Consequences

by Aleatha Romig

  The tears dripped off her nose. “Please, Tony,” she sobbed. “I am so sorry.” He lifted her by her arm. She felt helpless.

  His voice exuded wrath. “The entire way home I was praying that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this after I put my trust in you. But I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding there had to be consequences. There had to be a punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules.”

  She saw his hand move and instinctively veered to avoid another blow. The miss of her cheek infuriated him, his control gone, he swung again. His hand caught her pearl necklace. The fine chain proved no contest for Tony’s anger and power. The pearl charm flew as the broken chain slid from around Claire’s neck. The next impact put her back on the floor. This time she tasted blood.

  She didn’t know if it was her nose or her lip, she started to reach to find the source. His voice continued, “And I believe some time away from people, some time alone will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”

  She tried to turn and to twist herself. She pleaded for him to stop. He continued to hurt her and she was sorry, tried to yell, but couldn’t get away. She tried to protect her face, her body. Time wasn’t moving. She wondered how long this was happening. It could have been only seconds, maybe hours, Claire didn’t know.

  Suddenly thrown backward by a forceful blow, his voice seemed to drift far away. Her body cried out in agony from the abuse, yet there was a sudden onset of intense pain. She tried to get up, to speak, but she couldn’t. Then the stillness grew and everything—Tony, the room, tears, fear, and pain—all faded to darkness.

  Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

  —Author anonymous

  Chapter 20

  She couldn’t remember why she was afraid, only she was terribly afraid and alone. Then with time, the dark and cold that enveloped her began to disintegrate. She could hear music and feel warmth. Keeping her eyes shut, the dark continued, but the familiar music grew louder and more comforting. Bette Midler sang “Wind beneath My Wings.” Her mom loved that song. She would turn up the radio and sing every word. Mom used to say, “It isn’t about the sound of your voice, but the happiness that makes you sing.”

  “Shirley, do you know where my wallet is?” Jordan called from down the hall.

  “Mom, Claire, took my Pop-Tart.” Emily’s voice sounded different, so young. Claire opened her eyes. She could see a scene, like a movie, except she was there and not there. She also saw her mom, dad, and sister. Claire watched herself, but the Claire she saw was young, maybe five or six years old. Their small house was chaotic and full of affection.

  She watched as her mom made Emily another Pop-Tart, scolded Claire, and gave her a loving kiss on top of her head. Dad walked into the kitchen dressed in his police uniform. She couldn’t believe how young they looked, how warm and full of love she felt watching this scene from her childhood. Dad walked behind Mom and put his arms tenderly around her. She noticed that Emily and Claire played with each other and their breakfast. They didn’t spot the devotion and adoration that Claire now saw between her parents. Mom giggled as Dad kissed her neck, and she handed him his wallet from the kitchen counter. He whispered in her ear, Claire strained to hear, “What would I ever do without you?”

  “Well, you aren’t going to get the chance. I plan on sticking around forever.” They looked at one another, the two little girls at the table started to distract them with their giggling, bickering, and suddenly the glass of orange juice spilled over the table. Little Emily and little Claire both became silent, neither one would tell on the other.

  Claire heard her dad’s voice, “Girls, see what happens when you mess around.” His voice wasn’t angry. He cleaned the juice with a paper towel and Mom helped with a wet cloth. “Try to be careful, you sillies.” He kissed their foreheads as he turned to leave, taking the time to hug their mom.

  The scene began to fade. Claire didn’t want to leave the warm feeling as she took one last look at the sisters eating their cereal and laughing. The spilled juice is forgotten. Then darkness . . . coolness . . .

  “Ms. Claire, Ms. Claire, can you hear me?” The familiar voice teemed with concern. The warmth she felt from her childhood was gone. She didn’t want to go to the voice. She wanted to go back. Claire wanted more sleep, more tranquility . . .

  “Come on, Claire, the movie starts in half an hour,” Grandma’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs. Claire opened her eyes. She wondered where she was. Her grandparent’s house. She must be staying over. Now she wondered if Emily was there too.

