The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(36)

“Imagine you’re in a room with everyone you care about. Partying. Enjoying yourself. They’re laughing and having fun. You are too.” He coughs and spits out more charcoal. “Then it changes. Gets dark. You can still see your friends, but they can’t see you. Can’t hear you. You can’t touch them or get them to pay attention to you.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” I say, though I don’t mean to say it out loud.

The man nods. “And there’s a voice whispering that you deserve to be alone. That they never liked you and only pretended to be your friend out of pity. That they’re so much happier when you’re not with them. You don’t want to believe the voice, but you know deep in your heart that the voice speaks only the truth.”

July inches nearer to the bed. “So you decided to take some pills and end it?”

“Why bother with life if it’s nothing but pain?”

“That’s ridiculous,” July says. “You wouldn’t cut off your hand if you got a splinter in your finger.”

“You might if it got infected and gangrenous.”

“We should go, July,” I say. Arguing with someone who attempted to take their own life isn’t a good idea, and I don’t see how it helps us figure out why July’s not-dead, but July ignores me.

“How do you feel now?” she asks. “You didn’t die. The doctor told you that you should have died, but you didn’t. They put that charcoal shit in you and it’ll get the poison out, and you’re going to live.” July looks at the man expectantly. “You’re glad for the second chance, right?”

The man shakes his head. “If the next words out of your mouth have to do with Jesus, I’m dumping this pan over your head.”

I hear voices outside of the room heading our way.

“Then what’s the point?” July says.

“Exactly.”

We can’t risk being caught in this room, so I pull July toward the door and peer out. Two nurses are walking in our direction. I do the only thing I can think of, and grab July and run. One of the nurses sees us and yells, but I don’t have time to see if we’re being followed.

A doctor in a white coat makes a grab for me but only gets a handful of my sleeve, which I twist out of his grasp.

“Come on!” I burst into a stairwell and run up. July and I climb to the top and out onto the roof. I gently shut the door and lead July behind a huge AC unit. It’s big enough to hide us from being seen, but so loud that we won’t be able to hear anyone if they sneak up on us.

I’m sweaty and gross, but we’re so close to the intracoastal that there’s a light breeze coming off the water, and it feels amazing. The moon is three-quarters waxing and hangs overhead, seeming to loom much larger than normal.

I give July a couple of minutes to collect herself, hoping she’ll decide to talk on her own, but she sits on the gravel roof with her knees pulled to her chest, rocking from side to side.

“You said you wanted to figure out why you were not-dead, not to interrogate someone who tried to end their life.”

“That woman,” July says. “You think she was in pain?”

“I hope not.”

“What do you think happens to her if this thing ends?”

Neither of us even knows what this “thing” is, so guessing when or how it ends is useless, but I say, “I hope she’ll be allowed to die.”

“And the other guy?” July says. “Do you think he’ll die too?”

“I don’t know.”

July looks at me. “Neither do I. This should be a good thing. People get hurt, like the guy who got hit by the car outside Monty’s, but they don’t die, which gives their bodies a chance to heal.”

God, Monty’s feels like forever ago, but it was only a couple of hours. “I don’t think there’s any way to fix what’s wrong with the woman we saw.”

“Why is this happening if it’s not to make people better?” she says. “I want to go home, but I can’t. It’d be cruel to make my parents live with my decomposing corpse or to spend a few days or weeks with me and then have to lose me for a second time. No matter what, I’d be hurting them.

“I thought I could live with this if it helped other folks, but what the hell good is it if it means they’re going to suffer like that woman or if they don’t want to live in the first place?”

July stops and cocks her head to the side.

I get on my belly and slowly poke my head around the condenser. Two doctors are standing by the door smoking. They both look haggard, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I’ve never understood how doctors can smoke. It’s like a firefighter deliberately disabling the smoke detectors in her house and then setting fire to her couch.

We wait for them to finish, and I consider what July was saying. It seems like a miracle on the surface—no one dies; everyone lives—but based on what we’ve witnessed, the miracle looks more like torture. And I get why July might think it hopeless, but we’ve only seen a small piece of what’s going on. She doesn’t have the whole picture.

Eventually, the doctors finish their break and leave.

“Go on,” I tell her.

But the fire’s burned out of July. She’s sunken in on herself. “That guy didn’t want to live—he still doesn’t. Who are we to deny him what he wants?”