I heard static emitting from a TV somewhere. It interrupted the silence like a cricket at night. The crinkling reminded me of ocean currents.
Crackle
Crackle
—Skrrrrrrrt!
A woman's voice broke through the static.
"—Live on the scene at 51st and Conway in the heart of Northtown a man is threatening to jump from an apartment building. Authorities say his wife was a victim of the recent AAD occurrences. They say the man was 'disillusioned with the current system' and he 'doesn't know why she was chosen'. Sounds like he's got a screw loose to me." The woman puts a hand to her ear piece. "We've been advised that the man in question wants an audience with the Ward 04 police commissioner—"
Static crackled again. And the TV turned off.
…
"Sorry Monty…I'm sure you don't want to hear this."
David.
I struggled to open my eyes. The first thing I noticed was the blinding white light of a hospital room. I tried with everything I had to blink away the exhaustion. It wasn't enough to just simply sit up in bed and yell into the void, "I'm awake! I'm here, world!" My body was just too heavy, including my eyelids.
I could hear him breathing beside me.
And then I saw him. Bags under his eyes, five-o-clock shadow, unwashed hair. David looked like he was going through it. He had this dejected look on his face, like he was at a funeral. His eyes were dark, and maybe…haunted? I don't think I've ever seen him like this before. When he looked up and noticed me, his eyes lit with a blaze of recognition, like his old self.
"Good morning Monty, did you sleep alright?" He smiled with some uncertainty, as if there was something holding him back from throwing himself at me. "You got some good beauty sleep. The ladies are gonna be all over you."
I laughed like a bubbly soda, light and fizzed. He sure knew the right thing to say to get someone to lighten up. The bedding was silky smooth. I pushed myself upright to see him better but it started to strain my arms. David jumped out of his chair.
"Wait! Hold it tiger. You still need to rest. No boxer is jumping back in the ring after getting knocked out cold."
Why compare it to boxing?
"I'm not even tired," I said. "Besides, you said I've slept enough."
"That's absolutely not what I said."
I slumped back down into the bed, defeated. I didn't have that much fight in me. My back pushed up against the pillow so that I could see him easier.
"What happened? You look like…"
Well I shouldn't say he "looked like shit" but…
"I look like shit?"
I nodded. He always knew what I was about to say. He never really cursed while I lived with him, so I was never really sure how comfortable he felt with me saying something like "shit" or "damn". He always seemed to just look away or ignore it. I always kind of wondered why he would take in a kid like me with my big mouth.
"Sorry, I know you don't like it when I…"
"It's alright, really. It's been a shitty few days."
"Days?"
He nodded.
"A lot's happened Monty. I'll tell you a little later. Just rest up for now."
I nodded. He looked like there was something else.
"What?" I asked.
"Well, you don't have to tell me what happened Monty. But, I hope you know that you can talk to me. If there's anything going on…I'm here for you. Even if you just want to vent." He rubbed the back of his head. "You know, I'm kinda new to this stuff. I hope you understand."
I looked down at the hospital bed and then back to him. In comparison to the clinical white sheets, the bags under his eyes appeared all the more darker.
"I understand. Can I…talk to you about it a little later?"
His eyes widened.
"Y--yea. Of course you can."
He smiled at me with the same dopey grin and sad eyes as he had when I was first dropped on his doorstep by Casey three years ago.
We chatted over some lunch in the hospital room for a couple hours. After he notified the nurses, they wanted to run some tests on me. They allowed us a little time to ourselves, but it was evident that they thought it'd be best to get the tests over with. David left to give me and the nurses some space, saying that he'd be back later tonight.
After he and the nurse left the room I snuck out of bed to watch them. They chatted right outside, mainly about insurance and prices. I listened in, but I found that when people talked about money my attention wavered. Or rather, I got anxious. I tried not to think about it; about the money I burned through just by being another mouth to feed. I can't imagine what David must be feeling. Did he regret doing what he did?
I felt like a burden to him. I thought that's why these past few years have been so straining for me. Every thought reminded me of the things I lost, the comfort I felt when I didn't have to worry about it all. Sometimes I wished I ran away.
But I knew that it wouldn't have been fair to David.
I peered through the hospital door window again. He looked so tired, but also strangely relieved. He talked to the nurses about the debt he'd accrued so casually and with such a dopey face on that it almost infuriated me. How could he have such a strange look on his face while talking about something that would affect him so intensely? Why were his shoulders so relaxed?
