Organ - Chapter 13

ORGAN

Chapter Thirteen

Gazing down, attempting to be inconspicuous, Oscar noted the minutes that had passed since he had cross the street from the hospital car park that appeared seemingly impassable before that sweat producing day, not from the weather mind you, from the sudden expulsion of movement and activity to get him to that spot. That bus stop curb side stood erect beside a white detailed piece of metal detailing the timetables for various public bus routes, it broke up the miles of stretching rock and blackened tarmac that otherwise gave him a headache of similar environmental anxiety. 

But the minutes continued to crawl with agonising gradualness that would send a brown hair, white and a white hair shedding to the floor with age. It had been gloomy the days before but today felt different above his hooded head, the air was dense enough to bite with static, perhaps a pending storm he thought to himself as the sky flittered from dark heavy cloud to breaking of sunshine white beaming through behind, always threatening to stab a hole in the canopy of nimbus and stratus. But the bus still lingered around some corner somewhere unseen, avoiding his ticket it would seem, teasing him with the tardiness, he considered for a brief moment of walking but for someone who lived here his whole life, Oscar knew embarrassingly little of the walkable parts of the outskirts of Greenwood. 

Put him in the centre, around the red brick high street dotted with his favourite shops and pubs, he turned into a seasoned captain at the helm, steering the cobbled seas blindfolded, but here, he was a tourist. His eyes kept creeping beneath his hood and up into the windows that held at a stiff angle from the bus stop side of the street, glare enough to hide anyone or any shape standing in observation, perhaps he was praying on some level to see Katies face looking down at him with a smile or passive face that told him the alarm bell had not yet been rung on his casual escape, try as he might it was impossible to know if she was looking down at him without catching the eyes of a lurking guard in the car park. The risk was greater than the reward of seeing a friendly face one last time before he made it home.

“Where is this bus, holy hell” he remarked under his breath breathing in the fumes of passing cars.

A lifetime passed by before that bus finally arrived, in enough time for Oscar to see the guards exit and enter the building across from him multiple times, no doubt in search for the young runaway. He boarded in a rush, it startled the driver seeing a tall young man with his head hooded come rushing towards his unshielded seat, but after Oscar handed over the pocket change that Katie left him and the drivers face went from a cold nervousness to a placid sunburnt bore, the driver had been abroad recently, the answer for that redness coating his face Oscar thought as he made his way down the aisle. The seat he took was halfway through the bus, curb side, comfortable enough for a bus that was from the nineties and somehow still rolling around spewing out black plumes of environmentally irritating smog, he allowed himself the luxury of another peek up through the smeared hand-print-stained glass. 

His heart fell to stone at the bottom of his pond. The guards where back, looking down his direction with inquisitive poise, the hairs on the back of his neck became erect and deadly sharp, his face shot down to his lap and he pulled the corners of his hoody just a bit closer to his face, unaware that these men could hardly see through the windows of the bus themselves with the same glare that defeated Oscar now clouding their view. Heart racing in rhythmic stomach aching thumps, Oscar continued his game of peeking up and hiding his face, peeking up and hiding his face, all while the bus sat in park as the driver poured over a book that he appeared from behind to be scribbling in. 

“Not safe” his invader called out, muffled but loud enough for him to hear, Oscar pushed lightly down on his stomach, this seemingly instructed his would be companioned to cease its communications for a while.

“Excuse me driver” Oscars hoarse voice called out, startling several of the other passengers that sat around him lost in their own faults and completely unaware of the drama unfolding in their fellow riders mind. 

“Yep” the drivers gruff voice called back, the irritation in his voice was apparent even without a prior knowledge of the man’s demeaner. 

“When are we leaving?” 

“Not for another…..” his pause to view his wristwatch was deliberately lingering “5 or so minutes if my watch is correct sir” the driver answered before continuing to scratch away at some leger or journal. 

“Five fudging minutes” he mumbled into his chest shaking his head, his behaviour was starting to become noticeable for the others riding as at least one moved another row back from the seat behind him, judging by the shuffling. 

