Only Alien on the Planet (15 page)

“Why didn't he tell somebody?” I asked very quietly, but feeling like I had screamed it.

“Because he believed,” the doctor said.

She spread her hands slightly, a kind of shrug. “Little children have a very tenuous relationship with the world,” she went on sadly. “They're just learning how things work, what the rules are. Russell started teaching Smitty the rules when Smitty was very young. Why would Smitty have questioned them?”

“But what about his
parents? “
Caulder spat, and then took a quick, embarrassed look at Mr. Tibbs.

Mrs. Tibbs had come back into the room and was standing by the door.

Mr. Tibbs spoke, his voice quiet, as if he were holding his feelings in very hard. “Russell told Smitty he was an orphan. He said we bought him at a garage sale, along with an old set of tires. He said he didn't want him touching his mother or me. And so, he never could.”

“Russell was a good babysitter,” Mrs. Tibbs said, her voice stiff. “We saw no sign of any of this. It's not as if we didn't pay attention to our children. I'm a good mother. I've always worked hard to balance my work and my domestic roles. I could have been working full time—I could have had a good job. But I chose to stay home with my children…”

“Okay, Maggy. Okay—everybody knows you're a good mother,” Mr. Tibbs said, not looking around at her.

She stopped. She stared at the back of his head and color came up into her cheeks. Then she lifted her chin and went on in this quiet, controlled voice. “We had good doctors; they were certain Smitty had brain damage. We tried to work with him, but the harder we pressed, the further away he went. He has not been
an easy child. It's strange to me that this story should be coming out now, after all these years. If there was any truth to it at all, we would have noticed something. And it would have come out long before this.”

Mr. Tibbs turned around heavily in his chair and looked at his wife. “Just don't forget. You've got
two
sons,” he said. She looked like he'd slapped her. And they held a glare between them like they were trading fire.

Caulder and I traded a quick glance. I really wanted to go home.

“Well, okay,” the doctor said quickly. “We don't know exactly where the truth lies. We're hoping to get to that point, eventually. What we have to concentrate on now is helping Smitty to integrate what's inside of him with what's outside.”

“Well,” Smitty's father said, shifting in the chair. “We should have brought that boy in here years ago and gotten this out into the open—”

“The only reason we're here now,” Dr. Woodhouse said, getting things straight, “and the only reason why we're having any success with him at all is because Smitty decided himself to come to me. Because
he
decided it was time. If he hadn't been willing, there might have been serious damage done. I can't tell you how deep these things go.”

She unfolded her hands and folded them again the other way. She looked at us. “His relationship with you two—especially with you, Ginny—has been eroding his distance from the world. So, yes, in a way, it is your 'fault' that he's here. Because of whatever it is that exists between you, he finally had the courage, or the desire,
to come in here. The decision he made last night, coming here, was more significant than you understand. He took a tremendous risk. The moment he began to talk to us, Russell's bomb went off; we very nearly lost him.”

“What are you saying? He nearly died? Last night?” The color had drained out of Caulder's face. I knew well enough what she was talking about. I'd nearly seen it happen out behind the school.

“I don't understand this,” Caulder said. “You can't die from
talking
. Are we talking about voodoo here? Are you saying Russell has some kind of parakinetic powers or something?”

“Not Russell,” Dr. Woodhouse said. “Smitty did it himself. The body is very obedient. What the mind believes, the body will often make reality. People who are sick, if they believe they're going to die, often do—on the other hand, if they believe they'll live, that can change conditions in their bodies dramatically. We're working with a group of patients now on reconstructive imaging as one of the approaches to healing their cancers.

“Being alive is a very complex thing. My science is not an exact one. But I'll tell you, I'm convinced that each human being more or less builds his own reality. You are what you believe you are. We make images in our minds of what will be—based on what we believe or want, what we're afraid of—”

“So, what you're saying is Smitty nearly killed himself so Russell wouldn't be wrong?” Caulder asked.

