Four Times Squared

Four Times - Squared

Dean survives! But can he live?

Okay, I saw too many similar comments to leave it alone. I appreciated the 50% who understood the reasons the story had to end as it did. There were enough crumbs and clues left, I thought, but it seems that there were some who needed the living revenge and retribution. I mean, it was laid out in the first sentence of the story, and the 'how' was then written into the next four paragraphs. Why bother to describe a guy's ailment otherwise? Dean's death was the 'ultimate revenge' against Steve and Ashley, in this author's opinion. It's the gift that keeps on giving. So, the original is the real BTB outcome. Try to imagine the overwhelming guilt Ashley has every time she's with Steve after that; whether in bed or just at the mall. Plus, Dean's in a better place, right? And he gets the girl!

Of course, I do concede that not everyone believes in an afterlife. That saddens me a bit, and I'm astonished considering the abundance of paranormal investigators and hard evidence, but it's not any of my business. These days, it would be almost impossible to prove that something 'after life' doesn't exist.

So, here's another ending that may be more palpable for those who wanted Dean to 'bring it.' I'm sure you'll let me know. I'm actually looking forward to seeing if the results remain the same - about 50-50.

With all the comments on the original, I'm giving blanket permission here to come up with your own ending and publish it.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

"My name is Dean. Dean Browning. Please, please let me stay!" I was saying over and over to no one in particular. Maybe that's why no one seemed to be listening.

Oh God, I was in pain! And I was incredibly sad - painfully sad for some reason. My head pounded, throbbing in time with my beating heart. My heart was beating. I didn't know what to make of that; I still felt sad, but I wasn't sure whether I was - or should be - sad

about

the fact that my heart was beating.

Pain was easier to understand. My heart was sending blood through my body, and that blood was pounding into my head. I tried to slow down my breathing, in the hopes that it I might gain a fraction of a second more relief between the relentless hammer blows.

While I worked on that, I also started to take stock of my surroundings. Doing so was a challenge since I couldn't open my eyes. They were bandaged over or something. Oh shit, what if I no longer had eyes? At least I still had ears; I knew that because that confounded beeping was driving me crazy. I'd heard that sound before; I was in a hospital. Next was what I felt: lots of stuff attached to me, and some of it very unpleasant. There was something deep in my throat - probably a feeding tube or something to help me breathe. I felt what I assumed were leads on my temples and my chest. My hands felt bandaged and immobile. I couldn't feel anything on my legs or feet, so maybe they'd escaped the worst of whatever had happened to me.

.

My mind went back to the dream that had felt so real. Since I couldn't see anything anyway, I tried to focus on Emily's sweet face. She was so beautiful, just like always. Then I saw my parents; why were they with her? The only thing they had in common now was that they were dead. Maybe I'd been close myself. Maybe I got lucky, and some doctor brought me back. Funny, that. I didn't feel lucky.

That dream had been quite vivid. I remembered Emily's soft touch, and how she'd kept squeezing my hand. It felt like she'd been communicating with me nonverbally. The oddest thing was that I hadn't had to gauge any of her words. I don't know how or why, but it had seemed that Emily had been incapable of any lie, fib, or falsehood. Everything she'd 'said' had been genuinely pure and could be accepted at face value.

Then I remembered that, yes, my parents had been a part of the dream. They'd seemed... happy. There was also a foggy memory of my wife and friend sitting in my living room. They'd been very sad.

A thought of how I felt about my wife, Ashley, came to mind, followed by a brief remembrance of why I felt the way I did. Specifically, what she'd done to me, to illicit those feelings.

Just then, I heard movement in the room. I turned my head towards the footsteps. Whoever was there gasped and came closer to the mechanism that was beeping. The footsteps quickly left the room, and then returned in triplicate.

"Mr. Browning?" said a voice. "If you're awake please gently shrug your shoulder."

I did as directed, and heard them shuffling about.

"Mr. Browning," the voice continued, "you're at Memorial Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. You were airlifted here. You've been in an accident and are badly injured, and have been through surgery. You're awake a little earlier than we expected. That's a good sign, but we need you to rest for a while longer so we're going to give you something for your pain and to help you get back to sleep. I'll be back in the morning to discuss your injuries and what's being done to get you well. Please just rest, and don't try to move much."

