Midnight Whispers by V. C. Andrews
It seemed like hours and hours before we saw the road sign that told us we were approaching the hospital. The overcast sky had grown darker and darker during the trip. I saw how the wind swayed the trees. People had begun putting on their headlights because it got so dark. I was sure we would be caught in a terrible downpour before we had reached the hospital, but all we had were a few drops on the windshield. When the buildings finally loomed before us, I let myself take a deep breath. The security man told us where the emergency room entrance was and we drove right to it. As soon as the truck came to a stop, Gavin hopped out and came around to open the door. Jefferson had not awoken, not uttered a sound the whole time. Gavin reached in carefully and gently lifted Jefferson off my lap. He backed away and I got out and followed him to the emergency room door.
"What happened?" a nurse asked the moment we entered.
"We think it might be tetanus," Gavin said. She came around the counter quickly and signaled for another nurse to bring over a gurney. Gavin lowered Jefferson to it and the two nurses quickly took over, one putting a blood pressure cuff on his arm, the other bringing a stethoscope to his chest. They both looked at each other with great concerti and then one began pushing the gurney down the corridor toward an examination room, out of which a young doctor had just emerged. I followed behind.
"What do we have here?" he asked them.
"My brother got very sick," I said. "He cut himself a few days ago on a nail and we think he might have tetanus."
"He never had an inoculation?" the doctor asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't think so."
"What did he cut himself on?" he asked while he lifted one of Jefferson's eyelids to look at his pupil. "A rusty nail . . . I'm sure," I said. The doctor looked up sharply.
"Well, where are your parents? Is that your father?" he asked, nodding toward Luther, who waited down the corridor with Gavin.
"No sir."
The first nurse whispered something to him and they pushed Jefferson into the examination room. The doctor followed. I started in, but the second nurse stopped me.
"Just wait out here," she said. "Go to the desk up there and give the receiving nurse the necessary information."
"But . . ."
She closed the door before I could offer any protest. My heart was pounding so fast, I thought I'd be the next one on a gurney. Tears burned my eyes. I backed away.
"What did they say?" Gavin asked.
"They want us to wait out here. I've got to give information to the nurse at the desk," I explained. He took my hand and we approached the counter. Luther had sat down on a chair in the hall and stared at us with that terrible expression of dread written all over his face. I looked back at the closed examination room door.
My little brother is going to die in that room, I thought. I brought him all the way here. He had held my hand and had trusted me from the moment we had left the hotel in Cutler's Cove, and now he's lying in a strange room, unconscious. My shoulders began to shake as my whole body shuddered. Gavin put his arm around me.
"He's going to be all right. Don't worry," he said. "Is one of you a relative of the patient?" the nurse at the desk asked.
"Yes ma'am," I said, wiping my eyes. "I'm his sister."
"Well, would you please fill out this form. Name and address over here," she said, pointing with a pen. I took it from her hand and looked down at the paper. My eyes were so clouded with tears, everything looked hazy—the words joining together on the sheet.
"This has to be filled out," she said more firmly when I hesitated.
I wiped my eyes again and sucked in my breath. I nodded and began. I filled out as much as I could, but when it called for parent or guardian, I stopped and left it blank. She saw that immediately.
"Why didn't you put your parents' names here?" she asked.
"They're both dead, ma'am."
"Well . . . how old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Is this your guardian'?" she asked, nodding to-ward Luther, who hadn't moved or uttered a word.
"No, ma'am."
She looked annoyed.
"Who are you and your brother living with, Miss?" she demanded.
"No one," I said.
"No one?" Her confused smile turned quickly to a look of anger. "I don't understand. We need this information," she insisted.
I couldn't help myself. I just started to cry, hard and loud. Even Gavin's embrace didn't calm me. He helped me to a seat beside Luther and kept his arms around me, my face pressed into the nook between his shoulder and his neck. The nurse behind the desk didn't ask any more questions or make any more demands. After a while I stopped crying and sucked in my breath. I sat back, my eyes closed. When I opened them, I felt numb, stunned by the events.