Oscar knew not to turn around and risk scaring anyone into requesting his removal. Feeling like some common criminal was driving him into a frenzy of anxious panic, not helped by the clacking of keys behind him from a phone, he could have sworn he heard the shutter from a camera go off but having been party to illusions and manifestations of the dark and grim, he put these thoughts away in the lock-box that temporarily held his pain, his lump, and his real life. The two clearly overpaid guards, or security, or wardens, however the hospital decided to make them label themselves on their resumes, came ever closer to the edge of the car park and with every centre-metre stolen from Oscars advantage the risk of being identified was rapidly growing. Then the sweetest sound he had ever heard interrupted his nightmarish chaotic thinking, the ancient vehicle spewed into life with a thunderous gurgle of soot and engine grease, Oscar was on the move, as a man free from the shackles of Boothe and the eye present watching eyes the chief had in his employment. Oscar lifted his head only in time to see the guards turn and head back for the building, they certainly earned their pay checks that day he thought to himself letting out a rare smile in these troubling times, but his journey was not over, nor was it really letting up, his next task was convincing his mother not to send him back. Convince her that the truth was his and not Boothes, who he had no doubt had been leaking a dripping supply of sewage scented lies into her ear and voicemail that day. So, he headed home, the bus carried him, and he carried himself as best he could through the aches, the pinches and the acquired set of nervous disorders that had latched onto his shoulders, seeped into his personality since crossing the boundary of Boothe domain.

The journey was unknown, but Katie had assured him that the bus route was correct to get him near the terminal, it was then a walk to his home that could take him twenty minutes if the wind were with him. It was all time out in the open that Oscar dreaded, especially as evening shade crept in over the dwindling sunset, the idea of being snatched up by some goon squad on patrol from the hospital, or god forbid his mother bumps into him before he manages to get home and explain himself properly. 

Speedbumps in the road kept breaking the tether of day dreams and jerking him back into reality as the bus moved its way through the winding streets, every thud of the un-cushioned seat hurting his stomach, it stopped sporadically to pick up passengers or let them off, every time a soul walked past Oscar bowed his head and attempted to hide his face from spotters, little did he know that his behaviour was already causing some concern and would certainly be sawing away at the rope holding his anonymity, his evasion, down to a thread that could be finally snipped by the authorities or white jump suited doctors on his step. His phone was clutching to life, battery was almost spent, and his signal got worse as the town bus lurched and coughed further through these back streets, Oscar knew that if the phone died he would need to find his way from the bus terminal of memory, something he was not keen to test that day but confident in his ability to draw back some knowledge from his last experience walking home tipsy from the same station. His chin sunk into his chest at the thought of normal days, the day drinking with his old school friends, chasing girls around with no idea what to do with them if they agreed, it would have been easy for the runaway to let himself sob in that moment, but the eyes watching him never blinked and he felt them still lasering off the hairs on the back of his neck.

Once again the bus pulled to a creaking stop and the piston powered doors hissed into life, springing open the greasy glass to allow in another couple of locals who also had not figured out a way to avoid taking the bus. Oscar could barely make out the conversation the couple had with the bus driver, but a loud laugh capped off the exchange, obviously these two don’t mind the bus quite as much as him. Staring down at the floor once again, it was now instinct, muscle memory. 

Oscars worst fears took shape in the aisle “Is that Marys boy?” one of the voices said as they passed by his seat and made their way behind him further into the belly of the bustling beast. 

It was a women’s voice, his dread was creeping into his throat like bile, the taste burned, and he felt for a second as though he would vomit. The mumbling was continuing behind him, and Oscar felt his chest tightening, then his tumorous friend aching at this side, then the sweat began dripping from his brow and the lights began to flicker. Oscar was losing himself once again, but this situation above all others was especially not safe and this time he drew the line in the sand. Pinching at his own forearm Oscar grabbed hold of the situation, his body needed a parachute from the careening freefall towards his now familiar foe in unconsciousness. If he fainted now, it was all over, he would awaken back at the hospital strapped to a bed with that sick bastard Boothe leaning over his helpless body. Not now, he told himself as the walls began to widen in his mind once again. 

Feeling his heart rate calming and the murmuring behind becoming nothing more than a sniffling breath, the young man on the lamb gained some semblance of self-control. But like an undead relative in one of those late night black and white zombie movies his mother hated the voice behind him rose up once again.

“Oscar?” the woman’s voice called out across the bus, judging by the volume Oscar guessed it was about two rows back, but he didn’t turn his head to confirm, not even a flinch came to life in his body. 

Well, the game was seemingly up as the hand gripped onto the backrest next to his seat and the woman’s voice continued “Oscar Rubens?.” 

He was tempted to continue ignoring her, but it felt even more suspicious, especially if this woman did indeed know him or his mother intimately. Dipping his hood slightly behind his ears, Oscar looked up at the face that hovered over him like some grim spectre, it was one of his mother’s colleagues from the school, it was indeed a face he knew very well.

