Nightmare

Thick globs of sticky red. She thinks: Oh god, poor soul. Until it dawns on her that it’s hers. The redness spreading down her legs is her own. And she doesn’t understand why the paramedic looks at her oddly when she tells him, I’m home, this is my favorite chair…no, I don’t know why I’m covered in blood. She hopes the stain will wash out.

He shines a bright light into her pupils; leaves white circles bouncing around in her retinas. As she tries to regain focus, she wonders what happened to the ceiling. The sky is a dazzling blue she’s never seen before. She succumbs to the softness of her chair, leaning against the cushion, closing her eyes because she’s sleepy. The exhaustion fills her head; her body is heavy, full of sand. Something tickles her ear and she opens an eye – just a squint. The chair has turned green and grown tendrils that wave, brushing her face.

“Hey, ma’am. Ma’am? Wake up. Stay with me.” Someone roughly taps her shoulder. But she just wants to know why her chair is green with fingers touching her face. She wants to know this more than she wants to know why she’s covered in blood.

“I’m tired.” A copper taste fills her mouth. She smacks her dry lips.

“Can you tell me your name?” It’s a woman this time – there’s an urgency in her voice.

Someone shakes her again; her eyes fling open, enraged. Her head is cocked to the side, bunches of hair partially cover her view. She tries to brush it aside and sudden sharp pain sears her right side.

She gasps. Freezes.

Her chair is gone.

She’s lying on the edge of an embankment among tall blades of grass. Cool earth seeps into her back.

“Oh god. Oh god. What’s happened?” Her stomach twists. She retches.

“Over here with that!” Someone yells.

She’s lifted and placed on a stretcher.

“Few bumps, sweetie.”

“Stay with us.”

She feels panic in the surrounding air. It doesn’t have a face, but its hot breath is sticky on her skin. It sits on her ribs, presses talons against her neck, gripping. Hard.

All this rushed chaos carries an eerie, visceral familiarity. Where has she seen this before? 

The noises, the lights – flash of sky – a face – then, a row of round lights cast a yellow glow on her body. She knows she’s in an ambulance. She knows the fading sounds, the thick blackness creeping into her peripherals, the heaviness settling on her chest, crushing her. She knows what it means.

Because she’s felt it before.

Because she knows what it feels like to die.

***

Felicity was startled awake. The machines around her beeped monotonously. Her fingers first felt the crispness of the starched white bedsheets. She tried to lift her head, but the joints in her neck cracked, and she fell back, dizzy. She waited for the room to stop spinning. She took deep breaths; it was easy now, the breathing. Oxygen filled her lungs. It released through her nostrils – warmth over her lips. She had to blink several times to clear the blur; she was in a hospital, that much she knew. But…why? Instinctively, her hand shot to her belly. There hadn’t even been a bump yet… Her eyes welled; pulse jumped. Something on the monitor blipped. In an instant, a plump woman was at her side, wearing scrubs; Pepto-Bismol pink.

“Hey there, you okay?” she asked, examining Felicity’s pupils, checking the valve in her arm.

“I don’t know.” She choked. She raised her arm, reaching her head, felt the thick gauze.

“Ooh don’t touch it.” The nurse gently placed her wrist back on her lap. “Let’s sit you up a bit. Can you tell me your name?” She held a remote and pressed a button that lifted the headrest.

“Felicity.” She adjusted, slowly. Her throat was dry and phlegmy. She tried to clear it away. “Felicity Morgan.”

“Date of birth?”

“June twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety-seven.” She coughed and winced at the pain jabbing in her ribcage.

The nurse offered her a sip of water – it was too cold but the iciness felt good on her throat. She checked the hospital band on her bruised wrist, then the wires attached to her chest. Red, brown, green, white. For the first time, Felicity saw, with painful clarity, the condition of her body; the deep purple bruises, the small cast on her right forearm.

A tall, white-coated woman approached her. “I’m the attending physician, Dr. Lang. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Morgan.”

Felicity recognized her voice – velvety-soft but controlled. It was an echo in her mind, but she couldn’t place it.

“What happened to me?” Felicity whispered. Her eyes stung. The doctor didn’t have to tell her, but her mind wouldn’t believe what her heart already knew. 

“You were in a car crash.”

Felicity held her stomach.

“I’m sorry, there was too much blood loss,” Dr. Lang said, tenderly touching her hands. “We couldn’t save the fetus.”

Felicity swallowed but the lump in her throat was defiant, growing larger and more painful. She stared at the doctor’s hands over hers; warm and tan against her swollen blue and welted skin. No polish. No ring. Felicity wondered if she also felt alone.

“How bad…” she gulped, voice trembling: “How bad am I?”

Dr. Lang offered an empathetic smile, but the corners of her eyes didn’t move. “You’ve had some minor surgery. There was an emergency D&C… the procedure was to ensure that,” she paused, an unregistered emotion flickered in her eyes. “That all the tissue was removed from your uterus. There’s also a small fracture in your right leg and your right forearm; we applied casts to both. And you needed a few stitches; one on your lip and a few on your head. You may have had a minor concussion and we’ll monitor that, make sure it’s nothing serious. But,” she brightened. “From what I can see so far, you’re doing well.”

