by R. B. Payne
On the fifth anniversary, Death appeared as Kurt Cobain.
Trudy knew Death had plucked a teenage crush from her memories. Even still, Kurt’s messy blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes nearly seduced her.
Come with me.
It was hardly fair for Death to tempt her like that, especially when she was so helpless like this.
* * *
Reaching upwards, Trudy’s fingertips edged onto a ripple of stone and her body tensed as she pulled vertical another twelve inches. Raising her knee, she set her boot onto a narrow foothold and adjusted her ropes.
“How’s it going down there?” Ben’s voice carried on the hot summer wind. The rope above her snaked across the rough surface as it tightened and when it was taut she knew she could relax a moment.
“Good,” she called, catching her breath. Looking at the route upwards she realized it would be tougher now. The rock tower known as The Chimney was a moderately difficult climb but the bolts were iffy and the Utah sun and wind had polished its sandstone surface to the point of slickness.
She chalked her hands.
“Ready,” she shouted, and started up the narrow split laughingly referred to as Elevator Shaft by experienced climbers.
* * *
The clatter of the Meds cart meant it was late morning. Her saliva thickened in anticipation of a dribble of apple juice. They always gave her a sip before inserting drugs into her IV.
Hands adjusted her blankets. Then came the uncomfortable tug of the PEG tube directly entering her stomach as they shifted her body to prevent bedsores.
“Here you are, Hon,” said Nurse Delany.
A drip of juice slid down Trudy’s throat.
Why didn’t they ever notice her thickening saliva? Surely, if they paid attention, someone would figure out she was conscious.
But no one did. The doctors knew she had brain activity but not one of them thought it was enough to indicate she was aware.
Damn it, she was.
Trudy struggled to open her eyes, like she did every day. No good. She couldn’t move her fingers, adjust her leg, raise an eyebrow, or utter a moan.
She was totally trapped.
* * *
At the top of Elevator Shaft, Trudy paused on a ledge to admire the scenery. To the west were the asphalt and gravel rooftops of Moab and the endless golden and orange windswept cliffs of Canyonlands National Park.
Above her, Ben was racing up Stardust Cowboy, a difficult pitch, at best. Beyond lay the summit and the goal of today’s climb.
On the horizon, walls of afternoon thunderheads were roiling, black and ominous.
“Hey!” Trudy called. “We’ve got clouds.”
Ben’s voice drifted back. “I saw them. Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”
She looked up. He was almost there. She still had to negotiate the toughest part of the climb. Sometimes she lamented the fact that women had less testosterone than men.
“Right-o,” she said, and tugging on the rope to make sure it was anchored, started up the steepest pitch she had ever climbed.
* * *
Trudy heard the snap of a clipboard and Paul Drake said something to Perry or Della on the television, and she knew it was between 3 and 4 p.m.
Doctor de Roche on his rounds.
A gentle hand squeezed her wrist to take her pulse. She concentrated, working to make her heart race.
Please, please, go faster!
Nothing happened.
Nothing ever did.
“Any change, Nurse?” he asked.
A woman’s low voice muttered. That would be Nurse Fields.
Damn it, speak up.
“Thank you, Nurse.”
She heard a pen scribbling on paper and then the hollow sound of departing footsteps meant she was alone again.
* * *
On the summit of The Chimney the air was hot and dusty, the sun intense. The thunderheads had moved closer and they agreed to rest only a few minutes.
Another time, she and Ben might have made love, but there were two other climbers smoking a joint and although she doubted they would care (and questioned the wisdom of getting high three hundred and eighty feet above the valley floor), she preferred privacy. And, anyway, her legs were complaining about the climb and she’d need every ounce of strength to get down.
Trudy swatted at a fly resting on her Girls Rock tattoo and watched Ben as he checked his ropes, took inventory of the gear, and swigged the last of his water. He scrambled to his feet and three-sixtied the horizon.
“God, it’s beautiful.”
