Shadow Eyes

by Dusty Crabtree

As quickly as I could pry my eyes from the dizzying tumult overhead, I focused on the gray-tiled floor and shuffled toward the front desk to ask for directions to my sister’s room. The murmur and commotion of several patients, nurses, and family members around me, chatting and bustling to and fro, seemed oddly out of place. They were completely oblivious to the mass above them. They were even more oblivious to the shocking history of why else I was so utterly uncomfortable in this place, even though it felt as if I had a huge neon sign on my forehead.

  Once I got to the front desk, I sensed something cold and oppressive to my left. I glanced up to see a hallway where the fight above grew more intense and darker with far fewer rays of light. The sign on the wall with an arrow that pointed down the hallway read “Intensive Care Unit.” I prayed silently that the path to Hanna’s room would be in the opposite direction.

  After the nurse explained the way, I breathed a sigh of relief and began walking down the hall on the right with my eyes still glued to the floor. As I pushed the elevator button and waited for it to arrive, I gradually felt a warmth that invited me slightly farther down the hall. I permitted myself to look up and over and was pleasantly surprised to find the hallway nearly free of shadows but filled with radiant, wavering light. I searched the walls for an explanation and found a sign posted beside open double doors. Chapel.

  I was drawn to the large room that housed such brilliant illumination, but for some reason, another part of me felt awkward and nervous about it. Besides, I told myself, I had to go see Hanna.

  The elevator made a soft ding and the doors slid open. Reluctantly, I stepped inside and allowed it to take me to the third floor. Another soft ding and I was out, searching the wall signs for the correct set of room numbers.

  When I found the direction I was supposed to go, I began the reluctant trek to my sister’s room. I had a rough idea of what I would find inside with my mother and two sisters. I had been through something like this before, though the roles of patient and visitors were different. Therefore, I expected a flood of memories once I entered the room, and, needless to say, I was in no hurry to get there.

  As I walked past the other hospital rooms with their open doors, I found myself unintentionally peeking inside them. Each room contained its own personal shadow the patient was battling. I was surprised to discover I could actually detect slight differences in the shadows, like the shape, size, opaqueness, shade, and even intensity. I only had a faint grasp of what those differences meant for the patients, but I was inexplicably able to recognize that some were more deadly than others. I could even vaguely understand which were strictly illness related, depression or anxiety related, or something else. This new enhancement in my vision didn’t do anything to help calm my anxieties about the place, but it did take my mind off my past for a short while, which was not long enough.

  Room 303. That was the number the nurse at the front desk had given me. Standing just outside the open door, I could hear the whisperings of my mother and Jenny with unmistakable undertones of worry and hopelessness. The déjà vu from hearing them talk that way was so strong I doubled over in pain, struggling to fight back tears of remorse and guilt.

  After a full minute of tormenting myself with grief, I took a deep breath, trying to breathe in some confidence and peace to be brave and strong for my sister. But when I finally slipped in, it didn’t take long to realize Hanna didn’t need me to be brave and strong for her. If anything, she was the one being brave and strong for all of us.

  The figure of light that so often graced Hanna’s side was hovering over her bed and glowing so intensely it hurt my eyes. Just as I had seen in the lobby and over Austin’s head, it was frantically yet skillfully battling with a thin, black, fluid-like shadow that twisted and stretched and poured out of every attempted capture. It was too nerve-racking and uncomfortable to focus on for long.

  My mother gasped as I entered, and Jenny glared. I hadn’t told them I was coming. The already-present shadows over both of them remained but appeared to have gained mass and density.

  I focused my eyes on Hanna, who was stirring in her bed to see her new visitor. It took a moment for her to recognize me, but once my face registered, her eyes widened and a feeble smile played on her chapped lips. With deathly pale skin, black circles under her eyes, and flat, matted hair, she still managed to appear graceful simply by smiling. Nothing it seemed, not even severe illness, could quench her beautiful, bright spirit.

