Charlie Swan put his Range Rover into park in a space near the front of Forks Community Hospital. He always seemed to get the same spot — right in front of the "Inpatient Psychiatry" sign, just a few feet away from the entrance, as if the parking space had been saved for him and him alone. Today was no different. Visits to this particular place had become routine, a part of his daily ritual, and his familiarity with all of it would almost frighten him sometimes.
On this day, in particular, a strange feeling washed over him as he removed the key from his car ignition. Today was the day. The day where he'd find out if all of this pain would ever end. The day where he'd find out if, perhaps, she would ever see him again. Fingers shaking, he reached for the glove box on the empty passenger's side and pulled out a pack of Camels. Without hesitation, his fingers delved into the box, wrapping around the last, lone cigarette. He shoved it into his mouth, fumbled in his pocket for a lighter, and flicked it open, taking a long drag after it was finally lit. His eyes glanced to the numbers on his dashboard — 4:56pm. He still had a few minutes.
Getting out of the car was always the hardest part. He ran his fingertips over the barely cracked surface of the steering wheel, keeping his cigarette pressed between his ring and middle fingers, and slowly exhaled a jumbled train of smoke. Then, almost too quickly, he swung open the door and jumped out of his seat, pushing his sore heels against the pavement. The cold air stung his face, but he slammed the door shut anyway, and walked towards the lobby/waiting area.
"Good evening, Mr. Swan," a young blonde woman with a genuine smile greeted him from behind the desk. He smiled back.
"Evenin', Rebecca. How's she doing today?"
Her smile faded a little. "About the same, I'm afraid." Charlie nodded. They went through this routine practically every time he came to visit, each of them speaking as though reading from a script. He knew that if anything had changed, the doctor would have called. But still, he asked. Every time, he asked.
Charlie glanced up at the almost too-large clock on the wall. 5:02pm. He cleared his throat, and leaned over the desk, signing his name other the nearly full page of signatures. Emily Croach, 8:22am, mother. Ethan Norman, 10:17am, friend. Jackie Nelson, 1:34pm, daughter. Many of the names stayed constant, and in a way, Charlie felt like he knew them, even having never met them. He read their names hundreds and hundreds of times, people who existed nowhere but within the confines of the sign-in page. He preferred to keep it that way.
"Thanks for that, Mr. Swan," Rebecca smiled again, stamping next to his name on the clipboard. "Here's your visitor's badge. Dr. Cullen will be with you momentarily."
Charlie nodded, and took a seat in the worn green leather couch just across from the desk. He liked sitting there, because out of the corner of his eye, he would be able to see a glimpse of the doctor coming out of his office, and he could take that brief moment to discern whether the news would be good or bad. With bad news, the doctor would go directly across the hall to wash his hands before coming back down the hallway to greet Charlie. With good news, or no news at all (which was most often the case) he would greet Charlie first, and then stop and wash his hands on the way back.
This time, the doctor came walking briskly straight down the hallway. Charlie breathed a small sigh of relief, and stuck out his hand to shake.
"Dr. Cullen," he said, clasping the doctor's hand.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Swan," the doctor said with a smile. With his pale skin and blonde, wavy hair, his handsomeness almost annoyed Charlie, who thought that it was unfair advantage for a man to be both a doctor and good-looking. Although, Dr. Cullen remained unmarried and childless, so Charlie realized that perhaps he didn't have as much of an advantage with the ladies as Charlie had originally thought.
"If you'll follow me to my office, Mr. Swan," the doctor said, already walking briskly down the hallway, "We can discuss Isabella's progress."
"Of course," Charlie wheezed, some of the smoke from the cigarettes still lingering in his lungs. Dr. Cullen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Still, Charlie felt the need to explain. "I'm not quite as ready to give up on smoking as I thought I was. Maybe once Bella is doing a little bit better."
"No time like the present, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen replied, swinging open the door to his office. He gestured his lab coat clad arm towards a chair opposite from a large oak desk, garnished with various framed diplomas. "Please, take a seat."
Hastily, Charlie sat down. "So how's it looking? The drug you were talking about — Flaginor — ?"
"Flaxicor," the doctor corrected, nodding once quickly. "Yes. Well, it looks like the FDA did, in fact, approve it this morning."
"That's...that's wonderful," Charlie said, immediately beginning to tear up. "I can't believe —"
"Hang on a second, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen said, opening a file folder on the side of his desk. "I want to make sure you understand the risks involved in this before we even discuss whether or not to administer this medication to Isabella. Alright?"
