The Hour of Dreams (15 page)

When we reached a set of double doors that needed a code to get in, Dr. Carter pushed several buttons and my mom wheeled me in. There was a pause before we entered one more door. Dr. Carter moved in front of me and knelt down.

“Sophie, you need to be prepared. He’s not going to look like himself right now.” I felt my heart rate increase. “You have to understand ahead of time, or we can’t take you in there. You’re not all better yet, and we can’t risk you getting upset. Understood?” He leaned forward, awaiting my answer. Desperately wanting to see him again, I nodded, squeezing my hands to keep them from shaking.

“He’s going to look pale, and we have him hooked up to several machines. Those are to keep his heart, lungs, and other organs functioning during the transfusion. He won’t be able to hear you right now, so the best thing you can do for him is let him rest while the treatment takes its course. There is nothing else we can do right now.” He leaned forward again and I nodded, stiffly. “Okay,” he said, motioning for them to open the door.

My hands flew up to my mouth, my eyes filling with tears as his bed came in to view. It was just as Dr. Carter described. He looked so helpless and weak.

I dropped my head and cried quietly, hoping and praying he couldn’t hear me. No one touched me or moved me any closer. My emotions were overwhelming, but I focused on the positives and tried to regain control. Knowing they’d take me downstairs if I didn’t pull it together, I sucked in and released several long breaths. There was no way I was leaving him now.

With clearer vision, I stole another glance at Wes. Everything I’d come to know was gone, and I now had to reconcile with his frailty.

I attempted to wheel myself closer when my mom picked up on my intentions and slowly wheeled me next to him. Both of Wes’ arms were at his sides, connected to IVs. There were large bags attached to each side of his bed, and a machine was making a constant pumping and sucking sound. It looked like blood was slowing seeping into one bag and being pumped out of another. Most of his face was covered by a large oxygen mask. I took hold of his hand with both of mine and leaned on to his shoulder.

They may have said that he couldn’t hear us, but I didn’t believe he was that distant. I remembered being in and out of consciousness and hearing voices. I would make sure he heard my voice, hoping to put his mind at ease.

“Wes,” I murmured, close to his cheek. “I’m so mad at you right now, I can barely stand it. But I’m here. I’m okay, and you will be too. I promise. We’re both fine now.”

The tears started to form from self-doubt, so I placed my head back on his shoulder and sucked in the fear. Just when I began to scold myself for thinking in such a way, I heard Dr. Carter marvel at something.

“His blood pressure dropped to within normal range. Look at that,” he beamed.

I glanced up and saw that everyone was looking at me. “It looks like having you here is helping him,” my mom said, smiling.

The doctors monitored his vitals and then Dr. Carter patted me on the shoulder. “Why don’t you get her a bed, and she can stay in here with him. It may help,” Dr. Carter offered.

The idea brought me more peace than I could have expected. And that was our now. Laying side by side, me recovering, and him in complete limbo from an insane procedure that was supposed to change our tomorrow.

T
he next day started with Dr. Carter running more tests on me, which showed that my organ functions were improving. I was strong enough to walk to the bathroom by myself, and I dared another glance in the mirror. My reflection looked almost as frail as it had before my episode, but there was definitely more color to my face. It was enough to make me smile, and for the first time I felt better about everything, knowing it was Wes that had made the difference.

He had done it. He’d stayed around long enough to fulfill Dr. Thomas’s wishes of making a difference in the world. Not only had he helped secure a cure for many diseases, his blood single-handedly cured me. I couldn’t have felt more proud to carry around that weight, and the strength it provided me was enough to reciprocate it all back to him.

I would do whatever possible to help him through his own treatment. Dr. Carter said he expected the process to take about eighteen hours from start to finish. The procedure had obviously never been tried before, so he wanted to make sure the exchange was gradual so he could monitor any potential shock to Wes’ system.

By morning, Wes was nearing the final few hours of the transfusion, and he was already looking different. I’d memorized his features and physique and knew them well. Even lying down his muscles always stood out firmly, and now they somehow didn’t look as defined.