  She could see herself no longer a child but an awkward teenager. Grandma called up the stairs again, “Claire, your sister said she’d pick you and your friend up, hurry down.” Grandma’s expression reflected concern for Claire’s movie. The real Claire wondered if the teenage Claire would see Grandma’s concern.

  Claire stomped down the stairs. “Fine, I’m ready. I called Amy, she can’t go now. And I don’t want to see ‘A Bug’s Life’ with Emily. John will be there. He’ll think it’s stupid.”

  “Let’s call Emily, tell her Grandpa, you, and I are going to the movies.”

  As she watched she prayed that her counterpart would accept Grandma’s offer. She also wondered her age, probably fourteen or fifteen. Then she remembered that Grandpa died when she was fourteen, so if he was going to the movies she had to be thirteen or fourteen. Teenage Claire made a face at her grandmother’s suggestion.

  “Where are we going?” Grandpa’s green eyes shone and his voice boomed jovially as he joined them from the other room. Claire’s heart ached to see her grandparents, yet at the same time it swelled with affection.

  “To the movies,” Grandma said, smiling at Grandpa. Her grandparents were having an entire conversation through their sparkling eyes and facial expressions.

  Young Claire didn’t notice, too self-absorbed. Grandpa put his arm around Claire. “Great, I have been trying to get Grandma to go to the new ‘Lethal Weapon.’ You know I love me some police drama.”

  Grandma smiled at him. “Oh no, that is rated R. Claire would rather see ‘Ever After.’” They were doing it, pulling Claire out of her funk. She wasn’t budging willingly, but they were doing it.

  “Oh no, Grandma, I don’t want to see ‘Ever After,’ it’s a Cinderella story . . . stupid.” Grudgingly smiling at Grandpa, she said, “I want to see Mel Gibson’s butt!”

  Her grandparents smiled at one another and continued the amorous charade. “I don’t think Shirley and Jordan will approve,” Grandma said as she grabbed the newspaper. “Let me look at the movie times for ‘Ever After.’”

  Teenage Claire looked over her grandma’s shoulder. “Grandpa, ‘Lethal Weapon’ starts in twenty minutes. If we hurry we can make it.” Her sulking forgotten, she believed she’d just gotten her way. Claire filled with warmth as she watched herself be lovingly manipulated.

  Grandma surprised Claire. “Hey, I am going too. I don’t want to miss Mel’s butt.”

  Grandma winked at Grandpa. The scene began to fade away. The last thing she saw was the three of them going out the door to the movie.

  Claire wondered why she hadn’t remembered this before. Then she realized that it wasn’t unusual. She’d been raised by an amazing family with unconditional love and consideration.

  Somewhere along the way Claire forgot how that felt, the warmth that made everyone within its aura feel happy. The darkness returned, the quietness combined with a feeling of serenity and warmth.

  Gradually the darkness intensified and the warmth melted away. In the cool darkness she could hear voices again. She waited.

  “Claire, talk to us. Open your eyes.” It wasn’t a command. Tony’s desperate voice was requesting. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted to feel the warmth, to sleep.

  “Ms. Nichols, Ms. Nichols.” The deep unfamiliar voice no longer spoke to her, but to s
omeone else. “We will need to begin intravenous feeding if she doesn’t regain consciousness soon. The medicine to keep her unconscious should be out of her system. She is responding to some commands, but we can’t be sure of her condition until she fully wakes. Sometimes the body will do this on its own, shut itself down to heal and to avoid the pain.” There were voices and then she heard the unfamiliar one speaking again. “Her pain seems to have subsided with the medication. It should help her wake.” Claire didn’t want to listen to them anymore or know who they are talking about. She just wanted to sleep, to feel warm, and go back to her memories.

  “Get up, sleepyhead. You have a room of your own.” Claire heard her own voice. It sounded happy and playful. However, she couldn’t see herself or to whom she spoke.

  “But I like this room better. I like this bed better,” the other voice teased and laughed.

  “Really, a twin bunk bed? That’s what you like?” They both giggled.

