by Dermot Davis
“My soul mate has been taken from me,” Fiona said, looking him straight in the eyes. “Without his eyes to see me, I don’t exist. Without his hands to hold and enrich me, the flesh withers from my bones. Without his smile to enliven me, I live without purpose. Without his lips to kiss me, I shrivel and die. Quite simply, without him I am nothing. Without him I expect to die."
Hearing his daughter speak so dramatically made Simon sick to his core.
"No, there’s nothing you can do to make me happy, father, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Fiona continued. She then paused like there was something bothering her that she couldn’t put a finger upon.
“Are you okay, princess?” Simon asked and stared at his painfully thin child. Worried about her increasingly bizarre mood-swings and possible psychotic outbreaks, he felt at sea.
“No, I don’t think I am,” Fiona answered, frozen to the spot, as if she was afraid to move. “I think you need to take me to the hospital,” she said. Her eyelids fluttered and closed as she collapsed to the floor.
Unable to revive her, Simon called the family doctor who lived close by. Assured that he would be there in less than twenty minutes, the doctor told him to keep her warm. Carrying her to bed and covering her up, Simon took her temperature and her pulse. They both seemed normal.
When the doctor arrived, Fiona had regained consciousness. Requesting that Simon wait outside to give the girl some privacy, Doctor Weiss conducted a full examination.
“Is she going to be okay?” Simon asked nervously as the doctor left Fiona’s bedroom. Walking further down the corridor so as not to be heard, Doctor Weiss looked pensive. “Well, what’s wrong with her?” Simon asked more urgently.
“From my initial evaluation, and I suggest that you take her in for more extensive testing,” the doctor began.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon interrupted. “Tests for what, exactly?”
“Possible stress-induced cardiomyopathy and she’s lost a significant amount of her body weight,” Doctor Weiss answered.
“Stress?” Simon asked skeptically. “What kind of stress could she be under? She just hangs out at the house all day, every day?”
“She mentioned a boyfriend,” Doctor Weiss said delicately. “A recent breakup?”
“Yes,” Simon answered, wondering what that would have to do with anything. “She had something of an infatuation with a boy, puppy love and all that,” he said dismissively. “Haven’t we all?” he then asked.
“Indeed,” the doctor agreed but didn’t look too convinced.
“So, there’s something wrong with her heart?” Simon asked, getting back to the point. “What did you say it was?”
“Stress-induced cardiomyopathy,” the doctor repeated. “It’s a disruption of the heart’s normal pumping action, usually brought on by stress. In layman’s terms, it’s also called Broken Heart Syndrome.”
“Seriously?” Simon asked, almost smirking. “Broken Heart Syndrome? There’s such a thing?”
“It’s usually a temporary condition and quite treatable,” Doctor Weiss continued.
“Okay,” Simon said, seeing that the doctor was being serious. “What kind of treatment does she require?”
“Lots of rest, obviously,” the doctor said as he wrote out a prescription. “She can take this for her anxiety and maybe you could get her some of those over-the-counter meal replacement smoothie drinks. She doesn’t appear to have the appetite to eat proper meals. She is terribly thin but she’s never had other symptoms that suggest an eating disorder. Her loss of appetite is probably situational.”
“Yes, of course,” Simon said, taking the prescription from the doctor.
“She will get better, won’t she, doc?” Simon asked.
“As I say, the condition is usually temporary and could very easily reverse itself within the week. We’ll have her do more tests and take it from there, I would suggest. She really needs to gain some weight, too. Excessive weight loss can further stress the organs, particularly the heart.”
“Very good,” Simon said, grateful that it wasn’t anything more serious. “I appreciate you coming out on such short notice.”
Simon filled the prescription and did take his daughter for all the prescribed tests but there appeared little improvement in her condition. Fiona was getting so much rest that she was practically bed-ridden. Despite her idleness, Fiona’s stress levels did not decrease. Taking the meal replacement drinks didn’t seem to help much, either. She was losing more weight and her energy levels dropped to the point where it was a sublime effort for her to even get out of bed.
