Gone Read online

  “So,” Janie says. “You got a ring or what?”

  Carrie grins and holds out her hand. “It feels weird. It’s sort of embarrassing, you know?”

  “What did your mom say?”

  “She said I better not be pregnant.”

  Janie snorts. “What the hell is wrong with our parents, anyway? Wait—you’re not, are you?”

  “Of course not! Sheesh, Janers! I may not have gotten the best grades in school, but I’m not stupid. You know I’m on the Pill. And his Jimmy doesn’t get near me without a raincoat, yadamean? Ain’t nothin’ getting through my little fortress!”

  “Okay, good. Sheesh.” Janie laughs again. “So . . . but you sounded a little like you’re not sure about this.”

  Carrie sets the straightening wand on her dressing table and sighs. “I want to marry Stu. I do. There’s nobody else and he’s not pressuring me or anything. But he talked about setting a date, like next summer so I can get in my year of beauty school first but I’m just . . . I don’t know. It’s such a huge thing. I don’t want to screw it up.”

  Janie remains quiet and lets Carrie get it all out. It feels weird to be normal again, sitting and hanging out with Carrie.

  Janie wouldn’t mind trading problems with her.

  “Anyway, that’s my junk of the day. What are you up to?” Carrie smoothes her straightened hair with some gooey, shiny product.

  “I gotta go home, try and figure out what the deal is with my mother and this guy Henry. I don’t have a clue what’s going on. I need to get my mother to talk to me.”

  Carrie looks at Janie in the mirror and shakes her head. “Good luck with that. Talking to your mom is like talking to that Godot guy.”

  Janie laughs. Loves Carrie. Says, “Maybe I’ll just get drunk with her and we’ll fight it out, barroom style.”

  “Heh. Call me if you do that. I’d like to watch.”

  Janie grins and gives Carrie a quick hug. “Will do.”

  As Janie walks home, she thinks maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

  SHE SPEAKS

  4:01 p.m.

  Janie takes a few deep breaths, filling herself with confidence that’s not quite there. But she’ll take what she can get. She grabs a can of beer from the fridge stash and pops it open, taking a bitter sip. She hasn’t had any alcohol since the night at Durbin’s, so this feels a little creepy.

  She waits on the couch, hoping her mother will come out on her own.

  4:46 p.m.

  Still waiting. Beer gone.

  Grabs another beer. Turns on the TV and watches Judge Judy.

  Switches the channel to a game show—judges conjure up too many bad memories.

  5:39 p.m.

  Where the hell is she? Figures she’s got to go after her.

  Right after she pees.

  5:43 p.m.

  Janie opens her mother’s door, two cans of beer in hand. One as an offering. Or maybe a bribe. But then Janie falls to the floor unceremoniously, dropping the cans, sucked into a dream. She hears a pop and a fizzing sound and knows at least one can broke open.

  The noise isn’t even enough to rouse Dorothea Hannagan from her drunken stupor. Damn it, Janie thinks. Dreams plus booze equals not cool.

  Janie’s head spins as she tries and fails to pull out of the dream.

  They are in a line outside a building, Dorothea jiggling a crying baby. Janie knows she is the baby—who else would it be? They move slowly but the building moves too, farther away, making the wait endless. It’s a shelter, or maybe a food bank. Janie stands in the road, watching her mother, trying to get her attention. Maybe this time, Janie can help change it. Look at me, Janie thinks, trying to concentrate. Look at me.

  But Janie’s sensibilities are off, not strong enough at the moment, and Dorothea merely glances at Janie and then looks away. She grows more impatient as she waits in line. Finally, Janie pulls her gaze away from her mother and looks to the front of the line, to the building. There are two windows.

  Above the windows, a giant sign.

  BABIES FOR FOOD.

  That’s what the sign says.

  Janie watches people deposit their babies in one window and take a box of food from the other.

