Wildwood

10. Two of a Kind

Two of a KindNow that Dana has left, the room feels smaller with just Lucas and me in it. There’s nowhere to look that isn’t in his direction, or purposefully away from him. Still, I need this time alone. I need to learn more about what happened, and he was noticeably quiet in Dana’s presence.

“So I look bad?” I ask in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I mean, you look like you fell off a galloping horse and were then struck by lightning.”

“Right.”

“Actually, all things considered, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. You have two black eyes. The left side of your face is about twice as big as the right, and you have some scratches, but it’ll all heal in no time. Trust me, I know a thing or two about…”

“About what?” I prompt.

“About bouncing back. I did some dumb things in younger days, had some epic face plants of my own.”

“Ever been struck by lightning?” I ask, only half kidding.

“No.” His face falls. “Tanzy… I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been there, this wouldn’t have happened to you. I know I freaked you out. As soon as I saw you, I could tell you wanted to be alone.”

“If you hadn’t been there, I might be fine, or I might be dead,” I say.

“Maybe.”

“Things happen. Life goes sideways. Trust me, I know. And I know what it’s like when you feel responsible for something that’s not really in your control.” Flashbacks of Teague bolting surface in my mind. “You’re right. I wasn’t happy to have company at the time. But I’m lucky as hell that you were there.” My memory drifts to the last moments I remember before the flash. “Tell me everything you can about what you saw when you found me.”

Lucas swallows and moves closer. He slides his hands in his pockets, and his eyes find the floor.

“You were flat on your back. Your arms were stretched out. I remember thinking it was weird that your palms were face-up, your fingers were loose. You looked so relaxed. Even… even peaceful.” He stops to clear his throat. “Then I saw that there was blood everywhere. I knew I shouldn’t move you, but I wanted to see where it was coming from. I rolled you over, and there was a piece of the fence sticking out of your back. That’s when I realized it went all the way through. Everything slowed down and sped up at the same time. I picked you up. You were so light. And I carried you back to the barn. When we got close, I saw the glow from the fire, heard people shouting. I’d forgotten about the fire. I wish I could tell you I hadn’t. But… I forgot.” His gaze is focused on something far off.

“It’s okay,” I whisper.

Someone knocks on the open door. I look up. A woman flashes me a smile before stepping into the room. She looks like she belongs in a ‘Cover Girl’ ad. She’s wearing a tailored skirt suit and black stilettoes. She’s not wearing a lab coat, a badge, or a stethoscope. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her green eyes leap out from under a hood of copper eyeshadow. Who is this woman? Curious, I peek at her hand. A reddish gold hoof print shimmers in her left palm, and on her ring finger is the biggest emerald I’ve ever seen.

“Hi Tanzy. I’m Vanessa,” she says, stopping when she reaches the foot of my bed.

“Hi.” I cover my abdomen with my arms. Lucas takes a sideways step closer to me.

“Sorry, I thought my husband told you I was coming.” Confusion flashes across Vanessa’s face. “Dr. David Andrews? I’m his wife. Vanessa Andrews. Dr. Vanessa Andrews.” Her voice is lyrical and soft, with a hint of a deep south accent that elongates a syllable in every word

“You’re Dr. Andrews,” I say on an exhale. “You believe in a world in the clear,” I continue before I can stop myself. Lucas checks me from his peripheral. “I… I heard you on the radio.”

“Oh.” She clasps her hands at her front. “It was an early segment on a little radio show. I’m surprised anyone was listening.”

“I was.” The room falls to silence.

“Well, call me Vanessa. I’m here because my husband said you were struck by lightning.” I struggle upright. I don’t want to talk about lightning. I want to hear about the world in the clear. I want to know if anything I’ve seen in the last year is something she can explain; something she has also seen. If the shadows on the ridge were real, then Teague spooked at them, not at my voice. “Can I examine the burn pattern? David said it was quite unique.”

“Sure.”

Vanessa twists her hair on top of her head and secures it with a pen, which exposes the ivory slope of her neck. Huge purple bruises checker her throat and collar. Her skin is broken open in one place.

“You're bleeding,” I say, pointing. “You're really banged up… what happened to you?” I ask as I scan the rest of her. She sits back and wipes her neck with her fingers, and then holds up her hand, which is covered in dark blood.