Felicity started to shake. The nurse rested a hand on her shoulder, the doctor lightly patted her hands.

“It sounds worse than it is. You’re a lucky one.” She nodded. “We’ll get you some physical therapy for the leg, but the fractures are minor. You’ll be back up and running in a few months’ time.”

Felicity couldn’t catch her thoughts, collapse them into a sentence. Lucky. Hadn’t she died? How was she here? She took a deep, slow breath, trying to avoid another shock to her ribs.

“H-how long do I have to stay?”

“We’ll check on you in the morning, yeah? Maybe two, three days.”

Felicity nodded. Dr. Lang stood, spoke in undertones to a nurse who’d appeared in the doorway, and left the room with the nurse in Pepto-Bismol scrubs, leaving only a tiny whiff of vanilla lavender.

“I’m Julie. I’m one of the RNs that’ll be taking care of you tonight.” The woman pushed a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Felicity wiped away tears with the base of her palm.

“I don’t know.” She looked up at Julie who was busy writing her vitals on the white erase board. “My phone?”

“Anything you came in with is in that bag with your personal belongings.” She clicked the cap back on the marker and plucked the plastic bag off the end table, opened it, helped Felicity look through. It was only her clothes, damp and bloody. “If it’s still in the wrecked car….” Julie squeezed the air out of the bag and retied it. “It’s probably with a tow company. But you can get it back.”

Felicity placed her cold hands under the sheets and crouched forward.

“Is there a chaplain?” she asked, in a voice that barely registered above a whisper.

“Sure,” Julie said. “He’s here. I can ask him to visit you. It might be a little bit, if he’s with someone. Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure he stops in to see you.”

“Thanks.”

“Would you like the lights on? I can turn them off and just leave this one on,” she gestured. “It’s less harsh.”

Felicity nodded. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, reclined against the pillows, and watched Julie exit the room, leaving her to the monotony of beeps, the drone of the air vent, the lengthened shadows. There, in the deafening stillness, her overwhelmed mind seized her thoughts, tossed them into a rageful frenzy. Finally, she broke, sobbing into her blanket.

***

“She needs blood, A negative. Where are we with that intravenous line?”

It’s all a disoriented panic, but she is floating. The oxygen mask giving her a euphoric high. Forcing air into stubborn lungs. Veins nearly dry. They’ll never get a catheter in, she thinks. Just like last time. I’ll die here. I’ll die alone. She ponders why she can’t sympathize for the colorless creature on the bed. They rub her sternum, place a cold compress on her clammy forehead. But she’ll keep falling unconscious. Over and over. She just floats and wonders. When will she crash for good. When will they let her die like they did before, so it can be over.

***

Felicity didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, but she’d awoken to the sound of a footstep and a creak. She lifted her aching head and peered over the covers.

“Oh,” came a soft voice. “Sorry to disturb you. You wanted to see me? I thought you might be asleep; I figured I’d come back later. Would you like me to?”

“To what?” Felicity asked, readjusting so she could face him properly.

“To come back later. Is now a good time? It is rather late.”

“No. It’s okay.”

The man stepped forward, he was much younger than she’d expected. He had a simple round face and a thin silhouette in the small light of the room.

“You’re the chaplain?”

“You can call me Jeff.” His voice had the same melodious quality as the doctor – but more tenor. “You are?”

“Felicity.”

He grinned. “Beautiful name. Means happiness. Right?”

She stared at her fingernails, broken and dirty beneath the cuticles.

“How are you doing this evening?”

“I’ve had better days.”

He nodded and sat on a stool near the bed.

“You’ve had quite a traumatic experience,” he said gently, tilting his head, eyeing her in a pitying way – the same way someone might look at a dog before it’s put to sleep.

“What is hell like?”

He blinked.

“Oh, well, um…” He cleared his throat, eyes lowered.

“Is there fire and torture?”

“It’s…well, yes. There’re a few passages that describe it like that. Mostly darkness and…why do you ask?” Now he gaped at her with a perturbed curiosity. Then, quickly added, “Of course, it’s a valid question, it’s just that, well, most people want to know about heaven, or, where they might go when they move on from this life. I’ve…you’re the first who’s ever asked that.” He smiled but his forehead wrinkled.   

“You haven’t been a chaplain long, have you?” Felicity stared back at him, thought perhaps he’d recoil; he didn’t. For an amateur, he regained composure quickly.

“I’m in my residency,” he confessed. “But I’ve worked in a nursing home a long time. I’ve often been asked about death and what happens in the afterlife and if there even is one. I suppose that answer was more practiced.” He averted his gaze, chuckled quietly.

“Is it possible to…to die, more than once.”

He raised his head, sidelong glance in her direction.

