The Crack in Lucy’s
Eye
The crack in Lucy’s left eye
appeared the day lightning struck down her father. Blue against her brown iris,
it forked across her pupil like a strange scar. The doctors took out their
ophthalmoscopes and examined it from every angle, and a specialist from London even
wrote a case report on it, but no one could explain it. When they were certain
that it didn’t affect her vision, the doctors finally ceased their poking and
prodding. But they were wrong. The crack did affect Lucy’s vision; just not in
the way they had thought.
At first Lucy’s
mother thought her daughter had developed an imaginary friend. When she was
five, it was cute when she prattled on and on to invisible creatures around
her, but soon Lucy turned six, then seven, and her strange behavior continued.
She spent her entire birthday party hiding behind the couch from the monster on
Grandma’s back. Everyone laughed until the old woman turned up dead the next
morning.
Lucy sat
through the countless psychiatrist’s appointments patiently. She liked talking
to the funny creatures sitting on the other patients’ shoulders, at least until
her mother left her at the children’s ward for a whole week. After that she
learned to stay quiet. But it didn’t stop her from seeing the creatures.
No one was surprised when Lucy
chose to become a nurse after she finished school. After graduating, she found her place in a geriatric ward of forty-two patients,
most with dementia. She got on well with patients, but her colleagues avoided
her, especially on night shifts. Strange rumors circulated of her seeing
things, but nothing concrete enough to threaten her job. She did have a few
sessions with the occupational care psychologist, who thought the whole thing
was ridiculous. Soon after, the worst gossip on the ward had some kind of
breakdown and left. No one complained about Lucy after that.
Early on, Lucy had learned that some
of the creatures could be reasoned with and others couldn’t. The bloated blue
thing that liked to choke COPD sufferers sometimes left if she could persuade
the patient to stop smoking, and the little imps that caused schizophrenia were
easily distracted and hated the color yellow, but some beings just would not
budge. The cancer demons were the worst. On her surgical rotation she had seen
them hang onto the lumps of severed flesh right up to the incinerator. The dementia wraiths were also tenacious: once they had sunk their claws
into your memories they would never let go.
This was the case
for the poor Mr. Rutherford, who lay in his bed, his crow-like claws clutching
a fuzzy toy cat one of his grandchildren had brought him. Every one in a while
he’d make a “mew” sound and stroke the cat.
Lucy frowned as the grey wraith
on Mr. Rutherford's shoulder pushed its claws deep into his head and pulled out
another ragged, golden memory. There was a tearing noise as it ripped the
memory to shreds. Mr. Rutherford stopped, confused, and then continued petting
the toy. Another demon, this one a nasty orange-red, nibbled at his toes, and a
third, slimy green, had its tentacles around his chest.
The man didn’t have
much time left. Lucy made a mental note to call his daughter and swatted at
the green creature. It detached with a squelch. The red demon looked at her
and fled under the bed.
“Is that
better, Mr. Rutherford?” she asked and straightened his blanket.
“Mew,” Mr.
Rutherford answered. The wraith bared its sharp teeth, daring her to come
closer.
As Lucy left
the room she heard the smacking noises of the tentacle demon climbing back onto
Mr. Rutherford’s chest.
Two days later Mr. Rutherford was
dying. He had a high fever, and his breath came in rattling wheezes. His
daughter had come in for a half hour, most of which she had spent fiddling with
her phone. Lucy sat on a stool next to the bed and stroked the dying man’s hand
as she waited for the doctor.
The door swung
open and Doctor Bree Thomason arrived. She was young enough to not to have
accepted her own mortality, but old enough that she had shaken any idealism she
had once possessed. Like most doctors, she had a poison-green cynicism demon
hanging around her neck. It smirked at Lucy as it licked invisible tears from
the doctor’s cheek with its long, black tongue. The doctor swiped at her face as if brushing
away a fly.
“You called?”
she said, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen advertising a popular brand of
antidepressants.
