Chapter 27
Free Fall
I’m falling.
Falling, falling, falling.
I was on the edge of a cliff and then my stomach felt light and nauseated and everything around me was white.
Where am I?
A snowy field, maybe.
On top of a frosted cake.
Or a fried egg.
I want to throw up, but I can’t.
There’s something in my stomach, a wounded animal writhing and clawing me inside, tearing at my skin, turning around and around, biting, howling.
It hurts.
“What’s your name?” a gentle voice asked.
“Not now. He’s weak. He needs to rest.”
There’s a clock in my head tick-ticking.
Ticktock. Ticktock. And on and on, all day and all night.
I keep slipping down the pale, smooth hill into infinity. There’s nothing to hold on to. I can’t slow down or stop. Is it a river of milk? A limestone quarry?
I wait and wait. Ticktock. Ticktock.
I want to break the clock open.
I want to look inside, take apart the mechanism, break the motor, remove the batteries, put it back together, and then, like magic, it will look the same, but it won’t keep ticking.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
The kind voice returns. It’s like warm honey.
“You’ll get better. You were lucky. From what I heard, it could have been much worse. Being intubated sucks, though. I know from experience.”
“Lucy! What are you doing here? No one’s allowed in here!”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Higgins. It’s just… I know him.”
“You know him?” The other voice still sounds irritated, but there’s curiosity there too. “Are you sure? He was in a wreck. They brought him in a few days ago.”
“I’m sure. I never forget a face. That’s Will Tucker.”
The clock’s slowed down. Tiiiicktoooock.
The snow’s starting to melt.
It’s not pure white anymore. It’s dirty.
“Nothing like a little water and baking soda to take out the stains,” my mother is chanting.
I see her smile. She knows more than she’s telling me.
But she keeps it to herself. She always does.
She keeps repeating, “My handsome boy, my handsome boy.” But even as she does so, I can tell she doesn’t feel it.
Unknown voices around me.
“Should we take him down to room one-oh-four?”
“Yeah. The family’s been updated.”
“Perfect. Let’s get to it, then.”
And the world starts to spin and spin.
I’m sitting on a spinning top.
When I was little, I had one. It was perfect. Grandma drew these blue and green lines on it, and they seemed to blend together when it spun.
Where is it? I must have lost it. Everything gets lost in the passage of time—socks, marbles, people, parking tickets, innocence, love.
The white is full of lines and details now.
Red, blue, yellow, green, purple.
Color floods everything.
Someone knocks on the door. “Will, open up.”
Again: “I’m serious, open up.”
But I’m tired. Too tired.
And I stay there a little longer.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you do, I just want you to know your parents love you very much. I hope you know how lucky you are. I’ll tell you when you wake up. Also, the chair in your room is more comfortable than the one in mine. I think it’s because of the springs.”
Then the kind voice goes away.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
Shit.
I get up.
I look for the clock.
I find it under a cloud.
I have a hammer in my hand.
I hit it hard. Pow.
The clock shatters into pieces.
The satisfaction is immense.
Someone knocks at the door.
“I’m coming, hold on.”
I pull on the doorknob.
There’s an explosion of light.