08 Illusion (5 page)

Dane let the paper fall to his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. Yeah, there was that sick, crushing feeling again, the head-bashed-against-concrete, immovable, immutable cruelty of the real world.
Good morning, Dane. Glad to have you with us.

Earlier, by now another world away, he woke up by gradual degrees and found himself in a place that could not have been real, only a dream he didn’t have to believe. No, this didn’t have to be a hospital room. He wasn’t really hurt. The pain was only sunburn and maybe a charley horse here and there.

And any moment, Mandy would walk into the room, look down at him, and say, “Wow, that was a close one!” And he would say, “Yeah, sure was,” and then they’d take each other’s hands and thank God together that they made it through another one. God was taking care of them just as He always did.
Remember that spinout we had on Donner Pass the winter of ’73? Got away without a scratch. Hey, what about that fall you took from the stage in Pittsburgh? If that nice gentleman had not been in the front row for you to land on …

But the sorrow was, he continued coming around. His eyes roamed in small circles, then greater, and everything he saw he discovered for the first time and then remembered: the bed in which he lay, the remote that raised and lowered the bed, the call button for the nurse, the television on the wall, the food tray waiting for breakfast or his next dose of pills, the graduated drinking mug with the hospital’s name on it, the happy face to miserable face pain chart, stripes of sunlight coming through the slatted blinds, and the flowers. Everywhere, the flowers. The room smelled like a florist shop—or a funeral, either one.

Oh, right.
He’d had visitors bringing bouquets, loving words, comforting touches—on his left side only. Bouquets stood on the shelf, the sill next to the bed, the windowsill, even the floor below the window.

The daisies. Ernie and Katelynn Borgiere brought those because Mandy always liked them. Ernie was a stage magician in the classic style. Some of Mandy’s favorite dove tricks she got from him, and he was honored.

The red roses, pink lilies, and purple asters in the tall basket came from Pauline Vitori, musical director for Dane and Mandy’s six-week run at the Las Vegas Hilton. That engagement was five years ago, Dane and Mandy hadn’t seen her in all that time, but she was here yesterday, teary-eyed and bringing a bouquet so big it had to sit on the floor.

Chuck and Cherry Lowell, Dane and Mandy’s pastor and his wife, were there for a great part of the day and brought the dozen roses and baby’s breath. The card read, “For a grand lady at the close of a great performance.”

Preston and Audrey Gabriel sent roses and a heartfelt letter. Preston, a veteran magician and innovator of magic, was the wise old man in Dane’s life. Now hosting a television show on A&E, he was making quite a name for himself debunking phony psychics and faith healers. He was always good for a deep discussion.

Carnations. Orchids. Lilies and birds-of-paradise. Greens shooting out of the vases and baskets like splashes. Ribbons. Cards.

So yesterday really happened.

Didn’t it?

Then Arnie arrived with a fresh change of clothes to replace Dane’s bloodied and burned ones, and handed Dane the morning paper.

Guess it did.

Dane went back to the photo and studied the car’s blackened frame, broken windows, collapsed steering wheel. It was time to face it. What happened, happened. No option, no escape, no denial. It happened, and the sooner he came to grips with that, the sooner he could learn to live with it. He studied the photograph until his stomach turned and his hands shook.

Arnie took the paper away from him. “That’ll be enough for today.”

He sank forward, elbows on knees, hands over his face, sitting on the edge of the bed, recovering, breathing. He didn’t cry this time, he didn’t know why. Maybe his whole body was tired of crying. He just ached, felt sick, felt as if he could never eat again. He wanted to stay in the dark behind his hands.

“You need help tying that shoe?” Arnie asked.

Dane let his hands drop from his face and the light of today’s world flood his eyes. He reached down, but stopped and grimaced halfway.

“Let me do it.” Arnie knelt down and tied the shoe, which was just as well. The other shoe took Dane a painfully long time.

“So what’d they do with the car?” Dane asked.

“Police have it. I talked to the insurance agent. It’s all in the works, don’t worry about it.” Arnie stood. “You all set?”

