by K A Bryant
It's clean. A toilet, sink and tall laundry basket. There's a shower. Who is that in the mirror? Even with my vision blurred, I see I'm a hairy mess. The eye is swollen shut. Red and bruised on the lid. Cold water. That should help the swelling a bit. I have to see.
I have to know if there is a contact in this eye. I need to be sure the doctor didn't make a mistake. I dry my face. The cold water helps the swelling of the eye reduce somewhat, but not enough to open it. Still clumsy, my hand knocks the razor off of the pedestal sink.
I lean in toward the mirror, painfully prying the eyelids apart using my two forefingers. Almost there, I lose my balance. I stop, catch myself on the wall and sink. I have to try again. Won't stop this time. There, my floating eyeball tucked behind the lids appears. I can see a clear film covering the eyeball. I sweep across my eyeball and a thin contact lens clings to my dry finger.
Suddenly, that night flashes. Being taken. The black hood put on my head. The pinch on my neck. Being tossed around in a vehicle. My room with all things placed perfectly. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't my imagination. It happened.
The lens on my finger is evidence. I have something worth taking. Me. Next question, what did they accomplish? My vision was the same in my left eye so the contact didn't have any type of altering prescription. It was skin-thin. It feels like nothing at all. It has a swirling imprinted image in it. I need to have it examined by an expert.
It may not be wise to cut my hair and beard with blurred vision and shaking hands but I can't wear it anymore. I pick the straight razor up and start. Hair first.
Finally finished. Stubbly hair stands only a few inches on the top of my head. My hair and beard is on the floor around my socked feet. I rinse and feel the touch of the towel on my chin and head for the first time in months.
It's me. Finally, me again. I look like my dad in an old picture he had on his desk. A bang on the door.
"I know you didn't go to that bathroom without help. Mr. Douglas? Are you alright in there? Hello?"
The nurse. I shove the razor and things into the leather bag.
"I will emergency enter this bathroom in three, two-"
"I'm good. Be out in a minute."
I use a towel to scoop the hair up as much as possible anyway and drop the towel in the laundry bin.
"That's it. I'm restraining you again. ROB!"
"I'm here."
I open the door still holding the pole. She looks like she sees a ghost when I open the door. She finds her voice.
"Mr. Douglas, you-"
"I - I just couldn't let you see me like that again. You don't need Rob."
I smile. I force it. I haven't smiled in... I don't know when I smiled last. Surprisingly, she smiles at me. Can't remember the last time that happened either.
"Alright, Casanova. Back into bed right now. You looked like a 60 years old bum when you came in. Now, you just look like a 25 year old bum."
"Thanks."
"And don't try batting that one eye at me."
I couldn't help but want to laugh at that. I feel better. Human. Knowing I'm not nuts helps.
"Don't quit your day job," I say to her.
She laughs. I can't remember the last time I made someone laugh. She looks like the kind of person you want to hug. Like someone’s aunt.
"What's going on here, Joan? You need help?"
This must be Rob. I'm bigger than Rob. She's bigger than Rob.
"I'm fine. I got it."
"They need you next door."
Rob leaves and a man in scrubs appears in the door with a clip board in hand.
"Registrar?" Joan asks.
"Yep, just need a signature."
"Quick, okay, I need him asleep yesterday."
She pulls the covers up to my waist and caringly tussles my spiky hair. “I'll be back.” Joan leaves the room but a group of nursing staff are gathered right outside the door of the room in the hallway.
The man is staring at me. A locked stare. He isn't smiling at all. He looks nervous. I know I'm a mess but get a hold of yourself, man. He flips the page up on the clip board but never breaks eye contact.
"Sir, sign here, please."
His voice is strangely serious for such a simple thing. His goatee is perfectly trimmed. But he's got a tan. It's the middle of winter and he doesn't look like the 'C-a' no. I started to write Caleb but I scratch it out fast and look to see if he noticed. He didn't, he's still staring at my face. "A. Douglas".
"Here."
I turn the board back to him.
"One more spot."
He flips the page and puts his finger on a sticky note with three bold letters written in black thick marker.
"RUN"
I look him straight in the eyes. He crumples the note, pushes a small vial into my hand and closes it.
I feel adrenaline pulse through me. My heart starts beating. He drops the clip board into the garbage can beside the door. Takes one step out, turns to me and says another three letter word that raises me from the bed.
"Now."
He is standing in my doorway. His back to me, he raises the back of his scrub shirt. The elevator dings. He pulls a pistol out of the small of his back. I hear screams. Not normal 'I'm in pain hospital screams'. Screams of terror.
Brakes squeal outside. Four or five screeches. I rip the I.V. out of my arm. I look at my clothes soaking wet and muddy in the clear plastic bag at the foot of the bed. I open the cabinet of the guy next to me and he's got khakis and a red and blue sweater hanging in it. I pull them on without thinking. They are too short. I pull off the slouchy hospital socks and try to shove my size eleven and a half's into the shoes. No way. The screams are getting louder. Closer. He's not in the doorway anymore. He's crouched in front of the nurse’s station. The elevator is on the other side. I can hear the room doors closing. Lock down protocol.