  With all her might, Janie wants to scream, but she can’t. She pulls her strength together and crawls blindly across the floor to the bed, butting her head up against it, flailing her numb arms on top of the mattress, not even sure if she’s hitting her mother, trying to wake her. Trying to get out of this nightmare.

  Finally, everything goes black.

  At the same time, from both yelling mouths:

  “What is wrong with you?”

  Janie still can’t see. She’s feeling wet, soaked by the beer can that exploded. Dorothea shoves Janie. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Janie pretends she can see. Her eyes are open, after all. “I—I tripped.”

  “Get outa here, you good for nothing—”

  “Stop it!” Janie is half-drunk, confused, and blind. But she’s done with this. “Stop talking to me like that! Don’t give me that ‘good for nothing’ bullshit. Without me, you’d be on the street and you know it, so just shut your damn mouth!”

  Janie’s mother is stunned.

  Janie is shocked by her own words.

  Thus, the silence.

  As the world comes back into view for Janie and she can move once again, she gets unsteadily to her feet and picks up the cans. “What a freaking mess,” she mutters. “I’ll be right back.”

  Janie returns with dishcloths and starts wiping it up. “You know, Mother, it wouldn’t kill you to help me.”

  After a minute, Janie’s mother eases her way to the floor and helps. “You been drinking?” Dorothea grunts.

  “So what? Why should you care?” Janie’s still pissed off and a little freaked out by the nightmare. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  Janie’s mother leans over to reach a wet spot on the floor. When she speaks, her voice is softer. “I don’t hate you.”

  Janie’s frustrated. “What’s going on? What’s the deal with this Henry guy? I think I deserve to know what happened.”

  Dorothea looks away. Shrugs. “He’s your father.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that. What, do I have to ask specific questions here or can you just tell me about him? Sheesh!”

  Dorothea frowns. “His name’s Henry Feingold. We met in Chicago when I was sixteen. He was a student at U of M, but home for the summer. Working over at Lou Malnati’s Pizzeria in Lincolnwood. I worked there too, waitressing.”

  Janie tries to imagine her mother actually working. “And then what? He got you pregnant and took off? He’s an asshole? How did you end up here in Fieldridge?”

  “Forget it. I’m not talking about this.”

  “Come on, Mother. Where does he live?”

  “No idea. Around here somewheres. I quit school. Followed him here. We lived together for a while and then he took off and I never saw him again. There. Happy?”

  “Did he know you were pregnant?”

  “No. None of his business.”

  “But—but—how did you know he was in the hospital?”

  Janie’s mother has a vacant look in her eyes, now. “He had one of them legal papers—gave it to the paramedics. He had me down as the person to contact. It says he don’t want any heroic measures. That’s what the nurse told me.”

  Janie is silent.

  Dorothea continues, softer. “I think maybe I oughta have one of them papers too. So you don’t have to keep me hanging on when my liver rots out.”

  Janie looks away and sighs.

  Feels like she’s supposed to protest.

  But who is she kidding? “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe.”

  Dorothea lies down on the bed again. Turns away. “I mean it. I don’t want to talk no more about this. I’m done with it.”

  After a moment of quiet, Janie gets up, unsteadily walks to the bathroom, throws up a few cans worth of cheap beer, and
then some. “Never again,” she echoes.

  Then she crawls into her room, closes the door, climbs into bed and sleeps.

  2:12 a.m.

  Janie’s running.

  And running.

  All night long.

  She never gets there.

  SATURDAY

  August 5, 2006, 8:32 a.m.

  “Yes,” croaks Janie into her cell phone. “What.” She’s still half-asleep.

  “Janie, is everything all right?”

  Janie’s silent. She should know this voice, but she doesn’t.

  “Janie? It’s Captain. Are you there?”

  “Oh!” Janie says. “God, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Sorry I woke you. I normally wouldn’t call but I heard from Baker that you had a family emergency and you’re back in town. I’m calling to ask if everything is all right. And to find out more, if you’re willing to tell me. Which you’d better be.”

