Afterlife - Douglas Clegg [6]
“Why wasn’t I called right then?”
“Mrs. Hutchinson,” the nurse said, a slight but undeniable condescension in her voice. “Our job here is not to pick up the phone every time a student gets a bee sting, unless we’re aware of any allergies. Within twenty minutes of the bite, he was drawing all over where the swelling was.”
“I was told they were carvings.”
She nodded. “When he calmed a bit, he told me that they were pictures in his head he was trying not to forget. That’s why he put them on his skin.” The nurse suddenly had a look of puzzlement on her face. “It was odd. I don’t mean because of how he hurt himself doing it. Or even his acting out. It was odd because he said something about his hand. How his hand couldn’t work without all the fingers. Or something like that. But his hands are fine.” As if dismissing something from her mind, the nurse added, “Has he been getting enough sleep?”
6
“Matt?” Julie said, stepping into the darkness of the small room. It was little more than a walk-in closet— just enough room for a cot and a bit of crawlspace around that.
At first, Matt didn’t stir. Then, after a minute or so, his eyes opened. “Julie?”
She noticed that his Sony camcorder was pressed against his back, almost as if it were a comforting stuffed toy. “Right here, Matty.”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Oh. Well, it was just a dream. Everything’s fine.”
“No,” Matt said, turning over to face the wall. “No. It was real.”
“Do you want me to call Dr. Swanson?”
Matt glared at her. “Eleanor? No. I don’t like her.”
“How about…well, Mr. Maitland?”
He lip-farted at this.
“Did you mean to cut yourself?”
He didn’t respond. She bit her lower lip. Shouldn’t have asked that. He doesn’t need to be grilled right now. She wanted to go lift him up and hug him, but she resisted what Hut would’ve called her “smother mother instinct.”
“Matt?” she asked. “We can go home now. It’s all right.”
Still facing the wall, he said, “She’s in a box. I heard her.” Then, his voice seemed to change. It sounded… girlish. Like he was imitating someone. “Dear God. Dear God. Somebody help me. That’s what she said. She said it until she couldn’t breathe anymore.”
7
When they got out to the Camry, it had begun raining again. Julie drew Matt closer so that he could keep under her raincoat a bit. His body felt too warm.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shivering as she unlocked the door to let him into the front seat. He was a funny kid in too many ways—violent at times, in a rage, sweet at other times, and somewhere in between he reminded her of a little kid who was smart beyond his years, yet had learning disabilities that she couldn’t figure out. Maybe it was his mother. Maybe it was whatever had driven her to alcohol and then drugs and then…the accident. Maybe whatever brain chemistry was there had gotten a little into Matt.
Julie leaned forward and hugged him, kissing him on the top of the head. “Nothing to be sorry about, honey. Want to go grab a bite at McDonald’s?”
“What about Livy?”
“She’s at Laura’s. We’ll bring her something back. Okay?”
He brightened, slightly. “Okay.”
8
After making sure his camera case was secure between his feet on the floor of the car, Matt poked around the bun of his Quarter Pounder. He lifted it up, and picked out the pickle. He dropped it back in the bag.
They were at the McDonald’s off the main road through town. She’d parked in front. Her cup of coffee was on the dashboard. She’d leaned the driver’s seat back, and took a bite of a Chicken McNugget.
“I know it’s crazy,” Matt said, chewing.
“What?” she asked, trying to hide her interest. He swallowed the bit of burger. And then reached
for his soda, took a sip, slurping. “It was like I was in a movie.”
“We can talk about something else if you want.” She glanced through the windshield. Cars went too fast on the road. Across the street at the strip mall, a little red car was nearly backing up into an SUV that wanted to quickly take a parking space.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I just was somewhere else. In my head.