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CHAPTER TWO
Transient Narcolepsy

"Ms. Bennett, I have to change your son's iv bag."

"Oh…Sure, I'm sorry." Something shifted to Jamie's left and a delicate hand squeezed his fingers—his mother. He anchored his mind to the familiar touch and fought the lingering cobwebs. The darkness scuttled away on a swarm of spindly legs and then, finally, his eyes opened. She was there, leaning forward over the hospital bed as the nurse edged past en route to the silver drip stand. Her head was turned, angled so he could see her chin and neck. A curtain of albicant brown spilled over her shoulder, shielding him from the harsh overhead lights. Jamie felt his heart swell with childish relief. Safe. He was safe.

"M…mom…" His fingers twitched in her grasp as he breathed the word in a rattling sigh.

"Oh, thank God!" Ms. Bennett breathed and moved closer, palm on his cheek, her eyes searching his face for signs of discomfort. "Are you okay, sweetie? How do you feel?"

"Mmokay" He said through a mouthful of cotton. "Can I…water?"

"Just a minute." The nurse finished replacing the bag of fluids and produced a cup of water from somewhere in the corner. "Nice and slow, now—Ms. Bennett, we'll have to move him in about ten minutes. The ER's filled to capacity, but we have a bed on the fifth floor, if that's okay."

"Thanks, Pat." His mother sighed and gave the woman a brisk smile. "That'll be fine."

The nurse disappeared, and Ms. Bennett brought a straw to her son's lips, helping him drink. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. The nurses tried to wake you, but you were completely out of it and they couldn't wait. Dr. Lieberwitz got your CT scan back and we had to make some fast decisions about surgery."

"Wh-what…?" The straw fell from his lips.

"It's over, hon." She gave his hand a squeeze, rubbing a thumb over the back of his palm. "With any luck, you'll be home by Thursday."

"Thursday….? We-we can't afford—"

"Don't even start." Ms. Bennett forced him back onto the bed with a stern, but gentle push. "This isn't an argument, Jamie. Your father's sister is giving me a short term loan until I can wring that lawyer dry. You will stay here until they discharge you, is that clear?"

"We'd be better off borrowing from the devil."

"I don't like it either." She gave a long sigh, and for a moment the cheerful mask sagged. She was tired, so extraordinarily tired, every sleepless hour etched in the fragile lines of her face. Jamie bit the inside of his mouth and frowned at his hospital bracelet. He could never say anything right. "Beatrice is family. She just wants to help."

Aunt Beatrice was generally kind to Jamie and Sophie, but she treated their mother like dirt and her holiday cards were always lofty and overbearingly religious. This deal pretty much guaranteed an unwanted visit, during which they would be forced to sit through an onslaught of passive aggressive comments and poorly concealed insults. Jamie hated the woman, but it wasn't like they had much family to choose from. His mother was an only child and his only living grandparents were on a fixed income in Boca Raton.

"Is there anything you need from home? I have to pick up Sophie, so I might as well swing by the house. Pajamas and socks…a change of clothes?"

He nodded. "Can I have the DS?"

"If you go to bed when the nurses ask."

"I will…do you think Soph—"

There was an exaggerated knock, and a blonde woman stepped inside the curtain. Dr. Eliza Lieberwitz. They'd met briefly during admission, but he hadn't seen her since—at least, not while he was conscious. She was young for a doctor, maybe in her early-thirties, but the assortment of colorful clips in her hair made her look much younger. "Hey, Jamie, Pat told me you were finally awake." She smiled and tapped a bright orange pen on her clipboard. "Mind if we talk before they drown you in soap operas and Seinfeld reruns?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Well, I better get out of the way." His mother gave him a peck on the cheek and reached for her purse. "There's nothing new, is there Dr. Lieberwitz?"

"Nope. Just a recap."

"Thanks—I'll be back soon, sweetie. Text me if you think of anything else you need." And she was gone.

The female doctor sat in the now vacant chair and set the clipboard on her lap. "So, yeah. Emergency splenectomy—about…three hours ago, now. You were out pretty long, but I think we went a little overboard with the anesthesia." Dr. Lieberwitz propped the clipboard up on her lap and flipped to a specific page. "Do you have any questions about the surgery? I don't want to drown you in medical jargon, but if you're curious, I'll answer."

"Uh…I guess my spleen is gone?"

She nodded. "It's not the end of the world, but it will weaken your immune system—make it harder for your body to fight infection."

"But I can go home on Thursday?"

"That depends. The puncture in your lung should heal naturally, but we can't send you home until we're sure. We'll also be watching for internal bleeding and other possible complications. Thursday is the earliest I'd feel comfortable discharging you, but that's only if there are no new emergencies." She flipped to a new page. "If your lung collapses you'll probably need another surgery, and that could keep you here over the weekend."

