The Whisper, page 19
After that, trying to reach Glen became an integral part of his hospital routine. Sometimes, he would stop by the phone a few times a day, and with every unsuccessful call his parasites got more and more active, making Jasper contemplate all sorts of things that could’ve happened to the only person he still cared for. He couldn’t get one thought out of his head: if the devil had found out that Glen helped him after Jane’s death and chose to remain silent, that kind of disrespect would have never gone unpunished.
“Shut up,” Jasper whispered to the parasites, one day after another unanswered call. “Shut up!”
Everyone in the hall fell silent and turned to him. In those few awkward seconds, before the humming resumed, Jasper could sense the apprehension emanating from every person within his sight.
Slowly, his physical condition was improving. Jasper was regaining his weight. The color of his skin was returning to its natural color—not pale enough to look like a corpse. Two and a half weeks later, he could almost walk without a crutch. Almost.
The hospital routine exhausted him. He was sick of the white robes, the tiled walls, and the constant smell of medication. Yet, he wasn’t ready to leave. So far, West Side Hospital proved to be a good shelter for him, a safe place outside of the world to which he had completely lost connection. Here, nobody expected anything from Jasper. Everything that needed to be taken care of was. Once Jasper stepped outside, he would have to learn how to live his life again. Many questions would need answers. Many things he was afraid to know would have to be revealed.
In the end, Jasper wasn’t that far from his past. If he got to the right part of the hospital, he could see the top floors of the Arlington Building protruding above the rest of the city. The life he had left three years ago, with all its ugliness, was within arm’s reach, but here Jasper felt as if there was a thick concrete wall dividing him from it.
This wall could stand through New Year’s at least.
Christmas was close. The orderlies and nurses were high on holiday spirit, but despite their persistent offers Jasper refused to decorate his ward. At night, he would fall asleep while watching weak gleams of blue, red, and green slipping through the gap in the doorway. It frustrated him, his inability to share everybody’s excitement.
The parasites had no holidays, did they?
Jasper was especially vulnerable to the whisper when he was alone. Deep in the core of his brain, he kept a box of memories he brought out to check on when nobody was around. Jane dying in his arms—that memory was at the top of all the others. It was like an itching wound. Jasper wouldn’t stop until he scratched it open. He could dig deeper into that memory box and find something else, like the memory of their trip to Summerhold or the memory of the first time they met. So many memories, whether bad or good, were shattering him all the same.
On Christmas Eve, when Jasper was alone in his ward, he brought the box out and surrendered to the parasites once again. Holding the blanket wrapped around him, the pillow wet with his tears, he kept repeating aloud one thing, “I’m sorry, Jane. I’m sorry, Jane. I’m sorry, Jane.”
How was he supposed to reassemble his life without the most essential part of it?
Maybe life was not worth it then. Jasper looked through the window, a winter blizzard hitting against it, and thought how simple it was. One step, six floors, and if he was lucky enough, it would all be over. Jane wouldn’t have judged him for that, given that she had wanted to take the same step herself a long time ago.
Her words came to his mind suddenly.
The one who seeks death will never get rid of his parasites.
Jane had learned the lesson. Jasper had to learn it too. He felt instantly ashamed of his own thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Jane. I’m sorry, Jane. I’m sorry, Jane.” There was more insistence in his voice now.
At one point, he turned to the other side of the bed and saw Dr. Shelby standing in the ward in full silence. The door behind her was open. In the semi-darkness, Jasper could hardly see her, but he knew it was her. The whisper gave her away, and judging by its intensity she had been watching him for quite a while.
It turned out she had come by to leave a Christmas present. She had meant it to be a surprise. When Jasper unwrapped the present—earlier than he was supposed to—he revealed A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. He remembered the plot vaguely, having read the book when he was five or six. What he remembered clearly was his father sitting next to him, correcting him when he pronounced some words wrong.
So thoughtful of you, Dr. Shelby. A Christmas book for Christmas to fill someone with Christmas spirit.
He didn’t know how much that little something would eventually cost him.
The holidays had flown by, and the closer the day of his release got, the more hostility Jasper felt from the hospital staff. Orderlies tended to say things like, “Somebody’s feeling good today,” or “A few more days, and you’ll be as good as new.” What they really meant was, “A few more days, and you’ll get the fuck out of here.” Jasper knew they were sick of the carelessness with which he took his treatment, the coldness with which he communicated with people who wanted to help him, and his controversial behavior.
On the fourth of January, Jasper broke his own record. He walked up and down the stairs between the sixth and second floor thirteen times. Jasper was happy to be getting back in shape. The hospital staff was even happier.
An orderly caught him when he was one floor away from finishing his fourteenth round.
“Mr. Newman, you were scheduled for an ECG this morning,” the orderly spat, panting, no fake politeness.
“Was I?” Jasper asked.
“Yeah, everyone’s been looking for you.”
“All right, I can go now.”
“We don’t have time now. Dr. Shelby would like to talk to you.”
