CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

His brother was breathing, but that was all. Tab grabbed his mother’s iPhone, unlocked it, and dialed 911. He put the call on speaker and laid it on the floor beside his mother and brother. As the remote end of the call rang, Sandra said, “Go get the ice pack out of the freezer. Get some towels, too. Dampen one of them. Hurry.”

By the time Tab returned, the 911 operator was assuring Sandra an ambulance was on the way. He handed his mother the towels and ice pack. With the damp towel, she dabbed at blood around the cross-shaped puncture wound in Jeremy’s scalp. The dry towels she rolled and placed under his neck. This allowed the back of his head to rest on the floor and his mouth to hang open. After clearing away enough blood to reveal the wound, she used a clean corner of the damp towel to apply direct pressure.

In the distance, the warble of one of Hollow County’s ambulance sirens swelled. “I can hear the ambulance coming,” Sandra shouted to the iPhone. Then she turned on Tab. “What in the blue blazes happened in here?”

A lump rose from somewhere in his chest and plugged his throat. “I—” he started. “I think I tripped him on accident. He hit his head on the coffee table. He’s going to be okay, isn’t he? He’s just knocked out, right?”

Before Sandra could answer, the ambulance arrived. Blessings of a small town with a satellite EMT station. “Go meet them,” she said. “Bring them right here.” She stroked Jeremy’s forehead with two fingers and kissed him.

Tab dashed outside to meet two EMTs. A tall man, taller than he had ever seen, with smiling green eyes, curly blond hair, and enormous hands carried some rectangular equipment in one hand. A smaller woman, brunette with broad shoulders and muscular forearms, strode beside him. Tab motioned them inside. “He’s in there.” He indicated the family room, leading the way and creating a Tab-sized breeze behind him as he ran.

The two EMTs kept pace. In the family room, they knelt by the supine boy. The man hooked up his machine, which transmitted heart rhythm and breathing information to a small monitor. The woman took over attempting to rouse Jeremy as Sandra looked on. His mom’s ashen face was lined with worry. For the first time, Tab saw what his mother might look like when she became an old lady. Her crying beside his unconscious brother broke his heart.

He sat in the rocker-recliner by the couch and trained his eyes on the black television screen on the other side of the room. It was the one on which he watched his syndicated game shows and, sometimes, the news. He wanted to snag the remote and pop it on, but instinct warned him it would be bad form. His brother was not well. Might die because of him, in fact. Turning on the TV would make it seem like he didn’t care.

He rocked, as muted as he could, his ghostly reflection swaying to-and-fro in the blank screen. In the lower left corner, his mother crouched over the other figures on the floor. The lack of light on her face distorted it, obscuring her distress in the reflection. He preferred to focus on himself. Blocking the scene allowed him to dissociate from it, to pretend he was somewhere else. Soon, he saw another figure materialize behind him.

Roy’s malicious grin swam into focus first. Then his torso and hands appeared. His emergence seemed slower in the screen than it was when he appeared in Tab’s closet. Was he weaker? Because Jeremy’s here? The man’s enormous fingers clasped the back of Tab’s rocker, one on the left side of the boy’s head and one on the right. The arms attached to those hands swung back and forth in the same rhythm as Tab himself.

“Well, now,” said the mocking voice from behind. The Roy reflected in the television lip-synched the words. “I wondered how I was going to take care of the little chore that was your asshole of a brother. You done went and did it for me!”

“It was an accident!” The EMTs ignored Tab’s outburst, but Sandra twisted toward him. “I didn’t hurt him on purpose. He stood up to go find Mom. I was going to go with him. Our legs got tangled as we were standing up and he fell!”

“I told you both to stay put,” Sandra said. Her voice was flat, emotionless.

“I told you both to stay put!” Roy mocked, his imitation unrealistically shrill. “Well I, for one, am glad you didn’t stay put, little man.” He bounded around the rocker. His work boots glided through the calves of the woman who was trying to wake Jeremy. She shivered but seemed otherwise unbothered. He rounded in front of Tab and knelt so they were eye-to-mangled eye sockets. Tab did not turn away but tried to focus through Roy, like drivers in a blinding fog who stare at the painted lines to find their way.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him!”

The male EMT spoke up. “Of course you didn’t,” he said, his voice soothing in spite of the burly man he was. “We need to try to wake him right now.” To the other EMT, “No airway obstruction. BP is 118/79. No obvious signs of cardiac arrest. Heart rate is bit fast, but not alarming. Pupils dilate. Blood sugar is 100 milligrams. I assume he’s eaten recently?” He glanced at Sandra, who nodded. “He’s got trauma to the top of the head.”

“Trauma drama!” Roy said. “Could of told ‘em! In fact, y’all did tell them, didn’t ya? They’re just running up the bill with all these other tests, I bet.”

Tab squeezed his eyes shut and plugged his fingers in his ears. “I don’t see you. I can’t hear you.”

