anchor on a massive chain being dropped into the ocean. Slowly descending, each link thumping and scraping against the ship as I am pulled down into deep murky water.
In a brief moment of lucidity, I open my eyes. Horror seizes my heart in my chest when I find myself lying in the rear seat of an SUV.
All I can see of the driver is a small feminine hand on the steering wheel as she steers the SUV through the dark.
I’m in the back and I can’t move. I can’t see the driver’s face, I can’t even see if there is a passenger with her.
How did I get here and where is here?
We hit a bump in the road and it’s as if the upset of the vehicle jolts the memory of the stalker from Marcus’s house loose in my brain.
Oh my God, no, this isn’t happening. This is exactly why I left him. I didn’t want to be the bargaining chip someone could use against him.
How can this be happening again? If I’m indeed being kidnapped for the second time in my life, I am officially the unluckiest person alive.
My body is numb but my mind is aware, but only for a moment. My hearing starts to fade and my vision is blurry. Passing out is my specialty and for once I’m ok with that.
The next time I open my eyes I’m being carried in someone’s arms. My head aches, I’m roasting hot, tiny spatters of slush are hitting my face and melting on contact in the night air.
I squint to protect my eyes from the freezing rain. Lightning flashes lighting up the sky followed by a rumble of thunder.
When the clap of thunder subsides, I hear a noise that I don’t recognize and it’s getting louder with every step we take. I wish I could cover my ears and protect them from the high-pitched hissing but I can’t move my arms.
I’m trapped, at the mercy of someone who has deemed me important enough to kidnap. This has to be about Marcus. They must think we are still in a relationship. If so, I’d bet my right arm they’re planning on asking for a ransom.
If it's money they want from Marcus, then it’s money they will get. No matter what is going on between us, I know in my heart that he would move mountains to bring me home safe.
All of this feels like one of my reoccurring nightmares where I’m paralyzed with fear and trapped in my mind unable to move. Except when I’m having a nightmare, I do eventually wake up. I breathe a sigh of relief to find myself surrounded by my own things in my apartment where I am untouched and safe. But this isn’t a nightmare and I am far from safe.
Thirty-Eight
I open my eyes a slit and snap them shut. I try again but my eyelids aren’t listening to my mind’s commands and my hearing is flowing in and out of my head like waves on a beach.
An unfamiliar humming rushes through my brain and I force myself to try again. When I open them again, I peer straight ahead and try to focus on something, anything.
The room is warp
ed; I feel like a fish looking out of its bowl. There are two parallel rows of tiny blue lights running along the floor away from me into a fog. I blink several times trying to get rid of the blurriness from my vision, but it’s no use. The only thing I can see are my immediate surroundings.
I lower my eyes and fight the urge to go back to sleep where it was dark and quiet. I’m weak but I refuse to give up. After a moment of intense focus, I can see someone kneeling at my feet with his head bowed and elbows bent on the mattress. His hands are clasped together holding something that’s hanging from a chain around his neck.
He’s praying.
My heart stops.
Marcus.
This isn’t real, that can’t be him. But the ache in my belly feels real. My heart lunging into a gallop feels absolutely real. And the magnetic pull connecting us is so real it hurts.
I want so much for this to be a dream. The reality that the only man I’ve ever loved could be behind my kidnapping is unfathomable. I shut my eyes refusing to believe what they’ve just shown me and let what’s left of the drugs in my system pull me back into the comfortable blanket of sleep that shields me from danger and truth.
I hear my stomach growl and lay my hand on it. I can move. I flex my hands and open my eyes. I’m not dead after all. I can’t be, I’m too hungry to be dead.
Marcus is gone but I’m still in the same narrow room. My head feels heavy when I drop it to my right and see a huge television on a table. I look left and see four wide leather chairs facing each other.
I scan the room trying to recognize at least one familiar thing but there is nothing of mine here. Something is off about this poorly lit room. It’s vibrating, humming as if it’s moving.
Then I see them; three round windows line the walls of this mystery room on either side. The puzzle pieces slide into place; I’m on an airplane.
I struggle up onto my left elbow to get a better look around and feel resistance in my right arm. There is an IV there; why do I have an IV? For several beats of my heart nothing makes sense until the realization settles in.