“Sorry I think you have the wrong person” Oscar mumbled out. 

Completely ashamed and almost staggered by the level of stupidity in his answer, the panic raced back through his body and celebrated its delayed comeback victory at the root of his mind, it was all happening so fast when Oscar realised he was standing and gathering his things, the young man screamed out with a cracking voice for the driver to stop and he ran off the bus pushing past his mother’s colleague, her husband seeing this took offence and called out some expletives as Oscar made a break for the pavement. It was a heavenly mercy when the doors slammed shut behind him and the bus carried on its way, but now it was in motion, not his escape, but the trail of falling dominoes that would lead this information on his whereabouts to his mother before he could make it home. The bus stop was unknown to him, his chance at getting ahead of his arrival, his breakout, was now gone. Mary would be waiting at home, likely with the police or Boothe, maybe both he thought staring up at the sky and trying keep tears from breaking through the barriers. 

“You couldn’t make it up” he mumbled to himself slinging his backpack over his shoulder and guessing a direction to follow the bus, it was a plan to follow the route, but beyond that Oscar now had no strategies, it was crumbling, 

“Not safe” it called out in the air. 

“I know, shut up” he shouted back at his own belly.

With the sun now creeping towards its days end, Oscar was racing the shadows, it was a relatively unknown route during the day but at night he would be at the mercy of the pavement. His feet hurt from the walk, the weeks in hospital has made his legs weaker, all that lying down was not good for him he thought to himself as he adjusted his trainers at the toe. Silent evening air was momentarily interrupted by his phone letting out a faint beep, it vibrated in his pocket, he knew that combination, it was his mobile dying. 

“Of course, you piece of crap,” he let out moving the phone from his pocket into his backpack. 

It was useless now and took some strain of his legs as he walked, no need to dwell on that he thought. Oscar knew he missed the chance to charge this valuable lifeline last night.

Oscar trod along the pavement that bypassed the backs of some semi-detached houses and nice shady oaks, it would have been a pleasant walk if almost every single detail of his situation was different he thought, listening to families in their gardens enjoying a meal or an evening smoke, it brought a well-earned smile to the cracks of his lips and as though the universe felt that need for a pat on the back, as he turned the corner around yet another alien street, Oscar spotted it, the bus terminal. Perhaps another twenty-five minutes away on foot, but off in the distance shrouded by some trees and half hidden behind a block of hastily built unpleasant looking flats, it sat grumbling in the evening lethargy. “There you are” he shouted aloud, with nobody but the birds and gnats around to hear it, he felt safe enough to vent just for a second. It was within reach, but it was not his final destination, once at the bus terminal he would switch into the mind of a homing pigeon, he knew the exit to take, he knew the shops he would pass if he was on the right path, and he knew the entrance to his street from at least a mile away. 

Thankfully Oscar was at the terminal before the night had become black, it was gloomy and shadows began painting the artifacts of civilization around him black, he moved through the ticketing booths and hard metal benches, spotted his exit, and paused momentarily to catch his breath. 

It was a much longer walk than he anticipated and every step he took was blistering throbs on his feet, blood was no doubt filling his socks and he cursed “Mrs Gregory” every step he took. 

“Excuse me” a voice shouted out somewhere in the terminal, it carried, and the cause was hard to discern, “Excuse me sir” it called out again but now closer and accompanied by footsteps on the laminate stone tiles. 

Oscar looked back behind him, much to his dismay the bus driver that he encountered earlier that day was heading towards him with a fire in his walk. Oscar did not give it a second thought, he burst into a sprint and headed for the exit, his route semi-known and every second he waited he sensed his cage door creaking closed before him, more shouts came from behind him, but he could not hear them over his own pained breaths and stomping heavy legs. They burned and ached, but the movement felt primal, he was being transported now by flesh and bone, no emotion, survival was all that crossed his soul, and the runaway was always home free. At the foot of his street Oscar paused and gathered his breath, gasping grabs for garbled air hurtled out of his chest, the walk was hardly a walk, it was a burning sprint from the terminal to his address and his legs could barely hold his weight up any longer. But his house was there, at the end of the street, just before the fork in the road, Oscar could see it, smell his mother’s cooking, hear the warm tumbling rocking of the dryer, and feel his cotton bed sheet beneath his aching back. It was a torture in its own right that his evening would not be normal once he crossed the threshold into his home, the safe space was compromised and he had no idea if it would be the night sleep he yearned for ahead of him, or if he would bagged and tied up in the back of a police van before his feet had even touched the terrible carpet his mother laid in the hallway that she loved so much. 