It wasn't long at all before I was dreaming of Emily again. She was on her knees, tending to some flowers in a garden.

"Oh, hi Dean," she said as if all was perfectly fine. "Were you thinking of me?"

I didn't answer or nod, but it felt like I did. I had a lot to say - ask, really - but I just stood there like a dummy, staring at my lovely lost friend. I wished like anything that I could remain with her, but something told me definitively that I could not.

"It wasn't time yet, Dean," she stated without speaking, while going back to her work. "Your heart started, so you'll have to stay there a while longer."

With my mind I told her, "But I didn't want to leave. I want to stay with you."

Emily looked up and smiled that sweet smile that melted me like the first time I'd ever seen her. She motioned for me to sit by her.

"What are you going to do, Dean?" she asked in a carefree tone. "With your life, I mean? What kind of life will you live, and how will you use the gift?"

I had no idea what she meant, but that also seemed fine by her. Both Emily and the garden started to fade away, and I was back in the darkness.

When I came to, I was fairly certain I wasn't dreaming. There seemed to be a flurry of activity in the room. I felt a little pressure on my right hand, and then someone was swabbing my lips. The wetness felt good. A female voice asked me not to move. Someone else was gently wiping my forearms with a warm sponge or cloth. Then I guess the doctor entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Browning," he said cheerfully. "I'm Dr. Nash, and I'm the attending physician assigned to you. We're going to start by talking about what happened, and the extent of your injuries. Don't nod, just shrug if you understand."

I did, so he went on.

"Sir, you were in a bad automobile accident. Do you remember that?" he asked. I shrugged again.

"Okay," he said shuffling some papers. "Your car went through a guardrail, and over an embankment. You were found badly injured in the ravine below. Do you remember that as well, sir?"

I shrugged.

"So," he continued, "you were unresponsive when you arrived here. Your heart stopped, was restarted, and you were taken into surgery. You had several broken or cracked ribs. You had a concussion, although no swelling of your brain. Your hands were badly cut as a result of coming into contact with the windshield. They also likely saved your life. Most people wouldn't think to let go of the steering wheel. They will be bandaged for at least a week, and reevaluated then. You've been here three days."

There was a pause as Dr. Nash inhaled a deep breath. I didn't like that at all.

"Your legs were crushed in several places in the fall. Your spinal cord was nearly severed at lumbar four. Your C-7 was also fractured - probably when your head rebounded off the wheel or airbag. You'll be given some McKenzie exercises to help you when you have neck pain. The exercises help keep the fluid from leaking through the hairline fracture. Mr. Browning, right now, I'd like you to shrug if you feel something, anything, alright?"

Shit

, I thought. That's why nobody was doing any work below my waist. I waited and waited - nothing.

"Anything, Mr. Browning?" he asked me, seeming to already know my answer. "Shrug once for no and twice for yes."

I shrugged once, heartbroken.

"Okay, Mr. Browning," he stated. "As devastating as this probably seems, it's not the end of the world. Your body has undergone a serious trauma. Your spine will need time to heal, as will the rest of you. We'll keep testing daily, and as you start feeling better, you'll be working with a physical therapist. At the moment, there's a lot of healing to do. Your hands will be kept immobilized, as will your neck. Shrug once if you understand."

I shrugged. The doctor told me he was going to provide another sedative and he wanted me to rest most of the next twenty-four hours. I was forlorn while drifting off, and wondered why I wasn't in a panic.

The next day brought more activity, and Dr. Nash came in with the surgeon. "Your spine," - blah, blah. "Walking again is within the realm of possibility," - blah, blah. "With time and physical therapy," triple blah.

The best part was the doctor telling them to remove my feeding tube. That hurt like hell, but at least I got an ice chip. The lowest I could feel the prick of the needle was just above my genitals. They told me as that improved I could have the catheter removed and pee on my own.

"Mr. Browning, your wife and best friend are outside, waiting to see you. I'm going to send them in after your sponge bath." I frantically tried to speak.

"Whoa, sir, please don't talk!" He warned me.

I mouthed

"No"

over and over. He and the nurses mumbled back and forth at each other.

