Hear No Evil: A Short Story

Hear No Evil

  By N. Anderson

  Text copyright © 2012 Nickie Anderson

  https://www.nickieanderson.blogspot.com

  Cover image copyright © Lev Dolgatsjov

  All Rights Reserved

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  **********

  In the back corner of Boone Hospital, beyond the sleep-deprived receptionist sipping her coffee, through two waiting rooms and up a flight of stairs, a small bump sat beneath sterile white sheets in the ICU. The room was dark, illuminated only by blinking bulbs from various equipment. The air pulsed rhythmically to the beat of of the machines tethered to the bump in the bed, feeding it, monitoring it. Tentacles of tubes ensnared the bump, a small girl lost in a small room.

  Outside the room, the nurses gossiped as they did their rounds. Gina was having her baby this week, Teresa finally bought a new car. They walked swiftly, assuredly, drawing fluid, replacing fluid. If not for the people laying in the beds, the ICU could have been a factory. A factory of sick, a production plant of disease. Test that blood, inject those medicines. Replace the oil and the filters, and you’ll be running like new. The wonder drugs will keep your motor smooth.

  Families of the patients walked mechanically between vending machines and restrooms. Cups of coffee were clutched in their hands, and worry had left permanent dark circles under their eyes. Outside the small girl’s room sat a woman sipping her own cup of coffee. Her hands trembled as she brought the styrofoam cup to her mouth. Her short blond hair was littered with graying roots; her makeup had worn off long ago. Nurses walked back and forth, never turning toward her. Why should they? Her daughter had been laying in bed, immobile and unresponsive, for days. Or was it weeks? Samantha couldn’t remember anymore, and that incessant gnawing at the edge of her stomach and bowels now felt as though it had always been there. The nurses had stopped paying attention long ago, but Sam still cared. She pushed herself up slowly from the under-stuffed lounge chair and opened the door to her daughter’s room.

  Sam sighed. Grace was so tiny. She seemed larger as an infant, she thought. Red, screaming, and full of life. And yet here was Grace, a tiny, pale, and fragile thing. Her daughter was almost thirteen, but she had lost so much weight and substance she now looked no more than nine or ten years old. Grace was now the same faded beige as the hospital walls, and her once long blond hair, shaved for exams and surgeries, had barely begun to grow back.

  Her baby. Sam remembered vividly the day she was born. Sam was tired, so tired from the delivery, but she laughed from sheer joy. She remembered holding her baby for the first time, caressing her, kissing her, nursing her. Grace had been perfect.

  And now Grace was laying in the hospital, and it was all her fault. If only, if only. Samantha had relived that day a thousand times in her mind, and it always came back to being her own fault. She edged toward Grace's bed, kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand. If Grace could wake up, maybe she could be forgiven. Maybe Grace would be laughing and smiling again, maybe they could take a trip to New York City like Sam had been promising for the last two years. Maybe things would be all right again.

  Sam slipped back out of the room. She sipped her coffee again, but it was cold and bitter. She thought for a moment about throwing it away and grabbing a fresh cup, but decided against it. Cold and bitter is how I’m feeling. She took another sip, and the stale coffee almost made her gag. Perfect.

  **********

  Inside Grace's room, the machines buzzed and beeped away. Regulate, regulate. Keep things within normal parameters. But something different happened, something outside the normal parameters of coma and unconsciousness.

  A toe twitched.

  A leg moved.

  A bright blue pair of eyes fluttered open.

  Even though the room was darkened, the small stream of light from the doorway caused the eyes to squint closed. After a moment of adjustment, they reopened.

  Wha– Where am I– What's going on?

  Wasn't she going to the lake to go fishing? Grace was in her mom’s new convertible, top down, the spring sun warming her skin. The fishing poles had barely fit into the back seat – they were tied down to the coolers the keep them from blowing away. And then –

  Grace was confused, and tried to sit up. Her sheets rustled, and her arm struck the side of the hospital bed.

