CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I remember that fateful day. I remember it better than many other eventful days with Pam. Considering how I woke up in the morning with a one-sided headache instigated by unpleasant nightmares which eventually caused sleeplessness, that day didn't start well for me. It wasn't a good day. That was just the beginning of a much bigger sadness to come.
I never thought of these nightmares as signs of something tragic to happen. I never believed in superstition, or in dreams or their interpretations. I always thought those who believe in dreams are old fashioned and uncivilised. But what happened that day changed all that; it made me delirious on what to believe.
A stranger walked into my class that morning and whispered something to my teacher. The last time that sort of incident happened was with Titus, a former classmate who was involved in a rape incident a night before that day. The victim died; the cops swung into heated investigations and somewhere, Titus name came out. How? The girl did a confession before she died. We haven't seen Titus or heard of him ever since.
I heard my name called. I raised my head up and saw both of them looking at me. Actually, everyone in the class was looking at me. I'm sure Titus's situation came to everyone's mind.
"What's the problem?" I asked.
"There's no problem." The stranger said, looking at me with the same serious face I had on him. "Please come with me."
I looked at him, then at my teacher (which at that time, was fumbling with her knuckles). I followed him outside. Even though my eyes were on him, I felt everybody's eyes pelting on me on the back of my head.
It was hard for my mind to think of what's going on or what's about to happen, and when the stranger took me to a waiting police vehicle; I felt the school would never hear of me again.
"I'm Sergeant Simon Cavanaugh." The man introduced himself just before I boarded the car. "I believe you are friends with Miss Pamela Graham."
"Yes, I am." I said.
"Then please get into the car, we may not have enough time." He said, as he ushered me into the car.
"I don't understand, sir; time for what?"
"Ms Graham, she's critically ill and wants to see you."
"What! Pam is ill? When did that happened."
"At night, two days ago." He helped me with my seat belt. "I understand you are her only close friend; one of the few that know her condition. Is that correct?" I nodded. Without saying a word, he walked to the driver's seat, got in, shut the door and fastened his seat belt.
"So?" I asked him; curiosity eating up my guts.
"So nothing; I just wanted to make sure you were the right guy." He pressed the ignition and stepped on the accelerator.
"Is she alright?"
"If she is, we wouldn't be taking you out of class this morning. Just be patient son."
"Who's 'we'?" I asked.
"Patience."
That was how he shut me up.
There's nothing unusual in the hospital. The sound of helicopter blades rattled somewhere up the building. Sergeant Cavanaugh led me to the elevators and we went up to the fourth floor.
My mind was on Pam the whole time since I stopped talking in the car. But to reassure myself, I thought it'd be like the usual times: she gets sick, gets into the hospital, sneak out and get better outside and life would continue. But when I got in to the room and saw her on that bed, I got really scared!
Pam was lying on the bed with an oxygen mask strapped onto her mouth. I've never seen someone paler; and if not for the oxygen, one would think she's already dead.
I stopped a few inches away from the bed, scared as hell. My heart beating louder; it almost stopped when I took the first few steps forward.
"Hello, Mr Bradley, we meet again." I turned to the left and Mr Graham was staring at me with the same old grim expression. Mrs Graham was in a chair beside him with a tearful face.
I didn't take notice of the people in the room when I came in, until I heard Mr Graham’s voice.
"How... How is she?" I asked.
They looked at each other and Mrs Graham burst into tears again. Pam moved a little when she heard my voice. I walked to her. Surprisingly, she had more strength in her than I imagined. She took the mask off her mouth.
"Hi." She managed to say, laboriously.
"Hi" I said and held her hand. "How are you feeling?"
She smiled. "Hopeful”.
"Good." I said. "Look ahm... I'm sorry; I just came to know about this. I was in..."
"I... I h...have something, to tell you." She took a long sigh. Pam looked at her parents and sighed again. "Can we be excused, please?" It took her a moment to say that.
They exchanged glances, hesitated; Mr Graham nodded to his wife who was reluctant to leave. "Mom... Please." Pam repeated again. Mr Graham led her to the door.
"That was some relief." She chucked when we were alone. "How are you?"
"How are YOU?" I said. "I'm ok, me."
"I have something to tell you." She said again. Coughed twice, tightened her hold on my hand and pointed to a glass of water by the bed side. I gave her and she sipped.