“Yes, more or less. What Russell had taught him got built right into the hardware, so to speak, and when he triggered it, his body did what he believed it would or should do. Does that make sense?”

Caulder nodded slowly, frowning, and sat back.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “That's the background. Your job has nothing to do with Russell. Your job will be to teach Smitty that he doesn't have to die just because he wants to be alive. Okay?”

Caulder nodded. But I couldn't imagine what she thought we were going to be able to do. And I was not at all sure I wanted anything more to do with this.

“Where is he?” Caulder asked quietly.

“I'll take you down there in a minute. Give me a minute, and then we'll talk some specifics.”

She shooed us out of the office with orders to wait for her down at the end of the hall, and then she closed herself in again with the Tibbses.

“Come on,” Caulder said, tugging at the back of my jacket.

I stumbled around and followed him. “So, this doesn't scare you?” I asked, numbly skipping a few steps to catch up.

“What I want to do to Russell scares me, if that's what you mean.”

That's not what I meant.

I'd almost killed Smitty once—maybe twice—doing the wrong thing. It could happen again—it probably
would
happen again. And that scared me. And I absolutely didn't want to have anything to do with the Tibbses' ugly secrets. I just wanted to live my life and do my math and write notes to Hally.

But it was more than that. More basic. More selfish. I'd had some of these feelings before—you go out with a guy because you think he's nice, and maybe, after a little while, you let him kiss you—or maybe you kiss him, and then, all of a sudden, everything
changes. All of a sudden, he thinks he owns you, he thinks he's got these
rights
to your life and your thoughts and everything you do. The chances are, you didn't mean that much by it in the first place, or maybe it turned out, after you got to know him, you didn't really even
like
him all that much. Maybe he's even repulsive to you now—but it's too late. Because he thinks what he thinks. Because you let him think it, at least for that one moment. And now feelings are going to get hurt, and it could be very ugly. And when you get down to the truth, you're the one who made the mess.

But this. This was so much worse. We weren't just talking about feelings here—we were talking life and death. We were talking a guy in a hospital who could die just by
thinking
the wrong way. And it wasn't just between Smitty and me; people I didn't even
know
knew every little detail. They all knew what I'd done when I'd kissed him, and they
all
felt like now he should have rights to my life. Like I'd sold my soul, and I didn't even know who I'd sold it to. Because I really didn't know anything about Smitty, about what he was inside. And I was not at all sure I was going to like what I found there.

“What if I hate him? What if it turns out he's somebody disgusting or controlling or something?” I said, not even meaning to speak it out loud.

“Come on,” Caulder said, giving me a look.

“I don't like this,” I said. “I don't like this.” I don't think I was even aware that Caulder was standing there. I think I was beginning to panic.

“Don't you think it's a little late for that after last night?” Caulder asked, and there was a flash in his voice of what sounded like
anger. And then I knew whose side he was on; he was part of the trap. Like it wasn't his fault in the first place. I heard that anger and something exploded in my brain. I had never hated anybody in my life the way I hated Caulder at that moment.

I stopped walking. He went on a ways before he realized I wasn't with him. Then he turned and looked at me.

“I don't have to come back here,” I hissed, my eyes burning holes in his face. I meant what I said. Nobody could make me do this. For once in my life, I didn't care if every human being in the world hated and despised me.

Caulder started to say something, then evidently thought better of it. He shifted his weight and waited.

“This is not…” I said, but I was running out of coherent thought. “I don't like any of this,” I said between my teeth.

“It's not a game anymore,” he agreed, as if
I
had been the game player in the first place. We stood there, glaring at each other.

“Shut up, Caulder,” I told him. “You just shut up. You have no right to say a word to me.”

He folded his arms and looked away. He took a long breath and lifted his chin a little, and when he looked at me again his face had changed.

“Would you really leave him in this place all alone?”

