Static (4 page)

Because of that, I was hesitant to tell her what
happened. I knew what she'd do. She wouldn't let this just go away.
She wouldn't let me brush it under the bed to be forgotten. No,
she'd go after Thane and Malice with a vengeance. Not only because
they hurt me, or at least I think they did, but because she'd been
in a band, she toured with other rockers and she despised those who
preyed on the obsessions and fantasies of groupies.

After one final hiccup, I lifted my head intent on
telling her everything, or at least the parts I was certain of,
when something inside me broke.

Pain I'd never experienced before ripped through me.
As if something, something large was trying to punch and kick its
way out of my stomach. Gasping, I doubled over unable to stay
upright.

"Salem!" My mom grabbed my arm trying to keep me from
falling on my face.

I couldn't get my breath to tell her I was in pain,
that something was wrong. Opening and closing my mouth like a
guppy, I dug my fingers into her arms holding on for dear life. The
abyss was coming for me. And it was dark and scary and full of
agony and torture. I didn't want to fall down into it. I knew I'd
lose my mind if I did.

Another wave of searing pain ripped through me. I
screamed. My body thrashed and writhed under the grip of the dark
agony. Spots formed in my vision and the room was spinning making
me dizzy. I was going to vomit. Maybe I could purge the violent
lashes of pain out of me. There had to be a way to make it
stop.

"Mom," I groaned. "I'm dying."

Murmuring to me, she helped me to lie on the sofa
putting a pillow behind my head. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I
pulled my knees up to my chest to try and cushion the tearing pain.
It didn't help, and I could feel my gorge rising. Leaning over the
side of the sofa I retched.

"Oh god." I heard my mom say as she raced out of the
room.

I couldn't think past the pain. I couldn't see
anything in front of me except dots of black and white. Everything
was spinning out of control. And I couldn't hold on, there was
nothing to grab. I was going to fly off.

Mom came back with a bucket and a wet washcloth. She
set the cool towel on my forehead. It gave me no reprieve. My head
seemed like it was going to explode. I was hot and sweaty and every
part of my body flashed harshly with pain.

"Jesus, you're burning up."

I wanted to hold my mom's hand. I wanted her to hold
me, to make it better, to chase the pain away. Delirious, I reached
for her. "Mom," I moaned. "Make it stop."

I don't know if she held me or not. I stopped feeling
anything outside my own body and dark agony. I couldn't see
anything as well, except for a ball of black light spinning and
spinning around in front of me making me sick. How can black light
burn?

It seemed like I was being sucked backwards into a
long black tunnel. My stomach flipped over as if I was dropping
fast, like riding a roller coaster. That light-headed feeling
enveloped me. And I smiled. The pain had subsided and I felt as
light as a feather, slowly floating down, down to the bottom.

"Salem!"

I heard her voice, but it seemed far off, as if she
was calling me from somewhere high above. I wanted to tell her it
was okay. That I was fine now, she didn't need to worry. I felt so
good; I heard music in my head.

"Breathe, baby! Oh God, please breathe!"

Spinning, spinning, turning out of control. Sounds of
whirring in my ears.

"Don't leave me, baby!"

Floating, floating, on a sea of air. A tinkling of
crystal tears.

"Don't die, Salem! God damn you, don't die!"

I'm filled with nothing but static...

Chapter 5

Someone was humming. It was light and melodic—a song
I should've recognized but didn't. Cool pressure on my forehead
forced my eyes open.

My mom smiled down at me, her hand stroking my face.
"Hey sweetie."

Blinking, I looked at her then beyond her to the
room. White blinds were pulled up allowing bright sunshine to beam
through an open window. I could hear birds chirping outside. The
walls were white, as were the ceiling tiles. And the curtain
separating my bed from the rest of the room was sunny yellow. I
supposed it should've all been cheerful, but the fact that I was
laying in a hospital room didn't make me feel all that cheerful.
How the hell did I get here? All I remembered was crying in my
mom's arms. Then after that it was pretty much a black hole.

