The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (41 page)

“I’m not sure. I’d just have to try it.”

“Well, have at it.”

Robert took a deep breath through Robbie. “Relax, and close
your eyes.”

Once he closed his eyes, Robert concentrated, putting all
his thoughts into bonding with his son. He felt a slight tingle in his
fingertips, like his hand had gone to sleep. He thought harder.

The tingle became stronger, running up his arms and legs.
But then Robbie’s body convulsed and Robert quickly stopped.

“What happened?” Robbie asked. “Why did you stop?”

“I was afraid I might hurt you.”

“Jesus Christ, Dad. How could you hurt me?”

“I don’t know—”

“Try it again. And don’t stop.”

After another deep breath, Robert poured all his energy into
bringing that tingling back. It grew stronger, radiating up his limbs and into
his chest. He felt a tightness, like he was having a heart attack. At the same
time, Robbie’s body seemed to stretch like it might rip open. The pain
intensified. Robert had the distinct feeling that he was pushing against an
expanding force that threatened to explode.

A pounding in his head made his ears throb. When he thought
he could not endure the pain any longer, he shouted, “Now!”

Then bam! Robbie’s body was thrown to the floor.

A splitting headache squeezed his head like a vice. Robert
eased open his eyes and moaned at the pain that seemed to assault him from all
sides. One of Robbie’s friends bent over, his eyes gushing tears.

“Robbie? Thank God! Thank God! We thought you were dying.”

Robert shifted slightly. He was lying on a bed. And his
hands had been folded neatly over his chest.

“What’s going on?” he croaked.

“We don’t know. You were jabbering like a madman, and then
you flew out of your chair. I thought you were possessed.”

“No, it was nothing like that.”

Robert jerked to sitting like a fifty-seven year old man
would. But an eighty-eight year-old back screamed with pain. His neck seized in
a spasm and his arthritic fingers cramped. He flopped back onto the bed.

“Robbie?” he called quietly. No one answered.

Other men crowded around his bed, all of them with fearful
expressions. They were sure Robbie had gone around the bend.

“What time is it?” Robert asked.

The concerned expressions morphed into confusion. One man
finally said, “Deal of the Century just ended.”

Robert guesstimated it was mid-afternoon. He’d been out for
about five hours. He eased his head up to glance at the floor. Was Robbie still
lying unconscious somewhere?

His curiosity was replaced quickly with more immediate
problems. Not only was his leg throbbing, but he felt nauseous from the
pounding in his head.

And the smell! It was like being stuck inside a port-o-let
in the heat of summer.

He ran a hand down his face to block some of the stench, but
even his own palm stunk. Everything seemed magnified, as if he had only been
sharing part of Robbie’s torment. Now it was all on Robert.

“Dear God,” he moaned. “Does anyone have something for a
headache?”

“You know we don’t have drugs,” one of the men said.

“Not even aspirin?”

“What’s wrong with you, Robbie?”

“Never mind.” Robert reached up a hand and one of the men
pulled him to sitting. Robbie had mentioned that walking sometimes relieved the
pain. It was worth a shot.

He milled around the living area, trying to concentrate on
some program on the television, but he couldn’t escape the pain. He leaned
against the wall and pulled his robe up to examine his leg. The front of the
thigh was withered where the muscle had atrophied. The skin had bunched up
around an indented scar that ran from mid-thigh down to his knee. How did
Robbie endure the misery day after day? And how had he forgiven the man who did
that to him?

He caught a man staring.

“Tell me how Robbie does those relaxation chants.”

The man panicked, the stubble of beard on his chin
quivering. “Don’t do this Rob. Pull yourself together.”

Robert thought about explaining what was going on, but it
sounded ridiculous even to him.

The bell chimed, and Robert took his place at the back of
the line for his ‘meal’. His first sip of the viscous glop nearly gagged him.
The drink was neither sweet or salty; it didn’t taste like beef, or chicken, or
even vegetables. It was just…thick. It did, however, have a chalky aftertaste,
and left a film on the roof of his mouth. How cruel did mankind have to be to
subject these men to indignities like this?