  “As long as you’re here.” Claire could see the two of them, a big mound under the covers, laughing and playing. As the covers moved she recognized herself and Simon, Simon Johnson. She hadn’t thought of him in years. She’d made herself compartmentalize him out. Their hair disheveled, they looked too young for such activities. This was her freshman dorm room.

  “Claire, I want to marry you.”

  “Yeah right.” She didn’t believe him. Her plans didn’t include marriage. Young Simon, however, meant every word he said. Now as Claire watched she wondered: what if?

  “No, really. We can wait until we are through school or we can run away today. I’m not busy, how about you?” He pretended to be playful, but his tone had more than a hint of sincerity.

  “Give me a rain check, okay?” Claire nibbled his ear. “I think my dad might be upset if I decide to throw away a year of school to get married during spring semester.”

  “I want to marry you, not stop your dreams . . . we can still finish school and you can be a famous meteorologist.” Simon didn’t get upset, he smiled tenderly and continued. “A famous meteorologist named Johnson.” He playfully nibbled on her ear and let her take a turn on his. They lay in that little twin bunk bed and talked for hours. Claire watched them and memories flooded her consciousness. They shared so much of themselves, their dreams, ambitions, troubles, failures, hopes, and accomplishments. Nothing could stop the mutual admiration and affection of their first love.

  They got out of bed and dressed wearing sweatpants and Valparaiso University sweatshirts. Claire put her hair in a ponytail. Looking at her now, she chastised herself. She needed a shower, some makeup, and definitely a brush. Simon didn’t notice. Compliments came between hugs and kisses. He thought she looked beautiful and doted on each word. They were both completely in love. They discussed the finer dining establishments near campus, Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, or Wendy’s. With a warm loving kiss they mutually decided it would be Taco Bell. No pretense, no rules, only warmth and an undying need to be together.

  As they left the dorm room, Claire looked at the mess: clothes on the floor, bed unmade, a pizza box next to the trash can, and she saw the comforts of home. The scene vanished, fading to black, the feeling of love remained. After watching, all she could think was: please don’t fade. I want to keep this going. But it did. It faded.

  Slowly, it evaporated, slipped away into cool darkness. Claire felt so cold. She wanted a blanket, something, anything with heat . . . please. She would beg if necessary. The cold was so . . . cold!

  “Claire, the doctor said you may be able to hear us when we talk. Catherine and I have been talking to you for days for over a week. He says that you will wake up when your pain decreases and you are ready. Please be ready soon. This liquid crap they are putting in your arm may have nutrients, but you are wasting away. Catherine has had the cook prepare all the foods you like every day just in case you wake and want something.” Tony’s voice sounded close. She could sense his distress and concern. She had to wonder, if I open my eyes will he be right there. Did he say over a week? I have been asleep for over a week? How did that happen? Why was a doctor here? Claire couldn’t remember the whys or how, all she could remember were her parents, her grandparents, her sister, and Simon. Those memories filled her with hope and promise, and yet Tony sounded like he needed her. She knew she needed to go to Tony. She didn’t want to make him wait. But she felt so tired and weak. Maybe a little more rest before she opened her eyes. Someone must have put blankets on her because she felt warmer.

  Along with the warmth Claire could feel the stiffness of her dress, it was sea foam green. She was looking at herself in the mirror as Emily watched. They were in a big dressing room.

  “I love it!” Emily observed Claire from all sides. “It is perfect for my wedding.”

  “Seriously, Em, you want me to wear green?” Claire’s tone sounded joking, but she meant it. She remembered not liking the dress, but of course she would wear it if that is what Emily wanted.

  “Yes. With your eyes, it’s stunning.” Claire watched the two sisters and again became self-critical, the self she saw looked too heavy and her hair was too thick and bushy. Emily was seeing someone different as she played with Claire’s hair, twisting it and talking, “With your hair up and some dangly earrings. I know you can wear Grandma’s necklace. It has a pearl. And I will wear Mom’s strand of pearls. They will look great, and that will be my something old. You will almost be as pretty as me.”

