Only breathing.

He was different from the moment he was brought into the hospital.  Of course, the fact that he was blond, and blue eyed (she noticed, when the doctor peeled back an eyelid to see if there was any change) could have had a great deal to do with it, but that would not have been something she would have admitted to herself.  There was much bustling around, such a thing had not been known at her hospital before, and the doctors were agog with excitement and dismissive of the nurses when they tried to lend their assistance.  Rebuffed, the white starched aprons withdrew to a safe distance, whilst the men gathered in whispering groups, hanging over the still form.  She did notice the family, white faced and silent in a corner.  Afraid to come forward, even though any change in the young man’s condition would have been preferable to the continuous silence. 

A coma, they called it.  He had been on his bicycle, and happened to ride out rather faster than he should have.  A car, coming in the other direction, simply knocked him down, with a brutality which belied the pace at which he was travelling.  He was fairly intact, except for the trauma to his head, and the stillness with which he lay on the ground whilst others scrambled about.  Three weeks ago, and he already taken up residence as a freakish statue, which nobody could disturb.

Later, after everyone had gone, she approached the silent bed.  The tubes which kept him alive were like fine spider webs travelling up from his arms to their pouches of clear liquid.  She bent over him for a while, noting his slack features, and the blond hair which threw the palidness of his skin into sharp relief.  She held her breath for a moment, but he did not hold his.  The breaths were slow and long, the only movement she could discern in the bed.  Gently, she reached out, and it was disturbing to find the skin warm and alive on what she could almost mistake for a corpse.  He did not seem to notice her hand on his, and with great daring, she moved her fingers up his arm.  Still nothing.  She withdrew her hand, suddenly feeling as though she were doing something illicit, almost erotic.  Remembering her place, she went around the bed, drawing the privacy curtains, although he was the only one in the room.  About to leave the room, she noticed bits of paper, and flowers on the floor, and quickly picked them up, often kneeling on the floor to get the last petal up.  It was while she was doing this that she felt something like a presence in the room, which was perhaps not unusual.  She was, after all, not alone, even if the other occupant did not say a great deal.  Or even acknowledge her existence.  But as she prepared to stand up for the last time, she was aware of something in her peripheral vision, and she froze for a moment as her brain tried to comprehend what it was.  Even as she began to run her head to look, there was a flash of paleness which was gone even as her head completed the turn, and she could see nothing.  She quickly moved to the bed, and pulled back the curtain, but nothing had changed in the tableau before her.  She waited, thinking perhaps the breathing had altered, his eyelids might flicker, but there was still nothing.  Frowning, she drew the curtains and left the room, closing the door rather more firmly behind her than she might have done, if she had not been convinced that what she had seen was a pale thin foot being drawn back from view.

For the next few days, she thought often about the occupant of the bed.  She did not have cause to go into his room, however, and her shifts were early morning ones, often shared by many people, so even her curiosity did not lead her to loiter where perhaps she should not.  Then, as was usual, her shifts changed to late night ones, and as she wandered from one ward to another, she had to walk past The Door frequently and she began to consider that it was part of her duties to look in on what was, after all, one of her charges.  She was disturbed to note, however, that one of his family or friends had stayed on late – purely against hospital policy, she felt, but no doubt allowed by the doctor in charge – as she could see the shadow of someone standing or walking near to the door.  As time went on, she was sure that that they would depart, but strangely everytime she went by, there was still someone in there.  At last, steeling herself against the upset and inevitable threats of someone senior, she decided that they really needed to go home, and so approached the door.  She was relieved to notice that the shadow had gone, and opened the door to find the room quiet and still.  The curtains were drawn around the bed, and she wondered if the family member was perhaps standing behind them.  Pulling back one curtain revealed no one hiding there, and the young man was still as responseless as before.  She could see no difference at all; it was as if time had stood still, that he would stay young forever, a kind of frozen vampire.  She felt compelled to reach out again, to feel his smooth flesh and that strange emotion engendered from touching someone who not only could not stop her but could not even acknowledge her.  Reluctantly, she drew the curtain again, accepting that there was nothing she could do for him, and knowing that there were others who depended on her.  She turned, and moved towards the door.  Then she halted.  There was an odd sensation on the back of her neck.  A cool breeze, intermittent, as though a window were open, and the wind blowing outside.  The breeze strengthened and fell in regular intervals, almost like…well, like breathing, she had to conclude.  With a crash of horror, she suddenly realised that there had to be someone standing behind her, the family member must have been hiding, and even now wanted to play a joke, to scare her for entering the room without permission, for touching what she should not have touched.  Gathering her courage, (and it took much, there, in that lonely room, already disturbing for its occupant) she whirled around.  Only to find herself alone.  She looked hard at the curtains, but there was no movement.  She waited a bit longer, just to check that nothing was stirring, nothing was making a noise, and finally decided to put it down to a peculiar wind.  As she turned to go, she refused to dwell on the fact that that the window remained completely and tightly shut. 