"Yes," Charlie said, swallowing. "Of course. Thank you, doctor."
"Okay," Dr. Cullen murmured, flipping slowly through the stack of papers within the file. "So, let's start with the obvious, which is that there is a chance, as with starting any new medication or drug regimen, that Isabella could develop an allergic reaction to Flaxicor. If that is the case, we will, of course, hinder administration of the drug until the symptoms are either resolved, or, if the reaction is potentially harmful to her health, permanently. However, if she does develop a strong reaction, and aid is not administered in time, the reaction could be life-threatening. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, doctor," Charlie said, his throat drying up. "I understand."
"Okay." Dr. Cullen peeled through a few more pages. "Mr. Swan, I'm going to read you the list of possible side effects of Flaxicor. It is possible that Isabella could suffer any or all of these side effects, or there is a possibility that she could suffer none. It really all depends on her immune system, and the way that her body reacts. I'll read you the list now of possible side effects of Flaxicor, if that's alright?"
Charlie nodded again. He knew that some people were put off by the way Dr. Cullen spelled things out so thoroughly to his patients — some thought he treated them as though they were unintelligent, or child-like. But, Charlie always appreciated it. He liked feeling as though he understood completely. He didn't like questions, and he didn't like doubt. He was, after all, Chief of Police in Forks. He liked things to be solved, cases to be closed, and doubts to be clarified.
Dr. Cullen paused, his eyes scanning the page in front of him. He cleared his throat, and then began reading steadily from the page. "Side effects may include: dizziness, irritability, mild rash, swelling of fingers or toes, depression, vomiting, jaundice, stroke, heart attack, kidney failure, or death."
Charlie jumped back a little, involuntarily. "Death? Does that...how likely is that to happen? I mean, were she to take this medicine, how likely is it that —"
"I'm afraid we don't know that for sure, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen said quietly, but resolved. "It depends on the person, of course, so we won't know for sure how Isabella would react to the administering of this drug in particular. We've had great success with her medication regimen in the past, as far as how her body reacts. Though, as you know, none of them have produced the desired results."
Charlie swallowed. He looked down at his hands, wanting a moment to collect his thoughts. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were nearing the brink of tears once more. "Dr. Cullen, what do you think? Will this...is this worth trying?"
Dr. Cullen hesitated before nodding. "Honestly, Mr. Swan, this could be our last hope."
Charlie looked down, focusing on the doctor's shoes. "I'd like some time to think this through."
Dr. Cullen's face softened. "Of course, Mr. Swan. I...of course. If there is anything we can do to make this easier on you...I know that you're aware of our friends and family group counseling session, if you've changed your mind — ?"
"No," Charlie grunted, standing up and shoving his hands into the back pockets of his uniform pants. "I'm not going to any group therapy session. This isn't about me, it's about Bella."
"Of course, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen amended quickly. "I didn't mean to imply — I know that your primary concern is Isabella's well-being. But perhaps you might consider that your own well-being is in the best interest of Isabella. As her primary caretaker, you are responsible for making these decisions, and I'm sure you don't want your own emotional distress to become a disadvantage towards Isabella's progress —"
"It won't," Charlie snarled, taking his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms across his chest. "My emotions are fine They're perfectly normal, and perfectly balanced. Dr. Cullen, I'm head of law enforcement for this entire county, and I can promise you, I see more emotionally distressing things by lunchtime than you'll see in an entire year. Even in a clinic like this."
"I don't doubt it, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen replied smoothly, his voice remaining at an even tone. "But do any of those cases involve your daughter?"
Charlie sighed. "This is the last I want to hear about it. The last thing I need is for some strangers to pity me and think they know my life story, and to be perfectly frank Dr. Cullen, I don't want to spend any more time in this goddamned hospital than I already am. It's creepy as hell in here."
Dr. Cullen laughed, and stood up to shake his hand. "Fine, Mr. Swan, you win. For now. Would you like me to take you in to see Isabella?"
"Yes," Charlie responded automatically, "Please."
Dr. Cullen nodded, and silently gestured towards the end of the hallway. Charlie exited the office quickly and turned to his right, down the familiar hallway. At this point, he could navigate it in his sleep, the dozens and dozens of identical doors with little placards on them. Many of the names changed daily, though once you got towards the end of the hallway, it was mostly more permanent patients. Charlie realized after about three weeks that where you were placed on the hallway indicated how bad you really were. The closer you were to the doors leading towards the rest of the hospital (and, not accidentally, the emergency room), the worse off you were. And Bella was one door off from them.
