Crashing Down (12 page)

‘C'mon.' He waves a hand, and Lucy notices the leather restraints have been removed. ‘You chicks do it all the time. I've seen the movies.'

Lucy can't believe what she is hearing — he sounds like he is propositioning the nurse. That sleazy tone, this different persona. Her stomach drops radically.

Molly writes quickly in her notebook, then leans across to unfasten the Velcro strap on the monitor's armband. Carl grasps Molly's breast, and at the same time he pulls the sheet down, exposing his hard penis. Lucy gasps in horror.

‘Suck it,' he snarls. ‘You know you want it.'

Molly hits a panic button and in seconds an orderly runs through the door. Lucy shrinks into the wall. It's horrific. Unbelievable. So not Carl. Who is this deranged sexual predator?

The orderly is very matter-of-fact. He grabs hold of Carl as he tries to leap from the bed and instantly gets the restraints on him. Carl snaps and snarls like a vicious dog, hurling abuse and obscenities. Molly returns with a doctor, who quickly jabs Carl with a syringe. Carl abuses him but mid-sentence his jaw slackens and his head falls to one side. Lucy leans against the wall, shaking.

‘Common in head injury.' The doctor trots out the line Lucy's already heard from countless mouths. ‘Should only be temporary.'

‘Should?' Lucy manages, taking the glass of water Molly has offered. She smiles weakly at the nurse. Wishes she could apologise.
Sorry about my
boyfriend. That was a bit awkward, hey!

‘Yes,' the doctor says, ‘most of these responses diminish over time. Some may linger. He may exhibit personality traits that were not evident before. Brain damage can do that.'

Lucy stares. ‘So Carl could stay a violent, sleazy perv?'

‘Look, it's unlikely. A trace of it may remain. Depends. Can't see into the future. Got to do my rounds. And you should go home. That tranquilliser would knock out a horse. He'll sleep until morning.'

Lucy feels relief. Dodged another bullet. Another day. She looks at Carl sleeping — still so handsome — and realises that he is clean. They must have let him shower. She wonders what he dreams about.

‘Hi, Carl.' A doctor peers around the curtain. ‘How are you?'

‘Fine.' He looks at her suspiciously. ‘What do you want?'

‘Just a chat.' She points to her name tag. ‘I'm Dr Field. Shall we talk about what happened yesterday?'

‘What happened yesterday?' he snaps.

‘With the nurse, Molly?'

‘I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.' Carl stares at the doctor angrily.

‘An unwanted sexual advance?' the doctor says.

‘Ha! Unlikely,' Carl sneers. ‘My sexual advances are never unwanted. She must be a lesbian.'

‘So you do remember?' the doctor probes.

Carl frowns, this time genuinely thinking. ‘Do you know what? I think I do.'

‘Can you tell me what happened?'

‘Yes.' Carl seems excited to be able to recall something. He straightens in the bed. ‘They had been torturing me for a bit. You know, the usual stuff that goes on in here — sleep deprivation, that kind of shit — so I was pretty whacked out, and she offered to give me a shower.' He nods and looks at the doctor. ‘I know, right? Pretty forward stuff. I didn't even know the chick. So she undoes the restraints and I think it's my chance to run for it, so I make to go, but I think they've been poisoning me because my legs won't work and I end up spewing. Everywhere.' He folds his arms across his chest.

‘What happened next?' the doctor asks gently.

‘She gets one of the guards in to carry me to the shower and they put me in this white plastic chair — exactly like the ones Nonna had in her garden.' He pauses and frowns again. ‘She was the best cook, my nonna, she'd make cannoli with the creamiest custard. She'd fill me up with food, and pastries, and chocolates. The woman was a nut. But I loved her. My nonna …' He sighs and tears well in his eyes.
‘Nonna. I don't know when she died. I don't even know if I saw her before then.'

‘Carl,' the doctor says, flicking through her notes, ‘I don't believe she is dead.'

‘Yeah.' Carl looks at her again. ‘You sure? But Nonno is. Yeah, he died all of a sudden. I was only ten.'

‘Your long-term memories are very clear,' the doctor says, making notes.

Carl looks triumphant. ‘Despite the testing and experimenting, I've still got full control.'

‘So, you still believe that this is a conspiracy of some kind? Do you still hear voices?'

