Chapter 3

                                    

                                          
"Music is God's gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven."
                          
- Walter Savage Landor
                          
Chapter 3
                          
"I would never do that, Liam. I think I would know if I had." I reasoned, as Liam was helping me down the four steps while we were leaving the hospital. His left arm was around my waist and my right arm was slung around his shoulder.
                          
"It's just too complicated." He muttered quietly.
                          
"What is too complicated?" I inquired. I didn't hear a reply as the sun hit my face. "Ah!" I exclaimed as I cringed back and buried my face in the crook of Liam's neck.
                          
We hurried to his Impala and softly closed the door behind us.
                          
"How long was I out for?"
                          
"Six days." He told me, with caution.
                          
I didn't reply as I turned on the radio and sat back. I stared out of the window listening to the sound of Coldplay on the radio all the way home.
                          
I couldn't see anything. The room was dark and stone silent. The doctor directed me to take two Aleve's and sit in my dark room with no noise. I enjoyed the dark and welcomed its comfort, but hours without sound was too much to handle. I felt isolated and alone; I would take a migraine over this any day. I should at least have some music.
                          
This is depressing.
                          
As I stared into the dark nothingness that is my ceiling, I began to sing the words to Erykah Badu's song, Tyrone.
                          
As I began the chorus, I closed my eyes, and just as I thought nothing could be darker, I saw the blackest black I have ever seen.
                          
I lay in my room; hot, thick air surrounded me. Mud and dirt covered the floor and my thin, dirty sheet clung to my body. I lay gasping for air as I stare at the ceiling; it's shaking. Is it me that's shaking? I stare down at my hands and I see that in fact they are. I had contracted the Spanish Influenza just as Deirdre had predicted. Not only did I get infected, but so did Eddy. Deirdre blamed me for why he got sick, just as she blamed me for Father.
                          
In 'punishment', she had her maids create a makeshift 'room' for me in the maid's quarters to sleep in so she would be inhumane, but it was a little too late for that. A tear trickled down from my eye and past my temple. My heart began to thud as I heard footsteps in the hall. Surprisingly, Eddy's room was down the hall from mine and before I was too sick to speak, we used to have rather loud conversations screaming back and forth to keep each other company.
                          
But now, I can't talk, eat, or drink. I could barely move. That's what this disease does to you; it kills you from the inside out.
                          
"What can you do for my son?" Deirdre demanded.
                          
"Not much; it's pretty much taken over his whole body." A man replied. I recognized his voice as our family doctor. I believe his name was Dr. Carson or Dr. Carter.
                          
"Come on, Doctor, I know there is something that you can do." I could almost hear the taunting in her voice. She has something on him. What can he do?
                          
"Nothing that will change the outcome." He said with a tight voice.
                          
"Help him." She said. I can hear her footsteps in fading into the distance.
                          
I quickly sat up in my bed gasping for air. I put my hand to my forehead to wipe off sweat, but there was none. Under my ears, I had tears streaming non-stop. I hadn't realized I'd been crying, nor did I realize that I wasn't in my bed.