Pieces in Chance

by Juli Valenti

  Drew had stopped fighting but as he pulled his zipper down, adrenaline flared within her. NO! Not again, never again, her mind had rebelled, and she kicked him as hard as she could in his groin, scrambling to her feet and running to her room. Locking it, she’d tried to open the tiny window above her bed, to no avail. She’d known he’d bolted it, the same day he’d barred it with steel so she couldn’t run away, regardless of her protests. Not having any other options, she used the silver candle lighter Dean had given her for her birthday and set fire to the drab curtains, staring in amazement as the magnificent oranges and reds spread quickly throughout her room.

  A piece of her heart shattered as she watched the flames lick up the walls, overtaking everything she’d once loved. This room had once been her safe haven, turning into her own prison, and now would be even more. She just wanted the hell she was in to end, and if this was how it had to happen, so be it. Dean was safe, Drew had seen to it – he was at football practice and she’d mailed his acknowledgement of acceptance to LSU this afternoon, the real reason she’d been late coming home from school.

  Thick black smoke covered the room, filling her nostrils and lungs, causing Drew to cough. She steeled herself against her body’s urge to run, to find clean air to breathe, to live, all the while taking solace that the lock was holding. She’d never been so thankful that she’d lost her hearing – she couldn’t hear anything around her but the muted sound of the flames crackling.

  This is going to end here and now, she decided, refusing to back down. Either him or me, God, you make your choice.

  Drew couldn’t help but wish she’d said goodbye to Dean properly, to thank him for being more than a brother, more than a twin to her. He’d become her lifeline, the only person in the world who cared whether she lived or died. Unfortunately, she hadn’t planned this outcome … the opportunity had just presented itself. The final thought she had before her body collapsed to the floor, her body shutting down from the lack of oxygen in the air, was that at least now Dean would be truly free to live his life. Dean was finally free, and so was she.

  The room was dim, only a small circle of yellow light coming from a tiny bulb above. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust, to give her some clue as to where she was. Last she could remember, she’d been in her room, flames and smoke all around her.

  As Drew bolted upright, panicking, a hand grasped hers. Her eyes darted to it before traveling up to the body it belonged to and she let a breath out as she saw Dean, his eyes haunted, dark purple circling under them as if he hadn’t slept. Body heavy and dizzy from the adrenaline now seeping out of her, she let herself fall back into a cradle of pillows. After a moment she realized she was in the hospital, in a hospital bed, alive, with her brother beside her. Oh no! her mind inwardly screamed. No! This wasn’t supposed to happen! What if he made it out too!?

  Her gaze darted to her brother, fear filling her eyes with tears. He must’ve understood her look because he began speaking.

  “You’re alright, Drew,” he said, speaking slowly so she could follow his lips in her groggy state. It took a moment for her to register that she heard nothing. The small tidbits of his voice that used to still filter through her damaged ears were gone. There was no distant beeping, no whirling of anything from the room, nothing.

  Dread mingled with her fear, her anxiety. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs – the hospital room could have been full of smoke, just like her room, and she wouldn’t have known the difference. It had finally happened. She was deaf, one hundred percent. Never would she hear her beloved brother’s soothing tones, if not the syllables within his words. There wasn’t even a static or ringing she’d always thought would fill her once it overtook her. Instead there was nothing. Something she used to find soothing, the peace and quiet, was now oppressive, depressing.

  Shaking of her hand roused her from her mental lament. Glancing up, she noticed that Dean had moved, now perching on the side of her bed, though she hadn’t felt the bed move.

  “What is it? What can I do to help?” he signed, an expectant, longing expression on his face. How could she tell him that she couldn’t hear anything anymore? And that there was nothing he could do, or could have done, to help? Sure, he’d gone through great pains to learn ASL for her, to find a way to communicate with her that didn’t include screaming and only lip reading. But it had been hard for him. It hurt him that she’d been hurt, that she’d lost something so precious most took for granted. Telling him that everything was gone? It was going to kill a small piece of him inside. She entertained the idea of lying to him, but only for a minute. It wouldn’t take him long to see right through her and know the truth, which would only make things worse.

  “I hear nothing, now,” she signed in answer, closing her eyes, opting to tell him the truth. A part of her had known this day would come; she’d felt it and known it during his beating her, felt the damage as it had happened. Still, nothing could have prepared her for how it actually felt. And how it would make her beloved brother feel. I should have died in that fire, I wanted to, damn it. I was ready to go, she thought miserably, a rogue tear escaping from her closed lid and trailing down her cheek.

  It just wasn’t fair. Sure, she hadn’t planned on setting the fire – it’d been a domino effect, a reaction to her father’s abuse. But, even she had to admit, she’d been looking for an escape plan for a long time. A way to escape the pain of the abuse, the pain she caught in her twin’s eyes every time he glimpsed yet another bruise on her cheek. How her life had spiraled so out of control, how she had gone from popular and happy, seeming to have it all, to wishing for an end, was simply unfair. She’d constantly reminded herself that bad things happened to good people, just as bad things happened to bad people – it was the way of the world. The simple, irrefutable truth of the way the world worked. Hell, look at her poor mom.

