Chapter 8: Flashback
An hour later, when Nurse Anna checked in on Callen, she noticed that Hetty looked even more exhausted than before. After recording the patient's vital signs, she looked across the bed to where Hetty sat, and quietly said, "I'm about to go on break. Give me just a minute to get a Dr. Pepper. I'll be back to sit with Mr. Callen so you can take a break."
"Oh, that's not necessary. I'm just fine," Hetty responded, not sounding as convincing as she had intended.
Anna knew she was dealing with a woman as strong-willed as the man who occupied the hospital bed in front of her. Miss Lange was not going to admit to her fatigue. Anna would just have to appeal to her logic. Actually, make Hetty think it is her own idea. The nurse folded her arms across her chest and said, in her most authoritative, yet respectful voice, "I know you feel fine right now. But it looks like we might be in for another long night. We need you… he needs you to be alert and ready."
Hetty slowly rose to her feet, looked at Callen, and sighed. "Well, I guess while he's sleeping this soundly would be a good time to stretch my legs."
"Good," Anna said with a smile. "I'll be right back."
The nurse returned, shortly, with a soft drink can in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. She handed the water across to Hetty, who was still standing on the opposite side of the bed. "The cafeteria is closed," Anna said quietly. "But there are complimentary snacks in the waiting area at the end of the hall. And the restrooms are by the elevator."
"Thank you, Ms. Harris," Hetty responded, before looking down at Callen again. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on the top of his head, her eyes becoming sad. After a moment, she brought her hand back down to her side, sighed, and then walked to the door. Just before exiting the room, she stopped and glanced back at her sleeping agent.
The young nurse felt a twinge of sadness in the pit of her stomach. It suddenly occurred to her that Hetty's hesitance to take a break had less to do with not wanting to admit she was tired, and more to do with not wanting to leave this man's side.
Anna blinked away the moisture in her eyes and cleared her throat as quietly as possible. She took a seat on the couch in the corner of the room, sitting sideways, so that she could prop up her feet while keeping an eye on the patient.
She was about halfway finished with her soft drink when she noticed Callen flinch in his sleep. She held her breath a few seconds, peering intently over at him. Relieved that he remained still, she resumed sipping on her Dr. Pepper.
The relief was short-lived, however. Callen's body jerked again, as if something had startled him. He began gently turning his head from side-to-side and his breath rate accelerated. His eyes remained closed but he was clearly in some sort of distress.
Anna let out a frustrated breath. Her patient was only resting for about an hour after receiving the pain medication. He just wasn't responding well to the Theradin.
Anna observed Callen from a distance. Even from several feet away, she could see sweat forming on his forehead and at the neck of his hospital gown. His movements were small and sluggish but he seemed to be trying to get away from something.
The nurse put her drink down, stood, and made her way to the side of the bed. She studied Callen for a few moments. Anna listened carefully to Callen's mumbling – although it was faint, she was certain he was speaking in another language, again. She considered waking him, but remembered how confused he was the last time he woke up from a fitful sleep.
Callen suddenly drew in a quick breath. His hands went immediately to his sore ribs and a soft whimper escaped. A few seconds later, a single tear leaked from the corner of his right eye.
Anna's heart sank. This man was clearly having a terrible nightmare.
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Callen attempted to open his eyes but couldn't. He needed to figure out what was going on. But he couldn't move. His arms and legs felt like they were made of lead. Where am I? He tried, again, to force his eyes open, and failed.
He could feel the crisp sheets beneath him and a pillow behind his head. Am I in a bed? Wherever he was, it was quiet and smelled like alcohol. G tried focusing on his right arm. With all his strength, he willed it to move. Ouch! Something stung the back of his hand. Maybe he should just be still until he could figure all this out.
That stinging sensation in his hand was familiar. It was a needle. Crisp sheets… the antiseptic smell… the needle pulling beneath his skin… he was in a hospital! He hated hospitals! G's heart began to race. Why am I in a hospital? And, how did I get here?
Callen could hear two women talking quietly beside him. Their voices were soft and kind. They must have been there with whoever was in the next hospital bed. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he found their voices to be comforting. He lay there listening, telling himself to calm down so he could think.
The two women stopped talking and he thought he felt the pressure in the room change – like someone had opened and closed the door. Had they gone? Or was someone coming in… someone who would stick him with needles or poke him in places that already hurt? He really, really hated hospitals. But he had to fight away this panicky feeling. He needed to concentrate… needed to remember what he had done that day that was bad enough for him to end up in the hospital. He had been trying so hard to follow all the rules.
Callen suddenly got an image of getting off the school bus that day. When he had opened the back door to the house, he heard his foster parents yelling at each other. It was always worse for the kids when Mr. and Mrs. Garrison were fighting… the punishment was worse… the hits were harder.
G had been living with the Garrisons for a little less than two weeks. He was sure they would give him away to another family soon. He had already broken so many rules. The night before, Mr. Garrison had hit Callen in the face, and then sent him to bed without supper, for not speaking loudly enough when answering a question. He hated when they hit him in the face. The grown-ups at school would sometimes notice and ask him questions…
Like today at school, the nurse had asked him about the marks on his face. He had to make up some story about falling and hurting himself.
Callen had been able to hide the belt marks from his whipping Sunday night – they were all under his clothes. G had been whipped because he had forgotten to put the stepstool back in the utility room after washing the dishes. He would have to do better at remembering this rule so that it wouldn't happen again – it was really hard to sit in his desk the next day at school.
