CHAPTER 170: The Virgin and the Masters, Part 63
CHAPTER 170: The Virgin and the Masters, Part 63
CHARLOTTE
He just lies there, eyes closed, unconscious.
He’s normally so alive. Everything about him is alive. Even when he’s angry with me, I love it that he’s always on the move, in motion; thinking, talking, being him. To see him like this, so reduced...
Please don’t leave me. Please...
I miss you.
Wake up, Master. Come back to me...
Please wake up.
“Would it help to hear our voices?” I ask the doctor. “Can he hear our voices?”
The doctor shrugs. “We don’t know. Odd things happen in these cases. People who we believe are deeply unconscious, later report hearing conversations around them.”
Perhaps I could read to him?
“It can’t do any harm.”
I sit in the armchair by his side, reading aloud from ... I struggled to choose what book to read to him, since it occurred to me, belatedly, that I have no idea what my Master reads for pleasure.
I try to choose something classic instead, something appropriate; but ‘Wuthering Heights’, with Cathy, Heathcliff and Edgar, and their doomed love triangle, isn’t right. Neither is ‘Gone with the Wind’, with Scarlett, Rhett and Ashley. ‘Pride and Prejudice’, ‘Jane Eyre’, ‘Anna Karenina’, all dwell on the failure of three lovers to make their situation work.
In the end, I choose something very different, ‘Time Enough for Love’, an old 1970’s Sci-fi novel, in which the characters make their polyamorous family work.
Is it right? I don’t know, but it’s a long book and gives me something to read to my Master.
MICHAEL
The couch is narrow; the kind that gets used in waiting areas and receptions, but she’s there; positioned to watch James’ face, pale, red-eyed, exhausted.
She looks like a little child, sitting by him, crying, her face almost whiter than his, except where her eyes are swollen and blotchy.
I wish I could wave a magic wand, Babe... Make it right for you...
... And him.
But this one is out of my hands.
Richard and Beth call by. “How is he? Any change?” she asks.
I can only shake my head. “The surgeon says they’ve done everything they can. Replaced the lost blood. Repaired the artery. Found the bullet and removed it... They say his chances are good, but we have to wait.”
Beth is close to tears. Richard doesn’t look much better. He lays his hand on my shoulder. “I wish I could help. There’s so little I can do. But... don’t worry about medical bills. That’s all taken care of. Whatever it needs...”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Never under-estimate self-interest,” he says. “I need my co-director back.” He’s joking of course, trying to lighten the mood, and it shows in his eyes. “How’s Charlotte?”
“Not good. Cries half the time, and sits staring at him the rest. I don’t think she’s slept in the last two days, and it doesn’t help that I can’t get her off that chair. If I could get her to lie down...”
“Ah.” Richard raises a finger. “On that then, I can help. Should have thought of it before. Let’s get a couple of extra beds into the room for the pair of you.” He marches down the corridor. “Nurse!”
BETH
We return a few hours later, Richard wanting to check that his instructions have been carried out and that the threesome are comfortable.
As we enter the room, the scene would make a statue weep: James, still unconscious. Michael and Charlotte, both asleep on a single bed beside James’.
“We shouldn’t disturb them. They’ve had little enough rest. Let’s go and have a coffee. We can come back in a while,” says Richard.
“Yes, and we should bring them something to eat.”
“Good idea. I’ll call Ross. Get him to put something together for them. They’ll need better than vending-machine snacks at a time like this.”
We return a couple of hours later with Ross’ meal. Miracle-wise, in the short time, he’s put together a hot casserole, salad, fruit and cheese, juice and coffee; all in picnic-style containers, for easy eating in difficult conditions.
We hover at the room door. Michael isn’t there, but Charlotte is sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to us, holding the unconscious James’ hand, kissing his fingers.
She’s talking to him, and even though I can’t see her face, I hear the tears in her words.
“... I know you always worried about being older than I am... But I still thought we were going to have years and years together... Now... What am I supposed to do? With you like this? I love Michael too, but it’s supposed to be the three of us. Don’t leave me, Master. Please don’t leave me...”
She starts sobbing. It’s a gut-rending, heart-broken sound. Richard and I exchange glances. Even his eyes are filling.
We sit either side of her on the bed. I wrap my arms around her. Richard holds her hand.
Where’s Michael?
He appears at the door, towelling damp hair, sees us, with Charlotte, and visibly curses under his breath.
“Oh, Charlotte. I thought you were asleep...” Then to me. “Gotta use the bathroom sometime...”
“We brought food for you.”
“That’s great, thanks. Charlotte. C’mon, eat.”
“Ross cooked it. It’s his mother’s recipe chicken-casserole,” I say.
Her voice is numb. “I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are,” insists Michael. “You just think you’re not.”
She makes no move towards the food, which even I, accustomed as I am to Ross’ good cooking, have to admit smells wonderful.
Charlotte won’t look at it. Her face works, as though she’s suppressing the urge to vomit.
Michael pushes the casserole at her insistently. “Charlotte, eat.” Still, she doesn’t make a move. “Charlotte. James would want you to eat it.”
That finally does it. She picks up a fork and takes a small mouthful, chewing endlessly, forcing it down.
Richard catches Michael’s eye, gesturing him out into the corridor. Michael looks across at me. “I’ll stay here,” I say.
He nods, following Richard.
After a few minutes, they’ve not returned, but Charlotte is drooping. “You should sleep.” She nods but doesn’t speak.
“Let me get you into bed. You’re right next to him. You can watch him from there.” She nods again.
I help her into bed, fully clothed still, tucking her in like a little girl. Almost instantly, she drops off. I wait for a minute or two, to be sure she’s asleep, then look out into the corridor. Michael and Richard are there, talking quietly.
“You think we should get her sedated?” asks Richard. “Or perhaps away from here? It can’t be doing her any good, seeing him like that.”