  The mention of Grandma’s necklace triggered something sad. Yet Claire couldn’t remember why the sadness came. She couldn’t seem to remember . . .

  Emily, being three years older than Claire, was the bride. But she also had the responsibilities of the mother of the bride. Their mother should be there but she wasn’t. The girls only had each other. It was Emily’s wedding, yet she encouraged Claire.

  “Yeah, you wish. I just want you to know John secretly loves me! We wanted to tell you, but you know?” Claire smiled at her sister and her green eyes sparkled.

  “Honey, he isn’t secretive about that. He loves you, you are his little sister.”

  “Yeah, I know. I have to beat the men off with sticks. Okay, I will wear green. But for my wedding, I am finding you the gaudiest bubblegum pink dress you’ve ever seen.” The two sisters laughed. Emily helped Claire out of the dress and they continued their shopping. They had so many things to do before the wedding. Together they would do it all.

  Just like the little girls with the juice, they were there for one another. After their parents died they only had each other. John understood. He never tried to come between them. Even when Claire moved in with them later as newlyweds they welcomed her.

  Briefly Claire could see their home in Troy, New York. Not large, it could be described as crowded. Seeing it again from afar filled Claire with affection and warmth. John worked long hours, and Emily had her teaching responsibilities. But they still managed to make Claire feel welcome. She suddenly wondered if she’d ever thanked them. She couldn’t remember . . .

  The scenes faded faster now. The warmth and strength evaporated. The blackness returned and pulled her in. Claire instinctively wanted to get away from the blackness. The serenity transformed into coldness. She opened her eyes and saw it, the cold blackness staring back at her. She gasped and closed her eyes, but then she could hear the voices again coming from different directions. “Claire, are you awake?”

  “Ms. Claire, please come back to us.”

  Tony spoke fast, “She opened her eyes. I saw it, just a second ago.” She could feel his hand on hers. “Can you hear me?” He continued speaking to Catherine, “Go get the doctor. He’s getting food in the kitchen. Let him know she is finally waking.” And with a different tone, one of desperation and affection, he said, “Claire, please open your eyes.”

  Do you know what happens to scar tissue?

  It’s the strongest part of the skin.

  —Michael R. Mantell

  Chapter 21

  C
laire inhaled, her chest felt tight, and there was a deep ache on her right side. She tried to remember. How did she get this way? She felt so weak. She tried to move her hand to touch Tony’s, even the attempt exhausted her.

  There was an odd feeling on her left arm. She turned her head to see what was making her arm feel strange. Everything blurred out of focus. The light in the room was so intense that she couldn’t see. Tony noticed her eyes squint, immediately got up from the side of her bed, and closed the drapes. He returned and picked up her hand. “It was too bright in here. I closed the drapes for you. Is that better?”

  Claire tried to respond; she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was too dry. She moved her head ever so slightly, indicating “Yes, it is better.” The movement of her head made her dizzy. The inability to speak frightened her. Her eyes moistened. She closed them, and a tear escaped down her cheek.

  “It is okay, you don’t need to talk.” Tony’s tone was kind and loving. “Please open your eyes again. It was so good to see your beautiful emerald eyes.” He continued gently holding her hand. Claire opened her eyes and looked at the needle taped to the bend of her left arm. As if reading her mind, he explained, “That is how you have been eating for almost two weeks. And it has some pain medicine too, trying to make you more comfortable.”

  Claire started to remember: she was in the woods, came home, and Tony . . . The memory made her eyes open wider. She looked at Tony. Her eyes filled with panic. She remembered.

  Tony’s voice continued, gentle and comforting. “Can you remember what happened? You had an accident.” Claire tried to say, “No, you did this,” but she couldn’t. It may have been the dryness of her tongue or the horror of the images, but she just stared at him as he continued. “You had an accident in the woods. When we found you, your jeans and boots were all muddy, and you had multiple injuries. Did you fall? Did you slip? Did someone or something hurt you out there? We have had the woods searched. Nothing was found. Claire, we have been so worried about you.”