As I instinctively reached out and touched his forearm, a loud buzz immediately sounded, sending Dr. Carter rushing over, pushing buttons. “His pressure is up,” he barked. Dr. Lyon came over and started working on his feeds. “Sophie, step back a moment,” Dr. Lyon ordered.

As soon as I complied, Wes started convulsing. His chest jerked upward and his arms started twitching. Dr. Lyon held one side down as best he could while adding restraints to Wes’ wrists. The image swept me back to Dr. Thomas’s journal. Maybe it was a memory. I wasn’t sure, but it was 1915 all over again. Wes was dying then, and he was dying now. Fear set in, and I wanted to turn away, but then I remembered that Amelia had felt the same way. “You can’t leave a patient,” Dr. Thomas had told her then.

“You can’t leave him,” I whispered to myself, finding the courage to move toward his bedside.

“Not now, Sophie,” Dr. Lyon said.

“He needs me,” I argued. “I won’t leave him.”

“Wes,” I scolded in his ear. “You have to stop. It’s okay. I know you’re there.” And Amelia’s same words flowed out as if I were reciting a song. “They’re fixing you. The new blood is working its way through your body. I promise you, it will be over soon. You have to relax.”

He kept convulsing, and no matter how hard I tried to fight them, the tears starting welling up. “Please, Dr. Carter. Please, make it stop.”

“He’s having a seizure, Sophie. His brain is not handling the transfusion very well. Let us by.”

I moved out of the way, but stayed near Wes’ face. They added a fluid through an IV. “What’s that?” I muttered.

“I’m going to put him in an induced coma to keep his blood pressure down and prevent any seizures. It’s very important.” He glanced at me with eyes so wide and steady that I knew it was serious. Serious enough that Wes might not make it. I’d never seen Dr. Carter or Dr. Lyon look so panicked. I needed to do something to help calm him.

I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek to Wes’. He jerked on, but I kept my face next to his. “I’m here,” I said. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”

Soon his movements stopped and he calmed down. The doctors worked with precision, taking notes and monitoring more readings. All I could do was sit with him, still resting as closely to him as I could.

Within an hour, Dr. Carter informed me that the actual transfusion was over and that all that was left to do was wait. Wes’ heart was still beating and his brain was showing activity, so that was good news.

Dr. Carter said he was going to keep him under for at least twenty-four hours to give his body time to adjust. I was a nervous wreck. My plan was to sit beside him all day, but after the first few hours I became restless. I tried to think of things to do for him and then remembered. Amelia had sat for hours, reading Walt Whitman's poetry to him. How ironic would that be? Were our lives really coming full circle? Unable to think of anything more fitting, I had my mom bring me my phone and then found several online poems, some by Whitman and some by various authors. And there I sat, in the twenty-first century, hoping he could hear me as I read softly to him.

Wes’ vitals remained steady, and Dr. Carter was optimistic that he would be fine when he woke, but he would’ve told me that anyway. The waiting was maddening, but I did my best to stay strong and calm. Eventually exhausted, I fell asleep in the chair next to him.

At first I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off, but then I saw myself in a vivid, familiar scene. On a front porch again, I stood watching a soldier, who looked so much like Wes, walking away from me. Excitement set in as I realized I was back in my dream. Back to the place where I’d be able to find out what happened to us. I wanted to smile, but my body stood more frozen, and saddened, the further he walked. Where was he headed?

William couldn’t
leave
. There was a war, and no side was safe for him. I cringed with worry and frustration, not knowing what to do. It wasn’t my place to offer him refuge.

But he was leaving.

I might never see him again.

Without further thought, I stepped off the porch and started walking. Gazing into his back, I hoped he’d sense me, but he kept walking. My mind was too clouded with indecision to run after him.

After a dozen paces, he hadn’t turned around, so I stopped. I shook my head, trying to find my wits to turn around and let him go, but all I could do was stand there, halfway between him and my aunt’s. I was about to give up and turn around, but he finally stopped, as if someone had whispered his name.

