Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer by Demelza Carlton
you out of his sight." She evidently didn't believe it.
"Then I should thank him when he gets back," Caitlin said softly.
Back. Oh shit. I strode down the ward to the nurses' station, asking as quietly as I could for a spare wheelchair I could borrow. The phone rang just as the ward clerk opened her mouth to answer me, so she pointed at one down the corridor as she picked up the receiver in her other hand.
I grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it as quickly as I could back to Caitlin's hospital room.
"Thank you," Caitlin said quietly as I reached her room. Nurse Judith glared at me as she walked out of the door before I could go in, but she didn't say anything.
Caitlin looked up at me hopefully. I lifted her into the wheelchair and we headed to the lift.
It had to be the strangest first date I'd ever been on: with a girl wearing a pair of borrowed pyjamas in public, drinking coffee through a straw, while I spoon-fed her a slice of every cake they had – a grand total of three. I didn't taste a bite of them and I couldn't even remember what they were when they were gone.
The cafe speakers played some boy band I'd never heard of, but when I asked Caitlin to identify them for me, she didn't know, either. We talked about music and movies, safe topics that stayed away from her nightmares.
I lost track of both the time and the cake. I looked down to get her another bite to find all the cake was gone. "Do you think we have time for another round before the staff upstairs realise I've kidnapped you and decide to report you missing?"
It took a moment for my horrified brain to catch up with my mouth. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." I looked up into her eyes and forgot whatever I'd meant to say.
Her whole face lit up as she smiled and let out a peal of laughter that drowned out the anonymous boy band.
So beautiful. Even the perky boy band agreed with me. I stared at her, mesmerised, dimly aware that other cafe patrons were looking at her, too. For that moment, I wanted... what I couldn't have.
She noticed people staring and blushed, looking down at her lap. "I think I've had enough cake to last me for the next month, and I'm sure I'd hate to be reported missing. Please, could we go back upstairs?" Her voice was barely audible.
I babbled thoughtlessly as we waited for the lifts. "I'm sure you were just making up for the last month. We'd have to come back and do this again to get you in credit for the next month!"
Nice. Remind her that those bastards starved her, too.
She stayed silent as I pushed her into the lift and back to her room. As I helped her back into bed, she smiled at me again, to my surprise, although less brilliantly than before.
"Perhaps, Nathan," she finally replied. "But not before tomorrow. I'll be sick if I have any more cake today."
39
Sweet smell to set stomach stirring.
Sick or hungry?
Not sure.
Dizzy and dark.
Here.
Taste and texture, teeth sliding over skin.
Crunch of apple, chewing, swallowing.
Too fast to taste. Too hungry.
Forcing food to stay down.
Water?
Cold and tasteless in a plastic cup.
No whiff of chlorine.
Not city water.
Far from home.
Far from help.
No one nearby to hear me scream.
Want more.
More food.
More water.
More help.
Please
40
"No breakfast for you, hon. A cancellation in the theatres moved your skin graft up to this morning," the unfamiliar nurse said briskly as she bustled in, sticking a sign on Caitlin's bedhead that read: Nil by mouth. She swept out without another word.
As if on cue, one of the smiling breakfast ladies entered, a tray on each arm as she headed to where I sat beside Caitlin. I could smell bacon, burned toast and coffee, my stomach roaring audibly for all of it.
I shook my head. "She has surgery today. I won't have any, either."
Caitlin looked up at me, her brow wrinkled. "Why not?"
I tried to smile. "I don't want to throw up on the operating theatre floor," I admitted. I felt queasy already.
Comprehension broke like a wave over her face. "You mean you're coming in with me?" Her expression turned to amazement.
I wondered if I'd stuck my foot in my mouth again. "Only if you want me there. They'll put you under and..."
"Oh God." She shuddered and looked like she was having trouble swallowing. "Please, I... I do. I didn't realise they'd knock me out for it. I'll be asleep and they'll be touching me..." Her voice died, horrified into silence.
My stomach settled a little as I reached out and carefully placed my hand on her arm. My little finger grazed the edge of the bandage on her wrist. I could feel her shaking as goosebumps formed under my fingers – I felt her fear. My mind rapidly clicked from conflicted to calm. I could do this for Caitlin. "I'll be there. I'll scrub up and watch over you as you sleep until your eyes open in Recovery."