  “I—ugh, it’s complicated,” Janie says. She rolls onto her back. Her mouth feels like it’s stuffed with toilet paper. “Everything’s fine, though. Well, I mean . . . it’s a long story.” Ugh.

  “I have time.”

  “Can I get back to you? Somebody’s buzzing me on the other line.”

  “I’ll hold.”

  Janie smiles through the dull pain in her head and switches over to the other call.

  It’s Cabe. “Hey, baby, everything okay? What happened last night?”

  “Yeah, let me call you back in a few.”

  “Done.” He hangs up.

  Janie switches back to Captain. “I’m back,” she says.

  “Fine.”

  “And, uh, I’d rather not go into all the details. So.” Janie’s feeling bold.

  Captain pauses a split second. “Fair enough. You know where to find me, right?”

  “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ll see you Monday for our meeting if not before. Take care, Janie.” Captain hangs up.

  Janie flips her phone shut and groans. “What is with everybody calling me at eight-thirty in the freaking morning?”

  9:24 a.m.

  Showered, fed, brushed. Janie feels a tiny bit better after taking an ibuprofen and drinking three glasses of water. “Never again,” she mutters to the mirror. She calls Cabel back. “Sorry it took me so long.” Janie explains what happened last night as she walks across the yards, up his driveway, and into his house.

  “Hey,” she says, hanging up.

  Cabel grins and hangs up too. “Did you get breakfast?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna go for a drive?”

  “I—sure. I was actually thinking about going to the hospital.”

  Cabel nods. “Cool.”

  “Not that I feel obligated, because I don’t.”

  “Nor should you.”

  Janie is lost in thought. Going over what her mother said last night, although much of it is fuzzy after all that beer. “I think,” she says slowly, “he’s probably not a good person.”

  “What?”

  “Just a feeling. Never mind. Let’s go.”

  “Are you sure you want to go if he’s a bad person?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I want to find out for sure. I just want to know, I guess. If he’s bad. Or not.”

  Cabel shrugs, but he understands. They take off.

  9:39 a.m.

  At the hospital, Janie moves carefully through the hallways as usual, watching for open doors. She gets caught in a weak dream but only for a few seconds—she barely even has to pause in step. They stand outside Henry’s room, Janie’s hand tense on the handle.

  Static and shockingly bright colors. Again, Janie nearly crumples to her knees, but this time she is more prepared. She steps blindly toward the bed and Cabel helps her safely to the floor as her head pounds with noise. It’s more intense than ever.

  Just when Janie thinks her eardrums are going to burst, the static dulls and the scene flickers to a woman in the dark once again. It’s the same woman as the day before, Janie’s certain, though she can’t make out any distinguishing features. And then Janie sees that the man is there too. It’s Henry, of course. It’s his dream. He’s in the shadows, sitting on a chair, watching the woman. Henry turns, looks at Janie and blinks. His eyes widen and he sits up straighter in his chair. “Help me!” he pleads.

  And then, like a broken filmstrip, the picture cuts out and the static is back, louder than ever, constant screamo in her ears. Janie struggles, head pounding. Tries pulling out of the dream, but she can’t focus—the static is messing up her ability to concentrate.

  She’s flopping around on the floor now. Straining.

  Thinks Cabel is there, holding her, but she can’t feel anything now.

  The bright colors slam into her eyes, into her brain, into her body. The static is like pinpricks in every pore of her skin.

  She’s trapped.

  Trapped in the nightmare of a man who can’t wake up.

  Janie struggles again, feeling like she’s suffocating now. Feeling like if she doesn’t get out of this mess, she might die here. Cabe! she screams in her head. Get me out of here!

  But of course he can’t hear her.

  She gathers up all her strength and pulls, groaning inwardly with such force that it hurts all the way through. When the nightmare flickers to the picture of the woman again, Janie is just barely able to burst from her confines.

  She gasps for breath.

  “Janie?” Cabel’s voice is soft, urgent.

  His finger paints her skin from forehead to cheek, his hand captures the back of her neck, and then he lifts her, carries her to the chair. “Are you okay?”

