‘How do you know my name?’ Oswald shouts the question this time and moves toward the doorway, straight toward the fairy.
I follow.
I will not let him hurt the fairy like he has hurt me. But as I reach out to grab him, to pull him back and give the fairy enough time to escape, the fairy’s eyes and my eyes meet, and she shakes her head ever so gently. She is telling me to stop. Or to wait at least.
I obey.
The fairy is right to tell me to stop.
As Oswald approaches the doorway, he stops, too. He does not reach for the fairy with his giant hands. He can throw me around the room and kick me and choke me but he does not touch the fairy.
‘How do you know my name?’ Oswald shouts again, and this time I hear something in his voice that I missed the first time. Oswald is angry, but I think that he is curious, too. Hopeful, even. Underneath his anger is something else. I think Oswald is hoping that the fairy’s answer to his question is a good one. I think he wants help, too.
‘I am a fairy,’ the fairy says. ‘Do you know what a fairy is?’
‘How do you know my name!’ Oswald roars the question this time. If Oswald was a human person, every window on the eighth floor would have rattled and every single person in the hospital would have heard his voice.
I have never been more afraid.
The fairy turns and points to the bald man in the bed. ‘He is your friend. And he’s hurt. Right?’
Oswald stares at her and says nothing. I am standing behind him so I cannot see the expression on Oswald’s face, but his fists unclench and I can see the muscles in his arms and back relax a little.
‘Oswald,’ the fairy says again. ‘He is your friend. Right?’
Oswald looks to the bald man and then back to the fairy. He shakes his head up and down.
‘And he’s hurt?’ she asks.
Oswald nods slowly.
‘I’m so sorry,’ the fairy says. ‘Do you know how it happened?’
Oswald nods again.
‘Can we go into the hallway and talk?’ the fairy asks. ‘I can’t think straight with that man reading that book.’
I have forgotten that Sleepy Face and his pale friend were even in the room. I stopped hearing about the low hitter once the fairy started speaking. It was like watching a lion-tamer calm down a lion with a toothpick instead of a whip and chair.
No, not a toothpick. A Q-tip. But somehow it worked. The fairy has done it.
Oswald agrees to move into the hallway. But as the fairy turns to leave, she notices that Oswald does not move. She turns back.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘He has to leave, too,’ Oswald says, turning and pointing at me.
‘Of course,’ the fairy says. ‘Budo is coming with us.’
Oswald turns and follows the fairy into the hallway. I follow behind him. We walk down a little ways to a space with chairs and lamps and short tables piled with magazines. The fairy sits on a chair. Her wings stop moving. When they are still, they look small and weak and flimsy. I can’t believe that she can fly.
Oswald sits on a chair opposite the fairy.
I take a seat in a chair next to the fairy.
‘Who are you?’ Oswald asks.
‘I’m Teeny,’ the fairy says.
I feel bad. I never asked her name.
‘How do you know my name?’ Oswald asks again. Anger is now pure curiosity.
Teeny pauses. I wonder if I should say something to give her more time to think. She looks uncertain. But then she speaks before I can think of something to say.
‘I was going to tell you that I am a magical fairy who knows everything in the world, and that you need to listen to me. But I don’t want to lie. I know your name is Oswald because Budo told me.’
Oswald says nothing.
I open my mouth to talk but it is Teeny who speaks.
‘Budo needs your help, and I was afraid that you might be mean to him like the last time you saw him. So I followed him here.’
‘I told him to leave,’ Oswald says. ‘I warned him.’
‘I know. But he needs your help. He had to come.’
‘Why?’ Oswald asks.
‘Because Budo said that you can move things in the real world,’ Teeny says. ‘Is that true?’ She asks the question like she can’t believe it herself.
Oswald’s bushy eyebrows come together like two caterpillars kissing. He has the same eyebrows as the bald man, I suddenly realize. He looks a lot like the bald man. It’s easier to see the resemblance now that I’m not being thrown around the room.