She was still so scared and stiff, but Caitlin managed a weak laugh. "You sound like some sort of sick stalker out of a movie for teenagers. Is there something wrong with me that I'm relieved to have you watch me sleep?"
I joined her laughter, though mine had strength that hers lacked. "There's nothing wrong with you that time and rest won't fix after a little surgery today. You're going to be fine. I'll make sure of it." As long as I didn't throw up.
Luckily, it wasn't long before an orderly collected her to be prepped for theatre. I stayed beside her in the curtained cubicle they'd assigned her while she waited for the anaesthetist. She was already drowsy from the first set of drugs they'd given her as I'd looked on. I'd learned my lesson. I wasn't letting her take any more medication without knowing what it was and who gave it to her.
Caitlin stretched out her hand to me, looking like a bemused drunk with her slight, sleepy smile. "Will you be here when I wake up?" she slurred.
I smiled. One day it'd be nice to go the pub with her and see how many drinks it took to make her slur like this again. "Absolutely, angel. Your own personal stalker."
"Not a stalker," she mumbled. Further mumbling followed, but I didn't understand it. Her eyelids dropped.
"Tell me that again," I said softly, not expecting her to respond.
"They did. They were watching me. Three of them. Don't know who was the bigger pervert..." Her voice meandered off into a sigh. I strained to hear more.
"I need space to work, mate," an unfamiliar voice said. I straightened up.
The anaesthetist had arrived.
"You can see her when she's out of Recovery, after surgery's over," he said, nodding to an orderly to start shifting Caitlin's bed.
I panicked. "No, I'm going in with her. I swore I wouldn't leave her alone. I'm supposed to guard her..."
He snorted. "Hope you've got a strong stomach, then. This one's a skin graft and they're not pretty. Go scrub up and don't forget your shoe covers." He waved his security pass over the door behind him and kicked it open for me.
I was torn between Caitlin and the gaping door.
He waved his hand down his theatre blues. "You can't go into theatre 'til you're a Smurf like the rest of us. I'm taking her through and I'll see you in there."
I gave in and forced myself to step into the changing room. The door closed heavily behind me, like a dungeon door that didn't open often. Feverishly, I looked around for the shelves of scrubs. It hadn't been that long since I'd done my med school pracs...
Stripping off as quickly as I could, I tried not to think about having to wear the blue overalls again. I'd never expected to have to do it. That part of my life was done. Over. There would never be a Dr Miller. That dream had died with Alanna. Or on an autopsy table, when they'd asked me to identify the body of my dead sister. Oh, shit... I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think of anything but Alanna.
Caitlin. I was here for Caitlin.
I struggled into the cotton clothes and found the disposables that finished off the costume. Shoe covers, cap, eye shield, mask. I put them all on and pushed the door to the theatre open. I caught the faint whiff of fresh blood and disinfectant before I held my breath. I let it out slowly, striding across the room to Caitlin's head.
"Who's he?" one masked figure asked another.
"The guard you're waiting for. Let's get this done. I want this procedure finished before coffee comes. Catering swore there'd be strawberry tarts today..."
Like we had yesterday, I thought as I looked down at Caitlin's sleeping face. Her beautiful eyes were closed, her hair covered by a cap, but her face was still a little worried. I reached for her hand, then thought better of it. I touched my fingers to her cheek instead. "I'm here," I murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."
I forced myself to watch the bloody procedure, as a patch of skin was cut from one part of her leg and attached over the bullet wound on Caitlin's thigh. Somehow this was easier to bear than seeing her wounds revealed – today was about helping her recover, a cosmetic patch over a gaping hole that shouldn't be there. That wouldn't be there, if...
Don't think about it!
Keeping my breathing shallow, I tried to ignore the smells and sounds that were the same as any other operating theatre I'd been in before Alanna died. When I'd wanted to help people, not kill them.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. They were almost done and she hadn't woken or cried out. Caitlin's breath was a slight breeze over my fingers.
Breathe. She's alive. Keep her that way.
I bit my lip so hard behind my mask that I could taste my own blood.
