Chapter 16

Mary was asleep. She was cold and had drawn herself up into a compact ball. Because of the chill she fought upwards through her sleep towards consciousness. She woke up.

Awake, but with her eyes still closed, Mary immediately discovered the cause of her chill. The covers were thrown off of her. They lay massed at the foot of the bed. Quickly she sat up, opening her eyes, and reached for the covers. She pulled them up and over her as she fell back down into the bed. She searched for Al to snuggle against. He was not in the bed.

Her eyes opened wide now. “He can't still be out?” she asked herself. “What time is it?” Mary reached across Al's side of the bed to the small alarm clock. She could not read its dial in the dim light from the bathroom. She turned on the reading lamp above Al's flat pillow.

“Jesus,” she said looking at the clock. “Four-thirty,” she exhaled, emptying out her lungs softly. “I hope the asshole didn't get himself killed in a car wreck,” she spoke out loud. The tone of her voice belied her actual worry. Mary returned the clock to the table.

Sitting up in the bed she passed her left hand through her short hair. “Maybe the fool's on the couch,” she muttered. “Always interfering with my rest.”

She tossed the covers back away from her and got out of the bed. Holding her arms to her breasts to retain what little warmth her gown contained, she hurried to the living room. When she turned the lights on in the living room she saw an empty couch. She looked into the other rooms in the house with the same result.

She was worried, and hurt, and mad as she came back into the bedroom. “Where is he?” She imagined thousands of answers to that question. It was not until she was near the bed, facing the open bathroom door, that she saw a hand, palm up, extending into view.

“Oh my god!” she cried rushing to the doorway. There, with a small pool of blood beside his head, lay her husband. His eyes were closed and his face was a stark, blood-drained white.

Mary's hands were at her face, hiding most of it. Through her hands she repeated, hushed, “Oh my god! Oh my god?”

She saw a small amount of blood on the edge of the tub. She was a afraid to touch him. Afraid that he would be ice cold. And if he were alive, she would never be able to move him.

Mary turned and ran to the phone by the bed. There in the drawer of the nightstand she kept emergency telephone numbers. She found the Baylor Hospital emergency number and dialed it. Remaining calm Mary gave her name and address to the woman who answered the ring. The woman asked for the nature of the emergency and Mary said, “My husband has fallen and hit his head on the bath tub. He may be dead.”

The woman on the other end said that the MICU, Mobile Intensive Care Unit, was on its way. Mary hung up the phone and looked quickly into the bathroom before going to the door to wait outside for the ambulance.

She stood on the doorstep outside the apartment. The door was open partially and the exterior light on. It was a cold, clear November night, temperature in the upper thirties. Mary waited barefooted in her ankle length satin gown. She did not notice the cold. Her arms were crossed, held tightly against her chest as she stared down the empty street in the direction of the hospital.

The flashing lights of the squarish, white, van-like ambulance appeared far down the street making a broad sweeping turn toward Mary. She watched fixedly as the silent light show made its way closer. It was not until the two uniformed men stood talking to her, there on her own door step, that she returned to the scene.

“Yes, he's in here!” she said urgently in answer to the taller of the two men. Back in the reality of the situation Mary rushed to the bathroom leading the paramedics.

When they saw Al lying on the floor the two men brushed past Mary and crowded into the bathroom. The smaller man dropped to one knee and placed a stethoscope over Al's heart while the other stood peering over his partners shoulder. A strong “tha-thump“ came through the stethoscope to the paramedic’s ears.

“He's alive, looks like a possible concussion with shock.” The crouched man spoke calmly, authoritatively. “Get me some blankets,” he ordered.

The second man turned and bumped roughly into Mary as he rushed to the bed and pulled the cover off. Mary stood back out of the way as he returned to the bathroom.

The small man took the cover and spread it out over Al's crumpled figure. Then gently, carefully, he raised and turned Al's head to examine the extent of the cut. The man turned slightly to speak to Mary. There was a small smile of well being on his face as he said, “It's a superficial laceration, just a lot of blood. It looks like he fainted and hit his head. He's not an epileptic is he?”

The huge relief that coursed through Mary's body prevented her, at the moment, from speaking. She shook her head negatively.

“Good,” the man said placing Al's head carefully back onto the tile floor of the bathroom. He reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a capsule of smelling salts and broke it. The smell of the ammonia was strong enough to awaken Mary, five feet away, as he passed it under Al's nose. Nothing. He passed it under the pinched looking nose again. Again Al made no response. The man used his stethoscope and the strong heartbeat resounded to his ears.