“I don’t see anything,” she says. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again. The bruises are no longer there, and her fingers are clean.

“I'm so sorry. I’ve been seeing some pretty weird things lately. Your husband said it’s to be expected with everything I went through,” I explain. Her brow creases, and I sink back against the pillow. She may see a world in the clear, but she doesn’t see what I do. Vanessa eyes Lucas.

“Will you excuse us for a moment, please?” she asks.

“I promised I’d stay with her,” Lucas counters.

“You can stay close.” She levels her gaze at him. Even though she’s half his size, he seems to shrink.

“It’s okay,” I say. Lucas presses his mouth into a line, and then strides from the room.

“Close the door, please,” Vanessa calls. Lucas pulls the door to, but it doesn’t click shut. “That’ll have to do.” She purses her lips. “Describe what you saw to me on my neck a moment ago.”

“Bruises along here.” I trace the pattern on my own throat. “Here, too.” I draw a wide “U” shape from collar bone to collar bone.

“That’s very interesting.” She pulls the pen from her hair and taps the eraser on her cheek. “Those bruises aren’t there now, but they’ve been there before. They happened the day I was struck by lightning.”

“Why did I see them just now?” My heart races. I feel as if I’m on the edge of a mile high cliff, looking straight down, my toes hanging over the side, my weight on the balls of my feet, my heels lifting from the ground.

“All of life is a conduit of electricity. I believe that lightning can throw off the linear barriers our senses apply to the world around us. After I was struck, I saw some unexplainable phenomena in the days afterward as well.”

“What happened to you?”

“A tornado hit our town, and we weren’t ready. It tore through our house like a bowling ball through a china cabinet. I was found a quarter of a mile from home, barely alive, clinging to my sister. We both had lightning burns on our backs. We were the lucky ones. My parents didn’t survive.” Her bright eyes darken, and she looks away.

“I’m so sorry.” Even though I lost my father, I have no idea what to say to her.

“It was a long time ago,” she says softly. “But it drives me even now. I have dedicated my life to helping others who are struck by lightning recover and find their own sense of purpose.”

“I lost my dad. It was actually the day I heard you on the radio. There was a storm. I saw something.” I pause, shaking my head. “For the past year, I have seen things no one else does,” I whisper. “I have tried to forget about you and the world you said is in the clear every day for a year. Every day.”

“I can tell you it doesn’t exist, if you want.” She touches her finger tips together. “I can tell you I was wrong, or seeking attention. I can tell you I made it all up. Would that help you?”

“That depends on whether or not it’s true,” I say.

“Truth is grayer than anyone wants to admit.” She tilts her head, studying me. “But I’m not here to discuss my theory about a world in the clear. I’m here because you were struck by lightning.”

“I don’t want to talk about lightning. I want to know exactly what you see in the clear. I saw unexplainable things before I was struck. Lightning might be part of it, but it’s not all of it.”

“I never should have gone public with that theory, Tanzy. Going on the radio show was irresponsible. It caused more harm than good for me, and for people who believed me. My reputation took a hit. The world in the clear may exist, but I’ve let that go, and so should you. You need to focus on healing,” she insists.

“That storm wasn’t random. That lightning wasn’t random. It has to be related to the things I see that no one else does.” My voice rises with the escalation of my pulse.

“I agree with you there. I have researched thousands of lightning strikes, and I can say with certainty that lightning strikes aren’t random. Points of contact are chosen, premeditated. I know you’re searching for meaning in all this. I did, too. And it is there to be found, Tanzy. But it’s not the world in the clear you need to focus on. You need to confront why the electric web that holds our world together chose you, and, most importantly, why it spared you. In my experience, those of us who are struck and survive have set a course for ourselves that is less than what we’re capable of, what we’re meant to accomplish in our lifetime. Every patient who I have worked with has gone on to set and achieve goals they’d long forgotten they had. Does this ring any kind of bell for you?”

In my mind’s eye, I relive the moment I threw the college acceptance letters in the trash. I see myself fill drinks, take order, run food, buss tables. I watch my skin, tan from years in the sun, turn sallow, and shiny with grease. I feel the squeeze at the base of my throat any time another horse person walks in the door at Smokey’s and catches sight of me. They always left me bigger tips than they should have.

“I’m on the wrong path,” I murmur.

“This is your moment. Your new life can start right now, if you let it. I can help you.”

