Forever Autumn

by Christopher Scott Wagoner

  “Okay, okay.”

  They drove in silence for several minutes, Steve still chuckling from time to time. When he had mostly regained his composure, a wide grin broke out on Autumn’s face and she spoke once more.

  “He’s more upset that he found out American women don’t have sideways facing vajayjays.”

  Steve laughed, feeling absolutely horrid about it but also completely unable to stop. He ran up on the curb a bit turning into the parking lot behind his building. Autumn leaped out of the car a split second ahead of him, he being hampered by being out of breath.

  “God,” she said as she ran around the building ahead of him. “I’m going to piss myself!”

  He followed more slowly, taking time to lock his car and turn on the alarm. He stopped at the mailbox and withdrew a stack of paper, mostly ads. He thumbed through them idly while he walked up the stairs, stopping to pick up a glove someone had dropped.

  “Autumn?” he said as he found the door wide open. Her coat was lying on the floor near a chair. He picked it up and carefully draped it over the chair back. “Autumn?”

  “I’m here.” She was standing in the brief hallway between his bathroom and bedroom. Her voice bore a tone of urgency, which spurred him into the darkened room. He took her in his arms, feeling the heat emanating from her.

  “What’s the matter? God, your skin is burning!”

  “I think uh…I think I need to go to the hospital…”

  She swooned, and he caught her, carefully putting her on the bed in a sitting position.

  “Easy! I’ll call an ambulance. Just don’t move, okay?”

  He dug in his phone and walked into the bathroom. His terrified gaze in the mirror was in contrast to his calm voice as he spoke to the operator.

  “Oh my god,” he said as he glanced down at the toilet. The water was murky and dark with blood, some of it even on the seat. He dashed back to the bedroom to find her lying unconscious on her back.

  “Autumn! Autumn!”

  Chapter 17

  OSTENSIBLY, STEVE WAS READING the People magazine in his hands. The reality was that he had long ago rendered it unreadable, both by twisting the cover in his massive hands and soaking it with his nervous sweat. He was perched on a hard, plastic chair in the waiting room of the ER. The big man was almost afraid to move, as if the tiniest ripple in the air could hurt Autumn’s chances as the staff tended to her.

  He had wanted to stay with her, but once the staff found out they weren’t married, he was ushered out to the waiting room. Autumn had regained consciousness in short order, but had been groggy and incoherent. Steve had bundled her into his car and quickly driven to the hospital, casting constant frantic glances at Autumn as she drifted in and out.

  Steve’s mind was drawn back to the present when a nurse came to his side. The elderly woman placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, quietly explaining that Autumn was being admitted. She directed him to the ICU on the eighth floor, adding a pat on his back.

  Numbly, he rode the elevator upward, the destroyed magazine forgotten in his hand. He read the numbers above the many doors once he walked into the hall, staring at them with focused intensity until he found the one containing Autumn.

  The sight of her in the bed made him cringe on the inside. She was awake, her eyes focusing on him and a weak smile playing at her lips. Her pallor was frightening, and it seemed to take her a great deal of effort just to say hello when he came to her side and took her hand.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Been better, sugar. My back’s on fire.”

  Their heads turned toward the door at the sound of someone opening it.

  A tired doctor walked swiftly into the room, pushing up his spectacles with one finger. He was not very tall, almost painfully thin, and had a thick mustache with more than a bit of gray showing. He glanced up from the clipboard in his hand, seeming surprised to see Steve seated next to Autumn’s bed.

  “Good evening,” he said in a gravelly voice, coming up to the bed. “How are you feeling, Ms. Winters?”

  “Not too good, Doc.” Dark circles were heavy under her eyes, the whites of which were an unhealthy yellow hue. Tubes ran from her arm to an IV stand next to the bed. She had the covers pulled up to her shoulders, shivering though the room was not cold.

  The doctor peered inquisitively at Steve before looking back to Autumn.

  “He’s my boyf—” said Autumn, then smiled slightly. “He’s my fiancé. You can talk in front of him.”

