Reckoning

Without warning, an emotion like none I’d felt before entered my heart. A river of tears ran down my face and sobs took over my body. I opened my mouth to cry out, but not a sound emerged. I took a deep shuddering breath and tried to cry again, and again I was silent. The spasms running through me tore me apart, causing convulsion after convulsion. In desperation I curled up into a ball like an infant in its mother’s womb, begging for a release from this torment. Try as I might, I couldn’t voice the agony my being was experiencing at that moment. When I couldn’t take any more, something shattered inside of me. Shards of my soul flew outward, ripping my heart to shreds before evaporating into the void.

The struggle for breath seemed unbearable and, perhaps, not worth the effort. The thought of simply not breathing again floated into my awareness, but instinct prevailed. A ragged gasp passed my lips into my lungs, and when it escaped, it carried with it the keening of a dying spirit. The very air that had returned my voice carried it away as it left my body. Another monumental battle to breathe ensued and was eventually won. My diaphragm contracted once more, drawing oxygen into my lungs. When the muscle released, the keening continued.

In an attempt to hold on to some part of myself I grasped at the possibility it had all been a dream, but I could still remember what it had been like to methodically destroy the young man who had been my twin. I could remember the feel of the child’s bones breaking under the impact of my fist and the way my foot sank into his stomach after I’d kicked him for the hundredth time. I could remember with exquisite agonizing detail his appearance when I at last halted the brutal assault that left the child dead at my feet. I could feel the weight of his dead form against my body and the sensation of his blood running down my arms.

For all of that, it was real.

As darkness claimed me, the thought that I had succeeded flashed through my mind.

It was over at last.

I had finally killed myself.

I awoke again. Instead of the cubicle I was expecting I found myself lying in a bed in a bright room lit by overhead fluorescent lights. I could hear the whisper of a fan to my left and a rhythmic electronic beeping. A cold sensation hovered over my left wrist, and my entire body ached abominably. I raised my head to look around, but I couldn’t hold it up for any length of time. Those few seconds allowed me to recognize I was in a hospital. There was a nurses’ station only fifteen or twenty feet from me where two women were seated.

Turning my head to the side helped very little. I could see nothing other than what my ears had told me was there and a curtain forming a pseudo-wall on either side of me. No hands were visible on a clock half-hidden by the divider. I raised my left hand and, for some reason, I was surprised to find an IV stuck in my wrist. The cold sensation was the fluid entering my body from the drip. I let my hand fall back to the bed, unable to hold it up any longer.

An incredible pain caught my breath. The pain wasn’t physical, but it was excruciating nonetheless. As soon as it struck it was gone again, leaving only the memory of the intensity of the hurt. Breathing came easily once more.

"So we’re awake again, are we?" Asked a voice close to the foot of my bed.

Thirst made itself known as a woman’s voice addressed me. My mouth was dry.

"Water?" I asked with a rasp.

"I think we can have a little bit," said who I assumed was a nurse. "I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere."

I snorted at the thought. I couldn’t even raise my hand, much less stand. While she was gone, I tried to recall what had happened to bring me to the hospital. The last thing I remembered, from the real world anyway, was being very tired and going to sleep. What happened between then and waking up in the hospital bed remained a vivid, visceral experience, its memory engraved into my brain.

Every moment and every small detail I remembered as if I had lived it, as if I had been walking and talking with all of the people who were important in my life. What all this meant wasn’t clear; all I knew was how I felt.

The nurse returned to my bedside. She was in her mid-fifties with graying roots in her hair and wore a smarmy smile that suited her perfectly.

"Here we are," she said as she raised the head of my bed slightly. "We have some ice chips to suck on. We don’t want to upset our tummy with water."

I was too tired and uncomfortable to argue with her, so I took the cup of ice.

"Thanks," I said as best I could.

