by Jason Parent
Elsewhere, the man responsible slept soundly, his mind at peace.
Clive awoke to a migraine. His body ached as if it hadn’t rested at all. Awareness was slow to return. Gradually, his world glued itself back together.
Something was jabbing him in the buttocks. He reached for it, but something held his arm in place. He strained, and with a loud rip and the removal of a swath of hair, his arm came free. Bandages then covered in lint and clumped up like discarded packaging tape had stuck Clive to his sheets. A few still hung wrinkled from his right arm like the loose skin off that guy from the Subway commercials. The sheets themselves were filthy. It made Clive’s skin crawl. Black dirt and yellow stains blotted the supposedly sterile linen. Fucking hospitals.
“Good morning, Uncle Clive,” a familiar tiny voice called out. “Actually, it’s no longer morning.”
The little girl moved in closer. Clive’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted, but he could easily make out the features of his niece, Victoria.
“Wow!” She leaned over him on the bed, no more than a foot from his face. “You must have been sleeping really still. There’s a spiderweb on your nose.”
Victoria moved in with the carefree curiosity of an eight-year old. She pinched her thumb and forefinger together as she reached for the web.
Clive recalled a hazy dream about a spider and the searing pain he felt the last time he thought he saw a spiderweb protruding from his nose. He reached for Victoria’s wrist.
“Wait! Don’t pull it!”
He cringed, but it was too late. Victoria pulled the web free. Clive watched in relief as she threw it into the garbage. No pain? Thank God. It wasn’t attached to anything this time.
He turned to his left, his eyes adjusting to the speckled light pouring in from a broken shade. His brother sat quietly in a nearby chair.
“You guys didn’t have to come. It was just minor surgery.”
Kyle shrugged. “You’ve got to be the only guy I know who would consider brain surgery minor. Anyway, we haven’t been here long. Mom was here for a while yesterday. She had difficulty finding your room. You know how she is. She gets a little senile now and then. Once she did find you, she didn’t want to leave you until you woke up. But visitors’ hours ended, and your waking took longer than expected.”
“And that was yesterday? How long was I out?”
“The night after the operation, all of yesterday, and most of today. They must have given you some powerful stuff, or you were in desperate need of sleep, man. Mom got here yesterday, since the doctors told us you’d sleep through the first night. When you didn’t wake up this morning, Mom went home to freshen up. So, I told her I’d take over babysitting you for a while.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no big deal. We were here anyway. Rachel’s in a different wing.”
“Oh.” Clive squirmed in his narrow bed. The object poking his ass cheek wouldn’t relent. “What the hell is that?” he asked himself aloud.
From underneath his butt, Clive pulled out a clear, thin tube. He held it up for his brother’s inspection.
“Looks like they haven’t been giving me much of anything. No wonder I slept so long. My body has had to heal all by itself. Makes you feel real good about the staff here, doesn’t it? What do you suppose this tube was for? IV? Saline? Life support? Well whatever it was, it’s out now.”
“I’ll be right back,” Kyle replied, jumping from his seat. “Watch Victoria for a minute? I’m just going to check in on Rachel.”
“Sure thing.” Open mouth, insert foot. Great job, Clive.
Clive’s gaze returned to his niece. Victoria was fixated on the EKG machine. She flicked every switch and punched every button, her curiosity apparently trumping her caution. It didn’t matter. Clive’s heartbeat wasn’t being monitored, unless he didn’t have one. The screen was black and silent.
“So, Victoria. How’s school?”
“Okay, I guess. Some of the kids are stupid. I beat up this boy Carl, and Daddy got mad at me.”
“Did he deserve it?”
“He called me a booger nose and said I had a camel toe. I’ve never even seen a camel.”
“I’d say he deserved it, then, but let’s keep that between you and me.”
Beside Victoria, Clive noticed some flowers sitting on an end table. Attached was a card, signed by Morgan.
“Somebody likes you,” Victoria said, giggling. “She even used the word love.”
“You read my card?”
Victoria’s face turned red. She nodded sheepishly.
“She’s Uncle Clive’s best friend,” he said.
“Yeah, best friend with benefits!” Victoria laughed.
“Victoria!” Clive was more amused than shocked. “How do you know that expression?”
“I’m already grown up, Uncle Clive. I know all about those things even though Daddy doesn’t think so.” The blush in her face brightened.
“Well, I have to agree with your Daddy on this one. You’re way too young to be talking about that kind of thing.”
Clive eyed the end table a second time, wondering if anybody else cared enough to get him something. He saw some tulips with baby’s breath in a familiar vase, his mother’s favorite one. He assumed they were from her. At the far corner, he spotted a business card.
“What’s this?” Clive asked, reaching for the card.
“That’s from Detective Reilly. I hope she’s your girlfriend, Uncle Clive. She’s pretty… reminds me of that lady cop on Law & Order. Is she your girlfriend? Daddy said it was none of our business, but you don’t mind me asking, right?”
“No, she’s not my girlfriend.”
What would a detective want with me? He’d paid off all his parking tickets, and he never so much as spit on the sidewalk. And a detective as opposed to a normal police officer? This seemed important. Geez, I hope nobody died.