  What is this am I dreaming?

  Everything smelled funny; the air had a stiff antiseptic flavor to it.

  I'm not at home, not at Grandma’s, oh please let me be dreaming. Where am I?

  **********

  Samantha heard the noise from behind her. She looked at the room to her left, then her right. Those patients were asleep. The nurses stood on the other side of the corridor, fussing with a new bag of IV fluid. Where did that noise come from?

  Sam heard it again, and pushed the door to Grace’s room open slowly. Grace’s squinted, straining against the light, but there was no mistaking that she was awake.

  Awake.

  Finally.

  "She's awake!" screeched Samantha. “She’s up!”

  The nurses down the corridor turned around, and the doctor on call stepped out of a neighboring room.

  “What?” said the doctor. Sam couldn’t remember his name. She couldn’t remember any of their names. She didn’t care.

  “My daughter. She’s moving.”

  Samantha threw her arms around Grace. “Shh, it’ll be fine, you’re ok, you’re ok now.”

  Sam could feel her daughter struggling against her. She stepped back and grabbed Grace’s hand instead.

  “You’re going to be fine Grace, you’ll see, it’ll be fine.”

  Grace coughed. As soon as she did, she looked more bewildered than ever. She coughed again, her eyes wide with panic. She threw her mother’s hand to the side, and punched her bed.

  Nothing, there's nothing, no noise why is it so quiet?

  Grace screamed, a low, gurgling cry, but she couldn’t hear that either. Grace began thrashing on the sheets.

  “She’s having a seizure!” Samantha screamed. “Please, help her!”

  The doctor put down his clipboard and ran in a moment later.

  **********

  The girl wasn’t having a seizure. Grace Richards, Dr. Phillips reminded himself. Patients are people. They have names.

  Grace Richards wasn’t having a seizure, then. He was confident of that. He was concerned when the patient was first admitted, when her brain was like a basketball shoved into a chicken egg, but they had drained the excess blood and fluid, swelling had subsided rapidly, and the scans done two days previously looked good. No, not a seizure.

  He watched the subject (Grace, he reminded himself) pound on her bed, wailing uncontrollably. Not a seizure at all. But the child (Grace!) was having a fit.

  Dr. Phillips walked over to the patient calmly and knelt beside her. He grabbed one of her wrists mid-flail, holding her arm firmly. “Grace. Grace. I’m Dr. Phillips. Your mother is here with me. Would you like to talk to her?”

  Grace’s fit stopped for just a moment, and then she jerked her hand away from the doctor.

  I can’t hear him either I can’t I can’t why what is wrong with me why why?

  She screamed, loudly this time, loud enough to jar the entire ICU, and began hitting her head.

  Knock it in, knock the sounds in, a little at a time, put them back in your head.

  A few nurses ran into the room. “Jackie, sedate her,” said Dr. Phillips.

  “Yes, Dr. Phillips,” Jackie replied. She walked out of the room and quickly returned with a bottle and a syringe.
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  Samantha grabbed the doctor’s coat. “Why are you sedating her? She just woke up!”

  “Do you think we can help her if she is like that?” Grace was still hitting herself in the head, kicking her sheets wildly and screaming.

  “No,” said Sam quietly, half to nurse Jackie sedating Grace, and half to herself. When Grace woke up, everything was supposed to be perfect again. But now...

  **********

  “Mrs. Richards– ”

  “Ms. Allen,” Samantha corrected.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Allen. It’s a miracle your daughter survived her first night here, let alone recovered consciousness. I know we previously discussed what your expectations for your daughter should be if and when she ever regained consciousness. You need to be prepared for the possibility that there may be some permanent damage.”

  “But you said... the scans... will she be normal?”

  “All of the scans we’ve done confirm that there is no longer any swelling in her brain, and that there are no blood clots, and that her brain is showing signs of normal activity.”

  “But?”

  “But the best way to determine if brain damage has occurred is to speak with Grace and work with Grace, watch her walk, talk, and move. We’d be looking for functional changes...”