“Shit,” he cursed softly under his breath. “Wayne, get a stretcher, fast! I don't know what's wrong but we got to get this guy in.”

Mary stood dazed as they loaded Al carefully onto the stretcher and hurried him out to the awaiting vehicle, its flashing lights rebounding off the exterior walls along the street.

The rear doors to the ambulance closed with Al and the taller man inside. As the short one headed to the driver's seat he stopped and asked Mary, “You all right Ma'am?”

She nodded yes, still hugging herself tightly with her crossed arms as she stood in the cold dawning light.

“We're taking him to Baylor ma'am. He'll be alright,” the paramedic said reassuringly.

Mary knew that they were trained to talk that way, reassuringly. She nodded her agreement.

“Do you have someone to drive you down there?” he asked.

Again Mary nodded yes.

“Call them then,” he ordered as he jumped into the cab and headed the ambulance away.

It was Monday morning. Mary walked back into the house and to the bedroom where she dressed. She did not know what to expect. First there was Al's blackout and now this. “What's going on?” she wondered. She drove herself down to the hospital.

Chapter 17

At 10:05 AM that Monday morning Mary and Dr. Peters stood at the foot of Al's bed talking. Peters had transferred Al from the emergency room to a private room after he made his initial examination.

“I'm sorry that there's so little to say at this time, Mrs. Martin. Your husband's vital signs are all very strong and there doesn't appear to be any serious damage from his fall.”

Mary was tired and pale as she listened. She was dressed for work in a blueish gray business jacket and skirt. The opened necked, burgundy blouse emphasized the paleness of her skin. She had taken the extra time to dress for work after the ambulance left that morning. She had anticipated what Peters was now saying.

“He seems to have returned to that catatonic state he exhibited previously. We've got him scheduled for the complete battery of tests again, starting in about fifteen minutes.” Peters paused in his earnest delivery and then on a more personal level asked, “What are your plans, Mrs. Martin? Are you intending to wait here?”

In a quiet, near monotone, she said, “No, I thought I'd go on to work. I can't do anything here. There's plenty to do there.”

Peters gave her a searching look. From her tone he thought she might be in shock, but after a few seconds he decided it was just fatigue.

“Mrs. Martin, I think that you would be much better off if you would go home and get some rest. I'm sure your office can get by without you for a short time.”

“Really Doctor?” Mary smiled a small, half grin looking more sick than amused. “Maybe I can't get by without it.”

Peters lowered his eyes and made no comment to that.

“Please be sure and call me as soon as you have any results,” Mary said as she moved around to kiss Al good-bye.

“I will Mrs. Martin. And please rest assured that we will do everything in our power for your husband,” he added as she rose from Al's bedside.

Mary walked back to the foot of the bed and stretched out a hand to Dr. Peters. As he shook her hand she said, “I know that you will Doctor. Thank you.” She released his hand and walked to the door.

By ten-thirty Mary was busy at her desk. There was a backlog of briefs she had to read before passing them on to the other lawyers involved. She was working on them when Mark Edwards entered.

“Morning Mary. Running a little late today weren't you?” Striding across the deep pile carpet to take his usual chair, he never noticed Mary's obvious fatigue and distress. He did notice her open necked blouse and the cleavage it exposed as she bent forward over her work. He was comfortably seated and well rested before Mary took notice of him.

“Hello Mark,” she said with no show of emotion. “I'm a little busy right now, sorry.” She went back to the papers on her desk.

“That's okay. Don't let me bother you.” Edwards sat back in the chair and pulled a cigarette package out of his shirt pocket. The pack was open. He bounced it against his left hand causing the cigarettes to pop out exactly like in an advertisement. He practiced this a lot.

With the cigarettes poised in the pack he lifted them to his mouth, inserted the outermost tip between his lips, and pulled the package away, leaving the lone cigarette ready for lighting. He pursed his lips to point the tip of the cigarette to the ceiling and used a gold plated lighter to light it.

Exhaling a lung full of smoke he asked, “How did that husband do Saturday?” Edwards' smirking smile and laugh did not set well with Mary, but she told him about Al's findings at the library. And how he felt he had confirmed his dream. She mentioned the argument they had and finally she told him about Al's latest collapse.

“That boy has really gone over the edge,” Edwards burst out laughing.

Edwards' laugh was the laugh Mary found so amusing. This morning it was not very funny. Maybe it never had been.

Mark did not see the change in her face when he laughed. He paid more attention to the movements of her breasts.

Mary stood up from her desk. Her anxiety about Al's health and her marriage, the fatigue and stress from the weekend, Mark's attitude and laughter all these feelings surged together. They came to gather behind the her pale face, a paleness that was now anger.