"Great…"

"It could be a lot worse, Jamie." She gave him a smile that looked slightly more natural, almost kind. "You're lucky to be alive."

"I know…" His eyes moved automatically to the spot where his mother had disappeared earlier.

Dr. Lieberwitz checked her watch and sighed. "Well, we don't have much time left. How's your pain medication? Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah. I'm okay." There was a dull ache in his stomach and his bandages were a bit tight, but he felt pretty good considering he'd been cut open and sewn back together. It was hard to focus his thoughts, and his whole body felt like a limp noodle, but that was probably just the medication. Blinking up at the overhead lights, he felt his eyes water. "Headache's pretty bad…but other than that, I'll live."

"That's probably the anesthesia. Give it a few hours, and we'll see."

She continued, outlining the various tests and treatments he'd need during rehabilitation, until the nurses finally came with the wheel chair.

His new room was exactly what he'd pictured, complete with shared bathroom, food tray, cabinet space, and an overhead TV. Paradise. As much as he wanted to examine all seven channels, his body felt heavy and his eyelids refused to stay open. Sleep. Sleep was safe. Sleep made everything go away. The lights flipped off, the soft beep of his monitor faded, and he was gone.

That was pretty much how he spent his first day in the hospital. Stabbing pain would fish him out of the darkness just in time for his nurse to administer a new dose. Sometimes there were people in the room. His mother, Sophie, and inevitably Aunt Beatrice. Sophie talked the most, and it was easy to listen to her, because there was very little substance to the conversation. She told him about the sparkly new blockbuster they were missing—how dare he be hospitalized on opening weekend—and showed him pictures of some celebrity she was stalking on twitter. Aunt Beatrice, well, prayed. Over him. It was actually kind of creepy. The impassioned murmuring made his insides squirm and his hair stand on end. Then of course there was the arguing—out in the hallway, but that didn't matter. He could still hear.

"You're not considering sending him back to that Godless cesspit?"

"It's not my decision, Beatrice." His mother's voice was flat and he could tell it was a familiar topic of conversation. "If Jamie wants to change schools, fine, but it's up to him."

"Sandra, you're his mother. It's your job to—"

"She's trying to send you to St. Matthews." Sophie said over the argument. His sister was sitting sideways in the bedside chair with a weathered library book in her lap. "That Christian school with the ugly plaid uniforms."

Jamie made a face and pushed the button to lift his bed into a sitting position. "No thanks. Maybe Whitmore. At least then I'd see Monty."

"You have to test into Whitmore."

"I know…" His lip curled and he eyed the tray of food sitting on the table beside Sophie. "Give me that stupid Jello cup."

She pulled the lid back and passed it to him. "I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be dessert."

The spoon danced in her fingers, waving in a fluid motion until he reached out to snatch it from her.

"Bite me." He stabbed the gelatin and lifted a spoonful to his mouth. It tasted like lime cough syrup, but it was still more appetizing than the rest of the food.

"Pippa came to visit while you were out."

Jamie coughed mid-swallow and almost choked. "Wh-what?"

"Pippa." Sophie turned her attention back to the book, but her eyes remained stationary. "Here. To see you. Apparently she had a huge fight with the guy who attacked you. Smacked him across the face in the middle of the hallway."

"She didn't…" His heart made a weak quiver and shrunk back against his lungs. He wasn't sure what was worse, Pippa putting herself in danger, or the humiliation of knowing the whole school must have seen. "Maybe I should transfer…"

"And leave her with a stalker?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "You know, he tried to follow her home today."

"Fuck…" Jamie swallowed a bite of gelatin and sank down into his sheets, his worst fears confirmed.

"It's not really your fault, you know."

"Maybe, but I made things worse." He scraped up the last of the gelatin and set the empty container aside. "And we'll probably get some kind of gag order from Mike's lawyers."

"Are you kidding?" Sophie laughed. "Mom's out for blood. That asshole almost killed you. We're getting a lawyer."

"What? No!" Jamie shook his head, brows lowered. "I—I can't even begin to list the reasons why that is a terrible idea."

"That boy is terrible." The door opened and Mrs. Bennett stepped inside the room, followed closely by their aunt. "He deserves to be punished."

"At least we agree on that." Beatrice gave an airy snort and opened her voluminous handbag. She was wearing an honest to god mink stole (Was fur even legal anymore?) over an off-white skirt suit. Cashmere gloves pulled a stack of new paperbacks from the depths of her massive bag. "I'm glad you're alright, dear. I've been praying for you, but it works so much better if you speak with the Lord yourself." She smiled and set the books on the table. "I know it's hard with your mother working Sundays, but I brought some inspirational reading to help. Joel Osteen always makes me feel better."

