Poisoned Read online

  “You would’ve known if you’d returned my phone calls. It’s been a couple of weeks, and you never called me back. I was worried about you.”

  I followed her directions down Blue Star Road to Main Street. Old brick buildings lined the road. I recognized many of the stores which had relocated to the mall Dad had started. It was mutually beneficial for the businesses to come together at Twin Oaks.

  “I don’t remember getting a voicemail from you,” Mom said.

  “I left three.”

  “Oh... We’ve been so busy lately.”

  Busy? Doing what? Nothing’s happening here.

  So many changes, I didn’t know where to begin. The town of Becton was crumbling. The school needed help, but the people didn’t want it from me. My parents weren’t living in the same house. It was all odd.

  “Mother?” I swerved to miss a pothole. “It’s been thirteen years. Were you keeping me away on purpose? So I wouldn’t see what Becton has become?”

  She pursed her lips together and frowned. An uncomfortably long pause settled between us. The car slowed to a crawl as I looked at her.

  “Yes. Your dad didn’t want you to know. Matthew’s embarrassed by the destruction.”

  “I don’t understand. No one’s better at business than Dad. Why couldn’t he do something?”

  “He tried.” She shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you. I need to respect your dad’s privacy.”

  I sighed. The car bounced into another pothole, reminding me to keep my eyes on the road. Four turns and we stopped in front of the three-story red brick edifice of Town Hall.

  “We’re here.” Mother smiled and reached for the handle to open her door.

  “We are?”

  She nodded.

  I parked and helped her from the car. The street light cast enough light for me to see the mixture of green and yellow leaves along the thick Arizona Ash’s strong branches. The roots traveled through the walkway, busting the cement and turning the once pleasant stroll into a game of hopscotch.

  Climbing the wooden steps to the front door, the porch reminded me of the classic southern style with intricate pillars supporting a balcony. Above that sat a large clock tower striking out the beats to indicate it was well past normal business hours.

  Next to the heavy front door, someone had stained the bricks. The vandal used black paint to sketch a dark pit. A hand stretched out with long fingernails befitting a reptile rather than human. A dramatic red X had been placed over the scene.

  Mother appeared unfazed as if she passed the image daily. Maybe she did.

  I opened the door, and it swung more freely than I thought it would. A lone table lamp illuminated the room. With her hand placed on my elbow, she led me past a worn, tired entrance. The mahogany hallway and marble tile used to speak of pride and success.

  Along the wall, a mural gave tribute to the Boy Scouts with a leader and child giving a salute. A trusted dog with a red bandana around its neck sat between them. Surrounding them waved the stars and stripes. “Be Prepared” was elegantly scripted in gold against a field of blue bonnets.

  Prepared for what? I wished I knew. More importantly, why were we wandering through the Town Hall late at night?

  The hallway darkened as we left the foyer. The quiet patter of my mother’s feet seemed silent compared to the squeaks of my sneakers against the hard tile.

  Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the sterile scent of disinfectant. It started faint and grew pungent as we traveled along the corridor. I understood wanting a clean workplace, but the smell was a bit much. Maybe the janitorial service had recently mopped. I listened for the sound of cloth swishing across tile floor or water being wrung in a bucket but heard nothing.

  No, there was something. A faint, rhythmic beat similar to the clock outside, but chimed slower than a second between beeps.

  My mother continued the same sluggish pace by my side. Her back remained in a permanent arch, hunching her shoulders and making her white blouse sag in the front.

  “Is this—” My voice echoed around us, and immediately I softened it to a whisper. “Where you always go?”

  “Yes.”

  She paused in front of a door that read, “Office of Mayor Matthew Porter.” When she opened the door, the beep became louder, and I was assaulted by the scent of microscopic menaces that attacked the injured and dying flesh of human beings. The pungent aroma burned my senses, causing my eyes to water.

  The room had enough space to comfortably serve twenty mayoral office staff members. But instead of desks, office chairs, and tables, there were two twin-sized beds, a portable hanging closet, an entertainment cart filled with books, and one small table.

  Next to the farthest bed sat a machine with multiple wires and cords connected to a lumpy frame resembling a body.

  CHAPTER 5

  REST IN PEACE

  “My God…” I mumbled. My skin prickled and the hairs on my head raised in attention. I inched closer to the bed. The equipment lights cast a red glow over the crisp white sheet and blankets.

  Could skeletons have skin? That’s how my father appeared. The expression “nothing left but skin and bones” became real. Earphones covered either side of my father’s face, framing his bald head resting against a pillow. His fingers interlaced on his chest. Thankfully, his eyes were closed. I hated to think of what the hollow sockets looked like. Next to him, the incessant beeping was the only indication that life remained.

  Questions raced through my mind. How long has he been like this? Why hasn't more been done? Does everyone know about this? Why didn’t I know? What the heck happened? Being surrounded by medical equipment was great and all, but why wasn’t he in a hospital?

  None of the questions stood still long enough for them to bypass my brain and leave my mouth.

  Next to the bed lay a worn rug. The circle of chickens and blue hearts would’ve seemed more appropriate in the entry of a farm house. What in the world was it doing next to the bed? It wasn’t like my father would be dusting his feet off anytime soon.