I took a chip into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue. It felt so cool and refreshing, and the moisture it provided soothed my parched mouth. A second chip allowed some water to trickle into my throat. I felt somewhat better, but still not very well.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Why don’t we let the doctor tell us," said the nurse in her condescending manner.

"Why don’t ‘we’ go get the doctor?" I demanded in a weak but petulant voice.

"Now don’t take that tone with me, young man," the lady chastised me. "The doctor will get here when he gets here."

This nurse was going to drive us into an early grave, I thought irritably, but the futility of my anger demolished my irritation.

"Fine," I said resignedly.

The woman walked away from me and to the desk she shared with her fellow nurses. She picked up the phone while watching me with a haughty, reproachful gaze that under normal circumstances would have either chastened me or made me angry, but I was too exhausted to care at that moment. I closed my eyes to rest, but sleep wouldn’t come.

It seemed as though no time had passed when I heard several people approach my bed. I opened my eyes and saw two men and a woman moving toward me, and one of the men seemed vaguely familiar to me. He and the woman stopped at the foot of the bed while the third person came to stand on my right.

"Hello, Brian," he said in a soft soothing voice. "My name is Paul Creely. I’m your doctor. You can call me Paul."

I swallowed and realized my throat was dry again.

"Hi," I croaked.

The other man walked to my left side where the cup of ice chips sat and handed them to me with a smile. I took a sip of the water gathering in the bottom from the melting ice.

"I’m going to ask a really stupid question," Dr. Creely continued as he read my chart. "How do you feel?"

I took another sip before I spoke. "Like shit." If either man was taken aback at my choice of language, neither showed it. "What happened?"

"You’re a very sick boy, Brian," the doctor said. "We weren’t sure you were going to make it when we first saw you."

"But what happened?" I asked again.

"What do you remember, Brian?" asked the man to my left.

"Who are you? Do I know you?" I still couldn’t place his face.

"We met once, but we didn’t spend much time together. My name is Dr. Rasek."

"I remember you," I said coldly. "You didn’t think I was old enough to love someone else."

"It seems I was wrong," he said calmly.

I stared at him for a long moment before dropping my eyes.

"Maybe not," I said in a whisper.

"Why do you say that, Brian?" Rasek asked.

Paul placed a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

"I’m here," I said with a weak shrug.

"Brian, we…"

"Hold on a second," Creely interrupted. "I need to hear."

We were silent for a minute while he pumped my cuff up and let the air out slowly. A throbbing ran through my arm until he allowed the cuff to deflate fully. He made a notation on my chart.

"Brian, can you sit up?" Paul asked.

I steeled myself for the effort I knew this would require. Using the bed rail, I managed to pull myself part way up, but my strength was waning quickly. Sensing this, both doctors lifted me to the sitting position with an arm behind my back. Dr. Creely listened to my chest and back while Rasek kept me balanced and supported some of my weight. Creely frowned as he listened but seemed untroubled as he and Rasek lowered me back onto the bed.

"Everything sounds normal, Brian," Paul said as he made some more entries in my chart.

"What happened to me?" I asked for the third time, showing some of my frustration.

"What do you remember, Brian," Rasek asked again.

"I remember going to sleep," I answered. "Can I sit up some more?"

"Sure. Is that all you remember?" Rasek asked as he raised the head of my bed.

I was half sitting up and could make out the clock. It read two-twenty.

It must be afternoon, I thought. These people wouldn’t be here if it was in the morning.

The woman was sitting at the nurses’ station speaking with Grayroots.

"I don’t remember anything after that. This is the first time I remember waking up." I wasn’t about to tell them about my dreams, if that’s what they were.

"Paul, maybe Brian should know what brought him here," Dr. Rasek commented.

I turned my head to look at Paul. I felt slightly dizzy and closed my eyes to stop the room from spinning.

"Brian?" Paul asked, concern in his voice.

"Yeah. Hold on."

I opened my eyes about ten seconds later and the dizziness was gone. Paul looked at me expectantly.