“Mark, why don't you get your dumb ass out of here before I tell you something you really don't want to hear.” She was deathly white, her green eyes blazed as she pointed to the door.

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Edwards at first smiled at her, then he realized she meant it. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it to the carpet. “Such as?” he asked defiantly.

“Such as, I am sick to death of you and your smirk. You think you are God's gift to both the law and to women. You run around this office with your head stuck up your ass and your dick in your hands while other people do your work for you, making you look pretty. And such as, how did I ever make the mistake of sleeping with you? Now, get out of here Mark. I have work to do.” Mary said all this with a vicious, smiling delight, her eyes burning holes through Edwards.

Edward's face flushed a dark red. He stood up in shock and moved to the front of the desk. He rested his hands on the glass-covered top and leaned forward.

“Listen Mary, I don't know what this is about but nobody talks like that to me and gets away with it. No matter how good of head she gives.” He glared at Mary with a blind, ignorant hatred.

Mary stared calmly eye-to-eye with him over her desk. “Mark, I've had enough of you. Get out of here,” she ordered. Then she calmly sat back down to work.

Edwards tried to glare at her until she gave in, but he never got her to even look up. At last he struck the desktop a blow with his fist, spun on his heels and left the office, careful not to slam the office door and draw attention to his leaving.

When the door was closed Mary weakly came around to the front of the desk and picked up the cigarette butt. She smashed it out in the ashtray and collapsed into her chair crying. “What is going on?” She cried, not because of Edwards or Al, but because of her own foolishness.

Chapter 18

Mary was busy at her desk when the telephone rang. It was just after noon.

“Hello, Mrs. Martin?” the young female voice began. “This is Robin Collins. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Mary shook her head a little from side to side thinking, “Just what I need after Mark, a hot little girl friend. Nothing but business today for little Mary.”

“Sure Robin, what can I do for you?”

On the other end of the line Mary heard a short intake of air then, “I was wondering if you've heard anything from the doctors? When I heard Al was back in the hospital I called up there but they won't tell me anything at all.”

When she heard the desperation in the voice over the phone lines Mary felt sorry for the girl. She remembered when she worried like that. It seemed ages ago. You get use to things.

“No Robin. I've not heard anything. They were supposed to run tests all day today and then go over the results tomorrow morning. They told me that physically, Al seems fine and that I shouldn't worry. And you shouldn't either.” Mary was able to empathize. It was easier to shift her worries to Robin, to let her concerns express themselves that way than it was for her to worry openly.

“It's just so terrible,” Robin said at a loss for words.

“Yes it is,” Mary agreed. “But Al will be okay. Don't worry. He is tough.”

Then Robin blurted out in a fast, tight stream, “Mrs. Martin, would it be alright if I visit Al tonight? You'd have to leave word at the desk because he's restricted to family only.”

A bemused, half sad smile came to Mary's lips. “I'll be glad to tell them to let you in Robin. I'm exhausted. If you could sit with Al for a while, I'll go to the house and try to get some rest.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin!” Robin bubbled out.

“I should thank you, Robin. I hate for Al to be there by himself, but I just can't be there all the time. I'm grateful for your help. I'll call them right away. You be sure and call me before you leave there tonight, okay?”

Robin agreed. The two women said goodbye and hung up. Mary cried softly to herself for a few minutes. Here she was helping another woman to see her Al. How had their marriage ever gotten to this point? And Mark Edwards! How could she have ever involved herself with him? Before long Mary went back to work, busying herself in paperwork.

Before she left the office for home Mary spoke to Dr. Peters over the phone.

“Mrs. Martin,” he said, “all of our tests so far have shown negative. Your husband did not suffer a concussion when he fell, nor has he suffered any type of neurological damage. He continues to check out excellently but there has been no change in his condition. He still appears to be in a coma like state.”

Peters paused waiting a comment from Mary, when none came he continued. “Mrs. Martin, there is the possibility that this is not a physical problem, but a mental condition.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is possible that your husband is in a self induced coma, a catatonic trance. With your permission, I'd like to call in someone to examine this possibility.”

“You mean a psychiatrist?” It was a very flat, empty voice that came across the line to Peters.

“Yes, ma'am. Dr. M.T. Wes from Timberlawn.” Peters hurried on. He wanted to finish his say before the woman blew up and argued against the psychiatric approach. No one ever wants to admit to the possibility of mental illness in their family.

“He is a very good psychiatrist and I think that he may be able to help your husband.” He waited.

Mary's flat tone came across the line again. There was no argument in it. “If you think this man can help Al, call him.”