Roy answered inside his head. “Oh, you can see and hear me alright. Your brother’s dying and look what you’re doing. You’re sitting there like a lump on a temple with your fingers in your ears and your eyes shut, trying to pretend like it ain’t happening. Is this the kind of man you want to be? Is this what Tim Beard raised?” He scoffed. “I coulda made you a man, son!”

“He’s not dying!” Tab said. “And I don’t want to be a man. Not like you!” Fingers wrapped themselves around his wrists and guided his hands from his ears. He opened his eyes to the blurred visage of his mother leaning over him.

“Tab, please calm down,” she said. “I can’t deal with both you and your brother right now. No, he’s not dying. He’ll be fine. They’ve got him awake now. See?”

Tab followed her nod and saw Jeremy’s eyes were open. He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but the EMTs made him stay flat while they continued their work. One of them began the “follow my finger” concussion test. Based on their reaction, Jeremy seemed to pass it with flying colors.

“See? He got his bell rung a little bit, but he’s going to be fine.”

As if to confirm, the burly man spoke up then. “Since he was unconscious for a bit, I do think a doctor should have a look. Just in case. I don’t think he’s going to need stitches. It’s a nasty looking little puncture wound, but it’s not as bad as it appears.”

“But all the blood—”

“Head wounds bleed more than cuts on your arms or hands,” the man said. “Trust me, this is a minor one. We’ll ready him for transport, though. Better safe than sorry. Do you want to follow us?”

Tab’s rage boiled over. He spun around on the cushion of the rocker, his knees sinking deep into the nap, and screamed at Roy. “YOU LIED TO ME AGAIN!”

Except Roy wasn’t there anymore. Only empty air and the hallway filled the space behind the rocker. On the floor was the copy of Dr. Clifford’s book that his mother had dropped. Tab returned to his seat, cutting his eyes to the left to see if the EMTs were staring at him. The man and the woman both averted their gaze and went back to doting on Jeremy.

“He was here, wasn’t he?” Sandra asked. “Roy.”

Tab nodded solemnly. “I guess he left when Jeremy woke up. He’s going to come back as soon as Jeremy is away or asleep. I know he will. I’m never going to be rid of him, am I?”

Sandra pursed her lips, eyes focused somewhere above him for a few seconds. “Does he have to be transported?” she asked the EMTs. “Can we take him to the ER ourselves or something? If not, can Tab ride in the ambulance with him while I follow behind in the car? The little one doesn’t like being separated from his brother in weird situations like this.”

That was a lie, of course. Current situation aside, the brothers had an unspoken understanding. Neither of them wanted to be bothered by the other. Their disparate interests and at-odds personalities meant they interacted only when they had to. Or when there was a Batman movie on. Even then, they seldom spoke unless Jeremy wanted to lob insults. Tab’s trust in his mother’s honesty had faded some since Roy’s appearance. For reasons not the least of which were the questions over Tab’s own lineage. He could forgive this white lie to the EMTs, though, if it meant he could keep Roy at bay until they figured out how to do so without his brother.

The male EMT sighed. “As a rule, we allow one family member to ride along, and only if they ride up front so they can be buckled in. It’s an older family member most of the time, though.” He nodded at Tab. “He isn’t five feet tall yet. State law says a kid under five feet has to ride in a rear seat.”

“Okay, so what if we take him to the ER ourselves?”

The man’s tone changed, his expression betraying the offense in his head. “Are you refusing transport?”

“Yeah,” Sandra said. She combed her hair out of her face and met the man’s eyes. “Yeah, I guess I am. If it’s safe for us to load him in the car, we’ll take him ourselves. Can you walk, hon?”

“I think so,” Jeremy said, his voice strong as ever. Tab took it as a sign that he was fine after all.

“Let’s see if you can even stand up first, huh?” the EMT said. “Try standing up. I’ll help you.” The EMT sat Jeremy up and wrapped one thick arm around the boy’s waist. He draped Jeremy’s left arm over his own shoulder. Together, the two pushed upward on their legs until Jeremy was on his feet. The EMT released him, but without much distance in case he started to collapse again. He didn’t.

“Are you dizzy or anything? Everything look steady?”

Jeremy nodded. “Yep. Seems normal to me.”

“Okay. I’m right beside you. I want you to take a few steps. Can you walk to that TV and back?” Jeremy did, and did so at a normal pace. The EMT shook his head, smacked his lips, a sardonic grin spread across the lower half of his face. “Well, I guess you’re good to go.” He turned to Sandra. “If y’all don’t need anything else, we’ll mark you down as having refused transport and be on our way.”

Sandra thanked them, and they were gone. Tab wondered what they might be saying to each other as they drove away, discussing his strange outbursts from the rocker. What might they say about his odd mom, too, insisting her injured son not ride in the ambulance because her younger and apparently healthy son might miss him.

“Mom,” Jeremy said as she monitored the ambulance turning left out of their driveway. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Everybody in the car,” she said, snatching the Dr. Clifford book off the floor. She shoved it into a purse she grabbed from a table near the front door.