No. I could never abandon him like that. I shook away the thoughts of running from him.
I decided I would try to be better. Just like how I did when I first came home with him.
Home.
I smiled.
David left for the afternoon. Just like they said, the nurses started to put me through some tests. Mostly cognitive and neural. Though, blood testing was included. They said they wanted to test my blood sugar content and see if I didn't pass out due to any diabetic reasons. I've never had diabetes. As they were looking at the results, I noticed that they looked concerned, like I was a walking, or sitting, mess.
I know that I didn't just "pass out". Something happened to me back there on the wharf. I could feel it in my hands. It was like a slow and slight tremble. An unease that I couldn't quite put into words to describe to the nurses.
Before David left he told me that Casey had been notified of what happened. I asked him to hold off on telling her I was awake, just until I had the energy to talk to her. He wasn't happy with the idea. He probably thought there'd be a significant risk to withholding that kind of information from my case worker, but the idea of confronting her about my risky ventures in this state left me reeling. At the very least I couldn't talk to her on an empty stomach.
She could be scary sometimes.
After the nurses concluded their tests, drawing the last bit of blood from my shoulder, they told me that a doctor wanted to see me. I hesitated, mostly out of concern for David's wallet, but they insisted. He really wanted to hear from me, they said. Alright, I thought, let's get it over with.
The skinniest man I had ever seen walked into the room. His white coat hung off his shoulders like curtains. His frame was thinner than the bedpost. Around his neck hung a silver stethoscope. His complexion was like a strawman's.
One of the nurses piped up before he could introduce himself.
"Monty, this is Dr. Mark Crowe. He'll be working with you through your recovery." He nodded at her.
"Thank you Sharon. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak to him alone."
"Of course doctor…may I ask if you'd need anything?"
"No, no thank you. We should be all set on tests. Shouldn't we be, Monty?"
I nodded, still unsure of him.
"I would love those results though. Oh, would you mind?"
"Not at all sir."
She handed him the test results from earlier. Then, she exited, carrying out any unnecessary lunch trays with her. Dr. Crowe dropped down onto a stool across from me. He kind of looked like a crow while perched there in his big coat. The flaps were like furled wings.
"Alright, let's get this started. There's a girl next door who needs a heart check-up, and I wouldn't want to keep her waiting more than she has. How old are you Monty?"
"Fourteen," I said. "I only just started high school…"
"Ah fourteen. I remember when I was that age. Though I must seem like a fossil to you."
Now that I had a better look at his face he didn't seem much older than David, who's in his late twenties. That must put Dr. Crowe in his thirties maybe? Late thirties? He smiled and began writing something down on his clipboard.
"Polite enough to not ask my age," he whispered, jotting it down like a legitimate observation. I couldn't help but crack a smile. A little one. He seemed like an odd guy, but genuine.
"Now for the tough questions. You still feeling up to it?"
I nodded.
"Good, good. Monty, do you have a history of cardiovascular issues? Any problems with your heart?"
"Not that I know of. I've never taken any medications for it if that's what you were gonna ask next."
"Perceptive," he whispered and wrote something down. "Perhaps too perceptive."
That was a strange thing to say. I never heard that before. Weird of you to say that to a patient…
"Too perceptive? What do you mean by that?"
"Can I tell you a secret?"
"Sure…but why?"
"Oh, It's relevant. At least tangentially. When I was studying in medical school, do you know what I originally went for?"
I thought about it for a second. He said he was going to see a girl after treating me. And I've only ever spoken to a pediatrician before…so the idea seemed obvious to me.
"A pediatrician?"
His smile reached ear to ear.
"Very, very close. I was right about you. So perceptive. I wanted to be a child psychologist."
"Oh…but what changed?"
"I had a friend of mine who struggled to get out of bed in the morning. He had a heart condition that made it very difficult to do anything. Almost everything put strain on it."
"That's a very selfless reason to give up on your dreams."
"Ha! Well, I wasn't entirely invested in the idea of becoming a child psychiatrist. It was just what I was leaning toward during the time. And besides, I owed him anyway for covering my tab. So, I was left with a decision. I decided to kill two birds with one stone, or so to speak. Pediatric cardiologist. Though, I still work with adults from time to time."
He took another look at his clipboard. He flipped through a few sheets of paper, his eyes scanning like a bird of prey hunting along a prairie.
