Sullen
by M. F. LuderPart five
Wednesday night Andrea remembers she used to worry about the patients getting sick, getting pneumonia or worse, if they were bathed at night.
Visiting time is over at five, unless they have a permit, which are rare and far between, so bathing the patients around eight it's always easier and calmer. And for Andrea, it helps to relax her senses.
It's South California, not New York, and though it gets a little bit cold at night, it's nothing compared to back home, and pneumonia has never been a problem. She has heard people complain about the weather, but it's not cold until you've reached the cero mark
Carlos, an orderly, helps her place a bowl with warm water by the side of the bed. Sponge baths are always her favorite, though with this boy in particular, she knows it'd be impossible. She uses the remote on the bed to push it up into a sitting position. She takes a sit on a small chair by the side of the bed and starts bathing the boy's body.
Her hand reaches out to touch the boy's left cheek. The bruises are barely visible, almost two weeks since the accident. There are ghosts of blue, green and black she can only see because she knows they were there in the first place.
His handsome face stares back at her, and she can't help but smile.
She wonders about his eyes as her gaze shifts from his closed eyelids to his lips, pressed into a thin line with no expression.
The oxygen tube was taken out a few days ago, when his breathing became regular and his lungs didn't require help to sustain his body, replaced by a smaller tube coming out of his nostrils.
She's glad for that, knowing it meant that his body is slowly mending itself, wanting to be back on his feet. As minutes tick by, she notices scars on his shoulders and one on the side of his stomach. There are three more on his legs, one on his knee.
"You used to play sports, didn't you?" Andrea asks, her voice low as the only sound around the floor is the beating of the machines and soft steps of the other two nurses. "You probably liked it, too."
She smiles, sponge and hand moving to the boy's chest. The scar on his left shoulder blade, where it meets the cast, is long and looks deep. She's been a nurse long enough to recognize it.
"A knife," she says. "Deep and old."
She sighs, a painful sound coming from her lips. The boy can't be older than eighteen, how can a scar look around five years old? How can a scar like that look five years old? She shakes her head, not wanting to think more about that subject. Instead, she focuses on the boy's right arm, soap covering it up to mid forearm, not wanting to get the cast on the wrist wet.
Surprisingly, his fingers were not harmed in the accident, and the wrist bandage only reaches up to the middle of the back of his palm. She can see his fingers, her eyes squinting as she tries to tell the difference between the pigmentation of the skin.
There is no clearer skin. No ring. Of any kind. Not on his right hand, nor on his left hand. Not that she was hoping for a clue, or a wedding ring because the boy is too young to be married. But still.
Something to let her know about his past would be nice.
Something to let her know whom to call would be nice.
Andrea frowns, tilting her head as she remembers the boy's belongings in a zip bag in a drawer, along with the rest of the floor, in the nurse station.
She had barely given it a second glance, but she remembers enough of it. A wrist cuff, a watch that's probably worth a couple hundred bucks, eighteen dollars in total found in his pocket and a set of keys. No ID. Nothing.
She reaches for the boy's left hand, staring at the wrist.
The skin is clearer, though the patch is not wide enough to fit the wrist cuff. More like a watch. He used to wear the watch on his left hand. Wrist cuff on the right, most certainly, not that she can confirm, plaster hiding it.
She touches his fingers and palm and they are calloused, hard skin touching hers, and this new information doesn't add up to the expensive watch he was wearing.
"You worked with your hands," she says. "Why? Why didn't you pawn the watch, if you needed the money so badly?"
Why would anyone do something like that? He would have had to have a very good reason to keep the watch. It takes her a moment to figure it out.
"It was a gift, wasn't it? The watch. It was a gift." She nods, pleased with herself.
A grain of sand in a sea of darkness. Not much, but at some point, she's certain the information will be needed, and so, she files it away. She soaps his face, slowly and carefully, her mind going a mile per hour, thinking about all the questions she would ask the boy before her.
"Where did you live?" She asks the silence around them. "Where was your home? What was it like? Did you have brothers or sisters? Did you like where you live?"
He doesn't answer her, not really, and Andrea can only sigh.
"Help me out here kid, will you? Just give me something."
Andrea sighs, wiping the soap away from the boy's face with a wet towel.
She bites her lower lip, thinking, not for the first time, about opening his eyes and finding out the color he hides. This time, she cannot stop herself. She cleans her hands carefully and when they are soap-free, she slides the boy's left eye open. Blue eyes as deep as the ocean stare back at her, not really seeing.
She smiles at him. "Stunning blue eyes. I knew it. You were quite the heart breaker, weren't you?" She pauses. "I'm sure you were."
Nodding to herself, Andrea retrieves the sponge and continues, knowing just a little bit more about the boy under her care as his mother, a woman Andrea will meet in the not so near future, stares at herself in the mirror.
Kirsten stares at her reflection in the mirror, her image looking back at her tired and saddened. There are bags under her eyes and she seems to have aged five years in the past eleven days. No other news has risen about Ryan, no more clues. Nothing. There is no new information, the PI they've hired has found nothing.
