NUMB by Judy Colella (the best books to read .txt) 📖

ever be able to hold a javelin again? Or do the high-jump? Or climb a cliff-face? What about running?

Something in his head reminded Jax that his brother would still be able to teach math, and he suddenly wanted to punch himself in the face. With that realization, he also saw that he had cooled down enough to treat the doctor more reasonably. “All right. Sorry. It’s just that we’re very close.” There. That sounded nice.

“It’s all right Mr. Kinsley. I rather wish you’d phoned us first, though.”

“Would you have talked to me about Jett if I had?”

The doctor stood, a twisted smile on his face. “No, probably not. Good point.” He checked his watch. “Lunch is over, and I believe Jett will be in the rec lounge. We started bringing him in there when his hands were free of the casts, and gave him a laptop to mess with. All he can do is point and click, which is perfect, since all that’s programmed is a list of games.”

“Does he play any of them?”

“Free Cell, I’m told. They say he plays two or three times in a row, several times a day, and hasn’t lost a game yet.”

“That’s Jett…sounds like you don’t need me, then.”

“Well, simply because he’s finally doing something besides having psychotic episodes, doesn’t mean he’s ready to be checked out of the hospital. He’s still a mess, Mr. Kinsley, still won’t talk to anyone, and we can’t seem to crack that one.”

“And you think I can?”

“I don’t know. You’re his brother, and it’s obvious, as you pointed out, that you’re very close. I’d say you have a better chance than we do at this juncture.”

Jax nodded. This was awful. “Fine. Where is he?”

“This way, Mr. Kinsey. And please – prepare yourself.”

*10*

 

 

Chara felt her whole body relax as she heard the front door closing downstairs. He was gone. A brilliant doctor, yes, and he had assured her that Seth was going to be fine. Other than that, he had offered no words that had changed her mind about him otherwise: brilliant, yet disturbing. He wasn’t normal, and had he been anyone else and not the one person who could keep her husband alive, she would have reported him.

What kind of doctor wanted a human being in payment for his services? And was willing to possess that person even though she was married, going so far as to threaten to kill the young lady’s new husband! Well, all those options had been swept off the table in one simple move. Chara shuddered and went down to the kitchen. She didn’t even want to see Kobienko leave – it was enough to know he had. No, what she wanted, what she needed right then, was a glass of wine.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, she noticed the pile of boxes, bags and half-unpacked items scattered across its surface and on the floor and chairs. Coffee. Cheese. Baskets…she went cold.

“Issa? Are you back already?”

One of the housemaids, an older woman who was also a new hire, came out of the pantry. “She was here, but left again, Kyria Johanan.”

“Left? Left where? Where did she go?”

The woman shrugged and continued taking things out of one of the bags to be placed in the pantry. “She told me she wanted to ask the doctor something. They were talking in the foyer, and then she left with him.”

Chara nearly screamed. This couldn’t be happening. After all her careful plans to avoid this very thing…

“Kyria, are you ill? Should I call someone?”

Chara, her breath leaving her, had collapsed into a chair. She fought to regain control, and several moments later she nodded.

“Who? Another doctor?”

“No.”

“Who, then, Kyria?”

She raised terror-filled eyes to her employee. “The police.”

 

********

 

Oh, look. I won again. It seems to impress everyone, though. Maybe I’m a Free Cell Master and after never losing a tournament, I went up against some newcomer who kicked my butt, and I went off the deep end. Huh. That sounds like an almost reasonable assumption, doesn’t it? Sure. There we go. That’s who I am and how I ended up here in the cuckoo’s nest. Boring.

“…a different game, okay?”

I’m sorry – did someone say something to me? Why is there a hand pointing at the screen? Jett turned and realized it was one of the doctors, who was jabbing at the small circle at the bottom left of the screen. For no reason he would allow himself to consider, Jett clicked on it. A menu of applications popped up, and he clicked on Mahjong. After staring at the arrangement of decorated, stacked rectangles, his perplexity became recognition, and he began to play. A few minutes later, the board was cleared. He’d won.

“Great!”

“Hey, Mr. Nobody won this one, too!” The person who had made this exclamation was an older gentleman who had been peering over Jett’s shoulder since the first Free Cell game.

Jett didn’t bother to look and see who his audience was, but he liked the name this man had been using for him over the past couple of days since first being brought into this room. Mr. Nobody. That sounded right, somehow. He started another game, this time barely seeing the screen as his mathematical mind figured out what tiles were hidden where, devised a strategy, and within minutes, he’d won again. Cheering near his ear. Another game. Then another. After the fifth one, his constant victories had become as boring as those he’d been achieving at Free Cell.

