What Hides Within (15 page)

In the cafeteria, bodies lay strewn among ham salad sandwiches, lukewarm hot dogs and tater tots. Pieces of plaster and people burned in small bouts of fire. Flesh melted like cheese off pizza.

Across campus, a science lab released noxious fumes as flammable chemicals threatened greater destruction. A French class lay devastated. A rec hall fell to pieces. After a while, the only sound coming from inside was the crackling of the fire.

Outside, a mass gathered in the courtyard. They stared in silence and grief at the smoky haze casting shadowy darkness about the school, blocking out the sun. Friends searched for each other through the crowds. Faculty did its best to tally the students, a futile task. So many were fleeing. So many were disassembled. Campus police tried to keep the chaos from spreading. None dared reenter the university.

The extent of death and destruction remained largely unknown. Some inside were still alive and in need of immediate medical attention, their skin seared, their bones shattered, their lungs contaminated and their veins opened. For most, medical attention would come too late. Those who did survive wouldn't be without their scars and sad stories. Of the crowd outside, none among it would be without fear or loss.

Elsewhere, the man responsible slept soundly, his mind at peace.

***

Clive awoke to a migraine, disoriented. A sense of unrest washed over him. Where was he? How long had he slept? Why did he feel grimy? Awareness was slow to return. Gradually, his world glued itself back together.

Something was jabbing him in the buttocks. He reached for it, but his motion was halted by some resisting adhesive. He ripped his arm free, swinging it wildly into the air. A quick glance educated Clive to both the cause of his immobility and his current surroundings. Bandages, half-stuck to Clive and covered with lint, hung wrinkled from Clive's right arm like loose skin must hang off that guy from the Subway commercials. The sheets themselves were filthy. It made Clive's skin crawl. Black dirt and yellow stains blotted the supposedly sterile linen.
Fucking hospitals
, he thought.

"Good morning, Uncle Clive," a familiar, tiny voice called out. "Actually, it's no longer morning."

The little girl moved in closer to Clive. His eyes hadn't fully adjusted, but he could easily make out the features of his niece, Victoria.

"Wow!" She leaned over him on the bed, no more than a foot from his face. "You must have been sleeping really still. There's a spider web on your nose."

Victoria moved in with the significant curiosity of an eight-year old. She pinched her thumb and forefinger together as she reached for the web.

Clive recalled a hazy dream about a spider and the searing pain he felt the last time he thought he saw a spider web protruding from his nose. He reached for Victoria's wrist, intending to prevent its action.

"Wait! Don't pull it!"

He cringed, but it was too late. Victoria pulled the web free. Clive watched in relief as she threw it into the garbage.
No pain? Thank God
, he thought.
It wasn't attached to anything this time.

He turned to his left, his eyes adjusting to the speckled light pouring in from a broken shade. He made out the contours of his brother, who sat quietly in a nearby chair.

"You guys didn't have to come. It was just minor surgery."

Kyle shrugged. "You've got to be the only guy I know who would consider brain surgery minor. Anyway, we haven't been here long. Mom was here for a while yesterday. She had difficulty finding your room. You know how she is. She gets a little senile now and then. Once she did find you, she didn't want to leave you until you woke up. But visitor's hours ended, and your waking took longer than expected."

"And that was yesterday? How long was I out?"

"The night after the operation, all of yesterday and most of today. They must have given you the good stuff, or you were in desperate need of sleep, man. Mom got here yesterday, since the doctors told us you'd sleep through the first night. When you didn't wake up by this morning, Mom needed to go home to freshen up. So I told her I'd take over babysitting you for a while."

"You didn't have to do that."

"It's no big deal. We were here anyway. Rachel's in a different wing."

"Oh."

Clive squirmed in his narrow bed. The object poking his ass cheek wouldn't relent. "What the hell is that?" he asked himself aloud.

From underneath his butt, Clive pulled out a clear, thin tube. He held it up for his brother's inspection.

"Looks like they haven't been giving me much of anything. No wonder I slept so long. My body has had to heal all by itself. Makes you feel great about the staff here, doesn't it? What do you suppose this tube was for? I.V.? Saline? Life support? Well whatever it was, it's out now."

