It's Only the Rain

"I was going to cook dinner. You should eat."

"I need a drink."

"I'd say you've had plenty to drink already."

"Who says? Greg? That prick took my bottle. Probably going to sell it...can't get a job any way that no-talent hack... Why you spread your legs for him is beyond me!"

"Let's get you into bed, and I'll bring you some soup."

Mindy slid and arm around her mother, trying to pry the older woman out of her chair. In her youth, Beatrice Dawson, Bea, to her friends, had been a stunningly beautiful lady. Those days were long gone, bitterness and alcohol had stolen that beauty and stamped it down for kindling to feed the fires of remorse that drove Beatrice Dawson's every waking moment. She lurched to her feet, coughing as she went. It took a Herculean effort, but Mindy managed to tumble her into the bed.

"Why do you wear your hair like that it looks like shit? You'll never find a man to take care of you with hair looking like that..."

"I know, Mom. I'll try harder."

"Try harder...like it will matter...just like your father...useless...How did I raise a kid that can't even comb their fucking hair?"

"I'll bring you that soup. Try to rest."

"I had great hair. Great everything...hottest ass in five counties...Men would fall all over themselves to kiss that ass..."

"I'll bet."

"Not a fat ass like yours! Mine was sweet! You need to stop eating so much. Men don't like a woman with a fat ass, Mindy..."

"I'll work on that, Mom."

"You do that Fat Ass...You do that..."

Her mom's eyes were drifting closed, and Mindy backed out of the room, crossing her fingers they wouldn't fly open before she made it to the hall.

The door shut behind her, and Mindy leaned against it trying to pull herself together. It hadn't always been this bad, but her mother's drinking had taken on a new edge in the last few years as if her fading youth and beauty was the last straw in a long string of disappointments. Beatrice had always flirted with being a functioning alcoholic when Mindy was a kid. The booze helped numb her to her husband's infidelity and later took the edge off when his temper would turn to violence. Young Mindy had grown used to her mother's moods, sometimes loving and needy, turning to her for comfort while at other times seeming almost jealous of her daughter, especially when that daughters had begun to rival her own. By the time Mindy was sixteen, her relationship with both parents had reached an all-time low, and briefly, she had been sent away to live with her mother's sisters, her Aunt Fran in Indiana.

It had been the highlight of her young life. The farming country of Central Indiana had been a far cry from the skyscrapers of Chicago, and Mindy had loved every second of her stay. For once, she no longer feared to say the wrong thing and be met with a swift backhand in reprisal, no longer lived in dread of her mother's mercurial, shifting moods. Her aunt was a nurse, and it was through her that she had discovered her calling.

Her father's death shortly after her high school graduation had brought her back home for the funeral. Afterward, her mother seemed to change, become slightly less dependent on the bottle. She convinced Mindy to come home, and reluctantly the eighteen-year-old had agreed. Things between them were awkward at times, but gradually, they built a new relationship from the shaky foundation of the old. Mindy had studied to be a nurse while her mom worked at a local department store managing the jewelry and cosmetics. When she graduated, her mom had thrown her a party. Their truce had lasted until Mindy's mother had suffered a series of setbacks at work, followed by a mild stroke likely brought on by years of alcohol abuse. Beatrice recovered, but she was never the same after that, and she lapsed back into her old habits. The last three years had been a steady decline leading them to the current status quo.

The small kitchen area was cramped and uncomfortable. It was one of the things that made Mindy long for those quiet days in Indiana the most. Her aunt had been very proud of her kitchen, and rightly so, it had plenty of space for getting things done and a double convection oven for the doing. They had spent quite a bit of time baking the most delicious cookies and cakes.

"What are we having?" asked Greg from the door.

The pleasant memory of baked goods collapsed like a house of cards, leaving Mindy back in her tiny apartment.

"I was going to make something fast and easy. Chicken soup?"

Greg wrinkled his nose. To him soup wasn't a proper meal but more of a starter.

"We don't have any beef around here?"

"I asked you to get some groceries the day before yesterday," she reminded him gently.

"Right...Well, I had interviews."

"I understand, but you need to understand that leaves us with soup."

She started to cut up some vegetables on the counter when Greg suddenly slipped his arms around her waist.

