Chapter Text
Not a word had been said for the last half hour, and the only sound in the living room was the hum of the furnace working hard to warm the chilly room, made chillier by the house’s sterile and mostly monochrome interior, an exemplar of 2020s upper middle class yuppie interior design. Rob, a lanky man of sixty-something whose sun-worn features would look well at home in a spaghetti western, sat on the loveseat, carefully examining his fourth crossword of the hour. His grandson, Inco, contrary to his usual habits of scrolling on his phone or snacking, silently reclined on the couch, occasionally looking wistfully out the window, where the backyard’s maple tree was silhouetted against the darkening sky. Rob frowned. While he was plenty content to entertain himself in silence, and it was not unusual for Inco to languish, Inco’s demeanor, well beyond mere withdrawal, was enough to cast oppressive gloom over the living room. But first, the crossword. “Tom Petty and the __.” Rob knew that one—HEARTBREAKERS. The dominoes fell quickly after that: HULL, RICH, BELL, WEST, and there was the bottom left filled in. And then—
Ring, ring. It was Inco’s phone. Inco hastily grabbed it from his pocket, and his face went white. He rushed through the kitchen and out the back door, leaving a puzzled Rob in the house. If Rob was concerned before, he was properly worried now, and he resolved to get to the bottom of things. But first: “Staple of Hawaiian street food”—he wasn’t sure about that. After some thinking, he had it—TARO. And then came ACTS, then TEBOW, and then, after some thought, FOSTER. Rob filled in a couple more in the top right, and then he was done. Nobody could say Rob wasn’t slick with crosswords. It was a couple more minutes of waiting in silence before Rob heard the back door slide open, and Inco reentered the living room.
Inco had appeared miserable before, but now he looked positively terrified. Rob took a good look at his grandson. Inco didn’t much stand out from any other eighteen year old, save for a wholly bald scalp, victim of Alopecia Totalis, as they called it. Inco had taken it well; he’d said it make him look like Yul Brynner. Inco was wearing that blue puffer jacket that he always seemed to wear. His face, though, looked unlike Rob had ever seen it. There were deep bags under Inco’s eyes, as if he had hardly slept in days, while Inco’s jaw sat slack and his eyes wide. And curiously, Inco had a visible bruise under his right eye..
Rob spoke up. “Son, what’s got you in such a state? I drive halfway across the country to be here for Christmas, and not only are your parents vanished to one of their horrid conferences when I arrive, but you look like death himself’s knocking at your door. Pray, what’s the matter?”
“It’s nothing”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing comes of nothing. Tell me, Inco!”
“Look, I can’t tell you. Leave me alone.”
Rob rose an inquisitive eyebrow. “It’s a woman, ain’t it?”
Inco had been making his way to the stairs, but at that he stopped, clenched his fists, and turned to face Rob, with the expression of a deer caught in headlights. He let out a slow and ratting breath. “Of course it is. Now I told you, leave me alone.”
“Allow you to bear this—whatever it is—all alone? Son, know you have a sincere confidant here. Have I ever let you down, made fun of you, or told your secrets? Tell me, would you? I’m no wise man, but I’m no fool, and it’s best not to bear things alone.”
“Mmm… fine. But you better not tell anyone.”
“My lips are sealed.”
The assurance was enough for Inco; he finally returned to the couch and flopped down. “Just give me a minute.” As the two again sat in silence, Inco’s heavy breathing returned to normal, and soon enough he was calm, if still tense. Finally, he finished his contemplation and exclaimed, “Oh man, where do I even begin?”
“The beginning, I’d imagine.”
“Oh, screw you. Anyway, the beginning. Four months ago I met a girl. She was trouble from the start. But I thought she was special, unique, one of a kind. She was; she certainly was! Oh, Olivia!”
“This Olivia—what was she like?”
