One Second After [42]
She had already disconnected the hose of the feeding tube and the IV tube. John slipped his arms under Tyler and stood up. The man, in spite of his wasting away, was still heavy, and John braced himself for a second before daring to take a step. He turned to ease out the door and then continued out into the corridor, walking fast, a race against dropping Tyler. They went past the desk, Caroline said nothing, Jen raced ahead to open the back door.
In the corner of the sitting room John saw the slumped-over body of Miss Kilpatrick in the corner, a pool of drying blood was soaked into the berber carpet beneath her, flies were swarming on it.
Gasping for breath, John was out the door and down to the car, laying Tyler down in the backseat. He opened his eyes; there was a glint of recognition.
"It's OK, Tyler; we're taking you home. It's OK."
He couldn't speak. The cancer had long ago devoured his throat, vocal cords, and spread into his chest. His breathing was raspy, sounding like another bout of pneumonia was setting in.
Still, he had enough strength to grasp John's arm and squeeze it, then let go.
"Jen, start the car; I'll be right back," and John handed her the keys. He went back in and returned to the nurses' station. "Caroline, I need some Ensure."
She nodded towards the storage room. He went in, again a struggle for control. Someone had vomited on the floor. He gingerly stepped around the mess, tearing open storage cabinets; the bandage that covered his injured finger was soaked through with God knows what and finally just slipped off. Empty shipping cases of the precious liquid were scattered about, and when just about to give up, he found two cartons of twenty-four cans, grabbed them, and stepped back out.
He started for the door, hesitated, and then turned, going back to the room with the two old men. He took two six-packs and placed them on the old veteran's lap.
"Thanks for what you once did for us, Sergeant," he whispered.
The old man smiled and nodded. John felt a bit foolish at first but could not stop himself. He came to attention and saluted the old man, who stiffened in his chair, smiled, and returned the salute. John left him and headed to the car.
Dumping the cans onto the floor of the front seat of the car, John climbed in.
"Get us the hell out of here," John said.
He turned away, blocking out the sight of the demented patients wandering about outside. If he stopped for them he would be pulled back into the nightmare, with Tyler stuck in the backseat in the sweltering heat.
They drove out and several minutes later were back home. "Ben, Elizabeth!" John shouted.
The two kids, soaking wet, came out of the pool, laughing, but then slowed as they saw John struggling to maneuver Tyler out of the car. Elizabeth stepped back. "Oh, Pop-pop," and she began to cry. "You need help, sir?" Ben asked nervously. "Just get the door."
John carried Tyler in, Jen following, and headed for Jennifer's room, putting him down on her bed, and then stood up.
Jen pulled a chair over and was by Tyler's side, gently brushing his cheek.
"It's OK, Tyler. We're home; we're home," she whispered.
John stepped back, suddenly feeling a terrible need to wash. Elizabeth stood in the living room, looking wide-eyed towards Jen's room.
"Elizabeth."
She was crying.
"It's going to be hard, but we've got to handle it. I want you to go get a bucket of water. Heat it up on the grill, find some soap, some towels, then go in and help Grandma."
Elizabeth stifled back a sob and nodded.
He was glad Jennifer was not home to have seen this.
He went into the master bathroom. He poured some water from a bucket into the sink and thoroughly washed his hands; then grimacing, the pain coursing up his arm, he doused his wound with some rubbing alcohol.
He cut a piece of old sheeting taken from the linen closet and wrapped it around the cut on his hand and went back to Jennifer's room. "Mom, you OK?" She looked up at him and smiled. "Sure. I can handle this now, John. Thank you."
Ben came in carrying the warm bucket, Elizabeth hesitating