A Different kind Of Void
Today may have been the first time that I had actually talked to Mr. Bouchard, but I felt like I had known him for a lifetime. Indeed, I had seen his life unfold in front of me over the last week or two, and felt it as my own. The loss I felt at his sudden passing was unbearable, as if a beloved family member were suddenly snatched from me, or as if I had lost a part of myself. I stood, dumbstruck, unable to move or even think. After a few moments I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright?” Cecil quietly guided me out of the room and led me down various halls until we reached a small comfortable room. “Stay here,” he said as he motioned towards one of the sofas for me to sit down. “I have to report Mr. Bouchard's passing. I'll be right back.”
He rushed from the room, and true to his word, he was back in less than two minutes. I was still overwhelmed by all that had happened today, and a bit numb from the emotional overload. I knew I would shed tears for Mr. Bouchard, but right now I felt incapable of any kind of emotional release. “What can I do to help?” Cecil's concern was clear in both his voice and expression. “You started seeing a counselor, can I call them for you? What's their name?” I provided him with the information without really engaging, and returned to my silence. He once again stepped outside to make a quick phone call, and returned with a time. “'The soonest he can fit you in you tomorrow afternoon, unless you want to meet with him tonight. He's willing to stay late because of the unforeseen circumstances. But I need to let him know if you feel it's that urgent.
I looked up at his worried face. “Thank you, Cecil,” I muttered, “I'll be fine, tomorrow's fine. I just...” A few tears managed to escape as I considered Mr. Bouchard's history. “He had such a sad life, so lonely. Lots of sex, but no real connection.” Cecil sat beside me and put an arm around my shoulder. “And then to end up in that dingy forgotten room. What was that all about?”
“I'm not sure about that myself,” he admitted. “In fact there were a lot of unusual circumstances surrounding him that I never really thought about. But now that you bring it up...”
“I'm sure there were,” I chuckled, drying my eyes. “Nothing about him was 'usual'. That's why I was sad to see him go. I was hoping to get to know him a little better in his final days, but I guess...”
“Why was his room never cleaned? Why were the rooms around him left empty when we have had a shortage of rooms for years? Why was he placed so far from the rest of the population?” Cecil seemed lost in his own questions, suddenly aware of the many levels of mystery that surrounded Mr. B. “And why didn't we question any of that?” He looked at me in a state of utter bewilderment, as if something inside him had shifted, and suddenly opened his eyes too it all.
Now it was my turn to offer him some comfort. “I may be able to explain some of it, but we may never know the answers to everything. You saw some of the strange goings on in Ben's room, right?”
“Yes.” He looked confused, as if I had changed the subject.
“Well, that was all connected to Mr. Bouchard. He was a powerful psychic, and had the ability to influence people's wills to do what he wanted. I'm sure his room wasn't cleaned because he didn't want it cleaned. I'm sure no one questioned anything because he didn't want you to question anything. I do know that he felt the need for extreme isolation when he arrived here, which may explain the empty rooms and remote location. I'm sure you will run into some other oddities as you do the paperwork surrounding his death, and I'm sure he had a reason for for each specific decision, although we may never know the whys and wherefores behind all of them.
“Was he responsible for Ben cutting himself?” Cecil asked in horror. “Why would he...”
“No,” I interrupted. “That was the work of the shadow spirit that was exorcised from Ben. Neither Ben nor Mr. B. were the cause of that. I'm sure of it.”
I saw Cecil's gaze turn inward as he began to process the things that were revealing themselves now that Mr. B. was no longer holding sway over his mind. I realized that there would be many people experiencing this same awakening all over town, and wondered if there was anything I could do to help minimize the confusion. That was a problem too large for this moment, and with too many variables for me to comprehend all at once. I immediately understood that I could really do little more than what I was doing right now. Wait for specific situations to present themselves to me, and then face them as best I could in the moment.
“Are you alright?” I asked as he seemed to get lost in the struggle to understand what I was suggesting.
“How did...Was I so weak that I could be controlled so easily?” I could see fear in his eyes as he looked to me for answers.
“You were not weak,” I said. “His psychic abilities were not insignificant to begin with, and were further amplified by the spirit that was connected to him. No one was able to resist his influence, even those closest to him fell under his spell eventually. That's why he isolated himself so completely.”
I was hoping this would offer him a bit of reassurance, but he still seemed to be blaming himself on some level, and simply replied, “Oh”.
After another moment of introspective silence I rose and said, “I really want to check in on Ben. Are you going to be alright?”
He stood up also, seeming to shake off at least a little of the self doubt, and agreed, “Of course you do. He should be awake by now.” As we parted ways, he reminded me, “3:00, don't forget.”
Ben's room was once again busy when I entered, but not chaotic this time. A nurse and a nurses aid stood by his bed side with a rolling cart of medical supplies. “Well, what have we here?” I asked attempting to lighten my own mood as well as encourage Ben.
He didn't speak, but raised his arm, waving it frantically to call me to the far side of the bed.
The pain medication had worn off somewhat, as was evidenced in his wincing expression, but it still seemed to hold enough influence that he was at least not crying out in protest. The nurse was cleaning out his wounds and gluing them closed. He practically pulled me on top of him and buried his face in my chest, muttering, “Oh my god,” or “Ow”, whenever the nurse moved anything.
“You're actually very lucky,” she said keeping her attention fixed on her work. “These are very shallow and don't even need stitches.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” I responded, holding my squirming boyfriend tightly. “Will there be scars?”
“Perhaps one or two, but they will be very light, almost invisible,” she reassured me. “Of course that depends on how still the patient is while I'm closing them,” she added, giving me a quick significant glance of encouragement.