That was it. That was all she had to say. Mary said goodbye and they hung up.

Chapter 19

Sound. Al became acutely aware of the sounds around him. Almost beyond his limits he heard traffic. Cars approached and passed out of his reach, an occasional horn interjected itself. Footsteps near by clicked sharply on an uncarpeted floor. There was the muted flushing of a toilet from somewhere behind him. He listened for what seemed ages.

His body began to have feeling in it. There was no tingling or pain in his extremities, just a gradual, growing awareness of their presence. He moved his foot.

“Al!” an excited voice said. He lay their thinking about the voice. His mind worked slow, but that did not anger him. It was working. As he searched for a description of the voice Al hoped it would repeat itself.

“Al? Can you hear me?” The voice was cautious, but underlain with tense excitement.

He could hear her. That was easy. Who was she? He did not notice he had made the connection to a female voice. He rolled his head to the left and there was a small hurt. Al raised his left hand to touch it.

The voice lost itself in joy. “Al, Al! Thank god.”

Before his hand reached the back of his head Al was smothered in an embrace from Robin. Through his slightly opened eyelids he could see a dull redness. He opened them wider.

Robin was leaning over him holding him tightly. She had a mild, sweet smell. He liked it. Laying on his back as she embraced him, his eyes moved away from her and about the room.

He was back in the hospital. That was easy to see. It was not the same room. The television set was lower on the wall and a different model. He opened his mouth and words came out.

“How did I get here, Robin?”

“Oh Al,” Robin said, releasing him and sitting upright beside him on the bed. Her eyes were filled with tears. Tears of joy, for him! “You fell and hit your head sometime Sunday night and lost consciousness. Oh, I should call the nurse!” she suddenly thought.

Before she could reach for the button to call them Al said, “Don't worry about them, I'm okay. What day is it?”

“It's Monday night,” Robin answered, uncomfortable with not calling the nurses' station. “Let me call the nurse Al?”

“No, not yet,” Al said. “I'm fine, really. And I want to know what I've missed. I been out almost a full day then, right?”

“About eighteen hours,” Robin supplied. “Do you remember Sunday?” she asked shyly.

“I remember our being out together. Then I went home and went to bed.” Al paused for a second then a great glow began in his face. Robin could not believe the change in him, the happiness he showed.

Excitedly he talked, “I went back there again!”

“Went back where?” Robin asked.

“Back to Galveston, September 7, 1900,” Al boasted pridefully. “I told you I went there the first time!”

Robin nodded her head yes. She listened, but she wanted to call the nurses, or Mary, somebody.

“I went back there twice,” Al told her. “It was great, so beautiful there on the Gulf. You just can't imagine it Robin, you just can't. It was early in the morning when I got there,” he began to tell her the full story of the visits to Galveston. Robin listened quietly through the whole story, never commenting or interrupting the ecstatic storyteller. She did not know what to do. She was afraid to interrupt him.

“I got the date though didn't I?” the deliriously happy Al asked.

“You sure did,” Robin soothed. “Can I call the nurse now?” It was almost midnight. The tale had taken over an hour in the telling. Robin was near an emotional collapse. She could not believe what was happening, what she heard.

“Sure, call them,” Al said, adding, “I wanted to tell you what happened while I remembered. You know how dreams can slip away from you if you don't make yourself remember them.”

Al sat back in the bed. “You had better call Mary too, if you will. I feel a little tired right now.”

When she came in the nurse rushed Robin out of the room and called for the doctor. Robin called Mary from the nurses' station.

It was just past nine o'clock. Mary was in the bathtub and had been resting there for over forty-five minutes. All of the problems with Al, his black outs and their fighting, her work and Mark Edwards, they all seemed better in the hot water.

She stayed deeply buried under the hot, steaming bath water. With only her mouth, nose and eyes above the water, she lay quietly watching the steam rising off of the water. She only rose occasionally out of the water to drain the tub slightly, making room for fresh hot water.

Then the doorbell began to ring. It rang insistently.

“Damn doorbell,” she swore sitting up in the tub. She waited, hoping the bell would stop. It did not.

“Who can that be? If it is a salesman I'll kill him,” she said standing up and stepping out of the tub. Water ran off of her body, pooling at her feet on the tile. She reached for her bath robe, a dark green terry clothe thing and wrapped it around her wet form.

Mary moved slowly, giving whoever was at the door ample time to go away. The bell continued to ring. She headed for the door.

The moisture from her body made dark areas on the robe. She opened the door. It was Mark Edwards, leaning on the doorbell.

“What do you want?” Mary demanded.

