The Writer and The Artist: The Accident

Chapter 2: The Accident

 

THE ACCIDENT

 

1

 

That night, as with most nights, John and Laura made love beautifully together, as romantic and lustful as during the first few months of ‘going out’ together. Throughout their act of passion, they kissed longingly for one another. They were love-struck vampires, biting at each other’s skin as though attempting to tear into their souls. When the climax for them both came, a surge of roaring energy travelled through their bodies, making their heads rock and their toes shiver.

Afterward they lay next to each other, relaxed. The sudden cold air of the room cooled the sweat that laced their exposed bodies. The curtains lay askew to allow the starry night sky to gleam across their skin. They both stared up at the bedroom ceiling in silence. There was no need for words. The love was already apparent in the room, like a delectable angel hovering above them. There were times when the words ‘I love you’ were not meant to be spoken. A simple kiss can replace such young adolescent conversation and in its place create a taste of authentic amorousness that was designed to last more than three syllables.

After some time, as both felt exasperated from the evening’s desire, John suddenly felt the urge to say, ‘Let’s keep it this way, forever.’ He knew instantly that speaking those words had broken the mood of their pleasant moment.

Laura shifted over to face him. The roundness of her breasts shimmered from the evening light. ‘What do you mean, dear?’

‘I mean this moment…everything now…it’s so perfect, so…’ He could not find the right word, ‘so…’

‘Glorified?’ Laura remarked, smirking.

John reached over to kiss her, gently caressing the underside of her soft and gentle breasts. ‘Wonderful,’ he said as he broke away the kiss. ‘I don’t want anything to change.’

‘What about your job?’ she replied, stroking his neck. ‘I know how stressful it is for you, sometimes.’

‘Stress is in the job description!’ he said. ‘Stress is a part of life. You can’t escape that.’ He admired his wife for a short moment. ‘If everything could be as beautiful as you…’ he then stopped as Laura reached over to him and kissed him on the cheek.

‘You’re so wonderful,’ she replied, as her hand reached underneath the bed sheets, towards John’s chest. Seconds later, he flinched with surprise and gasped from the touch. She raised an eyebrow; ‘I see you can’t be that tired, my sweetheart.’

John responded by leaning over and biting the erect n****e of her left breast. As she tilted her head back to let out a breath, he looked up at her and said, ‘You seem much awake yourself.’

For the next twenty minutes, the evening’s desire returned, before they kissed goodnight and fell into a deep sleep.

 

 

2

 

The police knocked on her door shortly after John had left for work.

John got up at his usual time of seven-thirty to be the first in and out of the bathroom. He remembered as always to kiss his sleepy wife on the forehead before taking his shower. Laura would then lift her head from the pillow as John changed into his neatly ironed shirt and trousers, in preparation for another potential bliss-free day at work. As John left to go to work, Laura would be just coming out of the shower, wearing only a bath robe to clothe her naked purity. They would then kiss, before John left the house and entered their car, parked on the front brick-paved driveway. Laura would watch him leave through the small gap in the curtains as she changed into her day’s clothes. It had become so routine over the last however many years that she could have done it with her eyes closed. And, as usual, she would expect to see him again sometime after six that evening.

            She had already decided the night before what her day’s schedule would consist of. Today was a drawing day, not one for the casual painting. She had a children’s book to illustrate by the end of the month, which was a few weeks away yet and she had made good progress on it already. She had designed several versions for the front cover, all with the publisher-chosen title ‘Tiny Rabbit goes to Town’, the continuing story of a rabbit named – wait for it – Tiny, as she travels to a busy town and makes some new animal friends. The story was childish (and cringe-worthy) enough and Laura had no problem designing the characters for it, as much as she despised the set-up. She wished she had had more of a say in the project, but she was hired to do her work without questions asked. But hey, work was work, money was money and food on the table was good enough for her – as long as she had someone else sitting at the other end of that table.

            She sat down by the kitchen table and placed everything she needed upon it: her selection of neatly-trimmed coloured pencils; her watercolours (she found watercolours perfect for children’s illustrations as the colours were a lot softer and any dark colour would appear lighter over a white surface); a new paintbrush; a glass of her favourite tap water to clean the paintbrush; and a pad of good quality A4 watercolour paper to work on. Checking over the scenes she had finished previously, she then placed them to one side and put her head down to work.

