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One
Randy Medeiros.
Bethany was leaning to her right to peek into room 303 again, to see if the man was finally awake, or in one of his dreams. She watched his body twitch, then jump, so she pulled back.
“What’s wrong shu’ga?” asked a voice from behind her ear. It was Angela, Bethany’s rotund supervisor, speaking in a tone of managerial confidence. She had not jumped, or turned, to face her boss for she did not fear that she was in any trouble; however, she did lower her head in shame because she knew she had to come up with an answer, and this being the umpteenth time she had been caught peering into 303, it was about time to tell her boss the truth.
She lifted her head, turned on her heels with grace and said, “I think he’s going to wake up soon.” As she took in some breath for a more detailed explanation she moved a curl of blond hair from her brow and tucked it behind her ear. She locked eyes with Angela, and continued. “He’s been moving a lot in his sleep for the past week or so and I think it means he’s dreaming,” she had to speak fast, knowing her boss wanted was waiting to interrupt. “If he is dreaming than he’ll probably wake up soon because comatose people don’t dream...... do they?”
Angela finally saw her opportunity to speak to old bubble-head Bethany and set her on the strait and narrow, “Honey,” She said, “that half a man in that room been sleeping for a decade or more. He aint gonna wake up tonight, and probably not tomorrow, and even if he do, he aint leaving that bed, so calm yourself and stick to your side of the floor.”
She had emphasized the word “your” and gave her the stern, over the eye glasses look that every RN in the building knew meant business, so Bethany turned, and stalked away without giving the man in 303 another glance.
She sat back down behind her computer, sipped from her now cold cup of tea, and thought about what Andrew could possibly be dreaming of.
Could it be his childhood? His first bike, or his first time at the movies? Was he in a dim, and comfortable place with his first lover, or any other memory of the good times he had before he came here? Was it possible that the half of a man lying on that bed in 303 still held memories?
One thing was definite, he was in a dream when she saw him shake and twitch, and soon he would be awake. Angela might not believe her, but some things do not require the faith of others.
#
Andrew had been dreaming, and not of times of love, or of childhood toys. Unfortunate for him he could not escape the dream of the day he lost himself.
His last morning on the base had been short, but nice. The guys had gotten together and bought him a cake, some drinks, and a farewell banner. Diana, his girlfriend, had come to pick him up. She had brought with her the car he had been pining for since he left. He had fixed up that 5.0, together with his father, and painted it blood red one summer long ago, with his kid brother watching from the garage window, and now it was back. The car he never thought he would drive again.
She pulled the Mustang in front of him, then in her excitement, forgot to take it out of gear before leaping out to wrap her arms around her man. The car bucked, then stalled, making Andrew cringe and drop his bags, but before he could cry out in disgust she was on top of him, smothering him in kisses.
His arms were up, and his hands were atop his head. The look of shock he wore was for more than the cry of pain omitted from his beloved Mustang, but also because he could not understand Diana’s actions. He had after all been home for more than two months and only living on the base until his papers went through. Why on earth she had relapsed into the girl she was his first day back he could not explain, and now his car had unjustifiably suffered for it.
He shook it off, then kissed the wild woman clinging to him. She squealed then jumped up wrapping all her limbs tightly to her man. She dropped down after having her fill and ran to the other side of the red muscle car, opened her door, and waited. Andrew opened his door, and the two of them pulled the top up with big smiles. He threw his duffel bag into the back seat, and then both of them took off.
Twenty minutes later, she would bring up the scar on his face and the argument would ensue. She would scream and yell, call him a cheat, and try to smack him causing the mustang to lose its grip on the road and turn onto its top.
He would wake up an unknown amount of time later, stoned from the Demerol, and in a hospital bed with his mother hovering over him in tears, his father nodding and frowning as he listen to a doctor explain that the reattachment of his sons left arm was successful, but his other arm, and legs, were a lost cause, the spinal damage was so extreme that he would never move on his own again, and the best thing to do for him right now, was to sign a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate), and hope they can keep him from falling into a coma.
