by Regina Doman
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Rose left a message on my answering machine on the day she was injured, saying that she was at a mall and you were following her.”
The girl stepped uneasily, but her face was still cold. “I was at the mall, but I didn’t see her,” she said. “She was imagining things. Rose Brier always freaks out at everything.”
“Donna,” he said quietly. “You’re not taking me seriously. And you should.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Liar,” he raised his voice without raising the pitch. “You followed her out of the mall, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t!”
“You followed her out to the barn, and saw that she was all alone in the hayloft, didn’t you?”
She took a step backwards. “No, no, I didn’t.”
“What were you trying to do? Trying to scare her? Or did you think you had a chance to do something worse and get away with it?” He stepped forwards, and she stumbled backwards and sat down hard on the grass, smashing her shopping bags beneath her. He heard gasps from all around him—from her friends in the car, from the adults behind him.
The fires inside him were smoldering, but he kept a hold on himself. “Did you push her off the loft, or did she fall trying to run away from you?”
She shook her head numbly. “I didn’t—” she tried to say.
He pointed at her. “You know that she could have charged you with premeditated assault for your actions earlier this semester, but she had mercy on you instead. When you were on probation, you were fantasizing about her death. Now she’s probably permanently incapacitated. You are going to tell me what happened on the day of her accident, and you are going to tell me NOW!”
The voice and inflection learned from confrontations on the streets of New York worked just as well in Western Pennsylvania. Donna, her defiant mask shattered like a goblet, disintegrated into tears. She pulled her hair over her face and sobbed aloud.
Fish went on, “You chased her out of the mall and followed her to the barn, didn’t you?”
She just shook her head. Her father moved up beside her and attempted to say something, but Fish cut him off.
“Let me ask you this—when she fell, why didn’t you do something? You must have known she was seriously injured. Or did you just get scared and run away? Or were you hoping that you had killed her?”
Donna, her shoulders shaking, pounded the ground with her fists. “No, no, no! Oh God! Oh God!”
A car on the road slowed down to a stop. Fish glanced briefly at it, and then looked back at the hysterical girl.
“Donna, everyone here knows what a good actor you are,” he said derisively. “So cut the dramatics and answer my questions.”
She didn’t answer, but cried hysterically.
“Answer the question, Donna: what did you do to her at the barn?”
She threw her head up and screamed, “Nothing!”
Now in wrath he shouted, “Tell me!”
“Fish.”
He looked up. Kateri Kovach was standing in front of them, her black hair blowing wildly about her. She was wearing a long-sleeved black peasant shirt and jeans. Her black eyes were kindled with a strange fire.
“Calm down.”
Fish, suddenly aware of how unbalanced he had become, recovered himself. He unclenched his teeth, but they were still on edge.
After a moment, Kateri sank down to her knees. “Donna, look at me,” she directed.
The blond girl, who had been rolled up in a ball, lifted her head.
“Were you following Rose the day she fell down?”
Donna blinked, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I saw her at the mall,” she said in a low voice.
“What was she doing?”
“She was shopping. We just followed her, my friend and me, just for a joke.”
“Did you follow her to her car?”
“Yes, but she got in really fast and drove away.” Donna dropped her eyes.
There was a pause. The wind blew through the trees, a rushing, moaning sound. Kateri looked at Fish.
“Let’s go.”
“Pushing Donna to the edge of a mental breakdown isn’t going to bring Rose back, is it?” Kateri said to him. They were standing in the parking lot of a diner a few miles up the road, leaning against their respective cars. The small sturdy girl’s eyes were squinted in disgust. “Why were you giving her the third degree?”
“I just discovered that Rose left a message on my answering machine the day she fell, saying that Donna was following her at the mall. That’s why I came looking for her.” He folded his arms and shot back at her. “And why did you show up here?”
“For your information, I’ve been meeting with Donna since Rose’s accident.”
“Oh, really. Why?”
“I don’t know how much you know about Donna Stetter. She’s a girl with a history of mental health problems. She already told me that she saw Rose on the day of the accident, and that she was following her around, as a joke. And I got that out of her without pushing her to hysterics. She’s seriously troubled, but there’s hope for her.”
Fish rocked on his heels. “Seriously troubled is right. And quite possibly a criminal.”
“You think she pushed Rose off the hayloft?”
“Circumstantial evidence suggests it.”
“So you were trying to make her confess?”
“I was.”
“Suppose she didn’t do it? Did you have to make her suffer like that?”
“She’s made Rose suffer enough as it is,” Fish said coolly. “And so far, she’s been insulated from the consequences.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Kateri said. “She’s suffered. She still has a conscience. She knows what she did to Rose was wrong.”
“Does she? I couldn’t tell.”
“That’s because she sees you as the enemy.”
“Good. Because I am,” Fish said quietly. “And I will be, no matter what you say to try to convince me that this girl isn’t a criminal.”
“I’m not arguing with you. She might be a criminal. She definitely will be if she continues on the road she’s on, alternating between vindictive behavior and self-hatred.”