She started with the background for the next scene. When making the backgrounds, she used a few watercolours to give her a basic concept of what colours to use. When the watercolour dried she would then draw the more proficient, finer details in pencil and then finally with a fine liner, depending on if the characters were positioned in the foreground or background. Placing basic cut-outs of the characters for each scene over the top as a guide, she smiled in forming a full picture of the scene in her mind, somewhat like how her husband sees images of his own feelings. Moments like this would surely be on her field of glory. She then placed everything aside and redesigned the scene to suit her new improved picture.

By the time the doorbell rang at ten past nine, Laura had completed three more pages of the book, with another sixteen to go before the deadline. Thinking it was perhaps her husband calling during an early lunch break, she placed her drawing pencil down on the table and went through the hallway to the front door.

Opening the door, a short, grey-haired man stood there, wearing a creased shirt; brown suit; red tie and clean trousers. Laura was surprised by how smartly dressed the stranger was.

The man looked small but his facial expression carried a sense of authority about him. His stubby grey moustache rested above his faded lips. He spoke before she could even say hello: ‘Mrs Henderson?’ Laura felt a chill run down her spine. His tone was so cold.

            ‘Yes? Can I help you, sir?’ she replied, seeing how weary and old his eyes looked.  She suddenly realised that something was wrong.

            ‘Good morning Mrs Henderson,’ the man replied, ‘my name is Detective Harry Sharp.’ He took out a wallet and opened it to reveal his badge for proof. He then slipped it away within his suit. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news to tell you.’ He paused. ‘It’s about your husband.’

            Laura’s insides consequentially burned with avid concern. ‘What is it?’ she said, trying not to quiver.

            ‘Mrs Henderson, your husband suffered a car crash nearly twenty minutes ago on his way to work. He has been taken to the city hospital.’ He paused again, preparing himself to say the worst. ‘He has yet to regain consciousness. The ambulance crew believe him to be in a coma.’

 

 

3

 

No.

It travelled through Laura’s mind – one singular word that seemed both meaningless and powerless on its own. But there were no words for company.

Laura’s mouth dropped without her even realising. For a second she forgot where she was, forgetting this newly acquainted detective was standing in front of her house, waiting for some kind of response.

But she could not give one. Laura could not even dismiss it as a lie, because she knew it was real. She felt it deep within her heart, in a concealed place she had kept with her (and John) for such a long time. It was that feeling inside of her that made her realise that this was undoubtedly happening.

‘Mrs Henderson?’

‘Uh?’

‘Laura…ma’am, are you okay?’

She suddenly snapped out of it. Do I look okay? she thought. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, only to ease the condolence in Detective Sharp’s eyes.

Tears were brewing.

She then turned her thoughts to John. ‘I want to see…’

‘I will drive you, ma’am.’.

‘Thank you, mister,’ she replied, accidentally ascribing to his vocal mannerisms.

Silently the stream ran river across her cheeks so numb.

 

4

 

Detective Sharp took Laura to his police car and drove them to the hospital. Laura was so flustered that she nearly forgot to lock up the house before leaving.

It was a numb moment between them, as Detective Sharp drove onto the main road and sped into the centre of town. He knew what Laura intended to ask and she was trying to stop herself from saying it.

But eventually curiosity won: ‘What happened in the accident?’

‘Well,’ Detective Sharp began, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead, ‘your husband collided with an oncoming car on a 60 mile-an-hour stretch of road, not far out of town. The oncoming car drove into the driver’s side of him. Considering the speed limit it’s likely they were going pretty fast. It looked that way when I…’ He reluctantly paused again. He hated giving bad news to good people. ‘The road was absent of traffic until minutes after the crash; by the time we got there we realised the other driver had hotfooted.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Unfortunately the airbag had failed in your husband’s car. From the bruise on his forehead he must have hit that steering wheel pretty hard.’ He glanced over and saw the horror embedded in Laura’s face.

Tears trickled down her face. She could feel them now, attempting to drown themselves in her mouth. ‘You didn’t leave any details out, did you?’ she said, staring at the road ahead.