‘What voices?' Carl looks around suspiciously. ‘Who told you about that? Was it the religious order?'

‘There is no religious order,' the doctor says.

‘You would say that,' Carl says. ‘You're one of them.'

‘Carl, I'm going to come in daily, for chats,' the doctor says. ‘Your paranoia will decrease and there are good indicators that your memory is not permanently damaged. I think it's a matter of time.'

‘Sure, whatever.' Carl crosses his arms. ‘And
anyway, to answer your original question — she wanted it.'

‘Who wanted what?' the doctor asks.

‘And I'm the one with memory problems? Ha!' Carl snorts. ‘Molly, that nurse, she wanted me. She asked me to have a shower with her, and then I guess she went a bit cold. Cock tease, I'd say.'

‘Okay, Carl.' The doctor stands up. ‘I'll see you tomorrow.'

Lucy sits at her desk and stares at the pile of books in front of her. Each reprieve from being with Carl allows her more time to study. But she just can't focus. How is she meant to remember constitutional law, the philosophy of the surrealists, French verbs and quotations from
Frankenstein?
Her mind constantly drifts back to Carl, JD and the pregnancy. And all she is aware of is time. Everything is a countdown. The exams are looming — she panics, so unprepared. She feels like the White Rabbit from
Alice in Wonderland:
‘I'm late. I'm late.' And that makes her aware of her other deadline. She is running out of time for a medical abortion — the days click over so quickly. Each day making it less
likely, more unreliable. And then what? A surgical procedure, at a clinic.

But she can't do anything yet. Can't go ahead with this until Carl knows. She has it firmly in her head that he must know before she does it. He can't change her decision, but in all this wrongness, telling him seems right. Both of her parents have offered to go with her, to support her when she tells him, but she's refused. She has to do this on her own. To show him that this is her decision alone. Every time she goes to the hospital she thinks she'll tell him. But every time there's another eruption.

So she waits. But as she does, time is running out.

‘Can I talk to you outside?' Mr K nods to the doorway.

Lucy glances at Carl. He's fallen asleep, as he tends to do. She often wonders how much sleep one person can handle. She follows Mr K into the hallway.

‘What's up?' she asks nervously. There is no way he could know anything.

‘We've had to get a psych involved,' Mr K says. ‘She says that he's still struggling with some aspects of reality. Like the whole conspiracy thing. She says he sees you as an ally.'

‘Right.' Lucy nods. ‘What do you want me to do?'

‘Nothing, really.' Mr K wipes a hand over his
face. ‘She wants to speak to you, though, get a bit of a picture from you.'

‘Okay,' Lucy says. ‘When?'

‘Now,' Mr K says. ‘Is that okay?'

Lucy taps on the door and a woman looks up from her papers. ‘Hi, Lucy.' She beckons. ‘Come in. Thanks for seeing me. I'm Dr Field, but you can call me Nicky, if you like.'

‘Sure.' Lucy rubs a hand over her stomach, decidedly nervous.

‘I've been talking to Carl,' Nicky says. ‘He has memories that he's able to retrieve, which is good, and I'm sure the paranoia will diminish. I just wanted to help you deal with him.'

‘Help me how?'

‘Strategies. You're his strongest support, at this stage. He told me he trusts you.' Nicky skims the notes in front of her. ‘It's a good thing; you can help him understand the situation.'

‘How?' Lucy asks. ‘I'm not sure what the right thing to say is.'

‘The truth,' the doctor says. ‘It's repetitive, I know. But you just have to keep telling him that
he's in hospital. That he was in an accident. He'll gradually believe it.'

‘Okay,' Lucy says. It makes her feel so weary.

‘And you?' the doctor says gently. ‘Are you okay? Can you handle this? Do you need someone to talk to as well?'

‘No, I'm good,' Lucy says, getting up to go. ‘I can handle it.'

Suddenly it feels like she's never told a bigger lie in her life. But what other option is there?

Every day it's more of the same. She spends the majority of the day with Carl, leaving around two, to either attempt study or, on Thursday, go to work. Work has never been more appealing, a respite. Lucy thinks she sees minor improvements in Carl's memory. It's hard to believe it's not yet been two weeks since he crashed the car, when it feels like forever. He's keen to reminisce, but even these memories he thinks are from years ago — friends from school, his parents. His short-term memory seems to be the biggest problem. But she has to hold on to the fact that there
are
improvements. In fact, she thinks he might be ready to hear the news. He was relaxed and happy this morning before he went
to sleep; when he wakes, she'll tell him.