‘I saw you push the door to that room open,’ I say. ‘You can move things in the real world. Right? Like this table? Or these magazines?’
‘Yes,’ Oswald says. ‘But it’s hard.’
‘Hard?’ Teeny asks.
‘Everything in the real world is heavy. A lot heavier than you,’ he says, pointing to me.
‘You would know,’ I say.
The caterpillars kiss again.
‘Never mind,’ I say.
‘And I could never move a table,’ he says. ‘Even a little one like this is too heavy.’
‘But you can move small things,’ I say. ‘Right?’
Oswald nods.
‘How long have you been alive?’ Teeny asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Oswald says. He looks down at his feet.
‘What is your friend’s name?’ Teeny asks.
‘Who?’
‘The man in the bed.’
‘Oh,’ Oswald says. ‘He is John.’
‘Did you know him before he was hurt?’ I ask.
I think about the little girl without a name in the Intensive Care Unit. I wonder if Oswald is like her.
‘Only for a second,’ Oswald says. ‘He was on the ground. His head was broken. He looked up at me and smiled and then he closed his eyes.’
‘And you followed him here?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’ Oswald pauses, and then he says, ‘I wish John would open his eyes and smile again.’
‘Can you help Budo?’ Teeny asks.
‘How?’
‘I need you to help my friend,’ I say. ‘He isn’t hurt like John, but he is in big trouble, and I can’t save him without you.’
‘Will I have to go down the stairs? I don’t like the stairs.’
‘You will have to go far away,’ Teeny says. ‘Down the stairs and outside and far away. But it is important and John would want you to do it. And when you’re done, Budo will bring you right back here. Okay?’
‘No,’ Oswald says. ‘I can’t.’
‘Yes you can,’ Teeny says. ‘You have to. A little boy is in trouble and only you can save him.’
‘I don’t want to,’ Oswald says.
‘I know,’ Teeny says. ‘But you have to do it. A little boy is in trouble. We can’t say no to little boys in trouble. Right?’
‘Right,’ Oswald says.
CHAPTER 49
‘How did you do that?’ I ask as we walk down the hallway toward the elevators.
I am walking alongside Teeny, who is flying down the hall. Her wings make a humming sound that I did not hear when I was in the bald man’s room. Even this close, her wings move so fast that they are nothing but a blur.
Oswald is behind us, head down, looking like a snowplow again.
‘How did I do what?’ Teeny asks.
‘Everything,’ I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. ‘How did you know that Oswald wouldn’t attack you like he attacked me? How did you convince him to help me? How did you even know where I was?’
‘The last question is easy,’ Teeny says. ‘You told us what floor you found Oswald on the first time. A couple minutes after you left, I decided that you might need some help. So I walked over to the grown-up hospital and flew up the stairs to the eighth floor. By the time I got up here, finding you was easy. The two of you were making such a racket that I knew right where to go.’
‘That racket was me getting tossed around the ro
om like a doll.’
‘I know,’ Teeny says, smiling.
‘Okay, how did you know that Oswald wouldn’t attack you like he attacked me?’ I ask.
‘I didn’t go into his room,’ Teeny says. ‘I stayed at the doorway.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘You told us that Oswald found you sneaking up behind him the first time you met. Right outside his room. And later on he found you in his room. I thought that if I didn’t go into the room, he probably wouldn’t hurt me. Plus I’m a girl. And a fairy. You’d have to be a real stinker to hit a fairy.’
‘You were imagined smart,’ I say.
Teeny smiles again.
‘How long have you been alive?’ I ask.
‘Almost three years.’
‘That’s a long time for someone like us,’ I say.
‘Not nearly as long as you.’
‘No, but it’s still a long time. You’re lucky.’
We turn a corner and pass a man in a wheelchair talking to himself. I look around for an imaginary friend but see none. I turn to check on Oswald. He is about three steps behind us, plowing away. I turn back to Teeny.
‘How did you get Oswald to help me?’ I whisper. ‘All you did was ask him to help, and he said yes.’
‘I did what Mom always does when she wants Aubrey to do something.’