"I'm sorry about the living room. You know the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you."

Mindy tensed, knife poised above a thick carrot. How many times had she heard her father tell her mother the same thing?

Then again, she was still here.

"It's okay...I get it. You're tired. Heck, we're all tired."

"Yeah," he admitted leaning down to kiss her shoulder, "We should take a vacation and get out of the city. It's making us crazy."

She decided to ignore what a fantasy that was given the current state of their finances. The last thing they needed was another subject to argue about tonight.

"We'll have to talk about that later. Let me get this soup going before we starve," she said, trying to laugh to soften the dismissal.

"Sure...You know, maybe later we could..." he reached up a little higher, cupping Mindy's firm breasts.

Sex was the last thing Mindy was in the mood for, but to rebuff him straight away would only set him on edge, push that button she knew better than to touch.

"We'll see. Go watch your game, and I'll bring you some when it's ready."

Greg patted her on the ass, then walked out. The kind of playful gesture she would have giggled about when they first met. The type that now made her cringe.

"Suck it up, Mindy. You need to tell him to go," she thought to herself.

It wasn't the first time she had thought that, but so far, her courage had failed her when it came to implementing a plan. Every time she got close to pushing him out the door, something inside her would wilt at the thought, and she would be back where she started.

The kitchen gradually began to warm up and smell like the food she was preparing. When the soup was done, she brought Greg his share along with some crackers. Her mom was fast asleep, and she opted not to poke the bear but returned to the kitchen to have a bowl herself.

Thankfully, the game went into extra-innings, and Greg was too tired and too pissed at another White Sox loss to come on to her again. It was one small thing to be grateful for on a day that had seen very few. He lay snoring next to her while Mindy watched the moon rising over the building opposite theirs through the small window above the fire escape. Tomorrow was another day, maybe one where she would finally find her voice and start making the changes that life seemed to be demanding of her.

Mindy closed her eyes and dreamed of being brave.

UNTIL YOU'VE WALKED IN MY SHOES -

The minute Mindy stepped onto the floor of the ward the next day; she was startled by the unusual commotion at the end of the hall. Usually, the only time you heard raised voices around here was when someone had coded, and it was all hands on deck, but this was different. Outside of 2B, an unhappy-looking doctor was standing with his arms folded against his chest in front of the door facing Cecilia Harcourt, her son, and a short, rather thin-looking man with a cart containing something under a drop cloth.

The doctor was Stanley Graves, one of the senior physicians who routinely worked a rotation in the ward.

"Mrs. Harcourt. I have to object strenuously to this intrusion. This isn't a laboratory, and we don't go around experimenting on our patients," he was saying as Mindy slipped up closer to see what was going on.

"I have no intention of using my son as some sort of Guinea pig, Dr. Graves. Dr. Avery has assured me that his device has been thoroughly tested and poses no threat to Trevor. It may be his salvation."

"Salvation? Mrs. Harcourt...Cecilia. I've been with Trevor from the beginning, and I can tell you with every confidence that all that is humanly possible is being done for him. At some point, you have to face the reality that he is likely never getting any better. I hate to be so blunt, but it's the truth."

Cecilia Harcourt's face clouded over.

"You and your brain trust may be ready to throw in the towel, Doctor, but I, for one, am not. Need I remind you that the money for your new hospital wing hinges largely on a donation that Harcourt Industries was to make next spring. It would be a shame to see that money going to another hospital."

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" asked Dr. Graves in a low, angry voice.

"Take it however you want, but if you would like your wing, you will move aside."

"I want to observe at least what this supposed treatment is going to do," stated Dr. Graves.

"I'm afraid since patents are still pending, I would rather limit the number of people who get to observe the operations of my device," said Dr. Avery speaking up for the first time.

"I will not allow this without at least one hospital representative being present."

Avery made a face and started to snap an angry reply.

"Just a minute, Carl. I'm sure we can come to an accommodation."

The strange new doctor pursed his lips and waited.

Cecilia wrinkled her brow looking around.

"Her. I can't imagine the good doctor would object to a nurse standing by."

Mindy's felt her heart race as everyone looked her way.

"That would be acceptable, I suppose," said Dr. Avery, not sounding particularly thrilled at the prospect.