  Silently, Mother’s old knees made contact with the rug. Folding her hands together, she laid them on the bed and bowed her head. Immediately, I knew what had caused my mother’s back and shoulders to arch. Hours of praying.

  Throughout my childhood she prayed for everything. Neighbors came to her in times of trouble because they knew she would petition God for their requests. While everything crumbled around her, somehow her faith remained unwavering.

  The same questions swarmed again. I wanted answers, but didn’t want to be rude and interrupt. The Lord knew my dad needed serious prayer, but then again, so did my mother. What could she be praying for? Other than a miracle, nothing else seemed possible.

  The heart rate monitor continued its annoying beep, beep, beep, beep. If I didn’t have answers soon, my sanity would also come into question.

  “Mother.” She didn’t move.

  “Mom.” I stepped closer, resting my hand on her shoulder. It felt cold. Bumps prickling across my flesh weren’t only from the scene before me. The refrigerated room slowed the progression of decay.

  For a moment anger trumped shock or sadness at my father’s debilitated condition. My movement was forceful as I shook her shoulder.

  “Mother! What the heck’s going on?”

  She flinched, and I released my hold. With trembling fingers, I found the zipper of my jacket and brought it up to beneath my chin.

  “Don’t worry, Trevy. Your father’s only sleeping. Bless his heart. The doctors believe he’ll awaken at any moment.”

  “What doctors?”

  “You remember Dr. Worrell.”

  “Yeah…?” Even as a kid, the doctor seemed ancient. Was it possible she still practiced medicine? I looked again at the medical equipment. Bags of fluid slowly dripped down the tubes which I assumed led to my father’s body. Somebody who knew what to do had set that up. Again, why wasn’t he in a hospital?

  My mother slowly rose from the f
loor to sit on the edge of the other bed. For some reason, my father’s former office in the Town Hall had become their home.

  “Why are we here?” I asked.

  “To see your father, of course.”

  My head ached, causing me to groan. “No, Mother, why are we here?” I gestured to our surroundings. “Instead of a hospital where sick people should be.”

  “I told you, he’s only sleeping. When he wakes up, this room’s exactly where he’ll want to be.”

  “No, Mom, this is not acceptable. You’ve been lying to me for…” I paused, unsure. Judging by my father’s frame, it would've taken months or years for him to become so depleted. Anger built inside, threatening to explode. “I’ve asked how things are and you say things are ‘great’ or okay.’ Things are not okay! Not with Becton and not with Dad! How could you leave me in the dark like this?”

  Mother frowned. “It’s what he wants.” Her fingers fidgeted in her lap.

  “I don’t care! To lie to me and say Dad’s out and can’t come to the phone? No, this ends now!”

  “Stop it, Trevor!” She gave a final shake of her head to signify the conversation was over. I had seen the same gesture many times when I wanted something she disagreed with.

  Why were parents so difficult to talk to? Not to mention stubborn! I had been wrong in staying away so long and now had to do something.

  “Mom, I want to talk to his doctor.”

  She ignored me as she gathered a long flannel dress from a small dresser.

  My palm slammed against the wooden surface of the door, blocking her exit. “If you leave this room, I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “It won’t do any good. He can’t move, he needs his equipment.”

  “Obviously.” I rolled my eyes in frustration. “Come on, Mom! I didn’t even know he was sick and I come home to find him hanging on for dear life. I want answers. Either from you or his doctor.”

  “All right.” She sighed. “It’s more complicated than I can explain. Dr. Worrell’s number’s on the phone.” She pointed to the small table next to the door.

  “Thanks. Where are you going?”

  “To shower before bed.”

  Someone had put in a lot of work to transform the Town Hall into a living space. It wasn’t something she could’ve done on her own.

  Who helped her? Alex seemed the obvious answer, but was he the only person who took care of her?

  I lifted the cordless phone from its receiver and on the stand and saw a list of emergency numbers. Pressing the speed-dial-two, I listened to it ring.

  “Howdy, Carole. It’s late. Everythin’ okay?” Dr. Worrell said with a strong Texan accent.

  “It’s Trevor. Do you have time to come over? I’d like to talk to you about my dad.”

  She didn’t respond. Minutes ticked by as the silence grew to the point where I thought she had hung up on me.

  Was she angry at me, too?

  “I s’pose, I can.”

  “Thank you. It looks like Mom’s getting ready for bed. I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Okay. See ya soon.”

  I hung up and paced the short distance between Dad’s bed and the door. Mother returned, wearing a long flannel gown and freshly washed hair. She hung up her skirt and shirt in the makeshift closet. Walking over to Dad, she placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “You continue to rest and heal. The sleeping’s good for you. Bless you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kissed his forehead and tucked herself into the other bed. On the side of the table sat a recliner which she pointed to. “There’s an extra blanket in the file cabinet. Sleep well, Trevy.”

  How could she act so calm about this? Nothing made sense.

  I sighed. “Take care, Mom.” I walked over to her, giving her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes, going to sleep peacefully. I admired her ability to pass out the moment her head hit the pillow. Her gentle snoring started instantly.

