Cutler - Midnight Whipsers Part 44

"If we don't get the aspirin in him, his fever won't go down," I moaned.

"Let me try," Gavin said. He held Jefferson in a sitting position and brought the gla.s.s to his lips.

"Come on, buddy. Drink some of this," Gavin coached. Jefferson's eyelids fluttered and he opened his mouth just enough for Gavin to trickle some of the water and aspirin in. Once again, when it reached his throat, he began to cough violently, but Gavin held onto him and Jefferson was able to swallow some of it. Then he went limp in Gavin's hands.

"Asleep again. Let's wait until he wakes up and then try once more," Gavin suggested.

We sat by watching and waiting. Every time Jefferson opened his eyes, we were able to get him to swallow some more of the aspirin, but each swallow caused more choking. Eventually, we got all of it into him. Even so, I decided I would sit up beside him and watch over him until I was sure he was in a deep sleep.

"I'll sit up, too," Gavin said.

Jefferson closed his eyes, but he didn't fall asleep for a long, long time. He moaned and cried most of the remainder of the night. Shortly after he finally did fall asleep, both Gavin and I did, too.

Morning dawned, grim, gray, forbidding. My eyelids fluttered open and I gazed around. For a moment it all seemed like a bad dream; perhaps I had walked in my sleep and sat down here and fallen asleep again, I thought. Then I saw Gavin still sitting on his bed, his head tilted, his eyes closed. He had drifted into a deep sleep watching over Jefferson and me.

I leaned over slowly and looked at Jefferson.

Although he was asleep, he looked so strange. It was as if he were having a funny dream. He wore a fixed smile and his eyebrows were elevated. But there was something about that look on his face that told me it wasn't just a smile caused by happy thoughts. No, the turn of his lips and the frozen way his eyebrows remained lifted made my own lips tremble and my hands shake.

"Gavin," I said. "Gavin, wake up." I shook his leg. He opened his eyes and stretched.

"Hi," he said. "How's he doing?"

"Look at him, Gavin," I said. Gavin leaned over and gazed at Jefferson's face.

"That's funny."

"It's weird, not funny. Jefferson?" I put my hand gently on his forehead. He didn't feel any warmer, which I took to be a good sign, but when his eyes opened, he gazed at me with a look of utter terror. "Jefferson?"

He groaned without opening his lips.

And then, without any warning, his whole body began to shake. It was as if he had touched an exposed electric wire. The sight of him in such a convulsion took my breath away. Even Gavin couldn't move or speak for a moment. Then I screamed.

"Jefferson!"

Gavin rushed to him and embraced him quickly. Beads of sweat had broken out on Jefferson's forehead and a small line of perspiration formed down his right temple and cheek. Saliva escaped from the corners of his mouth. He gagged and then his eyes went back in his head and he went limp in Gavin's arms.

"Gavin!"

Gavin, shocked himself, lowered Jefferson to the bed and then put his ear to Jefferson's little chest.

"His heart's beating very fast."

"We've got to get him to a doctor . . . to a hospital!" I cried.

Frantic now, I ran out of the room and screamed as loud and as hard as I could.

"Help! Help! Aunt Fern! Aunt Charlotte!

Someone!"

Aunt Charlotte came running out of her bedroom, Luther pulling up his pants as he followed quickly behind.

"What's wrong, dear? What's wrong?"

"It's Jefferson! He's very, very sick. He's pa.s.sed out," I said and began to cry. Luther went in to see.

"What the h.e.l.l's all the noise?" Aunt Fern cried, sticking her head out from her doorway.

"It's Jefferson. He's sick," Aunt Charlotte told her.

"Oh no, not that again. So keep giving him aspirin and stop shouting. There are two people who need their beauty sleep down here," she complained and slammed the door.

"Luther wants us to take him to the hospital right away," Gavin said, emerging. "He says he's seen this before."

I looked at Luther who stood behind him, his face full of concern, his eyes dark, the lines in his forehead and temples deep.

"Oh Luther, what is it? What's wrong with my little brother?"