‘Aubrey is your human friend?’ I ask.
‘Yes. She has something wrong in her head that the doctors have to fix. That’s why she is in the hospital.’
‘What does your mom do when she wants Aubrey to do something?’ I ask.
‘When Mom wants Aubrey to do her homework or brush her teeth or eat her broccoli, she doesn’t tell Aubrey to do it. She makes it sound like it’s Aubrey’s choice. Like it’s Aubrey’s only choice. Like not eating the broccoli would be wrong.’
‘That was it?’ I ask. ‘That’s all you did?’
I try to remember everything that Teeny said to Oswald but it all happened so fast.
‘It was easy with Oswald, because not helping you was a really wrong thing to do. A lot more wrong than not eating broccoli or not brushing his teeth. And I asked him questions, too. I tried to show him I cared, because I thought that he was probably lonely. There aren’t too many imaginary friends in a grown-up hospital. Right?’
‘You really were imagined smart,’ I say.
Teeny smiles again. For the first time since Graham disappeared, I think I may have found an imaginary friend who could be my friend, too.
We reach the elevators and I turn to Oswald. ‘Do you want to ride on the elevator or take the stairs?’
‘I never rode on the elevator before,’ he says.
‘Do you want to take the stairs, then?’ I ask.
‘I don’t like the stairs,’ he says, looking down at his feet.
‘Okay. We’ll take the elevator then. It will be fun.’
We stand by the elevators, waiting for someone to come along and press the down button. I think about asking Oswald to press the button, just so I could see him move something in the real world again, but I decide not to. He said that it was hard to move things in the real world, so there is no need to make him work when someone else can do the work for him. He is nervous enough already.
It doesn’t take long before a man in a white coat comes along, pushing another man in a wheelchair. The man in the white coat pushes the down arrow and when the door slides open, Oswald, Teeny and I step in behind him.
‘I never rode in an elevator before,’ Oswald says again.
‘It’s fun,’ I say. ‘You’ll like it.’
But Oswald looks nervous. So does Teeny.
The man pushing the wheelchair presses the number three and the elevator begins to move. Oswald’s eyes widen. His hands bunch into fists.
‘The men are getting out on the third floor. We will, too. We can take the stairs from there.’
‘Okay,’ Oswald says, looking relieved.
I want to tell him that riding from the third to the first floor in an elevator would only take an extra five seconds, but I let him feel relieved instead. He doesn’t like the stairs, so he must hate the elevator.
I think Teeny does, too.
The door slides open and we follow the man and the wheelchair into the hallway.
‘The stairs are around the corner,’ I say.
As I speak, I notice the sign on the wall opposite the elevators. In between the directions for restrooms and a place called Radiation is this:
← INTENSIVE CARE UNIT
I stop.
I stare at the sign for a moment.
‘What?’ Teeny asks when I do not move.
‘Can you and Oswald wait here for a minute?’ I ask Teeny.
‘Why?’
‘I want to check on somebody. I think she is on this floor.’
‘Who?’ Teeny asks.
‘A friend,’ I say. ‘Sort of a friend, I mean. I think she is down the hall.’
Teeny stares at me. She narrows her eyes to slits. I feel like she is trying to look straight through me.
‘Okay,’ she finally says. ‘We can wait. Right, Oswald?’
‘Okay,’ Oswald says.
I turn left. I follow the signs like I did when I found the ICU in the Children’s Hospital. After two long hallways and one turn, I find myself standing outside a set of double doors that look a lot like the doors to the children’s ICU. The name tag on the doors reads Intensive Care Unit.
I pass through them.
I am standing in a large room with curtains along the outside edges of the room. Some of the curtains are closed and some are open. There is a long counter and desks and lots of machines in the center of the room. Doctors are moving around, going in and out of the curtains, typing on computers, talking on the telephones, talking to each other, writing things down on clipboards, and looking worried.
All doctors look worried, but these doctors look extra worried.
