by Diane Strong
son. You are a strong man and you will come out of this test even stronger.”
“I love you too, ma. Hey boys, come give you’re old man a hug before you ditch me, will ya?”
Alison stands like the head pin on a bowling lane with her family behind her. Her erect body stretches ten feet high. An amber glow encircles her and her voice echoes as she speaks.
“How dare you Rick. How could you do this to me? We have children. What kind of man puts his anger toward his wife before the wellbeing of his children?” Alison’s hands rise in question reminiscent of Jesus talking to his disciples.
Alison’s father steps up to put one hand on his daughter’s shoulder and the other on his hip. “You’re a bastard. Alison never should have married you. She has always been too good for you. You don’t deserve a woman like her.”
Casey interjects, “John and I have spoken to a lawyer, Rick. When we get Alison’s confession he says you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail. You’ll never see those innocent kids again. You messed-up Rick. You’re gonna lose everything you sick bastard!” She stares at Rick unblinkingly. Then she turns and takes a deep breath. She stares at Alison with pity while stepping over to her then reaches out to hug her. When her body falls into the embrace, Alison’s body becomes transparent like an angel and Casey falls through her.
“Alison!” Rick lurches forward to search for the body that was just there. He drops to his knees and puts his hands to his face to rub his eyes. He quickly pulls them away, startled by the wetness. He looks at his hands and the pools of blood they hold.
“See! Guilt! The hands of a murderer! Kill him!” John shouts, stabbing one hand in the air. The family begins kicking him in his head and his shoulders. He feels a sharp pain shoot through his knee.
Rick awakes with the last blow. Real pain radiates from his knee. He watches confused as the stark white sheets from Alison’s bed flail forming a tent then collapsing. A pale arm tangled with tubes swings out of the bed and knocks over a machine. The rhythmic beep-beep-beep stops and an alarm sounds in its place.
Seconds later a nurse comes striding into the room. Taking a slight second to assess the situation she yells, “Assistance! I need assistance in here!” Another nurse runs into the room and grabs Alison’s arm to restrain it.
“We need to sedate her, she’s waking too quickly.”
Alison moans then kicks at Rick’s leg again. He stands and places the weight of his body over Alison’s legs. “Calm down, honey! Easy! Easy girl. You need to relax, baby.”
Alison’s body begins to fight the restraints and her hand reaches up to her mouth grabbing hold of the trachea tube. The nurse quickly takes hold of Alison’s wrist and yanks it to her side. Alison’s head hits the metal bed rail on one side before she reels away only to slap it hard on the other side.
“Alison, baby! Oh God, stop! Please!” Sweat droplets form on Rick’s hairline as tears well up in his eyes, mortified by his wife’s violent outbreak.
Loud voices move toward the room then a short brunette with a long white coat enters. She draws liquid into a needle and steps over to the chaos. She finds the IV port on Alison’s arm and injects her with the liquid. The battle slows and quakes then she deflates into a tranquil sleep. The entire room seems to sigh in rhythm.
“I’m sorry this happened, Mr. Gleason. It isn’t all that surprising, however. Waking a person with traumatic brain injury from an induced coma is tricky. We will have to adjust our doses and drugs a little more before we find the best combination. Don’t be disheartened, as strange as it may seem, this is normal.”
“Normal.” Rick falls into a sigh then rests his eyes on his sleeping wife. His gut retches with the memory of her violence. The episode he witnessed just minutes ago was so completely different from the delicate woman before him now. He fears the awakening.
I am not capable of hurting her. There is no way I did this to her. They are just feeding my thoughts and putting idea’s in my head.
But what if? What if my rage has built up over these past couple of years so much that I did do something stupid…in some sort of a…blind rage… or fugue… or something? Can that happen? Could it be some sort of psychosis?
Would they let me off for insanity? Could I prove I’m insane? Am I insane? I have to know what happened.
“What happened?” Rick speaks soft but harsh. “Tell me, damn it! I know you can hear me, Alison. Wake up and tell me what happened.” He squeezes his wife’s face between his hands. When she doesn’t respond he squeezes harder, “Al…li…son!” His voice shakes along with the hold on her face.