  Dana Townsend had been the light of the town – prom queen back in her day, the beauty of Chance. She’d been a pillar of the community as she’d gotten older, always volunteering and donating her time and money to help others. No one had ever had a bad thing to say about her, always sought her company and guidance when they were having a hard time, and she never turned someone away, for any reason. There had been many families, couples and children alike, staying in their home when times had gotten rough; that was just the kind of woman Dana had been.

  After being married for sixteen years to her high school sweetheart, the quarterback of the football team, no less, the apple of the town’s eye had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Before her mom, Drew had always thought of the big C as a scary story that happened to other people – simply stories she saw in the news or online that made her sad for others, but never had her thinking it could happen to her. Besides, her mom was beautiful, happy, and good … Things like that just didn’t happen to people like her. But it did. And when it did, it happened faster than anyone could have guessed.

  Drew’s mother hadn’t even seemed sick. She’d merely gone to the doctor because she’d had a cough that wouldn’t go away and pain in her chest. If anything they’d all been concerned she may have had bronchitis or even pneumonia. If only they could have all been so lucky. Stage four breast cancer. Four – a small number that shouldn’t incite fear in loved ones, but is the worst imaginable. After several MRIs and CT scans, they’d discovered that the disease had spread as well, no longer in just her breast tissue, but in her lungs, her bones, and even her brain.

  “There’s nothing that can be done for you. We can give you some prescriptions to make you more comfortable, Dana, but I’m sorry – no treatment or surgeries will remove this from your body. I’m so sorry.”

  That was the first time Drew had ever seen a grown man cry, Dr. Williams breaking down with his head in his hands as her mother sat across from him, gripping his hand and consoling him.

  A slight nudge against her leg had her opening her eyes, catching a glimpse of Dean with tears snaking their way down his cheeks. The
sight was almost too much to bear, almost had her squeezing her lids back together, the absurd notion to will the images away strong in her.

  Before she could hide from his expression, or he could sign anything further, she saw his eyes dart to the door of the room, and she let her gaze follow his. A man had entered the room carrying a clipboard, a doctor going by his white lab coat. Behind him were two police officers, their eyes red rimmed and their uniforms dirty while one had a clean white bandage on his hand.

  The doctor – Dr. Adams, going by the name tag on his coat – began to speak and Drew tried to focus on his lips, trying to follow his words, but it was hard. Eventually she gave up and lifted a finger, clearly asking him to hold on a moment as she glanced at Dean. Her eyes pleaded with him to help her – she desperately wanted to know what was going on in the conversation, but if he didn’t slow down, there was no way she’d ever be able to read his lips. Her brother nodded sadly before turning to the doctor, quickly explaining that she couldn’t hear what he was saying before he stood and moved into her line of sight. Once he was in place, to where she could see both the doctor and her brother, the doctor started over.

  “You sustained a multitude of injuries, Drew. You’ve got a minor concussion along with two ruptured ear drums,” Dean signed for him, cringing as he heard the words being said and translated them for her. The doctor continued, “You also have a fractured cheekbone, your eye socket is completely shattered, and we found three broken ribs.

  “We think you had a seizure from the smoke inhalation – you’re very lucky to even be alive. If it weren’t for Officer Carrigan here, you probably would have died in that house.”

  Drew glanced at the officer, cradling his bandaged hand, and a pang of guilt coursed through her. She didn’t feel lucky to be alive, and knowing that someone risked his life to save hers, smarted. Officer Tommy Carrigan was a good man – he’d lived in Chance his whole life, been a childhood friend and one-time boyfriend of her mom’s, who now had a wife and baby girl at home waiting for him. She hated the idea of him taking a chance with his life, taking the chance of losing his life, leaving his family to go on without him, for a life she hadn’t wanted. Summoning inner strength, she let her gaze meet his, the pain in his expression causing her to avert her gaze, tears filling her eyes once more.

  After a long moment, she raised her head once more and the doctor nodded to Dean, ready to continue with his evaluation of her injuries.

  “You have third-degree burns on your feet, ankles, and legs, as well as your hands, wrists, and arms. The IV in your arm is currently providing you with the strongest pain medication we can give you at this point, but know that you’re going to be in pain once we have to start cutting back. There’s not much we can do at this point for the facial fractures, though we have a plastic surgeon on his way in to take a look. As for your burns? Our burn management team will be in to check on them for the possibility of needing a skin graft or not – but they’re not life threatening. So far, we don’t believe the nerve damage will be too bad, but it will take time to relearn simple functions.

  “You will probably have difficulties with basic things – walking, writing, even tying your shoes is going to be rough for some time, though we have plenty of time to deal with that, okay?”

  Drew nodded, understanding what he was saying. She was a hot mess, and despite her limited knowledge of medical issues, she knew she would probably end up staying in the hospital for longer than she’d like.

  “I’m not trying to overwhelm you – as I told your brother earlier, I believe you deserve to know the extent of the damage and every outcome possible. It is my understanding that you’d been slowly losing your hearing the past year or so due to … losing your hearing.”

