Chapter 3

Sheila was talking loudly on her cell phone in the lobby, waiting for the doctors to report back to her about Charlie’s condition. The other families, also waiting on baited breath from their doctors and nurses tried their best to ignore her volatile conversations with various concert promoters.

“I told you, god damn it, when the doctors tell me how he’s doing I’ll let you know! He got his by a bus, for Christ’s sake! What do you think he’s going to be able to do? Two shows back to back from his fucking hospital bed?”

She abruptly hung the phone up as Chad approached with two cups of coffee and a list of people to call and things to cancel or rearrange on his clipboard.

“She, drink this, it’ll help you get through the morning a little better,” he said as he handed her a cup.

“Thanks – shit, what time is it anyways?”

“Um,” he looked down at his watch and in the process spilled some of the coffee in his cup. “Crap! Ugh, it’s 7:30.”

“Wow,” she took a sip. “This is really hot coffee, Chad.”

“I’m sorry, do you want some ice?”

“No, no! It’s good, you know, it’s waking me up. I haven’t been up this early in a long while, at least before this tour. And certainly not in a hospital waiting room.” She paused, not expecting Chad to respond but instead to fight back tears. It wasn’t working.

“Oh, She, I’m so sorry,” Chad offered. He put down his cup and took hers from her.

She crumbled into his shoulders. “Shit, Chad, I don’t know what’s going to happen. What if he’s totally destroyed, you know, body cast for months or something?” Chad handed her a tissue from a nearby table. “Thanks,” she said, then glanced around the room. “They keep these things in good stock in here, don’t they,” she said as she looked at the five boxes of tissues strewn about the room in various places.

“Well, if there’s one place where you’re likely to get emotional, this is it,” he said.

“Sheila, don’t worry, ok? This is the best hospital. It’s a University hospital, you know? They’ll have three doctors working on him. And knowing Charlie, he’ll pull through. He’s probably got a nurse’s phone number by now!”

The joke cracked a smile on Sheila’s face, allowing her to trade sobs for some giggles. “Thanks, Chad. Well, it doesn’t help to have these bastards calling me every five minutes asking me if the show is going to happen, if Charlie can hold up his end of the bargain. Fucking vampires!” A nearby mother whose little boy was playing in the same room shot Sheila a dirty look. “Sorry,” Sheila offered her, “I’m sorry.”

Chad handed her back the cup of coffee and took his cell phone out. “Just let me deal with them now, ok? Where’s your phone?”

“No, no Chad. I’ve got to talk to them personally. It’s the only thing I can really do now. Thanks, though.”

“Ok. Well, I’m gonna see if I can get us some food, alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Chad left the room, Sheila sitting in the same spot, her head turned towards a large window that displayed the city outside. The sky was a drab grey, the sun barely noticeable through the overcast clouds. All the buildings, no matter if they were brick, concrete, or shingled, took on this grey veneer from the sky. Appropriately somber, Sheila thought, for the occasion.

Frank walked in just then, looking completely wiped out. His hair, normally combed back from his forehead and pulled into a tiny ponytail at the back of his head, was now wildly loose and stringy, framing his chubby face which was looking as grey as the city.

“Hey, Sheila, how are you holding up? Any word?” he asked as he sat down next to her.

“Frank – nothing. I am going mad here just waiting. They keep saying ‘another ten minutes Mrs. Clark,’ ‘another hour Mrs. Clark.’ I can’t stand it.”

“I know what you mean,” Frank patted her shoulder. He held his cell phone up to her, saying “I’ve got twenty five voicemails from various news stations, and another thirty three from our promoters asking about him. It’s sick, but this is the kind of attention that bands pray for. To get it this way…disgusting, you know?” They both shook their heads.

A person cleared their throat and Frank and Sheila looked up to see a white coated woman, with a bun of red hair and thick black glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, standing beside their sofa. Sheila and Frank simultaneously stood up.

