Cal was hysterical for a good twenty minutes before he was given a mild sedative; nothing that would dull him into a zombie-like state, just something to make dealing with the awful news a tad better.
He fought with himself on whether or not to lift the covers and stare at his feet, or rather, where his feet used to be. He was only twelve years old. He had been prepared—as much as a person his age could be—for the loss of a single foot, not two.
Oddly enough, he felt like he could wiggle his toes, as if his feet were simply invisible. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming. That the whole losing two feet was a nightmare. But the physical pain he was experiencing revealed the truth, because a person wasn’t supposed to feel pain in a dream.
His mother was still talking to him, hugging him close. He couldn’t make out her words. It was as if she were miles away and speaking through a gag that had been tied over her mouth.
Staring down at the bed, he saw how the blanket outlined where his legs were, ending suddenly with no bumps where his feet used to be. It didn’t seem real. He reached down, grabbed two handfuls of blanket and tore the covers off. His bare legs ended about a foot below his knees, the skinny areas wrapped in layers of blood-stained bandages. Even with the sedative, the sight was too much for his young mind to handle. He froze, unable to draw breath. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open.
He began to violently tremble. His mother squeezed him tighter and called for the doctor. Two nurses rushed in and began shining a light into his eyes, but Cal didn’t seem phased by the bright illumination. He was numb again, the outside world dimming until complete blackness fell over him.
Chapter Six
Jackie slept in Cal’s hospital room over the next couple days. She slumped, uncomfortably, in one of the semi-cushioned chairs, never dozing off for more than twenty minutes, but still managing to have nightmares. They’d all involved her son. She’d woken with a start after the last one, bolting upright in the chair. Her skin was slick with sweat, her shirt plastered to her body. Her heart pounded, almost painfully.
In the dream, she’d been in Cal’s hospital room, waiting for him to return from surgery. He was wheeled in resembling a giant-sized inchworm. His entire body was wrapped in gauze, mummy-like. The nurse came in and said there’d been a complication, that they’d had to remove all his limbs. She hadn’t gone back to sleep since.
Cal’s initial shock was mostly over with, the realization having hit him hard. Reality was setting in. But Cal having been prepared for the loss of one foot had helped him deal with the situation better than if he hadn’t been prepared at all. There were plenty of bouts of crying, but he was doing as well as could be expected. To add to the negative, Cal had developed a small infection, most likely due to having been in the hospital for so long, but antibiotics were clearing it up. That, combined with the two surgeries, was going to keep Cal in the hospital a bit longer than normal.
Jackie had gone home each day for a few hours to wash up and rest. Her parents came to the hospital every day and made sure to be there whenever she left, always leaving Cal with a family member.
She cried in the shower, letting the hot water wash away her sorrows and bring a cleansing sensation to the new day.
After getting dressed and eating a small breakfast consisting of hard boiled eggs and coffee, she was ready to head back to the hospital and paused as her hand was about to pull open the front door. She had the nagging sensation that she’d forgotten something. She took a moment and went over her mental checklist—money, keys, she’d taken her meds, unplugged the coffee machine… There was nothing else. She tried shaking the feeling, but for some reason, it wouldn’t go away and only intensified when she opened the door. It was as if she could not leave.
She closed the door and turned around and headed to the kitchen, stopping just before entering. The kitchen wasn’t where she needed to go. She felt like she was playing the hot and cold game, where she had to find something that had been hidden by listening to the hider telling her if she was getting warmer or colder.
She went left down the hallway toward the bedrooms, the feeling right. She stopped midway to her bedroom and looked up and found herself staring at the attic door. This is so weird, she thought, then reached up, grabbed the hanging cord and pulled down the staircase.
A chill spread over her, causing the hairs on her neck to stand. She was a little freaked out by what was happening. It wasn’t an anxiety attack. Maybe it was something new? A mental breakdown of some kind?
Obeying the overwhelming feeling in her gut, she placed a foot on the bottom step and ascended to the rickety staircase.
When she was at the top of the stairs, she yanked on the string dangling before her. The light bulb came to life and illuminated the huge storage area. Boxes upon boxes lay about like stacked cars at a junkyard. A winding path led through the crowded room.
Jackie hadn’t been in the attic since two years after Dan died. The last time was when she put some of his clothes up there, having been unable to part with them. She’d wanted at least a box of some of his things, putting them in sealed plastic so that his smell would still be present. It had been a little morbid, she knew, but so be it.
Other boxes were full of knick-knacks and house items no longer needed. There were containers filled with stuff she had no room for. There were boxes of Cal’s baby clothes as well as toys he’d grown out of. But most of all, the attic was full of things long forgotten, things that should have been thrown out long ago.
Cobwebs wavered in the rafters, like stationary apparitions, as air flowed in from below. The sticky, white strands were strung throughout the ceiling. A thin layer of dust covered everything. A quick go-through with the duster and the place would be clean again.
For a moment, Jackie wondered what the hell she was doing in the attic. She had no idea, but it felt right because… Because she knew she needed to find something. It didn’t make sense, and she was a little freaked out, but in no way could she leave until she had found it.