Up until this moment, I wasn't aware of anyone else in the hospital but us, but suddenly, when I turned, I saw other people in the waiting room and other patients in the hallway—one man with a bloody bandage around his forearm, another man in a wheelchair, his head back, his eyes closed. There was a lot more activity around us, too. Nurses were going to and fro, some following doctors, some alone. A nurse's assistant was wheeling patients into the X-ray department. Down the well-lit corridor, I could see people waiting by an elevator, all of them probably coming to visit patients.
Finally,after what was an interminable period of waiting, the young doctor and one of the nurses emerged from the examination room and started down the corridor toward us. They paused at the desk and the nurse handed them the form I had filled out only partially. The doctor's eyebrows rose. The nurse said something to him and then he looked at us and continued to approach us. I held my breath. Gavin squeezed my hand tightly. Luther nodded, his own hands clasped on his lap.
"Christie Longchamp?" he said.
"Yes sir."
"Your brother's name is Jefferson," he said, looking at the chart.
"Yes sir."
"Well then, it does look like he has contracted tetanus. He should have had a shot immediately after that wound on his leg," he said with a note of chastisement in his voice. I tried to swallow, but couldn't. "Didn't your parents know about his injury?"
I shook my head.
"Her parents are both dead," Gavin said. "They were killed in a fire."
The doctor stared at him a moment, his eyes narrow. Then he turned to me.
"First we'll talk about your brother," he said. "He's in a coma, something which usually follows convulsions caused by tetanus."
"Will he be all right?" I asked quickly. I couldn't hold back.
The doctor looked at Luther and then at me again.
"The mortality rate with tetanus is influenced by the patient's age and the length of the incubation period. It's more serious for young children and especially for those not treated soon after the bacteria has been introduced to the body," he said with a cold air. "Don't you have a guardian?"
"Yes sir," I said looking down. "My uncle."
"Well he has to be informed immediately. There are important forms that have to be signed. I'm going ahead with emergency treatment, but I need to speak to your guardian right away," he said. "You people come from . . ." He looked at the chart. "Cutler's Cove, Virginia?"
"Yes sir."
"Are you visiting relatives?"
"Yes sir, my aunt."
"Oh, well can I speak with her?"
"We ain't got a phone at the house," Luther offered.
"Pardon?'
"This is . . . my uncle," I said.
"Your guardian? He's been sitting here all this time?" the doctor asked, his eyes incredulous. "No sir. That's a different uncle."
"Look, Miss Longchamp," he said, settling back, "this is a grave situation. I want your guardian's name and telephone number immediately." He thrust the paper at me and took the pen out of his top pocket.
"Yes sir," I said and wrote Uncle Philip's name and telephone number.
"Fine," the doctor said, taking it back. He started to turn away.
"What about my brother?" I asked.
"He's being moved to the intensive care unit. We're hooking him up to an I.V. filled with an antitoxin. He's a very, very sick little boy," he said. He looked at Luther as if he instinctively knew Luther was familiar with the seriousness of the illness.
"Can I see him?" I asked.
"Only for a moment," the doctor said. "There's a waiting room up at ICU and a very restrictive period for visitations."
"Thank you," I said and got up. Gavin held my hand as we walked down the corridor to the examination room. When we looked in, we saw a nurse had just completed hooking up the I.V. Jefferson was already in a hospital gown, too.
"Your brother's things," she said, handing me the nightshirt and the blanket.
"Thank you." Gavin and I walked up to the gurney and looked down at Jefferson. I saw his eyeball twitch under the lid, and then his lips tremble and stop.
"Jefferson," I said. My throat ached so from my keeping myself from breaking out into hysterical tears, and my chest felt as if someone weighing three hundred pounds was standing on it. I took Jefferson's little hand into mine and held it for a few moments.
