Forgotten

by Neven Carr

  And this time, she did trust him.

  Chapter 36

  Claudia

  December 28, 2010

  8:12 pm

  I PINCHED MYSELF.

  Was I really hiding amongst a less inhabited back section of a several story hospital, cloaked in Annie’s blue surgery scrubs, ready to embark on a crazy, perhaps dangerous plan to see my father?

  I scanned the sparsely lit area. Maybe it was my feverish mood, but it seemed to exude a strangely sinister feel. Large dismal-colored industrial bins lined one of the bricked walls. Unfriendly smells drifted from them; shadows bleakly shifted over them. And all around, low, foreign sounds echoed, the thumps and the creaks that came with a steamy, stagnant night such as that. Another heavier thump and a pair of bright, pink eyes shot out of nowhere and stared directly at us. My breath stalled.

  “It’s just a possum,” Saul said.

  “I knew that,” I grumbled. The damn thing hissed at us. I felt the ridiculous urge to hiss back.

  “You still want to do this?”

  I turned to Saul. Why the question? Was he having second thoughts? Worse still, had he caught me pinching? I frowned. “Of course. You think I would dress like this because I have a secret fetish for nurse uniforms?”

  The near-full moon slipped from the cloud’s shield and captured the playful sparkle in Saul’s eyes. “You mean you don’t? That’s truly disappointing, Claudia.”

  I fought off the urge to smile, wrinkled my nose at him instead. From then, the night appeared less menacing.

  Saul’s phone vibrated. The conversation was brief but long enough to steal that precious sparkle from him. “They’ve found another,” he whispered.

  My throat tightened and I swallowed. “That would make it five.”

  “Possibly more.”

  As Saul had expected.

  “Whoever is after you, will assume you’ll go to him,” Saul says.

  I see my father laying in a screeching ambulance or hospital bed fighting for his life. “And they would assume right.” I swipe the car keys from the coffee table; hold them as if they are a prized possession.

  Saul grabs my arm, swings me to face him. “You’d risk your life?”

  “Yes.”

  “And everyone else who’d be there? Your family, friends? You don’t think you’d be putting their lives at risk as well.”

  I step back, fall into the sofa.

  You’re just collateral, I recall the moron say to Saul. As would anyone, unfortunate enough to be in my radius.

  My head falls and I picture my Papa again. “We left on such bad terms.”

  “I know.”

  “If something happens to him….”

  Saul is quiet, paces a few steps, rubs his brow, turns, paces some more. Several times, he glances at Annie still twisting her necklace.

  What is he doing? I search for Ethan. He is swinging on a barstool. I give him a questioning look. Ethan presses his forefinger across his lips and winks.

  So I wait in silence.

  When Saul stops, he turns to Ethan. Saul’s posture is taller, erect and he is grinning.

  “Ah, my friend, I take that look to mean you have a plan?”

  I oscillate between the smug-looking pair. “What plan?”

  I pulled the supposedly long pants as low as possible on my hips. They still appeared too short. “So where is this new low-life hiding?”

  “He’s not. He’s in full view, in the outpatients.”

  This was new. The other four preferred the refuge of the night. All in a prime position of the hospital’s well-lit entrance.

  All waiting for me.

  The mere thought of these watchful, faceless figures brought back a similarly troubling past. I monitored the frisky shadows still teasing the bins and trembled. “I can’t believe this is really happening to me.”

  Saul hooked his arm around my neck. “I get that.”

  I leaned into the familiar security of his musky scent. “So what does Outpatient’s Man look like? In case he decides to cross wards.”

  Saul didn’t find my latter comment amusing and said as much. “Young guy, tall, leanly built, mousy-colored hair that looks badly in need of washing. As does his white T-shirt and khaki shorts. Work boots, caked in dried mud.”

  My mouth dropped. “And this is who they’ve sent to kill me?”

  Saul rubbed the bridge of his straight nose and grinned. “You sound insulted.”

  I shrugged. Perhaps I was.