Dane nodded. He’d had his talk with Dr. Jacobs, the primary physician. He had his plastic tote bag with the hospital logo containing his patient discharge instructions, a bottle of painkillers, a bottle of cream for his burns, and a prescription for more of either one if needed. He was dressed and now both shoes were tied. “Let’s do it.”

Arnie pulled a wheelchair over.

“I don’t need that.”

“Does it hurt to walk?”

“Everything hurts.”

“Then ride in style, my man. Your insurance is paying for it.” Arnie gave him a hand hobbling into the chair. “Oh, Chuck said he and Cherry could get all these flowers over to your house.”

“Aw, that’d be great.”

“You’ve got more flowers there, by the way, all over the front porch.”

What could Dane say to that? He could only shake his head and feel as if he could cry again.

“So we’ll put her in low and away we go,” said Arnie, pushing Dane toward the door.

Going home, but without her. Dane could feel the bittersweetness already.

A lady in a white coat came to the door before they got to it. “Dane?”

Oh.
He recognized her immediately: Dr. Margo Kessler, head of the emergency room, a lovely lady in a plain sort of way, somewhere in her late forties, with blond, neck-length hair cut in a practical, fuss-free style and running shoes for all the standing, walking, and running she had to do each day. She was there when the medics brought him and Mandy into the ER; she was there in the ICU when Mandy passed away; she was there through the whole thing, cool and efficient with her duties, warm and personal with her patients. “Oh, looks like I just caught you going out the door.”

“Slowly, but definitely.”

“I’m so sorry. I wonder if you might have a few minutes?”

“No problem.”

Arnie took his cue. “Didn’t they have some coffee down the hall?”

“Espresso, cappuccinos, lattes,” said Kessler with a smile. “They should be open by now.”

“My kind of place.”

“I’ll bring him down to you,” said the doctor.

Arnie stepped to the door. “Dane, you want anything?”

“Later maybe.”

Arnie headed down the hall.

“Need help?” Kessler asked, then helped Dane wheel back so he could face her as she sat in the room’s single chair.

He spoke first. “Thank you, Doctor, for everything.”

“You’re most welcome. And I’m very sorry things couldn’t have ended better. If you or someone could let me know what your funeral plans are—when you have them …”

“Well, it won’t be a funeral. I think I’ll just have a private cremation and then we’ll do a memorial service. How long does this organ procurement thing take?”

“That should be complete by now. I’ll check into it. And thank you.”

“Thank Mandy.”

“Yes. Thank Mandy.” Change of tone. “So. You’re heading for Idaho?”

“It’s where we were headed when we were hit. We made an offer on a ranch up there in Mandy’s old stomping ground. I’m going to stick with the plan, go up there, and close the deal.”

“Where in Idaho?”

“Hayden, up in the panhandle.”

“Are you retiring?”

“Well …” He would have had an answer for that yesterday morning as he and Mandy were packing the car:
No, just looking for a change.
But now, “Good question.” For the first time he thought about it in today’s terms. “We finished our run at the Horizons Hotel and we hadn’t booked anything else. We just wanted out of town, just wanted some time to think, pray, check out our life and where we were going. It was like a change in the seasons. We could feel it.” But yesterday’s dream was fading now; he could feel it turning away from him like a mailman with nothing to deliver. He was losing any reason to complete the thought even as he spoke it. “So it was time to move on, see what else there was. At least that was the plan.”

“Do it. Get that place up in Idaho. Spend some time there, and look at everything from a whole new perspective.”

Dane digested that a moment. It felt right. “May as well.”

Her chair must have been uncomfortable, the way she shifted in it. “Well I won’t keep you. Just wanted to see you before you left, see how you were and extend my condolences …”

“I appreciate it.”

“And … if I may put on my physician’s cap one more time. You have your meds and prescription from Dr. Jacobs.”

“Right. One or two every six hours, not to exceed six in twenty-four hours.”

“Very good. Only as needed, okay?”

“Right.”