It's my nurse. She begins to shut my door, it only closes half way when the elevator doors open. She walks toward it seemingly trying to intercept whoever is on it. A large muscular man steps out of the elevator with three other men in black military gear and looks directly at her. His gun is in his hand. She takes a few steps backward. This is not the Police.
"Where is Caleb Promise?"
I put my back to the wall beside the door to hear.
"There is no patient by the name Caleb Promise here."
She's telling her truth. I am listed as Austin Douglas.
"Are you sure? No one that looks like this."
He holds up a photograph. The old me. Beard and all. She swallows. She knows. She is the only one who knows. Her and the small man crouched behind the desk. Will she give me away? What will she say? I couldn't blame her if she did. She owes me nothing.
"No."
Shaking, looking at his gun.
"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you? The orderly downstairs said someone that looks just like this bit him. He told me, and I believe him, that this person," he holds the photo directly up to her eyes, "was sent up here. Look again and take your time."
He says it with a strange calm. Almost soothing.
"I haven't seen this man."
He puts his hand on her shoulder.
"Alright, alright. Thank you."
He shoots her in the forehead. Her body shudders, then drops. He looks at my open door and starts walking toward it.
A man runs across the hall and catches his eye. He has a full beard and long hair. As I... had.
He shoots him in the leg. The armed small man crouched behind the nurse’s station fires back. I don't think about it. My feet just start running down the hall, barefoot. "STAIRS".
A few feet away but the gunfire is going down the hall. A door. The doctors’ lounge. I grab a lab coat and pull it on. No shoes. Grateful for the rubber grips on the bottom of the socks.
I have to get to the steps. I open the door slowly. No one near the door. I run for it. The door opens and a man in black steps onto the floor pointing his pistol. He can't see my face. He'
ll know I'm a patient. I hunker on the floor in the hall. My head is spinning, vision blurred and can't see clearly. The vial. It's still in my hand.
"Why not? I've drunk worse."
It's bitter. Immediately, the fog is gone. All pain is gone. And, I can feel my swollen eye tingle. The eye is still swollen but the vision in the one open eye perfectly clear. I feel no pain but no drowsiness.
"Wow. UP!" I say to myself.
He's going to shoot me.
"Please! I'm a doctor...I'm just a doctor."
The armed man waves me on to pass by.
I push the stairwell door open and feel his hand on my shoulder.
"Hey!" says the armed man spinning me around.
He’s looking down at my bare feet. The gun is rising toward my chest. I grab it. He's strong. It fires, aiming upward. I hear two shots. He goes limp and falls.
He's hit from behind. The small man that came to my room and showed me th note to ‘RUN’ shot him. The stairwell, shots fired toward him hit the heavy steel door frame and the door shuts behind him. Running down the stairs, I hear thuds and groans. The stairwell is packed with people running downstairs.
A gunman is coming up the stairwell. His pistol lowered. People are rushing down the stairwell past him without even noticing. He's in street clothes. He's walking slowly. His hand is holding his cell phone up to his face. He's looking at every man. He's only three steps away from me.
We are face to face. His eyes, flat black like shark eyes. Emotionless, searching for one thing. A hint of characteristic that I am his target. His eyes dart across my face. It is grotesquely swollen.
He pushes past me roughly. I turn around to see his cell phone screen. It's me. Full beard and long hair. A grainy photo.
Trying to navigate with only one eye, I feel handicapped and vulnerable. Several other men with that same dead glare in their eyes, each one glancing at a cell phone, occasionally stopping men then shoving them along. Which one is the experienced hunter able to see past missing hair and a swollen eye?
The fire alarm is blaring. Finally, "EMERGENCY ROOM" in big bold letters and bright red letters. I drop the physician coat. Sneakers. Perfect. Left by a patient at the foot of a bed and a three quarter length wool coat. I slip them on.
I can hear a man come out of the bathroom.
"You must be kidding me?" He says.
I need to get out of here. People crying in panic push their way out the door, then cross the street standing against the half stone wall that surrounds the park looking for loved ones. I go with the flow of the crowd right out of the Emergency Room doors to the sidewalk.
Black S.U.V.'s dot the perimeter of the building. They are new. The wail of police sirens on route join the people standing in the worst blizzard New York ever knew.
My eye is still tingling. I can open it half way. Enough to see the crowd in front of me rush out of the Emergency Room doors in total panic. Some barefoot, sliding on the icy ground wrapped in blankets, crying, banging on the doors of nearby stores closed for Christmas. That didn't stop them. Glass breaks. They rush into the closed store ignoring its blaring alarm.