After this, there was darkness. Falling. A never ending hole of pain and screams that came from within, and never seemed to cease. He could see his limbs falling, but he could not reach out to them. His left arm was limp. The more he tried, the more it hurt, and the more it hurt, the more he tried.
The site of his falling limbs faded, and the screams in his head slipped away. He tried to scream but nothing came out.
Andrew was awake.
#
Angela’s shift was nearly finished when she saw the pastor enter room 303. Pastor Mario would always visit Andrew in the mornings to give him a prayer before going down to the chapel to counsel those in need, but Angela was surprised to see him here before the five o’clock hour. His early arrival gave her a bad feeling deep in her bones. Something big was going to happen today, and she could only hope it would go down after the end of her shift.
She watched as Pastor Mario entered the room carrying his coat over his left arm, wiping at his brow with his left, and her feeling of abnormality grew. Hot or cold he always wrapped his right hand in a white hanker chief to wipe his mouth, or brow. The man was never seen without one. It was warm outside and he had no need for an over coat, not with the three piece blue suit he was wearing (and did wear every other day), but Angela supposed his vanity called for such things under all conditions. There were no other explanations for his extra clothing that she could come up with, so that was the one she stuck with. Her father would always say, “The first thought is usually the best,” and from experience she found him to be right.
Pastor Mario was out of sight and she knew where he was. Right now he was laying his coat over the chair in the corner of 303, and going into the bathroom to pray.
She hated the sound of his prayer. He never prayed for Andrew out in the open, only in the restroom. The sounds that came from inside were strange. He would not deny it when asked, but only say, “The words of a man are heard best by the Lord when he prays in private,” but Angela knew there was someone, or something, in there with him during his visits. She may not be able to decipher what was being said, but she knew damn well there were two separate voices in there once he closed the door.
She shivered, and then rubbed at her bare arms to warm herself. The thought of the pastors prayer had gotten to her. First dippy the blond notices the poor man in mid dream, and the impossible way he twitches, now the early arrival of the hospitals only religious member. Soon people would notice the other strange happenings in room 303.
Angela had been caring for the man in that room every night for his entire stay. First he was a one armed, no legged, vegetable with so much swelling in his brain that if he ever did reawaken, he would be useless to this world. Then she watched, day after day, and year after year, as the man slowly began to re-grow his body piece by piece. The accident had left him only two fingers on his remaining hand, a thumb and index, but soon she saw a nub growing, then a knuckle, and soon the man had re-grown a new pinky with no nail at it’s tip. His legs had gone from stout little stumps that ended at mid thigh, to two half legs with knee caps and all. All of the doctors had said his spine had been virtually shattered, he would never again move on his own, but now, he would twist and move in his bed. There are many miracles on this earth, and one of them was in room 303.
Doctors simply adore patients like Andrew. They could poke him and prod him, search him and study him, always looking for the miracle he held, and that is why she remained silent.
In Angela’s belief structure, one left God to his work in peace and undisturbed. What she did not know was that she was not the only one aware of the miracle inside of the broken soldier of room 303.
#
Pastor Mario exited the bathroom with a new sweat dripping from his brow as he re-wrapped his hanker-chief around his hand. He used the yellowing cloth to dry himself, then scratched it at the top were a scar the size of a quarter burned and bothered.
He went to the chair in the corner with his over coat draped over the back but did not take his coat and leave; instead, he picked up the chair and set it beside Andrew’s bed for he had, on good authority, known that this was the day the man would awaken.
He set the chair on the right side of Andrew’s bed and sat down, with the rooms picture window at his back, and it’s door in front of him, he had better access to the soldiers remaining limb. He sat, laid both hands flat on the bed, then leaned in and whispered, “Andrew? Son are you awake?” but received no response.
The pastor leaned back in the chair, looked up to the ceiling, and took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. His hands still on Andrew’s bed side he watched the mans chest, rise, and fall.
His mother had requested that his face be covered as much as possible so no man, or woman, would have to see the disfigured mess that was once her handsome boy. The doctors and nurses all agreed that the request was fine, for the man did not have a hole from a tracheotomy to worry about, because, after a few months they were able to remove the tube from his throat, allowing him breath on his own. The mask, made by his mother’s friend, fit him like a fencers mask. It was not made of mesh like a fencers would be, but rather a solid white cotton cloth, that was suspended by two thin crossed wires and hovered in a dome fashion atop an oval frame that rested around Andrew’s face.