Last week, Mrs. Garrison had shaken him so hard he thought his teeth would fall out. He had used her favorite cup to get a drink of water. And the same night, his foster father had thrown him against the wall for sleeping on the floor, instead of the bed. G hadn't even known that was one of the rules. There were so many! How was a little seven-year-old kid supposed to remember all of them?
Callen felt his body tense. The right side of his chest burned every time he took a breath. He focused on his breathing, willing it to slow down so the pain would stop. He had to calm down and figure out what happened. What rule did I break this time?
G thought back to what had happened that day, just after he got in from school. He had ducked his head and tiptoed past his fighting foster parents. He remembered the relief he'd felt when he made it to the bedroom that he shared with his two foster brothers. Jake and Tommy rode the junior high bus and G knew they would already be there. At least he wouldn't have to listen to the terrible screaming alone.
He remembered quietly closing the bedroom door behind him. Tommy was lying on the top bunk, the palms of his hands pressed tightly over his ears. Jake, the oldest, was just sitting on his bed that was against the opposite wall. He looked like a statue, just sitting there, staring at the floor.
Callen had knelt down by the bottom bunk, reached under his bed, and pulled out his old stuffed animal. He sat on the bed, clutching his bunny to his chest, waiting for the yelling to stop. He knew he was too old to still have his rabbit, but he had had it since he was five, and it was the only thing that actually belonged to him. It had been with him every time he had to change orphanages or houses. Whenever G was upset or scared, he would rub the fabric of the bunny's long floppy ears between his thumb and fingers. Some day he would get rid of his old bunny… just not today.
The fighting in the other room had seemed to go on longer than usual. Whoever was in trouble this time, it must be bad. G recalled pulling his knees into his chest. He held on tighter to the stuffed animal with his left hand, and continued to rub on one of the soft, fuzzy ears with his right. He hoped that when he got a little older, he wouldn't need his bunny. Maybe by the time he turned eight, he would know all the rules – then maybe his real family would want him back and come for him.
When the yelling had finally ceased, Jake slowly raised his head and he looked at Callen. Jake didn't look like a statue anymore… he looked sad. Jake shook his head and then opened his mouth to speak. 'G. Why did you have to tell 'em? You know they'll beat you harder.'
Callen didn't understand. Just as he was about to ask Jake what he was talking about, the bedroom door flew open. G was jerked up by the front of his shirt. He remembered flying through the air, losing his grip of his old bunny, and then his body hitting the wall in the hall. His vision had gone dark for several seconds and he could hardly hear anything over the ringing in his ears.
Everything after that was a blur. He recalled being hit and punched and kicked, over, and over, and over. And someone was yelling at him, cursing at him! It was Mr. Garrison. He was so angry! He was saying something about the nurse at school and called G a 'sniveling little tattle tale.'
G had wanted to plead with his foster dad to stop, to tell him he didn't tattle about anything, but the wind had been knocked out of him. Every time he tried to cry out, there would be another blow to his ribs or his back. He couldn't breathe!
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Anna watched helplessly as her patient's nightmare apparently intensified. He seemed to be struggling to breathe. She prayed he would not wake up on her watch. After witnessing Hetty's response to him earlier, when he had woken up distraught, not knowing where he was, and speaking in a foreign language, Anna feared she would not be able to adequately console him.
She had no more had that thought when Hetty walked through the door. Taking in what was happening in an instant, the petite woman rushed to the bedside and stood next to Anna.
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Callen fought even harder to open his eyes. I need to get out of this hospital. I have to go!
What if that 'social worker lady' tells him he has to go back to live with the Garrisons? What if she puts him with a family that's worse… one that has even more rules?
I have to get out of this bed!
He finally got his eyes to open. He looked around for the only thing that could give him comfort. His bunny! But where is it? He had to find his bunny so he could run away!
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All at once, Callen gripped the bedrail and tried to sit up. He winced, cried out in pain, and his body fell limp to the mattress. Both Hetty and the nurse leaned closer to his bedside, ready for nearly anything.
With panicked eyes, G stared up at Hetty's face. "Clettel," he whispered, breathlessly. "Trebuie să scape... Vor veni înapoi... Te rog ajuta-mă să găsesc Clettel." He begged in Romanian. (Have to get away… They'll come back… Please, help me find Clettel.) Taking a short breath, he repeated his last plea in English, "Please, help me find Clettel."
Hetty was caught off-guard. Before she had a chance to gather her thoughts, exhaustion filled Callen's blue eyes. He blinked slowly up at her several times, and then sleep quickly claimed him.
Stunned by what she had just seen and heard, Hetty practically stumbled backwards to the couch.
Anna worriedly observed her patient for another minute. When she was sure his restless movements had ceased, she quietly took a seat on the couch beside Hetty. After a long pause, she asked softly, "Is 'Clettel' a family member?"
Staring straight ahead, Hetty pursed her lips, took in a deep, steadying breath, and let it out slowly. "Gretel is a stuffed animal. Someone gave it to Mr. Callen when he was five years old, when he first arrived in the U.S. He couldn't say 'Gretel.' He carried that old, raggedy bunny with him everywhere." A sad smile appeared on Hetty's face. "By the time he was ten, he had rubbed almost all the fur off its ears."
The young nurse offered the only comfort she could. She gently laid her palm on Hetty's knee.
Hetty, in turn, placed her small hand on top of Anna's. Hetty was thankful for the human touch while she sorted out the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling at that moment. Callen's mention of the old stuffed animal, his use of the Romanian language, the frightened look in his eyes… she was certain Callen was reliving some traumatic event from his troubled childhood.
Hetty closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. At what point had she failed him? She wasn't sure anymore…