Inco thought a long while before answering. “When I met Olivia Halford, she was a gloomy recluse, but proud, arrogant even. She was so, so reserved and would do anything before opening her heart. She never listened to what was said to her. Everything seemed to annoy her. She hated to be seen yet feared to be forgotten. Still, I considered her to have a noble nature and a kindness at heart, though I doubt myself in saying that.” He went on. “She opened up, slowly. There were rare moments of pleasant romance here and there. We laughed, and talked, and finally, even kissed. She was an artist too, and a good one at that. Shame she’d hardly painted since freshman year” He shook his head sadly. “It was a mirage. Her one mentor bit the dust—poor Iadakan, he was such a great guy—and it was all downhill, till she was right back in the dumps where she started.”
“Women…” Al nodded knowingly and cast his eyes downwards, as if he knew all about the deepest workings of the fairer sex. “Now, be truthful, is she one of them dino-saurs, or, eh, saurians, guess you call em?”
“If we’re talking about, uh, what she literally is… then yeah. I’ve hardly seen a smoothskinned girl since my parents decided to move here. And can you blame a man for catching the Jurassic fever? Her scales and snout and her, ehh, other things were mighty pretty.”
“Anything else I need to know?
“Olivia’s paraplegic, in a wheelchair. I never minded, but she was real sensitive around it. It hurt her as an artist; she worried people only gave her a chance because she was disabled. But really, she got by fine."
“The plot thickens. And the call?”
“We’ll get there. Four days ago; St. Hammond High’s winter formal. I tell you, I went all out. Got—with my own money—a limo for everyone, her and her godbrother and his paramour too. It was going to be great.“ Inco paused and his brow furrowed. Rob leaned back and wondered where things would go next while his grandson gathered his thoughts, and then Rob saw a flash of anger come over Inco’s face. Inco began again, with a shake of his head and a touch of venom in his voice:
“She was in a rotten mood that night, I can’t for the life of me tell you why. Before we’d left the house, she’d cussed out half her family and yelled at little Vinny—a purer soul you’d never find—when he accidentally stained her dress. I paid for a new dress, a nice red piece. Thousand dollars for it; not like she cared. But oh, you should have seen her in that, was a sight for sore eyes if ever there was one.”
“Off to a bad start.”
“Not half as bad as it gets. The formal… what can I say. We were late. It sucked. She was in a bad mood. She was to give a eulogy for Iadakan, and, and…”
“A eulogy, and? Spit it out!”
“Disaster, pops, disaster! She broke down in front of everyone. Everyone. The eulogy started alright, if unpracticed and slow because she never rehearsed, and then, either stage fright or grief or both, things got to her—she starts talking about how she’s a failure, failed Iadakan, it was just awful. Now, this is a tad confusing, so bear with me here. I was set up on a high balcony to take pictures. Fair enough, right? Nope! She sees me with the camera and goes offstage crying after cursing herself and her life and half the audience. You know, her in that dress, crying, high angle, she didn’t expect it, you can see how someone in the heat of the moment could feel violated. Then, worse still, her godbrother shows up and clocks me in the face afterwards! How was I supposed to know she’d react like that?” With that last sentence Inco threw up his arms in indignation, and looked about, as if searching for the approval of an invisible crowd. Inco knew, at a certain level, that he had wanted to take those photos and carried on even after she was crying, of Olivia in that none-too-covering red dress, breaking down on stage, maybe not for the titillation, but certainly for the drama. It’s the strange way of excuses, however, that Inco by this point truly did believe his own narrative. It hardly mattered: none other than Olivia and her godbrother had seen, and Olivia certainly wasn’t going to remember it.
“God… brother?”
“Sorry, yeah. She lives with her godparents, the Paynes; dad’s a military contractor or something. Damien is her godparents’ son, and hence, god… brother, I think.”
“Dang, that all just sucks. You know, someti—”
Inco extended a hand as if to say “stop right there.” “I’m not finished. Now, I found her in the stairwell, acting all beat up, obviously. I think she outright said she hated me. And…” Inco snapped his fingers, searching for the words. Rob didn’t need specifics, he figured. “Alright, long story short, she falls down the stairs, head trauma, hospital, coma, bad prognosis…”
“What? Well… there we have it, I guess.” Rob shook his head and sighed. “Thanks for telling me. Though, really, what of the call just now?”
Inco’s voice turned to an intent whisper: “She’s not in a coma anymore, Pops. She’s awake—and she wants, yes, she wants to see me, according to her godmother.