“I’m Dr. Heter, Mr. Clark’s doctor. Are you Sheila?”

“Yes. Mrs. Clark,” she answered. “This is Frank Pepper, Charlie’s band manager.” Frank shook hands with the doctor, and they sat back down, the doctor sitting on the coffee table in front of them.

“Would you like to talk here, or in my office?” Dr. Heter asked.

“Oh, please, just tell us now – I don’t know if I could even get back up let alone walk someplace right now,” Sheila said.

“Alright, well,” she cleared her throat, “Charlie has suffered a great trauma to the right side of his body. Since the bus hit him like a wall, the impact hit him in the shoulder, hip, and his upper legs. Thankfully, the bus was going at a slow rate of speed, and was stopping before the impact occurred. However, he has broken bones and there was internal bleeding, which we were able to control.”

While she spoke, Sheila’s head slowly dropped to her chest. Frank noticed this, and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him for physical support.

Inside, he was thinking that he wish he could crumble with her into a little ball on the floor. Outside, he was offering nods and raising his eyebrows at the doctor’s words, trying to appear cognizant of what she was saying.

Dr. Heter continued, saying “We expect him to make a full recovery. However, he isn’t going to be able to walk out of here tonight. There is a long road of rehabilitation that must be crossed before Charlie can get back to normal. And, this is very important,” she paused to catch eye contact with Sheila, “please do not be shocked at his appearance, he’s quite scraped up. It might be a good idea to keep him away from a mirror while his face is still,” another pause, “raw. I’m sorry, I don’t want to frighten you. He’s well bandaged and we’re giving him the best care here. He did black out after the crash, and his blood alcohol level was high. So we’re giving him fluids and watching his brain activity. His concussion was very small, though.”

Sheila interrupted, bursting out with a whimper, and whispering out “Concussion? Oh my lord! Charlie!” Her sobs were muffled in Frank’s corduroy jacket.

“There, there She. It’s gonna be alright. Can we go see him now, doctor?”

“Yes, let me show you to the room.”

The doctor opened the door to a private room, light with a solitary fluorescent light at the foot of Charlie’s bed. He was propped up slightly, his face wrapped in gauze that covered the left side of his scalp and down to his chin. “I thought he was hit from the right side – why is the other side of his face bandaged up?” Frank whispered to Dr. Heter.

“That’s where he hit the pavement, sir. It scratched him up pretty well. He’ll probably have bruises on the right side of his face, but there were no broken facial bones, thankfully.”

A moan emitted from Charlie’s mouth. Sheila and Frank rushed up to both sides of his bed. “We’re here now, Charlie. Me and Sheila,” Frank said.

“That’s right baby,” Sheila said, chocking back her sobs. “It’s gonna be ok now, darling.” She reached up to his head and brushed a little tuft of his brown and grey hair with her fingertips.

“Charlie, how are you doing now? Are you thirsty?” the doctor asked. He nodded slightly, and she brought Sheila a pink pitcher of water with a straw in it. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Sheila said. “Here baby, let’s take a sip.”

Charlie’s head ached horribly, but the pain in the rest of his body had subsided enough from the various drugs and restraining bandages that the thought of a headache seemed almost pleasant. To him, it meant that he must be feeling better, to be able to feel his head let alone know that it ached. He wanted to tell Sheila to turn off the light in the room, to leave him alone and to have the hospital keep things quiet.

He wanted silence so he could think about how he ended up in this bed, why he was having trouble talking, why Sheila was crying and why Frank looked like the blood had rushed out of his face. He took a breath, heard a beep coming from beside him, and exhaled slowly. He swallowed sharply, and felt how dry his throat was. He leaned over to the pitcher Sheila was holding and tried to line his mouth up with the straw.
She guided it into his lips, and he took several quick sips. He felt a sharp pain in his side and winced away from the straw.

“Charlie, do you know what happened?” Dr. Heter asked. “Do you know where you are?”