“Dr. Shelby? She’s here?”
Jasper hadn’t seen her since the Christmas Eve, and up till now he hadn’t asked anyone where she might have been. After that awkward encounter, he could hardly bear the thought of looking her in the eye again.
“She’s waiting for you in her office,” the orderly said.
Dr. Shelby was sitting at her desk with a few files spread out in front of her. On the opposite side was a male figure so massive he could barely fit in his chair. His flanks beneath a striped shirt hung over the armrests like half-melted wax. The chair creaked as the man turned to greet Jasper, his face round and pure as a newborn’s. The rectangle rims of his spectacles framed dark brown eyes.
If Jasper didn’t know better, the man would give him a nice impression. Nice enough to stop and help you with directions on the street. Nice enough not to forget about courtesy. Nice enough to inspire trust.
But that was a surface Jasper could see through.
The mist filling the space around the man occupied nearly a quarter of the office, and although he had twice as few parasites as Jasper the things they imposed were obsessive.
“…and that’s why I thought it’d be nice if you two had a word.”
Jasper suddenly realized he had missed the key part of what Dr. Shelby had said. The unbreakable stare that followed let him know she was still waiting for an answer.
“Okay,” Jasper said with no idea what he was signing up for.
The man stood up from his chair, not without an effort, and extended his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Newman,” he said.
Jasper couldn’t say the same, but he accepted the hand. He backed away the second he felt some of the man’s parasites getting ready to plunge onto his side. Jasper was still learning how it all worked, but he already knew one thing. He always had to keep his distance.
“You want me to give you a minute, Dr. Donovan?” Dr. Shelby asked.
“That’d be great.”
She walked out of the office. From time to time, Jasper would turn his head to the door, anticipating her return. Never had he wanted her presence more than he did now.
“Have a seat, please,” Dr. Donovan said.
There was a small sofa in the room with an equally small coffee table in front of it. When Jasper sat down, he left no space for someone of Dr. Donovan’s size. The doctor placed the chair he’d been sitting in on the opposite side of the coffee table and squeezed himself back into it.
“How are you doing, Mr. Newman?” the doctor asked.
“Better than a few weeks ago,” Jasper said.
“Good to hear.”
“Apparently, Dr. Shelby doesn’t think so. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m here only because West Side Hospital doesn’t specialize in every kind of treatment. Dr. Shelby wanted to make sure that you get all the help you need. I’ve known her for quite some time, and I think you should feel lucky you got under the wing of such a dedicated doctor.”
“Excuse me, but who exactly are you?”
“My name’s Gordon J. Donovan. I am a psychiatrist at Ashberry Field Hospital.”
Jasper shook his head in amusement.
“Indeed, I should feel lucky,” he said.
“Our hospital is not the nuthouse you probably imagine all mental institutions to be,” Dr. Donovan said.
“Okay. And you’re here because...”
“I’m here to help you.”
Jasper gave a long, exasperated sigh.
“Honestly, sometimes I think doctors want to give their help so badly that when everything is fine they begin to make problems up,” he said.
“You think Dr. Shelby made up your problems?”
“I don’t know what she told you, but I definitely don’t have problems a shrink can solve.”
Contempt seemed to charge Dr. Donovan’s mist, though his face remained impassive. He hated to be called a shrink as much as any other psychiatrist. He hated that one word could downgrade the profoundness and complexity of this honorable profession.
“If you only knew how many times I’ve heard people say that to me,” Dr. Donovan said.
I bet those people regretted it plenty, Jasper thought.
“I don’t want you to feel as if I’m here to accuse you of anything,” the doctor went on. “My job as a psychiatrist is to see things from your perspective. Maybe you don’t have problems a shrink could solve, but what if you have problems a shrink could understand? How about you tell me what happened on December 24th?”
“Um… America was getting ready for Christmas day. That’s what happened, I guess.”
Dr. Donovan pursed his lips and forced a benign smile. Meanwhile, his parasites were gaining ascendancy. Jasper wasn’t the kind of patient the doctor wanted him to be. The good patient. The patient who didn’t contradict, didn’t make witty comments, and didn’t talk much—the patient who listened and felt grateful for all the help the good doctor gave him.
“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” Dr. Donovan said.
“I have nothing to hide,” Jasper lied, “but I don’t understand what you want me to tell you.”
“Mr. Newman, the hospital staff mentioned clinical depression, delusions, and panic attacks.”
“You said your job is to see things from my perspective.”
“That’s why I want you to tell me the truth.”
Jasper took a deep breath. At that point, it was clear silence would only make things worse. If he wanted this conversation to end well, he had to abide by the doctor’s rules. Jasper had to pull himself together and ask for pity—that was what being the good patient was all about, wasn’t it?
“What can I say, doctor? My life seems to be nothing but a sequence of losses. I lost my parents when I was little. I lost the girl I loved. At some point, I thought I lost common sense. Now, I lost three years of my life.”
“Good start. Tell me more please,” the doctor said.
