Adam drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled his pickup truck up to the gates of the old mental hospital. He sat still in the driver’s seat for a moment, staring through the windshield at the rusty wrought-iron bars. He’d already been here earlier this morning, but here he was again.  Might as well go in, he thought with a sigh, as he pulled his key chain out of the ignition and hopped down from the truck. The mid-afternoon sun was high in the sky, and he had to squint against the glare as he looked for the key he wanted. At last, he got the old lock open and began trudging on foot up the overgrown driveway to the nearest structure.

From the road, the buildings here all appeared abandoned, with their darkened windows and crumbling façades, but there were signs of life inside the one he approached. Someone had cleared a path to the main entrance, sweeping aside the litter of weeds and broken tree branches. A thread of yellow light escaped past the edges of the blackout blinds in some of the ground floor windows. A car was parked just off to the side, concealed from the road by a row of hedges that no one had bothered to trim. Adam strode past without a sidelong glance as he came up to the door and swung it open.

The contrast between the building’s unkempt exterior and the scene inside was jarring. Bright fluorescent lights glowed overhead, above the long front desk of what had once been the visitor’s waiting area. The place had the well-sterilized feel of a hospital, complete with the faint smell of bleach and ammonia. But the only sounds that reached Adam’s ears were the buzz of the lightbulbs and a faint metallic click-click-click.

Adam turned right and entered the only lit corridor, encountering the source of the clicking. A nurse was sitting just outside an open door, knitting away as she always did at a seemingly endless ball of yarn. She looked up as he approached.

“No change?” Adam asked. She merely shook her head in reply, before returning her eyes to her handiwork.  No change, and no reason to speak when it was the same answer she gave him each and every time he came to visit.

Adam stepped past her and walked through the hospital room door, pulling it shut behind him.

The room was silent but for the gentle whisper of breath being drawn in and out, and the occasional shrill beep from one of the many monitors. Aside from the machines, it was furnished sparely with a padded armchair, a reading lamp, a couple of books, and an iPod dock with speakers. And the bed, of course. Adam looked down now at the slight figure of the woman lying in it.

“Hey, it’s me again,” he said to her, bending down over her briefly to straighten the thin blanket tucked under her arms. Then he pulled his iPod out of his pocket and turned to slip it into the dock.  “What do you want to listen to today, little girl?” he asked her over his shoulder.

There was no reply but the rise and fall of her chest.

“What, still giving me the silent treatment?” He chuckled at his little joke, even though it wasn’t the least bit funny.

He set the iPod to shuffle and settled himself into the armchair, drumming his hands on his thighs to the beat of the Queen song that started playing. Another One Bites the Dust.

“Yeah, looks like the new nanny isn’t going to work out after all.” Another one bites the dust indeed. How many nannies had he burned through now? Six? He kicked his feet up onto the edge of the bed and leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head. “I’m guessing she’ll be on the next train out of here tomorrow.”

He tilted his head all the way back to look up at the ceiling as he told the story of how he had lied about being the gardener. “So now she’s just going to think I’m psychotic. God, Jane. Why am I such a fuck up?” 

“I dunno,” he continued his one-sided conversation. “Maybe I can smooth it over. I should try, right? She shouldn’t have to lose a job just because I’ve got issues.” He laughed and picked up his wife’s lifeless hand, playing with her fingers and feeling for any resistance as moved them back and forth. The neurologist had shown him just how to test for any sign of normal reflexes.

And another one gone, and another one gone.

Another one bites the dust.

Forget nannies – he couldn’t even count how many neurologists he’d gone through. Ever since he’d moved out here and set up this private nursing home for one, he’d had a string of the best-respected doctors in the country flown out to take a look at her. None of them could provide much comfort. No one had any answers. Was she still conscious in there? Would she ever wake up? If she did, would she be the same Jane he remembered?

All he could do was provide stimulation, they told him. Talk to her. Play music. Hope that someday, something would penetrate that stony shell and bring her back to consciousness.

The Queen song came to an end and a new one started. He recognized it, of course. One of his old Maroon 5 songs. He twined his fingers through hers and sat silently for a moment, listening to the lyrics of Misery.

I am in misery.

There ain’t nobody who can comfort me.

Why won’t you answer me?

The silence is slowly killing me.