  I tried to smile in return, but seeing her lying so sick and frail in her hospital bed caused a burning in my chest that welled upward through my throat to my eyes. It was so sudden, I didn’t realize I was crying until Hanna attempted to reassure me.

  Her soft, hoarse voice didn’t fit her soothing words. “Iris, don’t cry. I’ll be all right. Don’t you worry.”

  The fact that she was the one comforting me made me feel even worse and more pathetic than I had when I first arrived at the hospital. The tears fell harder.

  “Come here Iris.” Hanna gently lifted her arms to me as an invitation, and I rushed to them, falling into her soft embrace and burying my head on her shoulder.

  She let her arms rest on my back and softly murmured, “It’s okay. I know…I know.”

  Did she know? Because I wasn’t even sure I knew. There were hordes of unbearable emotions hurtling at me from so many different directions. I wasn’t sure exactly which one had tipped the scales and plunged me into the overwhelming ocean of despair. Was it my guilt for not having been here earlier? Was it my helplessness for not being able to do anything for her in any way once I did show up? Or was it the utter shame that consumed me from the memory of lying right where Hanna was, having caused my family the same torture I was experiencing for her now. Except the difference was, it wasn’t Hanna’s fault.

  There was a knock on the door, and I jumped up in surprise. The jolt managed to shut off the waterworks, so I began wiping my eyes as my dad walked in timidly.

  “Hey, everybody,” he said awkwardly, still standing in the doorway as if he wasn’t sure he was invited in. He held a small vase with yellow daisies—Hanna’s favorite. They looked out-of-place yet vibrant in his rough hands with his thick, black winter coat as a backdrop.

  “Dad!” Hanna’s face lit up as she tried to sit up in her bed.

  He rushed in to stop her. “Whoa, there. Don’t overdo yourself. You don’t have to sit up just for me.” He set the vase on the table nearby and took off his coat. Smiling his sincere “I love you” smile, he bent over to kiss her forehead. She smiled angelically in return.

  My mother stared through them, appearing just as uncomfortable as before with perhaps a bit more tension around her eyes and in her posture.

  She finally spoke to her ex-husband, however dryly. “They’re thinking about doing a bone marrow test tomorrow.”

  “So they’re pretty sure it’s leukemia?” he asked dismally.

  “They can’t think of anything else right now.”

  And that was about the end of the conversation. She didn’t say much else the entire time. Neither did Jenny, and Hanna obviously couldn’t do much in the way of entertaining guests. So it was up to me to keep Dad company. I switched on the TV. Along with all of the other screaming reminders surrounding me, his presence simply aided in bringing up three-year-old memories of being in a hospital with him and the rest of the family. I didn’t need to make it worse by talking.

  Chapter 25

  I CHECKED THE CLOCK. It was almost six-thirty. Nothing much had happened except a nurse coming in to check on Hanna and to change her IV bag. The small TV positioned ridiculously high on the wall was still turned on, and everyone was staring at it in silence.

  Another knock on the door.

  “Austin?” Jenny asked incredulously and then glared at me with accusing eyes.

  But all I could do was glance back and forth between them, open-eyed and bewildered. I was just as surprised to see him as she was, although not quite as disgusted or offended.r />
  My mother saved me from Jenny’s interrogation. “Hanna asked me to call him while you were in the restroom a while ago. So I did.”

  Jenny turned to Hanna with subdued frustration.

  “I wanted him to be here too,” Hanna explained. “He’s part of the family.”

  “Not mine, he isn’t,” Jenny snapped and stood up to leave, pushing past Austin on her way out.

  His personal light and dark battle continued to rage over his own head. However, because the light figure appeared larger and stronger than it had the first time, I guessed it was now winning.

  He sighed miserably and examined the floor before lifting his eyes to Hanna lying in her hospital bed with an encouraging smile on her face.

  That smile abruptly faded, though, as she started hacking, and her weak frame began to convulse with dry-heaves. My dad quickly brought her a trash can despite the plastic hospital bowl beside her, but nothing went into it besides a few drops of saliva. They weren’t giving her anything by mouth anymore. She couldn’t keep anything down.