In a moment of weakness, she wonders if they'll ever find him. If they'll ever know where the boy who should have been hers is. She worries, the same way any mother does. She worries like she did when Ryan first told him he would leave Newport and go back to Chino. She worries like she did when Seth left.
No, she thinks to herself. Not like that. Back then, she had known where Ryan was. She had known her son was smart enough not to get into trouble and that, given time, he'd come back. Kirsten had known that. Now, she knows nothing.
A shaky finger touches her skin, pale and dry, and she can barely recognize herself from the woman she used to be. This is killing her, slowly, but it is. She wonders how long it'll take for it to finish.
With a sigh, she leans over and pours water into her cupped palms, throwing it on her face. She washes away all signs of crying, for the time being, and shuts off the tap. She leaves the bathroom, and heads to bed.
It's barely eight in the afternoon, but she can't take anymore more of this day.
Sandy's downstairs in his studio, getting some papers ready for a deposition he has to do tomorrow. She has no work to focus on, so she turns on the TV for the background sound, lays down on her side and closes her eyes.
It doesn't take her long to fall asleep, not as long as she would have imagined, and before she knows it, her tiredness wins and she succumbs. However, her mind is still plagued with thoughts that will not let her go, that force her to remember, time and again, and she can't do anything but.
Kirsten remembers the first time she saw him, a boy in need of love. She wants to extend her arms, to take him into her embrace, but she can't. She doesn't. Instead, she turns her face away, like she did, and walks out of the room.
The scene morphs and she's in a hospital room, a baby in her arms. She imagines it's Seth as a newborn, but she's surprised to see a baby with blue eyes and blondish hair. She smiles at him, her fingers touching his cheek, fingers and toes. It's Ryan. Her Ryan, as a baby. It's her son.
She watches both boys play in the grass, chasing a ball, laughing.
Her mind doesn't ask about age difference and the lack of reality in this place. She doesn't want to. Both her sons are happy and, for her, that's all that matters. She smiles, reaching to her right for a glass of coke, and when she lifts her eyes once again, it's only Seth running in the yard.
She frowns, her heart constricting, a sadness taking over her. She runs outside, looking around for her son.
"Where's Ryan?" She asks to young Seth, who only tilts his head, not seeming to understand.
"Who?" Seth asks.
She blinks in confusion, her concern escalating to desperation as she looks around, not seeing him.
"Ryan!"
She screams, but the words barely come out.
"Ryan!"
Seth still looks at her like she's looking for someone who isn't there, who isn't supposed to be there, for someone they won't meet for at least another eight years. But she can't imagine losing her son, not once again, not now. She looks around, running into the house and up to the second floor.
Ryan's room is empty, and the pictures only show Sandy, Seth and her. Her heart breaks again.
When she runs outside once again, Seth isn't there anymore. But Kristen knows Seth's not missing. He's just... not here. But Ryan is missing. And she has to find him.
To her surprise, she walks to the edge of the pool and she sees him in there, in the bottom, hand reaching toward her. She screams, kneeling on the floor and stretching her hand, trying to reach his.
Kirsten wonders why she doesn't jump into the pool and get him out, how Ryan can be so deep, when the pool is barely eight feet deep. But this is a dream, and dreams aren't supposed to be logical, and one can't decide what to do.
Instead, she watches herself reach helplessly for a hand she won't catch, and Ryan sinks deeper and deeper. A scream dies in her throat as she wakes up, her heart thumping in her chest loudly.
"Kirsten?" Sandy looks down at her, eyes confused and concerned. "Sweetie, are you ok?"
It takes her a minute to recognize her surroundings before she nods. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was just--" He wants to ask her about it, but she silences him with a shake of his head. "I'm alright."
He doesn't seem convinced. "You sure?"
Kirsten nods. "Yes, it was just... a nightmare."
With a soft smile, Sandy leans over and kisses his wife. "I know. It's been a very stressful couple of days. I'm sure--"
She shakes her head, the back of her eyes burning. "No, no, you don't know. This is not... he's out there, somewhere! I know it. He's out there and we're here and we're not doing anything--"
"Kirsten, Kirsten!"
Sandy holds her by her arms before pressing her to his chest. She holds onto him, her grip tight.
Sandy wants to reassure her that they are doing the best they can. They are doing everything in their power and that yes, they will find Ryan, no matter what. If it's the last thing Sandy does in his life. They'll find Ryan, and bring him back home. He will promise her that.
Except, Kirsten places her cheek against his shoulder and starts crying, sobs choking back on her throat. His words, reassuring as they might be, die on his lips. Nothing he tells her will ever be enough. Not for her, not for the heart of a mother. Nothing, until he finds Ryan. And then, Kirsten will breathe again.
Sandy holds onto his wife and promises himself, and her, they'll find him. They'll find their son.
