Healing Melody Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  When I open my eyes, I see a blinding bright light. Then, I make out a man’s face. I don’t recognize him. Through my blurred vision I notice a nametag on his white lab coat. It takes me a moment to read the letters. Finally, I manage to string them together: Dr. Mercer.

  I attempt to ask him where I am, but I can’t speak. That’s when I realize there’s a tube down my throat. I glance around nervously as anxiety rips through my body. I try to raise my head, but I can’t move a muscle. A faint beeping sound quickens its pace.

  “Relax, Melody,” he says in a soothing voice. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  Relax. Where the fuck am I? What has happened to me?

  Doctor Mercer turns and looks at someone. I can’t move my head to see.

  Fuck, am I paralyzed? Is that why I can’t move?

  “Now that’s she out of the coma,” Dr. Mercer says softly. “Administer 10 mg every four hours to help with the pain.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” I hear a woman respond.

  Coma? Will someone tell me what the fuck has happened? I want so badly to yell from the top of my lungs.

  Doctor Mercer turns and looks at me again. He offers a heartfelt smile but I can tell everything he’s about to say will be devastating.

  “You had a terrible car accident, Melody. You’ve been in a coma for two weeks. You suffered 3rd degree burns on over fifty percent of your body, including your face.”

  He continues talking but I stop listening.

  Coma. Car Crash.

  Third Degree burns. Fifty Percent.

  My Face!

  Dr. Mercer finishes talking and gives me another warm smile.

  “We’re going to get you through this,” he says reassuringly before stepping away. As he leaves, my eyes overflow with tears.

  Once he’s gone, a nurse appears in my vision. She concentrates on the IV pump next to my bed. As she adjusts a setting, it beeps. Then she glances down at me. I see the pity emanating from her eyes. With a soft, sad smile she takes a seat beside me. I see a needle in her hand. She pricks my skin with it. As she pulls back on the plunger, she says, “This will help with the pain, sweetie. I’ll come back to check on you in a bit.”

  What pain? I can’t feel a thing. I’m numb.

  The nurse leaves the room. She draws all the energy out with her.

  Chilling, scary thoughts ricochet through my mind. How did this happen to me? Why did it happen? Dread and shock sweep over me. I want to throw my hands up in the air, scream and cry all at once… but I can’t move. I can’t feel a single muscle in my body. The air around me recedes. I’m trapped. Trapped in a badly burned, damaged body. This can’t be real? It’s a nightmare. That’s what it is, a nightmare. I just have to wake up.

  But then I begin to feel the pain. This pain is real. It’s not a dream. My body is suddenly wracked with it. Tears of agony fill my eyes. Then, thankfully, I feel an unfamiliar, warm sensation run through me. The pain subsides. It must be the drugs the nurse administered. Slowly, a soothing feeling washes over me. My eyes get heavy and I begin to fall asleep.

  When I wake up, my nightmare continues. For the rest of the week, I’m in a drug-induced fog as Dr. Mercer and several nurses try to manage my pain. Slowly, I am able to piece together what happened the night of the crash. Images assemble themselves together like a jig saw puzzle, creating a devastating memory that loops in my mind over and over again. They hit me like flashes of lightening: my foot slams on the accelerator when the traffic light turns green, a white truck flies out of nowhere, the truck t-bones my Maserati, my car spins into oncoming traffic. The windshield shatters, the glass prickles my skin. I feel the weight of something hard, and cold as metal, press into my side and face. Everything around me fades to black. When I regain consciousness, a wave of heat engulfs me. Fire. The car is on fire.

  I’M ON FIRE!

  I recall trying to scream as the flames scorched my skin.

  “Help Me! Help Me!” I tried to shout. But the words just wouldn’t come out.

  I swear I have a blurred vision of him: Charlie – that fuckin’ paparazzi guy with the beard. He stood a few feet from my car… taking pictures. He photographed me while I was helpless and burning to death.

  As the red-hot flames licked my skin, the pain became unbearable. I blacked out again.

