Out of My Mind (8 page)

Suddenly I’m the doe, frozen in the middle of the street.

I can’t move.

My brain goes blank. No thought, no fear or even regret. Just…

Nothing.

“Catherine!”

Something slams into me and I’m launched into the air. Falling…falling…

This time I’m not sure I’ll ever wake up.

Catherine
.

The deep voice whispers my name, but I can’t make out his face. All I see is white. I’m suspended in a dimension that’s neither painful nor pleasurable.

I feel nothing.

Am I dead?

Catherine, open your eyes
.

The warmth of his breath against my cheek sends a shiver down my arm.

If I’m dead, is this heaven? And if it is heaven, whose voice am I hearing? God’s?

Catherine, please
.

There’s such pain in his words. But why? If I’m meant to be in heaven the voice should sound welcoming, comforting.

Instead, this voice croaks with despair. I don’t understand.

I reach out, hoping to touch something, but my hand cuts through thick, empty air. My eyes catch on my Celtic ring. I clutch my hand to my chest. Something familiar, something real.

You’re okay
, the voice says.

If I’m okay, why am I suspended in a mass of white nothingness?

I worked so hard to recover from the accident yet here I am, fighting my way back. Does that mean…

Am I in a coma? My stomach twists into knots.

No. I can’t do it again. I simply don’t have the strength.

The will.

Shh, open your eyes
.

A hand strokes my back. Up and down. Up and down. It soothes me. Quiets the fear.

Please, God, make her wake up
.

Okay, so the voice isn’t God. I’m not in heaven.

I’ve fallen into the deep sleep again. Living death.

I hate it here. Hate it as much as I hate HULU’s.

An arm squeezes me tight. I gain strength from the pressure against my back.

Come on, open your eyes
.

I’m scared. No, terrified. If I open my eyes and I see white then I’ll know I’ve been sucked into coma hell.

Forever.

Please
, he begs.
Please try to open your eyes
.

I’ll do it for him. I’ll do it because for some inexplicable reason I trust this voice even though I’ve learned not to trust anyone since the accident. My parents lied about my condition and recovery. My doctors aren’t completely straight with me.

Everyone’s trying to protect the brain-damaged Catherine from the truth: I will never be myself again.

I blink my eyes open and choke back a sob.

Still white. Nothing’s changed.

Then I see a crack in the mass of white. A slice of color peeks through, green, I think.

You can do it
.

I believe the voice. I trust him.

I focus on the brilliant color and float across the shapeless world. Aim for the green streak…

A hand reaches out and I take it.

* * *

Adrenaline pulsing through his body, J.D. cradled Catherine against his chest and whispered encouraging words into her ear. He couldn’t believe how the Princess just stood there in the middle of the street as if the world revolved around her, as if the car would instantly stop before hitting her.

Then he caught the look in her eyes, a mix of fear and disassociation. Then, surrender.

He pumped faster on his skateboard, jumped the curb and grabbed her before the Jetta made contact. If she whacked her head again, she might not be so lucky a second time.

Thanks to hours at the skate park, J.D. knew how to twist just right, landing flat on his back and cushioning Catherine’s fall. She might be a space cadet, walking straight into oncoming traffic, but that didn’t mean she had to die.

“Open your eyes,” he pleaded. “You can do it.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God!” Taylor cried, jumping out of her car and rushing up to J.D. “Call an ambulance!”

Catherine didn’t move or moan, or show any signs of consciousness.

“Catherine?” he whispered against her hair.

“Let go of her,” Taylor said towering over him. “He ran into her, I saw it,” she said to the gathering crowd.

Right. It’s not like she would take responsibility for nearly killing her friend.

“I said, let go.” The bimbo grabbed his arm, digging her fingernails into his skin.

He wouldn’t let go. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You don’t want to move her until the paramedics get here.”

She released his arm. “Catherine?”

“She’s unconscious. Go get her parents,” he said.

Taylor’s eyes rounded with fear.

“Now!” J.D. shouted.

Taylor took off but her sidekick stayed back and kneeled beside him. “We didn’t see, I mean, we were…” her voice trailed off. Her skin paled as she stared at Catherine’s motionless body.