Jamie found himself locked in a moment of complete silence. He blinked awkwardly up at his aunt, while Sophie tried to stifle a fit of giggles with her vampire novel. Ms. Bennett just eyed the books with a resigned sigh. Unlike Beatrice, she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, which meant she must have called out for the day. Jamie felt a new rush of guilt clawing at his gut—or was that the pain medication wearing off? He couldn't even tell anymore. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and pushed the call button. The overhead lights bled through his eyelids, piercing right through his brain. Pain. Skull splitting, throat wrenching, agonizing pain. He gasped and his damaged lung gave an agitated throb.

"Are you okay, sweetie…?" Ms. Bennett stepped past Sophie to put a hand to his forehead. "I don't think it's time for your next dose yet."

"H-Head hurts." He gasped through the pain. "I just…I need to sleep."

Ms. Bennett shot a worried look at her sister-in-law. "Honey, I don't think that's a good idea. Can you wait for the nurse?"

He tried to answer, but he was gone before he could open his mouth. The darkness welcomed him, cushioning his aching body with soft raven down. There were arms around his shoulders, pulling him deeper into the abyss as lyrical whispers tickled his ear. He couldn't understand the words, but somehow they urged him to stay—stay forever.

His eyes snapped open. For a moment nothing seemed to change, then he blinked and turned his head, focusing on the tiny array of lights blinking at his bedside. His ears caught the rhythmic pattern of a heart monitor and an occasional whistle from his roommate's nose. Faint light bordered the thick window screen, illuminating the room with a paler shade of dark. It was night. He was alone. The chair still sat next to his bed, but his mother's purse was gone. Jamie sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, using the remote to lift his bed. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the bright green numbers on hospital clock. 1:03 AM. Perfect.

Jamie considered going back to sleep, but his whole body felt stiff and his muscles itched to be stretched. He also had to pee. Picking at his iv, he tried to gauge the distance to the bathroom. It wasn't far—six steps at the most. He'd made the trip earlier with one of the nurses. Common sense told him to push the call button, but he hesitated. It was comfortable in the dark. His mind was clear. Even his pain had dulled to a manageable throb. If he called a nurse, it would come back.

Jamie yanked his covers back and grabbed the bedrail. Carefully guiding his feet to the floor, he pushed himself up and stood, breathing deeply. Okay…that wasn't so bad. His bandages pinched and his stomach felt a little worse, but he was standing. He was okay. Now, all he had to do was walk. Heart pounding with reckless adrenaline, he took his hand off the rail and slid a foot forward—another—and another. He couldn't do anything about the iv, so he pulled the stand along with him. By the fourth step his legs stopped shaking, by the sixth, he was barely limping. He pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside without bothering to look for a switch.

Even with his bladder sated, he felt restless and edgy. His arm itched, his bandages itched, and he really wanted to climb out the window and leave this stupid room. Jamie paced the length of his bed, his iv stand squeaking after every third step.

1 – 2 – 3 – squeak – 1 – 2 – 3 – squeak – 1 – 2 – 3 – squeak.

He was on his twentieth squeak when the duffel bag caught his attention. It looked familiar, like the bag his mother took to her volleyball games. Absently scratching his bandages, Jamie poked through the contents: books, clothes, socks, underwear—aha! Jamie pulled the family's shared 3DS from beneath a very old stuffed rabbit.

By the time the nurses found him he was sprawled out on his stomach, mashing buttons as grey light filtered through the window blinds.

"I'm not sure what to say, Jamie." Dr. Lieberwitz said, clipping a suture and extracting it from the ugly scab. "Are you related to James Howlett?"

"Who?" Jamie winced and tried not to look down. It was still early morning, but he'd caused quite a stir at the nurse's station. Apparently you're not supposed to lie on your stomach after surgery. The nurses fussed over him and checked his wounds, lecturing him about blood flow and pressure and god knows what else. They removed his bandages, only to find his stitches encased in an aging scab. That at least explained the itching, but apparently it was also a medical impossibility. Bickering in confusion, they paged his doctor and arranged for a sonogram. The internal damage was almost gone. His ribs had healed, his bruises faded. The only thing left was the scab and the stitches.

"Never mind." She sighed and discarded the thread. "The light sensitivity, though…you said you hit your head?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't that bad."

"Well, we better play it safe. I'll refer you to a specialist."

"I just want to go home…" Jamie said with an exasperated frown. The hospital lights were about eight-thousand times worse than the sixty-watt bulbs in his bedroom. He was surviving with a pair of dilatation spectacles, but the tinted plastic couldn't shut out the light completely and he already felt the subtle pangs of an impending migraine.