“I want to talk to you,” Edwards answered. There was alcohol on his breath. “I love you Mary.”

“You're drunk and I have nothing to say to you,” she spat back. “And it's late. So get out of here,” she ordered.

Edwards lost his relaxed stance. He straightened up, “Nobody talks to me like you did today. Nobody dumps me like that either! You'll talk to me and like it!” He pushed past Mary and walked into the living room.

“With Palsy Alsy out of the way in the hospital I thought you and I could pickup where we left off Saturday.” Edwards' speech slurred as he dropped heavily onto the couch. He leaned back breathing loudly through his mouth and stretched one arm out along the back of the couch. He crossed his right leg over the left, his ankle resting on the knee.

Mary had never seen Mark like this. He was disgusting. She remained at the open door.

“Get out of here you bastard!” she swore viciously.

“Tsk, tsk,” Edwards mocked. “A lady shouldn't talk like that dearest. But you aren't a lady are you.” He patted the spot on the couch beside him. “Set down and be friendly Mary. You're too good of a lay to walk out on.” He smiled up to her through glassy eyes. There was a brutishness in his face she had never seen before.

“If you don't leave I'll call the police and have you thrown out! Now get out of here!”

Edwards looked around the apartment as if it were an audience and shrugged his shoulders, he slowly raised his large form off of the couch and walked to the door. Mary stepped back to let him pass.

He stopped in front of her and with a whiskey breath said, “How about a good night kiss, babe?” He reached out and pulled her to him, pressing her tightly against his frame, tight enough to feel every curve of her very familiar body.

She struck at him but the blow had no effect. His right hand grabbed her head, filling his fist with her hair. He held her body taut against his. Edwards loved commanding. He pulled down on the hair, forced her face upward, where he covered her mouth with his open, wet lips. Mary spit into his mouth.

Mark's head snapped back. Using only the hand filled with hair, he threw her to the floor. “Nobody fucks with me cunt! Who do you think you are? Do you think you are someone special?”

He moved closer. He stopped and looked down at her, “I'll be back bitch!” Mary was about to scream for help when he stepped outside and left.

From her knees Mary swung the door closed. In tears and frozen in the cold, wet robe she went over to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a large shot of bourbon. She drank quickly, clutching the glass in both hands. The burning whiskey gave her the fire to return to the bathroom where she stripped off the robe and took a hot shower, trying to wash away Mark Edwards, all the while saying to herself, “You fool! You damn little fool!”

Chapter 20

The hot shower and then a second drink made Mary feel much better. She sat in bed with the covers drawn close around her. An unopened Steven King book lay beside her. She stared at the wall, wishing she could tell someone about Edwards. What could she do? She had been quite the fool lately and now she had the piper to pay.

The telephone rang, breaking her trance. “God, I hope it's not that drunk again.”

“Hello,” she spoke coldly into the receiver.

“Mrs. Martin?” the caller asked. “This is Robin Collins, Mrs. Martin. I hope I didn't wake you?”

The single thought, “Al!” surged through Mary. Then she said, “That's okay Robin. I was awake. What's wrong? Is Al okay?” Mary was suddenly frantic with fright.

“Everything's fine Mrs. Martin! Al woke up a little while ago! The doctor ran me out. He's in there right now with Al.”

Mary's fright burst into happiness. “He's alright then? God, I'm glad to hear that! That's the best news I've heard in ages.” She bowed her head down onto her chest fighting back tears.

“Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes?”

“They told me you shouldn't come up here right now. They want to run some more tests, and that might take till morning they said. Dr. Peters said there was really no reason for you to come before noon unless you like sitting in hospitals.”

“That's fine, that's great.” Mary was so relieved and happy. “Right now even sitting in the hospital sounds like fun! Thank you for calling Robin. I really appreciate all the help you've given me.”

“It's my pleasure Mrs. Martin.”

Mary started to ask Robin to call her Mary but she suddenly thought better of it. Maybe it was better to keep the relationship with Robin on a more formal note until Al was out of trouble, then maybe, things could be straightened out.

“Are you staying up there any longer?” Mary asked.

“No. I can't see Al so I guess I'll go on home.”

“I really do thank you, Robin,” Mary offered sincerely.

“You're welcome. I just want to help Al you know?”

“I know Robin.” Mary was not sure how, or if, she and Robin had come to an understanding over Al, but she felt she had someone she could trust, at least in some matters.

They said good night to each other and hung up. Mary sat up a little longer thinking things over before she turned out the lights.

All the way home Robin asked herself why she had not mentioned Al's story to Mary. She finally realized she enjoyed having Al's secret confidence.