Seth tilts his head, eyes fixed on the TV screen. He remembers this episode. Ross slept with that Xerox girl and Rachel wants them to break up. The rest are trapped in Monica's room. Ross rolls his eyes. Ryan used to roll his eyes like that. Seth shakes his head.
"Wax the door shut," Chandler says with a wave of his hand. "We're never leaving, ever."
Seth bites his lower lip, hand tapping against his right thigh.
"You do know we've watched this episode about ten times, right?"
Seth turns around, to his right, and Ryan's sitting there, by his side, on the couch.
Ryan smiles, leaning back, arm resting along the back of the couch, hand almost touching Seth's neck.
"Yeah," Seth says, almost grinning, "I know."
"Then why are we--?"
"Dude, it's Friends. It's a classic."
"I thought Batman was a classic."
"Yeah, well, Batman too."
Ryan rolls his eyes and Seth chuckles.
"Dude, this is Friends. It's almost as good as The Lord of the Rings."
"Almost as good?" Ryan lifts one eyebrow.
Seth nods. "Yeah, almost. No one can compare to Arwen."
This time Ryan chuckles, shaking his head, head tilted, eyes looking at Seth almost lazily and Seth smiles.
Seth smiles, blinking, and Ryan is no longer there. Ryan's not there and Seth is not there. They are not there. That was sometime ago, and this is the eleventh time Seth has watched this episode.
Seth takes a deep breath. Ryan was there, here, a second ago. Ryan was there, how can he not be anymore?
Seth bites down on his lower lip, hand shaking as he reaches out and touches the backrest of the couch on the seat to his right. Ryan is supposed to be sitting there. Ryan should be here.
It shouldn't be like this. Seth knows it shouldn't be like this.
He blinks and he stares at the empty space. He closes his eyes, not listening as the episode ends.
"Yeah, but this can't be it, I mean."
"Then how come it is?"
There are days like this, like this Friday, almost two weeks after going to Chino and not finding Ryan, when Kirsten knows, she feels it in her bones, that they'll find Ryan. Kirsten wakes up, bright and early, feeling more rested than she has in the past two weeks, with a newfound hope in her heart. She's certain, somehow, that today is the day. Today, at some point, someone will call her and let her know her son has been found. He's safe and sound, waiting for her to pick him up.
Kirsten knows she'll receive that call and she can't seem to wait for it. All this pain and sorrow she has been feeling these past days, this guilt for letting her son get lost, will end with a phone call, or a visit, or something that will surprise her. But her son will be found. That's all she can think about.
Minutes tick by and everything stays the same.
She has breakfast with Sandy, in a hurry as they always do, Seth still in his bed as he has been for the past month. She feels for her son and knows there are no words to comfort him, the same way there are no words to comfort her bleeding heart. But it will end. Today it will end and she rejoices in that knowledge. Today, she'll be able to tell her son Ryan has been found. Seth will smile and bounce and talk a mile per minute. Both her boys will be together again, in her house, under her protection, and she won't let them go ever again.
She arrives at her office with a smile on her lips and announces to her secretary to pass her all the calls, no matter who's calling. To pass them all because she has no way of knowing who exactly will call to let her know her son has been found.
She will answer them all, even if she's in a meeting. She will answer them all. One of them has to be the one. Minutes tick by and everything stays the same.
She retrieves her cell phone from her pocket every other hour, to make sure there's signal and that it's on. She tells herself not to worry, the call will come. Or maybe a visit. She wonders who it will be that knows where Ryan is.
When Sandy calls, she bites down on her tongue not to tell him about her feeling. It might be a motherly thing, or a sixth sense thing, she doesn't know. But she feels it, and it's real, and she'll be right. She'll be right. She doesn't want to hear Sandy telling her not to hold her breath.
It has nothing to do with today being the anniversary of them signing as Ryan's guardians.
It has nothing to do with that.
Before she knows it, it's already six and she has to go back home. She asks her secretary if someone has called, at all, and the woman shakes her head. Kirsten asks again. Carol confirms it.
Kirsten sighs, certain someone should have called by now. She turns around, not saying goodbye, too frustrated to form the words, and walks down the hallway. She starts her car, anger burning in her neck and throat. She can't be wrong. Not today. Not after everything that has happened. She can't be wrong.
She hits the accelerator. She won't.
She buys the takeout on her way home, not getting her cell phone out of her pocket every five minutes.
She doesn't imagine it ringing.
She doesn't.
As they have dinner, Seth barely says two words, Sandy is just as quiet.
She doesn't stare at the phone lying on the table by her fingers.
Minutes tick by and everything stays the same.
Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she sighs. The heaviness in her heart seems to have increased, tenfold.
It's hard to breathe, to think. It's hard to live.
She shakes her head, telling herself there are still a few minutes left before the end of the day. There can still be that call, today, to make everything right again. There can still be.
But Kristen knows better.
She lets her head lean forward, hides her face in her hands and weeps. Her son will not be found today.