Worried sick that she was not going to pull out of it, Simon took her to the best specialists. He spent every evening in his meditation room, praying and doing ritual in the hopes that her health would improve. In his regular meetings with the serpent group, he asked that they hold both individual and group healing rituals on her behalf. Nothing seemed to help, however.
“Her health is in her hands,” Doctor Weiss confided in Simon. “We can’t will people to live and be healthy; that must come from her alone. If she has lost the will to live, well, then…” he said gravely, “there’s nothing you nor science can do for her, I’m afraid.”
Andrew had counted the days until finally the day had come: the 28th. His medical condition remained a concern to the staff; his internal organs were still not functioning to their full capacity. However, his poor condition had kept him away from the prison, so, for that, he was thankful.
He had watched out all day for the arrival of the TV workmen but by lunchtime they had still not arrived. Having told Fiona of the date, he felt committed to pull it off. All along, he had planned his escape to coincide with the after-lunch bathroom break of the officer. Workmen or no workmen, he was not going to call the effort to achieve his freedom and find meaning in his life.
Making sure that the nursing staff were either absent or preoccupied elsewhere in the ward, Andrew made his move. He squeezed the tube of ointment and liberally applied the gel to his left wrist. He kept an eye upon the officer who was reading on his tablet. Waiting for the best moment, Andrew pulled his left wrist that was secured to the handcuffs. It didn't come free.
Expecting it to be easier, his wrist soon began to hurt badly. He had to apply more and more gel to prevent his skin from peeling off as he scraped his hand against the handcuff. Pulling on it harder, the pain was so great that it caused his eyes to well up. Coming off, with a clunking sound from the bed-rail, a shooting pain shot up his arm. Remaining calm, he moved his body position to pretend that he had slammed into the bed-rail by mistake.
He looked over at the officer but the man didn’t seem too concerned. Andrew nursed his hurt hand and wrist as the reality of what had just happened sank in. Excited beyond belief, he had to force his lips from smiling. He was free. Nearly.
Andrew could feel his heart thumping in his chest. As he waited, his body flooded with adrenalin. Biding his time, until the officer decided it was time for his post-lunch longish bathroom break, Andrew’s body began to shake with nervousness. As the seconds passed, Andrew felt himself perspiring all over. "Go to the bathroom, go to the bathroom," he chanted in his head to the officer.
When the officer finally put down his tablet and casually stood up, Andrew felt like shouting, Hallelujah! The officer cast one last look over at Andrew and then strolled away to the public bathroom down the hall.
Yes! Andrew exclaimed to himself. Grabbing the white sheet that he had saved for this very moment, he slid out of the bed. He then stuffed the spare pillows beneath the sheets to replace the form and shape of his body. He told himself not to be in a hurry as he made sure that it looked convincing and accurate.
Gingerly stepping to the next bed, where his neighbor patient slept, he slipped into the man’s shoes. Making sure that he wasn't seen, he grabbed the man's robe. Although the shoes were a few sizes too big, they would serve the purpose, he thought. As he turned to go, he saw that the patient was now look
ing at him with fully awake eyes.
Andrew froze and stared back at him. Was he going to reach for the bell to call a nurse? Silently praying that the patient wouldn’t call for help, Andrew placed a finger to his lips. With his eyes he pleaded that the man please stay quiet and don’t rat him out.
The elderly patient looked unsure for a moment and then didn't move. As his face softened, Andrew felt hope. When the man nodded, yes, okay, Andrew gestured a sincere thank you. He then quickly turned heel.
Rushing in the opposite direction of the men’s public bathroom, he opened the door to the stairs. He bolted down them, two steps at a time. Once he got to the next floor, he stopped abruptly. A sharp pain pierced into his insides like an icepick. Doubled over in agony, he almost fell to the ground. The pain became so severe, he felt like he might actually pass out.
Willing the pain to go away, he took some deep breaths. As he slowly stood back up, the pain eased off. You can do this, he said, cheering himself on. Baby steps, baby steps, he then said, encouraging his feet to begin walking again. With slow progress he descended the stairs.