"Take her to Recovery," a male voice said
"Then I should thank him when he gets back," Caitlin said softly.
Back. Oh shit. I strode down the ward to the nurses' station, asking as quietly as I could for a spare wheelchair I could borrow. The phone rang just as the ward clerk opened her mouth to answer me, so she pointed at one down the corridor as she picked up the receiver in her other hand.
I grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it as quickly as I could back to Caitlin's hospital room.
"Thank you," Caitlin said quietly as I reached her room. Nurse Judith glared at me as she walked out of the door before I could go in, but she didn't say anything.
Caitlin looked up at me hopefully. I lifted her into the wheelchair and we headed to the lift.
It had to be the strangest first date I'd ever been on: with a girl wearing a pair of borrowed pyjamas in public, drinking coffee through a straw, while I spoon-fed her a slice of every cake they had – a grand total of three. I didn't taste a bite of them and I couldn't even remember what they were when they were gone.
The cafe speakers played some boy band I'd never heard of, but when I asked Caitlin to identify them for me, she didn't know, either. We talked about music and movies, safe topics that stayed away from her nightmares.
I lost track of both the time and the cake. I looked down to get her another bite to find all the cake was gone. "Do you think we have time for another round before the staff upstairs realise I've kidnapped you and decide to report you missing?"
It took a moment for my horrified brain to catch up with my mouth. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." I looked up into her eyes and forgot whatever I'd meant to say.
Her whole face lit up as she smiled and let out a peal of laughter that drowned out the anonymous boy band.
So beautiful. Even the perky boy band agreed with me. I stared at her, mesmerised, dimly aware that other cafe patrons were looking at her, too. For that moment, I wanted... what I couldn't have.
She noticed people staring and blushed, looking down at her lap. "I think I've had enough cake to last me for the next month, and I'm sure I'd hate to be reported missing. Please, could we go back upstairs?" Her voice was barely audible.
I babbled thoughtlessly as we waited for the lifts. "I'm sure you were just making up for the last month. We'd have to come back and do this again to get you in credit for the next month!"
Nice. Remind her that those bastards starved her, too.
She stayed silent as I pushed her into the lift and back to her room. As I helped her back into bed, she smiled at me again, to my surprise, although less brilliantly than before.
"Perhaps, Nathan," she finally replied. "But not before tomorrow. I'll be sick if I have any more cake today."
39
Sweet smell to set stomach stirring.
Sick or hungry?
Not sure.
Dizzy and dark.
Here.
Taste and texture, teeth sliding over skin.
Crunch of apple, chewing, swallowing.
Too fast to taste. Too hungry.
Forcing food to stay down.
Water?
Cold and tasteless in a plastic cup.
No whiff of chlorine.
Not city water.
Far from home.
Far from help.
No one nearby to hear me scream.
Want more.
More food.
More water.
More help.
Please
40
"No breakfast for you, hon. A cancellation in the theatres moved your skin graft up to this morning," the unfamiliar nurse said briskly as she bustled in, sticking a sign on Caitlin's bedhead that read: Nil by mouth. She swept out without another word.
As if on cue, one of the smiling breakfast ladies entered, a tray on each arm as she headed to where I sat beside Caitlin. I could smell bacon, burned toast and coffee, my stomach roaring audibly for all of it.
I shook my head. "She has surgery today. I won't have any, either."
Caitlin looked up at me, her brow wrinkled. "Why not?"
I tried to smile. "I don't want to throw up on the operating theatre floor," I admitted. I felt queasy already.
Comprehension broke like a wave over her face. "You mean you're coming in with me?" Her expression turned to amazement.
I wondered if I'd stuck my foot in my mouth again. "Only if you want me there. They'll put you under and..."
"Oh God." She shuddered and looked like she was having trouble swallowing. "Please, I... I do. I didn't realise they'd knock me out for it. I'll be asleep and they'll be touching me..." Her voice died, horrified into silence.
My stomach settled a little as I reached out and carefully placed my hand on her arm. My little finger grazed the edge of the bandage on her wrist. I could feel her shaking as goosebumps formed under my fingers – I felt her fear. My mind rapidly clicked from conflicted to calm. I could do this for Caitlin. "I'll be there. I'll scrub up and watch over you as you sleep until your eyes open in Recovery."