  Now, here I am. Four weeks later, shackled to a hospital bed, supposedly lucky to be alive. My jaw, nose, and cheekbones were damaged in the crash; in addition to my face and body being badly burned. Because of all the injuries I sustained, doctors had to repair my jaw and reconstruct part of my face. Now, I’m wrapped in bandages like a mummy. Doctor Mercer says it’s going to take several reconstructive burn surgeries to get my face and disfigured skin back to some semblance of normalcy. And in all likelihood, I won’t look like I did before the accident.

  So much for having the face of an angel? It sounds like I’ll be the newest attraction at the circus freak show.

  Dr. Mercer also says I should expect at least a year of physical therapy to get back to my normal movement and body function. Apparently, I should be grateful I’m not paralyzed.

  Why does everyone feel the need to tell me how I should feel?

  How did this happen to me? I guess that’s a stupid question. It happened because I was trying to lose that paparazzi asshole and got t-boned by a truck running a red light.

  I guess the real question is why?

  Why did it happen?

  Why did it happen to me?

  I’ve always believed in God. But how do I wrap my head around this? Why would God hurt me? I’m Melody Swanson. I’m supposed to be the ‘voice of a generation’. I’m supposed to have the face of an angel. Why would God punish me? Why would God take away my face and destroy my career? I thought I was doing something good with my life, giving people a gift through my music. Then why would God decide to take that all away?

  Because of this accident, my career is over. I’ll never be able to step on a stage again. I’m going to look like a mutant for the rest of my life. I thought I was put on this earth to entertain people; now they’re going to cringe at the sight of me.

  I know I’m not a saint; but there are a million assholes in the world. That paparazzi motherfucker, Charlie, is a perfect example. Why didn’t this happen to him? Why didn’t his car get smashed? Why am I the one who’s stuck in the hospital? Why is it my life that is forever changed? Why is it my career that’s been snatched away?

  Why?! Why?! Why?!

  Maybe God hates me… I wish I had died in that crash. I can’t find any good reason to live like this.

  One thing is for sure. My body may have survived, but my soul has passed away. My music is gone; its spirit has abandoned me. I can feel the empty void it left behind.

  I’ll never sing or perform again.

  If that’s my reality, what’s the point of living?

  If I could move my body, I’d destroy this hospital room in a rage. I’d smash everything in my sight. ARGH!!! I’m so fuckin’ angry! So filled with venom! But all I can do is lay here, like a corpse.

  I don’t want to live anymore if it means living like this… permanently scarred, my musical spirit crushed.

  When I get out of this hospital, I’m going to kill myself. There’s no point in going on. I don’t see a future for myself anymore.

  The thoughts racing through my mind are halted when I hear, “I’m so sorry.” Suzie takes my hand in hers. I see the tears in her eyes as she looks at me. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

  If I could move my jaw freely, I’d tell her I’m angry, and depressed, and numb all at the same time. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. But I can’t talk; all I can do is look at her. Suzie is my personal assistant… and also my best friend.

  Can Suzie see the fear in my eyes? I think she can.

  She lowers her head and shakes it. “I don’t know what to say, Melody. All I can tell you is that I
’m here for you, okay?” She looks at me and smiles. It’s a genuine, heartfelt smile. I’m grateful she’s here.

  I feel the tears stream from my eyes. I manage a slow nod.

  Suzie then gently squeezes my hand. “Listen,” she says. “I know you’re not going to like this, but your parents are outside. They want to see you one more time.”

  I instantly roll my eyes. Suzie nods. “I know, but they insist. Randy is out there too, so is Nancy. I’ve held them off as long as I can but they want to see you now. Okay?”

  Although I’m not in the mood for visitors, I realize I don’t have a choice. I slowly nod my head.

  Suzie gives my hand another squeeze and then stands up. She wipes her eyes and walks to the door. They all rush in: my parents; my agent, Randy; and my publicist, Nancy. They immediately surround my bed.