  She could tell by the look on his face he was trying to maintain his composure, obviously not wanting to say the words ‘abuse’ or ‘beatings,’ though they weren’t news to her … or probably to him either. A look of pity flashed across his face, faster than he could cover it, and she hated it. Drew didn’t want his sympathy – every person in the god-forsaken town had known what her father was doing, but no one had stopped him before things had gotten completely out of control. They had no right to feel bad now, after the fact.

  “Yes,” she spoke aloud, idly wondering if the word had come out correctly. Glancing at Dean, he inclined his head, confirming her unspoken question and she tried to smile, grateful he could still read her mind.

  “Unfortunately, the damage to your ear drums is irreversible. For that, I’m sorry – perhaps in the future you may be a candidate for cochlear implants, but that will be down the road somewhat,” he paused, and so did Dean’s hands, as the doctor seemed to search for the right thing to say. “Anyway, you’ll be staying with us for a while – don’t worry about the cost and insurance – the city of Chance is going to take care of you. I’ll be back to check on you, Drew; the police would like a few words.”

  With that, Dr. Adams walked out of the room, never pausing to look back at her. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but scoff. The city of Chance wanted to take care of her now? After all this time? They could keep their money and their help. Despite her father’s hatred for her, as far as she knew he hadn’t touched the money her mom left her and Dean – and while she wasn’t wealthy in any terms, her mother had planned smartly and gotten a decent life insurance. Surely it would be enough to handle whatever the hospital bills would be, regardless of how long she was going to be staying.

  It was Officer Carrigan who spoke, drawing his words out slowly so she could follow what he was saying, not having to rely so heavily on her brother’s moving hands. She appreciated them both, him for taking her new situation into account and Dean for still continuing to translate, making it easier to catch everything. Dean’s arms are probably getting tired, she thought, momentarily distracted, watching his face for any sign of annoyance and finding none. That’s my brother, always thinking about me before himself.

  Holding up a hand, she stopped the policeman’s words before she’d caught any of them and turned her gaze back to Dean. His arms fell to his sides as he cocked his head, confusion plain on his face. She hesitated a moment, trying to decide the best way to give him a break – now that he’d gotten to drop his arms, his shoulders had slumped, exhaustion getting the best of him. But, her twin was nothing if not proud and selfless; he’d keep going as long as she needed him. Drew knew it and loved and hated that about him. She would probably always need him, he was all she knew of kindness and love since her mom had died, but she wanted him to think more about himself. If she told him to go get some rest, he’d merely shake her off – she’d do the same if it was something he’d said to her. Instead, she decided to be stealthy about it.

  “I’m thirsty,” she signed, glancing around for the ugly pink pitchers hospitals always kept in the rooms. Finding it, she gingerly stretched, wincing as pain lanced through her as she grabbed it off the rolling tray beside her. Luckily for her, it was empty, so her plan wouldn’t be ruined. “Would you get me some more water? And … maybe something to eat? I’m starving. Geez, how long was I out for? Three weeks? I could really go for some enchiladas.”

  A smile pulled the corners of Dean’s lips, the effect she’d hoped her words would have on him. He knew how much she loved Mexican food. Plus she wasn’t lying, she really was hungry.

  “I seriously doubt they’re going to let you eat chicken enchiladas, Drew.”

  “Why not? I’m freaking hungry. I’m in the hospital, not the state penitentiary,” she harrumphed, wincing at her own words. No one had said what happened to her father. The doctor had alluded to his death, and if that was true, she should be in lockup. The fire was planned, maybe not in advance but in the moment, and it was her fault.

  Dean ignored the unintended pun. “Well, that’s true, but you are in the hospital. You just woke up after three days of being unconscious. They’ll probably make you swallow down Jell-O or pudding, if you’re lucky.”

>   “Betcha you could sneak a donut or two then. Then again … maybe you can’t.”

  Seeing the determined pinch in his forehead made Drew want to dance. She knew she had him now – he could never back down from a challenge, especially when it came to her. His gaze darted from her to the officers and then back again.

  “What about translating?”

  “Officer Carrigan seems to realize that I’ve become … soundly impaired – he’s talking slow enough I can read his lips,” she responded wryly, making light of the situation if for no other reason than to take some of the strain off her brother’s expression.

  Nodding, he walked toward her, grasping her hand and giving it a squeeze before leaning down and kissing the crown of her hair. She watched as he moved away, stopping in front of the policemen, his back to her. The two men took turns shaking his hand, an exchange of words she’d clearly missed having been shared, and Dean hesitated at the doorway. After a moment, he held a single hand up.

  “I love you, too,” she answered aloud, her strength slipping from her and the effort to raise her hand to mirror the image seeming hard.

  The roomed seemed much smaller with her twin absent from the room and Drew took a deep breath, mustering what strength she could. She knew the conversation with the officers wasn’t going to be fun. It was one of the main reasons she’d wanted Dean to leave – he didn’t need to hear what was going to be said by them, her answers, or see any of the outcomes. There was a big possibility that they were going to slap her with some handcuffs; Drew knew her brother well enough – if that happened, he wouldn’t go down without a fight. She didn’t want him getting in trouble for decking the nice men of the law who were only there to do their job. If incarceration was her punishment, she’d take it.