Hero

Chapter Eleven

Adelle could not tell whether she was awake or still dreaming. She couldn’t seem to focus. She felt delirious, dizzy. Everything seemed blurry as if she were looking at the room through a pair of glasses with the wrong prescription. Adelle felt like she was drunk or high, neither of which she’d been since the seventies. Her eyelids were heavy and all she wanted to do was close them again.

There was someone in the room with her and Adelle tried to focus on the person, hoping it was the doctor, or the new nurse, or maybe even Tonya, her torment finally over.

“Momma? Momma, are you awake? It’s me, Tonya. Can you hear me Momma?”

Adelle nodded her head and gestured for a pen and paper. Then her head dropped and her eyes closed and she had to force herself to wake back up.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so tired? Why can’t I focus on anything?

Somehow, Natsinet was still keeping her drugged even when she wasn’t there. She must have switched the pills in her prescription bottles, substituting some kind of narcotic for her normal medication. Adelle’s eyes closed again.

“Momma? You still awake? Here’s your pen and paper.”

Adelle snapped awake again but the fog was still in her head, clouding her thoughts. Her eyes remained closed when Tonya slipped the pen into her hand. Keeping her eyes open was beginning to seem almost impossible but Adelle knew she had to tell Tonya what was going on, had to let her know what Natsinet had done to her. She was thinking of what to write when she found herself dreaming of her and Walt in the hospital as the nurse brought out their new baby girl and placed her in Adelle’s arms. It had been Walt’s idea to name her Tonya. Adelle woke up again. Tonya was standing above her looking concerned.

“It’s okay Momma. I know you’re tired. You just get your rest. We can talk in the morning.”

Tonya reached for the pen and Adelle snatched it away. This could be her last chance. She had to write something before she passed out again. But what?

How can I tell her what’s going on when I can’t even keep my eyes open? Maybe I’ll tell her not to give me any more drugs? Then once my head clears I can tell her everything that’s been going on.

But she didn’t know what Natsinet had given her or how long the effects might last. The next time she woke up it could be Monday morning and Tonya might be gone.

Besides, Tonya would probably just think I was being stubborn and not wanting to take my medication.

“You need to sleep Momma. You look so tired.”

Adelle nodded again and her eyes closed and she found herself with Tonya on her lap in a little black dress with white stockings and a veil. Tonya was less than a year old. Directly in front of them was a casket. Her husband was inside. Adelle started to weep, then realized she was dreaming again and shook it off. She had to stay awake. She tried to concentrate but it was getting harder and harder. Whatever drugs they’d given her seemed to be intensifying as if she’d just recently received a dosage. She had to write something quick before she fell asleep again.

But what? What should I write? I could just write “Help” but Tonya might not interpret that properly either. She might think I was just complaining about my condition and if I wrote “Natsinet” she might think I was calling for the crazy bitch.

Adelle’s eyes began to close once again as she quickly scribbled something onto her notepad. She was fast asleep when Tonya removed the pad and pen from her lap and looked at what her mother had written, trying to figure out what she could possibly have meant by it.

There were just two little words scrawled across the pad. My Guns.

“Rachael?”

“Yes, Mrs. Brown?”

“You’re certain my mother hasn’t said anything to you?”

“Not at all, ma’am.” Rachael was in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher. “Medication she’s on has made her really groggy even when she’s awake. She’s mostly been watching TV.”

“But you have been trying to engage her in some kind of mental activity, correct?”

“Oh, of course, Mrs. Brown. In fact, Dr. Albright prescribed a new medication called Parlodel. It’s usually prescribed for Parkinson’s patients, but it’s been known to help stroke patients regain their speech. Your mother seemed happy to hear that.”

“I’m happy to hear that too. But…my mother hasn’t…expressed to you that anything could be wrong?”

Rachael paused from her duties. “No ma’am. Why?”

Tonya looked at the notepad she held in her hands. Those words, My Guns, leaped out at her. What could momma have meant by it? Was she concerned that Natsinet would find the handgun she normally kept in the magazine rack? That was a valid concern, one Tonya had tried to eliminate by moving the weapons to a more secure location. She knew that the medications her mother was taking for the stroke as well as the infection she had might muddle her mind, make her confused, hallucinate even. She wondered if this was the result of some subconscious part of her mother’s brain worrying about things and it manifested itself in this hastily scrawled note.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Brown?”

Tonya looked over at Rachael.

“Yes, everything’s fine.”

She turned and headed back to her mother’s room and went directly to the closet. She knelt down and picked up the shoebox on the floor, opened it up. The .45 lay inside, where she’d left it. She reached further into the closet for the second shoebox and checked it; ditto the Sig Sauer. She sighed, relieved. Momma was probably just dreaming. She was worried about things at home and it manifested itself in her heavily medicated mind and—

“Mrs. Brown?” Rachael was standing at the threshold of momma’s room.

“Everything’s okay,” Tonya said. She hurriedly closed the lids of the shoeboxes and put them back in their place. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay.”

She waited until Rachael retreated to the kitchen, then she rummaged around in the closet. There was a pile of old blankets on the top shelf. She moved the shoeboxes that contained the guns and nestled them between the blankets, making sure they were secure and well-hidden. That should take care of that, she thought.

“Mrs. Brown, I have a shopping list I’m drawing up,” Rachael called out from the kitchen. “Can you pick up a few things for me?”

“Sure.” Rachael shut the closet doors, set the notepad down on the bureau and exited her mother’s room. “What do you need?”

And for the time being the thought of what her mother could have possibly meant by those two words was gone from Tonya’s mind.