Finding Alice (25 page)

Then I see Simon, but his face is white and lifeless. His eyes are closed, and there’s a dark streak of blood across his forehead. I try to reach out for him, and yet I continue to fall.

Simon says,
I am dead. You are dead. The game is over
.

I see a giant hand, outstretched across a brilliant patch of blue, open and waiting, ready to catch me. It is the hand of the King, and if I am truly a princess, this is where my story will end. Safe in the palm of the King’s hand. And there I will rest in peace forever.

Rest
in peace. Rest in
peace. Rest in peace
.

Is that where I am now, peacefully at rest? The voices and faces all seem to be gone now, and all I hear is the beating of my heart, or is it the clock?

I wonder if I’m still alive, and yet I cannot move. I’m in a soft white cocoon like a caterpillar. I’m not claustrophobic, not uncomfortable. All is warm and clean and simple. It’s as if all the clutter has been cleared away, and I think I shall rest here for a long, long time. I don’t have to think about anything. I don’t have to do anything or be anything. It’s as if my brain is on a much needed vacation.

I believe I shall sleep and sleep and sleep. Please, hang a sign on my forehead that reads, Do Not Disturb.

Why are they trying to wake me up, trying to disturb my rest? I just want to sleep. Why can’t they go away? I hear their voices, but they are not mean voices. They don’t threaten me or swear at me or demand that I jump from the bridge.

They say things like “Alice? Can you hear me?” Or “Alice, it’s time to wake up.” But I just tune them out. It’s amazing to be able to do this. How long have I waited for this sort of ability?

“Alice?” I recognize this particular voice; it seems like a voice I’ve known for years. But still I cannot force myself to emerge from my cocoon. Leave me alone.

Then finally I can no longer hold these intruders at bay. There’s
light in my eyes, and I can see the whiteness, the brightness of it, and I know that the inevitable has finally happened. Like so many things in life, I cannot fight it any longer.

“Alice?”

I blink several times, wishing that it were not so as I see the fluorescent light above me, hear it humming. I’m in a bed with white sheets, covered in a white cotton blanket, the kind with all the tiny holes. It appears to be a hospital bed, and there is a plastic tube taped to my arm and a plastic bag full of what appears to be water hanging on a stainless steel pole above my head. I wonder what is in that water.

“Alice?”

I turn my head, painfully, to my left. There on a chair sits Faye with her knitting. Only the sweater is no longer red. It is yellow.

“Faye?” I think I have said her name, but I am not sure. My voice doesn’t seem to be working at the moment.

She stands and comes over, taking my hand in hers. “Oh, dear child.” There are tears in her eyes. “I thought I had lost you.”

Now it’s all coming back to me. The party. The icy road. The swirling city lights blurred by the fog. I want to ask her about Simon, her beloved nephew, but I can’t bear to know that he is dead just yet. I don’t want to hear her say the dreaded words. My eyes begin filling with tears, and I swallow hard to hold them back.

She pats my hand. “You’re going to be okay, Alice. You’ve been in a coma. You had a head injury … and other things. But you are going to be just fine. I know because I have been speaking to my heavenly Father about you every single day. He has assured me that you are going to be just fine.”

I nod, but this hurts my head. I close my eyes and long to return
to the quiet place again. I hurt all over, but most of all I hurt deep inside my chest to think that Simon is gone.

Doctors and medical people come and examine me. I pretend I am not here as they prod and poke and listen. I pretend that this is some other Alice, and when they ask me my name and address, I pretend I don’t remember, and they seem to accept this. “Just Alice,” I tell them as if that should settle it.

“Don’t worry,” says the woman doctor. “It will come back to you in time.”

I hope not, I think. But I don’t believe I said this aloud.

Faye has gone home to tend her cats. I lie in the bed feeling more alone than ever before. Finally I give in to my sadness and simply cry. A nurse stops in and asks if she can get me something, but I just shake my head no and continue to cry. I think I shall cry for days and weeks, maybe even years.

I am awake in the middle of the night, at least I think it is, because everything is darker, although the lights are still on and I can still hear people coming and going in the hallway. I can’t take it anymore. Just when I thought things were getting better, I am forced to return to this—this so-called life of mine.