  The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed his nose tiredly with thumb and forefinger. His voice was carefully measured when he spoke.

  “Ms. Winters, I am afraid that, in your refusal to treat your condition, it has flared up again. Your immune system has nearly destroyed your kidneys, and they are failing.”

  Steve was stunned, his jaw dropping. Autumn only nodded, closed her eyes and spoke.

  “Condition?” said Steve, staring at Autumn. “What condition?”

  “How long do I have?” she asked, ignoring Steve’s question.

  “On dialysis, you could live indefinitely,” said the doctor. “The best thing would be for you to go on a transplant list, but…”

  “But what?” Steve asked harshly. “Doesn’t that take a long time? Shouldn’t you be doing that right this second?”

  “He can’t,” said Autumn icily. “I have an incurable, possibly fatal disease, Steve. They won’t give me a kidney or anything else.”

  “Incurable? Fatal? Where the hell is this coming from?”

  “I have this thing, Steve,” said Autumn, seeming strangely cold as she looked into Steve’s devastated eyes. “It’s called Lupus. My immune system is overactive, and sometimes it turns against my own body.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Then it suddenly dawned on him. “Wait, that bottle…you said it was for, for female troubles.”

  “I lied, Steve. Okay? I lied. I didn’t want you to know I was sick.”

  “Why? Did you think it would make the slightest bit of difference in how I felt about you?”

  “Look, sugar,” said Autumn with a sigh, “I’ve been living with a time limit, an expiration date, for quite a while now. It can make you do some stupid things, like go bungee jumping, or taking drugs, or…” Her voice became small for a moment. She turned her gaze away from him, as if she could not meet his eyes. “Or make you jump into a relationship before you’re ready…”

  “So, what? You were afraid that if you only had a little while left, you didn’t want to waste it on me?”

  “No, you moron,” said Autumn, her sickly eyes narrowing. “I didn’t want to wonder if you were only with me because I was sick! Okay?”

  “Please,” said the doctor, “don’t upset her too greatly right now.”

  Steve flinched, having forgotten the doctor was even in the room. New hope flooded his breast as a thought occurred to him.

  “Can you give her one of my kidneys?” Steve asked quickly.

  “Would that work?” Autumn asked. “I mean, he’s a man, would his kidney even—”

  “Him being male makes no difference,” said Dr. Grossman sadly, “but Mr. Borgia informed us that he has blood type A. The fact that you have different blood types makes it impossible. And there are other factors as well.”

  Steve’s face fell, while Autumn looked calmly at the doctor.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “Days? Definitely. Weeks? A possibility. Six months…seems unlikely.” The doctor turned on his heel and went toward the door. “Please close the door if you need more private time,” he said before exiting.

  Steve’s face grew dark, and he practically spit words from his mouth. “Fucking monster! He tells you, tells you horrible things and just turns around and leaves!”

  “Shhh…this is a hospital, Steve. Keep it down. It’s not his fault, and I’m sure he has a lot of other patients to see.”

  He stared at her, flabbergasted. “How can you be so calm?”
r />   She looked out the window. “Because I’ve been expecting this, Steve. I’ve been selfish. I’m so selfish…”

  “Selfish? You don’t sound selfish enough!”

  She smiled at him, extricating a limb from under the covers to pat his hand. “I’m not worried about myself.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Hey, it’s in sickness and in health, right? I’m going to go on Facebook, Twitter, hell, I’ll even dust off my AOL account and ask if there’s anybody, anywhere who is a match.”

  “Don’t. Please, just stay here with me. You can do all that once visiting hours are over.”

  He stopped, feelings of helplessness turning his belly to fire and his tongue to lead. She didn’t understand, he had to do something, anything to save her, no matter how desperate. However, when he stared into her soft brown, almond-shaped eyes, he knew that his choice had already been made.

  “You know,” he said, sitting back down, “the first time I looked into your eyes, I fell into them.”

  She chuckled softly, squeezing his fingers with faded strength. “Such a pu…such a romantic.”

  “I don’t ever want to climb back out. Not ever.”

