Categories > Original > Drama > Separation
November 2, 1977
“I think…I think we should just let him go…” Charles stammered, his voice hitching in mid-sentence despite the resolve in his tone.
“Charles…” the word came out half plea, half disbelieving sob.
“Al, he’s a vegetable, what kind of life is that? He’s not even breathing on his own. He came this close to being completely sliced in two. Even if he ever wakes up- which could be decades from now- he’d just be a talking head. He’d be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, unable to move or do anything for himself ever again. Do you think he’d be happy like that?”
Alex shifted in his seat, making the aluminum and plastic chair creak in protest.
“I dunno, Charles... I mean, what he believed...I don’t think he’d want us to pull the plug on him. You remember how he was about stuff like that.”
“And now you’re referring to him in the past-tense too.”
A choking silence settled over Dr. Straussen’s office and inside Alex’s throat. He hadn’t realized the verbal slip until Charles pointed it out.
“I just...” Alex swallowed hard, doing his best to force down the lump in his throat. “I just can’t deal with the idea of killing him myself…”
“Alex...” the word was soft, as was the touch on his arm. “We tried to save him. That’s what heroes do. We tried, and we failed. It’s murder on me too, knowing that we let him down, that now he’s just an empty shell, but this would have happened sooner or later. Ray always knew he was going to die young, and while he did everything he could to extend his life, he knew in his heart that we would both outlive him. That’s why he and Misty never took it past just hanging out, that’s why he started a life insurance policy at nineteen. He was hedging his bets because he knew he probably wouldn’t have that long to live no matter what he did. He knew the risks, he knew what could happen, and he was okay with that, Alex. He was okay with dying. Why keep him trapped here? Why not let him go to heaven to be with his grandma; with his god?”
“Because it’s not the same thing,” Alex husked. “If he had died there, in all the wreckage, in our arms, that would have been different. He’s so helpless right now... Shouldn’t we be standing up for him, doing everything we can to at least try to help him recover? What if he does wake up? What if he does want to live, even if it means being a quadriplegic? That’s the kind of guy Ray is, Charles, and you know it. If nothing else, his faith wouldn’t allow him to take another way out. He’d power through it like he does everything else and come out the other side stronger for it. I say we let him go at least a little bit longer. People have come out of comas after years of being dead to the world. I don’t want to risk throwing away the chance of talking to one of my best friends again even if it doesn’t happen until thirty years from now!”
“But there is no hope that will ever happen,” Charles insisted, pleading, voice rising in intensity if not in volume. “He’s unconscious and he’ll probably stay that way forever until someone shuts down his life-support. He is for all intents and purposes already dead, Alex, and there is nothing we can do about it.”
The silence was heavy as the two men stared at each other, two sets of eyes, one blue; the other green, both determined and streaming with tears. To be so divided about a person they had loved as a little brother only made the pain of the situation worse. True, it was not their decision to make, but the hospital and NSA had asked for their opinion as the only family Ray had left.
“Oh I don’t care what you do with him,” Charles choked, turning and leaning his forehead in one hand to disguise his tears; Alex could only hang his head.
“Well,” Dr. Karl began in his thick accent, folding his minute hands over the desk blotter, “there is one other option. It is risky, but if you are serious about wanting to do everything you can to help him recover, I’d like to offer it as an alternative.”
The remaining members of Trinity Prime looked up, damp eyes trained on the little doctor.
“What is it?” Charles finally dared to ask. Karl nodded to his associate, a much taller man also dressed in a white lab coat.
“A distant cousin of the Cold War radio implant,” he stated in a clipped British accent. “It’s still in the experimental stages, but given his current circumstances, Mr. Kalahearn has very little to lose.”
Karl shot his fellow PhD an annoyed look. “Julian, please.”
“What?” Julian shrugged. “The boy has been lying comatose and in pieces for almost three months. I’d say it would be unlikely his prospects could get much worse. I think we can all agree that one way or the other; either dead or awake, he’d be better off.” Nobody could really argue the point, and so the taller man went on. “Janesha and I came up with this little gadget. I’m hoping it should at least get your friend breathing on his own again, along with his other involuntary functions.”
Reaching into his breast pocket, Julian withdrew a small arc of plastic. Seven wires, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, deep indigo, and pale violet, arced in a half-circle from one set of encased copper prongs to another.
“It looks like a Barbie comb...” Alex observed.
Charles blinked and picked up the device to better examine it. “You’re going to get him breathing with a little plastic rainbow?”
Julian smiled. “More or less. The lab staff refers to it as that as well. Yes, this little rainbow will allow us to bridge the gap in your friend’s spinal cord. If we can do that, he should regain at least some control of himself.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then he’s no worse off than he is now,” Julian answered calmly.