  His voice drifted on, and Samantha looked at Grace. This was not how it was supposed to be.

  **********

  It was sunny, and Grace's back was terribly stiff. She stretched up her arms, yawning, and then opened her eyes.

  Where the hell am I? I thought that was a bad dream, what if that was real? Oh my god what is going on?

  She shut her eyes firmly, counted to ten, and waited for that bland beige room to fade away, to wake up in her own messy room.

  The beige room was still there when she opened her eyes.

  “Grace? Grace, sweetheart, are you awake?” Her mom was there, holding her hand.

  Grace thought for a moment about screaming, about crying, about hitting everything in sight, but instead sighed.

  “I can’t hear,” Grace whispered.

  “What?”

  “I can’t hear.” Grace knew she was making the right shapes with her mouth, the right feeling of the words, but the words were weightless on her tongue.

  If a tree fell in a forest but no one was there to hear it did it make a sound?

  Samantha sat in shock for a moment, and then yelled for the doctor.

  **********

  The next few weeks of appointments, scans, and exams were a blur to Sam. A specialist in Orlando, then another in Gainesville, people peering inside of her daughter’s skull and all of them telling her the same thing.

  The trauma was too severe.

  Permanent damage.

  She won’t hear again.

  And really, you should be thankful. Your little girl is luck to be alive.

  Plenty of people are deaf. She can lead a normal life, she just needs to learn to adapt to her situation.

  But Grace wasn’t coping. Samantha stared at her daughter through the kitchen window. Grace was sitting in a lawn chair in the back yard, motionless. She had lost so much weight that her doctors had stopped focusing on her hearing and started her on nutritional supplements. Grace had always been slender, but now...

  Now you could see the skin curving sharply around her bones, her short hair was growing back in thin, cotton-y wisps, her eyes were dark and sunken. Grace's hands looked as though they would break every time she flexed them.

  She wouldn’t eat, she barely drank anything, and she hardly moved.

  She’s vanishing.

  Grace hadn’t been back to school since the accident, and Samantha hadn’t pressed the issue. But it’s been months since she’s interacted with anyone. The counselor at Grace’s school suggested sending her to a boarding school for the deaf and blind. As much as Samantha wanted to keep her daughter near, it was beginning to look like a good idea.

  She’ll make friends. Meet people like herself. See that life goes on.

  Grace’s father lived near the school. Not like he would be of any help, but still. Maybe the man would evolve, grow a heart, and take an interest in his daughter. Especially now.

  Gary had already said he was too busy to help Grace move in, keep an eye on her. Busy. What a load of shit. He was probably busy screwing someone else’s wife.

  But Sam's sister, Carole, had offered to help, God bless her. If anything could fatten up Grace at this point, it would be Carole’s cooking.

  Samantha walked outside to her daughter and pulled up a lawn chair beside Grace.

  Why did all of the beautiful noises have to go? Even the ugly ones, the honking horns and alarms clocks and crying babies, and for god's sake even country music I would take all of them back.

  Grace saw her mom’s shadow cross the lawn, felt the blades of grass bend as she put down the lawn chair and sat beside her. Grace didn’t turn. Not yet. I don’t want to talk yet.

  Instead, Grace stared at a small bird hopping through the grass.

  Hi little bird. Wish you could talk to me, wish you were singing like you used to.

  The bird tilted its head thoughtfully and hopped a bit closer to Grace. Samantha shooed the bird and it flew away.

  Grace gave her mother a weak half smile. She tried to sit more upright and look a little more lively – she knew that her mother would appreciate it. Sam sat down down in the chair, and reached out for her daughter's hand. It had been a long time since the mother and daughter held hands, but now it felt natural and right. They sat like that for a few minutes, mother comforting daughter and daughter comforting mother. After a bit, Sam pulled away and started writing on their notepad.

