In the supply room, we grab everything we can. I carry towels, linens, clothes, and a bottle of bleach that I’m holding in place with my chin. Bill grabs buckets, trash bags, gloves, and face masks.
Standing outside her door, I hear nothing but our breathing, and I hope she’s passed out. We place our things on the floor. Bill hands me my mask so I put it on, noticing the spearmint smell immediately.
“It helps with the smell.” He points to the mask.
“Yeah, some of the nurses I worked with did the same thing. They claimed it worked.”
“It does. Hot damn these gloves are tight.” Bill puts on two pair of rubber gloves, and I decide double-gloving is a great idea.
“All right, you ready?” He nods. “Let’s get this over with.”
Bill crosses his eyes at me, and I smile under my mask. He unlocks the door, turns the knob, peeks in, and pops back out.
“Asleep,” he says in a whisper.
“Good; let’s hope she stays that way.”
“If not, can’t you punch her and knock her out again?”
“Believe me, it’s crossed my mind.”
The mask dulls the smell just enough that I don’t have to crinkle my nose as we approach Amber. Her clothes and sheets are caked in vomit. The floor seems clean at least. Her bucket sits next to her bed. When I glance inside, it’s almost half full. I didn’t know someone could produce that much at one time. I pick it up, carry it out the door, and place it on the floor. When I come back in, Bill’s untucking the sheets at the corners of her bed.
“How are we going to do this?” he asks.
“Let’s try rolling her onto her side, and I’ll shove the old sheets underneath her, followed by the clean ones. Hold her until I have the clean sheets in place. When I say okay, roll her over the lump of sheets toward me, and I’ll hold her while you grab the nasty ones out from under her and then pull the clean ones out and tuck them in.”
“Good idea; I thought you were going to tell me to hold her.”
“Oh no, that’d be a bad idea.”
Amber groans now and then as we clean her bed. Her eyes stay closed, but her lips move, almost like she’s trying to talk but nothing comes out.
“Did you grab clothes?” I ask.
“Oops.” He runs out of the room, tears everything off, and then comes back, putting on new gloves. This time he holds a t-shirt and pants.
“I’ll do it while you step out,” I say.
“Won’t you need help?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” I fight nausea just looking at her barf-stained clothes. Bills nods his head and clears the room, leaving me to dress Amber.
“Bill, I’m done.”
He re-enters the room.
“Okay, what about the bleach?” I ask.
“To clean her?”
“No.” I laugh at him and shake my head. “To help with the smell. And kill the germs.”
“Right.”
I see Amber stir out of the corner of my eye. I wave to Bill, and he looks in her direction.
“Maybe later?” Bill asks.
“I agree.”
“Ahhhhhhhh!” she screams.
Amber bolts up to a sitting position in her bed. Her eyes practically bulge out of her head. Her hands and fingers tremble, and she doesn’t even look at us. She stares at the opposite corner. “Get away from me!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “Get away!”
She picks up her pillow and hurls it across the room toward the empty corner and sweat drips from her forehead.
“Amber,” I say. She doesn’t respond to my voice so I try again. “Amber.”
Nothing.
I move slowly toward her and feel my pulse quicken.
“Don’t you dare come any closer.” Her voice is deep with rage, but she almost chokes on her words. Bill steps back, scrunching up his face.
“What’s she doing?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. Maybe she’s having a nightmare. We have to wake her up.”
“Wake up, Amber,” Bill screams.
“Why are you here?” Amber asks. “You promised to leave me alone. You promised.” Her eyes still fixate on the empty corner, and her nostrils flare.
“Slap her,” Bill says.
“No, she thinks someone’s here to hurt her.”
Amber screams some more. She’s incoherent. No matter what Bill and I say to her, she doesn’t acknowledge us. I place my hands on her shoulders and shake her. She jumps out of bed and retreats to a fetal position on the floor. Great. Then her head snaps up, and she starts swinging her arms.
“Maybe a bucket of cold water?” I ask Bill.
“Be right back.”
When he’s gone, I climb over her bed and stand between her and the imaginary person.
“Amber, it’s Lexi.”
She clutches her chest, and then her throat, choking herself.
“Don’t do it,” she begs through her tears. “Let go.”
“Do what?”
Bill comes running in with a bucket of water that spills as he makes his way toward me.
“Allow me,” he says. He stands above her and turns the bucket over, and the water pours onto Amber’s head.
So much for the new clothing I worked so hard to get on her.
No response. Not even a shiver. Her eyes remain fixed on whatever she’s seeing.