As he finally approached his front door, passed the gate his dad installed, felt that one uneven stone step shift slightly under his feet as it always with the pebble carpet of the drive and stood at his door mat, Oscar realised he did not have his keys. His heart sank once again, as if the ocean that swallowed it the first time had a greater abyss consumed it. He would have to knock, and so he did, wrapping his finger into a curled device he knocked three times and waited for what felt like an eternity for the footsteps inside to become clearer and clearer. It was his mother’s walk, the footsteps etched into his minds audible record, recognising a parents footsteps becomes a survival instinct living at home, especially for young single boys. Mary answered the door, and her eyes widened with either horror or relief, he couldn’t tell from the second she gave him. Mary pulled Oscar into an embrace, her coconut shampoo once again living freely in her brown and in parts silver strands of hair, it took everything in his body not to collapse into her arms right then and there, but she did let go as he expected rather quickly. 

“I don’t know what to say” she whispered out holding back tears, it was still not clear what was driving them, but Oscar was leaning more towards anger, based solely on how firmly she gripped his arm. Her hand had hate in the strength. 

“Can I come in?” Oscar begged through his own whimpering tone, Mary shut the door behind her and guided Oscar into the bathroom to wash his face, it was almost black from the evening walk and sprint through a less than orderly part of the town. 

“Wash up and I will get you some water” Mary said, she shut the door behind her.

Oscar spent a lingering amount of time in the bathroom, it was the family bathroom and here he felt a love for something completely uninspiring, but the acquaintance with familiar tiles and towels would need to be short lived, his mother was waiting for him somewhere in the house and Oscar was unaware of his abilities in spinning this into a defensible series of decisions that led him there that evening, convincing her of Boothes evils would be challenging. 

“Come sit down, I made us some tea” Mary explained calmly as he inched into the room looking like a frightened baby deer taking its first steps outside the womb. 

Oscar settled into the deep sinking cushions on the couch and gave a deep exhaling sigh of relief, it was the feeling of comforting safety that wrapped around him as the cushions absorbed his form and cradled his hips, Mary saw his face changing and looked down at her lap, his mother was well aware of the difficulties Oscar was going through, outside of some precise terrifying and almost otherworldly details, Oscar and the staff kept her relatively in the loop. But as she watched the lines relaxing across his face, these new lines that detailed his worry so smugly, she could not help but feel anguish in her heart at the sight of her son withering away in this dreadful situation that all began with a simple touch of an anomaly on the innocent skin of his stomach. 

“Did they tell you I left?” Oscar broke the ice first.

“They did.” Mary answered back quickly. 

Her voice never climbed a single decibel. 

“Are they coming to get me?” he continued asking the questions most pressing in his mind, Mary looked at him in silence for a while, devastated by how diminished her son looked. 

The larger clothes not helping the image, but Oscar felt the incoming barrage, it was like watching a kettle boil as his mother sat there stewing on the coals. 

“I haven’t told them you are here; they have no idea where you are” she answered and her son felt the first inclination of rage bubbling over, but the tears welling up in her eyes could have been spotted by the blind. 

Mary was heartbroken that Oscar was being so seemingly careless and was struggling to find the words even heavy enough to weigh him down. Oscar was nodding into his chest but still keeping his eyes from ever solidly landing on her face, it would be hard to keep a position of justifiable defiance if the emotion of his mother breaking down would creep in and break his spirit. 

“I had to leave that place Mum…you don’t know how bad things got” there was a pause that Oscar expected to be interrupted but Mary sat and listened, so he continued to explain his actions boldly.

“Boothe has been horrible, I didn’t want to tell you because honestly I thought maybe I dreamt it, but he hurt me Mum. I have a witness; I promise you I am telling the truth.” 

Marys head snapped into life and the mother leant forward to see her sons face clearly.

“What do you mean? How did he hurt you?” she asked impatiently, understandable Oscar thought but still a situation was unravelling that he attempted to hold down, like a young boy latched to a weighty kite losing itself in a storm. 

“He cut open my robe, deliberately pressed into my lump, he was trying to hurt me and threatened me. I heard he was going to cut it out and send me to some insane house, he was going to kill me in surgery mom” Oscar continued, Mary wilting back into her seat. 