Right after dinner, he went to bed, hoping to sleep away as
many hours as possible until Robbie got back. He managed to doze off, but two
hours later, he woke up with a full bladder. It didn’t seem possible that the
glass of sludge he’d choked down earlier could create such urgency. He rolled
out of bed and quickly teetered to the bathroom. He expected an immediate rush
of urine, but after weaving on his feet for several minutes, he only squeezed a
few drops out.

Wide awake, Robert laid in bed thinking about Suzanne. She
was somewhere in London, hanging around Angie. He tried to remember what the
time difference was, but couldn’t concentrate. He imagined the look of shock on
her face when he told her about trading places with Robbie.

His thoughts turned to his son. Sure, he’d been a
thoughtless, selfish kid, but had he really deserved to spend his life in
prison because he’d had a drug abuse problem? For most of that time, he’d lived
with excruciating pain that never let up.

Robert closed his eyes, slowly filled his lungs, then
gradually blew the air back out through a small part between his lips. He began
to hum Robbie’s chant.

He managed to doze off, but he was awake again before the
sun came up. There was no point in getting out of bed. The lights were on
automatic timers. So was the television. The bell for breakfast wouldn’t ring
until eight o’clock. Then he and the other men would vegetate in front of the
TV until the lights were turned back off at night. These men were not behind
bars, but they were definitely still in prison.

Midway through the afternoon, Robert found himself watching
the clock, hoping Robbie would return soon. When Robbie didn’t show up, he
chastised himself for being so selfish. His son had not truly been free for
nearly sixty years. And unfortunately, the two men had not made specific
arrangements for Robbie’s return.

When dinnertime came and went, Robert started getting
nervous. He couldn’t spend another night here. Was it Thursday? Or Friday?
Suzanne would be back in Dayton soon. He had hoped to get there first.

Of course, if she arrived in Dayton and he wasn’t there,
she’d come to the retirement home, wouldn’t she?

After a show about an intergalactic bounty hunter ended at
ten o’clock, the television turned off.

“Let’s go, Robbie,” Jason said. “Lights out. Remember?”

The men had fifteen minutes to get settled in the sleeping
ward before all lights were extinguished. Robert took one last look at the
front door, like he might see Suzanne or Robbie magically appear. Then he went
to bed.

He tried the relaxation chant, but he was too tired, and in
too much pain, to concentrate. Why hadn’t he asked Robbie more about how he
controlled the pain? Because he was so busy bragging about his wonderful life
with Suzanne and all the fabulous things they did.

An uncomfortable fear crept into the room and hovered over
Robert; an uneasiness that he’d been trying to keep at bay.

Robbie wasn’t coming back.

He’d be a fool to return to this wretched body. As soon as
he was free of the pain, he must have run away at full speed. By now, he could
be anywhere in the world, reveling in his new life.

The thought whipped Robert’s heart into a galloping frenzy
in his chest. The rush of blood made his leg pulse, and his temples threatened
to burst.

Calm down
! Robert
demanded. He sucked in gulps of air and tried to keep from quivering as he blew
back out.

Robbie would be back in the morning, he assured himself; by
noon at the latest. There was no reason to panic.

You’re the one who
told him to go to New York
, Robert scolded.

Then he argued back.
Just
take it easy. Have a little faith
.

By noon the next day, the fear had returned, and Robert was
fighting hysteria again.

Robbie was gone for good.

One of the other men laid a hand on Robert’s knee. He
jumped.

“You okay, Robbie?”

Looking down, Robert saw that his hands were shaking
uncontrollably. He was breathing so hard, his throat was parched.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he mumbled.

And once that idea awakened, he could not ignore it.

There was no reason to wait for Robbie. He would simply slip
out of that haggard body and go to Dayton. After all, he’d escaped the mechanic
on that cruise ship, and that guy had had Robert in a hammerlock.

Then of course, he worried about Robbie’s body. If Robert
left, would the body stop functioning? Would the heart stop, or would some
automatic pilot keep the system running in a vegetative state?