None of this made sense to her. Was she having some kind of episode? A stroke? Losing her mind?
She thought about leaving. Forcing herself to run from the attic. From the house.
No, you can't leave, she told herself. Not until you find it.
Like before, she thought of the hot and cold game. She walked straight ahead and could almost hear a voice telling her she was getting warmer. She passed boxes labeled Grandma’s Stuff and Housewares and Good Junk before coming to a box marked Cal’s Stuff.
Ding, ding, ding. She was scorching hot and knew this was where she was supposed to be. She’d found what she came for.
Jackie closed her eyes and shook her head. She trembled. She was losing her mind.
But it felt right, and suddenly the fear she'd been experiencing was gone, as if a weight had been lifted.
The box labeled Cal's Stuff was taped closed using clear packing tape. She reached in her pocket and pulled out her set of keys, chose the house key and sliced the adhesive sealing the box. She put her keys away and pried open the cardboard container. Dust flew, the air filling with the tiny particles. She waved her hand in front of her face and coughed. As the dust cleared, she lifted the box’s flaps, folding them over and revealing the contents. There were a number of toys—Transformers, Matchbox cars, two walkie talkies and a jumble of other items, but the one that lay on top, staring at her as if asking what took her so long, was the Blue Demon action figure, the item Dan had been on his way to buy the night he had been killed.
A week after the accident, the comic book store owner had stopped by the house. He gave his condolences and said he was there to return the deposit Dan had left for the Blue Demon action figure. He was sorry for stopping by out of the blue, but he had wanted to give her the cash without her having to go down to his shop. She was blown away by his honesty and kindness, as she’d forgotten all about the collectible. Instead of accepting the cash, she paid the rest of the bill, wanting t
he toy for her son. It was the last thing Dan had purchased for Cal.
Reaching into the box, she picked it up and nearly giggled with excitement. She hadn’t seen the thing in years, not since the night Cal had thrown it out his window. He’d been so angry at it. Blamed it for his father’s death. Then the following morning, Cal had woke crying, saying how he hadn’t meant to throw away Blue Demon. He wanted it back. They’d gone outside to get it, figuring it was in the backyard, but it was nowhere to be found. She figured one of the neighborhood kids must have cut through the yard, saw it and took it. It was the only thing that made sense. Cal was inconsolable. She’d even gone as far as to put up flyers for the thing, offering a reward of a hundred dollars. The only thing it did was get some neighborhood kids to tease Cal about it at school.
She closed the cardboard box and stood, unable to stop grinning at the action figure, knowing how much it was going to cheer up Cal.
●●●
“Look what I found,” she said, when she entered her son’s hospital room.
“Blue Demon,” Cal said, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Where’d you find one, eBay?”
Jackie laughed. “No, I found him in the attic in your box of old toys.”
“Cal’s face scrunched up, revealing his confusion. “The attic? I never put him up there.”
“Well somehow he got there. I can’t explain it, but here he is,” she said, and handed him the toy.
"Wow," Cal said. "I can't believe it." His mouth hung open and then formed into a great big grin. He eyed the pricey toy, then looked up at her. His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “Are you sure you didn’t buy me another one?”
“I swear, Cal,” she said, holding up a hand like a witness taking an oath on the stand. “I’m as surprised as you are. Speaking of which, are you sure you didn’t find him and put him up there, as a way to punish yourself?”
“No way,” Cal said, as if such a thing was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “I never would’ve put him with some old toys. Dad wanted me to have it. Besides, I knew how expensive it was. He would have wanted me to take care of it.”
“You’re right,” she said, thinking back. The only other reason as to how the toy could’ve wound up in the attic was her. She’d been so distraught, so alone and lost. Popping anti-anxiety and anti-depression medication. It was possible she had been the one who put it in the attic. Maybe she’d found it and had been so out of it—not wanting the last thing Dan gave Cal to get lost or ruined—that she’d put it up there as a way to ensure it remained safe until Cal was older and would be able to appreciate it.
Truth be told, she didn't believe she'd been the one. But it was the only thing she could come up.
“Weird,” Cal said, staring at the action figure. “At least you found him. I know I’m too old for these things, but he makes me feel better.”
“You’re never too old for anything,” she said, and rubbed his head. “It’s a toy, but it’s a collector’s item as well. You know that. Adults three times your age have them sitting on their shelves. Many keeping them in their boxes and making sure the packaging is pristine."
Cal frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“I miss Dad.”
Jackie felt as if her legs suddenly filled with lead. She sat on the bed next to Cal and placed a hand on his leg. “I know," she said. "Me too. We’ll always miss him, and finding this will make us miss him just a little bit more, but that’s a good thing. I know he’d want you to have it.”
“Maybe when I can walk again, I’ll go up to the attic and look around. See if there’s any other cool stuff I forgot about.”
“Sounds like a plan," she said and smiled. "We can do it together. I’ve been meaning to go through some things myself.”