“Yes, Doctor. I
believe Mr. Rutherford’s come down with pneumonia again.”
The Doctor took
out her stethoscope and lifted up the man’s puke-colored hospital pajamas. “Sure sounds like it. How long has he been
like this?”
“From last
night. The fever went up this morning.”
“All right. Do
you think he’ll manage the pills, or shall we give him injections?”
“He didn’t take
any of his medications today. I can’t even get him to drink.”
The doctor
jotted something down on her pad. “Injections it is, then. He’s in palliative
care. We need to respect the family’s wishes. Nothing invasive. No IVs.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
She looked up
at Lucy. “Maybe you’d better let the daughter know. He might not pull through,
this time.”
“She just left,
but I’ll call her.”
“Thank you.
I’ll come round tomorrow to see how he’s doing.” The doctor’s gaze rested on
the stuffed toy cat and the demon licked another tear off her nose.
Mr. Rutherford got even more restless
as the night progressed. Lucy came in as often as she could and chased the
demons away, but she couldn’t neglect her other duties. A little after midnight
she came in and found the daughter sitting by the bed.
“Hello,” Lucy
said.
The woman didn’t take her eyes off her father.
“It’s going to be tonight, isn’t it?” she said.
“I’m sorry.
There’s no way to say for sure.” Lucy checked the man’s breathing. The rattles
were getting more drawn out and there were long pauses between them. The
dementia wraith had curled around the man’s head like a strange, spiky hat.
“I wish I could
have talked to him, just once more. He was a good dad, you know, before.” Her
voice shuddered.
“I’m sure he
knows you’re here.”
“I hope so.”
Lucy swallowed,
trying to remove the lump from her throat. Mr. Rutherford might still wake, if
she could get the wraith off him. But to do that she needed a little privacy.
“Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee, have a little break? I’ll stay with
him.”
The woman
hesitated, but after a while she gave in. “Okay. Maybe just a short one? I’ll
be right back.”
As soon as the
door closed, Lucy grabbed one of the demon’s legs and pulled. It kicked and
scratched and bit like an incensed cat, and every time she made a bit of
progress, the thing scrambled back onto Mr. Rutherford’s head.
“You’ll never
get him off like that,” a deep, dark voice said from behind her.
Lucy turned
around.
Death leaned
against the wall, cold and skeletal in its dark robes embroidered with
moonlight.
“Well, what do
you suggest?” She wasn’t afraid. Death was no stranger to her; it was a
colleague, like Doctor Thomason.
“You’ll need a
bait, my dear. Any memories you’re willing to part with?”
Lucy thought.
“It can have the two weeks of stomach flu I had last year.”
Death shook his
head. “That won’t do. You’ll need something tasty.”
She sighed.
“Fine. The day at the zoo when I was five?”
“That will do.
Permit me?” Death reached a bony finger towards her head.
Lucy nodded. It
didn’t hurt, but its touch was cold and smooth like surgical steel. Death held a glowing shred of memory, writhing
like a snake in its grip. The wraith sniffed the air and started crawling down
Mr. Rutherford’s chest.
“Quick. In
here!” Lucy lifted the lid off the bedside commode. In went the memory, and the
wraith pounced after it. She slammed the lid down and lifted a few heavy boxes
of disinfectant from the supply cupboard on top of it. The commode rocked as
she pushed it into the connecting, empty room.
Mr. Huntington
blinked and his eyes focused. He coughed.
“Nicely done,”
Death said, “but I’ll need to take him soon.”
“Come on. Let’s
have a cup of coffee so his daughter can say goodbye.”
Death dug an
hourglass from its pocket and checked it. “I suppose I can spare a few
minutes.”
They passed the
daughter in the hall. Lucy smiled at her.
“I was just
coming to get you. He’s awake.”
The woman
rushed inside.
Lucy took Death
by the crook of its arm. “Come on. I have some of those animal crackers you
like.”
I loved it!
ReplyDelete