FicWad

November 11, 1977


"I'm sorry, you're here to see whom?" the nurse asked, gray head and cap tilted to one side in confusion.

"Ruben Kalahearn."

The nurse gave the woman a quizzical expression and paged through the files yet again.

"The only ‘Kalahearn’ we have on record is a 'Raymond'."

"That's him, we've always called him by his middle name, to tell him and my husband apart."

The nurse blinked blankly.

"He's my son," the woman tried to explain, "I'm his mother, Johanna."

Light dawned in the nurse's eyes, as well as a briefly bewildered expression. It was common knowledge among the staff that Raymond Kalahearn was estranged from his family. Countless attempts had been made by the hospital staff to contact his relatives but to no avail. None of them, it seemed, had any interest in him, or so they'd thought.

"Mr. Kalahearn is in our IC unit, go up to the fifth floor reception desk and speak to the head nurse Margaret Phelps. As long as he's alone, you should be able to visit with him."

"Thank you."

The fifth floor was eerily silent, only the soft scuff of shoes and the distant beep of machinery accompanied the click of keys and shuffling of papers coming from the reception desk facing the elevators. Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Kalahearn crossed the floor.

"Excuse me," she asked, "I'm Johanna Kalahearn; I'm here to see my son Raymond Kalahearn?"

The head nurse, a motherly-looking woman balancing somewhere between forty and fifty, briefly goggled at her but nodded.

"This way, please," she stated, rising and heading down the stark white hall.

"I'm glad you've come, Mrs. Kalahearn," the head nurse remarked. "That poor boy has lain here for months now. He's had guests a-plenty, but you’re the first of his own family to visit him. I couldn't tell you how many notices and phone calls we've made to you and your husband, but we haven't had a single one answered. I knew you’d come and see him if only you knew what had happened, there's not a parent alive that doesn't care if their child lives or dies, no matter what he's done. Here we are."

Mrs. Kalahearn had nothing to say to that, only waited in stony silence as the nurse knocked softly and poked her head into the room.

"He's alone right now, though he'll probably have other visitors in another half hour. Someone usually comes in to read to him around that time."

"May I sit with him, please? It's been ages since I've seen him."

The nurse nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you."

Mrs. Kalahearn had expected the room to be as bare and sterile as the hallways had been, instead she found it difficult to get the door open due to all the gifts and bouquets filling every available space. Ray had had few friends as a child, keeping a handful close and preferring the company of books to the noisier activities her other children had enjoyed. She had never imagined he would have so many friends, that he might be happy out here where she had thought- incorrectly, evidently- he would be all alone. Amazed, she struggled with a smile, unsure if she was happy for him or not.

It took a moment to discern the bed behind the half-dozen balloon bouquets tethered to the footboard and another moment for her to realize the figure lying upon it was her son. What wasn't covered by the soft white bedclothes appeared to be packed in plaster; one arm and both legs suspended in heavy casts scrawled with signatures and doodles. A wide plastic collar ringed his neck, holding his head in place while several tubes ran from his elbow to various machines. The ghosts of bruises and half-healed scars lingered on his visible flesh, the pale skin splotched and discolored by green and yellow. His dark hair had grown out longer than she had ever seen it, his bangs almost completely hiding blackened eyes and at least an inch of dark brown strands peeked from behind his neck. He was overdue for a shave as well. Beneath the tracheotomy mask, a few days growth was beginning to cast a faint shadow over his cheeks and chin. Funny. She would never have been able to picture her youngest child with facial hair, but it added an illusion of age to his otherwise boyish features, making him look more like his actual twenty-eight years than the teenager she remembered.

The many gifts and soft sliver of light slicing through a gap in the curtains into the dim interior made the room look more like a shrine than a hospital ward; her son in all his bandages and long hair like a saint’s effigy clad in armor of plaster and plastic. Seeing him again, so badly hurt and yet so deeply loved by people who had filled his room to bursting with physical tokens of their good will when she had thought he would be alone and friendless was surreal. It had been ten years since she’d seen him last, a shy and silent teenager, still more boy than man. A lot had happened during those years; his youngest sister Leah had gotten married, had had children; but apparently Ray had not spent that time idly either. This broken creature in the bed wasn’t the rebellious, sickly only son she’d cried over after he’d been banished from the family home; this was an adult, tall and muscled, capable- figuratively, anyway- of standing on his own. He had grown up without anyone to notice. What kind of man he had become, she could only guess.