She smiled as he ran his fingers through his hair and re-tied his ponytail before putting on his helmet.
He was ideal. Smart. Athletic. Good-looking but not taken by his own looks. He had ambition but he’d never be cruelly ambitious.
And he was totally in love with her.
“Yeah,” Trudy said. “Beautiful, alright.”
But she was looking at him and not the scenery as she clipped on her helmet and struggled to her feet.
* * *
Ben visited the hospital only twice after she stabilized. In the beginning, he’d been there every day, but the frequency slowed until she wasn’t so sure when he’d return next.
The first time was to say he was sorry. He’d already said it a hundred times sitting by her bedside, but this was somehow official. Ben was full of guilt but she had no way to console him. He sat for hours, talking to her and crying until he left without saying good-bye.
Trudy knew why he’d come.
He’d given up on her recovering consciousness.
She was dead to him.
It pissed her off, but it didn’t last long. She’d been totally angry with him for the first year, but in the second year she’d had more than sufficient time to think through the events of that afternoon, and had reached a certain acceptance.
It takes two to tango.
Ben had made mistakes, but so had she. Climbers are responsible for their own gear. She had fucked up and paid the price.
The next time Ben appeared it was a total surprise since she had lost hope he would ever return. But one day, between meds and pulse taking, she heard the rustle of someone entering the room and a child say “Daddy, who’s that?”
Ben’s voice floated into her ears.
“An old friend, sweetie. Here, let me show you.”
Trudy felt the pat of small feet on the blanket near her hand and the wiggling of a child vibrated the bed.
“Hey Trudy,” said Ben. “I know it’s been a while. I moved away and I didn’t know how to tell you but I’m in town visiting my Mom so I thought I’d come by to see how you’re doing.”
There was an awkward silence only he could fill.
“Jeez, you look great,” he said. She wondered what he saw while there was another long silence. His hand caressed her cheek.
“Is she dead, Daddy?”
“Oh no sweetie. She’s just asleep. You know, like Sleeping Beauty.”
“Is she waiting for a Prince to come and kiss her?”
“I suppose so.”
Trudy felt warmth as Ben took her hand into his.
“You probably figured I’d get married. You know, people move on. It’s, uh, been a while and her name is Heather and the two of you would really like each other. And, this squirt is Bethany. She came with the deal. You know I always shot straight with you and I… well…”
Trudy felt Ben lay her hand down and the little feet lifted away. She tried to imagine him now. Did he look the same? Was his hair long? Was he still rugged? Or had he turned corporate— a bit flabby with button-down shirts and khaki trousers? Didn’t matter really, she could still remember his smile.
“…well, anyway, I just wanted you to know. So, uh, well, bye.”
Trudy listened to Bethany’s questions as the door swung shut and the sound of the ventilator and monitors once again became her constant companion.
Sadness flushed through her and she wished she could cry.
* * *
At the top of Elevator Shaft, Trudy felt the first rain drop. Looking up, the sky was blue but the red rock around her was freckled with damp spots. A grey curtain of rain reached to the desert floor a mile away and the wind was carrying the rain to her. It wouldn’t be long before they were drenched.
Ben dropped onto the ledge beside her and pulled down a rope from above.
“We’ve got to move faster,” he said, looping a rope through a carabiner and attaching it to a bolt in the rock face.
A rumble of thunder immediately followed a flash of lightning.
“That was close,” she said. “Maybe we should ride it out.”
Ben quickly tied two ropes together.
“Go,” he said. “I’m right behind you. Just stay focused, use the brake, and you’ll be fine.”
She looked at the knot and reached to re-tie it.
Ben stopped her. “No time.” The rock surface was completely soaked now as rain pelted them and rivulets of water splashed down the rock face.
“That’s a one-sided overhand bend. You know I don’t use it.”
A crack of thunder deafened her as Ben took the rope from her and dropped it down Elevator Shaft.