She began to avoid the room, even walking past with eyes averted lest she should catch a glimpse of someone inside.  She did see the family on occasions, although they did not make eye contact with her now.  She had marched up to the one who seemed to be in charge to suggest that late night visits should perhaps be curbed, since it achieved nothing, but they had offered no explanation, only had stood there, mute and frighten eyed until she had done.  Later, the staff nurse spoke to her to suggest perhaps she ought to leave them alone, and that she had no idea what she was talking about anyway.  The family came and went like the tide, and were as dependable when it came to confirmation of the visiting hours.  She had never, Staff went on, noticed any of them staying beyond that time.  However, night came on, and as much as she disliked it now, the time came for her to walk from one ward to another, and this time as she went past, she saw a shadow whisk away from the door as though they had been disturbed by her passing.  At last!  She felt her ire rise, and marched to the door, throwing it open.  Only to stand shock still at the sight of the empty room before her.  The curtains did not twitch.  There was no one standing by the bed, she could see clearly the absence of any feet, unless they were curled up on the bed.  But for what reason?  Unwillingly, she moved forward, grasped the curtain in one hand, and drew it back with a slow motion.  She looked down on the body which did nothing offensive except breathe, and she felt cold with fear.  The flesh beneath hers was warmer but may as well have been frozen.  Not even the hairs on the arm appeared to move in response to her touch.  She suddenly felt as though he were screaming, screaming out his presence, his life, his despair at her lack of being able to hear him, and she hurriedly left the room.

It was not until later that she remembered to go back to draw the curtain, but found (when she finally plucked up the nerve) that someone had already done it. 

It was a relief to get home, to close her familiar door, and to stop for a moment.  She sagged against the wooden comfort, and sighed with relief.  She was on Earlies again for a while, and she seriously considered whether she should move hospitals, to leave the area for good.  The Door had taken on a menacing quality which she was beginning to see in her dreams, and she wanted more than anything for the young man to be gone, one way or another.  She went into the kitchen and put on the kettle for some tea.  The evening passed quietly, she engaged herself with some light reading, and a little needlework, before preparing for bed.  She had no one in her life now, her parents were dead, she had no siblings and had always been too busy to find another half.  That should change, she thought, as she switched off the lights and made her way up the corridor to her bedroom.  She came close, and then drew in a startled breath.  That Door!  She laughed shakily.  She had thought, for a moment, just a moment there, that her bedroom door was The Door.  She went in, and placed her drink on her bedside table and turned to pull back the covers.  She felt for a moment as though she had fainted standing up.  She was glad she had put down the glass, as it would no doubt have slipped from her nerveless fingers and smashed to the floor, drenching her numb legs and feet.  She could make no noise, she could not move.  In her bed was the unmistakable shape of a young man, who did nothing but breathe.  In the end, unable to bear it any longer, she bent forward in a swift motion, and pulled back the sheet.

“It’s a strange case,” Staff said as she hurried through the corridor, the young doctor in tow. “She was found on the street, no identification, but her family have come forward.  It looks like what they call a coma – not a word, not a movement since she arrived.  This way, doctor.”

She heard when they entered the room but of course, she could see nothing.  The blackness of her blindness was caused by the fact that she could not raise her eyelids, and only vaguely knew where she was from brief glimpses of the room she caught when people lifted her lids to peer in.  She felt everything as they took her pulse, checked her pressure, adjusted the needle which fed her precious fluids – they hurt her a bit, but they couldn’t know, and she couldn’t tell them.  They talked over her, telling one another what a unique case she was, that they had heard of only a few before her, and how lucky they were to have one to study.  Slowly, time went on, and eventually everything was quiet.  And with a wrenching sensation, she found herself with her feet on the ground, the floor cold beneath them, and managed to stand.  She wobbled towards the door, determined to find someone, to let them know that she was alive and well, and grasped the door handle to open it.  Only to find herself hurled back into the bed, her body frozen again, as the door opened, and someone came in.  She sensed them come over to the bed, and heard the curtain being withdrawn.  Then a smacking noise, as if the person had licked their lips whilst they stared downwards.  She felt a cold sensation as the covers were pulled off her, and her nightdress lifted up.  She remembered the pity on the young man’s face she had seen briefly, watching her from the corner, at the forefront of the group of silent people who waited until the doctors were finished, their numbers swelled by one and yet lessened by another.  And realised why his blue eyes had looked so sad, as a hand began to make its way furtively over her body whilst all she could do was wait.  Touch, that was it.  That was the connection, the key.  And soon, she realised, she would learn the trick.