The Awakening (2 page)

“Any chance I can get you to turn that off?” he asked, wrapping his arms
tighter around his middle.

She looked at him, her dull, flat
, brown eyes narrow.  “Sorry sir, it’s on a timer.  The doctor will be with you shortly.” 

The sound of the heavy door slamming shut reminded Ben of those old prison movies where the metal bars clanged shut and the prisoner was
left facing his own mortality trapped in a small cell for the rest of his life.  Ben related in that moment, not to being in prison, but facing his mortality.

A few weeks prior, he’d bee
n experiencing strange symptoms; headaches, dizziness, aphasia.  During an interrogation of a homicide suspect, Ben hadn’t been able to remember the suspect’s name, and had to call in another detective to take over.

It was
the week after that, however, in the shower, when he became very concerned about his health.  He’d felt a little odd all that morning, and as he stood under the streaming, hot water, he passed out.  Or at least, he thought he’d passed out.  His doctor ordered what he told Ben was an EEG, and an MRI.

The EEG results came right then, as the doctor read the machine.  From the echoes, the doctor said, it was likely Ben had suffered a mild seizure.  The MRI, which had taken much longer, would determine if
there was anything for Ben to worry about.

The doctor had assured him that most likely it was nothing.  Possibly stress, he
’d said.  Ben’s job was stressful at its mildest point.  He was head homicide detective for the San Francisco PD, thirty-four, unmarried, son of an alcoholic and big brother to a fanatical Christian teacher who worked at Sacred Heart academy.  Ben’s life wasn’t easy, and it was likely he just needed a vacation.

At least, that’s what Ben wanted to hear.  He wasn’t feeling so secure now that the doctor had told him to come in right away, because they needed to talk.  Now he sat there, under a freezing stream of air, staring at the door handle, begging the doctor to hurry in and tell him it was nothing.  Tell him, “We just wanted to compliment you on the incredible size and function of
your brain, sir.”

The doctor’s face told a different story when he walked in fifteen minutes later.  Ben’
s doctor wasn’t a neurologist or specialist; he was just a general practitioner that Ben had been seeing since he was in college.  He was an older man, frank and matter-of-fact.  His white hair was always over-gelled into place, and his lab coat, Ben was certain, was just for show.

“How are you feeling today, Ben?” he asked in his
gravelly voice.

Ben let out a sigh.  “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“Any more instances of blacking out or losing time?  Suffering repeated headaches?  Vision changes?”

Ben shrugged. 
“Headaches, yes.  They’re pretty persistent.  No more seizures or anything like that.”  Ben shifted and looked his doctor in the eye.  “Look, lay it out for me, okay. I don’t want to dance around this.  I’m freaking out here.”

The doctor sat back, crossing his ankle over his knee.  “I don’t have good news for you, Ben.  In fact, it’s some of the worst news I can give without any proper results from a biopsy.”

“Biopsy,” Ben repeated, his voice sounding really far away.

“The MRI found a rather substantial mass lodged in the left lateral lobe of your brain,” the doctor said.  He looked around and sighed.  “I’m sorry, we’re short on computers today,
so I don’t have an image of the scan.  I’ve seen this before, and I can tell you more than likely, it’s malignant.  Either way, it’s going to be difficult to operate on, and we want to get in there as quickly as we can to see what we’re dealing with, and how we can possibly treat it.”

“Are you saying I have brain cancer?” Ben asked, his voice not sounding like his at all.

The doctor shrugged.  “No, I’m not saying that.  I’m saying it’s possible.  In my professional opinion, I’d say yes, but I can’t give you a definitive answer until we do some tests.  I can tell you that you have a rather substantial brain tumor, and that’s what’s causing all of your problems.”

“Am I going to die?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know,” the doctor said.  “One day you will die, but I can’t tell you if it’s going to be from old age, a freak accident, or this.  All I can tell you is that we need to get you under the knife as quickly as we can.  I’m going to push forward the surgery, so you need to make arrangements to take some time off.  Even an exploratory surgery on the brain isn’t outpatient surgery.  I’d have a talk with your chief and see about transferring some of your cases for the time being.”

Ben nodded, feeling his entire body go numb with shock.  He hadn’t realized his hands were shaking until he stepped down to shake the doctor’s hand.  “I uh…” he said.

The doctor looked at him, for the first time in Ben’s life, with actual concern.  “Take a few minutes if you need it.  This isn’t something I like to tell people, and it’s not something you can just sleep on.”

Ben nodded mutely and watched as the doctor walked out of the room. 
He swallowed and looked up at the vent still pouring out the freezing air, but he wasn’t feeling it anymore.  He was in shock, and as he started to leave the room, he felt like he was floating.

The receptionist rambled on about calling him with the surgery date in the next twenty-four hours. 
She handed him a few sheets of paper which she said were prescriptions from the doctor to help with the pain and insomnia he was suffering from.  He nodded but said nothing as he slipped them into his pocket.

It was pouring rain as he stepped outside, but he barely felt it.  His car seemed an eternity away as he crossed the parking lot, paying no mind to the water rushing into his shoes from the puddles forming on the pavement.  His car door opened with a loud creak and he slid inside.  It smelled like work, like coffee and stale pastries, and printer ink from the files he carried around everywhere.

He wondered how he could possibly give up; possibly lose his job, his life, because of some brain tumor.  He’d never been really sick a day in his life, and now this?  Sure, he drank and smoked a little, but he worked out and ate healthy and never in a million years thought he’d be taken out this way.

