04

All That Blooms in Spring - 03-04

Was it all a dream?

Those who contributed or helped with this piece felt it should be four chapters. I did that, but after some internal debate, decided to post these last two chapters together. I just feel like readers lose interest after three different parts, so it's on me. It's a little longer than the first two for that exact reason.

The Public Health System now, with HIPPA, has a patient's chart completely filled in with ALL pertinent information, and it's almost always kept at the foot of the patient's bed. Any doctor, who prescribes pharmaceuticals, has that information entered into a national database, so any other doctor treating that patient can refer to it. Pretty effective for minimizing errors with patients, but it doesn't make for very good fiction - hence my own personal world of medicine.

If you work for a three-letter government agency, or are a member of a state's True National Guard, you'll find the truth in this part of the story refreshing. If you get your information from a cable news program and actually believe it, then go ahead and comment negatively, but realize that 83% of those reading already know what's up, at least in general, and will look upon you with pity. It's only a small part of the tale anyway. It's entertainment, and not intended to 'trigger' anyone.

Relax: it's only a story, people.

The dreams were horrific, but the bigger problem was trying to ascertain if they were really dreams or not. My head hurt all the time. It was hard to tell if that was because of my injuries, or because of the vile, disgusting existence I was forced to endure with my wife, Jackie. I supposed it could be both - the exact opposite of a loving, healing environment, and it dragged me down to hell one brain-piercing throb at a time.

My mind swirled as I lay on my bed in our home. Then Jackie was there, on hands and knees, her face just inches from mine. She was moaning and groaning, but not out of grief or remorse. It was guttural. It was animal. She was coming. Someone was behind her. Suddenly Todd's face came into view, his chin leaning on Jackie's left shoulder as he was clearly rutting in her. The evil smile he wore as he mercilessly defiled Jackie told me he was enjoying the vulgar dissection of our marriage.

I tried to move. I tried to talk, scream, even whisper. I couldn't do any of those things. I was paralyzed in such a way it seemed I might be invisible to them - except I wasn't. They were both looking right at me, thoroughly enjoying my debasement. The dreams, sometimes with Jackie in more inventive sexual positions, would always end after Todd unloaded in her, and then pulled out to nefariously wipe his soiled, extremely large cock on my face.

I only knew it was a dream after the fact, because each time, I had no recollection of things happening in any analogous or recognizable order. Those nightmares were interspersed with wonderful dreams of Ann and me. Sometimes they would be slightly sexual in nature, but mostly they would just be us together. In those dreams, I always felt loved because I felt connected to her.

From somewhere in my dream, I heard, "He's waking up again." In the dream, Ann and I were running through a field of daisies.

"He's regaining consciousness. Someone get the nurse." The daisies were gone. The blue cloud-splattered sky and the warm sunlight melted away. Ann was gone. My headache returned. The new smell was familiar, with a sterility to it.

And what is that beeping?

I wondered.

"Peter," the familiar voice stated. I heard shuffling, and then felt a hand in mine. "He's moving his hand," the same voice said.

My eyes opened and involutarily closed. The bright lights hurt my head. I squinted. There was a foggy form of a woman. As my eyes focused, the form became my wife, Jackie. A warm hand lifted my right eyelid and shined a bright light, then repeated the process with the left. The flurry of activity suddenly died down and everyone was intently watching me.

"Mr. Townsend, can you hear me?" a male voice asked. "Just blink if yes. Don't move your head." I did as he asked.

"You're at Memorial Hospital, Mr. Townsend," the man stated. "I'm Doctor Barnes. You've had a severe fall, and have been here for quite some time."

Dr. Barnes described my injuries, and they lined up exactly with what I remembered Ann telling me, that first day I'd woken up in her cabin. My wife was still next to me, tighly squeezing my hand. There were two other hospital employees in the room, too, and in the background stood, Todd and Alise.

"What are they doing here?" I asked, cutting someone off. "Where's Ann?"

The doctor looked at my wife, puzzled, and she returned his gaze. She didn't look as surprised. Ignoring my second question, she replied, "Our friends came with me. They've been so worried about you."

"Well I don't want them here," I demanded. "I want to talk to Ann."