"Hey," I croaked. My mouth and throat were really dry
as if all the moisture had been sucked out of my flesh.

"Are you thirsty?"

I nodded.

She grabbed a plastic cup of water from the movable
bedside table. It had a straw in it, and she bent it so I could sip
from it without lifting my head. The cool liquid was like heaven as
it went down my parched throat. I took one more sip before she took
it away and set it back onto the table.

"Why...why am I here?"

"You got sick, baby."

I tried to sit up. My arms, back and neck were sore.
They ached more than when I first woke up in the dumpster. Mom
helped me edge up; she tucked a pillow behind my back.

"How long have I been here?"

She stopped fidgeting with my pillow, and really
looked at me. It was then I noticed how red her eyes were and the
dark smudges under them. It looked like she hadn't slept in a
week.

"About thirty-six hours."

"What?!" I bolted forward, but my mom pushed me back,
keeping me from jumping out of bed.

"It's okay. You're going to be fine."

"But—but...that's over a day? How is that
possible?"

She sat on the edge of my bed, her hand still on my
arm. It was as if she couldn't stop touching me maybe to see if I
was real. What had happened to give her that haunted look on her
face?

"The day you came home late? Something happened, and
I had to call 911."

I gripped her hand hard pleading her to tell me what
was really going on. "What happened?"

"You stopped breathing. I couldn't revive you." Tears
welled in her eyes and her grip on my hand tightened.

My heart dropped into my stomach. "But I'm okay now,
right?"

She nodded, and the tears fell. Smiling, she wiped at
them with the back of her hand. "Yeah, you're more than okay,
baby."

The yellow curtain rustled, then parted and my dad
came through carrying a huge pink teddy bear. He nodded toward my
mom. "Hey Lynn." Then he smiled when he saw me awake. "There's my
girl." He bent down and kissed me on the forehead.

He hadn't called me that since I was eight. Not since
he got himself another daughter to call that–my half sister,
Heather, whom I despised. I also hated his new wife, Ginger. Every
time I came over, which used to be every other weekend until I got
old enough that I chose not to—she'd critique my wardrobe, my hair,
my grades, anything she could find to pick apart. And then she'd
blame it all on my mom.

He set the stuffed bear on one of the visitor chairs.
"The doctor says you're fit as a fiddle. No brain damage to speak
of."

I gasped. "Brain damage? Why would I have brain
damage?"

My mom sighed. "Charlie." She glared at my dad.

"What?" He put his hand up in defense. "What did I
do?"

"Why would I have brain damage, Mom?"

She looked at me again, and patted my hand. "You
weren't breathing for awhile, baby."

"How long is awhile?"

"Seven minutes."

I tried to think back to any of my science courses.
Did we learn about the brain? I couldn't remember. Science was not
my best subject. "Is that bad?"

"I guess brain cells start to die after five
minutes," my dad said shrugging as if he was telling me something
inconsequential like the weather.

"The thing here is that you're okay." Mom squeezed my
hand again. "Once the doctor sees you and asks you some questions,
you can come home."

I settled back into the plump pillow Mom put behind
my back but I definitely didn't feel settled. I was in shock with
what my parents had just told me. I had died. And been dead for at
least seven minutes. Except I didn't remember any tunnel of white
light. There were no angels singing to me, or hands of God coming
to take me safely home. I remembered nothing that cool.

Wait. That wasn't quite true.

I did remember hearing some music...

Hard, thrashing, rock n' roll type of music that left
a tinny taste in my mouth. Or it could've been that I bit my cheek
and I just now tasted the blood. There was a sore along my gum line
that I kept tonguing.

"I'm going to go talk to a nurse, baby. You
rest."

I looked at her with that ‘like what the hell else
could I do lying stiff with sore aching muscles in a hospital bed'
arch to my eyebrows. But I said, "Okay, Mom." I knew she was doing
everything she could to make me feel better. It just wasn't working
so well.

I didn't feel better. I was scared and in pain and
completely lost. I felt like one of those people who claimed to
have been abducted by aliens—disoriented and having lost a bunch of
time without being able to recollect anything that happened during
the lapse. Something had been stolen from me and I would never get
it back no matter what I did.

