Look Away

by B. R. Paulson

Certain the sound of her coughing would wake Liv, Beth settled onto the edge of her daughter’s bed. At least she could try to find solace in there, away from S.J.’s remains. She couldn’t even call it his body. She reached over to gently shake Liv’s shoulder.

  But as her fingers closed around the curve of Liv’s arm, Beth gasped. Yanking her fingers back, she stretched them open, then tightly squeezed her hand into a fist.

  Liv’s body was cold and stiff. Not cool like a blanket had fallen off, but cold, like there was no blood pumping through her. The blankets situated on her held no more heat under them.

  Beth raised her other hand to her mouth, clamping the soft flesh of her palm against the sharp lines of her teeth. She bit down to prevent her moans from turning into screams. Tim. She had Tim. She… she had to…

  Her daughter… Beth slowly, cautiously, reached out again, keeping her mouth covered as she rolled her daughter softly to lie on her back.

  Liv’s eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling, black tar-like substance leaked from her nose and eyes like charcoal colored tears and snot. Her mouth was closed like she’d had nothing to say at the end when the truth was, she had no one to say it, too.

  Beth rocked back and forth at the sight of her daughter not breathing, not… being. Liv was no longer there, but that didn’t stop Beth from shaking Liv like she was close to waking up and just needed a nudge.

  “Livvie.” Beth’s sob seemed to encapsulate only a small portion of her pain. Nothing could hold together what her grief ripped apart. “Liv, Liv, no, please, no. Livvie?” She pushed gently at her arm, mortified when the body moved like stiff board.

  Liv was gone. Beth couldn’t wrap her brain around the loss of both of her children. She had to push aside the loss of the two to focus on the third. Maybe Beth could still save Tim. He slept in her bed. She had to see him. He’d been the one to rest the most peacefully. She hadn’t heard him coughing or moaning, or anything. How long had she been in with S.J.?

  Had her grief over her son cost her her daughter? Would the loss of both cost her the last one? What had she done to deserve this? She’d tried to help them. Why wasn’t she sick? Why hadn’t she died?

  Thrusting up from the bed, Beth closed the door behind her. She didn’t want to see Liv. Not like she was. Beth would even rather Liv was flipping her attitude than lying there dead. S.J. and Liv could both say they hated her and that would be better than the images of their bodies branded on her memory.

  She didn’t go into her bedroom quietly or considerately. If Tim was alive, he could do with being awoken. She needed to have one of her children stay alive. She could help at least one of them. Giving Tim more elder berry syrup would be the first thing she did. She could get the Cure. She could do that much for him.

  Cady had said no Cure, but had that cost Beth her children? They had died without the medicine. What if the medicine could have saved them?

  Opening the door, she rushed to the end of her four-poster bed and stopped short of going any further.

  “No, oh, no, please.” Beth closed her eyes and leaned her head on the post beside her. She pushed her forehead to the curved surface of the wood and mashed her nose against it. The grains bit into her cheek and teeth as she rolled back and forth.

  Flies hovered over Tim’s body. The stench snapped through her grief and almost dropped her to her knees. Hadn’t Liv and S.J. smelled? Why hadn’t she noticed with them? She turned her head to the side and dry heaved, trying to vomit the pain, grief, and shock from her body, from her soul. Her body rejected the loss. She rejected her pain.

  She didn’t stay to examine the corpse of her middle child. She dashed back out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  The images of her dead children had imprinted themselves on her brain, deep down into her soul. She would never be able to unsee them, never be able to unlive the losses she’d experienced. If her neighbors had gone through half of what she had, she understood their need to take their own lives. The pain was excruciating.

  Cady’s offer to come get her had never seemed more appealing. If not for the escape, then for the simple fact that Beth could commiserate with her friend. They could wallow in their losses and, if Beth had her way, they’d get drunk together and pass out. That’s what she needed. An escape. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind. She didn’t want to kill herself. She wasn’t a defeatist, but in that moment, she could see why it was appealing.