  Janie can’t speak. She can’t see. Her body is numb. All she can do is nod.

  And then, there’s a sound from across the room.

  It’s certainly not Henry.

  Janie hears Cabel swear under his breath.

  “Good morning,” says a man. “I’m Doctor Ming.”

  Janie sits up as straight as she can in the chair, hoping Cabel’s standing in front of her.

  “Hi,” Cabe says. “We—I—how’s he doing today? We just got here.”

  Dr. Ming doesn’t answer immediately and Janie breaks out into a sweat. Oh, God, he’s staring at me.

  “Are you . . . ?”

  “We’re his kids.”

  “And is the young woman all right?”

  “She’s fine. This is really . . . ” Cabel sighs and his voice catches. “Ah . . . really an emotional time for us, you know.” Janie knows he’s stalling for her sake.

  “Of course,” says the doctor. “Well.”

  Janie’s sight is beginning to return and she sees that Dr. Ming is glancing over the chart. He continues. “It could be any day or he might hang on for a few. It’s hard to say.”

  Janie clears her throat and leans carefully to the side of the chair so she can see past Cabel’s bum. “Is he . . . brain-dead?”

  “Hm? No, there appears to be some minor brain activity still.”

  “What’s wrong with him, exactly?”

  “We don’t actually know. Could be a tumor, maybe a series of strokes. And without surgery, we might not ever know. But he made it clear in his DNR that he didn’t want life-saving measures and his next of kin—your mother, I believe?—she refused to sign off on surgery or any procedures.” He says this in a pitying voice that makes Janie hate him.

  “Well,” she says, “does he even have insurance?”

  The doctor checks the paperwork again. “Apparently not.”

  “What are the chances that surgery will help? I mean, could he be normal again?”

  Dr. Ming glances at Henry, as if he can determine his chances by looking at him. “I don’t know. He might never be able to live on his own. That is, if he even survived the surgery.” He looks at the chart again.

  Janie nods slowly. That’s why. That’s why he’s just lying here. That, and the DNR. That’s why they aren’t fixing him—he’s too brok
en. She tries to sound simply curious but it comes out nervous. “So, uh, how much does it cost for him to just be here, waiting to die . . . and stuff?”

  The doctor shakes his head. “I don’t know—that’s really a question for the accounting office.” He glances at his watch. Puts the chart back. “Okay, then.” He walks briskly out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  When Dr. Ming is gone, Janie glares at Cabel. “Don’t ever let that happen again! Couldn’t you tell I was trapped in the nightmare? I couldn’t get out, Cabe. I thought I was going to die.”

  Cabel’s mouth opens, surprised and hurt. “I could tell you were struggling, but if I did break it, how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t be mad at me for that? And what did you want me to do, drag you out in the hallway? We’re in a freaking hospital, Hannagan. If anybody saw you like that you’d be strapped to a gurney in thirty seconds and we’d be stuck here all day, not to mention the bill for that.”

  “Better that than sucked into full frontal static-land. No wonder the guy’s crazy. I’m half-crazy just spending a few minutes listening to that. Besides,” Janie adds coolly, pointing to the private bathroom, “hello.”

  Cabel rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think of it, okay? You know, it’s not like I spend every waking moment planning my life around your stupid problems. There’s more—”

  He slams his lips together.

  Janie’s jaw drops.

  “Oh, crap.” He steps toward her, sorry-eyed. And she steps back.

  Shakes her head and looks away, fingers to her mouth, eyes filling.

  “Don’t, Janie. I didn’t mean it.”

  Janie closes her eyes and swallows hard. “No,” she says slowly. Doesn’t want to say it, but knows it’s true. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She gives a morose laugh. “It’s good for you to say it like it is, you know? Healthy. And shit.”

  “Come on,” he says. “Come ’ere.” He steps toward her again and this time she goes to him. He runs his fingers through her hair and holds her to his chest. Kisses her forehead. “I’m sorry too. And that’s not like it is. I just . . . it just came out wrong.”