The Long Sleep (16 page)

“Mr. Geyer?”

He turned quickly. “Oh! It’s you. Are you
visiting our friend Hank?”

I felt my usual blush. What was it with my
face? Maybe because I knew I shouldn’t be hanging around so much.
Guilt. Self-consciousness. Something like that.

He didn’t pursue the question. “You wouldn’t
happen to know where the conference rooms are?”

“Quite frankly,” I said, “I didn’t even know
they had conference rooms. You could try asking at the desk.”

He didn’t exactly smile, but the furrow left
his forehead. “That’s the best idea yet.” We got on an elevator and
I pressed L for lobby.

He kept his eyes raised, watching the
numbers. I said, “What sort of conference is it?”

“Oh, uh, medical ethics.”

“It’s not exactly your field, is it? But
that’s okay,” I added hastily, realizing I’d been rude.

“Not my primary field, but I do have more
than one interest.” The doors opened and he headed toward the
desk.

“I’ll see you in school,” I said.

Medical ethics. That must be interesting. I
wondered if he would have anything to say about the treatment of
comatose people.

If so, why didn’t he say it? He must have
wanted to see what we would come up with on our own.

Then and there, I decided to interview him. I
wondered how much of an expert he was, whether his name would carry
any weight.

This was going to be one terrific series. I
only wished Hank could see it.

Chapter
Thirteen

If I faced the
computer on my desk, I didn’t have to look at any pink ruffles.
They were Rhoda’s idea of appropriate décor for an eight-year-old,
which I was at the time she did my room.

I wasn’t anymore. But Rhoda liked those
ruffles so I put up with them. In less than two years I’d be living
in a college dorm. No pink ruffles there, unless I got a
girly-girly roommate who wouldn’t compromise.

Ruffles and stuffed animals. Evan used to
make fun of those relics from my childhood. I almost threw them
out, wanting his approval. Now I was glad I hadn’t.

The computer went to screensaver. I touched
the shift key and my text came back. I should have been doing a
paper for English, but first things first.

“Soul in Bondage.” I liked that. It was the
title of a painting I saw once in a museum. I could use it for our
series, except it’d be slanted. It gave a point of view and we
weren’t supposed to have one.

I couldn’t get that painting out of my mind,
mostly because of its name. It showed a nude figure with angel
wings, all wrapped up in a serpent and what appeared to be lengths
of fabric. There was also a butterfly, as I recalled.

It was meant to symbolize a conflict between
good and evil. I didn’t care about that, only the title. It made me
think of Hank and Paula. Was that how it was for them? Their soul
in bondage, somewhere between life and afterlife? I wished Hank
would wake up so I could ask him. I wished he would wake up for his
own sake.

If he
could
wake up, then it wasn’t a
matter of letting him go. It was not like those in a very deep
coma, the thing they call a persistent vegetative state. If you
take away the machine, then they die. Which, it seemed to me, meant
they weren’t really alive in the first place. That’s where the
question comes up about the right to die.

My cell phone rang. A voice I had no trouble
recognizing said, “Hey, what’s up with you?”

I all but fainted.
Get a grip,
I told
myself. I was sure now that Glyn must have talked to him.

“Evan?” I had planned all the things I would
say, but I couldn’t remember any of them. They were all stupid.

“Are you still interested?” I asked.

That was one of the stupider ones. I
refrained from babbling and waited to see what would happen.

“Interested in what?” He sounded really
hostile. I had to remind myself there wasn’t much he could do over
the phone.

“In, um—me. You used to say you loved me.” I
sounded pathetic as well as stupid. It made me gag.

“You’re crazy.”

But he really had said that. About loving me.
Over and over he said it.

“Yes, I know I’m crazy,” I sighed. “You used
to tell me that, too. You said the sweetest things.”

Dammit, I was getting sarcastic again. Why
couldn’t I stop? I tried to pull back. “I think about you a lot,
Evan.”

Wrong again. That was admitting his antics
had an effect on me.

His response was, “Yeah, huh?”

