Virtual Destruction by Kevin J. Anderson & Doug Beason

Author:Kevin J. Anderson & Doug Beason [Anderson, Kevin J. & Beason, Doug]
Language: eng
Format: E, P, U, B, ,, , O, R, I, G, I, N, A, L, _, E, P, U, B
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2010-12-20T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Thursday

Livermore, California

The bathwater pounded into the tub, but Stevie didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as he usually did. Duane Hopkins tried singing one of the boy’s favorite songs, “You Are My Sunshine,” to no effect.

Stevie coughed, and kept coughing. He wore a strangely perplexed expression on his face, as if wondering why his lungs insisted on filling up with liquid that he couldn’t spit out. The cough made a hollow, rumbling sound, a wetness deep in the boy’s chest that Duane didn’t like a bit. He had given Stevie the children’s cough syrup he’d bought down at the drugstore, but it didn’t seem to be helping.

Seeing the angry red of Stevie’s skin, Duane adjusted the temperature of the water, hoping it wasn’t too hot. The boy made quiet, wordless noises. Duane reached over the rim of the tub to pull Stevie closer, hugging the boy tightly against his chest and soaking his blue-checked flannel shirt. The boy’s muscles were hard and rigid like cables.

“I’m here, Stevie. I’ll try to make it all better.”

The boy cooed, a soft and trusting sound that communicated more to Duane than words ever could. He shut off the running water and let the tub drain out as Stevie splashed and rocked. Duane picked up the boy and held him dripping.

Duane wasn’t a large or a strong man, but his son was so light that he could pick up him up with ease. Stevie’s malfunctioning muscles drew his arms and legs up into a fetal position like a newly hatched bird. Duane rubbed him down with one of the old bath towels—something he and Rhonda had gotten as wedding presents fifteen years ago.

“Here Stevie, we’ve got to give you some more cough syrup,” Duane said and went to the mirrored cabinet, taking out the cherry-flavored elixir. He had bought the one with the most ingredients listed on the side, which he decided must be the strongest medicine. Duane poured a dollop into an old teaspoon and held it to Stevie’s mouth but the boy’s jaws remained clenched and his eyes darted back and forth.

“Come on now,” he said and pulled down on the boy’s chin, pressing the tip of the spoon into Stevie’s mouth. He finally forced the jaws open, spilling some of the cough syrup down the boy’s cheeks but getting most of it into his mouth. Stevie smacked his lips. Duane wiped his son’s face with a wash cloth and then picked him up, tugged his pajamas on, and put him to bed.

Stevie coughed again in his bed. Duane, concerned enough now to call somebody, went into the kitchen and plucked the thumb-worn card from under a refrigerator magnet. For years now the volunteers at the Coalition for Family Values were always helpful as Duane had settled into the routine of how to care for a boy who had cerebral palsy.

“Just call us anytime you need help, hon,” one of the women had said. Duane didn’t like to take advantage of their hospitality often, but now he picked up the phone and dialed the local office.

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