“And so you’re trying to save her,” Fish couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“I care about her,” Kateri’s eyes flared up and she started towards him. “And I care about Rose. Speaking of caring, do you have any idea how much Rose cared about you? And you couldn’t care less if you broke her heart.”
Fish twitched as he looked at her, and lowered his voice. “Don’t even go there.” He reined himself in, but his anger still surged.
There was a long moment. Kateri stood her ground, breathing hard. Then she dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said shortly. “You’re right. That was below the belt.”
“It was.” Fish rubbed his temples. “I’m sleep-deprived and more than a bit on edge right now. You’re probably right that I shouldn’t have come down to see Donna when I was in this kind of state.”
Both of them leaned back against their cars, recovering their tempers.
“Look,” Fish said. “I don’t want to go into this with you. I know, and Rose knows, that my behavior towards her in the past hasn’t always been tactful or charitable. Will it satisfy you if I tell you that there’s more to the situation than might appear to the outside observer?”
“It’s kind of you to even tell me that,” Kateri said after a moment. “I’m sorry. I admit I’ve been holding a grudge against you for years, probably an unfair one. It comes from hearing so much about you when I never really knew you.” She pushed back her hair. “One reason I’m trying to help Donna is because she hurt Rose. If I didn’t, I might resent her, and hate her. I’m not trying to save her so much as I’m trying to save myself.”
She looked up, and Fish saw her eyes were glistening, although her face was as impenetrable as
usual.
He hadn’t done this often in his life, but in the past few days, he’d had a lot of experience: he walked over to Kateri and accepted her hug.
“So—peace, Fish? Friends?”
He inclined his head. “Peace.”
Nevertheless, he did make a report to the police regarding Donna, and turned over the answering machine message to them. The police went to Donna’s house and took her in for questioning. But when they found the friend who had been at the mall with her, the trail came to an abrupt end. The friend swore that Donna had remained at the mall with her after Rose had driven away. And the police found no signs that Donna had been at the barn—her fingerprints were not found on any of Rose’s clothing or anywhere on the ladder in the barn.
After readjusting his hours with Dr. Anschlung, who was completely understanding, Fish took up his new routine—attending classes in the day and driving out each evening to Graceton Hall to sit by Rose’s bedside. Eventually, all of Rose’s family returned home, and he was alone in his vigil beside her.
Although it was still jarring to see the equipment Rose now required: a ventilator, IVs for feeding, a catheter—he became used to it over time. After two weeks, he barely noticed them.
Rose was receiving physical therapy to keep her joints from becoming stiff, and Jean had wondered if she eventually might be weaned off of the ventilator, though Dr. Murray seemed dubious. The physical therapists who worked with Rose reported no muscular or nervous responses at all. It seemed as though she would remain suspended in sleep forever.
Rose had a room to herself, a rather large one with a high arched window that looked out onto the forest. In the evening, for a short time the light from the window fell on her features before sunset, and Fish grew used to watching the colors change on her face and hair before deepening into night.
Visiting hours ended at eight o’clock at Graceton, and he usually arrived at five and left at eight. He brought his books and a sandwich along with him and studied next to Rose’s bed, reading passages that he found interesting aloud to her.
A few times, it struck him that if he had done things differently, he might still be sitting and reading his notes to Rose, but she would be alert and aware.
But knowing how good he was at tormenting himself, he attempted to cut off these trains of thought at the station. It was no good looking back now.
Hers
She had realized why it was so silent in the dark palace when she awoke under the water: everyone there was asleep. Once she had pushed open a dark door and found a man, lying on a bed, deep in sleep. She had pushed his arm, called out, but she could not rouse him. It was no use, wandering around, trying to wake up people in this realm between life and death. They could not hear her, and she could not rouse them.
And then inexorably, the current would pull her back, and she would find herself in her room once more, and back into deeper darkness. Why? She fought against the fatal current, in frustration, uselessly.
Why am I in this prison? What can I do to get out of here?
Once again, she fell back into the deeper darkness of oblivion.
...I charge you, O daughter of Jerusalem,
do not stir up love or rouse it
until it pleases to awake...
HIS
After a rather bleak Thanksgiving holiday mostly spent in Graceton Hall with Rose, Jean decided that there was no sense in putting it off any longer. That Monday, she and Blanche and Fish drove out to Mercy College to clean out Rose’s things from her room.
Kateri was there to meet them. “I can help you pack up,” she said, a bit thickly. “I don’t have class.”
Fish's gaze traveled throughout the room. Kateri hadn't touched Rose's things. The scarves on the window and tea set were as he remembered. Battered stuffed animals, including a bear in a Robin Hood outfit he vaguely recognized, peered from the top bunk, still spread with Rose's handmade quilt. He remembered her sewing it one summer out of scraps of tie-dyed cotton. Peacock, black, violet, and teal, the result was spectacular.
