(under construction)
06 Chapter 2 draft
Rowan dreamed of water. And dust.
Dustwater, deep orange or red. Turbid. The color of fish-meat, something foreign and familiar, somehow. She had seen it once. Tasted it. Could not recall. Something there. Floating. Unseen and seen.
She drank. The dustwater quenched her thirst. It gave her breath. It was good. Bloody and alive. Nutrient and inevitable. A hum beneath the surface. In the water. In her arm. The right one.
She swam.
Brauna then swam beside her. Good dog. Smart dog. Brave dog. The dog moved through the medium with no effort. Legs pistoning, gliding the corpuscular world aside. Eddies followed in her wake. Spirals of motion. Something growing in the swirl.
Something was here. Beyond the dog and the dustwater. Something else.
Brauna pulled ahead. Her steady guide through this communion. Her tail ruddered in the current. Gliding through the dustwater swamp – and something. Tail pulsing left right left right. Now toylike. A bath toy now, wound tight with a key of silver rotating in her back. Jerking animation. Mechanical. Alive. The tail shifting and locking to the right. The body rotating in the dustwater bath.
She faced Rowan. Barked once.
Stop.
Did she speak? Stop what?
Rowan obeyed. She spread her arms to still herself, dustwater closing around her in a calm. Dustwater the color of blood before it clots. Something was coming. She felt it before seeing it. More curious than scared. Awaiting an inevitable.
A shape slivered out of the dustwater cloud. Slow. Sure. Wise. A fish. Silver-skinned. Veins of ochre pulsing its flanks. Her flanks. It swam to Brauna and held there, the two of them suspended in that terrible stillness facing her. Toy Brauna nodding her head, solemn, reverential, evangelist.
It spoke: I’m hungry.
Brauna spoke again: I am here now. Witness.
The words entered through the blood, not the ear. Witness. Something cooed in her arm. A small voice or a thrum. She didn’t speak. She didn’t ask. She waited. She obeyed. She witnessed. Weightless. Serene. Confused.
Dustwater curled away, leaving the three suspended in sanguine fluid. And something.
–
She woke. She swam in the detritus of the dream, floating with dustwater jetsam. Something there. Something witnessed. Her arm vibrated. Or murmured. Hungry.
The room had metamorphosed. It was larger. Golden light promising from a window. Flower full dresser on a wal. Clean. Antiseptic. The pervasive room fluoresced with all seeing light. She floated in the shining stillness between dream and non-dream. Her eyes hurt.
Blinking to awaken her eyes, she witnessed a wheelchair. A guest sofa. A doctor’s wheeled stool. A dog.
“Brauna!” Her eyes obeyed and took in the dog. Her dog.
The massive roommate stepped delicately from the corner to the bedside. Her oversized dog bed sunken. Rowan smiled and tried to reach for her — instinctively, with the right hand. Nothing worked.
Brauna rose, paws on the bed’s edge, and pressed her head against the silver hand. Rowan reached with her left arm and caressed the dog’s wrinkled brow. “Hello B.”
Rowan tried to sit up. Something tethered her to the bed. A cuff around her wrist. A prisoner.
Brauna dropped to the floor and growled.
Beside the bed sat a small round object covered in wheat-colored cloth. A coral light pulsed above a salmon notecard that read SAY ‘CALL NURSE’.
“Uh, call nurse,” she said. Nothing happened.
“Call nurse,” she said again louder, and the light turned green.
“A nurse will respond shortly.”
The voice — female, Irish maybe, not American — floated from somewhere unseen. Rowan lay back and examined the cuff. Not locked, just a buckle.
“Brauna, hi girl.”
The dog sat, watching her. Rowan, with the animate appendage, reached for the buckle as the nurse entered.
“Good morning, Rowan.” Green scrubs. The American nurse ended the Irish theory dream.
“Why am I tied to the bed?” said Rowan.
“For your protection. The arm, you … struggled while you slept.”
Brauna stood between them, surveillant. “Brauna, up here, girl.”
Rowan patted the left side of the bed. The dog passed the nurse, pausing to sniff the green scrubs. Inspecting. In one bound she leapt up with the grace of an angel. A guardian angel.
“Thank you,” said the nurse. “I’m Helen — your nurse.” She undid the cuff. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, I guess. Where am I? Is my mom here?”
“You’re at a special facility arranged by Dr. Heka. You’re the only patient. Very special.”
“I don’t understand. How long have I been here? This isn’t the hospital?”
Helen ignored the questions. “A friend has asked to see you. I’ll send him in.”
She pocketed the cuff and left without another word.
“Rude,” said Rowan.
Brauna lowered her head. “Well, at least you’re here.”
Someone entered—jeans and boots, plaid shirt. Flowers in hand. Hair in his eyes. Tadgh.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” said Rowan.
Brauna looked up. Was she smiling? Traitor.
He sat on the guest sofa, flowers still in hand. Silent.
Rowan studied him: out of place, a square peg in a round world. Nothing made sense. He sat upright, waiting.
Brauna shifted on the bed. She loves him. We’ll talk later.
“Do you know where my mom is?”
“Yeah. She’s with Dr. Heka talking about your new arm. They asked me to sit with you when you woke. How’s it going?” The hair was still in his eyes.