Trudy looked over the edge. The rope dangled a hundred and twenty feet straight down. Then, it was a ledge and forty more feet to safety.
She gave Ben a nasty look.
“Don’t be so fucking stubborn,” he responded.
Trudy slid into the crack as Ben stabilized her rope. Rainwater gushed in small rivers past her as she started to rappel. She was tired and wet and scared. It wouldn’t be long before she was climbing down a waterfall.
“Sometimes I hate you,” she called as she slid into the gaping hollow.
* * *
Once it was apparent the life support systems were working, Death visited Trudy whenever her family made their annual pilgrimage.
Her folks lived in Telluride and they came to Denver where she received long-term care. They’d come frequently in the beginning, always with hope and flowers. Now, they came once a year to meet with the doctors and caregivers and have a painful discussion as to whether or not this was the year to pull the plug.
They didn’t know she could hear every word.
* * *
Trudy corkscrewed out of control as a roaring torrent of rainwater pushed her from the safety of the wall. She twisted and planted a foot back on solid rock.
“Ben!”
No answer.
She squinted upwards through the deluge pounding her. How far had she come? She couldn’t see anything, let alone Ben. She swivelled to look down. How much farther?
A vibration in the rope sent a wave of fear through her. She’d passed the overhand knot some distance above. Then the rope slipped, letting her drop a foot or two. Suddenly she couldn’t breath as she realized what was happening.
Trudy felt the knot capsize as it failed.
She had seconds.
The one-sided overhand bend was known as the European Death Knot if it had been tied too quickly or with uneven rope sizes. Maybe it was simply unable to hold in all this water.
Feet dangling, she ran her hands over the vertical wall. There had to be a bolt somewhere, if she could find it, she could attach.
Uncontrolled, she dropped another four or five feet and her scream was drowned out by the rushing water. How much more rope did she have? Her fingers flew back to the wall, searching, searching, searching.
Then, she found cold metal under the sheeting water, and her hand scrambled to locate a carabiner on her climbing harness. She slid it onto the bolt, and tied a safety rope to it.
Above her, the rappel rope went limp; the knot had completely failed. The rope tumbled by, a multi-colored snake in the murky water.
“Fuck me!” Trudy said, her heart racing out of control.
But she was safe.
Hold on tight, hold on, hold on.
And then the bolt failed, ripped from the rock by her weight, and she was tumbling earthward in a roaring cascade.
* * *
Trudy lay in a field of undulating wild grass and alpine flowers, alongside a cold-looking river carving its way along the base of the Tetons. On a sandy beach, a green canoe with two oars rested, and she could smell campground smoke although she couldn’t see from where it came.
A feeling of tranquility slid through her as she rose to her feet. This was her favorite place on Earth.
“May I help you, Miss?”
She turned, and there stood a ranger, his olive green uniform smartly pressed. Atop his head, the traditional park service ranger hat.
Handsome.
But something was wrong. Disoriented, she bent over and rested her palms on her knees, breathing heavily. She had the distinct feeling of falling, falling, falling.
Maybe she should sit.
The ranger checked his clipboard. “Miss Halloran? You’re here for canoeing, I see. If you’re ready, let’s get started.”
“Give me a minute,” Trudy said.
“Please, come with me, Miss Halloran. It’s the best thing to do.”
The ranger motioned toward the canoe.
“I don’t feel well.”
“You’ll be much better once we get going.” The ranger tapped his watch. “We’re on a schedule, you know.”
Trudy touched her hair, expecting it to be wet. Glancing at the bright blue sky, it was clearly mid-day but there was no sun.
“Where am I?” she said.
The ranger stared at her.
“Seriously, what is this place?”
“Some people say they want to know, but they really don’t. It will be easier if you just come with me to the canoe. A short paddle and you’ll feel much better on the other side of the river. I guarantee it.”
“Tell me. I can take it.”
The ranger unfolded a park map and pointed.
“In-Between Meadows.”
Trudy scanned the horizon trying to get a fix on her location.