"I'll be right back," Kyle replied, jumping from his seat. "Watch Victoria for a minute? I'm just going to go check up on Rachel."

"Sure thing."
Open mouth, insert foot. Great job, Clive.

Clive looked at his niece. Victoria was fixated on the EKG machine. She flicked every switch and punched every button, her curiosity apparently trumping her caution. It didn't matter. Clive's heartbeat wasn't being monitored, unless he didn't have one. The screen was black and silent.

"So, Victoria? How's school?"

"Okay, I guess. Some of the kids are stupid. I beat up this boy Carl, and Daddy got mad at me."

"Did he deserve it?"

"He called me a booger nose and said I had a camel toe. I've never even seen a camel."

"I'd say he deserved it then, but let's keep that between you and me."

Beside Victoria, Clive noticed some flowers sitting on an end table. Attached was a card, signed by Morgan.

"Somebody likes you," Victoria said, letting out an innocent giggle. "She even used the word, 'love'."

"You read my card?"

Victoria's face turned red. She nodded sheepishly.

"She's Uncle Clive's best friend."

"Yeah, best friend with benefits!" Victoria laughed.

"Victoria!" Clive was more amused than shocked. "How do you know that expression?"

"I'm already grown up, Uncle Clive. I know all about those things, even though Daddy doesn't think so." The blush in her face brightened.

"Well, I have to agree with your Daddy on this one. You're way too young to be talking about that kind of thing."

Clive eyed the end table a second time, wondering if anybody else cared enough to get him something. He saw some tulips with baby's breath in a familiar vase, his mother's favorite. At the far corner, he spotted a 3.5" by 2" card.

"What's this?" Clive asked, reaching for the card.

"That's from Detective Reilly. I hope she's your girlfriend, Uncle Clive. She's pretty . . . reminds me of that lady cop on
Law & Order
. Is she your girlfriend? Daddy said it was none of our business, but you don't mind me asking, right?"

"No, she's not my girlfriend."

What would a detective want with him? He paid off all his parking tickets, and he never so much as spit on the sidewalk. And a detective as opposed to a normal police officer? This seemed important.
I hope nobody died.

"So you saw her?"

"Yeah. She came in while you were sleeping a little while ago."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"She wanted you to call her, and she left that card. Maybe she wants a date!"

"What do you think? Should I give her a call?"

"Yep. She's cute, and it's about time you got me an aunt."

Clive flipped Detective Reilly's business card between his fingers. Its circular motion began to blur, and Clive felt his eyelids fall beneath their weight. Consciousness waned. His thoughts became less lucid. He wondered whether he should call the detective as he drifted back to sleep.

The card fell from his hand. With the last of his thoughts, it disappeared.

When Clive awoke, he was still in the hospital. Countless hours wasted away. His body felt numb, atrophying.
Why am I still here? When will a doctor see me? Did something go wrong?

As daylight cycled away, Clive had many visitors. Too many. He couldn't get them to leave. His mother, Kyle, Morgan, Connie and even Derek showed up to wish Clive a quick recovery from his bed-ridden state. He felt fine. His brain seemed to be functioning. Whatever had been cut off seemed to lack any utility. Perhaps best of all, he hadn't imagined that voice all day.

Feeling better than he had since that day at Milford Pond, Clive couldn't understand why the doctors kept him. Yet, no one came to release him. The operation seemed to have been successful. It was all he could think about as he meandered through one trivial conversation after another with almost pre-programmed dialogue. He desperately wanted some time alone to verify his "cure."

"I'm exhausted," Clive said, faking a yawn and stretching his arms.

"Get some sleep."

Morgan, the last to leave, sat stoic by his side. She had outlasted them all and was showing no signs of letting up.

"I can sleep here."

"Thanks, Morgan, but you don't have to."
Really. Get out.
"I'll be fine. Go home and get some sleep. I'll be out tomorrow, I'm sure. They're probably just keeping me for observation."

