by
Mary E. Overstreet
Willie awakened to a darkened, quiet room, slowly becoming aware of his body. He lay on his left side, supported with pillows in various places. He decided not to fight them any more since they could just dope him, then do what they wanted to him anyway. He also didn't feel well enough, and no one was bothering him right now. His mind was too groggy to think of anything other than the way he felt. He remembered the night as a bad dream, only knowing that it had happened because he did want out badly enough to have tried to escape.
He didn't open his eyes, not wanting to see a nurse watching him or preparing to do something to him. He just wanted peace and solitude and physical comfort, none of which were forthcoming in his present situation. He was certain he would heal much faster without all the drugs and treatments that he'd had or would have soon. It was hard not to believe he was not back in the past, recovering from the gunshots. The recent years almost seemed a dream.
Unable to shift his position more than a little, he sighed and tried to swallow around the tube in the back of his throat. He throat felt as raw as his lungs. Willie was glad he was so tired. Sleep would help him evade the pain for a while.
*
It was nearly 3pm before Julia would allow anyone in to see Willie. So far Barnabas was the only visitor anyway, but no one else Willie knew was aware yet of his condition..
Once again Barnabas entered quietly to see Willie much the same as he had been before, only now he was lying on his back . Julia had warned him he had two minutes if Willie awakened, and he had better not upset him. She had been present when he was helped to turn over, but hadn't talked to him since he seemed so out of it. And she'd had them take him off oxygen. Willie had lain quietly but as rigidly as was possible for him during the quick but unpleasant operation of removing the tube from his nose and throat. She had thought he had not protested because he was glad to be rid of it.
Barnabas stood by the bed, looking down at the sick man whose facial expression made it seem he was concentrating on staying asleep. He was tempted to touch him but didn't want to wake him, and put a hand on the raised bed railing instead. He noticed Willie's face suddenly take on a more consternated look, his brows drew more together, and he swallowed thickly, parting his lips and barely wetting them with his tongue, moving his mouth as if there was a terrible taste in it. Barnabas still remained silent, wanting Willie to see him before he spoke so as not to startle him.
Willie sluggishly opened his eyes, aware that someone was standing by the bed. He felt the urge to cough, but suppressed it because he thought it would hurt too much. Seeing the hand with a distinctive black onyx ring adorning the forefinger on the bed rail, he looked up at Barnabas once, not long enough to make eye contact.
"Willie," Barnabas said softly. "How do you feel?"
He pressed his lips together and didn't answer. He didn't want to be seen like this, and he didn't think Barnabas cared how he felt.
"Willie, I. . . I'm very deeply sorry about the way I treated you last night." He looked at him, Willie's pale face had grown red with shame.
Willie closed his eyes, feeling his face burn and wishing he were dead. He turned his head to the right, away from Barnabas.
"Willie, I. . ." Rather than make him feel even worse, he changed his mind about giving another apology. "Willie, who did this to you?"
He stiffened slightly for a split second—all he had energy for—remembering that he was going to betray Barnabas, but did not answer or look at him. Willie thought he should have spared himself this and gone ahead with Mace and Jack, taking as much as he could from his employer for the cruel way he had treated him. But it had not occurred to him then. True, he did want out and away from Barnabas, but the idea of doing it his friends' way he never even considered. Mace and Jack had never learned as he had that force was not a good way to get what you want. He remembered back when they had spent time together, living on the edge and looking for excitement without getting caught. Mace had been the muscle, Jack their gofer and scout, and Willie the brains. He'd had a hard time controlling his younger friends. They were responsible, in fact, for the time he'd done. He'd dumped them completely when he was released and teamed up with Jason, but he'd still run into them from time to time.
"I wish you would tell me," Barnabas said, still speaking quietly. He received no answer or any indication that Willie even heard him, he just lay there with his eyes closed, and his face turned away. "Willie?"
Feeling the pressure in his lungs grow unbearable, he could not suppress a cough which quickly got away from him in spite of the pain. Weakly he tried to turn on his side. His arms, strapped to short boards, felt too heavy to even move, and it was as if he had no strength at all. The nurse who had waited outside the door rushed in to help him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Collins, but you'll have to leave now," she said as she lifted Willie's left arm over, carefully so as not to disturb the IV, and turned him on his right side. He gripped the railing weakly and drew his knees up closer to his chest with her help to ease some of the strain. Willie only knew it didn't hurt as badly in that position. The pressure the nurse exerted against his chest with her hands helped as well.
Barnabas caught a glimpse of Willie's red and grimacing face as the younger man gasped for breath in between spasms. Disturbed by this, Barnabas pulled the door open and left. Julia reached him, having seen the nurse go back in.
"What is it?" she said, but didn't wait for an answer. "I told you not to upset him." She left him in the hall by himself and went to see Willie.