I look up at the ceiling above me and imagine that God is really up there somewhere, and I shake my fist at him and demand that he do something about this whole thing. “It’s not fair!” I tell him. “If you are really who Faye says you are, then why is my life such a hopeless mess? Why am I here? And why is Simon dead?”

I rant and rave like this for hours it seems, until I am so exhausted I fall asleep. But when I wake up, I feel strangely better. And I begin to speak to God again. But now I don’t feel so angry. I
just speak to him in a matter-of-fact voice, as I might do with a friend. If I had a friend. It’s weird, but I actually think he may be listening. Still, how can I trust my own observations?

So this begins to worry me, and I become obsessed with the fear that I am going right back to where I started this past fall. I suspect that Amelia will be back any minute now, and already I am certain I can hear those voices whispering about me, blaming me, accusing me, and even threatening. But maybe it’s really the nurses.

“Why, God?” I demand. “Why did you let me have that reprieve only to bring me back to … to this?” I close my eyes and sigh deeply. “Why do you want to torture me so? What have I ever done to deserve this life?”

I sleep a lot during the next few days. I sense that Faye has been here, but I must’ve been asleep. The doctor—Dr. Spangler is her name—told me that it’s natural to sleep like this. “It’s the brain’s way of repairing itself.”

I think this is interesting, that the brain knows how to repair itself. I wonder if my brain might completely repair itself if I could only sleep for long enough—perhaps a few years. Then perhaps I wouldn’t have to return to my old twisted ways of thinking. But I doubt my brain has such superior abilities. At least it hasn’t shown these talents in the past. And I am fairly certain that, like my grandmother’s, it was defective to start with.

One day I open my eyes to see Faye again. “How are you doing, dear?” she asks.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Cheshire sends his regards. He wanted to come visit you, but they have a very strict no-pets policy here.”

“Tell him hi for me.” I glance out the window to see sheets of rain pelting against the glass.

“Guess we won’t have a white Christmas after all,” I say.

She smiles and squeezes my hand. “Christmas has come and gone, dear.”

“Oh.” I think about Simon again. Have they already had his funeral? Is the rest of his family terribly angry at me? Am I in trouble with the police? I want to know the answers to these questions but am afraid to ask.

“Simon is doing much better.”

I turn to look at her. “What?”

She nods. “He’s doing much better. The doctor says he’s healing up quite nicely from his surgery.”

“He’s
not
dead?”

“Oh no, dear. Did you think he was dead?”

Tears begin to pour from my eyes now. I’m sure they’re from relief, but I choke and sob and sputter all the same. “Really?” I gasp. “He’s really alive? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

She bends down and looks at me. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Alice. You were both seriously injured in the accident, but Simon is very much alive. I’m sorry if you didn’t know that. Poor thing.”

I sigh and lean back into my pillow, surprised that I feel like thanking God. I must’ve said this aloud because now Faye is joining me.

“Yes,” she says. “Thanks be to God. In his great mercy he has spared you both. The doctor in ICU said you both should’ve been killed in the accident. Apparently the car was flattened, and they had to use the Jaws of Life just to get you both out.” She shakes her head. “Just dreadful.”

“Was your dress ruined?”

She waves her hand. “Pish-tosh. Who cares about a silly old dress?”

“It was so beautiful.”

“And your fur coat?”

“The doctor said that heavy coat probably spared you some other injuries.”

I consider this.

“Did you have a nice evening, dear?”

I try to remember, but it’s kind of a blur, and I’m not sure where we went. Was it to the Starlight Club? “I think so,” I finally say, just to reassure her.

“Dr. Golden and his wife have been by to see you several times. You must’ve made quite an impression on them that evening.”

Then it comes back to me, the Christmas party. “I’m sure I did.” I groan as I remember some of my crazy accusations that night.

She pats my hand. “Don’t fret so much, Alice.”

I wish I could follow her advice, but it seems impossible.

“Do you know what day it is?” she asks.

“No.”

“It’s New Year’s Day.”

“Really?”