"...the hell?"

The voice was low and masculine, belonging to a rather confused-looking young man with jet-black hair secured in a short ponytail. A second man, almost too tall and too wide to fit through the over-sized hospital door had edged into the room behind him.

"Mrs. Kalahearn?" the taller man asked blankly. It took a moment for memory to kick in.

"Mr. Porter, Mr. Rushford," Mrs. Kalahearn nodded politely. These were Ray’s friends, the ones who had gotten him into this mess. She had little love for either one of them, but social obligation dictated she at least be civil towards them. The dark-haired boy, however- Charles, she thought his name was- didn’t seem to share the sentiment.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Finally decide to pick up your phone?"

The sarcasm stung, but she let it glance off her wounded sympathies without flinching. “Mr. Dicker contacted us. He told us Ruben had been injured.”

"His name is Ray." The last word was almost snarled and Mrs. Kalahearn found herself taking an unconscious step back.

"Charles," the larger man rested a huge hand on his friend’s shoulder.

"No, Alex!" Charles snapped, shaking him off. "I’ve been dying to let her have it for ten years and I’m certainly not gonna keep my mouth shut now! She already thinks we corrupted her precious baby, what could possibly make her hate us more? What I want to know is why she waited three fucking months before she came to see if her only son was alive or dead!"

"He might be able to hear you..." Alex nodded toward the bed. This seemed to sober Charles somewhat, for he took a step back, collecting himself.

"Mrs. Kalahearn, I want to tell you a few things about your son."

"I’m sure you do," she returned with icy grace.

"Your son," he began, "is a member of the Risen Son Presbyterian Church. He teaches Sunday school to five-year-olds, is part of the worship team, and leads a Bible study Wednesday nights. He's never missed a single day, not even after getting the snot beat out of him the night before. He’d still clean himself up and drag himself in at 7AM because he wanted to be there, because it was important to him.

"Did you know he helps coach middle school soccer? He told us the reason he volunteered was because his dad coached his soccer team when he was a kid and it was a good memory that he wanted the other kids to be able to carry with them when they got older. While he was in college he worked his butt off. Once he got his abilities under control his grades went way up. He never drank, he never smoked, he didn't do drugs, he only went to one party on invitation and left early because it was getting too crazy for his taste. He's never gone on a date or even gone looking for one. Instead, he formed an acapella singing group, and that group still exists. They even ask him to arrange pieces and direct them when he has time.

"He's done more community service than an ex-con; more than enough to make your senator husband look good on the campaign trail. He does most of the cooking and a lot of the cleaning at home. He never thinks about himself. Everyone else's concerns come way before his. He has hundreds of friends out here, all of which have come to visit him at least once. There were so many gifts and flowers Al and I had to give at least half of them away."

The tirade had started angry, but as Charles went on, tears began to well up in his green eyes.

"I've never once heard him complain about anything; he doesn't talk about himself. What he does talk about is how much he misses you and all his friends back east. Al and I were furious when he told us you'd kicked him out, but all he did was cry. He cried because he couldn't meet your expectations, because he couldn't be what you wanted him to be. You revoked your love for him over the one thing he had absolutely no power to change, and he saw that as his fault, Mrs. Kalahearn. You've condemned a guy with a perfect record over a crime that doesn't even exist. All he's ever done is stick to the principles you taught him and done his level best to do right by people.

"I don't get it..." he said, shaking his head, emotion choking his voice. "Ray is the most loyal, honest, trustworthy, decent guy I've ever met. He grew up to be the kind of man you always hoped he would be. What do you want from him? Is he not perfect enough?"

"Good works are all very well," Mrs. Kalahearn began, but Charles cut her off.

"Oh don’t even start with the holier-than-thou bullshit!"

"Don’t you speak to me like that!" Mrs. Kalahearn shouted shrilly. "I will not tolerate that kind of language! My son may have been a model citizen out here where deviant behavior is tolerated, but I will never forgive the two of you for filling his head with such lies! He was sick! He should not have been running around in a mask in tights like some crazed vigilante! Criminals should be dealt with by the police and if he had enrolled in the police academy or the military we would have supported him happily, but I cannot support this! I will not support your taking an innocent boy’s illness and deluding him into thinking he is more than just a mortal man! He is only human and a mentally ill one at that! He should have been taking medication and seeing a therapist, not pretending to be a hero! And thanks to you, now look what's happened!"

