ALTER EGO
 

 

Copyright:  Saturday, March 15, 2008 10:08:33 PM
 

 

THREE YEARS LATER

          "They accepted my screenplay."  Kayla stared blankly at the phone receiver she’d just set down.  "They accepted my screenplay!  My God, I finally did it!"
          Suddenly she let out a wild whoop of pure glee, and spun her wheelchair around in a tight circle.  "I did it!  They said yes!"
          The news was simply too incredible to keep.  Laughter bubbled as she grabbed the phone again, and stabbed at the first speed-dial her finger happened to hit. "Brigit!  Brigit, wake up!  They accepted Obsession!  They’re going to make a movie from my screenplay!"
          "What?"  Brigit’s sleepy voice rose in a startled shriek.  "I’ll be right there!  Don’t you dare move!  Nancy!  Nancy, she did it!  Kayla got them to..."
          The line went dead, but Kayla didn’t care.  Three long years of hard, unremitting work had just paid off.  Never again would she have to spend another thankless hour arguing or pleading with potential agents to promote her work!  Jeremiah Jamieson, owner and executive producer of "The Bureau," had bought her screenplay!  He was going to make a silver-screen motion picture, using the words and sweat and tears she’d created!
          "I did it, Patrick," she whispered, sending a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward.  "We did it!  They’re even going to let me visit the set sometime, and watch the movie being made!  In the Fiji Islands, no less!  It won’t be for months, but what does it matter?  We’ll be there together, seeing it all come to life!"
          Never once, in the three long years since she’d awoken in that sterile little hospital room, had she passed a single night or day without feeling Patrick’s comforting presence nearby.  Sometimes she could almost see his familiar shadow stretched across the shiny wood floor, or feel his big hand gripping hers.  He was her guardian angel.  She couldn’t have survived or triumphed this way without him.
          The doorbell rang, then Brigit eagerly flung the door open and raced into Kayla’s office.  "Darlin,’ I’m so proud of you!" she gasped, flinging her arms wide in an exuberant hug.  "What did they say?  Tell me everythin’!"
          Her curly red hair was still sticking out in tufts, and her blouse was buttoned crookedly.  Kayla leaned back and held her at arms’ length, burst into laughter, then pulled her close for another rib-cracking hug.  "Oh Brigit, what would I do without you to keep me sane?"
          "Coffee."  Energy sparkled in the younger woman’s green eyes as she stood back up, and dashed into the kitchen.  "We need coffee.  No--champagne!"  Giggling, she spun around the room like a whirlwind, searching through Kayla’s waist-high cabinets.  "We absolutely need champagne!  Where’s Monica?"
          "Working out at the Y.  She’ll be back in an hour."  Kayla maneuvered her wheelchair through the extra-wide doorway, and laughed again.  "We’ll all go celebrate tonight.  Brigit, sit down before you hurt yourself!  You’re making me dizzy!"
          "I’m too excited to sit!"  Brigit’s lilting brogue deepened as she bent to clasp Kayla’s hands.  "They signed th’ contracts!  They really did?"
          Kayla took a deep breath, and nodded.  "They really did!  My agent and attorney have reviewed them, and a courier’s delivering them to me this afternoon.  Once I sign on the dotted line, it’s done!"
          "Oh, darlin’!"  Weak-kneed, Brigit sank into the nearest chair.  Her freckles stood out like a complex star map across her creamy nose and cheeks.  "Dear sweet Jesus, I can’t believe it!  Let me look at you!"
          As if, Kayla thought with another buoyant laugh, she’d deteriorated and wasted away since yesterday’s grueling physical therapy session.  God knew, sometimes she felt like the pitiless machines were going to kill her.  But right now, she’d never felt stronger in her life.
          Wondering tears slid down Brigit’s cheeks.  "I can still hardly believe you’re my poor helpless li’l coma patient from Room B14!" she whispered.  "Look at you now, so bright-eyed an’ full of life!  Nothin’s gonna keep you down, Kayla Moira Farrell!"
          "Not even this custom-made wheelchair."  Kayla whirled in another tight circle, then carefully lifted her feet off the padded footrests.  "It’s a day for miracles, Brigit.  Help me into the body brace!"