Barnabas did not think he was responsible for making him start coughing. He went down to the waiting area and worried.
It was not long before Julia came out, issuing a few last instructions to the nurse who remained inside. She joined Barnabas.
"Is he all right?" the man asked.
"Yes. He was simply clearing his lungs. He didn't start bleeding badly again."
"But he seemed to be in terrible pain." Barnabas hated the thought of that, knowing he had given him considerable pain by his own hand. Even what he was going through now could be traced back to Barnabas' actions—Willie wouldn't have been shot if he had not been trying to save Maggie, and if he hadn't been shot, he wouldn't be so weak. But of course none of that would have happened if Willie hadn't gone treasure hunting. . .
"Yes, he was. Coughing is very painful for him right now. What happened in there, Barnabas?" She looked at him, feeling annoyed and on the defensive.
"Nothing, Julia. He wouldn't speak to me." He looked down. "I really can't blame him."
"I guess not." She neglected to mention that Willie would not speak to her either. Even when she had directly asked him a question just now as they were trying to make him more comfortable, he had closed his eyes and turned his face away. She suspected he was angry at her for bringing him to the hospital.
She was right. Willie thought he would rather have died in his own bed if that was what would've happened than go through this demoralizing recovery in the hospital. And he was also angry at Julia for her lack of consideration for his feelings of modesty, especially around her. He could not just objectively feel she was a doctor. He knew her too well, and while she had always been in a superior position to him, he had never wanted her to be his doctor. And lacking physical self-confidence as he had since being put in Barnabas' power and more so since the shooting, he had become self-conscious about his body. It was hard enough just being stuck in bed and having to have help for everything. But at least these people didn't know him. The element of fear that unfamiliarity caused was counterbalanced by the fact they were kind to him.
He sighed as heavily as the sharp pain in his chest would allow. It wouldn't be long before he slept again, he knew, glad they had given him another sedative. His mind was still restless, however, and he kept remembering things from the first recovery in the mental institution—the unrelenting, unfeeling physical therapist who had come in several times a day at first and made him do things that hurt so much he had tried to beg her not to make him do them. But the consequences of uncooperation were worse than the pain, and he had not escaped either no matter how much he'd cried.
Willie shuddered inside. He had forgotten about all that till now. Lying here in this damned hospital, with nothing besides pain to divert his thoughts, was dredging up some of the darkest times in his life. He was so helpless, just like before, unable to even turn over by himself, let alone get out of bed. The pain was nothing compared with what it had been, but it wasn't just that that dragged him down. It was the various treatments, including physical therapy, and the feeling of isolation and ultimate vulnerability because he had known none of the nurses or doctors, and they had done little to comfort him. Still, only glaring incidents would come to his mind now from that period. Everything else lay buried where he was not aware of it. Just bits and pieces made themselves known out of that foggy, sometimes delirious time. The physical therapist's punishments of him ate at him now, because they had really only been alternative methods of treatment, the most unpleasant, mortifying versions, and they hadn't needed to be so bad. Being totally helpless, literally in the hands of often disapproving strangers; having absolutely no choice in anything that happened to him, took Willie at the core of his being and devastated him, leaving him without the slightest self-defense. Every touch was an invasion he could do nothing about; he could only hope it would not hurt or humiliate him. And with the shape he'd been in physically it did not take much to hurt him. Willie almost couldn't bare to think of what it had been like, but now he was forced to remember as images and the accompanying feelings came into his mind. He had always known it had been bad, but little of it ever came to him, though it affected him from within without his even knowing. And now it all seemed to coming back through a dim haze. Ugly bits and pieces, flashing into his mind and stabbing his heart. He didn't want to remember.
"God," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to see the mental images of himself at the mercy of the medical staff of the state asylum, and weeks after that, at Wyndecliffe. He was too weak to actually sob and that would've hurt so much anyway, but Willie felt tears build up under his lids and slip through to the pillow. He swallowed hard, his face twisting with strong emotion into a mask of grief. Air came from his lungs in a rush, sending knives into his chest. He tried not to sob, but his strength grew a little with the powerful feelings, overriding his wants and the physical pain. The thought that at least he was alone somehow came to him. It was quickly replaced by the shame and horror from his memories and dread that he was in for more of the same. To one who had grown up relying on his learned and instinctive defenses, on independence, being helpless and defenseless was the worst kind of hell.
He tried to get a hold on himself when he heard the nurse come in, but he could not prevent her from knowing how distraught he was.
"Mr. Loomis?" She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. "Is it the pain?"
He was still in the grip of his despair, fighting the tears and losing.
"Mr. Loomis? Willie?" She moved her hand across his shoulders and the back of his neck, stroking lightly, then slid her hand beneath the sheet to rub his back with circular motions of her hand. "It's all right, Willie," she tried to comfort him.