"You don't want to see your wife and friend?" he asked, shocked.

There were more 'no's from me. He just looked at me for a moment, trying to ascertain if I was maybe suffering from something else.

"Okay, Mr. Browning. I'll let them know. Do you want us to contact anyone else - some other next of kin, perhaps?"

I mouthed "

No"

again.

I could hear them talking right outside the door to my room. Ashley's voice was elevated, threatening the doctor. Steve was calming her, telling her it was okay - that it was expected - and then he said something that confirmed everything I'd recently learned about Steve.

"He's probably too embarrassed to see us, especially since his suicide attempt failed."

That motherfucker. I had no idea how I was going to get a piece of Steve, but there was no way he'd go unpunished. I had other things to worry about just then, and those were far more important to me.

Later that afternoon, I was told my daughter was there, and could she come in. I mouthed yes. Destiny hugged me gently, crying tears of joy, and so did I. As she carefully swiped my tears away, she came straight to the point.

"Daddy," she began, "what's going on with you and mom? You told me the morning of your accident that you two were having some problems. Now they tell us you won't see her, or Uncle Steve, for that matter. I know you're supposed to limit talking. Can you just shrug if I ask you some questions?"

Being under strict orders not to talk was a blessing. I didn't have to tell my baby girl that her mother was slutting around on me with her best friend's father - that prick 'Uncle Steve.' It didn't mean that part of me didn't want to. I motioned for Destiny to come close.

"Accident," I faintly whispered. "No suicide."

She started sobbing then. My heart went out to her. So much had already happened in her young life, with this and Emily's death. I realized right then she was just like me in that regard, except her father had lived - well, so far anyway. Emily's words came rushing back then. What would I do with my life?

"Daddy," she said sadly, "are you going to come back home?"

The anguish on her young face determined my next words. "I'm gonna try, Des. But don't know yet. One day at a time."

Destiny nodded. I asked her to take my debit card, and stop at a Best Buy. I needed a tablet so I could keep track of my finances and communicate with my lawyer. There was zero trust left concerning those two. I'd also need to communicate with my employer, and see what they'd been told, and inquire as to my current status. Changing my beneficiaries was also a top priority.

The next morning, the shift nurse came in and asked me the question I'd been expecting.

"Mr. Browning, your wife wanted me to ask you - she wants to speak with you for five minutes - and after that, she'll leave you alone if that's what you want." She left it hanging there a moment.

"Dean," she said. She used my first name; I hadn't heard it since before the accident. "She's been here, with your friend, since the morning after they brought you in. I don't know your situation, but maybe you should hear her out."

I went to whisper my approval, and to my surprise, my voice came out. I asked for a small cup of ice to suck on. Five minutes later, there was Ashley and... Fuck. Me. Steve. She came in tentatively, but couldn't contain herself, and rushed to my bedside looking to hug me.

"Don't, Ash," I scolded, still just barely above a whisper. "We can't risk messing me up."

She stopped and took in the man before her - the broken man that had once been her loving husband. I wondered if she had any idea how broken my heart and mind were. I never even looked at the fucker who had once called himself friend.

"Dean," she began, "I've been so, so worried about you, honey. I'm so glad you're alive!" She began bawling, but tried to regain some composure.

After several minutes, she looked me in the eye. "I... we... I have to ask," she began. Her face took on a different expression. "Did you do this to yourself, Dean? Was it on purpose?" She'd glanced just briefly at Steve while asking. It was so subtle that if I hadn't already known what was going on, I would not have caught it. She was challenging Steve, right to his face, by posing that question.

I'd been wondering how I was going to deal with her. It seemed ridiculous, but in the past few days I'd come to realize that I'd not been very fair to Ashley, or myself, all these years. First, as the husband, I should have been leading our marriage - not from a place of strength, but from a place of love. Instead, I'd given freely and completely of myself to Ashley. No questions, ever. All the way back to, and including, those damn promises and oaths, I'd been... meek. Hell, I'd even done it back when we'd made the switch in college. I'd agreed to it out of selfishness. I couldn't stand the thought of losing them as friends. I'd had an unhealthy fear of being alone - of loss. But that didn't excuse twenty damned years.