"Can't be certain, of course," he said slowly, "but it looks like what happened to my cousin Frankie thirty-odd years ago after he cut himself on a rusty plow blade."

"What . . ." I asked, my heart hesitating, my breath caught. Gavin and I looked at each other. "That cut on his leg," I said. Gavin nodded. I turned back to Luther. "What happened to your cousin, Luther?"

"He caught teta.n.u.s," he said and shook his head. He didn't have to continue. I knew that meant his cousin Frankie had died. Terrified, I hurried into my room and scooped up my clothing. I dressed quickly, my hands shaking the whole time, and then Gavin and I bundled Jefferson in his blanket. Gavin carried him out and we started down the corridor to the stairway. All the while, Jefferson never opened his eyes, never uttered a sound. My heart was pounding as I walked behind them. I kept my head down.

This was all my fault, I realized. If I hadn't run off and dragged my little brother with me . . .

The curse wasn't on him, I thought; it was on me, on my side of the family. I had no right to pull him under the same dark clouds and expose him to the same hard cold rain. Everything and everyone I touch suffers eventually, I concluded sadly.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Aunt Charlotte said, walking beside me and wringing her hands. "The poor little boy."

"What the h.e.l.l's going on?" Aunt Fern called from behind as we reached the top of the stairway.

Luther had already gone down and out to bring the truck around front. I didn't feel like saying anything to Aunt Fern and neither did Gavin. We ignored her and continued down the stairs.

"I'd better get some coffee up here soon!" she screamed.

"Don't you give her anything, Aunt Charlotte,"

I said when we reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Don't even give her a gla.s.s of water. She doesn't deserve it."

Aunt Charlotte nodded, her attention and concern more on Jefferson. She followed us out to the truck.

"You sit with him up front," Gavin said, "and I'll sit in the rear of the truck. Get in first and I'll hand him in," he directed. Luther came around to help, but Gavin had firm control of it all. He placed Jefferson gently into my lap. I cradled his head against my bosom and rocked him as Luther got back into the truck.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Aunt Charlotte said, standing aside and wringing her hands. Gavin hopped on and we started down the b.u.mpy driveway.

"Gonna hafta go all the way to Lynchburg,"

Luther said. "That's the nearest hospital and that little boy needs a hospital now."

I didn't reply. I tried to swallow, but couldn't.

All I could do was nod and stare down at my little brother's sickly face. His lips were open very slightly, but his eyes were fully closed, the eyeb.a.l.l.s still.

Oh Mommy, I cried inside, I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry; I'm so sorry.

I didn't. realize I was crying until the first tear dripped off my chin and spattered on Jefferson's cheek. Then I sat back, took a deep breath, and prayed. I heard Gavin knock on the rear window and turned.

"Are you all right?" he asked. The wind was blowing through his hair as we traveled down the highway. I saw the deep concern in his eyes. I tried to speak, but couldn't get past the tremble in my lips. I shook my head and looked forward again at the oncoming road. Then I glanced at Luther. He was making the truck go as fast as it could. The engine sputtered and complained, but Luther's eyes were fixed on the highway like a man who had seen death before and was fleeing from the memories this new situation had resurrected.

It seemed like hours and hours before we saw the road sign that told us we were approaching the hospital. The overcast sky had grown darker and darker during the trip. I saw how the wind swayed the trees. People had begun putting on their headlights because it got so dark. I was sure we would be caught in a terrible downpour before we had reached the hospital, but all we had were a few drops on the windshield. When the buildings finally loomed before us, I let myself take a deep breath. The security man told us where the emergency room entrance was and we drove right to it. As soon as the truck came to a stop, Gavin hopped out and came around to open the door. Jefferson had not awoken, not uttered a sound the whole time. Gavin reached in carefully and gently lifted Jefferson off my lap. He backed away and I got out and followed him to the emergency room door.

"What happened?" a nurse asked the moment we entered.

"We think it might be teta.n.u.s," Gavin said. She came around the counter quickly and signaled for another nurse to bring over a gurney. Gavin lowered Jefferson to it and the two nurses quickly took over, one putting a blood pressure cuff on his arm, the other bringing a stethoscope to his chest. They both looked at each other with great concerti and then one began pushing the gurney down the corridor toward an examination room, out of which a young doctor had just emerged. I followed behind.