  Beth didn’t need to talk to Cady about their dead husbands. What else could Steven be? What else did Beth want for him? Nothing. Her children were dead. That’s all he had been to her there over the last few years – the father of her children and their provider. He’d been abusive and unfaithful. Saying goodbye to him was easier than the forced farewell to her children.

  There was nothing left for her to need from him since they were gone. Did they have any alcohol left in the house? She’d used the majority of their vodka to make tinctures. If anything, she’d get drunk off her vanilla extract. She wasn’t too proud to get her relief from where she could. Leaving the hallway, she made her way into the living, blinking at the bright lights from the ceiling fan shining down.

  She hadn’t been in the living room for a while. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she struggled to face her discoveries and what they truly meant. Her children… dead. Dead. Was that even possible?

  Claiming a seat on the couch, Beth drew her knees up to her chest and curled her bare toes into the soft suede of her couch cushion. Her cell phone creaked under the intense pressure of her grip. She hadn’t let go, using it as an anchor as she’d passed from room to room.

  Did she even have any battery left? She pushed the power button, squinting at the screen. Five percent and one bar. That was it. Did she have enough to get through to Cady? She swallowed her grief. She could ignore it for a few minutes. She would have to deal with the loss in spurts. Too much at once would drown her.

  She dialed her friend, anxious to leave some of her pain with someone else, let someone else tell her how to feel. She wouldn’t be able to manage her grief, if she didn’t at least understand it. Please, please, Cady, please, be there. I need someone to tell me I’m going crazy. Wasn’t going crazy better than reality at that point?

  Through the bay window, Beth watched as the sun set, casting long shadows across the lawn. The scene was fuzzily obscured by the gossamer-like veiling of the curtains. Beth pressed send, but the busy signal made her press end. She tried three more times, only to face that sound again and again. She couldn’t try again. Not now. Not when the sound would be the heralding of her failure.

  Her failures piled around her, compounding in her heart and soul. Her babies. Her sweet, sweet babies. All dead. All gone. She was all alone. Hot tears poured from her eyes, opening the floodgates to her painfilled keening.

  What would Cady do for Beth anyway? She didn’t want to live, now that her children were dead.

  She just wanted to find peace. Finding peace wasn’t an option in that place. There was no peace in her home. Not anymore.

  Maybe not ever.

  Chapter 8

  Cady

  Cady’s eyes were red-rimmed and there was no getting around it. It didn’t matter how the light was – on, off, dimmed – her eyes gave away her illness.

  Her calculations had to be off. A full three days hadn’t passed, unless she had been exposed when she’d dumped Kent’s body. Unless she was so tired and stressed it sped up the infection period. Or, worse, if she’d gotten sick faster because of her propensity toward shingles, that didn’t bode well for her theories about treatment bring shingles related.

  Unfortunately, she had no way to be sure about any of it.

  How scary to face down one’s death, not knowing how long she had until she would expire, but certain it was around the corner. There was no other way for the sickness to end. Cady had no evidence of anything but death as the outcome. It was only a matter of time.

  She swallowed a small sip of
water, wincing at the cutting sensation in her throat. She had to pick one thing to focus on. If she tried to take in all of the aches and pains, she would fall to the ground and give up. That wasn’t an option.

  She looked into the mirror after brushing her teeth and shook her head. “Come on, let’s do an inventory and then pick one thing that is controllable.” She nodded to herself as if there were two people there.

  Her throat hurt, but it was bearable for now. Every joint hurt in her body, even joints she didn’t know were joints like where her hair connected to her scalp. An acutely sharp pain that came in waves covered her back and neck and up under her breasts. Her hands hurt like they’d been burned deep down into the tissue. Complaining about a headache seemed like child’s play at this point, but yes, even her head hurt.

  The joint and hand pain would have to be shunted to the side. A little bit of lavender might help there, but Scott had confirmed the relief the essential oils had given his skin, so sticking with that treatment plan would be the most proactive plan she could come up with.

  She was going to go with the oils.