"Who is that?" Jackie asked, looking from me to Dr. Barnes.

"I believe your husband is referring to the woman who found him," the doctor knowingly responded. "You will be able to speak to her later, Mr. Townsend. May I call you Peter?" I nodded.

"Right now," he continued, "we need to get a new CT scan, and formulate a rehabilitation plan to get you up and moving. That will be congruent with some solid food in your system. We removed your breathing and feeding tubes yesterday, as you were showing signs of continued consciousness.

"Well, I'll get that scan scheduled right away, and give you some time together," he went on. "Nothing strenuous and no excessive excitement, please. You can talk while relaxing, but that's it."

His gaze drifted towards the back of the room by the door. "You two will need to step out with me," he said to Todd and Alise.

Jackie obviously wasn't listening to Dr. Barnes and was talking at a mile a minute. She told me she was so happy I was awake, so happy I was alive, so happy I'd been found. It was touch and go for a while, she explained. She'd been so distraught. She conveniently forgot to mention exactly when she'd started to worry. She omitted the details of her 'morning after' in favor of making herself sound like the perfect wife.

I quickly tuned her out as my thoughts drifted to Ann. It was interesting that Jackie didn't know who my savior was. Suddenly, a light bulb came on.

"Jackie," I interrupted, "what's today's date?"

She stopped, stunned. "It's... ah, May twenty-third." She responded, a little too quickly.

"And how long have I been here?" I followed up.

She looked quizzically at me. "Since your accident," she told me, as if there wasn't any other answer.

"That's... impossible," I stuttered. I turned my face away from her, starring at the opposite wall.

Just then, an orderly came in, made sure I was secure, and started to roll me away to get the CT scan. It seemed telling that Jackie had clammed up tight after my declaration. Something very strange was going on, and I didn't expect to get many answers until I saw Ann. I had to see her. Missing her - feeling an emptiness in my life without her - made me realize just how far we'd come, emotionally.

When I was returned to my room, Dr. Barnes was there again, with my wife. He was telling her that it was time to go for the night and let me rest. After a few minutes of small talk, with the Dr. outlining my following day and eventual discharge plan, Jackie leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. Dr. Barnes wished us a good night, and his parting look told my wife she needed to follow soon.

"I know we have a lot to discuss, Pete," she said quietly, "and we will over the next few days. Get some rest." She paused for a moment, but decided to press on. "I love you, you know. I always have. I'm sure it's tough right now, piecing things together and thinking of that... night. In all the haze and uncertainty, my love for you is the sure thing. And I'm positive we'll be okay."

I just nodded as Jackie leaned closer and studied my face. I was already of the mind that the less I said the better, which only proved how badly I mistrusted her.

I laid in bed thinking for a very long time. Even if there'd been nothing to think about, I didn't want to roll the dice on another one of those nightmares. As it stood, though, I had quite the Gordian knot to untie: if it were indeed the end of May, as Jackie had said, then what had been real, and what had only been a dream? I kept insisting to myself that Ann, and the time we'd spent together, could not have been a dream. Dreams didn't have that kind of detail.

Jackie had done her best to act normal, but her best hadn't nearly been good enough. Why Todd and his wife had accompanied her to Visalia loomed ominously. I didn't really want to think about that. I was pretty sure my sudden outburst had told Todd where we stood. I thought about what Dr. Barnes had told me. He'd named the exact injuries Ann had told me I sustained. I reached under the blanket to my right leg. I could feel unevenness where the branch had punctured it during the fall.

Finally, I drifted off to sleep, and, for the first time in recent memory, I didn't dream. At the very least, I didn't remember them.

The next morning, a routine began - one I was quite familiar with. I was given a small serving of yogurt, some warm chicken broth, and eight ounces of Gatorade. Dr. Barnes came in and told me that the results of the CT scan were very promising, and that, barring any complications, I'd be observed for four more days, then released to go home. He said I was healing nicely, and their only concern was my head injury. When I corrected him and said, "Two head injuries," he looked at me strangely, and continued. The doctor told me he was sending the files to my family physician and also to a neurologist he'd recommended in our home town; I would need to see that specialist weekly for at least two months. The neuropsychologist will be in shortly to finish up your discharge.