  “You would prefer someone in an expensive silk shirt and an Armani suit to do away with you.”

  I grinned back. “Sounds a little worthier… yes.”

  Saul kissed the top of my head. “Remember, these guys are serious.”

  I knew that, but in some odd way, the temporary lightness helped.

  “I wish I could say that everything will turn out fine,” Saul said, “but I’d be lying.”

  Lie if you need. I was being facetious, thankfully to myself.

  “Besides, I have this.” I twisted the thin black leather band tied to my wrist until an orangey-red stone appeared. It was a gift from Annie.

  “This is a fire-opal,” she explains. “It’s an enhancer of personal power, a protector against danger. Wear it for me, so I know you’re okay.”

  I hold the smooth, shimmery rock; imagine its power already sweeping through me and promise her.

  “As a true symbol of fire,” she adds, “it loves oxygen and light. Feed it, and it will forever feed you.”

  Saul closed his hand over my wrist. “You sure you still want to do this?”

  I gave the question more thought, thought how easy it would be to walk away, use Saul as a thick, cozy doona and wrap myself in him. Thought how risky the plan was, not just to me but also to others.

  Thought of my beautiful Papa.

  And trusted my instincts as Papa had always taught me.

  “If I was any one of your other clients, what would you advise me right now?”

  Saul’s joggers shuffled along the gravelly ground. “That’s an unfair question, Claudia. You’re not like my other clients.”

  I was well aware of that. “Pretend.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not into make-believe.” He withdrew his arm, raked his hair almost furiously.

  I could’ve stopped the questions. And considering the situation we were in, perhaps I should’ve. Total focus was integral. But I wanted to know. “Please.”

  He glanced at me and just as quickly cut away. “I would probably….” And he stopped.

  I gripped his chin, forced him to look at me. “Don’t probably me, Saul. From all I have learnt about you, probably isn’t even in your vocabulary. You act. Instinctively, knowledgeably, confidently. It is how you have helped all those people. So just damn tell me what you really think I should do.”

  I could see his dilemma journey a three-part act. “What your heart, your instincts tell you to do.”

  “Which is to see my father.”

  He cemented his jaw and nodded.

  “Why?”

  When he opened his eyes, they were a giant kaleidoscope of emotions, not all decipherable. He stroked my cheek. “You have lived your entire life under a perpetual shroud of fear and guilt. If anything happened to your father, your guilt would compound, weaken you more. If you were any other client, I would do anything possible to prevent that from happening.”

  “But you would let that happen to me?”

  “No, Baby. I wouldn’t have suggested this plan in the first place if that were the case. But a selfish part of me doesn’t want you hurt, wants you safe.”

  He looked battle weary.

  And his battle was me.

  I thought of all my so-called protectors, Nate, Lia, Mel and more dominantly Papa. And however grateful I was to them, however much I loved them, I didn’t want that relationship with Saul.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to him.

  We
kissed. Passionately, yes, but to me, more as an affirmation.

  “There’s Tallow,” Saul said, looking over my shoulder.

  I followed his gaze, made out a dark, muted silhouette in the distance. A sudden weight pressed against my chest as the reality of what I was about to do hit me.

  “Remember,” Saul said. “I can’t access this fire escape from the outside, so ring immediately if anything goes wrong. I can get Jenna and Scotty to you right away. And for goodness sake, Claudia, if there’s just the slightest thing that feels off… get out of there.”

  I double-checked my pocketed phone and gave him a quick kiss. With a sense of consternation clinging like second skin, I joined the short but robust Tallow.

  Tallow didn’t engage in conversation as he led me up the many cemented stairs. He was more like a vacillating lighthouse, scanning the poorly lit, barren stillness. When we finally reached the top floor, he gestured for me to wait beside the closed metal door.

  A small time passed. The door clanged and whooshed, then slowly squealed opened. A tallish, similarly garbed woman with angular cheekbones and a long, pointy chin stood on the other side. I already knew who she was, Viola, Annie’s friend. She hurriedly gestured me forward.