Now it was Rob’s turn to look like a deer in headlights “Oh. Oh no. So you’re really in deep?”
Inco nodded. “I’m so screwed. They want me to visit today, five O’clock. Volcadera Bluffs general hospital. They didn’t tell me much more. I guess I’ll be there; it’s not like I have much of a choice.”
“There ain’t much I can say here. I was born three score and seven years ago and in that whole time I’ve seen nothing like this mess. But lemme tell you this. If she’s yelling at you, if people are onto you, if you’ve screwed up, you have to think. You’re eighteen. You’re gonna be out of here soon. If things look bad, remember—‘this too, will pass.’ That ain’t Solomon’s talk, by the way; it’s them Persians, clever ones they were.”
“Thanks, pops. I’ll do… I’ll do what seems right, I suppose.” At that, Inco sighed heavily and leaned back into the couch cushions.
Rob was now off in the kitchen. “Say, want a beer? You know what they say, what mama don’t know, won’t hurt her.”
“Sure.” Inco could do for more than a beer, frankly.
Rob returned with one beer for himself and one for Inco, and, after the two cans popped and hissed open, silence again filled the living room. It was already three forty-five. A couple minutes more, and Inco would have to leave for the hospital.
Volcadera Bluffs General Hospital was the very model of a modern hospital for a modern city. Its glass façade and sleek design, no doubt fretted over by well-paid architects over many meetings, were marred only by its location, well off on the east side of town, far from the sea, where a moat of undeveloped lots and unswept streets separated it from modest suburbs. A trip on the C-line got Inco close, but he had to walk a mile more from the station. Were Inco in a thinking state of mind, the walk would have been a nice time to reflect. He had nothing, however, to reflect on, beyond putting one foot in front of the other. The sun was already setting when he left, and it was a moonlit night by the time he arrived
Inco was soon where he needed to be—MAIN ENTRANCE. Just act natural, just stay calm; that was all he needed to do, he assured himself. Inco marched, as a man going off to war, through the vestibule and into the impressively large and modern lobby, which contained only a couple half-asleep people and a surly receptionist. He remembered his instructions: Olivia’s room was number 212. He had to check in at the desk, go up the right stairs, take the east (left?) corridor until a waiting room, and meet Randy. He could do it, he thought, and he took off towards the receptionist. That’s when a scaly hand touched Inco’s shoulder, and he turned in surprise.
In front of Inco stood his former (and possibly current, he hoped) friend, who had been waiting beside the vestibule, Damien Payne. Damien, a fellow high school senior, was lean and strong, red-scaled, toothy-mouthed, and two inches taller than Inco, even without the spiny crest that split Damien’s brown hair down the middle; the lobby suddenly seemed very small to Inco. Damien’s typical goofy grin was nowhere in sight, and he wore a severe expression, moderated only by apparent exhaustion. Inco supposed that Damien did not want him to show up without his knowledge.
Inco decided to break the silence before he was disemboweled, or eaten, or whatever else he feared Damien might to do him. “So, how is Olivia?”
Damien just furrowed his eyebrows
“Look, I’m sorry for—”
“She’s in room 212.”
“Check in, right corridor, up the stairs, down-”
“Yep.” They both walked up to the desk. After giving his information, Inco got a badge and some hand sanitizer. Then, Damien started making his way into the hospital, just fast enough that Inco had to rush to keep up. Damien spoke again as they walked. “We’ve been so terribly worried; I’ve barely slept since… it. Well, I’m sure you’ve been worried too. We’re all glad you could finally be visiting. Randy especially was fretting about you; I’m sure he will be happy to see you.” A sharp glance conveyed the pointed intent of Damien’s words.
“Hey, Damien, so—”
“Randy should be just around this corner and down the hall.” Damien wasn’t in a talkative mood, it appeared. Inco could live with passive aggressive, though the coldness of his (former?) friend was discouraging. They walked in silence, still too fast for comfort, until they entered a modest waiting room. And here, for Inco, was hope!
