Categories > Original > Drama > Separation
August 5, 1977
It was an eerie feeling; like doing CPR on a ghost. Viridian sat wide-eyed, unblinking. One hand clenched in Cadmium’s, he gripped the limp appendage all the tighter for its lack of reciprocal pressure. The body on the gurney stared blankly at the ambulance ceiling, one eye smashed to a bloody, oozing pulp beneath the mask, the other half-open, glazed and vacant. There was nobody in there; or there wouldn’t be if not for Viridian’s clinging to the last thread of Cadmium’s psyche like a child with an overlarge bundle of helium balloons on a windy day. He dared not relax for a second, not even to gain a better grip.
There were a lot of flat places that should have been three-dimensional. Most of Cadmium’s right leg and all of his left was misshapen and oddly squashed from where the cinder blocks had tumbled down on top of him. The left arm had nearly been ripped off at the shoulder and lay bent at odd angles everywhere except the elbow. It was a misconception that red clothing hid bloodstains; the super suit certainly wasn’t doing anything to mask the darker, sticky liquid that had pooled among the saturated Imperviall fibers. He guessed it wasn’t so impervious after all.
Because of Charles’ psychic abilities, it was primarily Alex who had the unique honor of Ray-sitting. Ray’s fits could range anywhere from almost indistinguishable to violent. When he collapsed and began jerking, it was Alex’s job to hold him still.
He did so now, his arms carefully frozen in place around Ray’s smaller body, his head cradled in the crook of one elbow, torso pinned safely against his own with his other arm. Ray was the smallest out of the three of them, short and slender as a rail. Always vaguely afraid of accidentally breaking his friends, Alex was particularly gentle with Ray. Perhaps it was the seizures that made him seem so much more delicate.
Ray’s jerking had faded back to mild tremors, the vessel in his nose finally clotting closed. Taking the damp washcloth Charles had ready, Alex sponged Ray’s face and neck clean. Ray, completely out, offered no protest but hung limp and leaden in his arms. The black hoodie and red t-shirt were peeled off and thrown in the wash along with Alex’s rugby jersey. Ray’s sweatshirt existed for the sole purpose of absorbing nosebleed blood and Alex’s jersey was made to take more abuse than the average garment was meant to suffer. The shirts, like their owners, would emerge in the morning unstained and no worse for their sticky misadventure.
Ray was still shivering, but from cold instead of mental strain. He was more or less comatose now, but venting so much energy had left him exhausted and chilled, his pale skin cold to the touch. Gathering him close, Alex tucked him up against one bare shoulder and cradled him like a four-year-old, letting Ray steal some warmth for himself. After a few minutes he relaxed and the shivering ceased, his breathing soft but even.
They got him into a clean t-shirt and sweat pants in which to spend the rest of the night while the washing machine dealt with their bloody clothes. Alex scooped him up and easily carried him across the hall to his own room. He had only a small single bed, but insisted that was all he needed. The only ones to share it with him were the trio of toys lined up on the pillow against the headboard: a raggedy Cowardly Lion complete with blue bow in its mane, a scruffy little hound dog with black button eyes and a red bandanna around its neck, and a battle-stained Kermit the Frog, clearly the favorite of the lot if it’s well-loved condition was any indication. Charles watched as Alex tucked the fuzzy amphibian under the blankets with Ray. Leaning, Alex reached and smoothed his bangs from Ray’s eyes and lightly kissed his forehead.
The EMTs made him think of Laurel and Hardy; one was tall and lanky, the other short and stocky. The tall one squeezed the oxygen bottle while the short one gingerly pumped Ray’s shattered ribs. Viridian sat by feeling useless, thoughts cramping around the tenuous hold he had on Cadmium’s being. It had been pure reflex to reach and grab at the last trailing phantom threads. Instinct kept him holding on just as instinct kept the EMTs rhythmically working away like men pounding a stake through a railroad tie.
Charles groaned at the soft scratch at the door. It was Ray, there was no one else it could possibly be.
“Come in…” he mumbled into his pillow and automatically scooching closer to the edge of the mattress. The door whisked lightly across the carpet and then closed again with a soft click. A sudden slant at the foot of the mattress proved Ray was making his way to his customary spot in the middle. Like a child suffering from nightmares, he occasionally came and sought shelter in his friend’s thoughts as well as their bed. Granted, this was Ray; all he did was take up space.
Turning, Charles squinted in the near-darkness at the other two men squeezed onto the mattress with him. Still in the act of getting settled, Ray lifted his head and offered a weak smile in the way of thanks. It wasn’t possible to fake that sort of waxy paleness or the cold sweat beading his forehead beneath his bangs. The tremble in his limbs wasn’t imaginary either. Rousing himself slightly, Alex made room on his own side, and lifted an arm to place around his friend, drawing him close. Ray gladly submitted, settling close with Kermit tucked to his chest, his head on Alex’s shoulder.