  “Then don’t,” she said, closing her eyes and falling asleep.

  Only after her breathing had grown even and shallow with the rhythm of slumber did he leave her side. He felt the hot tears running down his cheeks, his breathing coming in gasps. Not having another refuge, he swiftly went into the bathroom and shut the door, turning on the water to drown out his agonized weeping. Never had he felt such profound despair, such an utter lack of hope.

  He slid to his bottom, long legs folded in the small area of the bathroom, tears still streaming down his face.

  “This is horrible,” said Crawley for the hundredth time as they sat in the hospital lobby.

  “I know,” said Phil, squeezing her hand.

  “I wish we could go and see her. We should have said we were family.”

  “Steve can get us in.”

  “How is he?”

  “About how you’d expect. Going apeshit crazy. Right now he’s trying to find someone on the Internet who can be a donor, but…”

  “Autumn has some weird blood type? That’s what he said, right?”

  “Yeah, a rare type. Might be hard to find a match.”

  They sat in silence for a time, watching as worried people filtered past them. Crawley sent a message to her parents explaining her absence, and then spent a few minutes chatting back and forth with them. Phil busied himself with posting on his own social media page, trying to find a suitable donor.

  He brightened a bit at one of the posts he read, nudging Crawley with his elbow.

  “Check it out. This guy says her blood type is recessive. That means—”

  “That both of her parents must have had it. Maybe one of them can donate a kidney!”

  Phil tried to keep his optimism in check. “I think her mom is dead, though. I’ll have to ask Steve.”

  “There he is now.” Crawley looked past him at the tired giant striding out into the lobby. She rose to her feet quickly and left a confused Phil following a moment behind.

  “Oh my god, Steve,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist in what seemed to Phil like an overly friendly hug. “Are you all right?”

  “No, but I’m not the one you should be worried about, thanks.”

  “How is she?” Phil asked, giving Steve a side-hug.

  “Hanging in there.” They moved to the comfortable seating. “They took her for another test a while ago.”

  Steve’s eyes were bloodshot, the skin on his face swollen noticeably. Occasionally he would sniffle a bit and wipe a bit of mucous from his nose. He slouched in his seat, shoulders slack, trying to smile through his pain.

  “Thanks for coming, guys.”

  “Not a problem,” said Crawley, patting his hand.

  “Bros forever,” said Phil with a slight smile. “Steve, are Autumn’s parents still alive?”

  “Her dad is, but they don’t get along. He ran out on her and her mom a long time ago.”

  “Well,” said Phil, “there’s pretty much a one hundred percent chance that Autumn’s dad has the same blood type as her. If we could find him—”

  “We could say, what?” said Steve darkly. “I’m the guy who’s banging the daughter you haven’t seen for sixteen years. Can we please have a kidney?”

  “We have to try,” said Crawley.

  “Yeah,” said Phil, “it might be your only shot!”

  “All right,” said Steve, cautious optimism dawning on his face. “I’ll see if he’s online anywhere. Be real convenient if he was on Facebook.”

  He pulled out his phone, finger swiping rapidly across the surface with his fingers. A joyful smile dawned on his face.

  “There’s a shit ton of Jonathon Winters! Fortunately, only a couple of them are the right age. So if we narrow those down to people who’ve lived in New York, we get…just one. Huh. No pictures of himself…not much posted at all, but he does list a daughter named Autumn.”

  “That’s an old person’s Facebook page,” said Crawley with a bit of disdain. “They don’t put any effort at all into them.”

  “Is his phone number or address viewable?” Phil asked.

  “Yes…He lives in a place called…Pow-keep-sey?”

  “Poughkeepsie,” said Crawley. “My father and I go there all the time to drop off samples.”

  “Give him a call,” said Phil.

  “Couldn’t hurt,” said Steve, hastily dialing the number. The anticipation on his visage soon changed to bitter disappointment. “Damn, this number’s no longer in service. Fuck!”

  The expletive drew the ire of the other denizens of the lobby, but Steve didn’t seem to notice.

