Life After Death

Aubrey was starting to come round by the time I got to seeing her. She was pale and unkempt, baring little resemblance to her former self. Her eyelids flickered as I stroked her damp hair. A nurse entered the room barely looking at me as she checked vitals. I watched her work, taking pulse, temperature, sats and blood pressure readings. Without looking at me, she suddenly spoke.
“Are you her husband?” she asked in a flat tone.
“Partner,” I corrected. “What’s going on?”
“We’re keeping her sedated while we treat her hypothermia, then the psychiatrist will be in to assess her mental state and write up a care plan,” she replied, not looking up from her clipboard where she was scribbling the readings down.
“How long will that take?” I asked. The nurse sighed, clearly irritated by my questioning.
“She’s responded well to treatment and her vitals are good. A member of staff will be here shortly to transfer her to the psychiatric unit. The psychiatrist will see her there when she’s awake and coherent. Probably in the next 20 minutes,” the nurse sniffed as she checked her fob watch, before leaving the room as abruptly as she’d arrived. Aubrey let out a soft noise.
“I’m here, Aub,” I soothed, though I wasn’t sure she was capable of understanding me right now. I found her hand and squeezed it. She opened her eyes and looked at me, though she clearly couldn’t focus properly.
“Jimmy,” she croaked, “Where’s Jimmy?”
“He’s safe,” I answered, not wanting her to get herself wound up again. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” she murmured, blinking slowly. She tried to sit up but I put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She put a hand on mine, and relaxed back again before picking my hand up and inspecting it.
“You only have five fingers?” her voice wobbled, as her face contorted in confusion.
“You’ve only got five fingers too?” I replied, unsure of what she was talking about.
She looked at her own hand, “I do?”
“Uhh, yeah,” I watched her slowly and clumsily count her fingers and thumb.
“Oh my God, I only have five fingers,” she wailed, waving her hand at me in despair. I blinked a couple of times, trying to wrap my mind around it. Had she completely lost it?
“Everyone only had five fingers,” I stuttered, hopelessly confused.
“They do?” she sniffled, “Oh.”
We were interrupted by a burly porter approaching with a wheelchair. He gave her a winning smile.
“Time to get going, Miss Aubrey Wilson,” he announced. He looked me over, obviously noting the bemused expression on my face and chuckled.
“Oh don’t you mind her, she’ll still be groggy from the sedative. They say the darndest things in this state,” he said, chirpily. “Hey, aren’t you in that Vengeful Seven band?” He began playing air guitar, and singing (what I think was supposed to be) one of my solos.
I interrupted him, feeling slightly put out by his light-heartedness, “Yeah, that’s me. Are we going to the psych ward?”
The porter instantly stopped his routine at my shortness, blushing lightly and clearing his throat.
“We are, we are,” he confirmed in a much more professional tone. “Sorry, that was very inappropriate of me.”
“You know what,” I said, waving a hand, “It’s actually a refreshing change. Everyone here is so serious.”
His demeanour relaxed again and he helped a wobbly Aubrey into the wheel chair.
“Are you taking me home?” she asked, distractedly.
“I’m taking you to another part of the hospital,” he answered cheerfully, as he got her comfortable. She seemed to happily accept this, obviously still not quite all there. He strapped some belts around her, essentially restraining her in the chair.
“Just a precaution,” he said, catching me looking.
I followed him as he started wheeling her out. Adam stood from the chair he’d been sat on in the waiting area as we appeared.
“Psych ward?” he asked, looking us up and down.
“Yeah, we’re going there now,” I replied and he nodded, with an odd look on his face, somewhere between knowing and pitying. I tried to ignore it.

It was a long walk to the psychiatric unit. We followed twisting corridors, took elevators, passed through numerous doors until we finally got there. Aubrey was quiet the whole way, maybe just trying to focus on her surroundings. The door to the unit was locked with a keypad. The porter expertly punched the code in and gave the door an almighty push. I held it open as he pushed Aubrey through and then followed. We took seats in the lilac themed waiting area as the porter let the receptionist know we’d arrived. Aubrey was still pretty zoned out, though she was beginning to make more structured sentences. She frequently asked where Jimmy was and demanded to see him. She was in the middle of demanding when the porter returned.
“You ready to go?” he asked, not waiting for a response as he took his place behind the wheel chair and began pushing Aubrey down the hall.
“I’ll wait here,” Adam called after our retreating figures.
We stopped outside a door marked “F. Reed” and the porter rapped his knuckles on it.
“Come in,” came the voice from within. The porter showed us in and then excused himself and disappeared, the door closing behind him.