“I… I take care of my mom.”

“I promise you that when you feel fulfilled, you will be able to take even better care of yourself and your mom.”

“I would really like that,” I rasp. My thoughts turn to my mother, and I wait to feel the stab of guilt over envisioning a different life. For the first time in a year, it doesn’t come.

“It’s an intense program,” she cautions. “And it will involve continuing work together and on your own after you’re discharged. I’ll bring literature and paperwork for you tomorrow.”

“I’ll have to go back to work as soon as I’m able.” Reluctance trickles through me, although I’m not sure it’s at the idea of returning to work at Smokey’s, or the notion that with just my signature, my life could turn on its head.

“This is a privately funded research program, and I allocate stipends for all participants. I feel certain it will cover your regular expenses. It’s all in the paperwork.”

“Okay.” Questions swirl in my head: Do I want my life to unequivocally change? I know I’m on the wrong path, but I have no idea what the right one looks like. How will she know? Will I know it when I see it?

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stands. Her gaze falls to her hand, and she rubs a thumb across her mark. For a split second, I’m sure she sees it, too. Then she shakes out her wrist, as if alleviating stiffness, and walks out.

Lucas peeks his head in.

“Coast is clear,” I say, attempting a smile. Vanessa may have left, but her voice lingers in my head. Why wouldn’t she discuss the world in the clear? Could she be right about the weather? I can’t help imagining a conversation between Vanessa and my mother. What does Mom think about lightning strikes? I make a mental note to ask her. I wonder when we’ll speak again, and what she’ll say. This is the longest we’ve been apart in over a year. I don’t want her to see me like this, but I wish she was here. Would she want to be?

“Hospitals make me nervous,” Lucas announces. He claims the blue chair, but he’s so tall he has to sit sideways to fit.

“Why’s that?”

“We’re surrounded by people who like to cut on other people, and have a lot of practice doing it.” He makes a face, and I burst out laughing.

“They like to fix people,” I counter.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He grins. I manage a smile, but inside, the brief lightness has left, and I feel simultaneously hollow and yet filled with lead. I find myself wishing I could see out the window. I hope it’s a natural thing to want, and not a by-product of the buzzing sensation growing under my ribs each time my thoughts slide to the utter upheaval my life is facing. If I’m being honest with myself, I know the upheaval has already begun; I recognize its inevitability to continue. But in this room, within these walls, I don’t have to face it yet. And just like that, all I can think about is Mom.

“I know Dana told you to stay, but I could use some time by myself,” I say.

“Yeah, sure. I get that.” He rises. “I mean you just met me. I’m probably not the guy you want hanging out in your room.”

“I just met you, but you saved my life.” I look him square in the eyes. “So go, but come back. I mean I want you to come back. If you want to.” My cheeks begin to burn, and I am tempted to pull the worn hospital blanket over my face.

“You do?”

“Well, you know a lot about me. I’d like to hear more about you. Fair’s fair. I won’t lie; I’m hoping you wrecked something at some point in your life.”

“I did. And you got it.” He runs his hand through his hair, an open-mouth smile on his face. “Do you need anything before I go?” The word “no” is on my lips when I spy the rectangle of light burning a slow path down the opposite wall from where it shines through the window behind me.

“Can you… can you turn me around?”

“I don’t think the bed moves.” Lucas looks under the mattress. “This one isn’t on wheels.”

“No, I mean turn me around.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think you’re supposed to move a whole lot yet.”

“You carried me half a mile through the woods in the dark. I think it’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” He assesses the IV stand and my leg. “What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure the nurses won’t do it, and Dana is strong but she’s tiny. You’re all I’ve got. I just want to be able to see outside.”

“I get that. Go ahead and lower the head of your bed,” he says. I push the button until the bed levels completely, feeling entirely more exposed when I’m lying flat. Lucas wheels the IV stand to the opposite side, guiding the tubing over the bed slowly so he doesn’t put pressure on where the needle is inserted into the top of my wrist. “Okay, here we go.” He bends down and slides one arm under my knees, and the other behind my shoulders, and carefully lifts me from the mattress. Pain rockets down my leg, and I clench my teeth together to keep from crying out. He slowly moves around the bed, his focus ping-ponging from me to the tubing and back again. “Almost there,” he says as he begins to lower me back to the mattress. I exhale the second my back touches the bed. I hadn’t realized I’ve been holding my breath. The hole in my side throbs. I check my gown to make sure I’m not bleeding.