Dr. Graves looked as if he was going to object further, but perhaps weighing the considerable loss of revenue the hospital would be facing, he quickly nodded.

"Very well, Nurse...Uh..."

"Dawson, Doctor. Mindy Dawson."

"Right...Dawson. You will accompany them and keep a close eye on the proceedings. If anything seems the least bit...irregular...I expect to be paged immediately."

Reluctantly, Graves stepped aside, allowing the four of them to pass, Dr. Avery carefully wheeling his equipment inside the room where Trevor slept.

Mindy took a position near the top of Trevor's bed, not quite sure what was happening. Cecilia Harcourt had taken her usual spot on the edge of the bed next to Trevor while Mitchell leaned on the wall near the door looking decidedly unhappy. The shorter man that had joined them, Dr. Avery, loosened his tie and set to work by pulling back the dust cover from the cart he had brought into the room.

Beneath the opaque shroud, sat a squat, vaguely rectangular silver box with rounded edges. The front of the device was covered with knobs, switches, and buttons with a small built-in screen on one side. Avery moved the cart closer to an outlet in the wall to plug a power cord that dangled from the back of the strange box into it. A soft humming filled the air as he flicked three switches on the front, and several dials lit up. While Mindy looked on growing more and more curious, Dr. Avery pulled a pair of small, silver metallic devices about the size of a large coat button from a bag on the bottom of the cart. He laid them next to the machine and started turning some knobs on the front panel.

"I'm sorry, but, what is this thing, exactly?" asked Mindy remembering why she was standing there.

Dr. Avery cleared his throat, seeming to struggle with how much he wanted to say.

"It's alright, Carl, Nurse Dawson has been Trevor's caregiver from the beginning. You can trust her to be discreet."

Mindy looked with surprise at Cecilia Harcourt. In the year they had been together, the older woman had barely acknowledged her most of the time, she certainly had never gotten the impression that Mrs. Harcourt had a high opinion of her or any opinion at all for that matter. Apparently, she had been observing Mindy far more closely than she had been aware.

"Very well..." acknowledged Dr. Avery with a nod.

"I don't have an official name for my device yet, but the function is easy enough to understand. As you are no doubt aware, people who suffer traumatic brain injuries can often recover once the area of that injury has been repaired. In many cases, however, even after the patient has been treated surgically, the amount of damage done by deprivation of oxygen during the time the brain was swollen can lead to comas that remain permanent until death. Poor Trevor, here, is an example of this sort of situation. However, I believe that the brain has far more capacity to heal itself than we understand, that it can rewire its way around such damaged areas allowing the patient to return to full function. This ability is not entirely understood, and the brain doesn't always seem to take full advantage of it."

As he spoke, Dr. Avery moved around the side of the bed and attached one of the metallic devices against Trevor's temple.

"My device helps stimulate this healing process by giving the brain a nudge in the right direction, sort of reminding it that the ability to heal itself is already available to it. I do this by attaching these transfer devices, one for the patient and one for a healthy brain. The healthy brain acts as both a template for the damaged one and a, well, a motivator for lack of a better term."

"Motivator?"

"Yes. Everyone works better with some encouragement. By attaching the other transfer device to the brain of a loved one or someone close to the injured individual, it allows me to sync their brain waves with the patients and, in essence, communicate with them even in their current condition."

"Communicate? Do you mean like telepathy or something? Sharing thoughts like Mr. Spock on Star Trek?" asked Mindy, trying very hard not to laugh.

Dr. Avery made a face at her use of science fiction based examples.

"Nothing like that...It's less thought sharing and more emotion sharing. A kind of transfer of positive feeling from a familiar figure."

Mindy glanced at Mitchell, who was shaking his head where he stood by the door. Clearly, he didn't have any more confidence in this idea than Mindy did.

"If everything goes as planned, Trevor will respond to what we are about to do and, eventually, come back to us."

The doctor had taken the second transfer disk and carefully affixed it to the side of Cecilia's head.

"I can't believe we're going through with this nonsense," mumbled Mitchell.

"We've had this discussion, Mitchell. You can keep quiet, or you can leave."

Mitchell folded his arms but remained by the door.

"I'm afraid the calibrating and synchronization can take some time. Everyone will just have to be patient."