“Because I need to tell you something.” Now she looked up as if the next thing to say was on the ceiling somewhere. Her hand drummed the arm of the chair and she drew a deliberate breath again. Dane felt nervous for her and for himself. “It has to do with the combination of medication and severe trauma such as you’ve experienced—are
still
experiencing. We’ve seen this before in rare cases, and since your case is very much like those cases, I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

Dane was listening, not yet following. Waiting, too.

Dr. Kessler finally continued, “Well, how has your mental state been? Let’s just get right down to it here. Have you had any nightmares, recurring dreams, um, flashbacks of the accident?”

He was glad she asked. “Yes. Every time I close my eyes and sometimes when my eyes are wide open. I slept last night because I was doped and that’s the only reason.”

Dr. Kessler nodded. “Mm-hm. That’s normal. That’s to be expected. But that’s why I’m bringing this up, so you won’t be alarmed. You see, especially in a severe post-traumatic stress situation, the stress and the injuries coupled with the medication can produce, um … delusional disorders, mild hallucinations, especially concerning the loved one.”

“I’m trying to stay with you here …”

“Reliving the accident?”

“Oh, yeah. Over and over again.”

“Expecting Mandy to come into the room …”

“I’m going to do that until I die.”

“You might think you hear her voice; you might even see her, or think you see her.”

Dane could imagine it, and he smiled. “That would be nice.”

Dr. Kessler matched Dane’s sad and whimsical smile. “I suppose, but it would be a hallucination and something we’d want to know about.”

“If I could take a pill that would bring Mandy back, if only for a moment …”

“Well, it wouldn’t be just the pill. There could be a head injury or a stress-related factor, that’s what I’m saying.”

Dane mocked disappointment … sort of. “Right.”

“So Dr. Jacobs may not have warned you about this, but that’s because it’s not listed in the literature and because hallucinations produced by this medication only crop up in severe post-stress situations, which is what you have.”

“So …”

“So if you think you see Mandy or someone who really looks like Mandy, or you think you hear her voice, anything like that, please let me know.” She gave Dane her card.

“Because if I see things and hear things that aren’t there, I might be crazy?”

“No,” said the doctor. “You might be in danger.”

chapter

5

B
y her second day at the Spokane County Medical Center, Mandy was willing to believe she wasn’t in the company of aliens—or any other creepy, time-warpy,
Twilight Zone
sci-fi creatures. The CAT scan machine looked as if it
could
have sucked out her brain, but it didn’t. A nurse named Carol took a sample of her blood, and that wasn’t weird—she used a real needle. Leaving a urine sample in a little jar was tricky, but she worked her way through it. She even got a few meals, a warm, clean bed, and good old down-to-earth questions about insurance.

Midmorning, June took her to a nice sitting room just off the main hallway, where sweet lovin’ Johnny the cop was waiting for her. She sat in one comfortable chair and he sat in another comfortable chair directly across from her so he could keep an eye on her.

Now, in addition to a modest pair of scrubs and a robe, she had slippers that slipped right on and slipped right off. She had to dig into them with her toes so they’d stay with her when she walked, but it was so much better than being barefoot, and as for the scratches and cuts on her feet, June had taken care of those.

She was there to wait while the doctors got the results of all the tests and decided what to do. Wait there with Johnny watching her.

And watching her.

“Hi,” she said just to see what he’d do.

“Hi,” he said back.

He was a big guy with a gun and a radio and handcuffs and he knew it. It was like staring down a guard dog.

There was a box of Kleenex within reach. She reached. He watched her, his eyes full of warning.

“Got to blow my nose,” she told him. She blew and wiped her nose and he seemed okay with that.

She reached for another Kleenex and this time it didn’t bother him so much, so he didn’t mind or notice the extra Kleenex she took at the same time and hid in her robe’s collar behind her head. She snorted a little, trying to clear her right nostril, scrunching her nose around. He looked at her but didn’t seem to find that exciting.

She took hold of one corner of the tissue in her hand and squished and twisted it into a point. Then she fed the point up her nostril, sucking in air to help it along. She pushed, she snorted, she drew long and deep, even threw her head back a little. The Kleenex looked as if it was going clear up her nose.