Лиза Макманн - Gone

“Are you glad you did it? Glad you isolated yourself?” Janie gets down on the floor by him, anxious to get answers now.

“Help me,” he squeals. “Help me!” He grabs her T-shirt. “Please, Janie, Please please help me!

Kill me! Please!”

Janie doesn’t know what to do. Miss Stubin tries desperately to calm him, but nothing works.

“Are you glad?” Janie shouts. “Are you? Was it the best choice?”

“There is no best. It’s Morton’s Fork.” He falls to the floor with a scream. “Help me! Oh, GOD.

HELP ME!”

Janie looks at Miss Stubin in horror and sees the cracks in the scene. Pieces of the dream begin to fall away. She can hear the static in the distance. “Shit,” she says. “I can’t stay in this.”

“Go!” Miss Stubin says.

They clasp hands for a moment. Look into each other’s eyes, Janie desperately trying to communicate that she’s not coming back.

Not sure if it translates.

But it’s time to go, before she gets trapped here again.

Janie concentrates and with all her strength, bursts through the dream barrier.

As Janie lies on the floor, shaking, trying to move, trying to feel her skin, trying to see, all she can think about is the look on Miss Stubin’s face and the complete, hopeless desperation of

Henry, overcome by his own demons.

Oh.

Miss Stubin.

What an awful way to say good-bye forever.

Slowly, exhausted, Janie pulls herself to the chair next to Henry’s bed. Her joints, even her teeth, ache, and she wonders just what happens to her body when she’s in a nightmare like that.

But it doesn’t matter now.

She is done with them.

Janie wraps herself in the blanket to help stop her body from the uncontrollable shaking. She can barely stand to look at poor Henry’s twisted face. Sometime since she’d been here last, Henry pulled himself up into fetal position, hands fisted up by his head, as if to protect himself from the terrible unseen monsters that have taken him hostage. Janie reaches over to him. Touches his hand. Holds it.

She pleads with him. “Please, please just die. Please.” She whispers it over and over, begging

Henry to let go, begging his invisible captors to let him go. “I don’t know how to help you.” She buries her face in her hands. “Please, please, please . . .” The words brush the air in rhythmic patterns like willow branches shushing the waves on the shore of Fremont Lake.

But Henry doesn’t die.

A half-hour ticks away on the clock. It feels beyond real in the dark, quiet room, like they are in a world cut off from everyone else. Janie snacks on the last sandwich from her backpack, trying to regain some strength, and then she starts talking to her father to help pass the time.

She tells Henry about Dorothea, choosing her words carefully so as not to say anything too negative—she knows Henry doesn’t need to hear negative stuff in his condition. Janie talks about herself, too. Tells him things she’s never told anybody else, like how lonely she’s been.

She tells him that she’s not mad at him for not knowing about her. And she talks about her secret dream-catcher life, that she is just like him. That she understands. That he’s not crazy—and he’s not alone. Everything comes rushing out—dream catching, her job, Miss Stubin, and Janie’s plan to just stop all of the dreams and have a nice quiet life like Henry. “I’m doing it too, Henry,” she says. “I’m isolating, like you. You probably didn’t even know about the real choice, did you?

About the blindness and the loss of your hands.”

And then Janie tells Henry that she understands why he did what he did to Dottie, even though he loved her so much. She understands that horrible choice. She tells him about Cabe. How much she loves him. How good he is, how patient. How torn she is about what this isolation plan means.

How scared she is of telling him.

Saying good-bye.

It’s amazing, having someone who is just like her.

Someone who understands.

Even if he’s unable to respond.

Suddenly, Janie feels like she’s wasted so much time these last few days, when she could have been here for Henry.

She tells him how hard it’s been, discovering all this stuff in the past few days, and she cries a little.

She talks deep into the night.

Talks until she has emptied out her soul.

Henry’s face doesn’t change. He doesn’t move at all.

When Janie is too tired to think or say another word, she drifts off, all curled up in the chair.

All is quiet.

4:51 a.m.

She dreams.

Janie’s in her bedroom, sitting up in bed, disoriented. Her tongue feels dry, parched, and she wets her lips. Her tongue leaves a film on her lips—it feels gritty like sand. When Janie reaches up to wipe away the grittiness, her lips give way. Her teeth collapse and tiny pieces break off in her mouth. Crumbling. The sharp, stumpy remains cut her tongue.

Horrified, Janie spits into her hands. Bits and pieces of the crumbled teeth come out. Janie keeps spitting and more and more tooth shards pile up in her hands. Frantically, Janie looks up, unsure what to do. When she moves her eyes, everything is blurry. Filmy. Like she’s trying to see in a steamed-up mirror or a waterfall. She dumps her teeth on the bed, forgotten, and wipes at her eyes, trying to clear them, trying to see. But she’s blind. “I’m isolating,” she cries. “I’m not supposed to go blind! No! I’m not ready!” She claws at her eyes, and then realizes that she has vertical slits—holes in her face—next to each eye. Something pokes out from each.

Janie takes hold of whatever it is and pulls.

Slivers of soap slide out from the slits.

Janie’s eyes itch and burn like crazy. She swipes at them and pulls more pieces of soap out, but the pieces seem to reproduce. As she pulls out soap slivers, she runs her tongue over the jagged remains of her teeth, tasting blood. “No!” she cries.

Finally, she pulls out the last of the soap and she can see again. She looks up, relieved.

And there.

Sitting in his chair. Watching Janie with a look of calm on his face.

Henry.

Janie stares at him.

And it dawns on her, after a minute, what she should do.

“Help me. Help me, Henry.”

Henry looks surprised. Obediently he stands and approaches Janie.

Janie shows him her handful of teeth. “You can help me change it, you know. Is it okay if I put these back in?”

Henry’s eyes speak. They are filled with encouragement. He nods.

Janie smiles a brickle smile. Nods back. Pushes the teeth back into place as if they are Lego pieces. When she is done, she pats the bed and smiles.

Henry sits. “You’re just like me,” he says.

“Yes.”

“I heard you—all the things you told me. I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad. Glad you heard, I mean. You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t know.” She stares at

Henry’s empty chair.

He turns to her. “I think . . . I think I would have liked to know you.”

Janie chokes back a sob.

He takes her hand. “I miss her. Dottie. Is she good to you? A good mother?”

She stares at his hand in hers for a long minute. Not sure what to say about that. Finally she shrugs. Says, “I turned out all right.” Looks up at Henry’s face.

Smiles a crooked smile through her tears.

6:10 a.m.

The door to Henry’s ICU room opens.

It’s the first shift nurse, checking vitals. Janie startles awake, sits up and rubs her eyes.

“Don’t mind me,” the nurse says, checking Henry’s pulse. “You look like you could use some more sleep.”

Janie smiles and stretches. She glances at Henry, remembering. It was weird, having someone in her dream for the first time.