“Understood,” I whispered with a smile. “I'll see what I can do.” I pulled away for a second and tipped his face up toward mine and kissed him deeply, long and slow. The effect was exactly what I wanted. He immediately stopped struggling and began to relax, only wincing occasionally. But even then I would just thrust my tongue in deeper or chew on his ear and draw his attention back to me.
Within a few minutes she had finished. “Well, that has to be the most unusual anesthesia technique I've ever witnessed, but it did the trick,” she laughed as she cleaned up and prepared to leave. When she reached the door she turned and added, “And it had a unique side effect that is perhaps, not wholly unexpected.” She gave a quick glance toward Ben's lap and the massive boner that had created a tent out of his sheets, and offered me a wink and a sly smile before leaving.
I sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight embrace, being careful to avoid the freshly glued wounds. I also slipped a hand under the sheets to squeeze the erection I had missed so much. “I don't think I can...” he muttered as he again buried his face in the crook of my neck.
“I know,” I sighed, still holding it tight. “I just enjoy holding it. You don't mind, do you?”
“No, it feels good.” After a moment, he added, “Hold my balls too, I love it when you hold them while I sleep.”
I obliged and he snuggled deeper, with a contented sigh. “That's nice.”
Suddenly it registered. “Um...You can feel me holding your balls?”
“Yeah, it feels good.” He was still a little groggy from the pain medications and the exhaustion of enduring his wounds being glued, so he wasn't really awake. Not fully.
“How about this? Can you feel this?” I slid my hand down his leg and pinched his thigh hard.
“Ow! Yeah! What did you do that for?” Then he raised his head, his eyes wide with comprehension.
“You felt that?”
“I did,” he whispered, suddenly fully awake. He reached down and threw the covers off, and I could see him struggling to move his legs. His toes and ankles had been moving for a few days now, but this time I could see his knee bending slightly and even a little movement in his hips. I moved him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling over the side, and watched as he again flexed a knee, then he pulled his leg off the bed up toward his chest. He only managed to lift it by an inch or two, but he moved it all on his own.
We were both ecstatic, and I wanted to rush off to tell the nurses, but he stopped me. “There's no rush telling them,” he said. “Let's just savor this moment together.” He struggled to sit himself back up in the bed, then invited me to join him. “So much has happened,” he said, “And I want to be with you for a bit before all those doctors and nurses get in the way.” We sat together, cuddling and kissing for a long while, enjoying the hope this moment offered. Then Ben broke the silence. “Oh! I have something I need to tell you.”
“What's that?” I asked, still immersed in the bliss of his embrace.
“I met Mr. Bouchard this morning.”
“I know, I was here, remember?”
“Not really,” he hesitated. I don't really remember much after you left first thing this morning. I think I must have fallen back to sleep and don't remember anything before waking up to everyone around my bed and a butt load of unexplained cuts. I'm still not sure where they came from.”
“I wasn't here when it happened,” I said, “But I think I've pieced together enough to explain. You were possessed by the spirit that was haunting the cottage. The one that followed Mr. Bouchard back from that deserted island during World War II. It made you cut yourself to prove it's power over you so Mr B. would give up the dog tags that he was holding out of the spirit's reach.”
“I did this to myself?” He was horrified at the thought.
“No, the spirit did this to you,” I said, hoping he would not be too upset at this revelation. “The only problem now is that the nurses all think you're someone who does self harm, so now they're all on high alert around you.”
“Well, that's ridiculous,” he countered. “I would never...”
“I know. I've told them, but...” I sighed. “Cecil's the one who saw you do it, but he also understands how a mind can be influenced by an outside power. He might be able to defuse things so nothing shows up on your medical records.”
“What does Cecily know about being influenced?” he asked.
“He and all the staff here were being influenced by Mr. B. to not ask difficult questions, but when Mr. B. died, that influence ended. I was with him when he realized that something had changed, and I was able to help him understand what had happened, so...”
“I think I know what you mean about being influenced,” He looked puzzled. “When I woke up this morning and everyone was around my bed, I was still in a kind of daze. I felt like I had lost something, and I couldn't quite figure out what it was.”
“That must have been when Andi exorcised the spirit,” I speculated.
“But after that I was still in a fog,” he continued. “I only really woke up when I heard Mr. Bouchard speak. It was weird, like someone turned on a light switch.”
I chuckled. “He was probably keeping you from feeling the pain of your wounds so the rescue of the captive spirits could be completed.” I thought for a moment, and added, “ Maybe it was him, or maybe it was Andi, hard to tell really. But you were telling me how you tmet Mr. Bouchard this morning. What did he have to say?”
He thought for a minute, trying to remember. “Maybe it was a dream, this morning was so confusing. But it didn't feel like a dream, it felt real. At first everything was cold and dark, like I was trapped in a cave or something. Then a voice called to me and brought me into the light. He didn't so much speak as he showed me things.
He suddenly had my attention. “Really? What sorts of things?”
“Well, he showed me his room in the basement, and the dog tags he was holding. Then he showed me the spirit that had been following him for so long, and apologized for bringing it into my life.” Ben thought for a moment before adding, “He was so sad, and so tired. He knew that once he relinquished the dog tags he would die, that it was only his battle with the spirit that gave his life meaning anymore.”
I hesitated, then took his hand. “Mr. Bouchard died, not an hour or two after that. I was with him when he passed. I think Andi came to greet him and lead him into the next realm.”
Ben took the news quietly, but without surprise. “At least I got to meet him before he went. He didn't seem particularly sad about leaving. If anything he seemed to be looking forward to it.”
“He was at peace when he passed,” I said, “And even though we didn't know him all that well or for all that long, I'm going to miss him.”
“And he gave me a message for you. He said he still had one thing left for you, a surprise. And he wanted me to remind you to get yourself back to the museum as soon as possible. He said it was waiting for you there.”
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