Jackie came in alone, and tried to look busy getting me 'comfy.' "I'll need to leave mid-day," she lamented. "I've used all my FMLA leave, and besides, I need to get the house prepared for your arrival," she said with a smile.

She also mentioned having 'our' friends help her set up a ramp on our front porch. The doctor had said he didn't want me on any stairs for at least six weeks after going home. Luckily, we had a ranch-style home.

I responded flatly, "set up our spare room as my sleeping quarters." She looked surprised and defeated when I told her that.

Immediately, my reaction was to also inform her that I didn't want Todd in our home, but I realized it was a moot point. He - and for all I knew, maybe Jeff, - had probably been fucking her grief and concerns away, for months already. The truth was that I didn't want to go home. I didn't care that she was leaving, and I'm sure she picked up on that.

Forty minutes later, the door opened and there she was - followed closely by that son-of-a-bitch, Dalton. I instantly recoiled.

Ann seemed troubled by that. "Is this not a good time?" she asked, looking to Jackie.

"No, it's fine," Jackie replied, oblivious to my threatened demeanor. "He's been awake for a while. Honey, this is Ann P..."

"I know who it is!" I said loudly. There was an unsettling quiet in the room until Ann stepped forward towards my bed. More awkwardness ensued as I went to embrace her, while she had only been reaching to shake my hand. That wasn't right. That wasn't right at all.

"I'm Ann Pierce," she said politely. "This is my husband, Dalton. We're so happy to see you awake and alert. We were quite worried about you, considering how we found you."

I studied her face intently for any sign of recognition or emotion. My confusion and, anger, weren't helping me concentrate.

What the hell is happening?

I thought.

My attention drifted, and I found every eye in the room staring back at me. That triggered what I'd describe as a healthy dose of paranoia. I decided to play along.

I focused on Ann; ignoring Dalton helped me cool off a little. "A 'thank you,' is in order, I suppose," I said with a half-smile. "Thank you for saving my life. Tell me about it - how you found me - what you did before getting me here."

"Well," Ann started nervously. She was wringing her hands. Something I'd observed her doing at the cabin. "Dalton and I were out on the trails in our quads. We're from the Midwest, by the way, and had rented a cabin near where you all were staying. Anyway, Dalton spotted something bright-colored in the trees as we came over a berm, and quickly realized it was a backpack. It had clearly fallen from above, so we drove over, trying to find a path closest to the tree. That's when we spotted you."

She left it there for some reason. I didn't say anything, but gave her a look telling her to continue.

"You were unconscious," she went on, "and in bad shape. Dalton quickly used a tarp we had in the vehicle, and a few sturdy branches to fashion a crude stretcher so we could get you back to our cabin." She'd used those exact words - 'crude stretcher' - when she told me this story the first time, minus the Dalton.

"I'm an M.D., so I tended to you as best I could without any medical supplies. You had a severe head injury and lots of swelling, so while my husband rushed down to the general store, I used my training to relieve the pressure on your brain. Nearly two hours later, authorities and paramedics were there, and then you were airlifted here to the hospital."

The look on my face must have shown my disbelief in her story. Everyone else was still staring at me, and I got the distinct feeling they were waiting to see if I accepted it.

"Well, I appreciate everything you've done," I stated flatly, "both of you - really, I'll never be able to thank you enough or repay you."

Dalton didn't try to shake my hand. Ann did, though, and then they left. I felt like my world left with her. When Jackie started up her mundane reverie, I couldn't even bear to look at her.

Jackie left shortly afterwards, with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to see me in a few days. I had very little to say to her. We didn't have any time to discuss our issues, and I really had no desire.

I lay in bed, thinking. My mind was a pail of mush. The only interruptions were from nurses coming in to check on my vitals and bring me food. I finally asked for some paper and something to write with. I needed to get a grip on my situation, and wade through all the bullshit.

I tried to break down both stories as rationally as I could, recognizing that I desperately wanted one to be true and the other to be false. I still couldn't accept I'd been unconscious for so long; I had a powerful sense that I'd experienced at least some real and true things during that supposedly-lost time.