"Sorry. Can't this wait till you get a little better?"
"No... No, I want to say it. I'm not going to get any better." She said that with a straight face and with a high amount of certainty. "I'm not going to get any better."
"Don't say that." I said and caressed her hair. "You will get better soon."
"You... You don't understand. I'm dying Brad. I want to die."
"That's what you said two months ago; but you're still breathing"
She sighed, panting; she sighed again and then looked at me. "I love you." She said. "I love you; and if there's anyone I'd miss if I die, it'd be you; only you." She swallowed. My mouth was opened; I was stunned at the seriousness in her voice.
"Pam..."
"I want you to tell my parents that."
"What?" What did she just said?
"Yea; I want you to tell my parents what I just told you."
"Pam, I can't." I said, avoiding her eyes. "That would break their hearts."
"They broke mine. They cared about themselves and jobs more than they cared about me." She sighed, swallowed. "You were a complete stranger to me, I hated you right from the first time I saw you. But you cared for me even though I hated you. You came to the hospital to see me, and then stood up against your best friend for me."
I was lost for a moment on the last line; it showed on my curious face.
"When you had the fight with Phil at school, I was there. I heard every word you both said before and after the fight. You fought for me. No one ever stood for me; not even my parents. I stood up for myself against everyone." She was silent for a moment. We both were.
"And then you sneaked me out of here to your house, showed me the paintings and I kicked you out of your own room. The truth is, I was scared because I was unprepared for that huge surprise. I was in every painting you created; I never thought someone could find me that interesting. I was just a girl; a bitter girl with bitter childhood and parents. I had wanted to remain that way at least for the rest of my short life. But you came and tried to change that, and you sort of did in some way. You gave me love; you tried to give me some hope..." She was silent for a while; "I just want to say thank you."
"That painting; 'Hope' is it?" I nodded. "It's really..." She coughed. "Water." I gave her some and a big hug.
"I'm sorry Brad, but I want to die." She cried. "I want to be free of this life, this disease; this hell I go through every time I fall ill. Only I see it, only I feel and suffer from it. Forgive me, but I want to die, now."
I was only fifteen; naïve and kind of shallow in thinking. I guess I owe my mother a lot for pushing me to the right direction and making me think right. Even so, I guess she achieved that through subjecting me to rigorous adherence to some of her words; and penalizing me for not doing the right thing.
I always marvelled at how the Old Masters of art did achieve greatness not only through
their masterpieces, but also through their own philosophies about life and art. Which ever way, they did managed achieve that greatness.
I thought Pam was a great mind; my moment with her in the hospital proved that.
I mean, she was only sixteen but she spoke like a forty year-old. When I declined to her plea to deliver that unpleasant message to her parents, she gave me many reasons why she thought I can do it. Her reasons were flawless that I thought she was watching my every move. That was psyching.
"So, what were you talking about?" Mr Cavanaugh asked on the way back to school.
"Nothing." I replied, looking out the window.
"Her parents were damn worried; you spent a century alone in there, talking about God-knows-what. That can't be nothing, son."
I felt a tinge of anger as he kept talking. I looked at him and thought his face was too annoying for my liking. I decided to put a stop to the annoying questions. "Nothing; Mr Cavanaugh. And that 'nothing' is not your business. And I'm not your son."
He was stunned. So was my classmate when I walked into the class.
"What happened?" Henry asked. Phil was standing beside him; they both looked at me with concerned faces.
"Nothing." I said.
Mother was dead worried before I got home. She had received a phone call from Ms George about my sudden departure with a Mr Cavanaugh. She was in tears when I walked in. I told her everything instantly. She cried tears of relief.
"I don't think it's wise to tell her parents that." Mother said, blowing her nose in a hanky. "You're not going to do that, are you?"
"She wants me to promise; I can't do it."
"I suggest you try to talk her out of it."
"She could be quiet firm on some things." I sighed. "I don't know, she's very ill now and I don't want to add to her discomfort by pushing her to lose a hold on something she has a firm grip on. But I'll try. I'm going back in half an hour."
Mother's face portrayed disapproval, but she kept the words in. I had expected that, but earlier on, I told her Pam wants me to be there and her parents had agreed.
"Phil called; asked after you shortly before you came in." She said.
"What did he say?"
"How were you coping?"
