Shadows of the Dead, page 21
part #5 of The Soul's Voice Series
Margaret’s discomfort was obvious and the doctor explained, “Missus Thomas, the movements you are seeing are due to the erratic brain activity and are not indicative of any conscious awareness on Martin’s part. We are presently trying to control them with anti-seizure medications but so far have those have been unsuccessful.”
As he spoke Marty’s body stiffened, his back arching off the bed, and his eyes suddenly opened wide along with his mouth, although his face was oddly otherwise expressionless.
“Again,” he assured her, “everything you’re seeing here is entirely unconscious.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, revolted.
“He has no higher brain functions at all. He will never regain full consciousness. If life support were turned off, he would certainly die, and maybe it would be kinder, at this point; to let him go.”
Her eyes narrowed briefly and she felt her jaw set. “No,” she said, “What I need you to do next is submit three recommendations for long term care facilities.” She turned to him, “And as his wife, I still forbid any visitors, anyone at all, from coming in here; law enforcement or medical staff only, is that clear? Marty still holds a position of great responsibility, so there are legal considerations too…” She pointed to the FBI agent standing guard outside the glass wall.
“I understand.” He said. “I have to go, but you can stay as long as you like” He gestured to the chair next to the bed and gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “Let one of the nurses out there know if you have any other questions or concerns and I’ll get that list to you as soon as I can.”
He left quietly and she stared warily at the chair, I don’t think so. She remained standing at the foot of Marty’s bed and her head tilted slowly from one side to the other as she regarded him. She stared in silence, watching as her husband of more than two decades, a philandering bully for all that time, as he lay helpless; a twitching mass of disconnected neurons in the bed before her.
“So all of this is unconscious, right?” She sneered in a quiet voice, laced with menacing disdain. “Or are you wishing you were with your cunt girlfriend? She’s right outside… too bad she’ll never be allowed to come in here, huh?” She drew in a deep breath. “You know what, Marty? I hope… I pray that before you finally finally die, you come back just enough to see how pathetic you are now… so you can really appreciate your position here.” She took a few steps around the bed. “Until then, my husband, because you are still my husband, I control what happens to you from now on. Appreciate that, you asshole.” Her nostrils flared and her lips pressed into a thin sneering smile. She turned on her heel and left the room.
Millburn, NJ
Catherine slid under the covers and tucked herself under Jordan’s arm, pressing close.
“That was crazy about JB’s doctor… does it seem fishy to you he managed to strangle himself with his shirt while on suicide watch?”
“Well,” Jordan shrugged, pulling her closer, “Jane sent over the photos, he was pretty clever, or maybe just determined. Given how he twisted his t-shirt in a figure eight around his neck and forearm, like a tourniquet…” She demonstrated, placing her arm over her head, “they said it was really tightly twisted… Then he wedged his arm between the bed and the wall to hold it there even after he lost consciousness… and he managed that while lying on the lower bunk. He was under a blanket so I can see how the position wouldn’t have aroused suspicion on camera.”
“Mmm, I guess.” Catherine sighed and closed her eyes. “And the word from inside the church is Margaret Thomas is fighting Lance Archer for control of CUT… can you imagine?”
Jordan snorted. “They’re both ridiculous. Margaret transferring Thomas to a long term care facility, spare me. She’s trying to cooperate with the FBI and the IRS in order to take over and save the church… but there’s nothing on paper to indicate who is in charge with Thomas and Tamsett out of the picture.”
“And with ex-members getting massive media attention, giving interviews about their time in the church…” Catherine closed her eyes. “The PR has to be devastating.”
Jordan stared at the ceiling. “I wonder how much longer he can last…”
“Who?”
“Thomas. Or maybe his wife will pull the plug once she tires of the massive medical bills.” A long minute passed and she added, “And since ballistics ID’d the slug in the headrest as coming from Teddy Johnson’s gun he was automatically charged with attempted murder of a federal agent and faces a life sentence unless he tries to plead out… and Fuller’s handprint on the hood, proving he was there too, got him the same charge.”
“Good.” Catherine said, hoping she’d never hear psychic gunfire ever again. “I wonder how Logan is doing with all this... I hope he can heal and move on with his life.”
Jordan yawned. “Amen to that.” She said, sounding sleepy.
She stood next to Helga in a hospital room. The bed was surrounded by softly beeping and blinking machines. Catherine stepped closer, Helga following behind. A small form lay in the bed. It is Martin Thomas.
“He looks so small now,” Catherine whispered, “like a doll.”
Thomas was not breathing on his own; a tracheostomy tube connected his windpipe to a respirator that emitted a soft mechanical whirring noise as it filled his lungs with oxygen. His eyes suddenly flew open wide and he began screaming in high pitched shrieks, his face wildly contorting in terror.
“Oh my god.” Catharine murmured and turned to look at the door. “Why is no one coming?”
“Because he is only screaming in his mind.”
“So we’re seeing him in his coma?”
“He’s very confused. He thinks he’s awake and being attacked by demons.”
“Is he?” Catherine peered around them. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s because they’re his demons.”
“Will he ever wake up?”
Helga shrugged, “Probably not.”
“So when he dies at least his nightmare will be over.”
“Maybe.” Helga said. “Maybe not.” Catherine gave her a look. “He believes in demons, but sometimes the ego becomes so toxic it becomes demonic and that can destroy the self for...” she shrugged again.
“For what?” Catherine turned to her, “Forever?”
“Well, actually I was going to say for a very long time. A whole variety of horrendous things can develop Beingness… There are extremely negative entities that are, relatively speaking, quite young and others that have been around for a very, very long time. Sometimes events or people can create these things… sometimes people become these negative entities… and then there are those we just don’t know where they come from or how long they’ve been around.”
Catherine shook her head, “It’s so sad.”
“Yes,” Helga nodded, “at the very least.”
Catherine blinked, and woke up to Jordan looking at her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She answered. “Why?”
“You were making tsk-tsk noises in your sleep.”
“Helga showed me Martin Thomas… it’s so sad.”
Jordan checked the time on her phone, “Well, you did a lot of dreaming in less than a half hour.”
Catherine sat up. “I’m gonna go in the kitchen and write it down…” she said, grabbing her journal.
Jordan sat up too. “I’ll make us some tea.”
She turned to her, surprised, “Great, chamomile?”
“Of course.” Jordan grinned and left the bed, shuffling to the door.
Catherine followed, “I’ll write fast so we can fool around when we come back.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jordan said, grinning.
They walked down the hallway together to the kitchen. “What do you want to do this weekend?” Catherine asked, whispering.
“I don’t know…” Jordan whispered back, “Anything, I guess, as long as I don’t have to get on a plane or bleach my roots and eyebrows.”
Lee Perry, Shadows of the Dead