Alex was the only element missing from this scene. Otherwise, it was very much the same as it had always been; the blood, the drama. Lying there, soaking the gurney pad faster than the transfusion bag could replenish, Ray could hardly flit an eyelash let alone descend into grand mal poly-coly, secured as he was in so much plastic bracing. Everything but his neck had been strapped down; the section of I-beam still stuck out on either end behind his head. They’d had to cut around it rather than risk him losing all his blood at once from the wound.
He was in pieces, more than just physically. The thin thread of psyche between his thoughts was proof enough of that. The lights had been smashed out of their sockets and nobody was home because the spirit had been driven away by so much vandalism. How the hell the hospital thought they were going to fix this, Charles didn’t know. What was there to fix? Because, he realized, there wasn’t anything, not really. The toothpaste had already been squeezed from the tube. There was no reversing this. No one could force a mess like that back into consciousness. Not his father, not Dr. Straussen, not anyone. It would be cruel to even try. The weight of responsibility for a life not his own should have lain heavily in Viridian’s hands. Oddly enough, it left him feeling strangely light.
Ray sat half-curled against him, watching television. It was true that Ray had been particularly clingy as of late. Alex had dismissed it as a product of exhaustion, of his feeling tired and sick and overwhelmed. But Charles had seen something more.
“It's always your lap he curls up in,” Charles pointed out. “When he crawls into bed with us, he always sleeps facing you. It's you that he clings to, cries for, hangs onto desperately when he's bleeding all over everything. He just won’t say it, he can’t say it, probably doesn’t even realize it because he’s been fucking brainwashed!”
Alex had only gawped at him stupidly. “Charles, that’s absurd. This is Ray. He barely knows what romance is. He’s not into anyone or anything let alone me.”
Charles’ scowl deepened. “Is it?”
Into his mind came the image of a rose-colored balloon floating higher and higher into the night sky, straight through the clouds towards the stars. Around him the machines went on beeping and sighing, the ambulance siren wailed, traffic lights flashed past the windows, Laurel and Hardy pumped and pressed, everything went on exactly as it had been for the last five minutes. Nothing changed. But he didn’t have the heart to tell them they were wasting their efforts on a corpse.
It was an eerie feeling; like doing CPR on a ghost. Viridian sat wide-eyed, unblinking. One hand clenched in Cadmium’s, he gripped the limp appendage all the tighter for its lack of reciprocal pressure. The body on the gurney stared blankly at the ambulance ceiling, one eye smashed to a bloody, oozing pulp beneath the mask, the other half-open, glazed and vacant. There was nobody in there; or there wouldn’t be if not for Viridian’s clinging to the last thread of Cadmium’s psyche like a child with an overlarge bundle of helium balloons on a windy day. He dared not relax for a second, not even to gain a better grip.
There were a lot of flat places that should have been three-dimensional. Most of Cadmium’s right leg and all of his left was misshapen and oddly squashed from where the cinder blocks had tumbled down on top of him. The left arm had nearly been ripped off at the shoulder and lay bent at odd angles everywhere except the elbow. It was a misconception that red clothing hid bloodstains; the super suit certainly wasn’t doing anything to mask the darker, sticky liquid that had pooled among the saturated Imperviall fibers. He guessed it wasn’t so impervious after all.
Because of Charles’ psychic abilities, it was primarily Alex who had the unique honor of Ray-sitting. Ray’s fits could range anywhere from almost indistinguishable to violent. When he collapsed and began jerking, it was Alex’s job to hold him still.
He did so now, his arms carefully frozen in place around Ray’s smaller body, his head cradled in the crook of one elbow, torso pinned safely against his own with his other arm. Ray was the smallest out of the three of them, short and slender as a rail. Always vaguely afraid of accidentally breaking his friends, Alex was particularly gentle with Ray. Perhaps it was the seizures that made him seem so much more delicate.
Ray’s jerking had faded back to mild tremors, the vessel in his nose finally clotting closed. Taking the damp washcloth Charles had ready, Alex sponged Ray’s face and neck clean. Ray, completely out, offered no protest but hung limp and leaden in his arms. The black hoodie and red t-shirt were peeled off and thrown in the wash along with Alex’s rugby jersey. Ray’s sweatshirt existed for the sole purpose of absorbing nosebleed blood and Alex’s jersey was made to take more abuse than the average garment was meant to suffer. The shirts, like their owners, would emerge in the morning unstained and no worse for their sticky misadventure.