  I spun to Tallow. “You have thirty minutes,” he said.

  And with that, I stepped inside the hospital ward.

  The stark, sterile environment blasted me like an avalanche of icy, hostile winds. It coated the lofty, white walls, tortured the brightly burning lights, taunted the sparkling shine of rumbling medication trolleys and pristine floors. Staff in sensible shoes padded in and out of rooms, others hurried along the lengthy corridor. But they all appeared as if time had an agenda of its own. Paperwork rustled, clipboards clicked and the rare verbal exchanges appeared curt and humorless.

  “This is the Intensive Care Unit,” Viola said.

  She slipped an ID similar to hers over my head. “No-one should notice that the photo isn’t you but keep it flipped over anyway.”

  I fingered the plastic ID in place. “How’s my father?”

  Small crinkles creased Viola’s gently smiling eyes. “At this stage, the doctor only suspects a heart attack. He’s still waiting for the first test results to confirm it. In the meantime, your father has been sedated, placed on oxygen and other precautionary medication.”

  “So he’s okay?”

  “For now, yes, Claudia.” Viola then urged me along the busying corridors.

  ***

  It was deja vu.

  Seeing my father’s rigid body lying in a dimly lit hospital room, seemingly kept alive by plastic tubes and a perpetually bleating machine. Mama sat hunched next to him, clinging onto his wrist with one hand and a white, crumpled handkerchief in the other.

  Nate hovered near the foot of the bed, rocking back and forth, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Marcus was in the far corner, slumped forward in a fabric armchair. His fingers were static, laced through his long, fair hair.

  I bit my lip and inched forward, scarcely removing my gaze from Papa.

  “Someone checked him a few moments ago,” Nate said. He sounded tired and understandably frightened.

  I forced a feeble smile and called out to Nate. He looked twice, the second time with a comically scrunched up nose and forehead. “Clauds?”

  That alone grabbed Marcus’ attention. He stood and took quick, unsteady steps towards us. We held each other’s hand, bowed our heads until they scarcely touched, as we had done many times before. And for a few precious seconds we took solace in one another.

  “May not even have been a heart attack,” I whispered into our special circle.

  “Yeah, that’s what the doctor said,” Nate answered. “But, seeing Papa like this, so powerless… it’s not cool.”

  I understood. Our father’s physical and personal dominance automatically appointed him the backbone of our family. If he weakened, strangely, it weakened all of us.

  Your Papa’s doctors say I am strong like… like a bear, he had stated on Christmas Day with such confidence.

  So then how had this happened?

  I looked up at my brothers and asked them. “We don’t know,” Marcus mumbled. “We weren’t there.”

  “And Mama?”

  Marcus shrugged. “She’s barely spoken a word since we’ve been here.”

  “Like last time,” Nate added. “All of this is exactly like last time.”

  Not everything.

  I searched the blank, back wall, imagined a tall, solid figure leaning straight against it, imagined his arms fiercely crossed, imagined his cool, unreadable face. “Where’s Milo?”

  Nate clenched his jaw. “Milo’s beginning to really piss me off.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not one single, fricking word from him.”

  My neck prickled. “And he knows about Papa?”

  “Both I and Marcus have tried ringing, left messages and whatever. Still nothing.”

  The prickles began to itch. “Keep trying, anyway.” I then spun around.

  Nate spun me back. “Clauds?” he said, with a puzzled look.

  He had questions, none of which I had the time nor the inclination to answer. “I can’t right now.” He studied me and winced. He then released my arm and I headed to Papa.

  Papa appeared remarkably peaceful, even with the bulky oxygen mask. His cheeks were faintly flushed and surprisingly warm to touch. I turned to Mama. Her blanched, listless skin and glazed, sunken eyes told me all I needed to know. “What happened, Mama; what happened to Papa?”

  It took only one slow blink, a long, profound sigh and my mother’s entire demeanor changed. Clasping together her well-manicured hands, she straightened her shoulders and glowered at me.

  “M… Mama?”