“Thank you,” I say, suddenly chilled. He rolls the cart to the new head of my bed so I can reach the phone and a thermos of water. “Can you push the green button to raise the foot of the bed?” I shiver, and my teeth clatter together. I place my palms flat on my stomach to try to trap any heat.

“Sure.” He pushes the button, watching for me to nod when it’s high enough for me to see out. “I hope it was worth it. It’s not a great view.” He stares through the glass. All I can see are the tops of distant pines and a cloudy sky. Still, peace settles through me.

“It’s worth it.”

“Good.” He peers down at me. “Be seeing you, Tanzy,” he says softly, and then backs out of view.

“Be seeing you.” I watch the clouds roll by, thinking back to the bruises I saw on Vanessa, and the correlation between what I saw and her old injuries. Could the scars I saw before on Lucas indicate something he’d been through years ago?

I pick up the phone. I want to tell my mother everything. I’m desperate to ask her one more time about her past, and about what she sees in the sky; how she knows the weather like a mother knows a child. I dial our number, my heart fluttering. The phone rings, and rings, and rings.

I can't sleep.

The dinner Dana brought me is still sitting on my cart. My stomach twists with emptiness, but I can’t bring myself to eat when I’m not sure where my mother is or if she’s had dinner. Dana left a sack of fruit on the porch. There’s still been no sign of her.

The waning moon stares back at me through the window. On its face, I relive the chase on Harbor; the whistle of the frigid air stinging my ears, the rhythm of her stride and breathing. I can feel the heat of fear pulsing through me. I close my eyes and start to count in an attempt to stop the thoughts from consuming me.

Outside my room, the hospital grinds on with carts and stretchers rolling past my door. Nurses' shoes squeak on the polished floor. Even though I should be sleeping, they still tap before they enter. My vitals are to be checked every four hours for the next thirty-six. Each nurse also brings a little plastic ramekin with a rainbow of medicine – muscle relaxers, anti-inflammatories, and a sleep aid. They dull the pain, but they also make me feel loopy.

The skin between my shoulder blades tingles with the warning of someone watching, but I haven't heard the routine taps. I roll over. A man in scrubs stands beside my bed, a bottle in his hands. He's wearing thick-rimmed glasses, which cut a dark line across his angular face. His stature is similar to Lucas, but his skin is paler than the walls, and his hair is long and raven black. His resemblance to my mother startles me. They could be siblings.

“Sorry to wake you, Tanzy” he says. “My name is Asher. I'm the head nurse for the night shift in the ICU,” he introduces himself. “Your last complete blood panel showed that your red blood cells are producing a little slower than we’d like to see. This is a normal side effect considering the large blood transfusion you received. We caught it early, so it shouldn’t become an issue. We just need to give your body a little encouragement to produce new red blood cells at a better rate. They’re very important for healing.” He pulls the safety seal off a bottle, hands it to me, and makes a note in my chart. The bottle is warm, the liquid deep red. I smell it, and my stomach turns.

“It smells bad,” I remark.

“I'd hold your nose if I was you,” he replies. I pinch my nose closed with one hand, and chug the bottle as fast as I can. It's thick and sticky and I gag more than once.

“That was awful.” I hand him the empty bottle.

“Some patients actually learn to like it,” he teases as he sticks his tongue out. “Someone will be by in an hour to draw blood from your catheter line. If you're asleep you probably won't even know it's happening.”

“I doubt I’ll be asleep,” I reply, but then I yawn for the first time all night. “Does this stuff ever make people tired?” I ask, everything feeling a little heavier.

“It affects everyone differently,” he says. He stares at the computer screen, marking a couple boxes. “Don't be surprised if we repeat the dose tomorrow night. Staying ahead of this is important.”

“Does that stuff come in different flavors?” I ask, making a face.

“I'll see what I can do,” he says. “Get some rest.”

“That's what they all say,” I reply. As I begin to settle, a thought strikes my brain: I didn’t notice a mark on Asher hand. I open my eyes to check for conformation. He's already gone. Thoughts about the symbols try to rouse my curiosity, but my mind would rather sink into sleep. I roll onto my side, welcoming the slow, spinning feeling of approaching slumber.