She looks up from the
NW
as he opens his eyes and looks around, disoriented. She knows what he's about to say: the same thing he says every time he wakes up.

‘Hey, where am I?' he asks, reaching for her hand.

‘Hospital.' Lucy tries not to sound weary, but she has never said that word so many times as she has over the past week.

‘Why?' He tries to lift his hand and realises it's restrained. He looks at the cuffs with interest. ‘What are they doing to me?'

‘Helping you get better,' Lucy says. ‘You were in an accident.'

‘Oh, right.' He looks confused. ‘I had a strange dream.'

‘Really?' She leans closer. This is the first time he's recalled a dream. ‘What was it about?'

‘The cops were chasing me,' he says slowly. ‘I was in a high-speed chase. They came after me with their blue lights flashing, their siren wailing at me to stop. But there was no way I was pulling over. They looked weird — like in those movies where one
minute they're normal and the next they have yellow eyes with black slits. Freaked me out. So I drove fast.'

‘Oh,' she says. ‘What happened?'

‘Dunno.' He laughs. ‘I woke up and it was all a dream.' He frowns at her. ‘Or maybe I'm still asleep. This place is weird.' He looks around curiously. ‘Hey,' he says loudly, making Lucy jump again. ‘What's happened to my mates?'

‘Your mates?' she says.

‘Yeah, how come if I'm sick no one comes to see me.' He sounds petulant.

‘They have been in,' Lucy says, ‘several times. You're not sick, you've been in an accident.'

‘Right.' Carl watches her. ‘Was it that guy Big Red?'

‘Big Al.'

‘Yeah, him.' Carl nods to himself. ‘What about that Asian kid?'

‘JD,' Lucy says, feeling nervous at the mention of his name. She hates having to talk about him, still unsure how much information is too much.

‘Yeah.' He nods again. ‘The smartest kid in the world. I think we worked together.'

‘You did,' Lucy says. This is a new recollection.

‘In a cake shop,' Carl says. ‘Do you know that kid made a special cake for one of his friends, marked it not for sale, and someone else sold it to a customer? Didn't know it was full of weed. Wiped out an entire fiftieth birthday party — they were all puking and tripping out. I think someone got the sack. What happened to that Asian kid?'

‘His name is JD, Carl.' Lucy tries not to be annoyed.

‘Has he been in?' Carl frowns.

‘No,' Lucy says, ‘he hasn't.' To her relief, he seems to lose interest in the question.

A nurse comes in with a trolley. ‘Obs,' she says cheerily. She fixes the armband around his arm, letting it inflate, and puts a thermometer in his mouth.

He rattles it around angrily with his teeth, as his fingers tap out his displeasure on the blankets.

‘So,' the nurse says, ‘do you know where you are?'

Carl grips the thermometer between his teeth. ‘Do you know where
you
are?' he snaps.

Lucy places a hand on his arm.

‘I don't know,' he sighs wearily. ‘Lord something, something or other.'

The nurse nods. ‘Sir Charles Gairdner. Do you know what the day is?'

Carl exhales loudly. ‘What do I look like? A fucking calendar? No. I don't.'

‘Okay,' the nurse says, writing in her book. ‘All good.' She smiles at Lucy and packs up the trolley.

Lucy waits for her to leave. ‘Carl,' she says softly, ‘you don't have to be so rude to them.'

He rolls on to his side, as best as he can in his restraints. ‘I'm so sick of this shit. It's all the time. Poking, prodding, questions.'

‘They're just trying to help.'

Lucy feels close to tears. One step forward and then a rapid leap backwards. It is relentless. How can she possibly tell him she's pregnant when he gets upset about what day it is? He's not ready, and neither is she.

She hates the drive. Every day, getting up and dressed, sitting in the same traffic, going to the same room, to sit in the same chair and answer the same questions. The irony of it strikes her hard. Wasn't this the underlying fear? A life of sameness? And here she is, bang in the middle of it. Each day almost an exact replica of the one before. Meanwhile, things change around her and behind her and inside her. Time is moving on and leaving her in a bubble. A time warp.