"I was just a little light-headed, that’s all."

He looked at my chart once again, flipping back a page or two. He shrugged.

"We need to draw some blood, Brian," Paul said. "Are you afraid of needles?"

"No, and no one is going to draw anything until I know why I’m here."

Weak though I was, my frustration came through loud and clear that time.

"Easy, tiger," Creely said. "No need to get upset now. We need you calm."

"Then answer my questions," I insisted peevishly.

"Okay. Simply put, you’re here because of malnutrition and poisoning."

"What?" I couldn’t believe my ears. "I don’t understand."

"You were starving, Brian. You could have died in a matter of days," Dr. Rasek said, his voice flat. "How did that happen?"

"I was starving? But… but… I was eating just fine!" I said, and my tone was still colored with disbelief.

"Did you keep the food down, Brian?" Rasek asked blandly.

There was something in the psychiatrists tone that set off a warning in my mind, but I also knew that I had nothing to hide anymore. There was no point to it. There was no point to anything anymore.

"Sometimes. Usually I got sick," I admitted.

"Did you make yourself throw up, Brian?" Rasek mildly asked. His voice displayed curiosity rather than the condemnation I expected.

"N-no. I don’t d-do that."

I lied. I didn’t do it often, but I did cause myself to throw up. Sometimes I felt so terrible that I couldn’t deal with anything. I felt dirty and I wanted to get clean. Purging helped me do that. It had an added "benefit" of keeping my weight down, too.

"So your body just rejected the food?" Asked Paul.

"Um, I guess," I said, not really certain. "It’s gotten worse in the past couple of weeks."

"What and how much do you eat, Brian?" Asked the shrink.

"For breakfast I have three or four bananas, and the same thing for lunch, when I eat lunch. For dinner I eat… I guess I eat vegetables, but lately even those haven’t stayed down. ‘Bout the only thing I can keep down is the bananas."

"That explains the high potassium levels," Creely said.

"Huh?" I asked, uncertain of the reference.

"You had an extremely high potassium level in your body, Brian," the physician stated. "Your body wasn’t getting everything it needs. As a result, your kidney function was being interrupted. Ninety percent of Potassium is processed through the kidneys. Since they couldn’t do their job completely, and with the high amount of potassium you were taking in, it built to a toxic level in your system. At the rate you were going, your heart most likely would have stopped within a week."

"My heart could have stopped?" I asked stupidly, not really comprehending what the doctor had just told me.

"Yes. Like Dr. Rasek said, it was just a matter of days."

I let the conversation lapse into silence. Both men watched me with interest as I digested the news. My brain was throwing ideas at me from all angles, the thoughts tumbling over each other at random until my mind became fixed on the dream I’d had while unconscious. The whole thing played out in front of my mind’s eye.

"Maybe it would have been better that way."

I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken the thought until Dr. Rasek jumped on the statement.

"Did I just hear you say that it would have been better if you’d died, Brian?"

I stared at him, weighing my answer. Again, the thought that nothing mattered anymore pervaded my mind.

"I didn’t try to kill myself if that’s what you’re thinking," I stated. "Really. I guess I got paranoid about my weight, but the only thing I did was increased my workouts and not eat as much. I didn’t know this would happen."

Rasek responded, "You didn’t answer my question, Brian."

"What do you think?" I asked angrily, my weak voice betraying my true feelings. "After two years of putting everyone who is important to me through a living hell, who wouldn’t think about how things would have turned out if I weren’t here?"

"Did you or did you not say things would be better off with you dead, Brian?" Rasek was becoming impatient.

"Does it matter?" I questioned the doctor. "I’m still here, even if it does make life much more difficult for everyone."

I saw Dr. Creely motion for Rasek to cool down a bit. The man took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes before speaking again in a much calmer manner.

"Brian, it does matter. I need to know whether or not you’ll try to commit suicide when you get out of here."