• • • • • •

          Anthony Templeton’s parents had been extremely generous.  Perhaps guilt, for the irrevocable damage their rebellious teenage son had caused, had loosened their wallets.  No amount of money could ever replace Kayla’s precious husband and son.  But the Templetons could, and did, unselfishly support her every other need.
          While she’d hovered on that thin line between life and death, they’d provided Patrick and Sean with beautiful, dignified funerals.  And videotaped the ceremony, so she could share those poignant final moments later--if she ever recovered.  All her medical bills had been covered.  They’d even paid off her car loan, all three credit cards, and her mortgage.
          When she’d finally regained consciousness, they’d offered to buy her a new house that was carefully tailored to her ‘special needs.’  But in the end, they’d understood that she couldn’t bear to leave the home Patrick and she had loved.  So William Templeton had hired skilled craftsmen to completely remodel the main floor.
          Swinging doors were replaced with efficient pocket doors that slid back into the walls.  The master bathroom was enlarged, and ringed with sturdy metal bars that allowed her almost-normal use of its luxurious facilities.  In the kitchen, all cabinets had been rebuilt to waist level, and her appliances had been replaced by special ‘handicap’ models that could be accessed from a wheelchair.
          Kayla’s wheelchair was retrofitted with a small electric motor, to give her increased mobility.  Monica, an outgoing young therapist who doubled as maid and cook, lived in the refurbished upstairs bedroom.  Groceries from the local market were delivered like clockwork every Tuesday and Friday.
          And even after all these years, the Templetons were still paying her ongoing physical therapy.  No amount of protesting had changed William Templeton’s mind, and probably nothing ever would.  Not until the day she could walk up to him on her own two feet, and prove that she was fully healed.
          Unfortunately, that magical day was still a long way down the road.
         Kayla was sensible enough to realize that she still needed help.  Until she could walk, drive, and dress herself unaided, having a live-in nurse was sensible.  Besides, she genuinely liked Monica.  They got along well together.
          Still, it cut like a knife, in those lonely dark hours before dawn, to know that she should have died with Patrick in that awful crash.  And would have, if anyone but Anthony Templeton had been at fault.  The vast world-renowned, multi-billion-dollar Templeton Pharmaceutical empire could pull strings most men didn’t even know existed.
          At William Templeton’s command, gifted surgeons had repaired the shattered vertebrae in her spine, replaced crushed organs, healed the ugly lacerations where glass and metal had slashed through her fragile skin.  Then they’d gone one step further.  Instead of using her wedding photos as a guide, they’d chosen a glamour picture she’d had made for Patrick--one that made her look much more beautiful than she’d ever been in real life--to reconstruct her mangled face.
          Okay, maybe they’d made an honest mistake.  She knew that they’d meant well.  And certainly it beat the hell out of looking like the Bride of Frankenstein.  But despite their good intentions, waking up with a stranger’s face had only made her recovery and adjustment that much more difficult.
          Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d lost three whole years of her life?  Or that extensive nerve damage to her spinal column had left her lower body paralyzed?  The doctors could offer little hope that she’d regain the use of her long legs.
          Worst of all, she was alone.  Her parents had died years ago, and she’d never had any siblings.  Patrick and Sean had been her entire life...and now they were both gone forever.
          Patrick had been her high-school sweetheart, her only lover, her very best friend.  His loss, and her precious little Sean’s death, all in one swift stroke, had thrown her into a black, suicidal depression.  The hospital psychiatrist had termed it a normal reaction to a devastating tragedy, and had arranged for a discrete suicide watch until she adjusted.
          Weeks had passed while she’d brooded, withdrawn and unresponsive even to Brigit’s gentle ministrations.  It seemed that her whole life had come crashing down around her ears.  Everyone she’d loved was gone.  Like the little boy in the story, she’d been left behind to suffer and mourn in solitary misery.  If there was nothing left worth living for, why couldn’t she just die?  Didn’t she deserve something better, even if it was only the sweet solace of death?