“In-Between… in-between fucking what?”
“In-between here and there. He pointed to the horizon. That’s where you came from. He hooked a thumb and motioned over his shoulder to the river, “And that’s where you’re going. You’re… in-between.”
“I don’t remember signing up for a canoe ride. Where, specifically, am I going?”
A perturbed look crossed his face. “Actually, I only know where you’re coming from. I have no idea where you’re going. It’s my job to paddle you across the river.”
“And what if I want to cancel my appointment?”
He consulted his clipboard. “Usually folks don’t have a choice, but I see you are hanging on.”
Images flashed through Trudy’s mind. Red rocks. Rushing water. Her helmet splitting as she hit solid ground. She gasped and the ranger grabbed her elbow to support her.
She looked at him hopefully. “Hanging on to the bolt?”
“No,” the ranger said, “to your life.”
A Golden Retriever loped to the ranger. He petted the dog and pulled a tennis ball from his pocket then swished the ball in the air.
“Look at this, boy. You know you want it. Oh, yes you do.”
The dog nipped at the ball. The ranger threw it to the far side of the river. Trudy was incredulous. It was an amazing throw.
“Go get it, boy.” He gently urged the dog away. “Go on.”
The retriever raced to the water’s edge, swam the river, and climbing onto the opposite shore, and then became a golden orb of light that floated into the sky and disappeared.
Trudy took a step back from the ranger and studied him.
“I get it,” she said finally. “You’re Death. You’re a hallucination.”
“Indeed, you have identified me. But I am not a figment of your imagination.” He offered his hand. “Please, come with me.”
Trudy refused his hand. His skin was oddly translucent and she imagined she could see bones beneath the flesh.
“I don’t want to.”
“My, you are stubborn.” Again, the ranger consulted his clipboard. “Well, because of your situation, I can’t force you. I can let you return, but you understand I may see you again in a few minutes, hours, or days. Your vessel is gravely damaged, you know.”
“I don’t care,” Trudy said.
“I can wait,” the ranger said as he made a checkmark on a sheet of paper. “But I had to take your child. There was no choice.”
In blackness, Trudy heard the rotors of a helicopter. She felt damp wind and mud drops buffet her body as the ‘copter thumped onto the ground.
Why couldn’t she open her eyes?
Confusing time passed.
Gentle hands lifted her.
Why couldn’t she speak?
The prick of a needle. A stiff board beneath her back. A blanket over her body. An oxygen mask across her mouth. The comfort of velvet darkness approached her mind as sadness constricted her heart.
She hadn’t known she was pregnant.
* * *
In Trudy’s world, Death was Light.
She always knew when he approached because a ribbon of luminescence brightened her peripheral vision and then she was in the In-Between.
The In-Between was always different and that pleased her. And although she hated the danger her family represented when they appeared with their conversations about her soul, her quality of life, and how much less the insurance company was willing to pay, she had grown to look forward to the brief moments where she could see and actually talk to someone.
Even if he was Death.
* * *
On the first anniversary, Death said nothing, and he didn’t bother to present her with the In-Between. He sat wordlessly on a molded plastic chair, a black woolen cowl covering his features. His scythe leaned casually against the wall and his arms were folded across his chest.
It was all she could see in the tunnel vision that Death offered.
Voices from around the bed carried to her.
“She looks so peaceful.”
“I’ll wait outside, I need a cigarette.”
“Do you think she can hear us?”
“She’s in a coma. There’s always a chance she’ll recover.”
“It would have been so much more kind if she, well, hadn’t lived. You know, I’m just saying.”
“Look at all this equipment.”
“C’mon, Mom, let’s get a cup of coffee. I saw a machine down the hall.”
Trudy checked off the voices: Dr. De Roche, Dad, Mom, her brother Bobby, and Uncle Roy and Aunt Patsy Jo from West Texas.
At the far end of her tunnel vision, Death unfolded his arms and, with an ivory-boned finger, motioned her to follow him.