“Strange. I thought the hair was in your eyes because you were too busy to move it and you hated hair ties.” Brauna looked at Rowan and grunted.
“What? Too true?”
Tadgh pulled a black-and-white paisley bandana from his pocket, tied it back, and grinned. “Better?”
“Much,” Rowan lied. “How long have I been here?”
“A week.” He was full of answers.
“A week! What happened? Was I asleep? I don’t remember anything except a bizarre dream …”
“Yeah? The operation had some unexpected outcomes. The arm was doing its own thing for a while, so they thought it best you rest until it joined properly.”
“That’s more words than you’ve said to me in four years.” Nothing stirred. “Did… did they put me to sleep or something?”
“Yeah. Dr. Heka thought it best to induce a coma so the system could integrate with what’s left of your arm.”
She looked around the room. Tadgh — who never spoke — now sounded like one of them. She remembered what her mother said about him saving her life.
“I heard you saved me. I need to say thanks, so … thanks.”
“I was close by. Brauna too. We were lucky. I knew that thing was acting up. I’m sorry for what happened.” He glanced at the arm. He paused 3 beats. “What’s it feel like?”
Finally someone asked. “I don’t know. I can’t really feel it, but it’s there. It … I don’t know how to describe it. It buzzes or … whispers,” she laughed. “Weird, right? I don’t know — something I can’t put my finger on.”
Tadgh laughed.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Put your finger on it. It’s a pun.”
Rowan scowled at the silver appendage.
“That’s funny to you? I can’t feel my fingers, my hand, my arm!” She smiled. It felt odd to smile. Wrong but right. What was happening.
“Sorry.”
Brauna barked.
Nurse Helen returned with a tray, set it on a wheeled stand, and raised the bed with a remote. “Dr. Heka ordered solid food for you. Real food will help the integration. Let me know if you need anything. Just say call nurse and I’ll be right there. Enjoy.”
On the tray: a salad scattered with orange flowers, a baked potato, something meat-like, water, and what looked like carrot juice. Enjoy? She wanted a burger.
She wasn’t that hungry, only parched. Tadgh moved to a stool and rolled closer. He slid the tray within reach.
“Carrot juice?” Rowan looked at Tadgh.
“Dr. Heka made a big deal about that. Said it would help the arm heal.”
Rowan remembered the dream. I’m hungry, something had said — the fish? Why am I remembering that?
She reached for the water. Tadgh nudged the orange glass toward her.
“This stuff’s supposed to be really good.”
“All right.” She studied the glass, then him. He smiled.
She took the straw and sipped, watching the orange liquid climb the clear tube. Sweet, mineral. Familiar. Silver arm stirring. A warmth? It filled her. Electric. Strange. Necessary?
She drank more. “Hey, maybe slow down,” said Tadgh.
She drank it all.
Grainy leavings at the bottom—ochre dirt in the water. Dustwater.
Brauna watched.
She finished and said nothing.
__
She woke again and the light was different. Pale and soft against the wall. The tray still covered. Tadgh gone. The juice glass empty.
She must have slept for hours. Did they knock me out again? The flowers dimmed with the light. Her stomach grumbled.. Hunger surging like a flood. She eyed the tray with the food still under steel lid. She shifted, annoyed, and reached for the tray — with her right hand.
It moved. “Holy shit!” Her hunger ebbed. Brauna levered up, alert.
She gasped, realizing she had stopped breathing. The silver arm-thing lifted from the sheet, fingers flexing. Wrist rotating. She commanded the auxiliary member effortlessly. The arm gleamed in the low light, faintly scaled, like armor. She raised it higher, bent the elbow, reaching upward. It obeyed. It felt right. Natural.
She sat there, studying. The hum now was resonant, changed — softer, deeper. WIth each breath quieting. Brauna stirred at the foot of the bed, head lifted, eyes reflecting the soft glow of magic hour.
Rowan whispered, “Look at this.”
The dog didn’t move. Just watched.
She stood. The floor was warm under her bare feet. The silver floated with her, effortless, belonging. In the bathroom mirror the same girl she knew. Altered. Pale, thin, a metal guest hitchhiking like it had boarded overnight.
She turned on the hot water. Held the arm beneath the stream. The metal steamed and she felt it — not on the surface, but deep within. A blooming warmth along the bones. She laughed, startled. Was it too hot? She could not discern. She had to pee.
She sat and urinated. That felt the same. The toilet flushed. She reached for a tissue. The arm stopped. Dead weight. She tried again. Nothing. “Dumb arm,” she muttered. She laughed.
She finished the job with her working arm and went back to bed. Brauna watched her. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Some help you are,” Rowan said.
She lifted the lid from the tray. Steam coiled up, fresh and fragrant. How is that possible? The food is still warm. Still waiting. She ate with her left hand, clumsy and impatient. The metal arm lay quiet beside her, gleaming, docile, pretending to sleep, she thought.
Each bite filled her, but she could feel it — a small pulse in the arm, a heartbeat. Her heartbeat? She eyed the small speaker next to the bed.
“Call nurse,” she said. The coral light again turned green. She tasted the meat-thing. Familiar.
“A nurse will respond shortly,” replied the box.