  “I should go,” Austin said anxiously. He grabbed his coat on his way to the door.

  “Wait.” Hanna held out her arm in protest with the other arm still wrapped around the trash can. “Don’t leave,” she pleaded, and continued assuring him through intermittent convulsing and coughing. “She still loves you. She just needs to see that you still love her. Give her a chance.”

  I was amazed at Hanna. Her own world was crumbling and falling apart around her, but here she was trying to mend other people’s worlds and make their lives better. She was so selfless. So caring and compassionate. So humble and giving of her entire being to everybody but herself.

  And what did the world give her back in return? A sister who had put her through hell three years ago and who barely had enough courage to come visit her. Another sister who let her dysfunctional marriage get in the way of her support for her. A dad who was only involved in her life some of the time. A mom who was so depressed and consumed with her own issues she seemed less like a parent and more like a child. A shadow-infested hospital room with gloom and grief so thick you could cut it with a knife. And a potentially life-threatening illness that was polluting her body and deteriorating her precious soul from the inside out.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t fair! She didn’t deserve this! If anyone did, it was me, for causing so much pain and sorrow in the past and for not being able to help with anyone’s pain and sorrow now. The oppression of the hospital and the memories were too much for me to deal with any longer. I had to get out of there.

  It was a split-second, impassioned decision to leave. It was a blizzard outside, and my mom and Jenny were planning on sleeping overnight at the hospital. I would be all by myself at the house. But none of that mattered. The only thing driving me at that moment was my consuming and overwhelming emotions…and they were screaming at me to leave.

  I jumped out of my seat and grabbed my coat, flashing Hanna a look of apology and remorse. The moment she responded with a weak nod of understanding, I ran out the door. My mom and dad called my name after me, but I ignored them. I ran to the stairs, not wanting them to catch me at the elevator and attempt to talk me out of leaving. Besides, I wanted to feel the hard jolt of the stairs under my feet and the wind racing through my lungs as I ran down them. As pointless and non-productive as running down stairs was, it was better than the feeling of lazy helplessness in a silent elevator. By the time I reached the first floor, I was sobbing and out of breath.

  When I finally ran out of the sliding hospital doors and was met with the violent blizzard, I turned my head to look back for the first time. To my horror, I suddenly realized that a heavy, black shadow was hastily chasing after me, and it was gaining quick ground from the hallway to the outside doors. I let out a terrified cry and spun back around, bolting across the slick, snow-covered parking lot toward my car. My flats, which were no match for the snow, slipped out from under me, but I caught myself on a nearby car.

  The car’s alarm blared and echoed against the buildings surrounding the lot. I didn’t dare look back again, though, because if I did I would surely lose my footing and crash down on the pavement, rendering me helpless against the turbulent mass.

  Somehow I reached my car and fumbled for my keys with cold, paralyzed, shaky hands, eventually sliding my key into the door to unlock it. I jumped inside and slammed the door.

  Heart pounding, I twisted the key in the ignition and shoved the gear into reverse. I checked my rearview mirror. Nothing but blinding white snow. Then I turned around to back out…and screamed. Hovering quietly in the back seat, patiently waiting for me, was the shadow.

  It immediately hissed and lunged at me like a horrifying, giant black cobra and attached its cold clamminess to every part of my body. It grabbed at my arms, my chest, my neck, even my face and slid all over me as if its intentions were to either suffocate or consume me. With the gear still in reverse, I impulsively shoved my foot on the gas and whipped the car out into the open parking lot. I strained to free my right hand enough to grab the shifter. I pushed it into drive. Pressing my foot hard on the gas pedal once again, I peeled out of the parking lot.

  Staying here wasn’t an option. I couldn’t explain to anyone why I was in such a panic, much less ask for help. The only place where I somewhat felt a sense of security was my house. So that was my destination. Even if it meant driving in a blizzard with a shadowy snake attacking me the whole way, I was determined to make it home…hopefully in one piece.

