I brought three bags downstairs with me. From the staircase, I couldn’t hear any sound coming from the room below, not even the faint sounds of breathing. I could feel the anxiety climbing up my spine as I drew closer, holding my breath and hoping against everything that he hadn’t expired while I had battled out a decision in my head. The dimmed light showed he was lying in the same position we had left him in, unmoving.
The sheet was pulled up to his waist, covering the bandages across his side, and his head was still turned away, creating shadows that hid the battered side of his face. From the angle I was standing, I could see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It was a relief, but it was instantly pushed to the back of my thoughts for the moment. I was too overcome by how strikingly handsome he was. The night had been too hectic to notice, but now it was the only thing I could focus on.
His face was like what I would expect an angel’s to look like. Every feature of his face was strong and perfectly proportioned. His sandy blonde hair was messy, and maybe a bit too long, but it complimented his tanned face as wisps of it fell across his forehead. His angular jaw held the right amount of strength and softness. His body matched his face in every way. He looked like he could have been cast out of bronze. Toned, smooth skin covered every inch of his upper body, showing its strength even while resting. Every flawless facet of him – from his sculpted arms and chest, to the baby soft skin of his face – made me question why he had been forced into a life of suffering instead of gracing the covers of magazines. How could someone look so amazing, yet be treated so horrendously? I understood that there had been many Sayners that had killed or attacked humans, but looking at Job, as innocent as he appeared at this moment, I had a hard time of believing he could hurt anyone.
The ice bags were frigid against my skin, reminding me of the reason I came down in the first place. Some of the clean towels from earlier were still on the floor, and I used one to wrap up the first bag, ensuring it wouldn’t soak anything it rested on. As carefully as possible, I set the first bag down over the sheet where I thought the fracture in his leg might be located, watching him to see if the cold would wake him again. There was nothing but the silence of the room. The next bag I placed on his chest, where the most bruising had been, again with no reaction. So far, he seemed to be in a deep slumber, unaware of me. Taking the last ice pack, I went back around to the side of the bed I had sat near most of the night, close to his face. I reached over to turn his head, so I could get the right position for the pack to lie across his swollen eye and cheek. His skin was warm, in stark comparison to the chill of the ice. As I placed the last bag and held it, he remained as peaceful as before.
In the quiet, I started to think of questions I wanted to ask him when he woke up. I knew he could talk, but getting him to would be a whole other challenge. As questions flooded my mind, they slowly faded and were replaced with thoughts of my mom. I could see her driving her old station wagon from before the accident, her radiant smile staring at me from the driver’s seat.
She watched the road nonchalantly, keeping most of her focus on me. Her brilliant blue eyes were full of life and happiness. Her straight russet hair was blowing in the wind from the open window, whipping around her neck. Her lips were moving, as if to tell me something important, but all I could hear was a static hiss instead of her voice. I was trying hard to hear the question she was asking me, but the white noise was too loud to make anything else out. She continued to ignore the road, too engrossed in her conversation to notice anything else around her.
She reached her hand up to me, placing it across my cheek, and I could feel a burning sensation. The heat radiating from her hand intensified until it was unbearable. Yet as I spoke, trying to tell her to watch where she was going, my own words were drowned out by the constant sound of a radio on an empty channel. As much as I didn’t want her to let go, knowing that she would fade away again, I tried to pull her arm away, to no avail. It felt like her hand was searing the skin of my cheek and had melted to my face. The scorching heat began to travel down my neck and across my chest, making it difficult to breathe. The more I pulled, the hotter it became, until finally I was able to free myself from her grasp.
I sat up in the dim light of the room, the left side of my face still hot. I could still hear the sound of the radio static, off and on, even as I became more aware of my surroundings. It must have already been daylight outside; the light from a window near the back of the basement was visible from where I sat, creeping small rays across the floor that met the room. My face felt the slick of sweat that had collected on my cheek. I could still see the fading white mark across Job’s chest where a pool of perspiration had collected while I had been pressed against it. Before I could touch it with my hand, I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His bare skin was almost scorching my own.
He was still asleep, but not nearly as relaxed as before. His lips were moving, and the white noise I could hear was being created by him. It was the language of his own race. Every few minutes he would stop; his eyes would squeeze tight, and his body would tense up. His hands grabbed for the sheets, balling into fists, head stirring as if he was in a delirious state. As soon as it passed, he went back to the nonsense sound.
Panic took over again. I knew I could go and get the list of things to do, but somehow I doubted this would be anything she had planned. I knew I would have to call Sally, but how soon would she be able to come – and would she even know what to do? I was in over my head, and knew it.
After grabbing the melted bags of ice, I headed up the stairs, taking two at a time. All the previous messes in the kitchen remained unchanged. Tossing the warm bags in the sink to be reused later, I saw that Chase was already up and gone, leaving behind the unfolded blanket, along with the mud that had flaked off on the cushions. The clock on the wall showed ten after eight. I didn’t feel any more rested than I had before I had drifted off to sleep. The cell phone lay on the counter where I had left it the night before. I was going to have to remind myself to keep it close by from now on. There was one missed text message on the phone from Chase. It read, “Thx 4 helping. Means a lot!” It was like a greeting you sent to a friend after they had just picked up something at the store for you or made you dinner. He was still unaware of the consequence this might have if we were caught. His message should have read, “Thank you, Emily, for putting your neck on the line for me. Enjoy the constant stress and havoc on your life and mental well-being for the next three weeks!” Deleting it was the best thing I could do, since any reply I could think of was not going to be well received, based on the mood I was in.