"I’m not stupid," I said. "I understand more than you think I do. I know that my getting out of here depends on your diagnosis, but I’m not going to tell you something that’s not true just to get out.

"No," I went on, "I don’t think things would be better off if I was dead. Too many people would be hurt if I was. My mom and dad would be crushed by the guilt they carry for how the last two years have gone. Kathlene and Chris think of me as family. Why would I want to hurt them more than I have?"

"I’m not worried about you hurting them, Brian, but I am worried about you hurting yourself. Are they the only reason you want to live?" Rasek asked quietly. "What about living for yourself?"

"I’m not as important as they are." The man scowled and I continued, "Look. I’ve wasted two years of my life. I can never get that back, and I can never change what everyone went through because I was holding on to something that will never happen."

"And that is?" Rasek prompted.

"The reason doesn’t matter," I said, sidestepping the question. "Only what’s happened because of it is really important. I know now what I was doing to everyone."

"What about what you were doing to yourself?" The shrink asked.

"And what I was doing to myself," I conceded. "I know that what I was hoping for will never happen. It’s time for me to let it go and try to pick up the pieces."

"How old are you, Brian?" Rasek asked after a lengthy pause.

"Fourteen… fifteen in September."

Rasek shook his head and Paul looked amazed.

"What?" I demanded.

"Brian," the psychiatrist said, his voice tinged with a respect I hadn’t heard before, "do you understand that few other fourteen-year-olds would be looking at this the way you are? I have counseled adults who had a less mature view surrounding these types of events than you do."

"I’m just being realistic." I paused for a moment to study my hands in my lap. "I’m finally being realistic."

"Realistic how?" queried Dr. Rasek.

I looked at him and then through him. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to let this guy in. I distrusted him from our first encounter over two years ago, but it wouldn’t matter what I told him at this point as long as it didn’t lead him to believe I was suicidal, which I wasn’t.

"What do you know about me?" I asked Dr. Rasek quietly.

The woman who had been speaking to Greyroots came to stand next to Rasek. Dr. Creely moved aside as another man approached with a cart full of vials, needles and other blood-letting implements.

"Draw for CBC, complete metabolic panel, triglycerides, uric acid and direct bilirubin," Dr. Creely directed.

The blood sucker acknowledged the order as Paul walked away toward the nurses’ desk. The man went through the procedure of drawing blood as Rasek and I continued our discussion.

"I know next to nothing about you," Rasek answered. "I didn’t have much of an opportunity to talk to you last time we met."

I sighed. I was getting tired and I wanted to rest. Closing my eyes, I lay my head back against the bed. A floating sensation hit me immediately as I started to drift off to sleep.

The leach grabbed my arm to put on a tourniquet causing me to open my eyes again. Rasek was watching me with serious expression, waiting for me to fill him in on my follies. I stared back at him impassively as the man drawing my blood swabbed my arm with an alcohol pad and inserted the needle into my vein. It stung initially but that quickly went away. As I watched, the technician filled up four tubes worth of blood while I watched before removing the tourniquet, pulling out the needle and then taping a cotton ball over the insertion site. The man then walked away with his cart to put the labels on the tubes. He left Dr. Rasek and the woman standing next to my bed.

"Brian, this is Mrs. Brown. She wants to speak to you before you go back to sleep."

The woman who had come in with the two doctors moved to where Dr. Creely had stood before the vampire struck.

"Hello, Brian. My name is Gloria Brown. I work for the State of California in Child Protective Services. I’m here to find out what happened to you."

She immediately put me on edge and on my guard. I had to convince her that I was the only person at fault. Memories of the abuse accusation still haunted me. I didn’t want anyone to get into trouble for something they had no control over.

"I’m here because I was stupid, and that’s the only reason. No one abused me and no one could have stopped me."

"Why so defensive, Brian?"

"Because I don’t want you to punish people for something they couldn’t have prevented. This whole situation was of my making, and if anyone deserves to get in trouble, it’s me."

