For days he refused to talk and just seemed to withdraw from everything. It was heartbreaking to watch. The doctors came and explained his upcoming surgery, using terms I knew he wouldn't understand, but he simply shrugged and signed the consent forms with little interest. He came back from theatre, clearly in pain, but refusing to admit it, the button to release the morphine laying untouched by his pale hands. His precious hair became lank and limp. Bollo did his best with dry shampoo and a hairbrush, but Vince barely even seemed to notice. They put food and drink beside him, Bolla even brought a selection of his favourite sweets, but they all went ignored. They sent a psychologist in to see him but he just stared straight through her. Naboo looked more and more tired every day, dark circles under his eyes telling that he was staying up each night trying to find something that might help.
A couple of weeks later, Naboo insisted I came home with them. I had barely left Vince's side since the accident, sitting in silence except at night, when I would tell him stories, remember all the good times we had together. I knew he couldn't hear but it was a way of keeping him alive in my mind, that is, keeping the real him alive, not the shell of a man that occupied the bed in the room I now called home. In a way it was a relief to actually be able to spoken to and heard but being back at our flat just reminded me of how empty it seemed without Vince.
"There must be something you can do, Naboo. It's breaking my heart seeing him like that."
"I've been speaking to the shaman council and they all agree, there's only one thing we can try. We need to give him what he's missing. He fell apart when you left, so we need to give you back to him."
I frowned at him, confused. How was that possible? Could they bring me back? I knew they were shamen but I didn't think their powers stretched that far.
It turned out I was right, they couldn't bring me back. Instead they wanted to distil my thoughts, memories and messages to Vince into dream potions. Despite sounding quite exciting and magical, I was disappointed to find out that the reality involved me talking to a special shaman video camera (well, a regular one wouldn't exactly manage to record the ramblings of a ghost now, would it?). It made me think of those videos that chronically ill people record for their loved ones to watch after their deaths, cringing as I realised that was almost exactly what it was, although I was recording them after death. After a rather embarrassing display of my now legendary 'chokes' I finally managed to record a short piece talking to him about the adventures we had when we were at the zoo, reminding him of the time we were almost killed by mod wolves, saved at the last moment when they recognised him as being 'king of the mods'. I thought about adding an 'I love you' to the end, but then remembered the time I'd told him in the Tundra, and thought better of it.
Naboo then had to play back the tape (the shaman didn't really believe in digital recording) through a video player hooked up to a crystal ball and somehow managed to turn the contents of this into a potion. I didn't really understand how it worked but there had already been so much going on in the past few days that I didn't want to trouble my overtaxed brain with worrying about the finer details.
I had kept watch over him all night after the potion had been injected into him through one of his collection of drips. I could tell the exact moment when the potion had taken effect. His face had suddenly relaxed, looked more youthful, and even the angry gash on his forehead looked paler. A smile played across his lips and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And then it ended. His eyes opened and he looked around the deserted room. And then the tears began to stream, silently, down his face. He made no attempt to wipe them away as they soaked the pillows, sheets and his hospital gown. A nurse brought him a box of tissues, but he made little effort to use them. Bollo spent the afternoon's visit, trying his hardest to keep up with the endless flow of tears, giving up when eventually the whole box of tissues had been used, and Vince still showed no signs of stopping.
Eventually he had fallen asleep again and Naboo had injected in the second of the potions. In this one I reminded him of the time he had fought off Kodiak Jack, beaten Nanatoo and how he was now the King of Camden. I told him how much everyone was missing him and begged him to fight and get well for me. I wasn't sure what format these dreams would take, whether he would hear my voice or not, but just in case, I actually had to record this last bit 3 times, desperately trying to mask my tears.
The second potion had a similar effect when he was sleeping, but the reaction when he awoke made me wonder if Naboo had a clue what he was doing. My poor injured friend was absolutely hysterical. Violent sobs racked his body as he sniffed and gasped for air.
"Howard, come back. Please come back. Please Howard. Please," he wailed between shaky breaths. A nurse stroked his hand and tried to calm him, but to no avail. Eventually Naboo was called as Vince was, by now, disturbing the patients in the other rooms. Fortunately he was already on his way back for the evening's visiting time so didn't take too long to arrive, but even the presence of Naboo and Bollo couldn't calm the traumatised young man.
We decided to try one final time, all of us certain Vince couldn't take much more heartbreak. Despite Naboo's earlier warnings, I had managed to sneak in that I was still there, watching over him, and that I'd never leave his side. Whether Naboo had decided this was vague enough or if he was just desperate enough to try anything, I'm not sure, but he allowed me to leave it on the recording. I just hoped it would have the desired effect because we were fast running out of ideas.
Thankfully this time he woke up calmer.
"I can feel you, Howard, I know you'd never leave me," he whispered to himself.
Whether this was true or not, it was like music to my ears. I watched him look down I at his broken body, as if finally taking in the extent of his injuries for the first time. Slowly lifting his hands, his eyes widened as he spotted the cannulas protruding from there, bruises from their insertion marking his pale skin. He tried to sit up, crying out in pain and settling back against the pillows, head thrown back in agony. His eyes darted round in confusion as he struggled to make sense of what was going on. Quickly he spotted the call button and stretched out to reach it, his hand shaking with the unfamiliar movement after so many days in a state of inertia. Within seconds, a nurse appeared at his side.
"It hurts, it really hurts", he croaked out, "can you give me something for it? I have to get out of here, I have to go home."
"Shush now, calm down. You're not going anywhere for a while, I'm afraid. I'll go get you some pain relief, just try to relax. Can you tell me where exactly it hurts?" she asked, concerned by his current increase in pain after barely seeming to register it for the past few days. As she pulled back his sheets and removed his gown to examine him, Vince's mouth dropped open in shock as he saw the angry black and blue bruising of his broken ribs, his brow creasing in confusing as he eyed the large dressing covering his hip. Experimentally, he tried lifting his leg, wincing and turning to the nurse in surprise.
"I can't move my leg, why can't I move?"
"You broke your pelvis and your ankle, hon, don't you remember?" she asked kindly.
He shook his head, running his hands through his hair and scrunching his nose in disgust.
"Ugh, my hair is disgusting," he muttered, already distracted from the more physical aspects of his injury. There was no doubting it, my precious Vince was well and truly back. I just wished I was.