Detective Sharp frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Henderson…’

‘Please, Laura.’

‘Yes, well I’m sorry, Laura. I’m piss-poor at being considerate when saying such matters. I have to tell it as it is. I think you deserve to know exactly what happened.’

Laura thought about it for a moment. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. Thank you.’

‘No problem,’ he said, as he indicated to take the next left onto the hospital road.

 

5

 

Detective Sharp offered to wait around with Laura in the crowded waiting room of the hospital, but she urged him to give her some time alone. ‘Of course’ he said, before asking the clerk at the reception desk about John. Laura sat down on a seat amidst a crowd of quiet, uneasy patients, all sullen in their own private misery.

After speaking to the receptionist, Detective Sharp walked over to Laura and quietly spoke, ‘They’ll be allowing visitors to your husband shortly; they’re still running some examinations.’

            Before he left the hospital he gave her a mobile number on a slip of paper to ring when she needed a lift back. Laura thanked Detective Sharp for all his help, watching him walk outside to his car. As he drove away, she felt completely lost and alone.

            She was constantly reminded of her husband’s words last night – only hours before – how he said he never wanted anything to change. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks, cold and electric, as she sobbed into her hands. She did not notice the other patients and visitors in the room look up at her with empathy.

            A few minutes passed before a nurse came down from the corridor leading to the wards. ‘Laura Henderson?’ she asked her on approach.

            ‘Hmm?’ she replied, feeling sick of being referred to by her full name today. Her face was stained with anguish.

            ‘You can go and see your husband now,’ the nurse replied with an awkward smile. ‘However, he is still unconscious…’

            Laura immediately sat up. ‘He is in a coma.’ She had not meant it to sound like a question.

            The nurse hesitated, ‘It will sound better coming from your husband’s doctor, Dr Watt. He is with John at the moment. He will answer any questions you have.’

Laura resisted the temptation to shout at her. She was only doing her job and yet another person who hated giving bad news. ‘Thank you,’ she replied, before following the nurse towards the intensive care ward.

 

6

 

To see her husband laying there as he was, it turned her whole world upside down.

John’s bed was stationed in the secrete intensive care ward at the back of the hospital. There were only six beds in this ward, each with a pale blue curtain hung around them to shield the patients from the outside world. The nurse led her to the far left bed where a doctor, who introduced himself as Dr Watt, stood in front of the curtain. Already she could hear the beeping hearts of hospital machinery.

‘Hello, Mrs Henderson,’ he said with a distinctly deep tone. After the introduction, he then divulged into the state of her husband’s condition: he was in a comatose state, caused by head trauma from the accident. He was completely unaware of his external surroundings and could not respond to any sounds or movement in front of the eyes. He explained that John’s coma was severe, for he did not even respond to pain.

Laura held back the tears for as long as possible. But when he said the coma was severe she nearly stumbled. Her whole body felt paralyzed as she sunk helplessly. She was kept on her feet only from the nurse and the doctor grabbing her arms to keep her upright. Laura composed herself and said, ‘What can be done to help him?’

‘There is unfortunately little we can do,’ Dr Watt replied. He further stressed that her husband would need constant checking by the ward’s nurses to check for signs of regular, free breathing.

‘Mrs Henderson,’ the doctor then said, ‘I must tell you that a coma can last for weeks, sometimes much longer. Even if he does wake up, he may lose some of his bodily functions. Because of the hard knock to the head, it may mean that his brain is severely impaired…’

‘Can I see him now, doctor?’ Enough talk, she thought.

Dr Watt nodded, ‘Yes, yes of course.’ Clutching the curtain, he hesitated and faced Laura. ‘I must warn you, Mrs…’

‘Laura.’ Open the damn curtain.

‘Yes, Laura, your husband is currently hooked up to brain stem evoked response equipment and tubing to help monitor his brainwaves and aid his breathing...’

Laura grabbed the curtain herself, ‘Please let me see my husband, doctor.’

Silence.

This time Dr Watt merely nodded and stepped aside. Pulling the blue curtain away revealed a bruised John Henderson laying across the hospital bed with his eyes shut, dreaming in a far away place.

The tubes coming from his nose and mouth made Laura feel sick.