“I heard you were going to school in New
Hampshire. That’s so far away.”

“It’s your fault.”

“Why is it my fault?” I tried to make it a
simple question and keep the challenge out of it.

“It’s your fault I had to get out of
Lakeside.”

So it was true and he admitted it.

“Did you? I’m so sorry, Evan.”

“The hell you’re sorry! You did it on
purpose. You wrecked my whole life.”

You did that to yourself, asshole.
“Are you in New Hampshire now? Is that where you’re calling
from?”

“No, I am not in New Hampshire.”

“Are you home? In Southbridge?” I tried to
make it sound hopeful.

He didn’t answer.

I said, “Do you know I never stopped loving
you?” That was so sickening I could hardly stand myself.

“Funny way of showing it,” he said.

Not as funny as your way, Buster.

“You know what’s funny, Evan? I mean it’s
more like interesting. I joined the newspaper staff at Southbridge
High and we’re working on a series about, um...” How could I put it
tactfully? “About when people are in a coma. Because of that
Halloran case right now in Georgia. We’re starting with Paula
Welbourne because she’s from around here. I never knew she was your
sister.”

“Huh?”

Didn’t he know? Maybe I shouldn’t have said
it. I muddled on.

“It’s awesome. You wouldn’t remember her. She
must have, uh, passed on before you were born.”

“How is it awesome?”

“That might not be the right word.” Why did I
keep putting my foot in my mouth? This was all so incredibly
awkward.

“I’m glad you called, Evan. It kind of breaks
the ice.”

“Huh!” And then, “How do you know she’s my
sister?”

That sounded belligerent. Maybe he didn’t
want people finding out.

“I saw a picture. Of your family. At her
funeral.”

“Where’d you see that?”

“In a newspaper clipping. From ages ago. I
was researching for the article.”

“Huh.”

This was going nowhere. I would have to get
right to the point or give up.

The trouble was that point was where I really
didn’t want to go. But what other way was there?

I said, “Do you think we could get together
sometime?”

He gave an explosive laugh, more like a spit.
“What for? You’re the one who broke it up. You didn’t want to see
me again.”

“I never said that. I was afraid of you. You
hit
me.”

“Yeah, you know whose fault that was. With
your big mouth it’s gonna happen again.”

Happen again. Just
happen.
Like it was
an accident and not his fist that did it.

“You thought I was unfaithful,” I said. “I
would never do that. Honestly.”

This approach wasn’t working. I couldn’t say
the right thing because I didn’t feel it.

He knew that. He said, “Not I
thought
you were unfaithful, you were! You cozied up to every guy in
school, you bitch. Even that brother of yours. Do you know how sick
that is?”

How could he have such a twisted mind?

“Evan, Ben is my
brother!
People talk
to their brothers sometimes. It’s family.”

“He’s not your real brother, he’s adopted.
That makes it not family. Are you too dumb to know that?”

“But it is family. I never thought of him any
other way except as my brother.”

“Slut.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself. This was
definitely a mistake. He would never change.

Maybe he was jealous because Ben was so
good-looking. Could that be it? A person can acknowledge that their
brother is good-looking without going ape over him.

I tried one more time. “You said you love me
but you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t act this way or hurt
me the way you do. You’d treat me like a human being instead of a
possession.”

That met with silence. I hoped he was
thinking it over, which would happen when pigs fly.

Then suddenly, “I do love you, Maddie. You’re
my girl. All mine. That’s why I don’t like to see you with other
guys. Can’t you understand?”

“Can’t
you
understand that it’s the
same as talking to another girl? Guys are people just like—well,
like my friend Glynis.”

“What, she’s a lesbo?”

“No, she isn’t, and that’s not what I meant.
I mean it doesn’t make any difference whether the person I talk to
is a guy or a girl. It doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with them.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near other guys!”
He ground out the words. “Got that?”

“Would it help if I go and live in a
convent?”

“I’m warning you! Don’t make jokes.”

“It’s not a joke. I’m only trying to figure
out how to handle—” I almost said
you,
“—this.”