Now it was Charles who was holding Alex back.

"Al, no. It’s bad manners to hit a lady."

"'Lady' nothin'," Alex growled, making the floorboards rumble. “You know you cut years off his life by having him take medication he didn’t need? Years! He’s not mental, he’s Super! Don’t you religious types believe in prophets anymore?! Because that’s what he is, Mrs. Kalahearn, and if he dies you’ll just be one more in a long line of people who’ve burned guys like him at the stake because of who and what he is. Then again, maybe you’d like to have a martyr in the family."

Mrs. Kalahearn made no comment, instead pretended as if she had not heard him at all.

"Getting back to my initial question, what are you doing here, anyway?" Charles asked, still struggling to keep Alex at bay.

"Ruben’s- "

"Ray." Charles and Alex corrected in unison. Mrs. Kalahearn went on, unperterbed.

"An HR representative from Ruben’s company contacted us. He said he needed treatment and that the hospital can’t administer it without permission from his family."

"We already gave our consent," Alex grated.

Mrs. Kalahearn raised an eyebrow. "You aren’t family."

"Hey, we are not the ones who disowned our only son and youngest child after he’d suffered a major telepathic episode."

"Epileptic. And we gave him a fair choice."

"What choice?!" Charles exploded, barging into Mrs. Kalahearn’s personal space. "'Give up your talent or be disowned?!' Dude, it doesn’t work like that! He could no sooner give up his powers than he could his eye-color! It’s built in! It’s part of who he is! And if you can’t accept that, then it's you who don't deserve him, not the other way around!"

Silence stretched as Mrs. Kalahearn faced the two men, snorting and huffing their rage like angry bulls, with the frostiest expression she could manage.

"So what are you going to do now?" Charles asked, voice pure acid. "Bury him? Or do your lofty beliefs dictate that you keep him a vegetable for the rest of his life?!"

"We plan to consent to the treatment. Our son has made some poor choices in his life, Mr. Porter, we want him to live so that he may learn from them."

"I...what???" Charles sputtered, too dumbfounded to make an appropriately sarcastic response. Thankfully, Alex supplied one for him.

"I think that's Bigot for 'my son is not allowed to die until I get a chance to yell at him first'."

Charles was still too angry to form a complete sentence so Alex continued. "So you're really going along with the surgery?"

"Yes, Mr. Rushford. Contrary to whatever you might think, my husband and I love our son."

"You love your son?!" Charles finally burst out. "If you loved your son you wouldn't have-- "

"What on earth is going on in here?!" It was the head nurse, Ms. Phelps.

"We were..." Alex began.

"I know you've got your differences," the head nurse hissed, her whispered voice carrying the fearsome intensity of irate authority, "but the room of a coma patient is no place for a screaming match! There are other people in this ward! If you want to argue you do it outside my hospital, do you understand?" She turned and eyed the boys who nodded dumbly, then swung her imperious glare towards Mrs. Kalahearn who seemed more than a little surprised at having the admonishment directed at her. She too nodded wordlessly.

"All right, then. Honestly, I'm ashamed of all three of you. Grown adults bickering like children in front of a sick man like this! He may well have heard every word you said! Just you think about that!"

"I hope he did," Charles muttered, "at least he would know someone wants him well because they miss him, not because they owe him an out-cussing."

Mrs. Kalahearn opened her mouth but Nurse Phelps raised her hand and silenced the retort before it could be spoken.

"Enough. All of you, out. If you cannot behave, then you ought not to be in the same room. Boys, we'll have to reschedule for another time."

"Okay," Alex nodded sullenly, taking Charles by the shoulder and steering him towards the door. Mrs. Kalahearn's smug look was interrupted by further instructions from the head nurse.

"Mrs. Kalahearn, your husband is waiting in the foyer with Ray's physician, Dr. Straussen. He wants to have a conference with you both."

"Very well. Also, I would prefer Ruben be able to rest quietly until my husband and I can visit with him together."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Thank you."