I quickly dialed Sally’s cell phone number, hoping I hadn’t caught her at a bad time. It rang a few times before she picked up. Her intonation was back to its pleasant demeanor. “Hi Emily, are you feeling any better?” I could tell by her subtle hints that someone must have been nearby. She had been waiting for this call, expecting me to tell her it was over.
“Job has a fever and I think he might be delirious. What should I do?” I was trying to hide the fear in my voice.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie. Did you take your temperature yet? I think I left a thermometer in my kit at your house.”
I rushed back down the stairs to the first aid kit sitting at the foot of the bed. Throwing it open, I rummaged through the organized piles of single use creams and ointments, looking for the thermometer. She held on the line, making small talk like I was still in conversation with her. The thermometer was hiding behind one of the rolls of tape. Impatiently, I turned it on, waiting for it to turn blank to indicate it was ready for use. With all of his muttering, it would be impossible to hold it in his mouth. I stuck it under his armpit, feeling the heat roll off of his skin, making it uncomfortable to keep my hand close.
The readout kept climbing. It finally beeped at me. “It says 108.3.” I waited for her response. I wasn’t a doctor, but still, I knew that wasn’t remotely close to normal. If he were a human, he would
already be dead.
Surprisingly, she was able to recollect her thoughts and answer me just as easily as before. “That’s pretty high. You want to make sure you’re getting plenty of water, and you may consider taking a cool bath. I wouldn’t use ice, since it could shock your system. It sounds like your body may have an infection it’s just trying to fight. I’ll be over as soon as I can get out. Try to take care of yourself in the meantime. I love you. Bye.”
She had told me everything I needed to know, so long as I could read between the lines. He needed water; he more than likely had an infection, and he needed to be cooled down, but there was no way I was going to get him to a bath. I was going to have to take it to him.
Running back up the stairs to the kitchen, I found the mop bucket and began filling it with cool water from the sink. While it was filling, I ran to the bathroom to snag some of my better washcloths that I wasn’t willing to part with the previous night. By the time I made it back to the kitchen, the bucket was a little over halfway full. It would have to do for now. Holding the bucket in one hand and trying not to slosh water, I reached in the fridge for the last few cold bottles of water. Balancing them under my arm, I made my way back down the stairs to the foot of the bed. His static hums had died down, but his strained movements were still as frequent, if not stronger.
Wasting no time, I set everything down where I stood and tore off the cap to one of the water bottles. I hadn’t figured out how to get him to take a drink, but I would force him if I had to. I slid my hand behind his head and neck, trying to lift him so he wouldn’t choke. His hair line ran down his neck, and I could feel the scorching bristles of his mane against the coolness of my hand. Holding the bottle close to his lips, I tipped it back, watching most of the water run down his discolored cheek and off his dimpled chin. I could hear my own voice whispering softly for him to swallow the water, watching his throat, intently waiting to see his Adam’s apple move in response. At last, he did, and I forced another sip into him, with the same results.
I continued this until almost half the water was gone. Most had made it into him, but some of the runoff had formed a shallow pool at the base of his neck, quickly evaporating from the heat he was producing. The fever felt just as high, and his unrest had not changed. It was time to move onto the sponge bath, to see if that could help ease things for him.
Soaking the first washcloth and wringing it out, I folded it and laid it across his forehead. He winced once and went back to his restless state. Saturating the other washcloth with cool, clean water, I ran it across his neck and chest, leaving droplets of water to bead on his luminous skin. The heat was so intense that in just a couple of passes it had become warm, and I had to rinse it out and start over with more cool water. This time, I ran it down his arms and shoulders, feeling along the contours of his muscular body, water sizzling on contact. I considered the ice again, hoping it would speed up the process, but I heeded Sally’s warning, knowing it could cause shock, and possibly death.
I kept it slow and moderated, taking turns between sips of water and cool downs with the damp cloth. I watched him over, checking for any sign of change. His agitation stayed the same, as did his flesh that seemed to want to combust at any moment.
I kept at this pace for hours, watching and waiting for the fever to break; his condition didn’t change. Most of the water from the bucket had evaporated to steam on his body. I was fighting hunger, not wanting to leave, and refusing to sleep, even as my body told me I needed it. Maybe he had lost his will to live, and this was just a final way of telling us he was done. I couldn’t help but break down. The tears were uncontrollable as they streamed down my face. I didn’t have the right tools or skills to help him. For the first time, I needed him to live – not because I wanted him to leave, but so I could make my mom proud…so I could be proud of myself.
6.