The officer would have returned from the bathroom by now, he reckoned. He looked up at the door where he had come from; it was still closed. Half expecting it to open, and the officer to come charging down, he said a silent prayer. Let’s pray that the pillows are as convincing as I think they are, he added. Hoping against hope that the officer was now rejoining his book on his tablet, and not suspecting a thing, Andrew moved on. He held the stair rail as he made his gradual descent.
Stopping at the base of the stairs on the ground floor, he took some more big breaths. He stopped breathing completely when the door opened. A nurse dressed in scrubs came through the door. She turned on her way to climb the stairs. “Are you okay?” she asked, a look of surprise to see him standing there.
“Yes, fine,” Andrew answered, turning his face down so as not to be identified. Seeing some cigarettes lying about on the ground, he stomped on one, as if putting it out. “I need to give these up,” he said, smiling guiltily.
“Yes, you should,” the nurse said, her face looking disturbed by his comment. “You could also face a major fine. Smoking anywhere on the hospital grounds is a big no-no,” she said judgmentally as she hurried on her way. Briefly wondering if she might report him, Andrew quickly exited the door to the front lobby.
Andrew paused to check out the scene and to see if he was being noticed by security personnel. He was pleased that the lobby was busy with people trundling about; it was business as usual. Heading towards the front door, he denied his impulse to make a run for it. A security guard watched him with interest. Don't panic, he said to himself. Security guards are less concerned with people leaving the building than those coming in.
Stepping through the main glass doors and into the sunlight, he felt a huge relief. He took a left turn where the main road looked active with traffic. Two cars sat at a Taxi rank. He waved for the first taxi in line.
Oh, dear lord, I’m going to make it, he almost cried to himself. Afraid to even turn around to see who or what was behind him, he waited for the cab. Acting as normal and as unhurried as he could, he opened the rear door of the taxi.
“Is this for you?” the cab driver asked, perhaps a little thrown by Andrew’s dress code.
Not wanting to explain himself or delay with any kind of conversation, Andrew sat into the cab and pulled the door shut. “Pacific Palisades,” he instructed.
“You got it,” the cab driver said, pleased that the fare would be a decent one. “Just being released?” the driver asked, checking Andrew out in the rear view mirror as he pulled away.
“Yeah,” Andrew answered, looking around to see if there was any unusual commotion at the hospital entrance. “I just got released,” he said and beamed a huge smile of joy.
As the cab driver took a sharp turn, the movement caused another severe pain to Andrew’s insides. Winching with the severity of it, he pulled back the robe and saw fresh blood. One of his wounds had opened, but thankfully, it wasn't a gusher, he considered. Rather than investigate any further, he placed his hand tightly on the wound.
Feeling weak and lethargic, he worried that he might pass out. Willing himself to stay awake and alert, he looked more closely at the passing traffic. If he paid special attention to his surroundings, he might stay more present in his body.
“Everything okay?” the cab driver asked, looking at Andrew in his mirror.
“Yes, fine,” Andrew replied. “Shouldn’t have had that pepperoni pizza for lunch.”
“I hear you,” the cab driver said.
Simon knocked on Fiona’s open bedroom door and entered. He watched her fondly as she slept. Pale and frail-looking, though still an ethereal beauty, her increasingly sunken cheeks gave her a scary, skeletal appearance. Simon placed the tray of food that he was carrying upon her bedside table and switched on her lamp. Waking with a start, Fiona looked around, as if panicked. “Made you some soup, pumpkin,” Simon said, lifting up a napkin for her to take.
“What time is it?” she asked urgently as she double-checked her calendar. Every day of the month was crossed off, right up until the 28th, which was circled in red. Looking out her window she could see that it was just past sunset.
“What is it?” Simon asked as Fiona tried to rise herself.
“I have to get to the window,” she said, struggling to get up. To her consternation, she didn’t have the strength to rise herself fully.
“Stay,” Simon said, standing. “I’ll go; what is it I should do?” he asked.
“Look out the window,” Fiona said.
“Look for what?” Simon asked as he got to the window.