“Inco!” A man who looked like a middle aged Damien, with the same red scales but auburn hair, glasses, and a less athletic build, pulled Inco into a brief hug, while Damien hung back in the corridor. Randy Payne, Olivia’s godfather and Damien’s father, was genuinely smiling, and there appeared no hint of the misery in his face that Inco saw last weekend. To Inco that was manna from heaven. Randy always had a way of setting the tone of a room, and his favor was the favor of a king, the way Inco saw it. Randy chuckled and spoke again. “It’s good to see you. I was worried; you seemed awfully beat up last weekend. But I tell you, things ain’t half as bad as it looked four days ago.” Inco just nodded.
Randy wasted no time in getting to details. “So here’s how it’s gonna go. She’s in room 213, sleeping most likely. They’re going to gently wake her, as they do every couple hours, check on her, tell her we’re here. She’s groggy, that’s natural, so you’re just going to be there, comfort her, talk a bit, hold her hand. Thankfully she didn’t break nothing, her neck was just bruised, and, though the doctors make a great fuss, she’s getting better. I know she is. She’s a fighter.” Now Inco was worried about the prognosis. “Fighter,” in his reckoning, was one of those words that comes up when someone’s about to die of cancer or AIDS or some other terrible thing. Randy’s confidence, though, was enough for him right now; Inco just needed to act natural.
The group set off, with the nurse in front, Randy behind, Inco third, and Damien still hanging back, keeping watch over Inco. They passed 206… 208… 211… and there they were. The group paused in front of room 212. The nurse cleared his throat and procedurally rattled off instructions: “Olivia’s going to be fairly confused, and we can’t say for certain she’ll recognize you. Don’t test her, don’t press her, don’t correct her, and keep it short.” We can’t say for certain she’ll recognize you—Inco didn’t like the sound of that. Randy, sensing Inco’s trepidation, wheeled round and briefly whispered to Inco. “Look, I can tell you’re feeling guilty; I can tell you blame yourself. I want you to know one thing. It’s not your fault. Bad things happen. You’re here for her; that’s what matters. Got it?”
Inco could barely squeak out a “yeah” in response. Inco then noticed Damien had left them and was heading back to the waiting room; that was quite a relief to Inco. After a nod between Randy and the nurse, they crossed into the dimly lit room.
Inco’s breath caught in his throat. The place seemed a cave, softly lit and quiet, beeps of machinery like the dripping of water from stalactites, and there at the back—Inco could hardly bring himself to look, but look he did. At the back of the room there was a hospital bed with side rails up, and lo, a figure, body covered in a cloth blanket but head clear as day, brilliant green scales with freckle-like spots, and head with dark green hair—it was Olivia! Four days ago, he’d thought her good as dead, and now here she was, sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling, as if nothing had ever happened, that dreadful oxygen mask no longer marring her sleek snout. Inco shook his head. He could feel that was getting romantic in his thoughts; that was what caused this whole mess to begin with. He could be nice, he figured, but he musn’t let himself fall in too deep. Then the nurse stepped forward, taking a place over the sleeping girl, his back to Inco and Randy, ad orientem, and began his ritual.
First the nurse looked at the bedside monitor, whose beeps and patterns and numbers evidently satisfied him.
“Olivia,” he began with authority, “Open your eyes.” There was no response.
Again he spoke, and again there was nothing.
Undeterred, the nurse planted a gloved hand on her shoulder and shook gently, but mechanically. Still Olivia slept. Inco was starting to get worried. The nurse gave her shoulder a firm squeeze, and finally she stirred, if just barely, and her eyes slowly blinked open. Inco couldn’t watch and averted his eyes to the floor. The nurse spoke again, gently this time. “You’re in the hospital. I’m the nurse. You’re safe, and everything is alright.” Olivia gave just the barest nod of acknowledgement, and didn’t react when the nurse, with the press of a button, elevated the head of the bed so that she was no longer lying flat. “Your friend, Inco, is here to visit you.”
Now Inco was on the spot. Randy gave him a nod of encouragement, and thus approved, he shuffled to her bedside. The nurse told him to be patient with her and stepped back. It was now just Olivia on the bed and Inco by her side. Olivia was looking around lazily, gaze unfocused. Inco couldn’t help but look into her large iridescent eyes with their brilliant yellow sclerae and grey irises and think of how beautiful they were. He remembered leaving the hospital on Sunday and writing her off for as good as dead. He could almost weep now over how foolish he had been.