●●●
Later that night, while his mother slept uncomfortably on two chairs put next to each other, Cal picked up his Blue Demon action figure from the tray table and began speaking softly to it.
“This really sucks. You were there for me when Dad died and I threw you away. I know you’re only a toy, but if it’s possible, could you please watch over me and Mom. Oh, and anyone else that Dr. Stetson might get on his operating table. Mom said he’s a bad man and needs to be stopped. But mom is most important. She’s been through so much. I know I’m the one that lost his feet, but she’s gone through a lot, too. I know she misses Dad. I do, too. But she doesn’t have anyone, not really. I have her and my friends. I hear her crying sometimes, and I know it’s because she misses him. Now she’s going to be upset over me. I just know it. Please watch over her. Make her feel better.”
He placed the action figure back on the tray table.
He knew talking to a piece of plastic that was shaped like his favorite cartoon character was silly, but it made him feel better. Sure, his mom was there for him, and she was great, but he needed to know someone was watching over her.
He wasn't sure he’d be able to get through this awful ordeal without his mom. And he loved her with all he had. He didn’t want anything to happen to her.
Blue Demon was the perfect guardian and avenger. Yes, his powers were demonic, but he used them to right wrongs and bring justice to those who deserved it.
Cal had to believe in the figure. Believe that it would be there to protect them. He was just a kid, too young to do such a thing. When he was older, say eighteen, then he would be able to protect his mom.
Cal fell into la-la land, the painkillers and his guardian, Blue Demon, combining to give him the peace of mind he needed.
Chapter Seven
Dr. Stetson waited in the OR for Carrie Winters, the head nurse on his staff. He pulled the flask of bourbon from his jacket and took a long swig before putting it back. He relished the burn along his esophagus. His stomach filled with a warmth and familiarity he had not only come to enjoy but needed. He’d had a tough week.
It wasn’t his fault he’d cut off the kid’s good foot. Hell no. It was his staff’s. His job was to perform, and to do so flawlessly, which he always did.
So he drank a little on the job. It was no big deal. The alcohol relaxed him, made him work better. Kept his nerves calm so he could operate smoothly. He’d saved countless lives, including the Langston boy’s.
But was his mother grateful? No. In fact, the bitch was making his life hell. She’d threatened him and the hospital. Said she’d sue them all, and he believed her because she was a low-life loser. She had no case against him, and that would be proven. Besides, he was protected by the hospital and no one on his staff would talk. If they did, he would ruin them, and they knew it. And if by some chance her case went to trial, the hospital would settle. A bottom feeder like her would take the money and run.
But truth be told, he was going to have to be more careful when it came to picking his staff. Sure they were all loyal—fear did that—but they weren’t all as qualified as they should be. He usually took on the hot nurses. The ones that were nice to look at while he cut people, and especially the ones that gave great blowjobs.
He would never fire Carrie though. She was something special. As he was to surgery, she was to carnal pleasures. She did things his wife would never do. She was a twisted little minx, but he liked that about her. She loved fucking him on the operating table, the place where he wielded the power and held people’s lives in his hands. The place he opened them up and performed—removing parts or fixing them. The place where blood was spilled and death hovered, but was usually kept at bay. He was powerful in her eyes, god-like.
The OR’s doors opened and Carrie entered. She was dressed in her usual light blue scrubs. But she had on candy-apple red lipstick and dark eye shadow. Nurses never wore makeup in the operating room. He loved how naughty she was being. It was a simple thing, but for some reason the small infraction excited him.
“Hello, Doctor,” she said.
“Nurse,” he said, softly, watching her strut across the room toward him.
His memb
er stirred.
She pressed up against him, breathed into his face. She smelled of cinnamon. He went to kiss her, but she pulled back.
“Tsk, tsk,” she said, wagging a finger. “You’ve been a bad boy this week.”
Anger flared within him. She was referring to the Langston kid. He grabbed her wrists and squeezed. His cheek muscles defined themselves as he clenched his jaw. “Watch it, girlie.”
She smirked, her eyes becoming slits. “Ooh, I like it when you’re angry.”
He wanted her more than ever.
He pressed himself to her and she fell back against the operating table. He gazed into her eyes, reached over to the small metal tray with the surgical instruments on it and grabbed one of the scalpels.
He brought the cutting implement to her throat.
The muscles in her neck contracted as she swallowed.
He saw pleasure in her eyes, then sliced the neck line of her gown and continued to cut down the front of the garment until it was separated. Her soft skin and fluorescent pink bra—barely able to hold in her breasts—were revealed. A tattooed ring of fire blazed around her navel.
“I’ve been naughty too, doctor,” she said, “but that’s not why I’m here today.”
“Oh?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. He put the scalpel back on the tray.
She then guided his hand to her crotch. “I need a checkup. I’ve been having some discomfort here.” She pressed his hand harder against her and moved it up and down.
“I’ll have to have a look,” he said. He dropped to his knees, and at the same time, yanked down her pants. Her lack of underwear revealed a neatly trimmed mound. All along her inner thighs were minor scars, the scars he’d put there; the ones she’d begged for.
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