          The final blow, which she learned totally by accident when two gossiping nurses thought her soundly asleep, nearly broke what remained of her flagging spirits.  When they’d first gotten engaged, Patrick had recommended being tested for genetic compatibility.  The results had surprised them both.  Not only was it safe for them to have a child, they were so closely matched that either could safely donate blood or internal organs for the other in an emergency.
          Six hours after the crash, Templeton’s surgeons had replaced her badly damaged heart with Patrick’s healthy one.  Likewise his kidneys and liver had helped keep her alive during those first few crucial weeks while her traumatized body had stabilized.
          As long as she lived, the most important part of him would live.  In a uniquely special way, he would always be with her.  That should have helped to ease her wracking grief.  Instead, it threw her even deeper into dark despair.
          She began to imagine that she could hear Patrick’s low, gentle voice in her ear even when she was awake.  That path led to insanity, an even worse road than simple death.  Frightened, she tried blocking him out.  It didn’t work.  He was too much a part of her, too deeply ingrained in her mind and her soul.  Finally she gave into the madness, if madness it was, and allowed herself the tenuous comfort of what love and affection his ghostly voice could still offer.
          She’d barely even noticed when Brigit had begun massaging her back and legs with warm, fragrant oil.  Very little could penetrate her melancholy gloom.  But she’d always remember the day she realized that her life wasn’t entirely over yet, and she reluctantly rejoined the living.
          Ironically, it was Anthony who finally broke through her deep, keening anguish.
          He still visited every week, bearing flowers, books, fruit baskets, boxes of candy.  Kayla hated him.  She hated everything about him.  From his neatly trimmed golden hair, to his expensive preppy clothes, to his athletic all-American college face, she despised Anthony Templeton.  Why shouldn’t she?  He was the sole cause of all her misery.  He had single-handedly murdered her husband and son, and left her paralyzed for life.  She loathed him with single-minded intensity.
          And yet...
         It was hard to hate someone who was so earnest, so filled with genuine remorse.  He was trying so hard to make amends.  Somehow that only made her more miserable.  It would be easier to hate him if he was a loathsome jerk.
          One sunny afternoon, nearly four months after her miraculous awakening, he brought something totally unexpected:  the foot-high scale model of an experimental new body brace.
          She tried to ignore his eager explanations of how it would work.  It wasn’t going to work.  Nothing was ever going to work.  She’d never walk again, the doctors had said so.  Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
          But this time, Brigit wouldn’t allow her to withdraw into her protective shell.  Before Anthony could protest, she reached over and pinched Kayla hard on the foot.
          "Ouch!"  Kayla stared up at her in shocked disbelief.  Brigit was the very soul of calm compassion.  Why was she suddenly acting so hateful?
          The redhead’s expression was fierce.  "You’ve wallowed in self-pity long enough.  Now you listen t’ him!"
          "Why?"  Suddenly all her anger and resentment bubbled hotly to the surface.  "What good will it do?  What good will that do?"  And she flung a derisive hand toward the model, nearly knocking it off her bedside table.
          Brigit’s green eyes narrowed.  "You don’t even realize what just happened, d’you?" she demanded.  "Anthony, go shut that door!"
          The startled young man jumped to obey.  Kayla split her glares evenly between them as he nervously edged back toward his chair.  For nearly three and a half years, he’d longed to see her respond to something, anything...but this was not the reaction he’d anticipated!
          Brigit rose, and jammed both fists against her slender hips.  "No one’ll deny that you got dealt a shitty hand," she scowled.  "But you’ve got a second chance here, Kayla Farrell.  Damned few are that lucky.  Tell me what I just did t’you!"
          Kayla scowled back up at her.  "You pinched my foot," she accused.
          "Aye."  Only Brigit could manage to look grim and smug at the same time.  "I pinched your foot.  An’...you...felt...it!"
          Comprehension dawned slowly.  Then Kayla’s eyes widened, and she bolted upright in the narrow hospital bed.  "I felt it!  I did!  My God, Brigit, what...?"