“Certainly.” His expression flooded with concern. “Is this something you…”

“I don’t mean experience in the sense that it actually happened. I mean…like a déjà vu, like you know you’ve been there but it’s a different body. I’ve never been in an ambulance before but, I knew what was happening. It was a repeat. It was like a uh…” Felicity glanced around the room, as if the words she needed might be hovering nearby. “Like a mind switch.” She knew she sounded crazy, but a chaplain might understand. A psychiatrist would only give her more pills. Diagnose her with existential crisis.

The chaplain was looking at his palms, opening and closing his hands, as though he were communing with God, grasping for an answer and coming up empty.

“Do you believe in the holy scriptures?”

“I believe in my own experiences.” She reached for the water cup on her tray table, sipped through the blue straw. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He pressed his palms together and slouched.

“I don’t have an answer.”

“There’s nothing in your Bible about people seeing the world through another’s eyes?”

His Adam’s apple fluttered. “No. Not in the way you described.”

“Then why did I die twice when this is the first time it’s ever happened?”

He shook his head side to side.

“Near death experiences have always been a mystery.” He bit his lower lip. Then, with eyebrows raised and hands clasped, he asked, “Can I pray for you?”

And Felicity knew then, she was utterly alone.

***

It was late morning on the day of her expected release, when the two police officers arrived: introducing themselves, explaining to her this was standard protocol due to the nature of the incident, the need for a report, etcetera.

Felicity watched them navigate their way around her hospital bed, Julie trailing behind.

“Are you feeling sick, or taking any medication that might alter your judgement?”

“You don’t have to do this now, if you’re not up to it,” Julie admonished, ignoring the sideways glance she was getting from them.

“I’m fine,” Felicity said. Then, to the uniformed men: “No, I haven’t taken any medication. I had some painkillers last night but…it’s all wore off now. I’m a little sore but…” She sat straighter, folded her hands in her lap.

“Sorry to hear about your pain,” the first one spoke. His name was Officer Garrett, he smelled like her grandfather once did – Old Spice and cigarettes. “Do you feel you can give us an accurate statement about what happened – or near as accurate as you can remember regarding the accident?”

“I can try.” Her voice wavered. She cleared her throat.

“That’s all we can ask.” Officer Garret offered a warm smile. He pulled a metal chair close to the bed. She winced as the legs scraped on the tile.

“Now, I do need to tell you that you’ve got a right to an attorney. We can get you one for free if you can’t afford it and of course, you always have the right to not tell us anything at all. If you choose not to remain silent, anything you say could be held against you in court.”

His partner flipped open a small handheld notebook. Pen ready.

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, no, Miss Morgan. We always admonish everyone of their rights before we start an interview. It’s procedure. What’ll it be, then? You good to talk or would you prefer to have an attorney present?”

Felicity glanced helplessly at Julie, but she was reading a chart and reaching for the dry erase marker.

“Just a few questions,” he assured. “Won’t take much of your time. I’m sure you’re needing rest.”

“I’ll be home later today,” she said.

“Ah, good. That’s great to hear. Now, as far as the accident, seems like you were going a tad fast.”

Felicity chewed her lip. Julie’s hand on the white board paused mid-air.

“I was.”

“D’you remember how fast?”

“Not sure. Um. Forty probably.”

“Do you remember what the speed limit was on that road you were travelling?”

“Thirty?”

“It was, yes. Where were you headed that day?”

Felicity stared past him, out the window, at the sky scraper next door.

“Had to get gas and a few groceries.”

“How were you feeling that day?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t recall feeling a little blue, maybe? Under the weather?”

“I was having a rough day.” She strained to swallow the rising lump in her throat. But it rose higher, trying to choke her.

“How’d you veer off the road?”

“An animal, something, ran in the road.”

“Mmm.” He leaned forward, steepled his fingers. “Which way’d it run?”

“Um. I don’t know. I just tried to avoid it.”

“How big?”

“Maybe the size of a…” she looked down at her hands, stretched them apart in front of her. “A turkey or something?”

“So, it was a bird, then?”

“I think so.”

He was watching her closely. Too closely. She felt her stomach squeezing.

“That’s an interesting story Miss Morgan but, I don’t know that I believe it.” The chill of his words made her shiver.

Julie stopped writing; she hunched her back, staring intently at the chart in front of her.

“See, we had someone measure the skid marks and they’d calculated you going about sixty miles an hour, right before you cut your wheel and slammed over the barrier into the rock wall. We’ve also got about fifteen eye-witnesses who were on the road at the time, and all report the same thing: there were no animals, no major traffic, plenty of safe space between cars. Then, they saw you pick up speed, a couple drivers started to move over, assuming you would pass, and that’s when you cut the wheel.”

She was gazing out the window again. At those tall buildings striking the sky. Knives thrust at heaven.

“Would you like to tell me why you were trying to kill yourself?”

She says nothing.

She fixates on the crest of the trees – just a line of green, far off, far beyond the city limits.

She wishes she were floating again. Wishes they’d let her die, just one more time.