  I gazed at my father’s debilitated form.

  “What happened to you?” I whispered, thankful I’d be meeting with his doctor soon. I left the beeping and strong medicinal smell behind and walked down the hallway to the lonely lamp glowing in the foyer.

  The front door quietly closed behind me as I stood on the wide porch. My father had been proud the day he was elected Mayor. He stood on these steps, thanking the people for believing in him. Apparently, things had changed dramatically since that day.

  The outdoors smelled crisp and clean in stark contrast to the chemicals which filled my parents’ room. The air felt cool, but still warmer than inside. A dry leaf tumbled against the building, coming to rest beneath the graffiti. The image of a reptilian hand reaching from the dark pit made me feel apprehensive. My overactive imagination was taking nothing and making it creepy. I needed to stop.

  I stepped further from the door to the large ash tree. Its thick branches with green and yellow leaves waved at the street light. The gentle movement calmed my nerves. After five minutes, a lonely pair of headlights belonging to a brown Ford Taurus came to a stop in the parking lot. Wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a brown leather jacket, Dr. Worrell looked the same, except her long gray hair was now curly and short.

  “Thank you for meeting me.” I approached her car and tried to walk with her along the broken sidewalk. She stepped back from me, her body leaning away the same as those in the stadium tonight. Something about me the people here either didn’t trust or simply didn’t like, which didn’t make sense.

  “I’ve assumed Carole kept ya up to date on his health.”

  “If that were true, I would’ve been back before now.”

  She nodded slowly. Though she had to be at least twenty years older than my mother, she appeared to be in better health. Her back stood straight, and she walked with urgency compared to the slow stroll I had taken when escorting Mom.

  “What’s wrong with him?” After a long pause, I thought she might not answer. What was the point of her being here if not to talk? “Please, I need to know.”

  She nodded again. “It ain’t good. He’s in a persistent coma.”

  “My mother thinks he’ll wake up any time. Is that true? He doesn’t look like he can live without those wires and whatnot connected to him.”

  “Yeah, you be correct. He’s completely reliant on his ventilator. His brain activity ain’t much. But Carole’s also right, because people awaken from long-term comas, so it’s possible.”

  “Have you ever unplugged him?”

  “Nope. Don’t recommend it, either.”

  “Because he would die?”

  She shrugged. It was possible she didn’t have the experience to guess, but despite her poor grammar, she seemed knowledgeable. More likely she didn’t want to admit the truth. She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets.

  “Would you like to come inside? There are chairs in the foyer.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Of course she did after walking past them to get to Dad. Everything new to me was common to those in Becton. I doubted other doctors remained.

  We came inside the building and settled in on the wooden bench that lined the wall. The lamp gave a soft glow to the room making it feel more inviting than the tattered fixtures.

  “Why is he kept here?” I asked.

  “Carole believes this is where he wants to be. She needs him. And, if he’s in there, then he needs her too. Sometimes people in comas can hear those around ‘em. Her faith be keepin’ him tickin’.”

  “She would go wherever he is. If he were at an actual medical facility, would that help?”

  “Ain’t nothing more medically we can do. His location’s meaningless.”

  “Have you told Mother it’s hopeless?”

  “Nope. I can’t look into her eyes and tell her he’s gone. I don’t charge nothin’ for treating him, and I’m able to get the supplies locally. Until Carole’s ready to let ‘im go, he’s got what h
e needs.”

  I nodded and paused to think.

  Locally? Where did she get supplies?

  I felt overwhelmed, learning things were so different from what I had expected. There wasn’t anything I could do other than convince Mom that Dad’s life was over. That realization hung over me like a cloud. Taking time to process it would be good. No decision needed to be made tonight.

  “Thanks for meeting with me.”

  “If it weren’t for your parents, I wouldn’t have.” She shook her head.

  I saw it in her eyes. Resistance? Anger? Irritation? I wasn’t sure. Maybe because I dragged her out in the night for a chat that could’ve waited until morning. It seemed urgent at the moment.

  Not wanting to waste her time, I thanked her again, walked with her back to her car, and grabbed my suitcase from my SUV. After finding the bathroom, I dressed for bed and made it back to Mom and Dad’s room. Mother slept peacefully with a slight smile on her face, making the contrast to my father’s skeletal body striking. How did she see the same depleted form and believe he would awaken at any moment?

  CHAPTER 6

  BOTTOMS UP

  I tried to sleep, but between the annoying bells and whistles counting each breath my father took and the irrational fear that he might actually get up, I couldn’t do anything but stare at the gray ceiling tiles. His awaking would be like being nose to nose with the Biblical character, Lazarus.

  I released a shaky breath. Not even Mother’s soft snores relaxed my mind enough to accept sleep. All buildings made noise but, in the vast emptiness of the Town Hall, each creek and groan had its own echo.

  How did she live like this?

  Not able to stand another moment, I threw the blanket on the table next to me. I changed into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and followed the same halls I’d walked two hours before when I came out to speak with Dr. Worrell. Thankfully, the peeling wallpaper appeared less disturbing each time I passed by. It gave me hope that my mother wasn’t completely insane.