“I’m a nurse, move aside.” A mom type with red hair crouched beside J.D. “How are you, young man?”

“Fantastic.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Forget about me. Check her.”

“Is she unconscious?”

“Yes, ma’am. And she’s got a previous brain injury.”

The nurse took Catherine’s pulse.

“Catherine!” her mom cried.

“What the hell is he doing to my daughter!” Catherine’s father roared. “Let go of her—”

“Sir, I’m a nurse. She’s unconscious and shouldn’t be moved.”

“I don’t want him touching her, that…that bastard!”

“Please, sir, an ambulance is on the way.” The nurse put out her hand to keep Catherine’s dad from doing something stupid.

“It’s his fault.” Taylor pointed at J.D. “He ran her down on his skateboard.”

“Young lady, this is not the time,” the nurse warned.

“So help me God…” her father threatened.

Sirens wailed in the distance. A small group of nosy neighbors crowded the street.

“I’m a police officer. Everyone, please step back,” Detective Ryan ordered.

J.D. didn’t think he’d ever be happy to hear that guy’s voice, but Catherine’s old man was ready to rip his daughter off of J.D. regardless of the damage it could do to her, just to get a piece of him.

J.D. hoped someone saw what really happened. He guessed Ditzes #1 and #2 were too busy texting or screwing around with their iPods to notice Catherine crossing the street.

Her mom kneeled beside Catherine and stroked her back, her hand brushing against J.D.’s arm by mistake. He closed his eyes, remembering what it felt like to be comforted and loved. An ache started low in his gut.

Then Catherine stirred.

Relieved, he opened his eyes.

“What…what happened?” she whispered against his neck.

“You were crossing the street—”

“This jerk ran you down,” Taylor interrupted J.D.

Her mother stroked her back. “Catherine, relax honey, the paramedics will be here any second.”

Catherine raised her head and looked at J.D. “You knocked me down?”

“Yes.” He slipped his arm off her back. She didn’t move for a second then shifted slightly.

Her mother gripped her shoulders. “Try not to move.”

“The ambulance is here,” her father said. “Hurry up, hurry!” he called to the paramedics.

“I’m afraid to look at you,” Catherine said to J.D.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why did you…?” she whispered, oblivious to the commotion going on around her. Then she glanced at her hand, pressed against his chest.

“Because he hates you, he hates everybody,” Taylor accused.

Catherine didn’t seem to hear her. “The lights…”

“Get her to the hospital, damn it,” her dad ordered.

“I was the doe,” she whispered to J.D. “In the street.”

He couldn’t form a single word. He searched her eyes, but she glanced away and pushed off of him.

“Honey, don’t move,” her mom said.

“I’m fine.” Catherine stood with her mom’s help and glanced down, eyeing J.D. with a puzzled expression.

Her dad towered over J.D, probably waiting for the crowd to disperse so he could kick the crap out of him.

“She’s on blood thinners so if she bruises she could bleed internally,” her mom said to the paramedics.

They encouraged Catherine to get onto a stretcher and she did. But she stood on her own and took a few steps. That was a good sign, right?

“Hey, hey,” the nurse called after them. “What about this kid?” She pointed at J.D., still lying on the ground.

With a deep breath, not knowing what would work and what wouldn’t, J.D. got up and wavered slightly.

“You’d better get checked out,” the nurse said, supporting his arm.

“I’m fine.”

“You bastard.” Catherine’s father lunged at J.D. but Detective Ryan blocked him.

Good thing the cop was built like a football player.

“Sir, you don’t want to do that,” Detective Ryan said with his forearm against Mr. Westfield’s chest.

“Yes, I really do.”

Mr. Westfield’s eyes radiated the same kind of hatred J.D. had seen in his dad’s eyes. Which meant that someday her old man would be hiding in J.D.’s front bushes with a baseball bat.

“Hey, back off,” the nurse said to Mr. Westfield. “This young man saved your daughter’s life.”

Her father didn’t stand down from his aggressive position. It was like he couldn’t hear the woman’s voice through the cacophony of rage.