When he reached the end of the thoroughly white, bleach-smelling hallway, he noticed that Bella's door was cracked open just the smallest amount. Tentatively, he knocked on the wall, and pushed the door open slowly.
"Bells?" When the door opened fully he saw her sitting there: her skin was pale and sallow, her eyes rimmed with dark circles, and her hair was frazzled and limp. She looked better than yesterday, though. The IV was still hooked up to her arm after yesterday's unexpectedly low drop of blood pressure, and the oxygen machine was still hooked up to her. A bruises spotted up and down her arms from the various blood drawings and injections to which she had been subjected over the past few months. Still, Charlie was relieved to see her.
"Hey, Ch — dad," she said, her voice a little hoarse. It was clear she had just woken up. She blinked twice, and looked around, as though taking in her surroundings for the first time. "What am I doing here?"
Charlie chewed the inside of his cheek. Most of their conversations started this way. "You — there was a car accident."
Comprehension dawned on her, as though she was remembering everything all at once. "Dad, I'm fine. The car didn't even hit me. Edward pulled me out of the way."
Charlie's eyes flashed, and Bella noticed it immediately. "Honestly, I don't understand what your problem with him is. He's always been a perfect gentleman to you."
Charlie remained silent, unable to meet Bella's eyes. He cursed himself every day for leaving a copy of Jane Eyre next to her bed, on the first day she had been admitted to the other side of the hospital. Luckily, he didn't have to say anything, because Dr. Cullen walked in at that moment.
"So, Miss Swan," he said smoothly, holding a few sheets of X-Ray paper in his hands. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Bella replied immediately, scratching at her arm where the IV was stuck, scowling a bit.
"Your X-Rays look good today," he said, holding up his hand for a moment to show her. "Does your head hurt?"
"It's fine," she answered quickly, beginning to raise her voice. "Can't I go back to school?"
Dr. Cullen's smile faltered. "Maybe you should take it easy today." He made eye contact with Charlie, who couldn't bring himself to play along this time. He was just too tired.
"It doesn't hurt that bad," she insisted, her voice reduced to almost a whine.
"Well, then count yourself as lucky," Dr. Cullen tried to remain even-toned, his voice taking on a soothing quality.
"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," she corrected him, crossing her arms.
"Oh. Well," he coughed, looking down at the X-Rays in his hands, "Yes." He looked away from her, towards Charlie. "Miss Swan, I'm going to speak with your father for a moment, okay?"
She shrugged, and Dr. Cullen took that as his cue to gently pull Charlie out of the room. In silence, they walked down a few doors from Bella's room, and Dr. Cullen turned to Charlie, whispering.
"Look, Mr. Swan, Isabella has gone through this routine practically every time you have come here. Ever since the accident — she has no short-term memory, her long-term memory is distorted, and every day she wakes up, it's as if she's waking up from the accident for the first time —"
"Only now with Edward." Charlie's voice was nearly despondent by this point. It has been six months, and still, she wasn't getting any better.
"Her head trauma was severe, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen spoke quickly but clearly. "In a case where the brain swells and is affected to the point where hers was, the risk for psychological damage is greater. You know that, Mr. Swan. We can't go back in time now. It's been six months, her physical injuries have subsided, but her schizophrenia is at it's worst, Mr. Swan. I feel as though I don't need to tell you that for you to know it's true. Her delusions have changed from episodes into her everyday life. She has invented a companion for herself, and he is real to her now. Her chances of living a normal life without drug intervention are...well...slim. She is completely out of touch with reality."
"Fine," Charlie exclaimed, raising his hands. "I'll talk it over with my attorney and her mother. Believe me, Dr. Cullen, I don't want to see her like this. But, God forbid, if she has a stroke or heart attack or dies because of this drug, I will never forgive myself. So you need to let me think about it."
Dr. Cullen nodded again, silently. "Of course, Mr. Swan. I'm not trying to pressure you into making a decision right now. I'm just trying to convey to you the urgency of this."
Charlie nodded. "I understand. I'll get back to you on Monday." They shook hands, and Charlie walked away, exiting the building without so much as a nod towards Rebecca or even looking up to see the swarm of people coming for the group therapy session that met that day. He sat down in his car, shoved his key into the ignition, and felt the hot air from his air conditioner blow, at full force in his face. And, just as he reached to put his car in drive, he stopped. He leaned his head forward against the hot black steering wheel, and he began to cry.