Come with me.
* * *
On the second anniversary of her accident, Death came as a life insurance salesman. Not a real insurance salesman, that’s just how he looked to Trudy.
Grey-haired, wrinkled, wire-rimmed glasses, kindly. Leather briefcase.
“Good afternoon, Miss Halloran.”
They were sitting in the reception lobby of a glass and steel office building overlooking a city she didn’t recognize. Workers hurried by, but never close enough to get a true glance at their faces.
“I thought perhaps you’d be more comfortable in an urban setting while we wait,” Death said.
For the moment, Trudy was speechless. It was eerily quiet, but she heard the murmur of distant voices.
“She looks so peaceful.”
“I’ll wait outside, I need a cigarette.”
“Do you think she can hear us?”
“No, the Doctor says it’s a long shot.”
“Can she recover?”
“Well, there’s always a chance. Did you read about that woman in Omaha?”
* * *
In her third year, Trudy learned French and by the time Death visited her, she was fluent. Nurse Delany had placed a CD player next to her bed and hour after hour the lessons looped until Trudy knew them by heart.
Trudy sensed the ribbon of light. Death approached and she floated out of her body. Sight flooded into her eyes and, as they adjusted to the darkness of night, she realized she was standing on a hillside path overlooking a rustic village. The air was warm and scented with lavender.
The night sky filled with swirling clouds, the stars blazed with their own luminescence, and a bright crescent moon cast a dim light across the countryside.
Below, warm yellow light poured from distant village windows. Remembrances of her childhood flooded through Trudy as the peacefulness of the scene filled her.
“You were an art student and now you’ve learned French,” said a voice. “I thought this place might be appropriate.”
She turned to face a fiery-eyed disheveled red-headed man with a goatee.
“Starry Night. Wow,” Trudy said in awe. “But Vincent Van Gogh wasn’t French,” she admonished.
“Close enough,” said Death.
A wind kicked through the trees behind them and the sound of rising voices edged to them on the breeze.
“Well, she doesn’t look any better.”
“She’s so thin.”
“Don’t they ever put lotion on her skin?”
“I’ll wait outside, I need a cigarette.”
“The Doctor says she seems more vegetative.”
“Don’t cry, Mom.”
Vincent touched Trudy’s shoulder.
“I thought we might have a glass of wine in the village. Despite the late hour, I happen to know a café is open and the noise of the crowd will obscure your family’s deliberations. Perhaps we could wait there, Miss Halloran?”
“Bien sur. But promise to call me Trudy, okay?”
She took his hand and grasped it tightly. It was the most alive she’d felt in a long, long time.
Hand-in-hand, they walked down the hill to the village. Their conversation carried on the flowered breeze.
“Perhaps someday I could paint you.”
Girlish laughter followed.
* * *
Death was a regular visitor in the fourth year.
In the spring, Trudy’s breathing became shallow and halting, her lips and mouth were scraped raw from the insertion of plastic tubes. She desperately needed to cough but couldn’t. The pain in her chest felt like fire as her lungs filled with fluid. Where the tracheotomy tube entered, her neck was infected and itched relentlessly. An itch that couldn’t be scratched.
Pneumonia had become a persistent companion.
Worse yet, her mind was growing dim and sometimes she didn’t know where she was. Or who she was. Long periods of time passed and then she would suddenly snap back to consciousness. In moments of clarity, she knew she was wasting away.
Dying.
Becoming a vegetable.
Hold on tight, hold on, hold on.
Her life was fading.
Hold on tight, hold on, hold on.
“Trudy?”
Somewhere, a ribbon of light approached and Trudy felt the relief of the In-Between.
“Perhaps it’s time for you to come with me.”
“No.”
An ocean wave swept onto a beach and receded. She recognized the shoreline as Malibu, a place she’d left a long time ago. Off the shore, the waves were barreling and the surfers were carving perfectly through the A-Frames.
She had grown up here, surfing and sunbathing.