She was still so scared and stiff, but Caitlin managed a weak laugh. "You sound like some sort of sick stalker out of a movie for teenagers. Is there something wrong with me that I'm relieved to have you watch me sleep?"
I joined her laughter, though mine had strength that hers lacked. "There's nothing wrong with you that time and rest won't fix after a little surgery today. You're going to be fine. I'll make sure of it." As long as I didn't throw up.
Luckily, it wasn't long before an orderly collected her to be prepped for theatre. I stayed beside her in the curtained cubicle they'd assigned her while she waited for the anaesthetist. She was already drowsy from the first set of drugs they'd given her as I'd looked on. I'd learned my lesson. I wasn't letting her take any more medication without knowing what it was and who gave it to her.
Caitlin stretched out her hand to me, looking like a bemused drunk with her slight, sleepy smile. "Will you be here when I wake up?" she slurred.
I smiled. One day it'd be nice to go the pub with her and see how many drinks it took to make her slur like this again. "Absolutely, angel. Your own personal stalker."
"Not a stalker," she mumbled. Further mumbling followed, but I didn't understand it. Her eyelids dropped.
"Tell me that again," I said softly, not expecting her to respond.
"They did. They were watching me. Three of them. Don't know who was the bigger pervert..." Her voice meandered off into a sigh. I strained to hear more.
"I need space to work, mate," an unfamiliar voice said. I straightened up.
The anaesthetist had arrived.
"You can see her when she's out of Recovery, after surgery's over," he said, nodding to an orderly to start shifting Caitlin's bed.
I panicked. "No, I'm going in with her. I swore I wouldn't leave her alone. I'm supposed to guard her..."
He snorted. "Hope you've got a strong stomach, then. This one's a skin graft and they're not pretty. Go scrub up and don't forget your shoe covers." He waved his security pass over the door behind him and kicked it open for me.
I was torn between Caitlin and the gaping door.
He waved his hand down his theatre blues. "You can't go into theatre 'til you're a Smurf like the rest of us. I'm taking her through and I'll see you in there."
I gave in and forced myself to step into the changing room. The door closed heavily behind me, like a dungeon door that didn't open often. Feverishly, I looked around for the shelves of scrubs. It hadn't been that long since I'd done my med school pracs...
Stripping off as quickly as I could, I tried not to think about having to wear the blue overalls again. I'd never expected to have to do it. That part of my life was done. Over. There would never be a Dr Miller. That dream had died with Alanna. Or on an autopsy table, when they'd asked me to identify the body of my dead sister. Oh, shit... I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think of anything but Alanna.
Caitlin. I was here for Caitlin.
I struggled into the cotton clothes and found the disposables that finished off the costume. Shoe covers, cap, eye shield, mask. I put them all on and pushed the door to the theatre open. I caught the faint whiff of fresh blood and disinfectant before I held my breath. I let it out slowly, striding across the room to Caitlin's head.
"Who's he?" one masked figure asked another.
"The guard you're waiting for. Let's get this done. I want this procedure finished before coffee comes. Catering swore there'd be strawberry tarts today..."
Like we had yesterday, I thought as I looked down at Caitlin's sleeping face. Her beautiful eyes were closed, her hair covered by a cap, but her face was still a little worried. I reached for her hand, then thought better of it. I touched my fingers to her cheek instead. "I'm here," I murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."
I forced myself to watch the bloody procedure, as a patch of skin was cut from one part of her leg and attached over the bullet wound on Caitlin's thigh. Somehow this was easier to bear than seeing her wounds revealed – today was about helping her recover, a cosmetic patch over a gaping hole that shouldn't be there. That wouldn't be there, if...
Don't think about it!
Keeping my breathing shallow, I tried to ignore the smells and sounds that were the same as any other operating theatre I'd been in before Alanna died. When I'd wanted to help people, not kill them.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. They were almost done and she hadn't woken or cried out. Caitlin's breath was a slight breeze over my fingers.
Breathe. She's alive. Keep her that way.
I bit my lip so hard behind my mask that I could taste my own blood.
"Take her to Recovery," a male voice said