His head was cocked slightly to the side—whether he was listening or thinking, I wasn’t sure—but suddenly I felt myself lean forward. The air became thick, and when he turned his head a little more, I held my breath, waiting. Another moment passed, and he subtly glanced over his shoulder.

When he saw me standing there, he turned around and studied me for a moment. A light drizzle started, but I didn’t care. When his expression softened, my feet moved toward him as the rain began to come down harder. Several paces apart, we both realized how wet we were getting and glanced up toward the sky, him still not moving.

Did he want me to stay out here, soaking? Was he leaving or staying?
Give me something,
I thought to myself, and as if reading my mind, he shook his head. My muscles tensed. He kept shaking his head, but then he started walking toward me. It didn’t make sense.

Sometimes nothing makes sense, so there’s no point in trying to figure it out. Just let life lead you. And that’s what happened. I walked. He walked. And when we met in the middle, he held his hands out, catching the rain in his palms.

“You’re irrational, you know that?” he whispered, coming to a stop in front of me.

“How so?” I asked, feeling paranoid and vulnerable at the same time.

“Because you have safety now, and you’re following me…in the rain.”

He was making this harder than it needed to be, but then it wasn’t his place to invite himself to stay.

So be it. I took the leap.

“I just don’t want you to leave,” I admitted.

His mouth formed a half smile, and he slowly lifted his arm and put his coat over my head to shield me from the rain. “Then let’s get you dry,” he murmured.

I looked into his brown eyes and knew I’d made the right decision. And somewhere beneath all the confusion, I already knew I loved him. As we both turned toward the house, I found myself placing my arms boldly around his waist and guiding him to shelter. I wasn’t concerned whether my aunt would understand my invitation, because, somehow, I already knew she would.

As we approached the northern side of the front porch, I was able to see the house for the first time.
The
stone house…with a front porch, two chimneys, and four windows on the second floor. Exactly how it was in my snow globe.

Was it a dream, possibly concocted from my hopes, or was it a memory? Wes’ words, “Trust me,” played out in my mind, and that’s what I held on to.

I sucked in a breath, gasping, as my eyes shot open. “That’s it,” I whispered. The room was just now letting in the first rays of the morning sun, and Wes was still lying motionless on his bed. I sat up, with optimistic energy, knowing now more than ever that Wes was right.

“Wes,” I whispered in his ear, praying it wasn’t too late. “I dreamed about the house again, and you were right. It’s the house. Two chimneys. Four windows on the second floor.” He didn’t move. I knew he couldn’t, but with my news, I expected miracles. He had to hear me. He had to know, and he
had
to wake up. Right now. There was no way I could sit in limbo, not knowing whether he’d recover from this.

And if he didn’t wake up, how was I ever going to get past it? Not when I saw the future we had. Not when I know the future we
could
have now.

“Please,” I said. “Wake up. We’re almost there. I’m fine. Now, come on, please be fine too.”

I rubbed his forehead, feeling tears start to form, but fought them back. “Please,” I murmured.

I heard the sound of a door opening and closing behind me, and Dr. Carter approached slowly.

“Everything all right, Sophie?” he asked, picking up his chart.

“I need him to wake up,” I said obviously.

“I know. We’re going to try that in just a little while. I’m going to check his vitals again and take one more blood sample.”

“What for?”

He put the chart down. “We just want to make sure the transfusion took. The regular blood seems to be taking just fine, but I’d like to make sure we have a pure sample now.”

“And if we don’t?"

“Then we’ll need to continue the transfusion until we can get one.”

“Why does it have to be pure? He can still have a little cold blood can’t he?”

“He probably could. It seems his brain is still functioning, but the problem was, somehow the cold blood was altering the progression of his aging and thinking. Everything. I’m afraid it won’t get back to normal unless we remove all traces. Otherwise, he may still progress differently. Maybe faster, but still differently, and the whole point of this was to remove all traces.”

The thought of dragging this out was torturous. “Well, can’t we just have him wake up, and then he can decide if he wants more later?”

He touched my shoulder gently. “He specifically made me assure him that we would not stop until it was done.”