Trudy watched for the longest time as the riders paddled for position and took the waves. She breathed in the salt air and curled her toes in the sand.
She turned to speak to Death and was surprised she didn’t know the human form he had taken. He appeared to be some surfer dude.
“Is it really you?” she asked. “I don’t recognize your form.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I had to come quickly, your vessel is failing, and we quickly picked something appropriate.”
A perturbed look crossed her face.
“Are there more than one of you?”
“There is only one of me but many of us. Countless guides are required for such a large endeavor.”
His hand swept to indicate the world.
She flopped onto the sand to rest and sat where she could talk to him and still watch the surfers.
“Then you must know what it all means. You know… life and death.”
“I’m sorry, Trudy, I don’t. No one knows what it means.”
“So where do we go when we cross the river?”
“Existence is permanent, form is transient. That’s all I know.”
A beep sounded on his waterproof watch.
“It’s a busy time, I have to go,” he said. “But I’ll be back if you need me.”
“Bring me back here again and I’ll teach you to surf.”
Death smiled.
Then she was trapped in the hell that was her body, hoping she could stay sane until he came again.
In the summer she taught Death to hang ten, although the end was getting closer and closer and the Trudy in the bed hardly knew who or where she was.
* * *
On the fifth anniversary, Death appeared as Kurt Cobain. They were standing in In-Between Meadows, he a blond-haired God created to guide her.
Come with me.
She took a step backward from Kurt, he was too… luscious.
High on the craggy mountainsides, the sun glinted off sheltered snow. In the grassy meadow, the air was warm and fresh with no smells of antiseptics, floor wax, or hospital sickness. It felt wonderful to be whole again and she flexed the tattoo on her arm and drew a deep breath.
Girls Rock.
“I want to see you as you really are,” she said, and, after a pause, Kurt transformed to a floating golden orb.
The sounds of a lawyer reached her ears. “Pursuant to the laws of the State of Colorado…” but Trudy tuned him out. She knew what was happening. They were going to pull the plug. Other voices drifted to her.
“It’s for the best.”
“She’s going to a better place.”
“I’ll wait outside, I need a cigarette.”
“She’ll be with Grandpa and Grandma Billings, now.”
She felt the warmth of a hand on hers.
“We love you, Trudy.”
Mother.
“Me too, Truds. I love you, baby.”
Father.
The lawyer had finished and Doctor De Roche said, “Are we ready?”
“Yes,” Trudy heard her mother whisper.
The room became quieter as the machines were powered off until all that was left was the beeping of the heart monitor.
“I’m in love with you,” Trudy said to Death. “It’s crazy. You’re probably nothing but dying brain cells but you give me great comfort.”
“I’m as real as you, Trudy.”
Trudy stepped closer.
“Do you love me?”
The orb flickered, dimmed, then returned to brightness.
“I have grown attached to you. I enjoy our time together. I hate to see you suffer. If that’s love, then yes. I’m sorry, that’s all I am capable of. I wish it were more.”
Trudy reached and tentatively touched the orb. His energy flowed into her.
“It could be more, couldn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” said Death, “but I have hope.”
“You know I don’t want to die,” Trudy said.
“You’re so stubborn. I’ve told you death and birth are the same. There is no end.”
“But there’s an end for Trudy. I’m not done being Trudy. She deserves a life.”
“Indeed she does,” agreed Death.
“Will you wait for me?”
“Of course.”
The alarm from the heart monitor wailed as Trudy flatlined.
“Well, that’s it,” Doctor De Roche said quietly.
Trudy could hear her mother sobbing at the edge of the bed. She felt the cold press of a stethoscope on her breast.
Her fingers twitched.
Her eyes opened.
And a tear ran down her cheek.
* * *
Assembled from stolen body parts, R. B. Payne lives in the hope of being human. Meanwhile, he writes. His stories are in Times of Trouble; Chiral Mad, and a graphic dog-men novel from Island Tales.