I go for what is familiar. I head straight for the Central Park wall across the street. No opening. I jump the wall. I don't know what was in that vial but I feel great. My feet land on the ground. I lift my foot to run. I'm stuck.
My dangling shoelace is entangled in a bush behind the stone wall. I try to kick it loose. Nothing. I bend, snatch the lace from the branch and start to shove the lace in the side of the shoe. I feel myself flipped upside down and land on my side in a pile of snow. It didn't feel like a hit from a person. It was a force.
Not just me. Couldn't be. It was an explosion. I roll to my knees. An explosion knocks me to the ground again. I cover my head. Something tells me this isn't over. Another. Then another. And another. Six blasts equally powerful. Silence.
My ears are ringing. The brush my lace was caught in is black, charred. I get to my knees. Rub my eyes. I open them and see a woman’s hands grip the wall as if she were trying to climb over it. Her Christmas red nail polish chipped and scratched. Her hands splattered with blood. I stand to look over the wall to help her stand. I lean over the hands and look down. The runny eggs swell in my throat and I vomit.
Half of her is not there. She is mangled. Her torn torso and twisted legs shoved against the wall.
This can't be happening. I stagger backwards, the building is smoking. Shattered glass and metal rain from the neighboring buildings.
My heart pounding in my chest. This can't all be about me. I can't hear anything. The hospital has smoke billowing out of a gaping hole in the side of it. The Emergency Room entrance is gone and debris is littered all over the street. Three white vans emerge from an underground parking garage next to the hospital and drive in line.
I know I have to get out of here. I cover my right eye. The cold stings and I still don't know where I'm going to go. It sounds like a war zone behind me. Car alarm, fire alarms, sirens and fire truck horns in the distance.
I need to get far away. I can't seem to get away from this park. The further I run, the quieter it gets. There are people drifting toward the site, mouths wide open. I must be a sight.
"Caleb? Is that you?" says a familiar female voice. "Whoa-what happened to you? Are you alright?"
What is she doing here, now? For some reason, my father’s words are echoing in my head. 'Don't trust anyone.'
"What are you doing here?" I ask her.
"I was shopping," lifting shopping bags, "and saw the explosion and thought someone might need help. I'm so glad I found you."
She hugs me. I may take her up on her offer. I have nowhere to go. But wait. How in the world could she recognize me like this? I barely recognize myself.
"My car is right there, we can go to my place."
She's leading me by the arm. I stop walking.
"How did you know it was me?"
"What? I'd know you anywhere. Are you kidding me? It's freezing. I'll make us that spaghetti dinner. Come on."
She threads her arm through mine and starts walking again.
"I'm okay. Really. Thanks a lot though."
I let go of her arm and create some distance between us.
"Caleb, why are you acting this way? You’re injured, you're not thinking straight." Her tone is firmer and so is her stance. "I'm just trying to help."
"I know. Thanks but no thanks."
She drops her head to the right as if she were looking at something but her lips move, ever so slightly. She's talking to someone.
In my peripheral vision, I see the two white vans that pulled out of the underground parking lot turn in our direction. As they turn, through the smoke, a flower logo with Rachel's flower shop "Big Blooms" on the side of it.
"It's better if you come. Peacefully."
She steps toward me. Why? Confirmed. The sun hits her eyes. Never trust anyone. That's what dad always said and he was right. She has a contact lens in her eye and it has the same pattern in it as the one I pulled out of my eye. I let my expression give away what I have learned. She pulls out a gun.
A helicopter is circling above. For once, I want to see the words Police on the side of that helicopter. It's not. In the passenger seat, the tall man in black. She reaches behind her back. If I'm right, I won't even have to take care of her. Let’s see.
I turn to run into the tree line. I feel Rachel put her aim on my back. The man in the chopper draws. He aims. I hear the shot. I stop. I can't help but stop. I turn. I want to see her one last time.
I watch as Rachel's body hits the stiff snow with a thud. Her blood floods over the snow. I was right. No time to relish in it. I have to make it to the tree line to get any kind of a chance. My legs. No, not now. They are starting to feel like jello.
A screech from behind. The three white vans. These sneakers are too big. I can't keep running at this pace. Great. I think that stuff is wearing off. An opening in the stone wall, I have to get to
it. The van driver looks at me and looks at the opening in the stone Central Park wall. It accelerates. The helicopter is landing. No!
The tall man gets out with gun to my rear left and the van is approaching to my right. My legs feel weak and the wind from the chopper is pushing me. The floor feels like it's moving and the aches from the accident have returned as quickly as they disappeared after drinking that stuff.
I have to accept it. I can't run anymore. They've got me. There it is, the opening of the path. I have to stop. A tree, good. I can steady myself. My ears are ringing so loud, outside noise is muffled.
The white vans, I can't hear them but I can see them a few feet away turning into the park. They will be right in front of me. I close my eyes and rest my head on the tree. This is it.