"Brian, I’ve already spoken with everyone including your friends and your teachers. I do know something about obstinate, recalcitrant boys such as you. To put you at ease, we’re not going to remove Chris or your sister from their homes."

I blinked. "Then what about me?"

"Although we aren’t going to send any of you to foster care, the situation that precipitated this crisis still causes us great concern. We need to confirm that it’s still in your best interest either to stay with your family or with Kathlene Forn. They have had little success in guiding you through your adolescence so far…"

"That’s not true! I would have died if it weren’t for Kathlene! She saved my life!"

"Brian," Dr. Rasek interrupted, "you need to calm down. You aren’t strong enough to…"

"Fuck calm. I want this settled right now!"

"Unfortunately," Mrs. Brown said as she took a step back, "that’s not possible. I’ll speak with you again tomorrow when you’ve calmed some and you’re rested, Brian."

She turned and left. Rasek watched her walk out, as I did. I was angry at myself for handling that encounter so poorly. Tears formed in my eyes but I ruthlessly suppressed them.

"Brian, why don’t you get some rest. I’ll come back this evening if you’re awake and we can talk more then," Rasek said.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

I let my head fall back onto the pillow. Rasek lowered the upper portion of the bed to the horizontal position and left me there to struggle against my fears alone.

I awoke again after six. The faint sound of rustling paper reached my ears. Turning my head was painful, but I did it anyway. Kathlene was sitting in a chair next to the bed reading a thick book with complete concentration. My motions hadn’t disturbed her at all. As I watched her, my conscience reminded me of all the suffering and agony I had put her through in the two years I had lived with her. My eyes began to tear up, but I fought them back. It did no good to cry now. Nothing would be changed.

"Hi," I said quietly.

Kathlene’s head snapped up, her face a study in conflicting emotions. Anger warred with worry and relief. She stood up next to my bed and took my right hand. Her voice was gentle when she spoke, but her expression betrayed the emotional war raging within her, revealing anger, anxiety and relief at the same time.

"Hi, hon. How are you feeling?" She asked, concern winning over her tone if not her face.

"Tired," I admitted. "Weak. Everything hurts. Can I have some water?"

"I’ll ask the nurse," Kathlene said, patting my hand. "Be right back."

I watched her walk to the nurses station, my head throbbing as I held it up to follow her path. A moment later I allowed my head to fall back into the pillow on the bed. The pulsing ache receded somewhat, but a headache had definitely taken up permanent residence in my brain. Kathlene returned a moment later with a cup of ice chips.

"Here you go, honey," she said. "Do you want to sit up some?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Kathlene picked up a remote control that had been hanging off the side of the bed, used it to raise me to a half-sitting position, and then handed me the device and the cup of ice.

"Here you go."

She watched me devour a few chips from the cup in silence, then placed her hand on my shoulder as I took another into my mouth. The pressure from her hand hurt a bit, but I ignored it as best I could. In any case, the pain in my head overrode any pain from my body. I turned so I could see her better. Her expression was still uncertain, as if she really didn’t know what or how she felt. The strength of her grip increased measurably.

"You scared me, young man," she said quietly, a tear forming in one eye.

"I didn’t mean to," I said in reply, lowering my eyes from her gaze. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen."

"Brian, why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you tell me what you were going through?"

There was a pleading aspect to her query. I couldn’t tell if it was because she had been worried about me or because she felt guilty for what had happened.

"I thought you knew. I thought you understood," I responded without rancor.

"How could I? You never said anything, Brian!" Kathlene answered urgently. "I knew you were having problems, but I had no idea that you were starving yourself!"

"I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t keep anything down."

I looked back up at her and bore the flash of pain that accompanied the movement.

"I’m sorry. For all of it, I’m sorry," I said simply, gaze locked with hers. "I’m sorry it took me so long to understand the way things really are. I’ve ruined two years of your life and Chris’ life, and I’ve wasted two years of mine. Chris should have been spending all that time he was with me finding new friends and hanging out with them."