  Washing her hands, she refused to meet her own gaze in the mirror. She knew what she looked like. She saw hell in her eyes. There was no reason to dwell on it. The only thing she could worry about was that Bailey would have seen and knew that Cady was sick. Trying to hide the truth wouldn’t be smart or helpful any more. Cady had to prepare the teenagers for the inevitable.

  After she cleaned up, she made her way downstairs, shoring up her reserves to speak her concerns out loud.

  Jason and Bailey sat on the couch watching another movie, laughing as Jason cuddled with his baby cousin. He held her gently, gazing down at her every few minutes. There was plain love there and Cady hoped nothing happened to break it or damage it.

  Cady claimed a seat on the couch that ran perpendicular to them. Facing Bailey and Jason but watching the T.V., she picked at the cuticle of her thumb. She didn’t want to alarm them yet with an announcement about her health. She just wanted to sit for a minute and watch the Jim Carrey film as if nothing was wrong.

  The movie was an old one about a man who the world watched on television as if he were a reality star. Staring at the screen, Cady couldn’t help wondering out loud, “Do you think anyone in Hollywood made it? Or anyone out there?”

  Jason and Bailey glanced at each other. Jason spoke first, his words halting. “We were just talking about this. How would the rich know? If your friend who spread the virus had a backup plan, they most likely used it, right? This is one of those situations where it doesn’t matter what kind of preparation you have in place, or what amount of money… right?” Jason transferred his gaze questioningly between Cady and Bailey. He half-shrugged. “I mean, you knew about it and you’re getting sick. So, what does that say about people who had no idea? It doesn’t matter if they had an Oscar or not.”

  Bailey jerked back beside him, glancing uncomfortably at Cady, folding her arms and chewing on her lower lip. When had she started looking like a young woman instead of a child? Cady didn’t want to say anything in front of Jason at the risk of embarrassing Bailey, but Cady wanted to tell her how beautiful and grown up she was looking.

  Everything had taken on a sentimental tinge as Cady realized just how close her death was.

  Checking Jason over more closely, she had to admit she liked his frank honesty. He didn’t pull any punches which was refreshing and something that was drastically needed.

  Nodding, Cady clasped her hands together between her knees and leaned forward. “I am getting sick, you’re right. I’m actually pretty close to needing to get to bed… and stay there” She blinked back tears. Now wasn’t the time for goodbyes. No, she had to prepare them as much as possible. Glancing toward Jessica, Cady narrowed her eyes and then fell to her knees to crawl closer to the baby, peering at the hairline along the side of her neck. “When did she develop this rash?”

  Bailey glanced at Jason, alarmed. “I’m not sure. I didn’t even notice anything. Did you, Jason?”

  Tilting his cousin up to see her skin better, Jason’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t see that. She’s been fussier than usual, but nothing a solid rocking or feeding didn’t fix.” He lifted worried eyes to focus on Cady. “How can we fix this, Cady?”

  Setting her jaw, Cady nodded. “I’ll be right back.” She rushed to the kitchen, ignoring the creaking sensation in her knees and hips as she walked. Was that the last time she would walk on her hardwood floors?

  Grabbing the small kit of oils she stored in the cabinet, she returned to the living room. Claiming a seat on the couch beside Jason, opposite Bailey, Cady pointed toward Jessica’s rash. She swallowed. “These two oils are the most important – helichrysum and ravintsara. Don’t mess around with them. Don’t waste them. I don’t have a lot left and if you… if either of you come down with the disease, you’ll need this. It’s also good for shingles, burns, bites, and more.” Cady studied Jason and Bailey to see if they understood. Beth would know how to make more, but Beth wasn’t there. Cady might never see her friend again.

  They both waited for more instruction and Cady took that as a good sign. “You’ll roll it on the rash or where there might be a rash forming. How do you know where a rash is starting? Well, you don’t on someone else, but you can figure it out on yourself. You’ll notice a tingling on your skin, like the beginning of a cold sore or bee sting right before the rash pops up. I’m not sure yet, what happens after the rash. I know it hurts pretty bad.” Cady unscrewed the lid to the helichrysum and rolled the oil onto Jessica’s scalp where the pink presence of the rash had made itself known.