“Daddy?” Catherine said.

Color drained from her father’s face. He glanced over his shoulder at his daughter.

She reached out from her prone position on the stretcher. “I can’t go to the hospital without you.”

Turning back to J.D., Mr. Westfield raised a threatening index finger. Detective Ryan put up his hand in warning.

With a huff, her dad turned and went to his daughter.

Catherine nodded at J.D., at least he thought she nodded. Her dad climbed into the ambulance and they closed the doors.

“We’ll meet you at the hospital.” Taylor grabbed her friend’s arm and bolted to the car.

“You should really go to the hospital,” the nurse said to J.D.

“Yeah, thanks.” J.D. watched the ambulance disappear around the corner.

“So, you want to tell me what just happened?” Detective Ryan asked.

“Why? You’ve already made up your mind.” J.D. scanned the street and spotted his skateboard, crunched in half. The bimbos had destroyed his last mode of transportation.

“I saw what happened, officer,” the nurse offered. “This young man went flying into the street to save that girl from being hit by a car. He really did save her life.”

“Yeah?” Detective Ryan eyed J.D. “Is that true, kid?”

J.D. ignored the question. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Random drug test.”

* * *

J.D. wanted Detective Ryan to wait on the front porch, but the cop wouldn’t let him out of his sight. Who knows, J.D. might be stashing someone else’s pee inside, right?

They went into the dark house, J.D. pausing at the threshold for a second, listening intently, even though he knew Wednesday was billiards night at Palmer’s Pub.

Every Wednesday a part of J.D. hoped the old man would drink too much, get behind the wheel and drive his Olds headlong into a tree.

Never happened.

The cop needed to be gone before the old man got home. J.D. didn’t want anyone knowing the truth. Besides, a cop might feel like he had to do something about it, which would cause more misery, more beatings, or worse.

They’d split up J.D. and Billy and send them off to foster care. J.D. wouldn’t let that happen.

“Leave the bathroom door open,” Detective Ryan said, handing J.D. the plastic bag with the pee cup.

“You gonna watch me, too?” J.D. snatched it. The guy was a ball buster.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” he said with a smirk.

J.D. went into the powder room, that’s what Mom had always called it, and did his business. He glanced at the cat soap dish. Mom bought it at a craft fair because she said cats were fluffy balls of happiness.

Not a good time to be thinking about her.

“Where’s your dad?” Detective Ryan called from the hallway.

J.D. stepped out of the bathroom and offered him the bag. “Here.”

Ignoring him, the detective wandered through the main room, fingered a stack of books on the coffee table. “Looks like you read a lot.”

Yeah, he read a lot of psychology books to help him manage his dad.

“Not really,” J.D. said.

Detective Ryan tipped his head to the side and spotted one of J.D.’s sketchpads on the table.

“I draw.” J.D. placed the specimen bag on the table between them and closed his sketchbook.

“So, I see.”

J.D. suspected the detective saw a lot of things. “Are we done?”

“Why? You’ve got someplace to be?”

“I’ve got homework.”

“Uh-huh.” Detective Ryan waited for more.

He’d be waiting a long time.

The front door swung open with a crash and J.D. held his breath.

“J.D.!” Billy bolted down the hall and froze at the sight of Detective Ryan. “What’s he doing here?”

“Drug test,” J.D. said. “It’s fine. Go upstairs.”

Billy shot a quick glance at the ceiling and hesitated.

“Not home,” J.D. said.

With a nod Billy sprinted up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door.

“What was that about?” Detective Ryan said.

“What?”

“He looks terrified.”

“Doesn’t like cops.” J.D. went to the front door and opened it.

The cop grabbed the specimen bag and eyed J.D. from head to toe and back up again.

He walked to the front door and looked directly into J.D.’s eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not on anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It wasn’t.”

J.D. clenched his jaw.

“Okay, I’m going.” Detective Ryan put up his hand in surrender and left.

J.D. slammed the door, but not hard. Didn’t want to piss off the cop. He just wanted him out of his life.

I can’t believe they’re making me miss morning classes to see Dr. Sanders. The ER doctors said I was okay, so what’s the big deal?