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Not Even Human—Chapter Four
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Kim lay in the warm, fleece blankets of her hospital bed. Wires and tubes were stuck into her, as if she were pincushion. Her eyes were closed, peacefully, her mouth was curled into a smile, and Kim's silver hair spilled over the stiff, white pillows.
Jake was holding her withered hand and caressing it. Molly sat at the end of the bed, with her usual worried expression plastered on her face. The room was cream-colored and warm. It smelled of lemon air spray, and the glow of the lamps and electric lighting had been dimmed.
Kimberly was close to death, and yet she looked happy. She had been ready for the Grim Reaper for a long time by now.
Bobby and Lucy were outside sitting on a soft grey sofa, waiting to be called into the room. Bobby looked terrible; his face was haggard and his hair messy. He was crying, quietly. Lucy was crying on her brother's shoulder, helplessly. She had tissues sprinkled all around her.
Edward, to the reluctance of Molly, Jake, and everyone in St. Joseph Hospital, had been allowed to come to Kim at her time of death. The children had insisted that he come along, and Kimberly had called out for "Dear Edward..." many times in the ambulance. So, the decision was made for him to come.
The nurses were wrapping his scissors tightly in cloth, so that he wouldn't cause so much alarm. He had tried his best not to move his fingers. The young nurse glared at his scissorhands, with a sick, disgusted face—but when she saw his face, she smiled, charmingly, and batted her eyelashes. Edward ignored this, as he remembered how hazardous flirtatious women could be.
Edward had his head bowed. He felt like someone had scooped out his insides and left a gap. He was trembling, and he wanted more than ever to cry. He didn't care about the stares and whispers anymore. His only concern was if Kimberly was going to live. He didn't even recognize her—she'd changed so much—but he still loved her. As his father had put it so many years ago, "Love is blind, Edward. It never bothers about looks. Not real love."
If so, then this was real love.
Those minutes waiting were the longest Edward had ever lived. Even after decades living alone in the quiet of his desolate House—he had never felt time go more slowly.
Lucy and Bobby had heard their parents make sad, hurried phone calls to the family. Aunt Jillian had screamed when Jake, her younger brother, told her of her mother's dire situation. Aunt Jill and her husband, Frank, were driving over to the hospital as fast as they could. They called Kevin, too. Great Uncle Kevin, Kim's kid brother, was living in Florida, where he retired after working for NASA. Kevin's son, Kennedy, was working with NASA's robotic section. Both were getting airplane tickets to fly to Kim's deathbed.
The young nurse got up and winked at the machine man. Edward just stared back, as he remembered the many times Joyce winked at him. He shuddered, wishing he could forget all about that terrible woman.
A tall, bland doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope dangling carelessly around his neck walked up to them. He was wearing large bottle- glass glasses, which made his brown eyes magnified to the size of tea saucers. His hair was a dull brown and his face was as plain as paper.
The man stopped infront of Kim's door and checked the chart he was holding under his arm. The doctor nodded, glanced over to Lucy and Bobby, and motioned for them to go inside. But the doctor gave a particularly cold, disapproving glare at Edward, and he shook his head, solemnly.
"Sir," The doctor said, in his nasal, drone of a voice, "We can't allow you into the room. The patient might be startled."
Edward frowned, helplessly, and opened his mouth to say something—but nothing came out. Whatever Edward was going or trying to say, Lucy said it for him:
"Please, sir," said Lucy, looking up at the doctor, "Edward'll be careful. I think he'd die if he doesn't see her."
The doctor's straight, stiff face relaxed, as he heeded little Lucy's soft words. The impassive doctor looked down at the little girl and then to the timid thing that stood before him. He was a hard man to break, but Lucy managed to make him obey after a moment or two of pitiful pleading.
The doctor cleared his throat and walked into the room, gently opening the door. They followed him into the white, clean room, their eyes immediately drawn to Kim's graceful figure sleeping and dying in bed.