And then, suddenly, he was exhausted. Pointing and clicking for anyone else would have been nothing. For someone whose every muscle had atrophied from near-total disuse, it had been borderline grueling. Jett let his hand slide off the mouse, and closed his eyes.

“All right, let’s get you back to your room,” said the doctor. “You did well today. Maybe tomorrow you’ll let me introduce you to some of the people here. I’ll tell you their names, but you don’t have to say anything or give them yours, okay?”

They already have a name for me. Didn’t you hear that guy? He called me “Mr. Nobody.” That’s my name. I thought doctors were supposed to be smart. I don’t want to know anything else, either. Drop me off in the Tulgey Wood and let me burble with the Jabberwock. If I don’t know who I am, am I?

With the light jolt that accompanied the brake on the bed’s wheels being disengaged, Jett felt himself being rolled out of the room. He was too tired to open his eyes, but didn’t need to anyway. He knew where he was going – back to the ugly room with the metal-clad window where he slept and despaired, had horrendous nightmares and longed for death.

Home sweet home.

 

*******

 

Jax stared around the room at the bathrobe-clad inmates of the Foundation. The doctor had pointed out the only one that mattered, but a quick glance bounced his mind and line of sight in other directions. No way was that skeletal, wan individual propped up in a rolling hospital bed his gold-medalist brother.

“Mr. Kinsley?”

“How many patients are here?” Jett wasn’t the only one whose first line of defense was denial.

“Six hundred and thirty-three throughout the facility. Look, I know this isn’t pleasant, and I did warn you. Do you want to try talking to him?”

Taking a deep breath, Jax stared hard at the floor, jaw set. He did, in fact, want to talk to his brother. His brother. Not that – that thing playing on the computer.

“Mr. Kinsley, please.”

“How? How could someone like him go from being one of the world’s top athletes to…to…in only what – three months?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t look a thing like him.” He raised his head and glared at Dr. Rufino. “How do I know he didn’t die, and this is someone else who you thought might be able to pass for him if you told me he – ”

“This is not the movies, Mr. Kinsley! It’s real life, and that’s really your brother! Don’t display the same kind of neurosis that’s destroying him and keeping you from possibly saving his life, unless you want to encourage me to have you committed!”

Jax almost smiled. “Denial in a healthy mind can’t possibly be the same as it is for someone whose heart has been destroyed. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a normal reaction. Chill.” He looked again at the person he was told was Jett. His hair color was like his brother’s, but that was the only thing he could say was the same.

A stooped man with salt-and-pepper hair and no teeth who had been standing beside the bed let out a loud whoop and shouted, “Hey, Mr. Nobody won this one, too!”

Jax glanced down automatically at the ledger sheet which for some reason he was still holding, and read once more the first stipulation his brother had written: “You will not use my real name, ever.” Oh, boy. It had to be Jett.

One of the orderlies, or perhaps he was a doctor, was talking quietly into Jett’s other ear, and the toothless man leaned in closer toward the laptop screen.

“What’s going on? Is he playing the games you were talking about?”

“It certainly looks that way. Will you speak with him?”

“Not yet. I need to watch him for a while, I think.”

Rufino nodded. “I understand, believe me.” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I wish there was something more we could do, but he won’t be able to get this health and strength back until his mind gets right. You realize that, yes?”

“Yeah. I realize that.” Shit.

More cheering came from the other side of the large, bright room, tempting Jax to go see what his brother was doing that had everyone so excited. But…no. He simply wasn’t ready.

And then they were wheeling the bed back out.

“What happened? Is he okay?”

Dr. Rufino signaled to the man who had been helping Jett with the computer. When he came close enough, Jax could see he was, in fact, a doctor, his nametag identifying him as Dr. Richard Belmonde. He gave Jax the usual double-take.

“How’s our nameless patient, Rich?”

“Tired. All that mouse-work wore him out.” The words had been humorous, but the man’s expression was not. He went back to staring at Jax.

“This is his brother – I think he might be able to help. Any opinions about that?”

Dr. Belmonde nodded. “Are you guys twins?”

“No, but we’re close in age, less than a year.” Jax put out a hand.

Offering a firm shake, Belmonde smiled. “Something tells me you’re the older one, yes?”

“Very good.”

“He looked almost exactly like you when…listen, I’ve spoken with his physical therapist and a couple of medical doctors who have dealt with this sort of atrophy before. They all agree that with a steady course of exercise and a good diet, he’ll eventually get back to where he was before all this happened. The breaks in his hands and foot were clean, and while he may have some residual achiness in his shoulders, he should recover completely.”

“I take it you know who he is, yes?”

“Well, no. Or I didn’t until I saw news reports about his wife’s death, which showed photos of the two of them. Before that, I never paid attention to sports