“You girls did a really nice job with this room,” Jean managed to say. To distract himself, Fish studied the photographs on the bookshelf. There were pictures of Bear, Blanche, Jean, and, to his embarrassment, himself. He couldn't help looking closer. The photo was a snapshot of him on a couch, reading a book, and looking up with a disgusted look on his face. Yes, that was him. The annoying photographer had captured him exactly. He wondered why Rose kept such a strange photo of him.
Taped on the bookshelf was a picture of Blanche's wedding, a group shot of Blanche and his brother, flanked by Rose and himself. It was a rather tense posed photo. Rose looked dazzling. He thought he looked weird.
He studied the other photos, and noticed that Kateri was observing him with her inscrutable eyes. “Good pictures, aren't they?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, feeling a bit warm.
“She really liked that one from the wedding.”
“Really?” he fingered the taped photo.
“No, the other one.”
Perplexed, he followed her pointing finger. On the top shelf, level with the bed, he saw another wedding photo propped in a silver frame that was too large for it. He and Rose were dancing. Both of them were striking a pose for the camera, he acting blasé and she (imitating him?) arching her eyebrows loftily.
“That’s a great picture,” Jean said.
He gazed at Rose's features for a long time. “I don't think I've ever seen that one before.”
“It was a proof from the photographer’s. Blanche gave it to her.”
Fish looked away from the photo at last. “If you want me to store any of the furniture, I can,” he searched for something to say.
“That’s all right,” Jean said quietly. “Dr. Murray encouraged me to bring some to her room at Graceton. But eventually most of it will have to come back. I suppose I might as well bring it home now.”
“I’ll help,” he said, rising to his feet. “Do you want me to go to the grocery store and get some boxes?”
“That would be good. I’ll see how much I can fit in my car on this trip home,” Jean said, and turned away.
As he drove his car slowly off campus, he passed Paul Fester, who halted and waved. Fish slowed down. He had noticed that Paul’s brown eyes were now perennially sad.
“How are things?” Paul asked, his usual question to Fish since Rose’s accident. He and Paul had exchanged greetings since then, but little else. Fish had decided that his own grieving process was going to remain a solitary affair.
“Okay. We’re moving Rose’s things out of her room,” Fish said. “Her mom is going to take them home with her.”
Paul was silent for a moment. “Seems like dismantling a shrine, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“A bit,” Fish said. “It’s kind of bringing the reality of it home for all of us.”
“Yes. Can I help with anything?”
“If you want. I’m just going to the store for boxes.”
“Let me come. We know this one store that always has them.”
“That would be great.”
Paul climbed into the car. “Okay, drive up this way. The road wraps all the way around campus, but it exits onto the main drag.”
Fish obeyed. “How’s the semester going?” he asked, in an effort to be sociable.
“Okay. Pre-med studies are tough sometimes, but I’m getting along okay. I do a lot of aikido these days. Helps me to release tension. You ever done that?”
“No, I’ve never done any martial arts.”
“You should try it sometime. I was going every week for lessons until my car died.”
“Did it? I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. I’m trying to get another one now. Just got to find the right used car.”
Fish thought to himself. “Well, if you ever want a ride to Graceton Hall to see Rose, let me know. I go there pretty regularly now.”
“Thanks! That would be grea
t. All of us have been trying to go up and see Rose as often as we can.”
“Who’s ‘us?’” Fish queried. He had noticed Paul frequently referring to himself in the first person plural.
“You know, the Cor guys. Hey, there’s one of them now.” Paul called out the window as they passed a small dorm, “Hey, Bull!”
A stocky guy with black hair who was passing through the courtyard pivoted and turned with surprising agility and walked towards the car. Fish slowed the car to a stop. “Oh, it’s you again,” he said, recognizing Fish. “Ben, right?”
“Right,” Fish said, identifying him and appreciating someone calling him by his real name. “Alex?”
“Right. How’s Rose doing?”
“Same, as far as I can tell,” Fish said.
“Hey, would you be willing to give a ride to some of the other guys in Cor who want to go see Rose too?” Paul asked.
“Okay,” Fish said, a tinge of exasperation. “What’s the Core?”
“Oh, sorry. That’s just the nickname of our dorm.” Paul indicated the sign on the grass near the car. “Sacra Cor—Sacred Heart. All the dorms here are named after Christ or Mary.”
Alex concurred. “This one’s a small one, and most of the guys who live here are friends. We sort of have this informal brotherhood where we take blood oaths and swear to avenge each other’s deaths. That sort of stuff.”
“I see.” Another weird Mercy College thing, he thought to himself.
Alex went on, “But seriously, Rose was a Lady of Sacra Cor. We’ve been praying the rosary for her together every night in the chapel. And we’d be happy to do whatever else we can to help.”
“Well,” Fish said. “The doctor said she could use visitors, even though there’s little hope of her coming out of the coma.”
“You don’t abandon a lady just because she happens to be in a coma,” Paul said in an injured tone.
“Of course not,” Alex looked at Fish. “Any chance you’d be going up to see her this Friday?”
“Yes. You guys want to come?”
“Sure. Could you pick us up on your way over?”