  My heart was beating wildly, and it felt as though the whole inside of my body was on fire, even while the outside of it was freezing cold and enveloped by an even colder shadow. Luckily, the streets by the hospital were fairly deserted. Most people didn’t want to brave the weather. I didn’t blame them.

  Driving in the blinding snow would have been enough for me to develop a full-fledged panic attack. But my crippled sanity had to focus on not only the icy roads, but also the swirling, slithering leech that was a distraction not only mentally and emotionally, but also physically and visually. It was like attempting to ride a bicycle over a frozen pond with ants crawling all over the inside of your clothes and a sheet wrapped around your entire torso, constricting you and covering your eyes half the time.

  I was driving on sheer hope that was as thin as the ice on which I was driving. The shadow seemed to have locked on its grip, although parts of it continued to slide over and around me. It pushed at my foot and jerked at my arm, trying to get me to wreck. It was a constant battle of reacting but not overreacting to its every move. Flexing my leg against the shadow’s pressure so as to not race ninety miles an hour into a tree. Gripping the steering wheel more tightly to keep from yanking the wheel into the curb or another car. Pulling at the cold murkiness concealing my face so I could see the road. It took so much effort, strength and focus that I barely had time to consider how strange I must have looked to anyone stupid enough to be out on the streets with me and who happened to peer inside my car.

  One such individual got more than they bargained for. I was closing in on a stoplight and must have missed the switch to yellow, because the last thing I remember seeing before pulling at the shadow’s heavy veil over my eyes for the hundredth time was a green light. Once I got the leech temporarily off of my face, the unexpected red light caught me off guard, and I slammed on the brakes. Bad idea.

  I knew the proper way to drive on the ice, and slamming on the brakes wasn’t it. With my adrenaline and anxiety in overdrive, though, instinct took over caution. The result was the rear end of my car fish-tailing all the way to the glaring stoplight with no signs of slowing down. I prayed that the crossroad would be clear because there was no way this car was going to stop in time. The glow of headlights on my left reminded me I wasn’t that lucky.

  The headlights were getting brighter and brighter. The car had to be extremely close. As I slid out past the white line, a giant black Hummer plummeted through th
e green light into the intersection, its driver only now aware of his impending danger. I was on my way to T-boning this SUV and there was nothing either of us could do to stop it. I wanted to scream but couldn’t find my voice.

  Just then, a few seconds before impact, the rear end of my fish-tailing car jolted hard to the left and threw me into a sideways drift toward the Hummer’s passenger side, my car now perpendicular to his. I held tightly to the steering wheel, squeezed my eyes shut, and cringed. All that was audible in those next few seconds was the crunch of snow being compacted into mounds by my sliding tires, the deafening thump of my frantic heart, and the terrifying hiss of the shadow still wrapped around me from my thighs to my throat.

  But the crash never came. Instead, I jerked roughly to the left and then just stopped. My eyes flashed open to find that my car had skidded to a halt with mere inches separating me and the Hummer that had only just begun to slow down. My breathing became short and heavy. With panic and anxiety pouring out my wide eyes, I turned to see the shocked look on the man’s face. As he slowly drove on, a faint glimmer of light shot out from between our vehicles, hovered for a moment until the Hummer drove away, and then disappeared.

  I didn’t have time to ponder what the light was or what it was doing there. Another set of headlights searched my car from the right, illuminating me as I remained idling in the intersection.

  I quickly, but as gently as I could, pressed the gas pedal and maneuvered the car around to continue my treacherous journey. The entire rest of the way home, the shadow never released its frenzied, slithering dominance over my captive body.

  It wasn’t until I reached my house, slid into the driveway, and made a mad dash to the front door, stumbling along the frozen sidewalk and getting hammered by the turbulent wind and snow, that I sensed the shadow slightly relax its grip. I was in such a hurry to get inside, even though I had no idea what to do once I got there, that I could hardly tell how much of the shadow was still wrapped around me and how much was now chasing after me like an attached parachute.