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Kim could hear him coming. It was hard not to; he always made that chiming, clicking noise when he walked. Kim loved to hear it, and she had almost forgotten how beautiful it sounded. She could smell cookies and ice. She could hear soft silence against her family's sobs and wails. She could feel the quiet comfort standing by her bed.
Her dear, poor Edward.
Kim could hear the doctor say things, but she couldn't make them out properly. It was as if he was speaking another language, and she was a curious child trying to listen in from another room.
She could feel Jake's rough hand pet hers, carefully. She felt Jake's blood-warm tears drip on her wrinkled, gnarled hands. She could hear Molly sniff and gasp; crying, but doing her best not to be. She could hear her little, dear Lucy cry next to her, and Kim could feel Lucy's petite hands grab strongly onto hers, as if the little girl thought she could hold her Grandmother away from death. She could hear Bobby sniff loudly and whimper, horrified at what was happening.
She could only feel faint-hearted Edward, the shy phantom that loomed next to her. Kim smiled, knowing that Edward was close to her again. She would die happily.
As she listened to voices talk a long, complex gibberish, Kim felt the slight waves of sleep wash over her. She longed for the oblivion of sleep, and the drugs and syrups had helped her along into her mellow attitude.
She felt safe and loved. She was warm and comfortable—she was ready to leave her mortal coil. Kimberly Walters fell into a deep, refreshing sleep.
She dreamt of that hot, sweaty summer night that she met kind-hearted Mark Walters. It was a beach party, the waves lazily stroking the sand, and the orange and gold sun slowly setting over the blue ocean. She was in her first year of college, and her lovesick heart was still torn, beaten, and singed from losing Edward. What tormented her was that he was still alive, and her love was still suffering silently up in the desolate House. She cried herself to a sad, nightmarish sleep each dark, lonely night.
She dreamt of her college friends trying to cheer her up, bringing a slightly confused Mark infront of her. She remembered the colorful lights, the plastic lilies, the soft yellow sand, the Hawaiian décor, the cool, refreshing drinks, the warm breeze coming from the ocean, and the lively melodies flowing out of the radio.
Mark had been, no doubt, handsome, but something in his brown eyes kindled pity and understanding of Kim's trouble. He had the air of a gentleman, and he treated Kim like a lady.
Kim remembered the first time they danced. To them, everyone at the beach disappeared, and they danced alone on the sands. Mark wasn't particularly witty, but he was kind and gentle—and he had a special smile each time he saw Kim. He would hold her and comfort her until she forgot everything about Edward.
Each time she kissed Mark, she felt a pang of guilt spring in her heart. She thought of her dear Edward, and what he would think if he saw Mark holding her. He would be heartbroken.
But Kim loved Mark, with every bone in her body. He loved Kim back, dearly, and, in their sophomore year in collage, he asked her to marry him. She kissed him, put her arms around his neck, and said "Yes!" in a triumphant shout that made many people in the restaurant they were eating in turn their heads, smile, and clap their hands.
The girl had no regrets about her decision. She knew Edward would have wanted her to be happy, and so she proudly walked down the church aisle in her white wedding dress. All pain for Edward died that day—but her love for him was still boxed up somewhere in the corners of her heart.
She dreamt of having Jillian and Jacob, the two most glorious days of her life. Of seeing them grow up, fall in love, get married, and have children. She dreamt of her brother growing up, getting married, moving to Florida to work for NASA, and he and his wife having Kennedy. She remembered soothing Kevin over the phone when his wife died of cancer.
Kim dreamt of the day Mark died. She still felt her heart sting as she thought of when she got the phone call from the hospital saying he had been killed in a car accident.
Kim remembered the night she said farewell to Edward. She could still feel his sweet-smelling breath on her face; she could still see the longing in his black eyes. She could still feel the tingle of his lips. The way he had comforted her, in his quiet, meek spirit. In a way, she desperately wished she was still being held by him.