  "Grace, there is a school in St. Augustine for deaf and blind children, and I was thinking about sending you there in January. You don't have to go if you don't want to, and you don't have to stay there if you don't like it, but I think it would be a good opportunity."

  Grace read the message and understood immediately. Her mother was worried about her. Grace was worried about herself. It was so quiet here, and so lonely – she knew her mother just wanted her to make friends. She nodded, and motioned for the pen.

  "I think I'll go. Maybe I can visit Dad while I'm there. Is it near him?"

  "Yes, it's near him, but he's been very busy."

  Grace understood. "Busy" to adults meant "no time for love".

  Sam wrote some more. "I'll drive you over in January and help you move into the school. If you need anything while you're away from home, you can always go to Aunt Carole's. She lives just a few blocks away, so you could even walk over there."

  Grace smiled. She liked Aunt Carole almost as much as she liked her mother. Aunt Carole was never busy.

  **********

  January seemed too far away. Samantha was away all day at work, and Grace just sat at home, always in the same spot in the backyard. A little patch of grass had died under the lawn chair, and Grace’s skin had turned a deep chestnut brown from hours of laying in the Florida sun. It made her bright blue sunken eyes seem all the more startling.

  Sam supposed her daughter did some reading, or watched TV, or did something throughout the day, but Grace was always awake before her, sitting in the yard, and she always stayed up so late. I wonder if she even sleeps anymore.

  Sam didn't sleep much. She barely slept for weeks after the accident. Whenever she closed her eyes she just saw –

  the sun splashing on Grace

  the fishing poles wobbling in the backseat

  the air was so clear

  and then there was a truck, and everything spun around, and the noise, the noise

  and there was so much glass, the airbag punched her in the face

  Grace wasn’t moving, she was covered in blood

  Sam's sleeping pills had killed the vision, and her antidepressants put her in a stupor through the day. I can’t worry any more, I’ll make myself crazy. But Grace...!

  Grace didn’
t seem to be getting any better, and Sam didn’t know what to do. And it’s barely October.

  **********

  Grace closed her eyes for a brief moment. The rest was refreshing. She supposed she slept a bit, but she didn’t really remember sleeping. She hadn’t laid in her bed for weeks, but she left the sheets messy so her mom would think she was sleeping.

  She just didn’t need to sleep anymore. She needed to be here, outside, and it was the craziest sort of compulsion. She had never been an outdoors person before, but she felt less alone in the backyard, staring at the woods on the other side of the fence.

  Her bird was in the yard again. Grace had a few crackers and seeds in her hand this time, tempting the bird to come closer.

  Good morning little bird, are you hungry today?

  hungry, hungry!

  Grace straightened up. This was the second day she had heard it, or felt it, or thought it. It was confusing. A small fluttery yellow idea had sprung into the back of her head. At first she thought she had been imagining it, but now...

  hungry, hungry you have crackers giveshare!

  Grace crumbled up the cracker on the ground, and the bird hopped next to her, devouring the crumbs.

  You can hear me?

  The bird fluttered up and down excitedly, and tilted its head toward Grace.

  Yes your voicethought BIG and SCARY but I think you kind others still scared but you giveshare food very kind!

  Grace giggled.

  Here are some seeds for you, too.

  The bird twirled and ate up the seeds as fast as he could

  Thank for giveshare, so kind kind! I am hungry tomorrow and tomorrow-morrow too!

  Grace was still laughing when her mother got home from work.

  **********

  I suppose being outside makes her happy.

  Grace was sitting in her same chair, surrounded by several birds. She had asked Sam to buy her some birdseed, and now she was giving it away wholesale to the swallows and plovers living in the woods next to their house. At first Samantha had minded paying for a couple of bags of seed each week, but Grace had never looked happier, and was finally starting to put on some weight. It was strange...

  Sam had often seen people feeding birds, but none quite like Grace. The birds formed a line in front of her chair, and almost seemed to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ for their seed. But if she walked up to Grace to get a better look, she inevitably scattered the birds.