Job was still burning up, and I couldn’t bring myself to get up and help. I had been crying for over an hour, still glued to the chair next to him. I had pulled my knees up to my chest, trying to comfort myself. The pangs of hunger were gnawing away at my stomach. I had lost track of the time. None of this mattered anymore. I was numb to anything around me except his breathing. Every time it stopped, I held mine until he started again. I didn’t even hear Sally descending the stairs till she was standing next to me, trying to pry me from my spot. I could hear her talking, but nothing was sinking in. It was all fuzz in the background.
She was checking him over, seeing if anything else had become an issue in the last day. She was talking as she went, telling me that these were things I would need to check every day, as well. I watched her as she pulled back the sheet from his busted leg, exposing his toes sticking out of the splint, feeling them for warmth. She ran her finger up the sole of his foot, making it twitch involuntarily. After that, she pulled back the bandage on his side, pushing against it – making sure that it wasn’t infected – and reapplying a new one in its place. I was only half listening. I didn’t see the point of needing to know what to do, if he was going to die anyways.
She pulled out the thermometer to check his fever. I had checked it at least a half dozen times, hoping that it would show some different reading. It went up to the same numbers every time. I wasn’t expecting that this time would be much different.
“It looks better,” she said. “Actually, almost everything looks better. It’s only at 101.5 now. There is no infection, most of his small cuts have healed up, and I think that the bleeding in his abdomen stopped. It’s not out of the woods, but it’s a start. I’m not sure why he has the fever, though. He looks like he might be fighting this, after all. You did a good job.”
I couldn’t help but sit up and take notice. I was ready to stop fighting for him, and he was on the mend. It wasn’t as hopeless as I first thought. Sally hadn’t seen that I was listening to her. She was talking to herself, trying to formulate a plan to move him that night.
“No. He’s not going anywhere. I want him to stay. I’m staying with him.” I had already made up my mind. She wasn’t going to argue with me. After years of dealing with my decisions and mood swings, she probably knew there was no point.
She nodded her head approvingly. “Then he can stay, but you need to take care of yourself, too. I brought dinner for you. Run upstairs, eat, and get some sleep. I’ll wake you up before I leave.”
I wanted to stay and wait, but she was right. It sounded so tempting. I walked back upstairs, leaving her behind. The kitchen smelled of chicken. It made my mouth water just thinking about it. I could see the plastic grocery bags stacked on the counters from her shopping spree before she had come over. All the counters had been cleared, and any clutter I had left had been removed and disposed of. The little rotisserie chicken was in its own plastic container next to the groceries, waiting to be opened and eaten. A new twenty-four pack of bottled water was on the floor, to replace what we had used. I barely had time to pull the lid from the chicken, when I heard a knock at the front door.
I wasn’t expecting anyone, and almost everyone who came over always used the back door; the front door was usually reserved for packages or unwelcome solicitors. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it said it was a quarter till eight – far too late for a package. With Job downstairs, thoughts flashed through my head that it could be a nosey neighbor trying to find out what all the ruckus was about last night. My heart started to pound again, scared that I had been caught. The dinner would have to wait till I could deal with whoever had graced my doorstep.
I answered the door, trying to look as sick as possible. It wasn’t exactly a far stretch since I was still in my nightgown, with my hair a mess and red puffy bags under my eyes from crying and lack of sleep. I swung the door open to see Derrick standing there, wearing almost the same outfit as the previous day. The only thing different was that his shirt was a short-sleeve green polo. His grin started wide, but slowly fell to a worrisome look. He made no attempt to open the screen door, and I was glad for t
hat. I must have looked really haphazard. He took one look at me and didn’t question the validity of my lie. He was still nervous, looking down at his shoes and back at me.
I was on edge, hoping my lie could hold out and not invite him to question me. As enwrapped as I was in my current endeavor, I wanted to keep the conversation brief.
“Hey, Derrick. What are you doing here?” I croaked, attempting to sound sick. It wasn’t much of an act.
His face lit up just hearing his own name. He stopped fidgeting long enough to talk. “Chase told me you might have the flu, and I thought I would check in on you. I had said yesterday that I wanted to stop by.”
I recalled very clearly he had wanted to come by, but was wondering whatever happened to the three day rule about dating? Was that thrown out when you lived in a backwoods town? I gave him a half-hearted smile to show it was a sweet gesture. I was hoping that was all he wanted from his visit.
“I wanted to know if you might want to go out this Saturday – only if you’re feeling up to it, of course. I wanted to take you to Punxy for dinner.”
There it was. I was going to have to think of an excuse along with all the other lies I would have to tell. “I–I’m not sure how I’ll be feeling. I...”
“I’m sure she will be just fine to go out with you this Saturday.”
My head whipped around to see Sally behind me, holding the edge of the door. She had just obligated me to a date with a guy I was planning on blowing off and now had to lie to? Was she losing her mind? It was my turn to fidget in place, torn between lies and the sickness slowly creeping into my throat.
Derrick was about as giddy as a school girl hearing that I was going on a date with him, even if I hadn’t agreed to it myself. He must have misinterpreted my fear as me being coy with him. He was working on keeping his excitement from escaping. Having the screen door between us might have been a blessing in disguise, so that I wouldn’t cover him with anything left in my stomach that could come up.
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