A cart strolls up to the door and stops. Rick quickly pulls his hands to his side and sits down. The cart attendant puts a file down and glances at Rick then holds his stare momentarily before strolling on. There’s no need to leave a tray of food at this room. Not yet.
Who is this woman? I deserve better. I have done nothing but work my ass off to keep this family fed and housed. I run the kids to sports and meet their teachers. I cook dinner and clean most of the time. She has it made. She gets to spend her days taking long runs at her leisure and meeting Casey for coffee and who the hell knows what else. Hell, she’s probably found some other drunk to screw. Maybe she’s still screwing that asswipe from the bar.
I can raise these kids without her. I don’t need her. They don’t need her.
What if they take me away? What if they put me away in a cell and leave her to raise my kids? What kind of life would that be for them? Oh, God. How would I protect them from her?
Rick stares out the window imagining a life without freedom. The day is gray and overcast. A few crispy leaves wisp past the window. The melodic beeping of the machines feels like a tap, tap, tapping on his temples. When is this going to stop?
A faint moan draws Rick’s attention away from the window and he turns to see Alison’s leg move and her eyes open briefly. His heart skips a beat with excitement and dread. This is one step closer to closure, a little closer to the truth. Do I want to know the truth?
A nurse comes in to run through the usual gamut of tests. When she picks up Alison’s wrist to check her IV port, Alison squeezes her hand. “Oh, I see she is coming around a little. Have you seen any movement, Mr. Gleason?”
“Ah…” Rick stops himself in mid-sentence. “No. She hasn’t moved at all since they drugged her Thursday night. Not that I’ve seen.” He had seen many movements, some of them documented even but Rick lies without hesitation for no reason.
“I think that is going to change soon, Mr. Gleason. She may even be responsive before the day is over.” The nurse gives him a sincere grin and walks out of the room.
Her eyes open and blink in response to his face now and her fingers play with the sheets. She has come around over the last two days. But right now she sleeps. Rick stares at the accordion-like tubes that run from the machine to his wife’s mouth. The mouth he used to kiss. He can see her lips say, “I do.” They kissed.
He remembers her mouth blowing, blowing in rhythmic puffs as she fought the pain of childbirth. They kissed the tops of those babies’ heads.
Those lips tried desperately to contain her perfect teeth as she wailed with laughter during their sixth wedding anniversary. She finally caught her breath then licked them in anticipation of the celebratory sex they would enjoy that evening. That mouth used to take him in and make him come with little effort.
How hard would it be? Pinch. Hold. Hold. Hold…until the light fades and disappears. Bad. Bad. Bad, plan. Too much noise. Too many alarms. Alarms are bad.
He stares at the tube and the connection that joins the mouth piece to the air hose. Can she breathe on her own?
Rick’s watch reads two-forty-seven. He walks quietly over to the door, steps casually out and glances around in one smooth motion. The halls are quiet, there is still time before visiting hours begin. He carefully walks back over to the head of the bed.
Her swollen face is pale and drool drips from the edge of her frown beneath
the tape. Rick’s hand timidly reaches out and touches the tubing. His index finger drags along the connection. He takes the tube between his fingers and pinches slightly and waits then pinches the tube hard. He let go suddenly, remembering the alarms.
His nerve builds and Rick plays with the connection again, this time bringing his left hand up for assistance. He takes hold of one side of the connection with his right hand and the other with his left. With a calm motion he pulls. The tubes separate.
Nothing. Her lips don’t move and her body remains perfectly still.
Alison’s eyes open while her chest rises and a gush of air rushes into the trachea tube. Her hands reach up and grab at Ricks arms. Then the alarm sounds.
Panic shakes Rick to the core. The tube flies from his hands and in another motion he fumbles to get hold of it. Finally he gets a solid hold of the tube and attempts to reconnect it. His shaking hands defy him. He can hear footsteps pounding in his head and getting closer to the room. He can’t make the connection.
“Mr. Gleason! Please step aside!”
Rick drops the tube and takes three large steps backwards. “I’m sorry. I fell. The tube…it…it pulled out…oh, my God is she okay? I’m so sorry!” Ricks body convulses with fear.
The nurse connects the hoses with an easy motion then punches a few buttons and the alarm stops. Alison lays quiet again now