  They make several comments that I can’t reply to. All I can do is stare at them and nod here and there.

  “You’re lucky there was a patrol car in the vicinity,” my Mom says. “Officer Mendocino arrived just in time to pull you out of the wreckage.” She’s a broken record. My mom has already mentioned this several times on prior visits but feels compelled to say it once again.

  I wish my parents would just fly back to Cleveland and leave me alone. All they keep saying is how lucky I am to be alive. That’s all anyone says. I wish everyone would just stop. I’m not lucky. I’m fucked. Now, please leave me alone.

  “Baby, I know things look dark right now,” says my father in a worried tone. “But you’re going to pull through this. It’s just going to take time and patience.”

  I want to laugh at what he just said, but can’t.

  You have no idea what I’m going through, I want to say. And I’d rather be alone than look at the uncomfortable expression on your faces as you stare at me.

  “I’m going to come by tomorrow with your iPad, so you can watch some movies,” Suzie says. I can tell she’s fighting back tears as she stares at my bandaged face.

  “The label says they’ll cover all your medical bills, including plastic surgery,” chimes in Randy, my agent.

  “That’s awfully nice of them,” says my mom.

  Again, I want to laugh. My last album was the reason the label hadn’t filed for bankruptcy. Paying my medical bills is the least they can do.

  “And I spoke to Jack, the president,” continues Randy. “And he said anything you need, you just let him know.”

  A new body would be nice, I think to myself.

  My publicist, Nancy, who is standing off in the corner, takes a few steps toward the bed. She looks at my parents. “I think when we’re done here, one of you should talk to the media. Tell them about Melody’s recovery.”

  “I’ll do it,” replies my mother with a serious nod.

  “I’ll be by your side,” says my dad.

  “Great,” replies Nancy. “I’ll write something up for you.” Then, she glances down at me. “Melody, is there anything you would like the public to know?”

  “She can’t talk!” snaps Suzie. “Her jaw is wired shut, remember?”

  “Right,” says Nancy with a curt nod. “I’m sorry. My bad. I’ll be back with a statement.” She nods to my parents and walks out of the room.

  Once she’s gone, the rest of them just stand there, surrounding me, not knowing what to say.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” my mother mutters once again.

  I’m not lucky.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The hospital lobby is swarming with reporters. Security is yelling at them to vacate the premises. As I ride the elevator to Max’s floor, I overhear two nurses talking about some pop star that just got admitted. Car crash. One of the nurses asks the other if it would be inappropriate to ask for an autograph.

  As I step out of the elevator, I use my crutches to make the long journey down the corridor to Max’s room. I don’t know how I’m going to face him, knowing I failed him. When I enter the room, I see my older sister, Layla, standing by his bed. She glances at the brace on my right leg and immediately knows I lost the fight. Her face darkens with sadness. I hobble over to the bed. With his eyes half closed, and his face pale white, Max looks at me and tries to smile.

  “How’s my little tiger?” I say, touching his cold hand.

  “Did you beat him, Dad?” he softly asks, his voice as weak as a whisper.

  I can’t tell him the truth: That his father has let him down.

  “You bet I did,” I lie, forcing a smile.

  Layla, who stayed with Max while I was at the fight, looks at me with caring eyes.

  “He refused to go to sleep until you came back,” she says. She then gently squeezes my shoulder.

  “I knew you’d beat him,” Max murmurs, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You’re the toughest guy on the planet.”

  I have to use all my willpower to keep from crying right there in front of my boy. It requires more strength than the fight I was just in. I take a deep breath and nod.

  “You know it, Tiger.”

  “Dad, when am I going to leave the hospital? I’ve been here forever.”

  “Soon,” I reply. “We just need to make sure you get all better.” I gently squeeze his small hand. He’s so delicate. His arms, razor thin.

  “Why’s it taking so long?” he asks, looking up at me.