“And I don’t mean to intrude, but I’ve been concerned, Alice. You’re such a lovely young woman, I feel certain there must be a family somewhere who is just sick with worry about you. Would you like me to contact someone?”

I consider this. I do feel bad to think that Christmas has come and gone, and Aaron and my mom still have no idea where I am.
Not that we’ve ever celebrated Christmas, but I’m sure that Aaron is home from college, and my mother is probably wondering about me.

Suddenly I don’t really care if they come and cart me back to Forest Hills. It’s not as if I’m having a great time here anyway. I’m fairly sure that when I’m released, I’ll be sent to a nut house anyway. And not Dr. Golden’s, thanks to his yearlong waiting list. At the moment I have no resistance in me, so I give in and tell Faye my mother’s name and phone number, then close my eyes and long to return to that blissful place where all was peace and quiet. Perhaps another blow to the head would help.

chapter
TWENTY-SEVEN

Jack and Jill

I
am definitely relieved that Simon is alive. Now, though, I feel even more scared and guilty than before. All along I have felt a gnawing certainty that I am the reason we had the wreck that night. I’m not even sure what I did to cause it, but I have no doubt that I’m the responsible party. I thought perhaps I would be able to hide this fact from everyone, but knowing that Simon is alive changes things. As glad as I am and as much as I like him, I am afraid to see him now. I wonder if he has told the police yet. I wonder if I should try to get away from here. They have taken my IV tube out. They said it was only to give me fluids and nutrients, but I noticed the nurse occasionally injected it with a hypodermic needle. At first I was relieved that she was shooting the needle into the tube instead of my skin, but then I realized that it was probably some kind of drug, and that frightened me even more.

Now they bring me my meals on a tray, and because I don’t want the IV stuck into me again, I try to eat most of the food. I might as well since I’m also taking the pills they bring. The nurse usually
stands over me and watches as I swallow them. She’s even worse than my mom. I’m not absolutely positive that she knows I am crazy yet. I wonder how long it takes for these things to leak out.

I try not to think about what will happen when Faye calls my mom. When I gave her the number, I was only thinking about Mom and Aaron and how I really would like to see them again. But I temporarily forgot to consider the whole church package that will probably come with this poorly considered decision. I cringe to think of Pastor John or Mrs. Knoll standing by my bed just now. I will feel so trapped. Just like a caged animal that spectators are allowed to tease and provoke with sticks. And what if they bring Mary Cates as well as some of the other church ladies? Oh, why did I tell Faye about my family?

I have only been out of bed a few times so far and only with a nurse to help me. My head gets too dizzy, and they’re afraid I’ll fall and injure myself further. A physical therapist comes in every day, exercising my arms and legs, careful not to injure my broken collarbone and cracked ribs, which he assures me are healing nicely even if they do hurt a lot. I try not to complain about the pain since I don’t want to risk the doctor increasing my pain medication. The idea of getting all dopey and pathetic again makes me want to scream.

So I decide to try it on my own today. I slowly sit up in bed, the way the therapist has shown me, and slide my legs over the side. I am still amazed and fascinated at the black, yellow, and purple bruises all over my body. I look like a human rainbow. Not only that, but the stitched-up swollen scars on my legs remind me of Frankenstein. I’m really quite a sight. Dr. Spangler said it’s miraculous that my legs
weren’t broken. She said I must be made of some pretty tough stuff. Maybe my body, I was thinking. Unfortunately my brain is not nearly as invincible.

I rest my bare feet on the floor, wincing at the pain this brings. Every part of my body feels as if it’s been twisted and smashed. And I suppose that it has. I’m amazed to think that it’s been almost two weeks since the wreck and I still feel this awful. You’d think I’d be much better by now. I suppose I should be thankful for my concussion. As a result I will probably never know how much pain I was in. I wonder how Simon feels now.

Slowly I put a little weight on my feet, gasping as I do. My head swims, and I am afraid I will vomit. I did that the first time I tried to stand up. I take slow, shallow breaths and tell myself I can do this. I must get away from here while I can. And for the first time in a long time I think I can hear Amelia again. But this time she’s not yelling or cussing at me. Her voice is calm, and she is agreeing with me.