"What do we have here?" he asked them.

"My brother got very sick," I said. "He cut himself a few days ago on a nail and we think he might have teta.n.u.s."

"He never had an inoculation?" the doctor asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't think so."

"What did he cut himself on?" he asked while he lifted one of Jefferson's eyelids to look at his pupil.

"A rusty nail . . . I'm sure," I said. The doctor looked up sharply.

"Well, where are your parents? Is that your father?" he asked, nodding toward Luther, who waited down the corridor with Gavin.

"No sir."

The first nurse whispered something to him and they pushed Jefferson into the examination room. The doctor followed. I started in, but the second nurse stopped me.

"Just wait out here," she said. "Go to the desk up there and give the receiving nurse the necessary information."

"But . . ."

She closed the door before I could offer any protest. My heart was pounding so fast, I thought I'd be the next one on a gurney. Tears burned my eyes. I backed away.

"What did they say?" Gavin asked.

"They want us to wait out here. I've got to give information to the nurse at the desk," I explained. He took my hand and we approached the counter. Luther had sat down on a chair in the hall and stared at us with that terrible expression of dread written all over his face. I looked back at the closed examination room door.

My little brother is going to die in that room, I thought. I brought him all the way here. He had held my hand and had trusted me from the moment we had left the hotel in Cutler's Cove, and now he's lying in a strange room, unconscious. My shoulders began to shake as my whole body shuddered. Gavin put his arm around me.

"He's going to be all right. Don't worry," he said. "Is one of you a relative of the patient?" the nurse at the desk asked.

"Yes ma'am," I said, wiping my eyes. "I'm his sister."

"Well, would you please fill out this form.

Name and address over here," she said, pointing with a pen. I took it from her hand and looked down at the paper. My eyes were so clouded with tears, everything looked hazy-the words joining together on the sheet.

"This has to be filled out," she said more firmly when I hesitated.

I wiped my eyes again and sucked in my breath.

I nodded and began. I filled out as much as I could, but when it called for parent or guardian, I stopped and left it blank. She saw that immediately.

"Why didn't you put your parents' names here?"

she asked.

"They're both dead, ma'am."

"Well . . . how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Is this your guardian'?" she asked, nodding toward Luther, who hadn't moved or uttered a word.

"No, ma'am."

She looked annoyed.

"Who are you and your brother living with, Miss?" she demanded.

"No one," I said.

"No one?" Her confused smile turned quickly to a look of anger. "I don't understand. We need this information," she insisted.

I couldn't help myself. I just started to cry, hard and loud. Even Gavin's embrace didn't calm me. He helped me to a seat beside Luther and kept his arms around me, my face pressed into the nook between his shoulder and his neck. The nurse behind the desk didn't ask any more questions or make any more demands. After a while I stopped crying and sucked in my breath. I sat back, my eyes closed. When I opened them, I felt numb, stunned by the events.

Up until this moment, I wasn't aware of anyone else in the hospital but us, but suddenly, when I turned, I saw other people in the waiting room and other patients in the hallway-one man with a b.l.o.o.d.y bandage around his forearm, another man in a wheelchair, his head back, his eyes closed. There was a lot more activity around us, too. Nurses were going to and fro, some following doctors, some alone. A nurse's a.s.sistant was wheeling patients into the X-ray department. Down the well-lit corridor, I could see people waiting by an elevator, all of them probably coming to visit patients.

Finally,after what was an interminable period of waiting, the young doctor and one of the nurses emerged from the examination room and started down the corridor toward us. They paused at the desk and the nurse handed them the form I had filled out only partially. The doctor's eyebrows rose. The nurse said something to him and then he looked at us and continued to approach us. I held my breath. Gavin squeezed my hand tightly. Luther nodded, his own hands clasped on his lap.

"Christie Longchamp?" he said.

"Yes sir."

"Your brother's name is Jefferson," he said, looking at the chart.