My dad patted my leg through the blanket. "I'm going
to go too. I just popped in to see how you were doing." He looked
uncomfortable standing there looking at me, his hands fidgeting at
his belt where his cell phone was clipped.

I smiled at him, but what I really wanted to do was
pop him one in the mouth. My dad hadn't been comfortable around me
my whole life. He never had a clue what to do with me. My parents
divorced when I was five and when I went to spend weekends with him
he had no idea how to handle it. He didn't know what to do when I
cried, or when I was scared. He'd just pat me on the head and hand
me the remote of the TV or the game console of the Playstation he'd
bought especially for my visits. Thankfully he knew how to cook, or
I suspected I would've dined on MacDonalds and pizza takeout for
all of my visiting weekends. I very well could've ended up a fat
lonely kid.

I stopped expecting much from him, so it didn't
surprise me that he was leaving just as soon as he'd arrived. Being
alone with me would be way too much for him to handle. I suspected
he didn't like being alone much anyway. He'd married Ginger only a
year after divorcing my mom.

"Ginger and Heather send their love," he said to me
before kissing me on the forehead.

"Right. Thanks." I knew that was a bunch of bullshit.
Ginger was probably right this moment praying to almighty God that
I never woke up. Then she could have Dad all to herself and never
have to share him again, especially his money.

After he pushed through the curtain, my mom glanced
at me. "I won't be long." She followed him through and I could hear
them arguing all the way out the door.

"What's the matter with you, Charlie?"

"Hey, I told it how it is. Salem's a big girl. She
can handle it."

"How would you know how Salem is? You haven't seen
her in like three months."

As their voices trailed off, I nestled into the
pillow and pulled the wool blanket up to my chin. My eyes were
heavy but the last thing I wanted to do was go back to sleep. I'd
slept long enough for my liking. But I couldn't deny I was still
tired.

Yawning I glanced around the room looking for
something to entertain me. There was no TV, I guess Mom couldn't
afford that luxury, but I noticed a few of my books on a table in
the corner and my Nintendo DS. If I could just reach them. Scooting
to the side to the bed, I reached out with my arm to try and grab
something, but every movement I made sent a new ripple of pain
through me. Defeated, I settled back into the pillow just as a
chill took hold of me.

I glanced at the window to the sunlight streaming in
thinking maybe the weather had changed. It hadn't. Usually the
bright sunshine made me feel warm and happy but instead a feeling
of despair washed over me. Out of my peripheral a dark shadow crept
across the floor, as if the sun was blocked by craggy looking
clouds. But every time I turned my head I couldn't see the shape
straight on. It disappeared into vapor. But it was there. I knew it
was there.

An ominous feeling settled over me. Something bad was
going to happen. The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. I
couldn't shake the cold creeping sensation trailing up and down my
back like spider's legs. A violent shiver racked my body and I
tried to pull the blanket tighter.

I had a sense that dying had been the least of my
worries. And that something worse was going to happen to me.

I watched the curtain hoping my mom would return,
certain her presence would chase the menacing sensation away. But
after ten minutes the curtain didn't part and I really had to use
the bathroom.

Shucking the blankets off, I swung my legs around and
set my feet onto the cold tiled floor. I sat for moment to gather
my strength, then stood. My legs were a bit wobbly. Grabbing my
buddy the IV pole, I pushed through the curtain and shuffled past
the other bed—thankfully unoccupied at the moment—to the little
bathroom in the corner of the room.

A cloying antiseptic smell hit my nose when I
entered. I'd always hated that odor. It reminded me of the times I
came to visit my grandpa before he died. It was supposed to be a
clean sterile smell but it reminded me of death and decay. Probably
not the response they were going for.

I quickly used the facilities, finding an amazing
amount of relief in that one small thing, and then went to wash my
hands. The water was cool and refreshing on my skin, and I bent low
to splash some on my face careful of the IV stuck in the back of my
hand. Maybe I could wash some of this fatigue and discomfort
away.