by Sam Starbuck
"Do you need anything?" Charles asked. I thought about asking for water, but one of the elders piped up before I could.
"What you need are peppers," he said, voice firm and resolute. "Good for the circulation, get you back on your feet in no time."
"What if circulation's not his problem?" Jacob asked. His father, behind him, gave an emphatic nod. "He needs to see a city doctor."
"A little modern medicine couldn't hurt," Paula agreed, crossing her arms. "Have you thought about getting a pacemaker, Christopher?" she asked, a little more loudly than she needed to.
"A pacemaker? Why?" another man asked.
"Do you like peppers?" the first inquired.
"Not really," I said slowly.
"Hmpf! Proves my point!"
"Well, we don't know what the problem is," Charles said. "Best not to meddle too much until – "
"Mustard poultices every night and brisk walks in the cold are good for the constitution."
"Brisk walks in the cold? What do you think tonight was?" Paula inquired.
"Brisk walks in the cold where nobody jumps out at you from behind a tree, maybe," I suggested weakly, not that any kind of walking appealed at the moment.
"Sorry about that," Charles said contritely. "That isn't what did it, is it?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Maybe it's pneumonia," Jacob's father ventured. "I think vitamins."
"Peppers have vitamins!"
"Can't I go home?" I asked Charles.
"It's past midnight, and Kirchner wants to hook you up to a bunch of machines," Charles said. The argument – peppers versus bed rest versus pacemaker – was still going on around us and looked to be getting into really full swing.
"What is going on in here?" a new voice demanded, and everyone fell silent. I turned my head just enough to see Dr. Kirchner standing in the doorway, a bundle of wires in one hand. "Charles!"
"What?" Charles demanded.
"He's not a circus sideshow! Out, all of you."
"He wanted to see us," Paula protested, even as Charles began sheepishly herding them out of the room.
"I don't care if he wanted the moon!" Kirchner retorted as Charles boomed, "Everyone out!"
They filed out, still bickering, and Kirchner closed the door behind them. The silence was a deep relief. I relaxed and breathed slowly, my muscles objecting every time I inhaled. The CPR, probably, raising bruises on the skin that I could feel but not see. I didn't want to sleep lying on my back, but the chances of actual movement were pretty slim. Especially with Kirchner attaching all kinds of odd, cold patches and wires to my body.
"So," I said, while he fitted something onto my index finger. "How bad was it this time?"
He glanced up at my face for a hurried moment, then went back to fiddling with the machine. "You should rest, Christopher."
"I died, didn't I?"
"Your heart stopped briefly. That's why they call it heart failure."
"For how long?"
"Briefly," Kirchner said firmly.
"So you're saying I did die."
"Christopher..." Kirchner looked frustrated, not that I blame him. At the time, however, I was sick and scared and didn't have much room in all of that to think of someone else's feelings. "Yes, medically, you were dead for a little under a minute. That's not very long. Most people can hold their breath for a minute. Now, are you going to stay calm about all this or do I need to give you a sedative?"
"I'm fine," I said. "I'm not dead anymore."
"Good. Try and sleep."
I was out cold by the time Kirchner finished his work, and I didn't wake again until well into the following morning. Even then, I suspect the only reason I woke up was because Kirchner had to readjust some of his machines.
"Not that I'm going to be the one to kick you out of a church," he said to me, when he saw I was awake, "but you should consider a brisk walk in the cold as far as my car."
"Will there be peppers?" I asked. He smiled and began removing the machines.
"No."
"Away we go. Are you sure you're medically qualified?" I managed, sitting up. "I'm not positive the best solution for a man arisen from the dead is to put him on a church sofa for a night. Even with machines."
"Well, your vocal cords aren't damaged," he answered, helping me to stand. "And there's clearly no neurological dysfunction. You're doing very well, Christopher, considering the situation. I think you'd be happier at home, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," I admitted. I leaned heavily on his shoulder as we walked to his car.
I don't recall much of the drive down the street to my shop or getting up the porch steps, not to mention the staircase from the back of the shop to my kitchen. I don't remember Kirchner leaving, either. What I remember next, after this briefly lucid exchange, was waking in my bed to find someone sitting in a chair next to it.