"Will he be all right?" Gavin asked the nurse.
"We'll have to wait and see," she said. "He's in good hands here," she added and offered us the first smile of hope. Gavin nodded.
"He's a strong little boy," he said, mostly for my benefit.
I leaned over and kissed Jefferson's cheek. Then I brought my lips to his ear.
"I'm sorry, Jefferson," I whispered. "I'm sorry I brought you along. Get better, please. Please, please," I chanted, the tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Christie. Come on. They're here to take him upstairs," he said.
He embraced me and we stood back and watched the orderly and the nurse begin to wheel Jefferson out of the room and down the corridor. We followed behind the gurney until they came to the elevator.
"Come up in about an hour or so," the nurse told us just as the doors were closing. We both stood there staring at the closed elevator. Luther came up behind us.
"It's gonna be a while," he said, "fore we really know somethin' substantial."
"I'm not leaving," I said. He nodded. Then he reached into his pants pocket and produced some money.
"Take this," he said, offering it to Gavin. "You'll want something to eat or drink. I'm going back to see about Charlotte. I'll tell that sister of yours the way things is here," he told Gavin. Gavin nodded. "Maybe she'll have the decency to come this way and look after you."
"Thank you, Luther."
He fixed his eyes on me and I saw the tears locked within.
"I'll be prayin' for him," he said. "He's a fine little boy, one I wished I had myself."
Gavin and I watched him walk toward the exit. After he was gone, we turned and went to keep vigil outside the doors of the intensive care unit.
I fell asleep on and off with my head resting against Gavin's shoulder. We sat on a small imitation leather sofa in the intensive care waiting room. Across from us an elderly woman sat staring out the window. Occasionally, she dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief. When she looked at us, she smiled.
"My husband's had surgery," she offered. "He's stable, but with a man his age . . ." Her voice trailed off and she turned to the window again. Outside, the gray skies had begun to lighten here and there and the rain had stopped.
"Has it been an hour yet, Gavin?" I asked.
"A little more than an hour," he said. We got up and went to the ICU door. I took a deep breath and then we entered. The nurse at the desk in the center of the room looked up immediately. We saw patients hooked up to oxygen, one with his legs and arms in casts.
"We're here to see Jefferson Longchamp," Gavin said.
"You can stay only five minutes," she replied curtly.
"How is he?" I asked quickly.
"No change," she said. "He's down at the end on the right." We walked through the intensive care unit. I tried not to look at the other patients, all very seriously ill; but the sound of the heart monitors, the subdued murmur of the nurses' voices, the occasional moan and groan, the sight of bloody bandages and the row of semi-conscious and unconscious people was overwhelming. It made my heart heavy and every breath an effort. I couldn't help feeling we were treading on the boundary line between the land of the living and the land of the dead. My little brother was tottering.
Jefferson was in a separate room in an oxygen tent. The light was off so that the room was darkened. He looked the same, only they had him hooked up to a heart monitor as well as the I.V. now. The wound in his leg had been cleaned and bandaged. Gavin held me close as we both looked at him.
"I never dreamed he was this sick," Gavin said. "We should have done something last night."
"It's my fault; I completely forgot about him cutting himself on that nail."
"Don't you go blaming yourself," Gavin ordered perceptively.
We turned as a nurse entered to check Jefferson's I.V. and take his pulse.
"How is he?" Gavin asked quickly.
"It's a good sign that he hasn't had any more convulsions," she replied.
We remained until the nurse advised us to leave and then we went out and downstairs to the hospital cafeteria. I wasn't very hungry, but Gavin thought we should put something into our stomachs or we would just get weak and sick ourselves. I had some hot oatmeal and ate about half of it with a cup of tea. Afterward, we returned to the intensive care waiting room where we spent most of the day, going into the ICU whenever we could.