“I think…I think we should just let him go…” Charles stammered, his voice hitching in mid-sentence despite the resolve in his tone.
“Charles…” the word came out half plea, half disbelieving sob.
“Al, he’s a vegetable, what kind of life is that? He’s not even breathing on his own. He came this close to being completely sliced in two. Even if he ever wakes up- which could be decades from now- he’d just be a talking head. He’d be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, unable to move or do anything for himself ever again. Do you think he’d be happy like that?”
Alex shifted in his seat, making the aluminum and plastic chair creak in protest.
“I dunno, Charles... I mean, what he believed...I don’t think he’d want us to pull the plug on him. You remember how he was about stuff like that.”
“And now you’re referring to him in the past-tense too.”
A choking silence settled over Dr. Straussen’s office and inside Alex’s throat. He hadn’t realized the verbal slip until Charles pointed it out.
“I just...” Alex swallowed hard, doing his best to force down the lump in his throat. “I just can’t deal with the idea of killing him myself…”
“Alex...” the word was soft, as was the touch on his arm. “We tried to save him. That’s what heroes do. We tried, and we failed. It’s murder on me too, knowing that we let him down, that now he’s just an empty shell, but this would have happened sooner or later. Ray always knew he was going to die young, and while he did everything he could to extend his life, he knew in his heart that we would both outlive him. That’s why he and Misty never took it past just hanging out, that’s why he started a life insurance policy at nineteen. He was hedging his bets because he knew he probably wouldn’t have that long to live no matter what he did. He knew the risks, he knew what could happen, and he was okay with that, Alex. He was okay with dying. Why keep him trapped here? Why not let him go to heaven to be with his grandma; with his god?”
“Because it’s not the same thing,” Alex husked. “If he had died there, in all the wreckage, in our arms, that would have been different. He’s so helpless right now... Shouldn’t we be standing up for him, doing everything we can to at least try to help him recover? What if he does wake up? What if he does want to live, even if it means being a quadriplegic? That’s the kind of guy Ray is, Charles, and you know it. If nothing else, his faith wouldn’t allow him to take another way out. He’d power through it like he does everything else and come out the other side stronger for it. I say we let him go at least a little bit longer. People have come out of comas after years of being dead to the world. I don’t want to risk throwing away the chance of talking to one of my best friends again even if it doesn’t happen until thirty years from now!”
“But there is no hope that will ever happen,” Charles insisted, pleading, voice rising in intensity if not in volume. “He’s unconscious and he’ll probably stay that way forever until someone shuts down his life-support. He is for all intents and purposes already dead, Alex, and there is nothing we can do about it.”
The silence was heavy as the two men stared at each other, two sets of eyes, one blue; the other green, both determined and streaming with tears. To be so divided about a person they had loved as a little brother only made the pain of the situation worse. True, it was not their decision to make, but the hospital and NSA had asked for their opinion as the only family Ray had left.
“Oh I don’t care what you do with him,” Charles choked, turning and leaning his forehead in one hand to disguise his tears; Alex could only hang his head.
“Well,” Dr. Karl began in his thick accent, folding his minute hands over the desk blotter, “there is one other option. It is risky, but if you are serious about wanting to do everything you can to help him recover, I’d like to offer it as an alternative.”
The remaining members of Trinity Prime looked up, damp eyes trained on the little doctor.
“What is it?” Charles finally dared to ask. Karl nodded to his associate, a much taller man also dressed in a white lab coat.
“A distant cousin of the Cold War radio implant,” he stated in a clipped British accent. “It’s still in the experimental stages, but given his current circumstances, Mr. Kalahearn has very little to lose.”
Karl shot his fellow PhD an annoyed look. “Julian, please.”
“What?” Julian shrugged. “The boy has been lying comatose and in pieces for almost three months. I’d say it would be unlikely his prospects could get much worse. I think we can all agree that one way or the other; either dead or awake, he’d be better off.” Nobody could really argue the point, and so the taller man went on. “Janesha and I came up with this little gadget. I’m hoping it should at least get your friend breathing on his own again, along with his other involuntary functions.”
Reaching into his breast pocket, Julian withdrew a small arc of plastic. Seven wires, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, deep indigo, and pale violet, arced in a half-circle from one set of encased copper prongs to another.
“It looks like a Barbie comb...” Alex observed.
Charles blinked and picked up the device to better examine it. “You’re going to get him breathing with a little plastic rainbow?”
Julian smiled. “More or less. The lab staff refers to it as that as well. Yes, this little rainbow will allow us to bridge the gap in your friend’s spinal cord. If we can do that, he should regain at least some control of himself.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then he’s no worse off than he is now,” Julian answered calmly.
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