Shrouded In Silence

25





Michelle slept later than she expected, but as soon as the nurses came in and helped her to the shower, she was ready to see her husband. The nurse left a terry cloth robe behind for her to put on. No amount of hesitation on the hospital's part would keep her from entering the intensive care unit today.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Just a moment." Michelle finished tying the robe around her and sat down slowly on the bed. "Come in."

The door opened slowly. "Excuse me," a skinny man in a worn sport coat said. "I'm Alfredo Pino, a detective with the police. Might I come in."

"Certainly."

"Mrs. Townsend?"

"Yes."

"We are trying to understand what happened when your offices were blown apart," Pino began and handed her his card. "I guess you know a bomb exploded?"

"That's what I've been told," Michelle studied the card for a moment. "I'm sorry, but I received a concussion. It's hard for me to remember much of anything today.

Pino pulled out a small notebook. "Yes." He scribbled on the page. "I understand that you are Bible scholars. Can you tell me why anyone would want to bomb the offices of such studious people as yourselves?"

Michelle shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense. No. We're about as straight as it's possible to be. No. I don't have any idea why this would have occurred."

"Yes, it is strange," Alfredo Pino said. "You've never been involved in any form of illegal trafficking?"

"Heavens no! What are you suggesting?"

"My job is simply to ask questions," the detective said. "I'm sure I have bothered you long enough. I will be going. The best to you Mrs. Townsend." The skinny detective left the room.

Moments later the door opened again and a nurse wheeled in a chair. "I imagine you are more than ready to see your husband. I believe we can go now."

"I feel like I can walk down the hall by myself," she told the nurse.

"That's good," the older woman said, "but we can't risk falling."

"A wheelchair is a must?"

"We will definitely use one," the nurse said. "I will go with you. Once we're inside intensive care, you can stand alone, but you must remember in your condition you can become dizzy. Take it easy."

"Sure. How's my husband this morning?"

"I don't know because I don't work on that unit." The hesitation in her voice suggested that she did know and the problem was serious.

"You know he's in bad condition?" Michelle pressed.

"Your husband was in a horrific explosion. The fact that he is alive is significant. I must leave it there."

"But you know what injuries he received?"

"I know his arm is broken, and he has facial contusions." The nurse stopped. "You really need to talk with the doctor attending him. I can't say anymore."

"Certainly." Michelle lowered herself carefully into the wheelchair and adjusted her feet on the rests at the bottom. "I'm ready."

The trip down the long hall turned into a much longer trek than she had expected. After turning several corners and going a significant distance, she found the swinging doors beneath the Intensive Care sign.

"Let's go in," Michelle urged.

"It's not visiting hours, but the staff felt your visit might be important for your husband," the nurse said. "We'll enter now."

"Thank you," Michelle said. "I'm anxious to see Jack."

The nurse pressed the button on the wall and the doors swung open. Cubicles lined the walls around the large room. An antiseptic smell drifted down the corridor and made the area smell sterile. Very little noise drifted in, and the staff seemed to be functioning in an effective, expeditious manner. The nurse pushed her toward a nook with the number six above the cloth drapery.

"You can go in by yourself," the nurse said. "I'll be here waiting."

Michelle hesitantly pulled the curtain back and stopped. A plaster cast ran from Jack's wrist to his shoulder. Bandages covered most of his face with red seepage along the side of his chin. She only saw one eye still closed, the other was covered by bandages. A thick bandage covered the top of his chest with plastic tubes running down the side to bags on the rail. A bag of glucose hung from a rack, dripping into a needle in his good arm now tied to the bed. Michelle felt her knees buckle and thought she might faint.

"I'm here," the nurse said. "Don't worry. I'll catch you. Maybe, you should sit down."

"Definitely."

After a couple of minutes, Michelle felt her stamina returning and stood up slowly. Tenuously, she leaned over the bed. A closer look at Jack didn't encourage her. He remained in a coma, and she could tell his breathing was labored. Nothing looked good.

"Jack?"

He didn't move.

"Jack, it's Michelle." She squeezed his hand.

No movement.

"Jack, I'm here with you."

His breathing continued in an interrupted steady pumping of his chest up and down. Slowly. Struggling. Suffering.

"Jack?"

No sound.

Michelle withdrew from his bedside and looked at the machines around his body monitoring his heart, breathing, and vital signs. A quick glance said the pattern was regular on the low side. She gestured for the nurse to follow her outside the drapery.

"Jack's in serious condition," Michelle said.

The nurse nodded.

"Will he live?" Michelle asked with a firmness in her voice that conveyed she wanted a straight answer.

"No one can say for sure right now," the nurse said soberly. "Obviously, the blast was substantial. The next twenty-four hours is crucial." The woman looked Michelle in the eye. "Jack won't be conscious for a period of time."

Michelle sat down in the wheelchair. "Please take me back to my room," she said. "I need to rest." She closed her eyes and held her face in her hands.

Michelle could feel the tension building as the nurse wheeled her down the hall. Never in a million years would she have imagined her husband dying. Even the hint of such an idea overwhelmed her and started pumping wild emotions through her mind. The longer it took to get to the room, the more anxious she became. An avalanche of hysteria seemed ready to roll down on her, compounded by the absolute terror that Jack might die.

Once inside her room, she insisted she be allowed to sit alone in a chair. The nurse rolled the wheelchair out the door and left. Her knees turned wobbly once more. Flashing visions of the city of Cerignola blipped through her mind. Michelle could feel her emotions shifting and becoming like a child's descending into the darkness of a stormy night. A speeding gasoline truck surged toward her and the room began to shake. The side of the chair started to lift. For an instant, her father's face came out of the darkness and then receded. Her mouth turned dry and her hands became sweaty. A roaring noise erupted in her ears and drops of sweat slowly ran down her cheeks. Her entire body felt clammy and the muscles in her arms became rigid. She was about to be swallowed.

With the deepest breath she could take, Michelle grabbed the chair and clung fiercely. Another thought arose beyond the landslide of fear. She, and she alone, was all they had left at this moment. Jack couldn't do anything for who knows how long, if ever. No matter how difficult it might be, she couldn't allow her childhood experience to control her life. Even if the memory of the car collision had worked its way into the fiber of her very being, she couldn't let it take over her life. The hallucinations had to stop, and that wouldn't be easy. When the trauma surged, it always began in her body before she even grasped it was coming. Michelle had no idea how to control what occurred physically within her, but she couldn't let anxiety win. It might take everything in her, but she would no longer be ruled by the fears from the past. Loud noises, banging, gunshots couldn't be allowed to dominate. Whether she liked it or not, she would have to take control of their eruptions and keep their project moving while Jack recovered . . . if Jack recovered.