His half-open eyes looked at the red head standing before him, and he wondered who she was and why she was wearing those terrible glasses. His staring indicated to the doctor that, indeed, he didn’t know what had happened, what was happening.

“You were in an accident. You were hit by a bus at the hotel’s parking lot. Do you remember?”

Still staring.

“Charlie, you were hit but you’re ok now. You are in the UCSF intensive care unit. This is your wife, and, uh,” she looked at Frank for help.

“It’s me, love, Frank,” he said, leaning into Charlie’s face. Charlie answered him with a sigh.

“I’m going to leave you with him for now, but just so you know you’ll need to leave him in about 20 minutes. He needs to sleep and visiting hours don’t really start until 9 am.” The doctor left the room.

Charlie closed his eyes, while he tried to take some deep breaths. The beeping continued to coincide with his breaths. He opened his eyes and tried to see where the sound was coming from.

“Baby, it’s alright. It’s just a machine. It’s probably there to make sure that you are still breathing. It’s alright, Charlie,” Sheila said.

“I’m gonna let you two be alone for a while,” Frank said. “I’m gonna go tell the boys about you, Charlie, and let them know you’re doing alright, ok buddy?” Sheila waved at Frank as he left the room.

She turned back to Charlie and reached for his hands. “I’m so sorry we had that stupid fight last night, darling. It’s so stupid now, to think about it. I can’t even remember why we fought in the first place. I just want you to be ok. I don’t want anything bad to ever happen to you.”

Charlie heard this and tried to laugh. He had a joke in mind, and wanted to tell her that it was too late for that, the bad stuff already happened, but he couldn’t get a sound out of his throat.

“What’s that, babe? Are you trying to tell me something?” She asked him.

He continued to try to eek out a sound, any kind of noise, but nothing would happen. He kept trying, but all he could hear was beeps and pumping sounds. He started to panic, thinking about never being able to speak, or to sing, again. His eyes got big, and his breathing started to get very rapid. Sheila looked at him, scared at what was happening. She stood up and started to shout. “Somebody – ANYBODY! Get in here! Please! HELP!”

A nurse nearby came running in, looked at the machines and at Charlie, pushed some buttons to stop the beeping, and asked Sheila what happened.

“I think he was trying to say something, but he couldn’t and then he started to breath really fast,” she was speaking very quickly and breathing hard herself.

“Oh, it’s ok. Sit down please,” the nurse could see the panic spreading in Sheila’s face now. “He’s got a very dry throat and probably won’t be able to talk for a few hours, probably not until he’s gotten some more sleep and has some more water in him. Here you go, take some more sips out of the pitcher, dear.” She offered Sheila the pink water pitcher again to give to Charlie, which she did. He took some quick sips.

“Now, you’re gonna have to get some more water in you than that!” the nurse said. Charlie laid back in the bed again. The nurse lowered the head of the bed down all the way. “I think it’s time our guy here got some sleep.”

“Really? Ok, yes, I think so too,” Sheila envied the control and composure that the nurse was exhibiting, when she thought for sure Charlie was going through a heart attack. She wanted to show the same fortitude to Charlie, so she said, “You heard the boss, mister. I had better go now.” She felt her throat get sore with a huge lump, and her eyes started to feel swollen with tears. “I’ll be in the cafeteria or something, it’s past my breakfast time.” She peered down at him, but he was already asleep. She looked up at the nurse, who was reading some chart or print out with numbers and lines, and leaned in to give Charlie a kiss on his lips. The nurse was still reading when Sheila left the room.

Terry, Aaron and Twig were sitting in a private waiting room several floors below Charlie’s hospital room. Frank had found Tim near a pay phone, and Tim led Frank to the other guys. As he walked in, their faces immediately turned to his.

“Well, I saw our man just now,” Frank announced.

“What’s the story? Is he still in one piece?” Terry asked.