“Who cares?” Robert snapped.

The man sitting beside him shied away.

Getting out of that worn-out body was the best thing that
ever happened to Robbie. He was out now having a great time. In fact, Robert
reasoned, Robbie would probably never even come back, so what did it matter?

Concentrating his breathing, Robert closed his eyes. It
shouldn’t be too hard to get out. He was in and out of Dan all the time.
Drawing in one last breath, Robert exhaled and willed himself free.

It didn’t work.

He knew immediately because the pain was still gnawing at
every nerve ending in his body. Sweat pooled under his arms, and when he
shifted, the odor of stress disgusted him.

Leaning back into the chair, he massaged his head into the
cushion, and relaxed his arms at his sides. Another deep breath, and—.

He couldn’t get out.

Again and again he tried, straining to make it happen. All
he got for his effort was another headache. Sweat trickled down his chest and
drizzled between his legs. His racing heart made him light-headed.

“Okay, just stop!” he scolded himself. The men nearby
flinched like cattle about to stampede.

If he didn’t get a grip on things, he’d never be able to
think clearly. He took another calming breath and blew it out.

One thing was certain. If he couldn’t get out of Robbie’s
body, he was going to get out of the building. He’d catch a plane, he’d ride a
bus, hell, he’d walk all the way to Ohio if he had to. He was going to Suzanne.

Scooting out of his chair, Robert grabbed his cane and
dragged himself to the window. His damp gown was cold against his back, and he
shivered. Raising his cane like a baseball bat, and swung at the glass with all
his strength. The cane merely bounced off the surface.

Some of the men in the room jumped to their feet at the
sound. Others cried out in shock.

“What the hell are you doing, Robbie?”

“I’m leaving,” he grunted as he took another swing at the
window.

He didn’t have the strength to follow through. The glass
didn’t show even a nick or crack. In fact, when the cane hit, Robert didn’t
hear the familiar ping of glass.

“Great,” he mumbled. “It’s plastic.”

Turning to the man sitting closest to the window, Robert
said, “Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up!”

The man rose out of his chair. Robert wrapped his arms
around the chair back and tried to lift. It was way too heavy for his eighty-eight
year-old body.

“Help me!” he yelled at the man.

At first, the man backed away, like Robert had asked him to
slit his wrists, but then a shy smile creased his cheeks. The old man grabbed
the arms of the chair, and together, they lifted.

But all they managed to do was get the chair off the floor.
They didn’t have the power needed to drive the chair through the window. Then a
third man hobbled over, and at the count of three, they heaved the chair
against the window.

The chair bounced off, sending them all tumbling to the
floor.

Crying out in frustration, Robert rolled onto his back. A
memory flashed through his mind of Suzanne, huddled in the corner of Angie’s
hospital room. She’d tried to get out, to crossover, but she couldn’t. He
remembered teasing her because she’d taken her predicament so seriously. It
didn’t seem so funny now.

Long after the other two men struggled to their feet and
shuffled away, Robert lay on the floor, letting his heart calm, gathering
strength, and planning his next attack.

The call bell was his next idea. He remembered how, when
Frankie had fallen, someone had pulled an emergency alarm on the wall and the
paramedics had come. Sure, they’d taken a long time, but since Robert wasn’t
really hurt, it didn’t matter.

He envisioned waiting at the front door, and when the
paramedics arrived, he would greet them, and then wedge something in the
closing door. Once the EMTs got past the lobby, Robert would slip out.

But then Robert considered the plan more realistically. How
far could he get? He had no money, he was wearing a goofy nightgown, he
averaged about one mile per hour, and he had to pee at least twenty times a
day.

His final plan was a lot less appealing, but it seemed to be
his only other option.

Rolling to his side, he pulled himself up using the
overturned chair for support. His left arm pulsed as though he might have
sprained a muscle. Once on his feet, he stood quietly until his dizziness
passed.

He wandered around the room, examining other chairs, the few
tables, even the handle on the open door to the community room. Nothing looked
promising.