“So you saw her?” he asked.
“Yeah. She came in while you were sleeping a little while ago.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“She wanted you to call her, and she left that card. Maybe she wants a date!”
“What do you think? Should I give her a call?”
“Yep. She’s cute, and it’s about time you got me an aunt.”
Clive flipped Detective Reilly’s business card between his fingers. Its circular motion began to blur, and Clive felt his eyelids fall beneath their weight. Consciousness waned. His thoughts became less lucid. He wondered whether he should call the detective as he drifted back to sleep.
The card fell from his hand. With the last of his thoughts, it disappeared.
CHAPTER 18
W hen Clive awoke, he was still in the hospital. Countless hours had wasted away. His body felt numb, near atrophying. Why am I still here? Did something go wrong?
As daylight cycled away, Clive had many visitors. Too many. He couldn’t get them to leave. His mother, Kyle, Morgan, Connie, and even Derek showed up to wish him a quick recovery. He felt fine. His brain seemed to be functioning. Whatever had been cut off seemed to lack any utility. Perhaps best of all, he hadn’t imagined that voice all day.
Feeling better than he had since his plunge into Milford Pond, Clive couldn’t understand why the doctors kept him. Yet no one came to release him. The operation seemed to have been successful. He silently pled for his discharge as he meandered through one trivial conversation after another with almost preprogrammed dialogue. He desperately wanted some time alone to verify his “cure.”
“I’m exhausted,” Clive said, faking a yawn and out-stretching his arms.
“Get some sleep.”
Morgan, the last to leave, sat stoic by his side. She had outlasted them all and was showing no sign of letting up. “I can sleep here.”
“Thanks, Morgan, but you don’t have to.” Really. Get out. “I’ll be fine. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll be out tomorrow, I’m sure. They’re probably just keeping me for observa
tion.”
“But—”
“Thank you. But I need rest. My head is all fucked-up. I’d feel better if I knew you weren’t here worrying about me.”
“I’ll worry about you whether I’m here or not.”
“Morgan, please…”
Morgan let out a deep breath and frowned. “Okay, Clive. I’ll do whatever you want. If you change your mind and want company, please give me a call.”
She got up, kissed him on the cheek, then started to leave, when she paused and glanced back. Clive flashed an insincere smile, though he doubted it would appease her. Sitting up, he continued to flash that phony smile as Morgan closed the door behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, his body tensed. His hands shook. His mouth dried. Not a particle in his being felt tired at that moment. He was anxious and very, very afraid.
“Chester?” he croaked. His eyes darted rapidly around the room. All was silent. Clive began to think that maybe, by some small miracle, he really had been cured. Hearing nothing, his body relaxed. His sanity remained intact.
I’m here.
Clive locked up so tightly he bit into his tongue. If he’d been afraid before, then he was downright terrified. If he’d thought he was crazy, then he was damn near certain of it. The voice was proof positive that his problems transcended the physical.
“That’s imp-p-possible,” he stuttered. “The operation—”
Was a waste of time, just as I said it would be. But don’t take my word for it. Ask Dr. Landenberg. Better yet, ask his nurse. She’ll spill the beans. She hates Dr. L.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” Clive responded, summoning his defiance. “And my dream?”
That was no dream.
“So, let me get this straight. You expect me to believe that you’re a fucking spider, that you live in my head, and that you can talk? And I’m supposed to believe that over the alternative that I’m either mentally fucked in the head or physically fucked in the head, i.e., brain damaged?”
How much more convincing do you need?
“I must be crazy. I’m crazy for even talking to you. It’s just a matter of time before they send me to the crazy ward. Maybe that’s why they’re keeping me here.”
Pull yourself together. Talk to that nurse. She’ll tell you that there was nothing wrong with your head and that they performed unnecessary surgery on you, risked your life for no reason other than Dr. Landenberg’s incompetence. Don’t be surprised when I say I told you so. I got him back for you good, though. I bull’s-eyed him in the cornea with my web.
“I don’t have to listen to this nonsense. I’ll just ignore you until you go away.”
You can try, but it won’t work. I’ll keep on talking whether you’re listening or not. However, your reluctance to accept me is beginning to wear thin. Living up here gives me tremendous power over you. Our relationship needn’t be so… collaborative.
Clive balled up his fists. “What do you mean?”
I could own you if I wanted to, but I choose to do this friendly-like. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.
A strange sensation overcame Clive. His head felt as though it were a piano and someone were delicately tuning its strings. Fluid warmth spread slowly across his lower extremities. His bed sheets darkened around his midsection. His thighs became damp and sticky.
“Gross! You made me piss myself! How is that cool? And how am I going to explain that to the nurse?” Clive was more beaten than angry. His lungs pumped out short empty breaths. Sweat dripped from his temples. Everything seemed so hopeless. He could do nothing but submit, give in to his dark passenger. “Okay. Say I believe you. Say I believe I have a talking spider named Chester living in my head.”
You’re the one who called me Chester.
“Whatever. Say I believe you’re real. What’s next?”