Jasper swallowed a lump in his throat.
“My parents died a long time ago,” he began. “I always say I’ve accepted their deaths, but the truth is I’ve felt alone ever since. Then someone came into my life, and for a while I thought I wasn’t alone anymore.”
“What was she like?”
“Beautiful and simple on the surface, mangled and complicated deep down. I thought we were a perfect match, but our fucked-up duet was doomed to fall apart, pardon my French.”
“Why do you think so?”
“We were doing what we wanted instead of what was right, and neither of us cared. When Jane and I were together, we felt like the rest of the world didn’t know we existed, like we were a separate unit the others could dismiss. It was the most wonderful feeling I have ever experienced. I was so sure it was worth all the hell it created around us, but…I was wrong.”
“What happened to Jane?” Dr. Donovan asked.
“How do you know her name?” Jasper said with a note of concern in his voice.
“You said it yourself.”
“I don’t think I did.”
Freak. Freak. Freak.
“Mr. Newman, you mentioned it when you were telling about the time you spent together.”
“I’m sorry, I ah… I must’ve...”
“It’s okay. Keep going. What happened to her?”
“She died in a...in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Jasper looked the doctor in the eye, waiting dispassionately for the next question to follow.
“Would you say you blame yourself for her death?” Dr. Donovan said.
“Why do you think I would?”
“Dr. Shelby told me about what she heard from you the other night.”
Of course she did, Jasper thought. The bitch can’t keep her fucking mouth shut.
“I would say the blame is on both of us,” Jasper said. “Me and Jane were acting damn stupid.”
“How do you mean?”
Jasper suddenly realized how far his sincerity had taken him. From the good patient, he was gradually growing into a desperate one.
“I mean... um… sometimes the things that bring us closer to our fate,” Jasper went on, “are so small that we don’t even notice them, don’t you think?” He paused to choose his next words more carefully. “We say something we shouldn’t say, do something we shouldn’t do, and in the end we find ourselves in the most unexpected places at the most unexpected times. Before I could get over Jane’s death, I got in the car accident that took three years of my life. After that, everything for me was split into before and after the accident. I haven’t had time to deal with the before; now I have to deal with the after. There are so many things I left unresolved.”
“Perhaps you should try to focus on the after rather than the before? It’s pointless to regret things you can no longer change. Such a cliché, but it is true. If you ignore it, regret becomes destructive. I’ve seen people like that, people who turned into walking resentment, and it’s a problem you have to nip in the bud.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Of course it’s not, but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
“So, what should I do?”
“We should take one step at a time,” the doctor said.
It alerted Jasper that Dr. Donovan preferred to say we over you.
Behind that smile and those kind eyes, there was an ego desperate for a lab rat.
13
FRAGMENTS
Jane stood in a thicket of the woods with her back turned to him. Stripes of sunlight were breaking through the branches. Jasper was afraid to come closer to her, as if she were a doe or some other forest thing he could easily scare off, and hoped at some point she would show him her face, but it wasn’t until the sunset painted the leaves deep golden that Jane turned around. What Jasper saw in her face frightened him more than the possibility of her going away. Jane was looking back at him with her eyes full of terror that seemed to grow the stronger the more the sun was setting. When the darkness veiled her face, a soul-chilling scream broke out. Jasper rushed forward but found himself completely alone…
He sat up in his bed abruptly, his forehead sweaty. One by one, patients were opening their sleepy eyes and looking around in confusion. Four beds away from Jasper, someone writhed in a raging anxiety attack. Deep rasp howls shook the walls of the ward, and a large black spot—a spot only Jasper could see—highlighted the source of the sound.
One person seemed to have accumulated the human poison of the whole ward. The chance of reaching the mist connection between the patients was much higher when they were asleep. Jasper hadn’t noticed that before. Now, he could see it clearly. The beds were too close to each other. The parasites had a freeway and a wide choice of turns, and most of them had chosen the easiest target—an old man, gray hair, shriveled skin, withered mind.
The orderly kneeled in front of the old man’s bed, put both hands on the trembling body, and tried to hold him still, which did absolutely nothing. The man’s eyes were closed, his mouth twisting in a desperate attempt to say something.
The patients were getting out of their beds to take a closer look until Jasper was the only one who remained where he was. He could tell the others that the best thing they could do for themselves and the old man at that point was to keep away from him, but who would listen to him? So, as the circle of people was closing in around one bed, the black spot in Jasper’s vision was growing larger, the howling getting louder.
Then Jasper experienced something extraordinary. A brief sting of fear. He had known many sorts of fear, but that fear was different. Another sting was a little fainter, but the one after was much stronger. Jasper figured those stings came the exact second he heard a certain fragment of the whisper that surrounded the old man.
It was the first time the whisper made this much sense to him, the first time he could nearly decipher it fragment for fragment, although each one was out of the realm of human languages. Jasper wasn’t able to interpret those fragments yet, but he could easily perceive their meanings.