I had to admit, though, that the way I'd been unconscious so long was suspect. Yet, there were things about my memories of Ann that strained credulity - the fact that she could have gotten my injured and unconscious body back to her cabin alone, for instance. It also seemed highly suspicious that the search teams - the ones I'd seen, heard, and read about at Ann's cabin - had located my pack, but absolutely no other evidence that I'd suffered my accident or been rescued. Lastly, I had to wonder just how much somebody could have done for me with a bunch of kitchen utensils. The new Ann's story had trained professionals with real equipment getting to me within hours. The version I so wanted to be true had her singlehandedly stitching me back together like MacGyver, and then failing to contact anybody, ever. On reflection, it was hard to square 'my' Ann's saintly personality with such gross negligence.

Then there was my time with 'my' Ann at the cabin. I did remember worrying about why she hadn't contacted anybody, but I also remember those concerns melting away. My feelings for her had changed rapidly too. The way I'd fallen for her - or under her spell - seemed unlikely. The relationship seemed to go from zero to one-hundred in almost no time at all.

That was the main point

, I thought. My time with Ann was almost as much a blur as some of the dreams I knew were dreams. The sticking point was that, despite the blurriness, it all seemed so chronological - not just as it had happened, but still, in my hospital bed, as I feverishly scratched on my pad of paper.

As I wrote everything, and tried to prioritize it, I suddenly had a horrible thought. I began to wonder if even more of my memories were just dreams - or, rather, nightmares. Jackie's behavior had changed on a dime. Her new desires had seemed to go against everything we'd believed in as a couple.

I found myself wondering if I should trade one nightmare for another: the unfaithful wife for the far-more-severe head injury that had utterly scrambled my memory, and perhaps permanently destroyed my ability to tell dreams from reality.

I tried not to let the panic set in. I told myself that there must be some kind of footage somewhere to confirm some things - possibly going back to Amber and me at the general store. Of course, once I started telling myself I could play detective, the temptation to do so in favor of 'my' Ann was overwhelming. I wanted to see her cabin. I needed to see it.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks:

Ralph!

Ann's ex-husband was the key to everything. She'd promised to she would check in on me once more - the next day - before returning to their home. That gave me one opportunity to interrogate her - to see if, somehow, I could get her to acknowledge that Ralph was real. If he was real, then 'my' Ann was real. That meant that everyone was lying to me - the doctor, the people at the hospital, Ann herself, Dalton - whoever he was - and, of course, my wife. I knew that should have terrified me, but I didn't. I wanted only to get to the truth.

A conspiracy of that scope did seem preposterous, and, if Dalton were really just a private investigator, it seemed quite unlikely that he'd have the pull or the resources to orchestrate it. My wife, I knew, had a motive to lie to me. If Ann was 'my' Ann, then she was vulnerable to all sorts of pressure; as much as I hated to think it, I had to concede the possibility that her 'admissions' to me at the cabin had been lies themselves. The doctors and nurses were a step too far. That was the sticking point.

I lifted my hospital blanket to examine my lower extremities. Fortunately, I wasn't secured or chained to the bed, except by all the leads and tubes. I gently swung my legs off the right hand side. It felt good, for some reason, to have my feet planted firmly on something solid. Then I evaluated the slack on the various leads and tubes. I could stand, and move a little. The main piece of equipment that most of the stuff was attached to had wheels, but was also plugged into an outlet. I knew well enough that disconnecting anything would set off alarm bells.

Carefully, I stood. Keeping my feet on the floor, I shuffled, rather than walked towards the door. There was an elongated vertical window in the door, so I could see out into the hallway. Inch by inch I crept until, finally, all the slack had been taken up. Looking out, I barely saw what appeared to be two men sitting in chairs off to the left of my room. They were both dressed in black suits, but their faces were just out of my view. I knew at that moment there was quite a lot Ann and others were keeping from me.

I carefully climbed back into bed, got myself sorted out, and slept well. For the first time since I'd regained consciousness - or had regained it again - I didn't feel like I was going mad. I knew I was being lied to. What a strange thought to have provided such comfort, but it did.