It was all too evident now that what I'd done out of kindness, my wife had taken as weakness. That was both of our faults. I knew something that only Steve and Ashley knew, though. It would be their undoing if I used the information appropriately and at the right time.

"You flatter yourself, Ash."

The look on her face told me I'd scored a direct hit. Before she could answer, and looking at Steve for the first time, I continued.

"Why is he here, Ashley?" I asked. I remained calm, and spoke evenly and quietly. "Do we have that much of a failure to communicate, or are you simply trying to drive me away?"

"No. Dean, no," she responded finally. "I thought... I mean, with everything that's happened, I guess I thought that wasn't important right now." She glossed right over it.

"What's important," she said, changing direction, "is you're alive, and you're going to be alright."

"But I'm not, Ashley," I replied seriously, "I'll possibly never walk again. I may never regain my independence, and I'll never again have a wife that's faithful, will I?"

The tears were literally falling off her face. She hadn't expected anything like this from me, but to her credit, she remained self-confident. That spoke volumes. It told me that my spot-diagnosis of our deeply flawed relationship was dead on.

"Don't say that, Dean, please." She spoke assuredly. "That's not true. I love you, and we'll do everything we can to make sure you get back to... normal."

"We, as in who?" I shrugged.

"As in us, Dean." She quickly answered. "Steve's only here for support."

"Yeah," I snarled, "I'm sure."

Further Ashley trudged, changing the subject again. Her behavior was... predictable.

"They tell me you'll be here for at least another twenty days." Ashley started her new agenda. "We're... I'm flying home later today, so I can start preparing for your return. We have some things to discuss, so that I'll know what you want me to do. The doctor has given me a bunch of paperwork to read, about what I need to purchase, about how I need to arrange the house due to your... limitations."

She had to stop, then. I think she suddenly realized what she was in for. What a selfish bitch I'd fallen for.

"Okay, Ash," I said impatiently. "What do you need from me?"

"I need access to our savings," she said, "and I need info from your work concerning your insurance, so I can start submitting claims for all the things we'll need. That's something you've always done, and I'm not sure how to handle it." The second, almost imperceptible glance at Steve gave me pause.

I could envision Steve inserting himself, offering his expertise. I could see Ashley, sitting in Steve's lap, in my home office, drinking wine, as he went through the forms and my bank accounts, finally taking my former wife up to our bed to follow up one set of dirty deeds with another.

"I'll take care of all that, Ash," I replied. "Destiny is bringing me a tablet. I'll email you instructions for everything I need you to do. It will be a few days yet before I'm up to spending time doing anything, and you can spend that time doing the things at home which don't require anything except moving some furniture. There's still a possibility that I'll need to stay here in Little Rock for a bit after I'm discharged for physical therapy. They may want me to wait to travel. I'll let you know."

I wasn't cold, but I was certainly all business. I talked to her like a work colleague, and she felt it. I looked back to Steve.

"You," I said, raising my voice a bit, "are not allowed in my home. I can't stop the two of you doing whatever you're going to do, but if she didn't let you read my note, then I'll say it face-to-face. We're done, finished, over. This should be the very last time we speak or see each other. Got it?"

Steve only nodded. He turned and left the room.

Ashley approached my bed and placed her hand on my forearm. "Dean," she said sadly, "I'm so sorry for all of this." She was thoughtful for a moment. "I know our future looks bleak, but I promise, I'm not giving up on us, and I'm going to do everything I can to prove how much I love you. I'll show you, and no matter what else heals or doesn't - I'll heal your heart."

She leaned over and quickly kissed my lips. Then she left.

I was tired. I really wanted to think about everything that had just transpired, so I could scorch it into my memory banks, but I just could not stay awake.

Emily and I were at the cliff again. She looked a little... transparent. I reached for her hand, but she didn't reciprocate. I could sense what she wanted. I shimmied up to the edge again. It was the same scene, except no Steve. Ashley sobbed alone, curled up in a ball on our couch. No, it wasn't our couch, or our living room. Unlike the first time, I could not grasp her thoughts or feelings. I knew her well enough though, by now, to gain a pretty good understanding. She was afraid.