“Jesus,” he whispered as he flipped down his visor and opened the mirror.  He looked like a ghost, his skin white as a sheet except under his eyes
where it was nearly black.  His eyes, themselves, were bloodshot, and his hair hung in little curls against his forehead, dripping with the rain.  He let out a laugh, the sound of it nearly startling him and then he said aloud, “I think I’m going to die.”

Chapter Two

             
Mark sat behind his desk, his fingers pressed to his eyes.  In the room, he heard the scribbles of pencils across paper, and in the back, a faint clicking of a student sending texts on their cell phone.  Mark sighed and dropped his hands.  He’d never been a teacher before, he’d been talked into it by Sacred Heart administration, and he had quickly discovered instructing children was as irritating and trying as he had imagined it would be.

Rising, Mark opened his eyes, revealing the milky-white stare of a blind man.  He grabbed
his cane and with gentle swishing, made his way up the aisle to the sound of the student on their phone.  He held out his hand and cleared his throat.

“Father Roman?
” came a timid female voice.

“I’m blind, but I’m not stupid.  I said no mobile phones.  Hand it over, or fail,” he said
, his words rich with a heavy Russian accent.  A moment of silence passed before the small, heavy object was placed into his palm.  He slipped it into the pocket of his teaching jacket and walked back to his desk.

He heard faint whispers of surprise, though he wondered how these students could possibly be surprised every time he caught them misbehaving, as they’d been doing this for several months now.  It was the generation, Mark supposed, and the western belief in being absolutely impervious to consequence.

Mark had come over from Russia, his accent poignant and syntax devoid of most modern slang, but he was well educated and deeply in love with literature.  It was why he was pressured into taking the job as a teacher, though he’d simply come over for some respite from the cold and pressure to move to a Russian Orthodox Church instead of Catholic.

Mark didn’t do well socially, most of the time, feeling a sort of distance between himself and the other professors.  The only person who insisted on making herself
a friend was a woman named Abby.  She was hysterical more often than not, obsessed with religious miracles, and absolutely in love with Mark, though Mark refused to acknowledge that fact.

He didn’t know a
great deal about her appearance, but she smelled nice and her voice was soft.  She also knew he was well versed in the area of religious miracles and mythology, and was constantly bringing him articles, old and new, of instances where statues bled, people were raised from the dead, and images of the holy mother appeared in toast.

Despite being educated in the area,
Mark had always found those things rather silly, but he liked Abby’s company and humored her.  She was the only one who didn’t pressure him to talk about his past during polite conversation, and Mark’s past was something he wanted to avoid.  Mark was the kind of man who had secrets, secrets dangerous to a lot of people, and secrets he couldn’t possibly explain.

The shrill bell startled Mark out of his thoughts, and he cleared his throat, attempting to be louder than the shuffling papers.  “Please leave your exams on my desk and don’t forget to sign out on the attendance sheet.  I will remind you that if you are signing for someone else, my sighted aid will recognize the difference in handwriting and both of you will be given failing grades for the
day.”  It was a warning Mark gave every class, and a warning at least one student per class never heeded.

Mark made do with his inability to see his classroom
attendants, and did his best to learn this new job, a job he didn’t particularly care for, and he did what he could to approach it with some pride.  He listened carefully as the last footsteps exited the room and the moment the door shut, he let out a breath. 

Mark had never liked being around people
, having spent most of the last thirty years in a secluded Russian monastery, and having to teach every day was staring to wear on him.  Gathering up the stack of papers, Mark shoved everything into his case, grabbed his cane, and decided to skip his office hours to go straight home.

He lived on the grounds, so the walk wasn’t far, but as he passed by the teacher’s lounge, he heard his name called.  “Mark!  Wait!”

He recognized Abby’s voice right away, and paused, trying to smile in her direction.  “Hello,” he said as she walked up.  “How are you this afternoon?”

“Oh it’s been the longest day,” she said with a groan.  “I hate midterms.  These kids get worse every year.  I had to fail three today for cheating, and two of them yesterday were caught planning to sell the test to the students for next year.”

Mark grimaced.  “Awful little things, aren’t they?”

Abby laughed. 
“Sometimes.  Sometimes it’s rewarding.  Anyway, I thought I’d come by later to pick up the exams for grading, and maybe we can get coffee?”

“Let me think on that, okay?” Mark said, not wanting to be around
more people.  “I have a few things to work on and my head has been pounding for most of the afternoon.”

“Okay well
, let me know,” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.

Mark nodded and started off, feeling a little guilty for turning her down.  The truth was, had the situation been different, he would have taken her up on the offer, but things were a little complicated and
there was no way of properly expressing that to her.

As he made his way down the hall, his cane swishing gently in front of him, a few people called out their hellos, but he did his best to hurry along.  He made it to his small apartment and with a breath of relief, locked the door behind him and let his cane fall against the small table that held his keys and watch.

His place was small, nicer than he’d been used to living in the monastery in St. Petersburg.  They’d furnished everything for him, and in an attempt to get him to agree to the job, the Parish office had provided an entire library of literature in Braille. 

Mark realized if he wanted to maintain
his quiet life, he had to accept the job, but he did so with heavy regret.  Mark was on a mission, and truthfully, he had no time to be teaching children the classics.

He made his way to the bathroom where he flicked on the light and stood before a rather large mirror.  With deft fingers, Mark reached to his eyes and plucked out small, white gel contacts.

His eyes instantly went from white to brown, and he blinked against the harsh world coming into focus.  He put the contacts into a small container full of liquid and blinked at himself.  As he stared into the mirror he tried to remember what it felt like to walk the earth without the secrets he carried with him, because being not blind wasn’t the only thing he was hiding.