She felt a small smile creep onto her old mouth, as she peacefully opened her eyes from her dream. She didn't feel depressed by looking back on her life, despite the few bad parts, Kim Walters had really loved and been loved.
The room was dark, and the white moonbeams shone through the plastic shutters of the window. Snow glittered outside, on the trees, the benches, the flowers, the houses, and everything in sight was coated with the cold, cool, shimmering snow. Lucy and Bobby were asleep on the comfy, cushioned hospital chairs. Molly and Jake, both leaning on each other, were dozing in between asleep and awake.
Kim felt tears in her eyes when she saw them. She loved them so much, and they looked so happy. She truly must have been sleeping for a long time for Jillian and Frank had arrived—and they were tranquilly snoring next to Molly and Jake. Kim smiled as she thought of her daughter, Jill— such a smart, pretty woman she had turned out to be...
Grandma Kim felt something sitting next to her, and she slowly, tiredly turned towards a young man. He was pale as the snow, his hair as wild as any winter wind, and his eyes as black as coal.
Edward Scissorhands; everyone was asleep except him.
Like a lost childhood doll, he looked just the same. A bit dustier, dirtier, perhaps, but still young, innocent, and wide-eyed. Edward's two sparkling eyes, like two bright stars, stared at Kim, lovingly.
Her cheeks grew hot as she blushed, as if she were still the teenage girl he had known so many, many years ago. He looked so much the same, and she was shriveled, wrinkled, and wasting. Edward gazed at the old woman. The face that stared back looked like it had once been Kim's face, but it had been scrunched up and crinkled. So, now it was only a ghostly, enchanted outline of an angel.
His smooth, colorless face smiled, tenderly.
"Hello, Edward," Kim greeted, weakly. Nonetheless, the song of her voice was still graceful and elegant.
There was a bit of shy silence.
"Hello," Edward replied, his voice was as fresh and young as a spring daisy.
"You're as handsome as I remember, dear," Kim said, patting Edward's arm—she noticed he still had his scissorhands. She felt pity for the poor boy having to put up with such a terrible disability.
"You're as beautiful as I remember," He said, blushing.
Kim laughed, finding that flattering but terribly untrue. She felt her throat clog up and she started to cough and choke, sickly. She put her hand to her chest to calm down the fit.
Edward was telling the truth, though. He rarely lied, and he would have never lied to Kim. She was as beautiful as he remembered; her hair, though no longer the golden gloss, was a stunning silver, her eyes still shone a pale glory in the moon light, and her smile was sweeter than he had ever seen it.
They didn't need or want to talk more. It was just fine staring at each other.
Kim had the feeble, worn-out look Edward's father had displayed the day before he died. It was a sign of death, and Edward knew it all too well.
"Edward," Kim kindly explained, "I'm going to die."
"I know..." Edward's voice was cheerless and painful.
"I'm sorry, dear." Kim said, in a motherly sorrow.
"You don't have to be." Edward whispered, his chest shrinking with mournful emotion.
Kim slid her hands down from Edward's leather-clad arm to his long, cloth- covered hands. She stroked his "hands", affectionately. She brought one of the cloth wrapped razors to her lips and kissed it, carefully.
Edward looked hopeless. He leaned closer to Kim and he ever-so-gently rested his head on her shoulder. To Kim's dismay, he was trembling like a scared puppy. She somehow amassed the energy to lift her arm up and comb his tangled hair with her fingers.
"Thank you." Edward said, shivering with fear.
Kim nodded her head, slowly, as she caressed his thick, black hair. His hair was glossy and plastic, just like the rest of him. She saw that the cuts on his face were still there, and she wondered if they would ever heal.
Kim's hand felt tired and she put it back down again. She felt drained and dizzy, like she had drank too much champagne. Her eyelids felt like lead, and she let them droop down. Her breathing slowed down lethargically, and Edward could feel something inside her was slipping away.
Kim smiled, dreamily.
"Don't go yet..." Edward whispered to Kim, sadly.
But Kim had already gone, and the soul of Kim Walters had already flown away.
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