“Yeah, how is he? What happened?” Twig said.

“I’m gonna kill that fucking driver,” Aaron offered.

“Alright, let’s sit down now. Come on you guys, take a seat.” Frank sat down on the coffee table, partly imitating Dr. Heter’s position earlier in their waiting room upstairs. “You too, Tim. Sit in and hear this.”

After everyone found their seats and got adjusted to listen, Frank told them the run down of the injuries. He then told them that Charlie was awake in the room, and was able to sit up and drink some water. “The doctor says he’ll need some rehabilitation to get back to normal. He’s scratched up on the entire right side of his face, from the pavement the doctor said. And he’s got his arm in a sling, and his leg is in a total cast from the hip on to his toes. Poor fellow.”

Aaron and Twig both meditated on the pictures they had of Charlie in their heads, sitting in a white room immobilized and helpless. Then they turned their attention to Terry, who was uncharacteristically silent.

“Terry, you alright?” Tim asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what, might I ask?” said Aaron. “About how you were a total asshole to Charlie and how you pushed him to drink himself into a stupor and walk in front of a bus?”
Aaron stared defiantly into Terry’s eyes. Terry was frozen.

“You’re blaming me?” He said. “Is that how you feel Twig? How about you Frank? Tim?” He looked at their faces one by one. “I’m the Judas, then?”

“I don’t think so greatly of you, Terry,” Twig said. “You’re no disciple in my eyes, good or bad.”

“You jerks, knock it off!” Frank interrupted. “Your buddy for the last two decades and more is upstairs in a bed unable to fucking scratch his own chin, and you’re down here pointing fingers? Is that all you can do to help him out?”

“No, I can think of something else to do to help him,” Terry said. He leaned in to Frank’s face and whispered, “Let’s keep going and replace him.”

Aaron and Twig looked confused. Terry repeated his comment a little louder, “Replace Charlie.”

“What? Are you crazy? Replace Charlie, the lead singer of Accelerator since – ever?” Frank was scoffing.

“Well, Frank,” said Tim, “it might not be such a terrible idea.” Frank stared open-mouthed at Tim. “I mean, it’ll get us rid of Sheila, and Charlie doesn’t seem to be able to cope with things as they are now.”

Aaron stood up from his chair and walked over to a window. “Aaron, what do you think about this scheme?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know, Frank. Charlie, all banged up like he is, I don’t think we could do the tour, at least not for a few weeks, right?”

“The promoters have been calling Sheila nonstop, Frank,” Tim included. “They are pressuring us to keep up the contract, and if we loose out on the tour cash, well, you know we’ll be in a tremendous hole.”

Frank turned to Twig and asked “Twig, are you going to say anything?”

“I don’t know, it’s Charlie – you know? He’s like a brother to me. But, then again,”

Twig looked over to Terry, “you have a point about getting Sheila out of our hair. It’s a mean way to do it, but…”

Terry cut him off, “But nothing, man! Sheila’s a waste of my time, and a waste of yours. If it wasn’t for them being married and all, I would be trying to get Charlie to dump her and go on with the tour when he’s all healed up. But let’s face facts, she isn’t going anywhere.” Terry threw his arms up, “I tried to convince him that she was messing with his head earlier. He even tried to get her to leave him after the show tonight, and look where we’re at now.”

Frank walked over to the window, standing next to Aaron. “Is he right, Aaron? Would we be better off leaving him out for the tour?”

Aaron turned his head to Terry and said, “Is this your solution? Is the problem really Charlie?”

“Like I said,” Terry answered him, “it’s not Charlie – it’s Sheila. She’s the leech here. And Charlie’s never going to give her up.”

After a cigarette break and a trip to the coffee vending machines, the band was in agreement. Accelerator would continue without Charlie, and would finish the tour without him. No replacement would fit, but Terry would fill in the vocals, and Frank would hire back-up singers to round out the sound.