What a mistake. I thought he’d jump at the
chance to get back together, if only so he could persecute me some
more. Instead, he was piling on the reasons why we shouldn’t.

Could it be that he believed I actually meant
it? He thought I really wanted him, and by denying me he thought he
could make me suffer? Egotist. Idiot.

“Okay, Evan, if you’re not interested, then
that’s it. I’ll just try to move on.”

“When did I say I wasn’t interested?”

“It’s pretty much what you’ve been
saying.”

“I just don’t want to get hurt again.”

Wow, what an admission! That he could be
hurt. He was the one who liked to do the hurting.

Or was this part of his act? Trying to make
himself seem vulnerable and appealing. How did he have enough
sensitivity to know that vulnerability could be appealing?

Sociopaths know a lot of things
intellectually. They just can’t experience them on a personal
level. If they do at times seem to have normal emotions, it’s
because they’ve watched and learned how to fake it.

“Okay, Evan, whenever you really want to get
together, and you can accept me as an actual human being, just give
me a call.”

I disconnected and hoped I wouldn’t hear from
him. He wasn’t going to change. Ever.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again. Out
of curiosity, I picked it up.

“You bitch!” he screamed before I said
anything. “You’re not getting off so easy this time.”

When did I ever get off easy with him?

He was still on the phone, so I said, “You
don’t want to get hurt again? Maybe I don’t either. I know you
can’t see other people as real people because you’re a psychopath
and that’s the way they are. All that matters to you is what you
want. But if you could even
pretend
I’m real and treat me
accordingly, then we might have a chance.”

God forbid. Once more I disconnected, and
muted the ringer.

Why did I always do that? Get
confrontational.

I wasn’t going to crawl for anybody. In fact
I did crawl when we first starting seeing each other. He sort of
pushed me into that role without my realizing it. All it did was
encourage him to take advantage of me.

Until I lost my temper. I was as bad as he
was.

I spent a few minutes feeling sorry for
myself and then I got perspective. Whatever was wrong with my life,
and it seemed like plenty, at least I had a life. Not like Paula
Welbourne.

Sixteen years old. That was her age when she
lost consciousness. Sixteen years was all she ever had. I was
sixteen. What if my life were to end right now? If the coma wasn’t
too deep, I might even know where I was and what the future was.
That was how it might have been for Paula, if she could breathe on
her own. She’d have lain there knowing that the world went on
without her. That she was missing all the things she should have
had as a teenager and a young woman. Would she mind? Or would she
take it for granted that that was the way it was? Maybe they could
hear and feel, but how did they process that information?

If she’d fallen into a coma, she might well
have been brain damaged. I would have liked to know how badly.

Sixteen. There was tragedy in that. If I
could bring out the tragedy, I would have a whale of a story.

But without lecturing, as Lakeside did. The
trick is to make people feel the emotion instead of just battering
them with a message. Put them in Paula’s shoes. One night of
partying and that’s it forever. Was it worth it, folks?

* * *

When school let out the next day, I felt
torn. I wanted to visit Hank but I didn’t want to see him as he
was, with his face so drawn it wasn’t Hank any more.

I was at my car, with my mind still unmade
up, when Cree came along. “Do you feel like going to
Rayburn’s?”

“What for?” I asked.

“I need new gym shoes and I want company.
Ben’s got some sort of meeting he’s going to.”

I could hardly think of anything less
interesting. But Cree was my buddy and it would give me a reason
not to go to the hospital.

“Sure, I guess so. I’ll watch you try them
on.”

“You don’t need anything?” she asked.

“Not footwear.” M.I. Rayburn was all
footwear. Shoes were fun, at least they could be, but I didn’t
really need any at the moment.

Once there, Cree prowled around, looking at
displays. They had only one pair of gym shoes on display and she
didn’t like them. She sat down and waited for help while I did the
prowling.

I found a pair of pumps whose toes were clear
plastic, each with a butterfly on it. I examined them closely to
make sure they weren’t real butterflies. People used to kill real
birds and decorate hats with them. People can be so brutal.