I got to the hospital with thoughts of Phil I'm my head. So he called. We had a face off only yesterday and yet, he was worried about me when I left with Mr Cavanaugh. Maybe he was scared for me, or maybe not. Anyway, that wasn't important at that moment. Pam was.
I came to the elevators, pressed the up button and waited. I had to pull the pressure in me caused by my impatience and converged them to my fist. I pressed hard, my knuckles cracked. I sighed.
Then I heard a wail close by. It was a woman, held firmly by a man as he tried to lead her out. There were blood stains on her pink dress by the chest. It's not her blood obviously, it was someone's.
"My baby." She cried. That explained it. The elevator doors slid open. I went in.
I felt something 'unusual' around me when I took the lift up to Pam's room. I can't quite explain it, but it was like a mix of anxiety and some kind of light headedness. Maybe it was the lift, maybe not. Or maybe it was the blood stains I just saw, maybe not. But for what's worth I never had that sort of momentary awkward feeling before.
I got out of the lift and walked to the room, knocked gently, but before I opened, the door was yanked opened and Mrs Graham came running out, crying. She ran through the corridor and out of sight.
Whoa!
That particular action made me hesitate before going in. At that moment of hesitation, Mr Graham appeared, obviously after his wife.
"She went that way." I said, pointing to the left.
"Stay with Pam." He barked the order.
I got in; Pam was on the bed, shivering violently. I've never seen anything like that before. I nearly dropped dead.
I rushed to her, held her steady, but she's still shaking.
"Bra..." She tried to call my name. "Brad... Don't le...me... Don't leave me."
"I'm not leaving you."
She held my hand firmly while she shook. "I'm cold"
"You'll be okay. Just stay with me."
I didn't know what to do. I didn't understand why her parents will both ran off. I became so confused and out of ideas and I wished they never left.
"I'm cold." She said again, almost inaudibly.
I pulled the sheets on her with one hand while she still held hard on my other hand; then I sat on the bed and held her by the shoulders. She brought my hand to her bosom and applied the other hand on it. Still, she shivered. Her skin looked as if every drop of blood in them had been drained. God!
I kept looking at the door every second, hoping to see someone walk in. No one did.
"You're here, just like you promised." She smiled. "I'm glad."
"Pam, I'll always be here for you. But please stop talking. You are too weak."
There was a little smile on her face. She moved her lips gently; like she wanted to say something but the words didn't come out. Then she stilled. Her eyes looking into mine, smiling.
Relief came to me. The shaking had stopped and I thought the blanket had worked. I hadn't the slightest idea that life had surged out of her.
"Get off the bed, now." Mrs Graham yelled. Her husband and herself came in with some doctors who had swung into action before I got off the bed.
One of the doctors moved our clasped hands off Pam's chest and put his stethoscope there. Another was yelling at the Grahams to stand back.
But I had noticed a mild shock on the one with the stethoscope. He checked her again and again; then he relaxed and took off the device from his ear.
A small box by the bed side had been making a long continuous sound. He looked at it for a second or two and then rubbed his face with his palm. He sighed.
"What is it?" Mr Graham asked, dead fear written boldly on his face. "What's happening?"
"I'm sorry." The doc said. "She's gone."
WHAT!!! That was from all three of us.
"I'm sorry Mr Graham." The doc said again.
Mrs Graham slumped to the floor. The doctors rushed over her. One of them said Mrs Graham was not breathing.
Mr Graham and I just watched Pam's smiley face; lifeless, clasping my hand and felt cold. Mr Graham moved closer, put his hand on her forehead like he's getting the feel of her temperature. Then, he drew back and slumped as well.
"We have another one" said the doctor again.
Even with all that, my eyes never left Pam's face. I could hear the doctors wrestling to revive the Grahams; even screamed for some help. But I just kept looking at that smiling dead face.
It's unbelievable; those gentle eyes, alive and looking at me just a few seconds ago were all still and lifeless. That smile she made was of happiness for seeing me and appreciating the fact that I kept my promise on coming to see her.
She told me only this morning that she wants to die; to be free of this disease and suffering. She's gone now; she's gone.
"Go in peace. Be free, my love." I said, smoothing her clasped hand with my thumb.
I didn't know how or when someone gently pulled my hand from Pam's hold, drew up the sheets to cover her face and led me out. But I was still looking.