  I’m at a loss for words. I look at Layla. I can tell she doesn’t know what to say either. How do you explain to a five year old boy that he’s sick and we’re doing everything we can to make him feel better, but it might not be enough? I look into my son’s weary, young eyes and sigh. “Max, you know how sometimes we go out for ice cream, and you like to try all the different flavors to see which one you like?”

  Max nods.

  “Well, that’s what the doctors are doing with your medicine. They’re trying to find a medicine that your body likes. It’s just taking a little while, but we’ll find it. I promise you.”

  I’m on the verge of tears, but I force myself to keep them at bay. I smile at my boy as I gently run my hand over his head.

  “I miss mom,” Max utters softly.

  Layla and I share a silent glance. I don’t know what to say. The beeping sound from the monitor resting near Max’s bed echoes throughout the room. Max hasn’t seen his mother in over three years. She abandoned him. The pressure of being a single mom while I was away fighting in the Middle East was too much for her to bear. To cope, she began drinking and doing drugs. When I returned home from my last tour of duty, I saw the destructive state she was in. I told her she needed help, but she refused to seek treatment. Then one night, she disappeared. Max and I haven’t seen her since.

  “Honey, you just focus on getting better,” says Layla. She caresses Max’s thin arm. The illness has consumed his fragile body.

  Since Max’s mom left him, my sister Layla has stepped in to help me. “Now remember what you promised me,” she reminds Max. “When your daddy came back, you promised you’d go to sleep. Time to rest those tired eyes, sweetie.”

  “Tigers need their rest, Son.” I tell him that every night at bedtime.

  “Okay,” Max says quietly.

  He offers me a soft smile and closes his eyes. Within seconds, he’s fast asleep.

  Layla looks at me and whispers, “Let’s step outside.”

  I follow her into the hallway with my crutches.

  “He’s getting so thin,” I mutter once we’re outside the room.

  My sister nods. We remain silent as people race back and forth down the corridor.

  Then Layla finally speaks. “I think you should try and find Monique.”

  I look at her dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me?”

  My sister shakes her head. “She has a right to know.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” I snap, loudly.

  Layla sighs and looks around at some of the nurses and doctors in the hallway. I move in closer and remind her, “She deserted him.”

  “But she’s his mother,
” responds Layla. “And you heard him. He wants to see her.”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh. I know she’s right. But the last thing I want to deal with is Monique. “I don’t even know where she is,” I gripe.

  “But you know people who might,” replies Layla.

  “Maybe.”

  “Listen,” she says, changing the topic. “Doctor Wang stopped by while you were gone. He said the last blood test showed his t-count is getting lower.”

  “Fuck,” I reply, shaking my head.

  Everything is going from bad to worse. My Max doesn’t deserve any of this. Why couldn’t I be the one struck with cancer? Why him? It’s not fair!

  Layla continues. “Doctor Wang asked if we discussed the experimental treatment he mentioned? He said we should make a decision soon. Max’s body is deteriorating at a rapid pace.”

  I feel a strong knot of anger growing in my chest. I stare at my sister, frustrated. “I already made my decision, Layla. There’s just one problem: How am I going to pay for it? This new treatment isn’t covered by insurance. I’m maxed out on my credit cards. I’ve borrowed all the money I can against the gym.”

  That knot in my chest is now a massive lump in my throat as I realize I might not be able to pay for my son’s treatment – a treatment that might save his life. How could I let him down like this? I glance at my broken leg, then at my crutches. I’m a fuckin’ failure. I couldn’t even win the fight for my son’s life.

  Layla places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll ask Marcus if we can borrow more money against the house –”

  I shake my head, cutting her off. “No. You two have already helped out more than enough. You have your own family to look after.”

  “You and Max are part of my family,” she replies. “I’ll do anything for you two.”

  Her generosity makes me want to cry. Even if Layla and Marcus could get a second mortgage, it wouldn’t be enough to cover all the medical expenses. I look down at the floor, defeated. I take a huge breath and try to shove the lump in my throat back down into the pit of my stomach. I remind myself I need to stay strong. But I’m barely keeping it together. “Thanks,” is the only thing I manage to say.