The doctor's door opened. We watched her coming down the hall toward us. “Okay, guys,” she said once she got close enough. “Let me tell you what I'd like you to do.” She kept on walking, and Caulder fell in behind her, looking back over his shoulder at me. I drifted along behind them, not committed either way.

“I'd like to see you here as many afternoons as you can afford. The more time you spend with him, the quicker things are going to settle out, okay? All I want you to do is just be there with him. Do the best you can to treat him and each other the way you would in a normal, everyday situation. Except you have to keep in mind that emotion—especially his own—is a language he just doesn't speak yet. Don't expect him to pick up anything subtle. And be nice. And patient. But don't patronize.”

She stopped outside of a closed door. “Keep in mind he's under sedation, and he's tired; we're going to keep this visit very short. Do not expect
anything
from him today. And no interesting incidents, please.” She was grinning when she said that—but she was looking at me.

Smitty's room was a lot like the doctor's office, meant to look like an old fashioned bedroom. I think that was supposed to be comforting, but against that wallpaper, the big hospital bed with its sterile white sheets and chrome railings was disturbing.

Smitty was in the bed. The sight of him was deeply shocking to me. It was like he'd starved overnight, wasted away. His eyes were dark smudges on a still, pale face. There were wires running from his body to the monitors over against the wall. The room was full of soft beeps and electronic hums.

He seemed very fragile. I wondered how I could have felt threatened by this.

He opened his eyes as we came in, and seemed to watch us. But I don't think he was seeing much; an IV bottle hung right above him.
Even so, under that empty look, Caulder slowly came to a stop, his eyes silver around the edges.

“Hi,” Caulder said softly.

Smitty closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh. Caulder glanced at the doctor. She nodded and led us out of the room. “It'll get better,” she said, stopping in the hall. “He seems to be a tough-minded kid. If we can just get that toughness working for him instead of against him—” she lifted a hand and then dropped it. She smiled at us. “Real friendship can be very healing.”

“How long is he going to be here?” Caulder asked.

She shrugged. “Long as it takes. So. See you Monday. Check in with me when you get here. Any questions? Okay.” She smiled again, and then she turned around and went off down the hall. We went down the hall the other way, neither of us saying anything. Caulder held the door for me as we left the building.

“So,” he said carefully. “Is she going to see both of us on Monday?”

I shrugged a little coldly. “I gotta get my math done some way.”

He laughed like he was letting off a breath he'd held too long. “You had me worried for a minute, back in the hall. I'm glad you're sane now.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I was thinking he shouldn't go jumping to conclusions. I was going to be seeing that silent face in my dreams for a long, long time.

I
told my family the story. Not because they asked—but because they didn't. I couldn't tell them exactly everything, because of the fact that I didn't understand everything, and I left out a lot of the end, including the kiss. If I had been sure that what I'd done was immoral, I'd have told them about it and felt better. But what I'd done was only strange, so I had no such relief.

They were very supportive. And, of course, they expected me to act in a mature, responsible and philanthropic manner; the weight of it made me tired. But it was only what I had started expecting of myself, the moment I'd seen the waif in the bed.

The first thing the doctor did when we got to the clinic on Monday afternoon was check us out on the equipment. She took us into an empty room and showed us a monitor like the one they had on Smitty. “Not that I think you'll need to mess with it,” she said. “But you never know.” She showed us how to read the meters, how to tell when we should be going for help.

If she expected the demonstration to bolster up my confidence, it didn't work.

“Don't push him,” she said to us finally. “Don't talk about the situation. Don't bring up his family. Talk about school. You talk.
Don't expect him to. He's having a hard time matching up the vocabulary in his mental database with the feeling of the moment. It'll come; he's incredibly bright. But for now—I suspect he feels very much at a disadvantage. Maybe even humiliated in front of you all. Think how you'd feel. And remember, he's still somewhat sedated. Just be kind. Be normal.”

Caulder rolled his eyes at me as we followed her down the corridor. Be normal. Of course.

“Okay,” she said, pushing open Smitty's door for us. “Good luck.”