Dr. Avery bent over his instruments, and for the next hour, nothing much seemed to happen. Mitchell grew tired of standing and sat down in a chair near the window, looking bored. Mindy stood near the monitoring equipment, checking on Trevor's vitals. If the machine was having any effect, she couldn't see it. Other than a slight elevation in his heart rate, everything appeared to remain as it had for the past twelve months.

"Wait...I...I think I felt something..." murmured Cecilia Harcourt from where she sat with her eyes closed.

"Take a deep breath and concentrate, Trevor may be trying to reach out to you. He should recognize your presence," advised Doctor Avery.

"Oh...Jesus..." mumbled Mitchell rolling his eyes.

Cecilia ignored her younger son, focusing her full attention on Trevor, gripping his hand tighter in hers.

"Trevor...Trevor, Sweetie, it's Mom...I'm here...I'm here..." she whispered.

The humming from the machine grew more pronounced as Dr. Avery made some adjustments that seemed to increase the power.

"I'm getting signs of increased brain wave activity," he announced.

Mindy saw nothing on her monitors to indicate anything was happening and felt like rolling her eyes in concert with Mitchell.

"Trevor...Everything is going to be alright...We're here for you."

An acrid smell suddenly filled the air, and Mindy watched as Dr. Avery frantically lowered the power back down until the humming became almost inaudible.

"I'm sorry, but we're getting interference from somewhere. Probably a lot of electromagnetic energy thrown off by all this medical equipment."

"Well, that's no problem. I'm sure the hospital won't mind if you run around shutting down the life support equipment in the Intensive Care Ward," remarked Mitchell sarcastically.

Dr. Avery threw the younger Harcourt a nasty look, but Cecilia intervened before an argument could break out.

"Is there something you could do to reduce the interference?"

"I could bring a shroud from my lab. A bit of lead shielding around my device should reduce the problem to a manageable level and allow us not to run the risk of over-heating by applying too much power. It will take me a couple of hours to round up the necessary equipment and return. I would rather not shut things down and have to recalibrate, though..."

"It's fine. I can drive you back to your lab while Mitchell stays here to watch over your machine."

"It's very delicate. I can't have anyone messing with it," said Dr. Avery, not liking the idea of leaving Mitchell in charge.

"Nurse Dawson will be here as well, and I will have our firm send one of our private security people over to guard the door. Will that be satisfactory, Doctor?"

Cecilia Harcourt's tone gave a clear impression of the answer she expected, and Dr. Avery sensed that he had better agree.

"That will be fine. Thank you."

The pair exited the room leaving Mindy and Mitchell alone.

"This is bullshit..." called out Mitchell after the door shut.

Though she hated to agree, it did seem like a waste of everyone's time.

"His vitals are stable. I don't think whatever that machine was doing had any detrimental effect on your brother. In case you were worried."

Mitchell smirked when she added this last part as if he could sense that she didn't trust his feelings for his older sibling.

"Great. Glad to hear it!" he grumbled, standing up and stretching before heading to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to get some coffee downstairs."

"You're supposed to guard the machine," she reminded him.

"Are you kidding me? Do you think this circus act is going to do anything for my brother? It's just another desperate attempt by my mother to prolong the inevitable. Jesus! I'm going. The man from our office should be here by the time I get back."

Mitchell didn't bother with seeing if Mindy had a reply in mind but just bulled his way through the door and out into the hallway, leaving her alone.

"This day is getting stranger by the minute," said Mindy to the empty room.

Her legs were getting sore, but rather than move to a chair, she simply sat on the edge of the bed looking into Trevor's composed face.

"I wonder what you were like when you could talk? I hope you weren't a prick like your brother," she said.

His blanket had slipped down while his mother had been sitting on the bed, and she stood to adjust it, noticing that Cecilia had taken off the metallic disk and left it on the side of Trevor's pillow. Curious, she picked it up, turning it over in her hand. It was surprisingly heavy and slightly warm to the touch. As a kid, the one thing she and her father had enjoyed in common had been a healthy love of science-fiction T.V shows and movies. In a rare display of affection, he used to sit her in his lap when Star Trek was on in syndication, letting her watch the episodes with him. It was one of her few fond memories of him.