“It’s me, Inco,” he said to her gently.
Olivia was looking at him, but she didn’t seem to recognize him. Inco smiled uncomfortably, figuring he just needed to wait. Wait he did, long enough that he started to feel awkward, with the nurse and Randy’s eyes on him and Olivia yet disoriented.
Soon enough, though, Olivia’s attention turned back to him. She blinked—once—twice—thrice—and then, in a low, raspy voice, croaked out: “Inco?”
“Olivia? It’s… good to see you.” Inco winced at his awkward choice of words, though he was the only one in the room who took note. Slowly, something under the blanket stirred, and Olivia’s right hand emerged, tremulously reaching towards Inco. Inco, nearly disbelieving, clasped it in both his hands. He couldn’t help but brush a thumb over the back of her hand. It felt like snakeskin, bumpy but smooth. Inco wondered how long it had been since he’d been this close to Olivia; he really hoped Damien hadn’t decided to return. A brief glance back dispelled his fears and revealed Randy still smiling proudly. Olivia then cleared her throat, and, still raspy, whispered “what’s, ehh…” before completing the question with a vague gesture at the room with her other hand.
“You’re in the hospital. I’m here for you, and everything is alright,” Inco assured her, only half-consciously repeating the nurse.
“Uh-huh.”
No more words passed after that; neither of the two were in a talkative mood. Inco stood there, holding her hand in his own, while she gently smiled at him. In that moment the world seemed to stand still for Inco, and the wound of the formal seemed repaired. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, things would be alright. It couldn’t last forever, of course. After a couple minutes of companionship that felt like fifteen to Inco, she pulled her hand back, he let it go, and within a minute she was asleep again.
Now Randy again spoke up. He told Inco how he did well in being here for Olivia, and how he knew Olivia would get better, and how glad he was to have seen Inco, and then told Inco that he and Sophia would be here tomorrow at the same time and six would be a good time to visit, an offer Inco could hardly deny for not-being-a-monster’s sake. Randy told Inco how either her or Sophia were here most all the time though Olivia was roused only at certain times, and Randy would probably be sleeping on a couch somewhere tonight. With what needed to be said, said, Inco’s next order of business was to leave without encountering Damien. Where Randy and the nurse went left out of the door, Inco went right towards the bathrooms, hoping to loop around without passing the waiting room. However, after speedwalking through a couple corridors, he almost walked straight back into the that waiting room, where he spotted Randy and Damien talking. Inco hung back behind a corner, waiting for them to leave, but he was close enough to eavesdrop.
“Look, son, I know you’re worried. We all are. And I know things looked… bad, at first. But the most recent prognosis is good, it really is. And she has support—from you, from me, from Sophia, from Inco, and from Vinny.”
“That’s… good to hear. I hope she gets better, I hope.” Damien was frowning deeply, in sharp contrast to Randy’s bright expression
“I know what you’re feeling, I really do, and it’s not your fault. Don’t beat yourself up; bad things happen. Olivia could hardly ask for a better brother, and you know that.” Inco well knew Damien wasn’t blaming himself. Randy spoke again: “Well, I suppose there’s no use in sticking around,” and Inco then heard footsteps leading away from the waiting room.
Inco waited behind the corner for a minute, until he was sure Randy and Damien were gone, before rounding the corner. Inco almost dropped dead when he came face-to-face with Damien, who had never left the room and was looking right at the corner where Inco had been hidden. While Inco braced himself for a hard conversation (and half-prepared for a drubbing), none came. Instead Damien looked over Inco in silence, once or twice started as if to speak, and then shook his head, turned, and exited, leaving Inco alone in the waiting room. All the good feelings Inco got from Randy and addled Olivia drained as quickly as they came. Inco took a seat and hung his head in silence. If only he hadn’t taken those photos, he thought, if only he hadn’t overplayed his hand at the worst moment, or, even more, if he had never met Olivia, none of this would this have happened to her.
Inco wept.