"Are you here to check the machines again?" I asked, confused.
"He unhooked you," Lucas answered. Yes, of course he had.
"So I could have died in my room and nobody would have known," I grumbled.
"No," Lucas replied. "Dr. Kirchner stayed here for a few hours, then he called Charles and me and I told Charles I'd come watch you, since I know where you keep your sandwich stuff."
"Vital," I said. He was wearing ordinary clothes again, and he tilted his head to indicate an empty plate on the windowsill next to the chair. "How the hell long have you been here?" I asked.
"Not too long."
"You didn't have to. I wasn't planning on dying again."
"You scared everyone. I'd rather be here anyway, I'm tired of hearing them talk about you."
"It's awful, isn't it?" I asked. "A man can't fall over in his own municipal cemetery without – "
"Christopher, please."
I closed my mouth, startled. We stared at each other for a while.
"Of course," I said. "That was tasteless."
"Are you feeling all right?" he asked. "Really, I mean, just between you and me."
"Yes, mostly," I answered, sitting up and wincing. "My chest hurts a little. I'm sorry about Halloween. You looked like you were having a good time."
"Oh, I was!" he said, suddenly enthusiastic. "It was a lot of fun. They don't have anything like that in the city, you know? I couldn't believe Charles let me do it, but I think I did all right. Although – " he seemed to recall that he was speaking to an invalid, which I had managed to forget for a moment too, enjoying his enthusiasm. "I mean, you don't have any reason to apologize, I don't think you planned to...pass out."
"No – I would have done it somewhere a little more forgiving," I said, rubbing the bruise where the back of my head had knocked against a grave plaque. My shoulders felt sore as well, like I had a sunburn under my skin. "But it's still a shame. I had no idea you were going to be the Fire Man."
"I asked Charles," he said. "It's actually one of the reasons I moved here."
"Is it?" I replied.
He looked indecisive. "I should call Dr. Kirchner and let him know you're awake."
"I thought you moved here to get away from city life for a while," I said, as he crossed the room to pick up the telephone.
"I thought the same of you," he replied, dialing from a number written on his hand.
"I asked first."
He smiled. "All right. I – Dr. Kirchner? Um, sorry, can I speak to him? Thanks." He touched the little table the phone rested on, waiting. "Hi. He's awake. Christopher, I mean. No, he seems okay. So, I'm going to – yeah. Okay. Okay, bye...bye." He hung up and looked at me sheepishly. "I don't like phones much."
"You were going to tell me why you came here?" I prompted.
He sat down again, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs and bowing his head, lacing his fingers across the back of his neck.
"I liked the idea of it. I'd read about it in a book about – well, anthropology and stuff. I'm interested in things like the Straw Bear, even when they're sort of watered down like th
ey are here. Transformation rituals, I guess you could call them, that sounds like a non-stupid way to say it. I thought it would be neat to see this one. And I did want to get away for a while."
"From...?"
"Everything," he said, eyes still on the floor. "I chose Low Ferry because of the Straw Bear, but also because you always get cut off for at least some portion of the winter. I liked that idea. Too many distractions in the city."
"Distractions from what? Your masks?"
"Sort of," he said.
"Living out at The Pines, being the village Fire Man in the Halloween festivities...none of that was accidental, then?"
"No," he said quietly. "I didn't really expect things to end up the way they did, though. With you, and with the boy and everything. And Charles has been really nice, I didn't expect that."
I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring grin, although between my bad color and the headache starting to make itself known in the back of my skull it probably looked more like a grimace.
"Your turn," he said.
"Lucas, you know why I came here," I said. "I wanted a break from city life too. I've never made any secret about that."
"You're not even thirty-five," he answered. "You have a heart condition."
"That isn't why," I insisted. Lucas fixed me with a look that I had never seen, nor ever expected to see, on his face: cynical disbelief tinged with indulgence, like a parent catching their child in a lie.
"Why else would you?" he asked.
"I was tired of the city, that's all."
"Nobody just leaves the city for no reason," he replied.