  “Is this what it takes,” she said in a low, taut voice, “your Papa in a hospital bed before you finally see him, perhaps even forgive him?”

  “It isn’t like that, Mama.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Her words were harsh, yes. But, deep inside, I wondered if she was partly right? Uncertain, I blurted out a shaky apology but she shoved it aside with a dignified flick of her handkerchief. Behind me, a door opened and closed and urgent voices muttered.

  “That day when you walked out on your Papa,” my mother went on, “when you chose the help of some… some… complete stranger instead, it hurt your father very much.”

  An old saying about pots and black kettles spun like disconnected pieces in my head. Hadn’t my mother once left Papa, hurt him also? Was she trying to pass some of her own guilt onto me? “I was hurting too, Mama.”

  “I’m sure you were, Claudia. But we are blood. We still look after our own, just like your father has done all these years. What you did broke his heart. You, Claudia you broke his heart. You are why he’s here.”

  I stepped back horrified, aimless and blind. Footsteps thudded closer. Strong arms held me up and Aunt Lia’s unmistakable voice dominated. “That’s enough, Adeline,” she hissed.

  Mama dropped her head. In a contrite way? I wasn’t sure. A few, short locks of her near-black hair fell across her high cheekbones.

  “Nate, Marcus,” Lia said, not once taking her eyes off Mama. “I think your mother needs some time away from this room. Perhaps the cafeteria?”

  A shaky-looking Nate crouched in front of Mama. It struck me how identical their profiles were. “Let’s go see if their coffee is as good as yours, Mama,” he said. My mother leaned her head to one side, cupped Nate’s anxious face and smiled. A little envy grazed my soul.

  “You okay, Sis?” Marcus asked.

  I straightened. “Yeah,” I lied. Marcus didn’t look convinced. I didn’t blame him. A superior imagination I had, but sadly not the acting skills to match. “Please, just look after Mama.”

  With a progressively heavy heart, I watched them leave. I pressed my burning chest and took deep breaths, smelling all the wrong, sickly smells. I then sat beside Papa. The lean
, stiff mattress, still warm from my mother, scarcely moved; its plastic cover crackled.

  When Lia touched my shoulder, it was light and supportive as was her voice. Her brightly colored bangles jingled a familiar, soothing tune. “You know, my darling, this isn’t your fault.”

  Lia dipped her head, tried to catch my eyes but I could barely look at her. “Then why would Mama say such a thing?”

  “She’s frightened. She’s needs to make sense of what’s happened to your father.”

  I studied Papa’s stationary figure, listened to the rhythmic, mechanical whirring of his life-controlling machine. And I wondered what he was dreaming about. I squeezed his hand, and prayed it was only good things.

  Lia was possibly right about my mother but my perpetual conscious wasn’t as kind. “Like Mama said, Papa would’ve been so hurt when I left him that day.”

  “And if I’m not mistaken, so would’ve you.”

  “I’m not the one lying in a damn hospital bed.”

  “No. You’re the one who carries guilt around as if it’s another bodily organ. Have I not taught you anything?”

  I swore and shot a sharp glance at Lia. But, she was as always, incredibly patient, incredibly loving. And I selfishly wished my own mother were more like her.

  Papa groaned.

  Or maybe I had imagined it.

  With my face mere inches from his, I watched and prayed. Could I be so fortunate? When he released a second, louder groan, I stroked his soft, tepid cheek, whispered his name repeatedly. Long, hopeful seconds passed before Papa gradually opened his eyes.

  I shot a look at Lia. Her grin was all teeth and happy crinkles. “He’ll probably be a bit disoriented, just reassure him.”

  I did as she suggested, bent close to his ear and briefly told him where he was and what had happened.

  He closed his eyes and I winced. Was he going back to sleep? More tense seconds passed. I turned at a shuffling sound to my left. Papa was lifting his arm. The movement was jerky and uncoordinated. His arm fell back onto the woven, hospital-blue blanket. “What, Papa? What are you trying to do?”