"I know." Dr. Lieberwitz gave him a quick smile and pulled the last stitch from the wound. She set her tweezers on the rolling tray and began to clean the incision. "I'm discharging you this afternoon."

"Really!?"

"Yes, really." Wet cotton pressed against his abdomen and the smell of chemicals pinched his nose. "Personally, I'd love to study your recovery, but where I see a medical anomaly, most people see miracles, and I don't do miracles. Accelerated cell regeneration, sure. I could deal with mutant superpowers, but I draw the line at divine intervention."

"Could we maybe keep that part private…?" There would be no stopping Aunt Beatrice if she heard the word 'miracle.' Plus, it might affect the lawsuit, and he knew they desperately needed that money with or without his aunt's support.

"I have to tell your mother, but I'll make sure to do so privately."

"Thanks." Jamie sighed and looked down at the shiny new square of gauze.

"No problem." Dr. Lieberwitz balled up the bloody cotton and the clipped sutures in a paper towel and tossed them in a container marked 'biohazard.' The gloves followed suit, and she brushed the lingering chalk from her palms, celebrating a job well done. "Your mom will get the discharge papers when she arrives." A pad of paper emerged from the pocket of her lab coat. "Migraine medication. Take two as needed, but no more than eight per day. You only get two refills, so don't overdo it. Avoid bright lights and keep those sunglasses on until you can see a specialist. Well, it doesn't have to be those, obviously. That would be ridiculous, but make sure you use dark lenses with UV protection."

Jamie nodded.

Ms. Bennett finished her morning shift and came in around lunch. Jamie ate his cardboard sandwich and tasteless soup without complaint. The apple sauce actually tasted kind of good. By two, the paperwork was done, his things were packed, and he was ready to go. His mother dragged him into the longest hug he could remember. She was babbling unintelligibly into his shoulder, but with all the references to God and Jesus, he was pretty sure it was a prayer. That reminded him of Aunt Beatrice, which in turn reminded him of St. Matthews. He hadn't touched the books on his bedside table. He had half a mind to leave them there, but they were obviously brand new and he could probably return them for cash, even without a receipt. He thought about school on the way home, thought about seeing Pippa—seeing Mike.

St. Matthew's was a viable option. It would simplify so many things, but it would also make him a coward, a loser. No. Sophie was right. At the very least, he couldn't leave Pippa. Mind made up, he started compiling his argument, ignoring the radio commentary on the early snowfall and the possible effects of global warming.

"Experts agree that these extremes are a sign of atmospheric—"

Jamie switched the radio off and addressed the side mirror. "I want to go back to school."

Silence followed the blunt statement, broken by the click-clack of the blinker as they switched lanes and turned onto a side road. "I thought you might." Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Do you have a good reason?"

"Yes." There was a single white line on the passenger-side door, but he couldn't decide if it was a scratch or a reflection.

"Can you tell me, please?"

Jamie chewed his lip and considered, still staring at the scratch—definitely a scratch. "I'm worried…about Pippa" The words felt dry and insufficient, but he said them anyway. "Mike's stalking her and I need make sure she stays safe."

"Sweetie, I understand why you want to help, but you're at risk, too. Don't you think the police—"

"They can't always help." Especially since the sheriff was busy choking on Mr. Shepard's dick. Mike's gang smoked in the park pretty much every day after school. Sometimes it was just cigarettes, sometimes it was weed. The police knew. The park employees knew. The school knew. The whole fucking town knew, but nobody seemed to be able to stop them. Oh, and then there were the dismissed charges: assault (sexual and physical), battery, robbery, arson, trespassing. Mike Shepard, ladies and gentlemen, star player. "Pippa's the only friend I have. I can't leave her." And I don't want to run away. He left the last bit unsaid and slumped down in his chair, crossing his arms and worrying the Band-Aid taped over his left wrist.

A few beats of silence, and the car lurched to a stop at an intersection. Red light. "She's not your only friend, Jamie. I know it's none of my business, but I'm worried—and not just about Michael Shepherd. You haven't made any new friends since graduation, and you act like your old friends are on mars or something. They're still there, sweetie. Growing up is tough, sure. Interest change, people change, but that doesn't make you strangers."

"I know." Jamie answered, tracing the edge of the bandage with his fingernail. It was true, of course. He saw Monty almost every Saturday, but it wasn't the same. There was too much distance, too much space. The twins ate lunch in the same cafeteria every day, but they might as well be on opposite sides of the moon. Jamie couldn't bridge that distance. He didn't know how. Childhood was over—had been over for longer than he cared to admit—and as much as he missed that raw trust, the loyalty that seemed to outweigh even family, there was nothing to be gained by wallowing in his loss.

It was time to move on, and he would. He would. Right after he made sure Pippa was safe.