  “I think,” said Phil, “that we need to take a little road trip.”

  “I’ll go and get my coat,” said Steve.

  “No,” said Crawley, putting a hand on his forearm and squeezing it. “Your place is here, with Autumn. We’ll go and find him.”

  “Go and find who?” said a gravelly voice behind them. They turned to stare up into the weathered, whiskered face of the Deathslayer.

  “Pop!” Steve surprised the old man by giving him a warm hug. “I thought you were still in Mexico.”

  Deathslayer stared intently at his son’s haggard face, brow furrowed. “Jumped on the first flight available. Didn’t even change out of my ring gear. How are you holding up, son?”

  “I’m hanging in there. Little tired, but I’ll make it.”

  “Phillip,” said his father, turning to shake the young man’s hand, “you’re looking well.”

  “You too, Mr. Borgia,” said Phil with a smile.

  “Pffft,” said Deathslayer, “call me Bill, you’re making me feel even older.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” said Crawley, shyly shaking his hand.

  “Always nice to meet a lovely young lady,” he said back, giving Phil an elbow in the ribs. “Not bad, kid!”

  “Anyway,” said Phil, “we should probably get going. We need to rent a car to drive up to Poughkeepsie, and—”

  “What’s in Poughkeepsie?” Deathslayer asked.

  “Autumn’s dad,” said Steve. “She needs a kidney transplant, and he might be the only match.”

  “Why do we have to rent a car?” Crawley asked. “We can take my dad’s van. It’s got plenty of room for you too, Mr. Deathslayer.”

  “I’ll buy the gas,” said Deathslayer with a wink.

  Steve stared at the faces of his father and friends, shamed. “Thanks…I don’t know how to repay any of you.”

  “Take care of Autumn, son,” said Deathslayer, squeezing his shoulder.

  “Woohoo!” came an obnoxious voice from across the lobby. They turned to see a teenage boy making the sign of the devil in their direction. “Deathslayer! You rule, man!”

  “Sometimes, that gets really annoying,” said Deathslayer, before turning to the you
ng man and returning the salutation.

  “I need to check on Autumn anyway,” said Steve. “Thanks again.”

  “I should call Susan too,” said Deathslayer, extracting his phone, “she might want to go.”

  “Do you think this is going to work?” Crawley asked as they walked toward the door.

  “Hey,” said Phil with a smile. “We got the Deathslayer on our team. With all the minions of Hell at our disposal, how can we lose?”

  Chapter 18

  PHIL’S FINGERS RATTLED on his keyboard, typing at a rapid pace. He was in such a hurry he did not even deign to sit on his comfortable chair, instead leaning at an awkward angle with his back twisted to reach the keyboard from outside his cubicle.

  “What’s up, nerd?” Rich startled him with a poke in the ribs. The confident young man had on a sky blue shirt and burgundy tie. His cup of coffee steamed in his hand, wisps of white drifting past his narrowed eyes. “Why are you dressed casual? Is it casual Wednesday or something? Why didn’t I get the memo?”

  Rich sat his coffee down on Phil’s desk and began to doff the tie.

  “Keep your tie on, dumbass,” said Phil, hitting send on the report he had been finishing. “I’m taking some personal days. Just tying up some loose ends.”

  “Yeah, I heard about Autumn,” said Rich, shaking his head with what seemed genuine sympathy. “Sucks ass, dude. Hey, you should bring that piece of Asian delight with you; there’s nothing like the morbidity of death to bring out a girl’s freaky side!”

  “How can you think about crap like that now?”

  “Oh, I touched a nerve. That’s right, Steve was saying you keep fumbling in the bedroom.”

  “What?” said Phil, his face getting red. How could Steve tell Rich of all people?

  “Fumble…fumblerooski, fumbleriah!”

  “Shut up asshole!” Phil attempted to duck around Rich and leave.

  “Look, dweeb.” Rich put his arm out both to comfort Phil and prevent him from leaving. “Believe it or not, I can help you. I know just what your problem with Crawley is.”

  “Oh, yeah? What do you know about it?”