He took a step forward but Cathryn screamed again, shielding the crumpled boy. Gina stepped between Charles and the others murmuring something about the devil.
Charles looked up to see the confused face of Jean Paul in the doorway. The boy backed away when he saw Charles staring at him. Looking back at the others, Charles felt an overwhelming sense of alienation. Impulsively he turned and stormed out of the house.
Gina closed the back door behind him, while Cathryn helped Chuck into one of the kitchen chairs. They heard the Pinto rumble down the driveway.
“I hate him! I hate him!” cried Chuck, holding his stomach with both hands.
“No, no,” soothed Cathryn. “This is all a nightmare. We’ll all wake up and it will be over.”
“Your eye!” exclaimed Gina, coming up to Cathryn and tilting her head back.
“It’s nothing,” said Cathryn.
“Nothing? It’s becoming black and blue. I think you’d better get some ice on it.”
Cathryn got up and looked at herself in a small mirror hanging in the hallway. There was a minute cut on her right eyebrow and she was indeed getting a black eye. By the time she got back into the kitchen, Gina had the ice tray out.
Jean Paul reappeared at the doorway.
“If he ever hits you again, I’ll kill him,” said Chuck.
“Charles Jr.,” snapped Cathryn. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. Charles is not himself; he’s under a lot of strain. Besides, he didn’t mean to hit me. He was trying to get free from my grasp.”
“I think he’s let in the devil,” said Gina.
“That’s enough, all of you,” said Cathryn.
“I think he’s crazy,” persisted Chuck.
Cathryn took a breath in preparation for reprimanding Chuck but she hesitated because the boy’s comment made her wonder if Charles was having a nervous breakdown. The doctors suggested it as a possibility and they had been right about everything else. Cathryn wondered where she was going to find the reserve to hold the family together.
Her first concern was safety. Cathryn had never seen Charles lose control before. Thinking it best to get some professional advice, she called Dr. Keitzman’s exchange.
Keitzman called back five minutes later.
She told him the entire series of events, including the fact that Charles had decided to stop Michelle’s medications and added that Charles had left in his car, presumably en route to the hospital.
“Sounds like we petitioned for custody at the right time,” said Dr. Keitzman.
Cathryn was in no mood for self-congratulation. “That may be, but I’m concerned about Charles. I don’t know what to expect.”
“That’s precisely the problem,” said Dr. Keitzman. “He may be dangerous.”
“I can’t believe that,” said Cathryn.
“That’s something that cannot be ascertained unless he’s seen professionally. But, believe me, it’s a possibility. Maybe you should leave the house for a day or two. You’ve got a family to consider.”
“I suppose we could go to my mother’s,” said Cathryn. It was true she had others to think about besides herself.
“I think it would be best. Just until Charles calms down.”
“What if Charles goes to the hospital tonight?”
“No need for you to worry about that. I’ll alert the hospital, and I’ll let the floor know you have guardianship. Don’t worry, everything is going to be all right.”
Cathryn hung up, wishing she felt as optimistic as Dr. Keitzman. She still had the feeling that things were going to get worse.
A half hour later, with a good deal of misgiving, Cathryn, Gina, and the two boys trudged out into the snow with overnight bags and piled in the station wagon. They dropped Jean Paul at a school friend’s house where he’d been invited to stay, and began the drive into Boston. No one spoke.
Eleven
It was after nine when Charles reached Pediatric Hospital. In contrast to the daytime chaos, the street outside was quiet, and he found a parking spot in front of the medical center bookstore. He entered the hospital through the main entrance and rode up to Anderson 6 on an empty elevator.
He was accosted by someone when he passed the nurses’ station, but he didn’t even look in the direction of the voice. He got to Michelle’s room and slipped through the partially open door.
It was darker than in the hall with light coming from a small night-light near the floor. Giving his eyes a chance to adjust, Charles stood for a moment taking in the scene. The cardiac monitor was visible on the other side of the bed. The auditory signal had been turned down but the visual signal traced a repetitive fluorescent blip across the tiny screen. There were two intravenous lines, one running into each of Michelle’s arms. The one on the left had a piggyback connector, and Charles knew it was being used as the infusion route for the chemotherapy.
Charles silently advanced into the room, his eyes glued to the sleeping face of his daughter. As he got closer he realized, to his surprise, that Michelle’s eyes were not closed. They were watching his every move.
“Michelle?” whispered Charles.
“Daddy?” whispered Michelle in response. She’d thought it was another hospital technician sneaking up on her in the night to take more blood.
Charles tenderly lifted his daughter in his arms. She felt perceptibly lighter. She tried to return the embrace but her limbs were without strength. He pressed her cheek to his and slowly rocked her. He could feel her skin was flushed with fever.
Looking into her face, he noticed that her lips were ulcerated.
He felt such powerful emotion that it was beyond tears. Life was not fair. It was a cruel experience in which hope and happiness were transient illusions that served only to make the inevitable tragedy more poignant.
As he held his daughter Charles thought about his response to Recycle, Ltd. and felt foolish. Of course he could understand his urge for revenge, but under the circumstances, there were more important ways to spend his time. Obviously the people at Recycle did not care about a twelve-year-old girl, and they could conveniently blind themselves to any sense of responsibility. And what about the so-called cancer establishment? Did they care? Charles doubted it, seeing as he had the inner dynamics at his own institute. The irony was that the people controlling the megalithic cancer establishment were ultimately at equal risk to succumbing to the disease as the public at large.
“Daddy, why is your nose so swollen?” asked Michelle, looking into Charles’s face.
Charles smiled. Ill as she was, Michelle was still concerned about him! Incredible!
He made up a quick story of slipping in the snow and comically falling on his face. Michelle laughed, but her face quickly became serious. “Daddy, am I going to get well?”
Without meaning to, Charles hesitated. The question had caught him off guard. “Of course,” he said with a laugh, trying to make up for the pause. “In fact, I don’t think you’ll be needing any more of this medicine.” Charles stood up, indicating the IV used for the chemotherapy. “Why don’t I just take it out?”
Michelle’s face clouded with worry. She detested any adjustments to the IV.
“It won’t hurt,” said Charles.
Deftly he removed the plastic catheter from Michelle’s arm, keeping pressure on the spot. “You’ll need the other IV for a little longer in case your ticker speeds up again.” Charles tapped Michelle’s chest.
The room light snapped on, throwing its raw fluorescent glare around the room.
A nurse came in followed by two uniformed security guards.
“Mr. Martel, I’m sorry but you are going to have to leave.” She noticed the dangling IV line and shook her head angrily.
Charles did not respond. He sat on the edge of Michelle’s bed and again took her into his arms.
The nurse gestured for the security men to help. They came forward and gently urged Charles to leave.
“We could have you arrested if you don’t cooperate,” said the nurse, “but I don’t want to do that.”