I start with the curtain closest to me. It is closed. I crawl under it. An old woman is lying in the bed behind it. She has gray hair and lots of wrinkles around her eyes. She has machines with wires and tubes hooked up to her arms and a thin plastic tube stuck underneath her nose. She is sleeping.
I move to the next curtain and then the next. When the curtain is closed, I crawl underneath. Some of the beds are empty and some have people in them. All grown-ups. Mostly men. Two of the curtains have no beds at all.
I find Dee behind the last curtain. I do not realize that it is Dee at first. Her head is shaved. She is as bald as Oswald’s bald friend. She is as bald as Oswald. Her cheeks are swollen and the skin around her eyes is black. She has the most machines attached to her of anyone I’ve seen so far. Tubes and wires run from bags of water and machines with tiny television screens to her arm and chest. The machines make hissing, beeping, clicking sounds.
There is a woman sitting in a chair next to Dee. She is holding Dee’s hand. It is Dee’s sister. I know this because she looks just like Dee. A younger version of Dee. Same dark skin. Same sharp chin. Same round eyes. She is whispering words into Dee’s ear. She whispers the same words over and over again. Words like God and Jesus and Almighty and praise. I can barely hear her.
Dee does not look good. She looks very bad.
Dee’s sister does not look good, either. She looks tired and scared.
I sit on the edge of the bed next to Dee’s sister. I look down at Dee. I want to cry, except I do not have time to cry. Teeny and Oswald are waiting by the elevators and Mrs Patterson is packing her secret bus with food and clothes. I have to go.
‘I’m sorry you are hurt,’ I say to Dee. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish I could have saved you. I miss you.’
Tears fill my eyes. This is only the second time that my eyes have made tears and they feel strange. Slippery and hot.
‘I have to save Max,’ I tell Dee. ‘I couldn’t save you, but I think I can save Max. So I have to go now.’
I stand up to leave. I
look back at Dee’s pale face and thin wrists. I listen to her raspy, uneven breath and the whispers of her sister and the steady beep of the machine beside her bed. I look and I listen. Then I sit back down.
‘I’m afraid,’ I say to Dee. ‘I couldn’t save you, but maybe I can save Max. Except I’m scared. Max is in trouble, but I think his trouble is good for me. If he stays in trouble, I stay alive. So I’m confused.’
I take a deep breath. I think about what I want to say next, but when nothing comes to my mind, I just start talking again.
‘It’s not like Max is going to be shot by a man in a devil mask. It’s not that kind of trouble at all. Mrs Patterson will take good care of Max. I know it. She is a devil, too, but not the kind that shot you. Max will be fine no matter what I do. But I might not be fine. I don’t know what is going to happen to me. And now I have Oswald helping me, so I really might be able to save Max. I never thought that Oswald would agree to help, but he has. Now I can save Max, I think. Except I’m afraid.’
I sit and stare at Dee. I listen to her sister whisper her words over and over again. They sound almost like a song.
‘I know saving Max is the right thing to do,’ I say to Dee. ‘But it won’t matter if I do the right thing if I stop existing too. The right thing is good only if you are here to enjoy it.’
I feel more hot, slippery tears in my eyes, but these are not for Dee. They are for me.
‘I wish there was a Heaven. If I knew there was a Heaven for me, then I would save Max for sure. I wouldn’t be afraid because there would be a place to go after this place. Another place. But I don’t think there is a Heaven, and I definitely don’t think there is a Heaven for imaginary friends. Heaven is supposed to be only for people who God made, and God didn’t make me. Max made me.’
I smile, thinking about Max as a god. A god locked up in a basement with a bunch of Lego and army men. The god of one. The God of Budo.
‘I guess that’s why I should save him,’ I say. ‘Because he made me. I wouldn’t be alive without him. But I’m afraid, and I feel bad for being afraid. I feel even worse for thinking about leaving Max with Mrs Patterson. Even though I know I will try to save him, I think about not saving him and that makes me feel bad. Like a real stinker. But it’s not wrong to be worried about myself, too. Right?’