“If there’s a white sheet tied to a tree, he’s escaped!” Fiona exclaimed.
“Escaped?” Simon asked, his anger triggered.
“Andrew,” Fiona said impatiently. “Is there a sheet tied to a tree out front? At the gate?” she asked desperately.
Looking in the direction he was asked, Simon could feel his blood begin to boil. He thought he had heard the last of that stupid kid. That feckless, moronic kid had gotten her into such an unhealthy mess. He not only destroyed their father-daughter relationship but the boy had destroyed her health, as well. Now he was back, this kid from hell; the kid that refused to stay away.
Simon stared ahead not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Wafting in the soft breeze, a white sheet hung from the low branch of the Magnolia tree.
“Well?” Fiona asked, trying to lift herself up. “Is it there?”
“No, sweetheart,” Simon answered sadly. “I don’t see anything. There's nothing on any of the trees. I guess he didn’t make it.”
Falling back to the bed with a thud, Fiona felt bitter disappointment.
“I’m so sorry, princess,” Simon said, coming back to tuck her in. “I know how disappointed you must be feeling. Eat some soup,” he suggested. “Mark my words,” he then said sagely, “time really does heal all wounds. We all suffer broken hearts, kiddo. He’s your first, I know. It’s always the first that hurts the most. "Here," he said, gently placing the food tray before her, "eat some soup.” Putting a spoon into her hand, Simon kissed her forehead and stood up. "I'll be right back," he said as he slipped out of the room to remove the sheet.
Looking listlessly ahead, her will to live now fully shattered, Fiona sobbed. "If I don't make it, I'll leave my body... for good," Andrew had told her. Throwing off the food tray, it crashed to the floor, soup spilling all over. Fiona then lay back and closed her eyes, probably for the last time. “Don’t worry, Andrew,” she said out loud, “I’m coming.”
Wracked with guilt, anger and remorse, Simon pulled the sheet from the branch. What a stupid, lame-ass son of a… he said angrily. His heart softened when he saw heavy bloodstains on the cloth.
Looking up at Fiona’s window, he saw her light go off. The darkness of her room terrified him. If he kept to his present course and denied that the kid had made i
t, his daughter would surely give up all hope and die.
“What do I do, Alice?” he asked as he looked up towards the stars. “She’s made of the same stuff as you… what do I do?” he tearfully implored his dead wife. Realizing that if he wanted his only child to survive, he needed to give her that one thing—the only thing—that she so critically desired. As much as he detested the idea, he would have to allow his child to be with that kid, at least for the moment. The girl needed hope but once past her critical period, all bets would be off.
Fiona’s astral body lit up the room as it left its physical counterpart behind on the bed. Feeling now utterly vibrant and healthy, strong and liberated, Fiona’s spirit hovered above the bed. She looked down at the sad, thin, and emotionally beat up, flesh and blood shell that had once housed her consciousness. “Thank you,” she said with genuine gratitude. “You have served me well. I’m so sorry for leaving you in such poor condition.”
The silver thread of light was the last thing that connected them now. Wondering how best to sever the strand of energy connecting her soul to her physical body, Fiona instinctively knew that she had but to wish it be so. Turning her attention to tune into Andrew, she quickly changed her mind about connecting with him. If she thought of him, she felt that she might go directly to him while still connected to her body on the bed. That wouldn’t be the right thing to do, if he had already left his physical body and were now free. She realized that she must first leave her flesh body behind. Forever. She began to pray.
Andrew stumbled through the wooded path that led to the cliffs overlooking the ocean. As the wound around his spleen had opened more and more, he was now losing a lot of blood. With his eyes focused ahead, his determination was the only thing that forced his body forward. He was in no condition to be standing, let alone walking through a wooded park.
Spreading his fingers wide over the wound, to prevent further blood loss, he willed himself to make it to the rendezvous spot. Light-headed and weak, his eyesight began failing him. Nevertheless, with blurry vision, he trundled west towards the ocean. Fiona, I’m coming, he thought and tried to send the knowledge to her.