At the request of the nurse’s, Andrew’s IV had been relocated from his hand to his left shoulder, making it easier to bathe and change him without tangles. Aside from that, the only other wires he had were for monitoring his breathing, hart rate, and blood pressure, with one final tube to feed him, and all together, they were only five, most of which attached to the top of his only arm. To pastor Mario, despite his condition, the man in the bed looked quite comfortable, and peaceful.
The pastor slid his naked hand along the over starched hospital spread, turned it over, and grasped Andrew’s, and to his surprise, the man jumped.
The hart monitor, which had been running silently, was now sounding it’s alarm. The display on the machine read Andrew’s hart rate as 102 bpm and rising. Pastor Mario sat upright and placed his other hand over Andrew’s, then spoke calming words with no effect. Andrew’s hart rate hit 118 as nurse Angela arrived, waddling through the door at what must have been her top speed.
“What in Sam Hill is go’en on in h......” Angela was cut off when she witnessed the man in the bed twisting slightly and squeezing the pastors hand with his remaining fingers. “May God be merciful, the man has woken up,” She had pronounced God, as Gawd, as her words came out in a frightened wisp. She ran to the back of Andrew’s bed and pressed the call button, “Beth, I need you to get the doctor on duty to room 303 right away, and tell him to bring some sleeping potion wit’em.”
#
Andrew knew he was awake but had been wishing to the God’s that this was just some kind of nightmare. He could see nothing and hear even less, but the taste and smells in the air told him he was in a hospital, probably lying on his back. He tried to speak, to call out to someone, but he could not tell if it worked. He could feel his breath moving, his mouth shaping each word, but could not hear them leave his body.
Without warning, he felt a hand in his and it startled him. Moving was difficult, but still he tried to pull away just as a second hand closed over. He began to panic. He tried to scream for the person that was near him to release his hand but heard no sound. Next, he tried as hard as he could to open his eyes, wanting to look at this person holding his hand. That’s when he realized, his eyes were already open.
“Oh my God, I’m deaf dumb and blind,” He thought. “I can’t feel my trigger arm. I can’t feel my legs. I’ve become burden incarnate.”
He squeezed the hand in his palm and felt the one atop his own squeeze back, then something large and heavy bumped the side of his bed, shifting him a few inches to the side.
With so many questions coming at him from the inside he had to slow down his mind and think hard for the best plan of action. When it came to him just seconds later, he inhaled deeply and held.
Morse code.
He gathered his concentration and tapped his thumb softly, *** - - - ***. He repeated the pattern twice more and waited two seconds in-between for a response. When the hands around his finally did, he let go of his breath.
#
The pastor had not used Morse code since his days as a weekend warrior and was shocked to see he still knew it. He quickly taped his finger tips on Andrew’s wrist.
“Andrew. You must calm yourself. You are in good hands, and help is on the way.”
Andrew responded, “How do you know me?”
“I’m the man that sold you the fastest mustang ever built,” Pastor Mario tapped.
“Pastor?” Tapped Andrew.
“Yes son, It’s me,” Tapped the pastor, “I’ve been offering Gods services here at the hospital since the day after your accident. Do you remember that day Andrew?”
“Yes sir. I remember it all. We were making the big turn just past the farm. Diana and I were arguing about were I got my scar, then before we knew it we were on the side of the road, upside-down. I could see her face and......” Andrew became agitated and quickened his taps. “Please pastor Mario, ask the Lord to forgive me for the burden I have become. Ask him to forgive me for betraying my love, and allowing that other woman to scar me. Tell him for me because I know he will no longer listen. Tell him for me would you? Tell him I only wanted......” He trailed off and his heart rate went up another few numbers.
“I can do that for you son, and later, you can do that for yourself, but first you must calm yourself. Your mother and the doctors are on their way.” Pastor Mario was preparing to tell the man more, when he suddenly broke out into another barrage of messages.