          Quickly the young nurse made a shushing motion with both hands.  "That oil I’ve been usin’ on you," she explained in a low, cautious voice as she glanced anxiously toward the door.  "They’d never approve, ’cause it’s an herbal remedy of my Gran’s.  She swore by it, said it brought my Gran’tha’s arm back t’ life after he sliced the nerves wide open in a farmin’ accident.  If they knew I’d been usin’ it on you, I’d prob’ly lose my job.  But it works!  You’ve just proved that it works!"
          That was the moment her whole life changed--this time for the better.
          Anthony, who’d just been given access to his trust fund, had commissioned the unique electronic body brace to help her walk again.  His altruistic gift had thawed her frozen heart, and melted her righteous anger.
          The brace was truly a miracle of modern science.  Special electrodes embedded in the ankle straps amplified her body’s weak electrical impulses, and engaged the brace’s microminiature servos.
          She’d looked at the complex schematics once, and readily admitted that the science was way over her head.  But by strapping her feet, shins, and hips into the brace, and thumbing a small button, she could rise from her chair and walk slowly across the room--if she was extremely careful.
          Now, just possibly, if she could disguise its stark metallic lines with a long skirt, she might be able to walk around the "Bureau" set.  She’d give anything at all to meet Alex Matthews, who played Troy MacAllister’s mesmerizing character, standing firmly on her own two feet.
          At her shoulder, she could almost hear Patrick’s soft, indulgent chuckle.  She smiled at the loving sound.  Though she’d never admit it, for fear of being rushed to the nearest psych ward, she was quite certain that he’d helped revive her from that deadly coma--by focusing her drifting consciousness on the only other man she’d ever loved.
          Not the actor Alex Matthews, of course, because she’d never met him.  But Troy MacAllister’s charismatic personality had captured her imagination, and a uniquely special place in her soul, the very first time she’d seen him saunter across the television screen.  Patrick had often teased her about loving a fantasy.  But he’d never felt threatened by her rapt fascination.  He’d even supported her writing by mimicking MacAllister, quoting lines he commonly used, helping her get inside the character’s head so she could write believable scenes.
          I won’t let you down, Patrick, she vowed to the ghostly presence she could almost feel stroking her shoulder-length auburn hair.  We’ll go there together.
          She didn’t realize she’d spoken the last words aloud until Brigit gasped.  "Where, to your tropical island?  Halfway across the world?  Sweet Mary, they wouldn’t be lettin’ me in the doors!"
          Impulse, or instinct?  With Patrick drifting nearby, she could never be quite sure.  It felt right, though.  And so she vigorously nodded her head.  "T’ be sure, they will indeed!" she laughed, mimicking Brigit’s musical voice.  "I’m allowed to bring a guest.  And who else would I be bringin,’ but the best friend I’ve ever had in me whole entire life?"
          Color flooded Brigit’s face, and her sunny smile could have melted a thousand icebergs.  "Well, you’ll be needin’ a full-time nurse with you, won’t you now?" she teased.  "Poor helpless thing, travelin’ clear across the world all on your own.  Why, it’s just na’ right!"  Then a sly gleam sparkled in her emerald-green eyes.  "An’ think of all the points you can score off Alex Matthews by playin’ the brave-heroine-under-adversity role!"
          "No."  On that point, Kayla’s mind was firmly set.  "If I meet him at all, he’ll see me as I really am.  I’m not using this wheelchair as a sympathy ploy."  And on those words, she pushed herself upright and swung her limp body into the bulky frame.  "Strap down my ankles, will you?"
          Brigit waited while she secured her slender torso in the sturdy hinged upper cage, then bent to tighten sensitive electrode straps around Kayla’s thin ankles and shins.  The hip pads fit snugly between her tailored slacks and the inner frame, painless and blessedly invisible.  Someday soon, she hoped, those damaged spinal nerves would fully regenerate, so that Kayla could walk freely again.
          "Jokin’ aside, darlin,’ I do have two weeks’ vacation comin’," she pointed out.  "So if you do want someone along to help with your chair an’ your body brace, you’ve only to say the word."
          Kayla knew how Brigit doted on all her patients.  Two weeks away from them, especially when she’d be a nervous stranger among all those famous celebrities, was a tremendous sacrifice.  The unselfish offer brought tears to her eyes.  She sternly controlled them, as she’d learned to control her other emotions, and thumbed the brace to life.
          "Okay, here goes. Wish me luck," she muttered--and promptly fell on her face.