Lord Fear by Lucas Mann

Author:Lucas Mann
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

Two months later, I’m at St. Vincent’s hospital on Seventh Avenue because Dave tried to kill himself but then got too scared and managed to hail a cab before passing out. My parents are on vacation, trying to get a flight back home. They called and asked me to be present until they could be. Beth is on her way. I’m alone with him. No, that’s not true. We’re far from alone, but in the crush of the hallway of an overcrowded ER diagnostic ward, we only know each other.

He looks like a Hare Krishna, body robed, head shaved, eyes dulled, and I will myself not to think that. He is writhing. I have never seen a person writhe before, not really, but when I see what he’s doing, I know that’s what writhing is. He’s strapped in, leather buckles pinching the skin on his wrists. A nurse tells me that, maybe half an hour ago, he had screamed that he wasn’t the kind of person who deserved to be treated like this, had sprung off his wheeled cot and sprinted out onto the sidewalk. He was tackled by orderlies halfway down the block, hospital gown ripping, ass out in the wind. So that’s why the straps.

“They fucking shaved my head to mark me as a crazy person,” is the first thing Dave says to me.

I say, “Uh-huh.”

We’re in the middle of a wide hallway. He yells, “Hello?” at anyone in scrubs who passes. They don’t stop moving, on their way to patients who need urgent care, and Dave curses at their backs as they go. I haven’t seen this brother before. Not out in the open like this. I’ve slept next to him and woken to the sounds of his nightmares, but the moment Josh died, Dave’s narrative became one of control and steady redemption. It had to. As I watch him, struggling against his straps, eyes feral, that has never been more clear.

A nurse stops, looks at my face, and says, “He’s stable, hon. Just stay with him.”

There are no seats available, so I stand above his cot and lean down. I surprise myself when I reach my hand out to touch his cheek. It feels like muscle memory, but it’s a movement I’ve never made. I stroke the sweat off his stubble and I tell him he’s safe.

He says, This sucks, over and over again, and when I keep rubbing his cheek and telling him it’s okay, he switches to saying he’s cold, it’s so cold in here. There’s a little blanket that he’s kicked to the foot of the cot. I pick it up and try to cover him with it. It feels good to care for him, but then it hurts and my fingers keep losing grip on the blanket and I can barely keep his legs warm. I tell him that I don’t want him to die. I think I actually say, “I’d be really upset if you died,” which is ridiculous but feels deeply important to hear out loud.

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