“Please don’t let my mother see me like this. Don’t let those doctors put me back to sleep and allow me to be a further burden. Please pastor? Hold them back. Don’t let them keep me here. Tell my mother how much I love her.” Andrew stopped tapping his thumb and his breathing calmed.
Pastor Mario tapped again, “I will son. I’ll tell her for you now, and then you can tell her. I promise you that you’re going to be OK. Stay calm and I’ll go and tell the doctor. Be still.” And with that, the pastor stood up, tapped the man’s chest in a soothing manor, and left his side.
Outside, pastor Mario was speaking to Bethany and giving her Andrew’s message. Andrew could not hear what was going on but knew he had to work quick. He concentrated hard, figured out which wire was which, and what tube was which, then set to work on ending his life.
He used his arm as best he could and felt his face. He did not remove the mask completely, but lifted it high enough to reveal his mouth. He then reached up behind his head, and pulled to help him crane his neck toward his shoulder, then he bit into his IV tube and began to blow.
The expanding pain in his arm moved quickly and reached his chest. He knew the task was complete, and even though his heart felt as if it was near exploding, he smiled. He felt the hands of others roaming over him in a panic, probably trying to stop the unstoppable. Trying helplessly to stop the air bubble that he set in motion to end the embarrassing hindrance he had become.
Just before he left the world, Andrew saw a bright white cloth, and heard the clouded and dulled sound of a woman screaming for a doctor.
#
Dr. Mathew had went from walk to run at the sound of the nurses call and nearly stabbed himself with the covered syringe of what the nurse had referred to as, “sleeping potion.” He reached the room and saw the two nurses, one a skinny blond, the other an overweight older woman, and what he recognized as the hospitals Pastor hovering over the man of 303 in a panic as the man appeared to have a tube in his mouth.
Once Dr. Mathew realized the tube was from the mans IV, he recognized what had just happened, he pushed his way through the people, uncovered the syringe that nearly stabbed him, inserted it into the dying mans half a leg and pushed the plunger. The sedative he brought with him was mild, but effective, and he saw the mans chest rise once...... twice...... no more.
“Contact the morgue and tell them the time of death was 5:22 am. ” The doctor said to Angela, then turned to Bethany and said, “Call the next of kin and inform them of their loss.” Both nurses set forward with their given tasks and Dr. Mathew turned to face the pastor and spoke one last time before turning off the machines, covering the body, and leaving the room. “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say as many times as I can. That God of yours, has one fucked up sense of humor.”
#
The pastor went into the bathroom after the doctor left and locked it. He removed the hanker-chief from his hand, exposing the bright white scar, and set the cloth on the side of the sink. From within his shirt he removed a chain that held a silver coin with three X’s on its face, then held it up face high so that the coin and his face were reflected in the mirror.
The coin moved back and forth from his left hand as is suspended from its chain like a pendulum, then turned a bright red. The pastor lifted his scared hand and lowered the silver coin directly over the old wound. He made no sound as the red hot piece of silver burned itself into his skin, nor did he utter a breath as it cooled and was covered entirely with his searing flesh.
He released the chain, let it dangle, then he placed both hands, palm flat fingers strait, at chest height and looked into the mirror. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and the image in the mirror changed.
The pastor of the mirror let his hands fall to his sides and raised his head. As his eyes opened they were the burned the color of the hot silver. It watched closely as the pastor in the bathroom spoke.
“The deed is done,” He said with his head still bowed, “The soldier you sent me to procure has betrayed his God, and taken his own life just as you said. His soul now belongs to you.”
“He has been received,” The mirror pastor said, “He will be trained and become a useful tool against the God that created him. Your job is now finished, you may keep your thirty pieces.”
The pastor of the mirror bowed his head, closed his eyes, and placed his hands back together, then disappeared into the image of the pastor in the bathroom.
Pastor Mario held up his hand with his 30 piece of silver inside and rubbed at it with his free thumb. His skin bubbled, then changed to the color of burnt ash as the silver coin slipped out from beneath the skin, and dropped to the floor between his feet.
He looked at his hand, watched as the wound closed up and returned to its normal white scared appearance, then bent down to pick up his prize believing that one day he would have enough to buy his way back into the heart of the Lord.