***

Jane stared into the dark nothingness, listening to the sound of the music filtering through her mind. She wasn’t sure how long the music had been playing or how many songs were left before the silence would descend again. Adam had been here before, talking to her, and he’d left the music playing when he went away again. He’d sounded so depressed.

She strained once more, as she did every time he came, to open her eyes for him. It shouldn’t be so hard. “Just open your eyes, Jane.” How many times had he whispered it to her? Something so simple. Something she’d done every morning for her entire life. And yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember how to do it. Or how to do anything, for that matter, but float here in the darkness inside her head.

She had no idea how long she’d been like this. She went to “sleep” sometimes, losing touch with her surroundings altogether, and she wasn’t sure if she missed hours or days or weeks. Sometimes when she resurfaced, she would hear his voice telling her things that confused her, and she wondered how many of his visits she had missed while she’d been out of it.

She was aware now, though, and the music soothed her as it always did. She listened as the song that was playing came to an end and a new one started. A Maroon 5 song, she thought happily, listening to the opening lines. It was the song he had written for her that time in New York, before they were married. She would have smiled now to hear it, if only she could remember how to smile.

Wake you up in the middle of the night to say

I will never walk away again.

I’m never gonna leave this bed.

He’d written so many songs for her, but this one would always be special. She thought back to another time he had sung it for her. When was that? They’d been living in LA, so it was after they were married, but before she’d gotten pregnant. It must have been that first year when they were newlyweds.

She’d picked up Chinese takeout for dinner on her way home from work, and she asked Adam to set the table as she headed to the bedroom to change out of her suit. She’d been in nothing but her bra and panties when he snuck up behind her and tackled her, tossing her onto the king-sized bed. 

“What is this!” she’d asked, laughing as he crawled into the bed beside her, bringing the greasy Chinese takeout bag with him.

 “I’m setting the table,” he said with a mischievous look in his eyes. “You’re the main course.”

“Adam!”

“Mmmm,” he replied, peering into the bag. “Moo shu?” He started opening the takeout containers, and he held out one of the thin moo shu pancakes to her with an innocent expression on his face.

“Adam, you’re going to get the sheets dirty,” she scolded.

He broke into a grin. “Life is messy, Jane. We’ve talked about this.”

She tried her best to glare at him, but she couldn’t contain the smile that broke out on her face as he continued assembling a pancake for her. She reached past him for the takeout bag and looked inside. “No chopsticks,” she said in annoyance as she slumped back down in the bed.

“Who needs chopsticks?” He held out the moo shu pancake he’d stuffed for her. She made no motion to take it from him, so he just shrugged and plopped it down on her bare midriff.

She looked down at it and pouted. He was licking the sauce that had dripped onto his hands, and then he stripped off his white t-shirt, wiping his fingers on it before balling it up and tossing it on the floor.

“Will you go get the chopsticks at least?” she asked. “Please?”

“Nope.” His pants were coming off now. “You know why?” he asked, picking the moo shu pancake up again and holding it up to her mouth for her to bite.

“Why?”

“Because we’re never gonna leave this bed.”

She rolled her eyes at him as he began to sing.

You say please go get the chopsticks,

And I say fuck the stupid chopsticks,

So I stay instead.

We’re never gonna leave this bed.

“Never?” she asked him in mock-despair.

“Never.” He’d given up on feeding her and popped the pancake into his own mouth instead.

“But what are we going to do when we run out of food?”

He shrugged. “Just slowly waste away from starvation, I guess.”

“So this is our last meal ever? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Better eat up,” he said with his mouth full, as he began to assemble another pancake.

“Adam! If I knew that, I would’ve picked up Thai!”

He’d scowled at her then. “That’s it, little girl,” he said in a low, menacing voice. “I am sick and tired of your complaining.”  He’d swept the takeout bag and all its contents onto the bedroom floor. “I’m sending you to bed without your supper.” With that, he’d rolled on top of her, smothering her giggled protests as he brought his laughing mouth down to hers.

Jane realized now that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard him laugh like that. Really laugh. Not that ugly, bitter chuckle she always heard from him these days. She wondered if she would ever hear him laugh like that again. That wasn’t the real question though, she knew. The real question frightened her too much to formulate it, even inside her own head. The real question was whether she would ever laugh back.

I will never walk away again.

I’m never gonna leave this bed.

It should have cheered her up, that song. That memory of him. But just now, listening to those lyrics – it didn’t seem so funny. Not anymore.