Ray was still shivering, but from cold instead of mental strain. He was more or less comatose now, but venting so much energy had left him exhausted and chilled, his pale skin cold to the touch. Gathering him close, Alex tucked him up against one bare shoulder and cradled him like a four-year-old, letting Ray steal some warmth for himself. After a few minutes he relaxed and the shivering ceased, his breathing soft but even.
They got him into a clean t-shirt and sweat pants in which to spend the rest of the night while the washing machine dealt with their bloody clothes. Alex scooped him up and easily carried him across the hall to his own room. He had only a small single bed, but insisted that was all he needed. The only ones to share it with him were the trio of toys lined up on the pillow against the headboard: a raggedy Cowardly Lion complete with blue bow in its mane, a scruffy little hound dog with black button eyes and a red bandanna around its neck, and a battle-stained Kermit the Frog, clearly the favorite of the lot if it’s well-loved condition was any indication. Charles watched as Alex tucked the fuzzy amphibian under the blankets with Ray. Leaning, Alex reached and smoothed his bangs from Ray’s eyes and lightly kissed his forehead.
The EMTs made him think of Laurel and Hardy; one was tall and lanky, the other short and stocky. The tall one squeezed the oxygen bottle while the short one gingerly pumped Ray’s shattered ribs. Viridian sat by feeling useless, thoughts cramping around the tenuous hold he had on Cadmium’s being. It had been pure reflex to reach and grab at the last trailing phantom threads. Instinct kept him holding on just as instinct kept the EMTs rhythmically working away like men pounding a stake through a railroad tie.
Charles groaned at the soft scratch at the door. It was Ray, there was no one else it could possibly be.
“Come in…” he mumbled into his pillow and automatically scooching closer to the edge of the mattress. The door whisked lightly across the carpet and then closed again with a soft click. A sudden slant at the foot of the mattress proved Ray was making his way to his customary spot in the middle. Like a child suffering from nightmares, he occasionally came and sought shelter in his friend’s thoughts as well as their bed. Granted, this was Ray; all he did was take up space.
Turning, Charles squinted in the near-darkness at the other two men squeezed onto the mattress with him. Still in the act of getting settled, Ray lifted his head and offered a weak smile in the way of thanks. It wasn’t possible to fake that sort of waxy paleness or the cold sweat beading his forehead beneath his bangs. The tremble in his limbs wasn’t imaginary either. Rousing himself slightly, Alex made room on his own side, and lifted an arm to place around his friend, drawing him close. Ray gladly submitted, settling close with Kermit tucked to his chest, his head on Alex’s shoulder.
Alex was the only element missing from this scene. Otherwise, it was very much the same as it had always been; the blood, the drama. Lying there, soaking the gurney pad faster than the transfusion bag could replenish, Ray could hardly flit an eyelash let alone descend into grand mal poly-coly, secured as he was in so much plastic bracing. Everything but his neck had been strapped down; the section of I-beam still stuck out on either end behind his head. They’d had to cut around it rather than risk him losing all his blood at once from the wound.
He was in pieces, more than just physically. The thin thread of psyche between his thoughts was proof enough of that. The lights had been smashed out of their sockets and nobody was home because the spirit had been driven away by so much vandalism. How the hell the hospital thought they were going to fix this, Charles didn’t know. What was there to fix? Because, he realized, there wasn’t anything, not really. The toothpaste had already been squeezed from the tube. There was no reversing this. No one could force a mess like that back into consciousness. Not his father, not Dr. Straussen, not anyone. It would be cruel to even try. The weight of responsibility for a life not his own should have lain heavily in Viridian’s hands. Oddly enough, it left him feeling strangely light.
Ray sat half-curled against him, watching television. It was true that Ray had been particularly clingy as of late. Alex had dismissed it as a product of exhaustion, of his feeling tired and sick and overwhelmed. But Charles had seen something more.
“It's always your lap he curls up in,” Charles pointed out. “When he crawls into bed with us, he always sleeps facing you. It's you that he clings to, cries for, hangs onto desperately when he's bleeding all over everything. He just won’t say it, he can’t say it, probably doesn’t even realize it because he’s been fucking brainwashed!”
Alex had only gawped at him stupidly. “Charles, that’s absurd. This is Ray. He barely knows what romance is. He’s not into anyone or anything let alone me.”
Charles’ scowl deepened. “Is it?”
Into his mind came the image of a rose-colored balloon floating higher and higher into the night sky, straight through the clouds towards the stars. Around him the machines went on beeping and sighing, the ambulance siren wailed, traffic lights flashed past the windows, Laurel and Hardy pumped and pressed, everything went on exactly as it had been for the last five minutes. Nothing changed. But he didn’t have the heart to tell them they were wasting their efforts on a corpse.
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