"Well, if it comes to that, what's yours? It's fine to say you like the way things are here, but you must have had one too, or you'd have just come to visit for Halloween."
"I'm working on a piece, an art piece, and I needed quiet and time to think. And you're avoiding the question."
"Because I don't have an answer for you. Sometimes people just do leave the city," I said tiredly. "Burnout, change of pace, call it whatever you want. I just thought about it for a while and then did it. My father'd died a few months before, I'd just had a bad breakup and – "
It really was no use. The cynicism was back, and I hated seeing it on his normally innocent, reserved face.
" – and a very negative and frightening electrocardiogram," I finished with a sigh.
"Is it serious? Are you dying?"
"Aren't we all?"
He looked hurt and embarrassed, and I regretted the question as soon as I'd asked it.
"It's not what's killing me any more than anything else at the moment," I said. "My heart gets confused sometimes, that's all, and beats a little faster than it should. I wouldn't let them operate to fix it – it's a dangerous procedure and there isn't really any need. Well, there wasn't. It hasn't been fatal before. Not fatal for me, anyway."
"Is that what your father died of?" he asked.
"My family's got bad hearts."
"So you left the city because...?"
I ducked my head. "It was healthier for me here. I didn't want to live the rest of my life not doing what I wanted – resisting temptation – but if I'm in a place where what I want to do is limited by what it's possible to do, and what it's possible to do can't hurt me..." I shrugged. "I didn't want to be The One With The Disease. My friends would have looked at me differently."
"Do they know? Your city friends?"
"No."
"Who does?"
"Well, unless the gossips manage to piece together a few slips I've had over the years...pretty much me, Dr. Kirchner, my city doctors, and you."
"Nobody in Low Ferry knows?"
"That's sort of the point," I drawled.
"That's pretty brave of you."
"Cowardly. What people don't know can't change the way they see me, and I like being normal."
"You're not normal, Christopher."
"In their eyes I am. It doesn't have to be a valid reason for you, I'm not interested in defending myself. But I don't like being the odd one out, the man people stare at and whisper about. Neither do you."
He bowed his head. "I suppose so."
"So you enjoyed yourself, though?" I tried, hoping to change the subject.
"It was..." he looked lost for a minute as he groped for words, then gave up and shrugged. "It's hard to explain. It seems unreal, all the excitement and then all this."
"Well, don't worry about me. The roads are a little rough right now, but there should be a good dry spell in a week or two and I'll see a doctor in the city when I can."
He opened his mouth and it looked like he would say something, but for the longest time he didn't speak. Finally he cleared his throat and tried again.
"We should make sure you don't get any more shocks – no sudden surprises," he said.
"Well, I don't want a completely boring life. And I don't want to be handled, though I don't see how I'll be able to help that." I tried to look reassuring. "I don't want you or anyone else to be afraid of what might happen to me. I can look after myself."
He did look heartened by what I'd said, which made me glad. It had taken me a long time to get to know Lucas, and I didn't want him pulling back again just because he thought I couldn't cope.
"As soon as the roads are decent again, I'll have everything looked at," I assured him. "What time is it anyway? What day is it?"
"November second," he answered. "About dinnertime. Want me to bring you some?"
I slid my legs off the bed and tried standing up – reasonably steady, given everything.
"I need a change and a wash first," I said. "If I feel tired I'll call the cafe, they'll bring me something."
"Do you – " he was about to ask if I wanted some help, but he must have seen the annoyed resignation in my face, because he stopped himself. "If you need anything, I'll be around tonight. I'm staying at the hotel."
"Thanks, Lucas."
He left me alone with an absent farewell that seemed to indicate his mind was on other matters. It was a relief, actually, to have a few minutes to myself. I did wash myself and managed to ease into a pair of loose pajamas, but making or even ordering a meal was beyond me, and soon I was asleep again.
The next afternoon, while I was settling back into my normal rhythm and the pain from the bruises was fading, there was a sudden, unexpected spell of heat in the village. It was brief and powerful and gave way after a very uncomfortable few hours to a startling evening freeze. This melted most of the snow and at the same time hardened all the mud it left behind, clearing the roads handily. It was as though someone had heard me speak.