"But--"

"Thank you. But I need rest. My head is all messed up. I'd feel better if I knew you weren't here worrying about me."

"I'll worry about you whether I'm here or not."

"Morgan, please . . ."

Morgan let out a deep breath, which told Clive he'd finally persuaded her. "Okay, Clive. I'll do whatever you want. If you change your mind and want company, please give me a call."

Morgan got up to leave. She paused, looking disheartened. Clive flashed an insincere smile, though he doubted it would appease her.

Sitting up, Clive continued to flash that phony smile as Morgan closed the door behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, his body tensed. His hands shook. His mouth dried. Not a particle in his being felt tired at that moment. He was anxious and afraid.

"Chester?" he called out cautiously. His eyes darted rapidly around the room. All was silent. Clive began to think that maybe he had been cured. Hearing nothing, his body relaxed. His hallucinations were simply an unwelcome side-effect of post-surgical painkillers. His sanity remained intact.

I'm here
.

If Clive had been afraid before, now he was downright terrified. If he had thought he was crazy, now he was damn near certain of it. His problems transcended the physical.

"That's impossible," he stuttered. "The operation--"

Was a waste of time, just as I said it would be. But don't take my word for it. Ask Dr. Landenberg. Better yet, ask his nurse. She'll spill the beans. She hates Dr. L."

"I'll be sure to do that," Clive responded, his defiance returning. "And my dream?"

That was no dream.

"So let me get this straight. You expect me to believe that you're a spider, that you live in my head, and that you can talk? And I'm supposed to believe that over the alternative, that I'm either mentally fucked in the head or physically fucked in the head, i.e. brain damaged?"

How much more convincing do you need?

"I must be crazy. I'm crazy for even talking to you. It's just a matter of time before they send me to the crazy ward. Maybe that's why they're keeping me here."

Pull yourself together. Talk to that nurse. She'll tell you that there was nothing wrong with your head and that they performed unnecessary surgery on you, risked your life for no reason other than Dr. Landenberg's incompetence. But don't be surprised when I say I told you so. I got him back for you, though. I bull's-eyed him in the cornea with my web. Believe me, it wasn't an easy shot. He was wearing glasses.

"I don't have to listen to this nonsense. I'll just ignore you until you go away."

You can try, but it won't work. I'll keep on talking, whether you're listening or not. However, your reluctance to accept me is beginning to wear thin. Living up here gives me tremendous power over you. Our relationship needn't be so . . . collaborative.

Clive's concern rose faster than the homeland security threat level when an Iranian carries a briefcase at the airport. "What do you mean?"

I could own you if I wanted to, but I choose to do this friendly-like. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.

A strange sensation overcame Clive. His head felt as though it were a piano and someone were delicately tuning its strings. Fluid warmth spread slowly across his lower extremities. His bed sheets darkened around his midsection. His thighs became damp and sticky.

"Gross! You made me piss myself! How is that cool? And how am I going to explain that to the nurse?

Clive was more beaten than angry. He gave in to his dark stowaway.

"Okay. Say I believe you. Say I believe I have a talking spider named Chester living in my head."

You're the one who called me Chester.

"Whatever. Say I believe you're real. What's next?"

Nothing. Go on living your life. If you let me, perhaps I can make it better for you. There's a lot that I know that you don't. Basically, I know everything that you know and a whole lot more. What is it they say? "Knowledge is power," a quote with which you weren't formerly familiar. See? I'm already teaching you new things. In fact, there's a good chance I could make your life worth living.

"Yeah, you've done a great job of that so far." Clive shrugged, but he couldn't kid himself into thinking that he wasn't somewhat interested in what Chester had to say. After all, it wasn't every day he encountered a talking spider.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm listening. What, pray tell, can you supposedly do for me?"

Well, let's start with your job. You should quit that miserable place, but since you are destined to obscurity and adverse to change, how about I get you a promotion and a raise by the end of the week?

Clive laughed, and for the first time in a while, it was genuine. "Career advice from a spider? That's rich. What would you know about working for an insurance company? And a raise
and
a promotion? I'd like to see you try. Have you met my boss?"