"Brian, sweetie, don’t do that," Kathlene said gently. "Don’t beat yourself up over this. We all make mistakes, you included. I made some big ones, too. All that matters is you’re going to be okay. Everything will be fine."

"No, everything will not be fine. I will never be okay."

"Brian…"

I turned my head to look at her once more. The concern she displayed angered me for some obscure reason. I wanted to run away from her, but in my weakened state all I could do was lay there. I met her gaze as steadily as I could.

"I would like to be alone," I requested.

Her smile slipped a little, and I could see that what I’d said hurt her, but I didn’t want to talk to her right then.

"Can Chris come in and say hello, just for a moment?" She asked with some urgency.

I thought about it for a split second and agreed. Why should I hurt him anymore than I already had?

Kathlene walked to the door and motioned Chris to come in. She spoke to him for a moment and he nodded an acknowledgement before approaching my bed with an unreadable expression. Kathlene waited by the door.

"Brian," he said in a neutral voice by way of greeting.

"Hi Chris," I responded quietly.

"I’m glad you’re okay," Chris said, again with no inflection. "I’ve been praying you’d be all right. I know you’re tired, so I’ll say what I have to say and leave you alone."

Some small amount of hostility crept into his tone. My shame redoubled. I couldn’t meet his eyes any longer and dropped them to my hands.

"You are the most selfish fucking person I have ever met," Chris hissed savagely, his fury revealed at last. "You don’t think about how what you do affects those around you. You don’t care that you scared Mom to death. You don’t care that she cried herself to sleep every single night you’ve been in here because she thinks it’s her fault you’re here in the first place. But we know better, don’t we Brian?"

He continued his verbal brutalization. "And you sure don’t care about me, because if you did, you would have asked me for help. I tried to help you even though you didn’t ask, but you wouldn’t listen. Well, I hope you’re happy. You’ve managed to cause more pain to everyone you know, and that makes it so fucking hard to care about you anymore."

"You’re right. I’m not worth it, Chris." I said at just above a whisper.

"But you know… what? What did you say?" Chris demanded.

"You’re right."

"Dammit, don’t agree with me! I’m not done yet."

"Christopher!" Kathlene called urgently, aghast at her son’s language.

"No," I said weakly to Kathlene. "Let him say what he wants to say."

"I don’t understand, Brian," Chris continued. "I don’t understand why you did this. What did I do to make you want to starve yourself? What could I have done to save you?"

Tears again trickled from my eyes as I stared at this boy- this young man- who had kept me sane for so long, even if I didn’t have a real reason to be crazy in the first place. He was my brother, no matter the circumstances from which that relationship grew. I swallowed and answered him, my voice void of emotion.

"There was nothing you could do, Chris. It wasn’t your fault. It was all me. I was stupid. I was stupid about everything. I see that now, and you don’t have to worry. I’m through being stupid."

Anger changed to worried concern in an instant. Chris’ face hid nothing.

"Brian, what does that mean?" He asked suspiciously.

"It means just what I said. It’s over."

Kathlene approached the bed to stand beside her son, resting her hand on his fist that gripped the bedrail.

"What’s over, hon?" She asked.

I stared into her eyes as I spoke. "Pete’s never coming back. I’ve known that since he left, but I didn’t want to believe it. Everything that’s happened since then is my fault. None of it would have happened if I had just accepted that he was gone and lived my life. Instead I fought it and destroyed other lives along with my own. It’s time… it’s time for me to go home."

Stunned silence filled the room. Again I dropped my eyes to my hands. A moment later my headache was back full force so I closed my eyes in an attempt to lessen the pain. In another moment, sleep claimed me.

This story is copyrighted by the author and the author retains all rights. This work may not be duplicated in any form, physical, electronic, audio, or other methods known or unknown without the authors express written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply and will be enforced.