  Smoothing the oil into her soft skin, Cady added, “Her skin is still smooth, which means the pox hasn’t manifested itself yet. I’m not sure how the disease affects people this young. If it really is a varicella, there might not be that horrific of consequences with the proper care and nutrition.” They fell silent as the reality of what had most likely happened to millions and millions of children included starvation and dehydration – death by unintended-neglect.

  The horror of that very real possibility stuck with Cady and she lowered her voice involuntarily. “There’s nothing we can do for those others. Here, though, we can continue to help each other. Break off a small section of the aloe plant and apply if over the other two oils after they’ve been absorbed into the skin. I’m not sure how long the relief lasts, but Scott assured me it works.” She smiled, setting the plastic bin of oils on the ground and sliding them closer to Bailey. After taking a steadying breath, Cady lifted her chin. “I don’t need to tell you both this is going to get scary over the next few days or longer.”

  Bailey moved to speak and Cady held up her hand. “No. Let me finish. There’s not enough time for denial. We must face what we have to do. No more second chances.” She swallowed to relieve the swelling in her throat, but that just added to the discomfort. She continued past the pain. “Look, I’m not sure what the death rate is on the disease alone. I don’t know if everyone is dying or if there is a chance to survive the virus without introducing loss or the Cure. I’m not… I don’t know.” She lifted her hand and then dropped it back to her lap in frustration. “All I know for sure is it hurts, exceedingly. I’m starting into the middle stage and I have to tell you, sitting here, not screaming, is taking more out of me than I thought it would.”

  Bailey broke in. “Mom, how do we make you more comfortable?”

  “Being comfortable won’t save me, Bailey. I just need to have access to the oils and stay away from the light. Scott has been down for three days now and I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be…” There was no delicate way to say alive. “I don’t know how long it takes for someone to die, to put it plainly.” She pressed her lips together and didn’t even attempt a smile. Anything she tried to pass off as well wishes would come across as a painfilled grimace.

  Jason didn’t look at Cady as he watched Jessica, but he spoke in low monotones. “You don’t th
ink my uncle will make it?”

  Reaching out to touch his shoulder, Cady shook her head. “That’s the problem, Jason, I’m not sure. There is no data about this disease that is conclusive. I haven’t heard of anyone surviving it. As I’m coming down with it, I wish I had heard of just one person living past infection without using the Cure and having access to oils and other palliative measures. At least then, I could go into my illness with a sense of hope instead of this desolate feeling of despair.” She put her hand back in her lap, suddenly very aware of the cool air and her bare feet.

  She needed to get to bed, but she had one last thing she needed to tell them. “Listen to me. The next week is going to be hard. Jason, you might come down with this still which will leave Bailey alone to deal with everything.” She leaned across Jason, taking Bailey’s hand in her own. “Don’t be scared. It’s a lot to put on you, but it can be done. As long as we stay in our beds and work on getting better, your job will be relatively easy. Use the oils and lots of fluid. If the power goes out, you know how to use the generator, but avoid it, if you can for a while.” There was so much Cady wanted to say, wanted to warn Bailey about, but nothing seemed appropriate or particularly important as she stared at her daughter.

  Right then couldn’t be goodbye. She couldn’t die, not yet.

  Bailey deserved better. Scott deserved better. Cady had to fight the illness with everything she could.

  Cady refused to abandon her daughter without putting up a solid fight.

  No matter what the virus had in mind.

  Chapter 9

  Margie

  Kelsey sat on her cot and reached down to untie her shoe. She sighed, her hair short and stubbly in spots and longer in others.

  Margie pointed toward Kelsey’s shoes and turned to face her own makeshift bed. “Don’t do that.” She rolled up her borrowed blanket and shoved it into the top of the orange bag. The duffel was stuffed with as many things as she could fit and then some. The blanket bulged at the top, making zipping the flap even more difficult, if not close to impossible. Pulling the handles apart, Margie flattened the pillow on top, outside of the bag, and pulled the handles back together. She used the Velcro piece to secure the handles together which kept the pillow in place.