"I had taken a few psychiatry courses during my time in medical school, and I've kept up with the research. I like to think I know a thing or too."
"But I'm not a kid. I'm in high school."
"Oh everyone thinks like that. Sometimes I think I'm an adult too."
"No but…" I trailed off.
"I get it Monty. I get it. But I got the brains to know when someone's dealing with some heavy stuff."
"Heavy stuff?"
"Higher perceptibility in kids…er high schoolers correlates often with those who've gone through traumatic experiences."
"Correlation isn't causation."
"That may be true. Smartass syndrome is though. And trust me, I've been suffering from it all my life."
I didn't know what to say to that. I just shrugged. Dr. Crowe laughed to himself, a personal joke maybe, and jotted something else down in his notes. We chatted for a little longer, going over various tests and results. Things I could work towards. Things I'd have to be wary of. Was I eating enough vegetables? We also talked about what may have happened to have potentially caused my syncope.
But the major thing I took away from the conversation was that my heart was messed up.
"You have a condition not too unlike my friend Tim. There's a pressure around your heart. It's very unique. Unlike my friend, you don't seem to have been born with it. Some traumatic experience must have supplanted this pressure around your heart."
I could think of one catalytic experience. Actually, a few.
"Do you think what happened a few days ago, when I was first found passed out, was what caused me to develop this condition?"
"I can't say for certain, but I believe that this has been developing for a few years now. And the episode from a few days ago, for lack of a better term, lit the spark so that it reached a critical level. Thus, you took a long nap."
"A long nap is one way to put it. So do I have to take medicine now?"
"We want to keep you here to monitor your heart rate and blood pressure for the time being. You may not even need medicine when we're done. But the best thing you can do now is rest."
He stood up from his stool, clipboard tucked under arm.
"Unless you have any more questions, then I think we're all set."
"None. Thank you Dr. Crowe."
He nodded. "Get some rest. I'll be right next door if you need me."
He waved as he left, promising to pick me up an energy drink on his next visit. Some cardiologist he was. He was like a dentist handing out lollipops. I still had my wallet on me from that night, so I decided that I didn't have to wait for him.
Outside my hospital room a vending machine sat silently humming at the end of the corridor. I thought twice about it. It probably wasn't the right thing to do as someone who had just woken up from a coma, but I was itching for some caffeine. What was the harm?
I dropped a few coins in the slot and picked out whatever looked good. Cherry lime? Why the hell not. The can whipped out beneath a metal flap and summoned itself into my hand like a magnet. I popped the can open and as I drank I noticed the sounds of a TV playing down the hall. Curious, I trekked toward it and hoped to catch something interesting.
The corridor opened up into a lobby. A group of people, mainly nurses and attendees, crowded together around the TV. The ACN logo flew onscreen, playing a little animation to introduce the segment. A musical trill accompanied it.
BREAKING NEWS
A pale and freckled anchorman flashed onscreen. He wore a suit that was way too tight. It made his head blow up like a balloon.
"Authorities have confirmed that the subject of this morning's story has been in fact removed from the roof of the apartment complex with help from psychologist Dr. Cowles, who has worked with police before. In a rather shocking turn of events, Dr. Cowles became injured during another Anomalous Autoignition Discharge. Reported AAD's have spiked over the course of the last twenty-four hours---"
"Tragic," one of the nurses said.
Anomalous Auto--what?
That was the first time I've heard those words in that order. What was going on?
Another nurse said, "Turn it to Channel Twelve."
An attendee did as they said. The logo for a new station popped into view with a couple talking heads adjoining.
"The mayor has yet to respond to further questions regarding yesterday's address."
"Can we get a clip of it?"
The footage spliced between the two anchors and a conference at city hall. The mayor stood at full attention in a three piece suit. Dozens of colorful microphones bloomed around her head like carnivorous plants.
"We are working with the federal government to understand AAD's. At this point, we simply do not know what causes them. We advise everyone to remain calm, go about your day as normal, and notify your local law enforcement of any signs of further occurrences of Anomalous Autoignition Discharges."
"Mayor Quinn!" one reporter shouted. "What have you done to address the issue?"
"We are organizing a temporary commission to address the anomalies. In the meanwhile the city is looking to ATLAS Corporation to assist in research and observation. Thank you."
The footage was cut off.
That night.
The lights in the sky.
My stomach sank.