“Good afternoon, I’m Dr Francis Reed and I’ll be assessing Aubrey today. I’d like to speak quickly to you first, Mr?” he trailed off, waiting for me to fill the gap.
“Haner,” I replied. He nodded, clicked around a bit on his computer and then looked at me.
“So you were with Aubrey prior to her admission?” he questioned. I nodded at him.
“And what would you say her behaviour was like when compared to her typical behaviour?” he asked, tapping at his keyboard as I spoke.
“Well it wasn’t normal behaviour for her at all,” I began, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. Aubrey was watching me and I wasn’t sure how much she was taking in. “She wasn’t sleeping very much and she was quite quiet, but our close friend passed a couple of weeks ago so I just thought she was having a hard time coping.”
“I see,” Dr Reed replied, tapping away furiously. “And at what point did you consider her behaviour abnormal, even for someone who was grieving?”
I swallowed and answered quietly, “When she got into the pool in her clothes, and then later was reading the bible-“
“I take it she’s not usually religiously inclined?” he interrupted, furrowing his brow at the screen.
“No, she’s not,” I shook my head.
“The bible speaks the truth,” Aubrey interjected, looking a little livelier. “Where’s my baby gone? Where’s Jimmy?”
“Jimmy’s with Matt,” I told her. She narrowed her eyes at me.
“You left him with Matt? He needs me,” she spat. Dr Reed looked over briefly before turning back to his computer. Aubrey eyed him, a fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?” she demanded, challenging him with a look.
“I’m Dr Reed, a psychiatrist at Huntington Beach Hospital. Do you know where you are?” he asked, his voice even and toneless.
Aubrey ignored his question and fired one of her own, “Where’s my son?”
“He’s in another part of the hospital, being treated for hypothermia. Do you remember why you were brought into hospital? Do you understand why?” he pressed on with his line of questioning, unfazed by Aubrey’s hostility.
“I need to see Jimmy, we have a mission to complete,” she stated impatiently, once again ignoring Dr Reed’s questions. He turned to her this time, and leaned across his desk.
“And what mission is that, Aubrey?” he asked, meeting her eye.
“I brought Jimmy into this world so it could be cleansed of evil,” she said hurriedly, before moving into ranting. “Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.”
Dr Reed nodded as she carried on spewing random bible verses and began typing again. He interrupted her diatribe by holding up his hand. She stopped and eyed him suspiciously.
“Aubrey, can you tell me what happens if you don’t carry out your mission?” he asked, casually.
“The world will burn,” her eyes became dark and fearful, “we will all burn. A slow, painful, torturous death by the Devil’s flames.”
I looked at her, and the terror in her eyes broke my heart. I reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Aub, do you really believe that?” I asked. She glared at me and snatched her hand away from me.
“You don’t understand, Brian. You never could because you were not chosen by Him. The Rev came to me, Brian, and he showed me that God had chosen me to help Jimmy.”
Even though I knew she didn’t mean it, it still stung that she held me in such disdain.

Dr Reed let her ramble a bit more about ‘the plan’, until she made u-turn as she decided that he was in cahoots with the Devil and then refused to speak any more. No amount of persuasion influenced her to open up again, but Dr Reed didn’t seem to mind. He switched back to questioning me about the events of the past three weeks until he was pretty much completely clued in.
“Well, I think I’ve got enough evidence here to make a clinical decision,” he remarked, turning to me. “Aubrey is suffering from paranoid delusions and hallucinations as a result of a condition we call postpartum psychosis. It’s rare, usually caused by a combination of things, but I’m guessing the catalyst in her case was the emotional stress of the bereavement. I’m admitting Aubrey to a psychiatric hospital as an inpatient where I recommend a combination of antidepressants and antipsychotics to treat all symptoms of the condition. Do you have any questions for me at this moment in time?”
“Uh, I-I don’t think so,” I stuttered. “Wait, yes. Do you mean she’ll be living there? How long for?” I garbled, panicking. I looked at Aubrey, who was seemingly unconcerned, busy muttering under her breath to herself.
Dr Reed nodded, “It can take six months to a year to completely recover-”
“A year?” I interrupted, my mouth hanging open.
“Yes, Mr Haner,” he replied, gravely. “This is a very serious condition and takes a lot of time and care to recover from. However, as soon as she’s stable enough, she can transfer and complete her recovery in a Mother and Baby unit, where your son can stay with her. But right now, she needs urgent medical intervention,” he finished, seriously.

His words cut like a knife and I tried to keep my cool but I only knew one thing. My world was crashing around me.

Notes

Brian's going home alone :(