Nothing. Go on living your life. If you let me, perhaps I can make it better for you. There’s a lot that I know that you don’t. Basically, I know everything that you know and a whole lot more. What is it they say? “Knowledge is power,” a quote with which you weren’t formerly familiar. See? I’m already teaching you new things. In fact, there’s a good chance I could make your pathetic life worth living.
“Yeah, you’ve done a great job of that so far.” Clive shrugged, but he couldn’t kid himself into thinking that he wasn’t somewhat interested in what Chester had to say. He needed to calm down. He needed to accept the hand dealt him. After all, it wasn’t every day one encountered a talking spider. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m listening. What can you supposedly do for me?”
Well, let’s start with your job. You should quit that miserable place, but since you’re destined to obscurity and averse to change, how about I get you a promotion and a raise by the end of the week?
Clive laughed, and for the first time in a while, it was genuine and needed. “Career advice from a spider? That’s rich. What would you know about working for an insurance company? And a raise and a promotion? I’d like to see you try. Have you met my boss?”
There’s so much more you can do there, Clive. And then there’s Connie—
“Hold up. Let’s start with the raise. How do you propose I go about that one, oh great one?”
Nice. Sarcasm. I’m surprised you have enough wit in you for it. Anyway, if you want a raise, ask for one.
“That’s it? That’s your master plan? I don’t do shit at Harcourt. Plus, Judge Judy hates me. Where’s my leverage? There’s no way she gives me a raise.”
You’re that certain, are you? Let’s make a deal, then. You say what I tell you to say to Ms. Large-and-in-Charge. I get you that raise, and you cut me some slack, start listening to me a bit more.
“And if you fail?”
I disappear. You go on with your pathetic life.
“How could I possibly resist those terms? Chester, you have yourself a deal.”
“You want a raise? You got one.”
Clive nearly fell off his seat in shock. After all the crap he’d had to deal with lately, he’d been ready to write off his luck. Low on funds, he’d stopped by Harcourt for an outstanding paycheck. Eager to be rid of Chester, Clive tested her theories pertaining to his career advancement. He’d barely said the ten words, “Judith, may I have a raise and an agent position?” before his request was, in part, granted. He asked for the raise half in jest to avoid any possible retaliation. He figured even Judith would cut him some slack on account of the whole brain-cancer thing.
Astonished, he eventually managed, “Thank you, ma’am.” Maybe his luck was finally changing. He made up his mind to see Dr. Landenberg next.
Judith smiled warmly. Clive could see her wayward stare randomly make its way to his scabbing forehead. He had gotten his bandages wet, against doctor’s orders, and decided it wasn’t worth the aggravation to redress the wound. The hideous stitch line was like a car accident—people couldn’t help but look. Clive returned the favor, doing his best not to stare at the three long hairs growing out of the mole on one of Judith’s four chins.
“Clive, I had no idea you wanted to be an agent. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I…” Clive began, unable to think of an intelligent lie. He’d never wanted to be an insurance agent before. Somehow, he didn’t think explaining to Judith that a talking spider persuaded him to seek the position would go over well.
“I didn’t know I wanted it either until someone put the bug in my ear. But I think I’m ready. With your approval, of course.”
“Sure. We’ve had our differences, but I like the fact that you’re finally showing some initiative. Must be the whole near-death experience, huh? Putting life into perspective for you?”
“Something like that.” If the psychotic intervention of a talking spider willing me to ask for a raise is “something like that.”
“I’ve been there, Clive. When my doctor found a lump, I didn’t know what to do. It turned out to be nothing, just a hardened clump of lipid cells or something. I don’t know
. All I know is, it helped me reevaluate things.”
Fat. It was a hard lump of fat. She probably has many more of them. If it made her reevaluate her lifestyle, her eating habits weren’t up for negotiation.
“How long have you been here?” Judith asked.
“Just over two years.”
“And how many raises have you received?”
“None, ma’am.”
“Clive, call me Judith. I’m not your grandmother.”
That’s a relief. “Yes, Judith.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. We got nothing open as far as agent positions go. For now, I’ll promote you to Senior Data Enteristist… Entryist… Enterist… Entrist?”
Judith cleared her throat, making a sound that resembled the croak of a bullfrog. Clive tried not to imagine what she had managed to unclog.
“You get the point,” she continued. “The new position comes with a ten-cents-per-hour raise. When an agent position opens up, I’ll make sure your name is at the top of the list.”
Judith leaned closer, insinuating she had something important to say. Clive didn’t care. He blocked her out and pressed his lips shut, trying not to draw in too much of her tuna salad breath. He wondered if she might eat him, like Jabba the Hutt choking down one of those worm things in Return of the Jedi.
The thought of Jabba of course brought to mind Carrie Fisher in her space bikini and all the things he’d do with her on a collar. I wish her name was Princess Lay-me. The momentary distraction into sexual deviance startled Clive. The last thing he wanted was to get aroused near Judge Judy. He cringed and focused his attention back to his boss.
“—so some of those guys will be getting canned. Let’s keep that between the two of us.”