LEN BIAS: CROSSOVER
A novel
By: Michael D. McClellan | September 19, 2010
"My what - wait, what are you talking about...you can read my mind?"
"I suppose you could say that. And you, mine."
This is crazy. I think this thought - and this alone - as I stare into her large green eyes, scared all over again, struggling to keep my mind from riding off the rails. It's not long before questions are flying around in my head: What's happening to me? Why is this happening to me? How can a dream world be so real? How can a drug trip go down a rabbit hole like this? She smiles at me knowingly, even though I haven't said a word. As if she has anticipated these questions all along. Her hands grip the ropes as she rocks gently on the swing, her legs crossed casually at the ankles. She's beautiful. There's also something totally soothing and peaceful about her. Spiritual. For a moment I forget where I'm at, and suddenly I'm not standing on a time-bending spaceship made of grass. I look into her eyes and I'm normal again. Everything is normal again.
She stands up. She's still smiling at me. Hypnotic. She reaches out with her right hand and I take it without hesitation. It's the softest, most delicate thing I've ever felt, and the warmth of her touch connects us in a way that takes my breath. It's not sexual. It's something else - something beyond friendship, beyond family even, a spiritual connection of some kind, a level that I never new existed. Instinctively I want to hold this stranger's hand forever. I never want to let go.
Walk with me, Leonard.
These words pass softly between us, unspoken, in my head. I obey them as if they had come from God Himself. We turn together, hand-in-hand, and walk toward an empty park bench in the distance. The bench wasn't there two minutes ago but looks like it has been there for decades, the wrought iron frame rusting away, the green paint faded and chipping away from decaying wood. We sit down as one and stare out into the distance, past the edge of this hovering little world and into the vast blue sky. Together, just the two of us, meditating in silence. I think about how strange it sounded to hear actual words coming from my mouth. How deep my voice sounded. How unlike mine it seemed. How I barely recognized it as my own. How it felt like those were the first words I'd ever spoken.
I know you have questions, Leonard. Nothing about this makes sense to you right now. But it will. In time.
Where am I?
She grips my hand more firmly than before, and a brief jolt of electricity rushes through my body. My jaw locks. Every muscle spasms and then goes perfectly still. I'm paralyzed. I feel absolutely nothing. Numb from head to toe, unable to open my mouth and scream out, unable to defend myself, unable to tear myself away from this stranger and run as far from her as possible.
My eyes are focused straight ahead, on the horizon, on the jagged edge where this floating patch of earth ends and the ocean of blue sky begins. All I have now are my thoughts. My fear. My desperation. I can still see Alyssa beside me on the bench, this beautiful woman with the red hair and delicate features and magical powers. She's sitting quietly in my periphery. She's looking at me but she's no longer smiling. It's more a look of deep concern. Of compassion. Of loss. Of something you can't get back. She sits there and continues to hold my hand but I can't feel it, I can only see her gentle touch from the corner of my eye. Somehow the connection that I felt between us is still there, despite what has just happened to me. Trust me, it seems to say. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. It's enough for me to hold onto, I decide quickly. Even after everything that's happened, it's enough.
You can trust me, Leonard. It's very important that you do - for what comes next.
What is happening to me?
I'm going to show you. That's why you're here. That's why I'm here.
And just like that the sky goes from blue to black, as if someone had walked into a room and turned off the lights. I can hear crickets all over again. I see the glow of more fireflies. Gradually, stars begin to dot the sky. Alyssa is still on the bench beside me - I can make out her silhouette in the darkness as my eyes adjust, and the scent of her perfume fills the night air. Watch the sky, she says, pointing straight ahead. As if I have a choice - I'm still frozen in place, a statue, unable to turn my head or move a muscle. Suddenly the heavens in front of me pulse with light, and the entire night sky morphs into a giant movie screen, a canvas stretched as far as the eye can see. Images of a hospital fill the sky. I recognize it immediately - Leland Memorial in Riverdale. I've driven past it dozens of times. The parking lot is full of cars, with people coming and going. An ambulance is parked in a bay adjacent to the emergency room entrance. A police officer leans against his black and white, smoking a cigarette and talking to a reporter. Around the corner a cluster of people. My teammates - Keith Gatlin; Jeff Baxter; Terry Long; David Gregg; Tony Massenburg. Lefty is there. Friends, relatives. Concern on the faces of some, fear on the faces of others. Chaos. Tears. Surreal, because it's a beautiful morning, blue skies and sun with soft white clouds completing the picture.
Surreal because I can't hear anything. It's like watching one of those silent movies, and I'm left to imagine the words. The images begin to change perspective, hurtling me forward like an imaginary camera on the move. I glide past the gathering outside and on into the ER waiting area. A large black woman sits in a chair, holding her crying baby. A young white kid lays on his stomach across three chairs, chin in hand, watching the TV mounted to the wall. A guy in a striped polo and brown khakis stares at a clipboard and fills out forms. A middle-aged bald guy sits beside a frail elderly woman hooked to a portable oxygen machine. A heavyset man sits directly across from them, alone in his pain, arms folded and eyes closed. Another man beside him, sick, miserable.
The camera moves on through the busy ER, past the IVs and the heart monitors and the beds full of sick people needing to see doctors that aren't there. Through the double doors. Down the sterile hallway. Past nurses going through the motions, past patients being wheeled off for tests, past tired visitors who'd rather be anywhere but here. Into the elevator. Up to the second floor. Past the nurse's station. Around the corner and down the hallway, and into Room 265.