“It was an exam” she answered still with a hushed tone, it was actually beginning to irritate him, he wanted to tell her to just yell at him, but his mother didn’t seem to have the life in her that night, he knew that version of his mother and it was not a pleasant outfit for her to have dug out of the memory wardrobe. 

“It wasn’t an exam; he was trying to hurt me, that doesn’t seem like an exam Mum. Plus, he was saying all this stuff about using me to learn about this thing…” Oscar was rambling when his mother finally stopped him. 

She never yelled, just held out her hand and he knew to stop before it became a shouting contest.

“Let me call Boothe and we can explain this all together okay, you aren’t well Oscar. I can see from the look in your eyes that you aren’t telling me everything and I know for a fact that you feel worse than you’ve told the doctors, I can see it. Look at you.” Mary said as Oscar sat chewing over the lines she delivered in this newly acquired dead pan voice. 

“Please don’t call Boothe” he begged very calmly; 

Mary had not left her seat; he knew he could still keep his arrival home a secret from the hospital.

“How did you get out Oscar? Boothe mentioned that there had been security looking out for patients and you seemed to slip right past them” her tone was now accusatory, and Oscar knew it was time to mind his words, mentioning Katie. 

Someone his mother vocally disapproved of being around him at all after the first week in the hospital would be suicidal for his defence.

 “They obviously don’t have that good of a security team because I just walked out, I found a jumper on my way out and got on the first bus that would take me without money” Oscar explained. 

Two lies in once sentence was risky he thought, he ears looking out for every slight inflection or crack in his voice that could give him away as that boyish fibbing son of hers could. Oscar felt a twinge, his stomach was tightening into that knottiest agony once again, but this was absolutely the worst possible moment to show weakness, his condition was actually far back in the queue of topics being discussed and he wanted to keep it that way while he could. So, Oscar did what he could, he bit down on his lip occasionally and pulled a throw pillow over his lap to obscure his stomach, slumping further down to a sleeping position on the chair as he did to seem natural. His stomach ripped at this steely mask with every movement he made, “just don’t speak” he thought to himself praying that it would soon evaporate. Mary was speaking but Oscar watched her lips and took nothing verbal in, his focus was solely on hiding the creeping biting gnash at his mid. 

“Do you think I could stay the night?” he interrupted her.

Mary seemed put off more by the question than the rudeness, her own son asking, pleading, to stay in her home was a dagger to her heart. Oscar watched as Mary sucked in her lips and nodded in approval as the tears welled up in her eyes. 

“Of course,” she squeezed out between obviously deep breaths.

Oscar wondered for a moment if his heart was even still functioning, he saw his mother was hurting but every instinct rushing into his control room was telling him to get out and hide. 

“We will speak about it in the morning” she added, Oscar considered reminding her that she had work but dared not put his foot any further into his mouth for the night. 

It was a whole hour later that Oscar finally found himself peacefully laying in his familiar bed, it was a comfort he deeply missed after becoming all too familiar with the horrendous cheap spring frames of the hospital, no doubt another place that Boothe tightened the purse strings. His pain has subsided enough for him to have a real shower and change into some clothes that did not smell of the bus or the sweat from his run across town. Mary had ambled about the house and Oscar occasionally would hear a loud blow of her nose into a tissue, or a sniffle that blew out some tears, he wanted to feel guilty, he wanted to go out and give his mother the hug and love that she needed that night. 

But a small voice in the back of his mind kept calling out, “She didn’t stop him” and Oscar could not help but let it speak. “She didn’t try to stop any of it” he mumbled to himself as the young man drifted off to sleep, his first restful sleep since this ordeal began. 

What Oscar was unaware of as he slept that night was his mother’s actions, as he caught up on lost hours, Mary paced around their family home with thoughts rattling through her mind about the evenings conversation after her sons expected re-emergence at her front door. Boothe had called Mary not long after Oscar had been labelled ‘an escapee’ and Mary had already laid into him, Katie and some other orderlies who seemed unphased by the notion of a patient disappearing from their care, but with her son back in the safety of her nest, Mary felt conflicted. Calling Boothe would shatter Oscars trust in her, but at the same time, if he stayed and something happened to him, “god forbid” she would whisper every time the thought rolled across her mind, then it would completely her own fault for having let him hide out back home. By the end of the evening, around 11pm, Mary would make the hardest phone call she would ever make, Mary would call to the police and inform them that Oscar was home. Boothe would be informed the following morning when he arrived back at the office. Hanging up the phone and placing it lazily back on the receiver, Mary hunched to the floor of her kitchen and wept silently into her sleeve to keep her son from hearing.