In spite of all he was feeling inside, the touch reached down into him and helped the sedative relax him. He didn't so much regain control as lose the driving force of his hurt. She continued to speak soothingly to him and rub his back. Willie began to drift away from the pain and everything else.
*
"Julia," Carolyn said with some surprise as she saw the older woman enter Collinwood. It was now dark outside and getting colder. "We thought you'd gone back to Wyndecliffe."
"Didn't Barnabas tell you?" Julia hung her coat in the entry way.
"What? I haven't seen Barnabas since last night."
The doctor sighed. "Willie's in the hospital. He's been there since last night."
Carolyn was stunned. "Is he—is he all right? What happened? Did Barnabas—"
"It's all right, Carolyn. Barnabas had nothing to do with it. He found him at the Old House. Someone beat him up badly enough to cause his lungs to start bleeding where there are scars from the gunshots."
"Is he going to be all right?"
"Yes, but he's in serious condition right now, and he's very weak. It won't do you any good to try to see him tonight."
"But I want to—" she cut herself off, seeing the look of unbending determination on Julia's face. "Well, is there anything I can do?" She felt terrible for Willie. It seemed like everything that could happen to him did, and it was all bad.
"Not now." Julia put her arm across Carolyn's shaking shoulders, guiding her into the foyer, then drawing room.
"How did it happen? I mean, who did it to him?" They sat on the couch, Carolyn intense and nervous with concern.
Julia was almost too tired to explain, but she thought Willie needed every friend he could get right now, and Carolyn was a major one. "Barnabas thinks it was the two men he was trying to get away from in the Blue Whale."
Carolyn barely remembered them, she had not taken notice because all her concern had been for Willie then. "But why?"
"Perhaps they wanted money. Or revenge. Who knows? Willie isn't telling."
"How is he? I mean, how does he seem?"
The doctor patted Carolyn's hand, giving her a serious look. "I think he's very depressed. He'll need cheering up when he's stronger, but I'm not sure what that'll take."
"What do you mean? What has he said, Julia?" Carolyn was sure there was something important that she was not being told.
"Well, he hasn't been awake that much." She shrugged. "He hasn't spoken to anyone since last night."
"What did he say then?"
Julia gave her a hard stare, wondering at her question. "Nothing really. He just did not want to be in the hospital. In fact, it's either that he is that has him depressed, or something he isn't going to tell anyone."
"But why do you think he's depressed?"
"The circumstances, and he isn't speaking to anyone." She debated whether or not to tell her what his nurse had said—about finding him crying. She got up and went to sit on the low railing in front of the massive hearth, feeling cold and tired, and rather down herself.
"That's not what I meant. I was wondering if you knew what was making him be that way?"
"Because he's been hurt, and he's in the hospital where he doesn't want to be."
"Julia," Carolyn looked at her. "Is he in a lot of pain?"
Julia shook her head. "Most of the time, no. Off and on, yes—when he has to cough. I'm sure he has constant discomfort from his lungs, but nothing that serious."
The young woman sighed, suddenly out of questions. She was afraid Willie would not react well to seeing her, but she wanted to help him. "Were you up all last night with him?"
"Not all night. Every few hours. He should sleep straight through tonight." She stood up. "If you want to visit him, I suggest you call before you go, and not before eight. I think you should visit him."
She didn't know about her and Willie's conflict or the awkwardness that abounded between them, Carolyn thought. But perhaps that wouldn't matter now. But she could not imagine Willie being glad to see her, especially since he was depressed. She had seen Barnabas publicly humiliate him—he would find it shaming to see her.
"Carolyn, what is it?" Julia noticed the young woman's expression had become a pained frown without her knowing it.
She looked at her. "Oh, Julia, I don't know if I should go see him."
"Why not? You haven't fought with him, have you?"
Carolyn wrung her hands, taking a few steps past Julia. "Well, yes and no. It's not so much that we've had a fight as it is. . .he's. . ."
"What?"
"He," she struggled to think of a way to express it, "he's very. . .quiet—I mean, he won't talk about anything that he feels. It think he's ashamed because I know what Barnabas has done to him. He makes talking with him so hard."
Julia nodded. "He's very troubled. I think you should see him anyway. Even if he is embarrassed, at least he'll know that you care."
"Yes, of course. But I don't want to make him feel worse. After last night, I don't know, though." She turned and looked at the other woman.
"What happened last night?"
"It was terrible. Barnabas got so angry. And Willie was drunk. He slapped Willie across the face in front of everyone in the Blue Whale."
Barnabas hadn't told her that, Julia thought. She sighed deeply. "That's upsetting to hear, Carolyn. But he still needs friends. It would probably hurt him more if he thought you didn't care about him."
"I guess you're right, Julia. I just don't want to do the wrong thing."
*