Other patients' relatives came and went. Some were talkative, most were not. Gavin and I slept on and off, thumbed through some magazines and simply stared out the window at the ever-clearing sky. The sight of blue patches and more foamy, cotton-like clouds warmed my heart. The next time we went into the intensive care unit, the head nurse told us that with every passing hour, he was improving.
"He's not out of the woods yet by far," she said, "but his condition hasn't worsened."
Cheered by her words, we returned to the hospital cafeteria. With improved appetites, we both ate a good deal more.
"I half-expected Fern might show," Gavin said. "I thought even she isn't that low."
"I hope they're not tormenting Aunt Charlotte and Luther," I said.
"I think Luther's about ready to heave them out," Gavin replied.
When we returned to the intensive care waiting room, we found Luther had returned and he had brought Homer along with him. Homer was dressed in a clean pair of slacks, a white shirt and tie. He had his hair brushed down as neatly as he could. He looked frightened and sad, but his eyes widened with pleasure when he saw us come in.
"Homer drove me near crazy to bring him here," Luther explained.
"That's very nice of you, Luther. Thank you for coming, Homer."
"How's he doin'?" Homer asked.
"He's better, but still very sick."
Homer nodded.
"I brought him something to play with," he said. "For when he gets better," he added and showed us one of those toys that fit in the palm of your hand. It was a little game where you had to jiggle the tiny silver balls and get them all into the holes.
"That thing's so old, it's an antique," Luther said and winked. He leaned forward to whisper. "I gave it to him when he was barely older than Jefferson."
"Thank you, Homer," I said. "I'll see that he gets it."
"What about my sister?" Gavin asked.
"Oh," Luther said. "Once she heard about Jefferson, she and that beanpole she's with high-tailed it."
"You mean they left?" Gavin asked, astounded. "Just left without finding out how Jefferson is?"
"They couldn't have run out of the house faster if it was on fire," Luther said. "I guess we won't miss 'em none," he added.
"I can't believe it," Gavin muttered.
We made our next visit in the intensive care unit. This time the nurses let us stay nearly twenty minutes and they permitted Homer
When it came time to go, Homer stepped up to the tent.
"You get better, Jefferson. Get better real fast 'cause we still got a barn to paint and lots of other things to do," he said.
I took Homer's hand in mine and the three of us left, our heads bowed, each saying his own private prayer in his own way. When we stepped outside the intensive care unit, however, my heart sank. I should have anticipated it; I should have been prepared and thought what I would do, but my concern for Jefferson overrode every other thought, especially thoughts about myself.
There, standing beside the doctor, was Uncle Philip, a grim expression on his face. My eyes shifted from him to the doctor, who looked very angry, too.
"Everyone's been pretty sick with worry about you, Christie," he said. He turned to Gavin. "And your parents are beside themselves, too."
I lowered my eyes. I couldn't look at him.
"Luther and Charlotte shouldn't have permitted you to stay there," he continued. I lifted my eyes quickly and fixed them with a steel gaze on his.
"Don't you blame them for anything," I said sharply.
"Oh I don't," he said quickly. "I'm sure they didn't understand what was happening, but the point is . . ."
"What is the point?" Gavin snapped.
"The point for you, young man, is your parents are quite upset. They don't have the means to pay for your gallivanting all over the country. I have made arrangements for your instant return home," he said, pulling an airplane ticket out of his breast pocket. "I told them I would take care of this. There's a taxicab waiting outside the front entrance of the hospital to take you to the airport. You've got ten minutes to get down there," Uncle Philip said firmly.
"I'm not leaving Christie," Gavin said, stepping back to stand beside me.
"Christie's leaving too," Uncle Philip said, smiling. "She's going home."
I shook my head.
"Don't you want to be near your brother?" he asked. I looked at the doctor. "The doctor agrees that in a day or so, Jefferson will be able to be moved by ambulance and plane. We're taking him to Virginia Beach where I have already made arrangements for him to have private care at the hospital. You want your brother to have the best medical attention, don't you?"