 

7

 

She did not stay long at the hospital. She wanted to, but seeing her husband unperturbed and unmoving made her feel so helpless. No matter how many times she stroked the back of his hand, or expressed her love for him, she did not receive a single glimpse of recall. After only a few minutes she could no longer look at his swollen face or his limp posture. In the end, she thanked the doctor and nurse for all the help and support (as little as it could be for such a condition) they had given John.

She walked back into the waiting room alone, feeling nauseous inside her stomach. She remembered Detective Sharp’s offering of a drive home. As she took out her mobile and the slip of paper she had received with his number, she heard a male voice call her name from behind her.

Laura faced the man and was curious to find she did not recognise him. He was around the same height as her, wearing a long jacket with its hood down behind his neck. His tall face looked young and brittle, which would have given him a mature rugged appearance if it were not for his messy black hair. He seemed in a daze; his eyes flickered as Laura gazed curiously at him. His hands were deep in his pockets and he seemed agitated.

If anything, he looked confused.

            ‘Yes…do I know you?’ she replied, subconsciously placing her phone and the slip of paper back in her coat pocket. Does he know something about the accident? she wondered, as she took the time to scan his face. He was definitely a stranger and yet this man knew her name.

            ‘Not especially,’ was his answer, as he looked around to see if anyone was listening. Most of the patients in the hospital ward were keeping themselves to themselves. Many stared diffidently towards the ceiling and the farthest wall to them. Some even found the hospital pamphlets to be a good read.

Seeing the distaste in Laura’s expression, he said: ‘I’m sorry to bother you right now, but I need to speak to you in private…’ He blinked. ‘It’s about your husband.’ He twitched a glance at the floor and back at her again. ‘Can I visit you at your home?’

            The way he said that last part made her blink. ‘Who exactly are you?’ She had not realised her voice was raised.

‘Please, Laura…Mrs Henderson, don’t be alarmed.’

            ‘What do you want exactly?’

‘I think…’ He scratched his left cheek. He looked completely lost. ‘To help you and John,’ was all he managed.

She felt uneasy. The retching feeling in her stomach was making her heart beat at an astounding rate. It felt as though she should be frightened, but deep down she was miraculously calm about the situation. Why should she be frightened, besides the stranger knowing her full name? Perhaps he overheard the nurse earlier calling her name. But had the nurse mentioned her first name? Laura could not remember now. The man did not appear to be any threat, even with his mismatched outfit.

But she was extremely dubious of him. His presence here did not belong. She considered him to be perhaps a journalist, possibly enquiring about John’s life before the accident. But that outfit did not seem to fit. By the nervous glitter in his eyes, Laura reckoned this man knew something she did not. And in any case, in her state of mind, she was willing to listen to any story about her husband.

The same discrete place in her heart that told her John was definitely in a coma was now telling her to trust this man. Without really thinking, she said, ‘Number 7, Westwood Drive. You know the place?’

The man’s eyes widened a little. ‘I’ll find it,’ he said with a nod, as he noticed Doctor Watt approaching from the corridor past reception. ‘I will contact you soon,’ he said quickly, as he hurried out of the waiting room and outside to the hospital car park, seemingly unable to walk sensibly in a straight, unnoticeable manner. As Laura watched the man walk out of sight – utterly speechless – she realised something else.

He knew John’s name as well! Who the heck is he?

Just to help, he had said. That was all.

But was that all he wanted?

He didn’t seem to really know, himself, she thought.

Laura was in a world of her own when the doctor called her name. She nearly jumped. ‘Yes?’ she replied with a jitter, as she turning to face Dr Watt.

            ‘Sorry to bother you again, Laura. I’m glad I caught you before you left. I forgot to mention to you about our regular visiting hours, for when you decide to come back. If you wish, you can stay overnight; we supply bed linen and as many cups of tea or coffee as you wish.’ He hinted at a smile with that last comment about caffeine.

            Laura gave a smile back, simply out of courtesy. ‘Thank you, doctor. Goodbye.’ She then turned and left the hospital, suddenly remembering to call Detective Sharp. Her mind was abuzz from the meeting with the stranger and from all of today’s events.

            But today was not going to get any easier for her.