Perceptions (9) ‘Don’t worry about that,’ piped in Roy. ‘That’s just Louie’s interpretation for people in a coma.’ ‘I thought you didn’t know of anyone in my situation?’ ‘I don’t. Excepting Sammy. But there’s been others who go into a coma, and we’ve watched ‘em, me and Louie.’ ‘Spooky, man,’ added Louie. ‘They don’t behave like ghosts - well, not the ghosts we know of.’ ‘How are they different?’ ‘How are they different?’ repeated Roy. ‘Well, I’ll tell ya how they’re different.’ ‘Yeah, Roy, I wish you would.’ Roy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah. Well, these coma people just lie in their bed, right?’ His pause was a prompt. ‘Right,’ I said, to usher him on. ‘Most of ‘em do nothing, while others…’ Roy caved in to amateur dramatics for effect - ‘hover silently over their bodies. I mean their souls do.’ ‘Tha’s real spooky, man,’ reiterated Louie. ‘Their souls,’ I stated, blankly. ‘Sure about that?’ I was beginning to have serious reservations about Roy by now. ‘I told ya I was no expert,’ Roy said, fixing me with a stare. ‘Were you a doctor in your previous life?’ ‘Uh, no. But I studied certain, uh, medical conditions.’ ‘Zombies?’ asked Louie. ‘Not zombies, no.’ It was my turn to talk crap, and quite honestly, I didn’t want to go there. ‘Let’s just say that doctors haven’t any positive proof about what happens to people in a coma.’ ‘You can tell ‘em,’ Louie offered. ‘Sure. If I knew what was happening to me, and if I can remember when - or if - I ever regain consciousness first.’ ‘Mark has a point, you know Louie.’ ‘Yeah, the fella has a strong point, Roy. He’s right about that.’ This was getting us - me - nowhere. ‘How about we just go and find Sammy?’ I proposed, with a strong hint of departure. ‘Yeah, let’s do that,’ Louie went on. ‘I was talking to Roy, Louie. No offence.’ Louie shrugged. ‘None taken, man.’ ‘Roy?’ ‘What?’ ‘Sammy? Find? Let’s?’ ‘Right! Yeah. Gotta go, Louie. Catchya later.’ ‘Sure thing, man.’ The pair of them jumped for American-style high-fives. Of course they missed. I might have laughed if my position didn’t feel so hopeless, but I really wanted to resolve this situation sooner rather than later. Aside from myself, Lizzie and my family depended on the outcome of my meeting with Sammy. Hopefully there would be an outcome. I thought about all the people whose lives were currently in limbo while I messed them about in a coma, neither living nor dying. They couldn’t leave me and they couldn’t bury me. Was there no higher form of authority on this subject, for crying out loud? Alone with Roy, we journeyed the hospital corridors, unseen and unheard. ‘Roy, isn’t it likely that Sammy might be in the room next to mine if he’s in a coma? He’d be in Intensive Care, wouldn’t he?’ ‘Sure, if he’d come in recently like you.’ ‘Ah. So how long has he been here?’ ‘Um. Going on two years now, I reckon.’ It occurred to me that ghosts might lose track of time, seeing as they had no reason to keep track of it. How was I to know whether two years to Roy wasn’t a week or a decade in reality? If Louie was anything to go by, I should be worried. ‘How long has Louie been dead?’ I asked, dreading the response. ‘Since 1975. Drugs overdose. He drifted across the Atlantic on a boat when the rest of his family died. None of ‘em became ghosts so he had no reason to hang around. Louie always wanted to see the world. So, being a ghost, he grabbed his opportunity. No ties and no expense! Ya can’t argue with those scores!’ I sighed openly. ‘I suppose not. But how do you tell between the living and the dead? I mean, I didn’t even realise Louie was dead until he spoke to you. Where’s the indicator?’ ‘Good point, actually. Hi, Sonia.’ ‘Hi, Roy,’ said a passing very attractive young ghost. Ghost! My head whirled round in surprise. Sonia passed through a door and out of sight. ‘My point,’ I reminded Roy. ‘How do I recognise another ghost?’ Roy laughed. ‘Ya don’t. Not easily. Why do ya think I talk so much? When someone answers me, I know they’re a ghost! Simple as that.’ ‘Oh, bollocks,’ I groaned. At what stage of a life (or death) should a person simply stop and give up? When things go so wrong that ultimately you want to end it all, what choices do you have? When The Samaritans are beyond their support, what comes next? For the living there is death; for the dead comes…what? More death? Does being a ghost constitute death or a wedge between the living and the dead? It certainly explains all the moaning and the wailing associated with ghosts and haunting spirits. It’s the point of anguish above and forever. Now I was beginning to understand their dilemma. I was the ghost who was wailing, albeit quietly, as I traipsed impatiently behind Roy through wall and corridor. This Sammy Jones was proving more elusive than the Scarlet Pimpernel. Curiously enough I wasn’t tiring nor was I getting hungry. ‘Do ghosts eat?’ I ventured. Roy stopped in his tracks and looked at me with what could only pass as sympathy. ‘Ya know, sometimes I feel like the pioneer of all ghosts.’ He glanced around as he talked, probably checking out for new clients. ‘Whenever there’s a new kid on the block they always come my way. It’s like I was put here for a specific purpose, know what I mean?’ ‘So ghosts don’t eat.’ ‘No. Ghosts don’t eat.’ ‘Have I annoyed you in some small way?’ ‘Why d’ya ask?’ I shrugged. ‘Just this…little feeling I’m getting.’ ‘Well, don’t fret. It’s not you I’m annoyed at. It’s things in general. I’ve a million questions of my own to ask and nobody to answer them. Every ghost in the hospital looks at me as the blueprint for ghostliness. Every ghost thinks I know it all. And ya know what?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not.’ ‘Not what?’ ‘The original ghost. Spirit Number One. I ain’t him.’ ‘Sorry, Roy. I didn’t think of you that way; it’s just that you’re the only one I know around here, except Louie - and he’s missing a few grey cells. So I’m lost. And you said so yourself: my situation is different to the rest of you. So what else can I do?’ His face played the thoughts running through his head. ‘I know,’ he said, eventually. ‘Come on. We’ll find Sammy, sooner or later.’ ‘It’s the later that bothers me. Don’t forget my body is dying back there in Intensive.’ ‘Sure. Well, don’t give up hope. That’s lesson Number One.’ Just as he said this we heard a scream and a young intern came flying by us with terror carved on her features. Roy and I looked at each other. The girl fled around the corner and the scream faded. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ I asked. ‘Sorry, Roy. I didn’t mean it that way.’ Another question for the ghost with all the answers. ‘Let’s go take a look,’ he said, pulling a face. We walked into the room the girl had just vacated. There in the centre of the small room we found the answer. A phantom sheet was wailing and dancing its heart out. ‘Sammy!’ Roy yelled. ‘Ya jerk! We’ve been looking all over for ya!’ The phantom laughed and the sheet flew across the room and spread itself neatly across the only bed. Sammy was left standing there nearly having a seizure with laughter. As soon as he saw me he stopped, glanced at Roy, then looked hard at me. ‘Hello, son. Comatosed, too?’ ‘You can tell just like that?’ ‘There’s a wail of a difference!’ And he burst into laughter, pun intended. I daren’t ask Roy what was wrong with Sammy through fear of upsetting him, so I waited for Sammy to calm down and explain himself. ‘Mark. Meet Sammy Jones. Sammy, this is Mark Draper. Comatose, like you said. I see you’re bored again, Sammy, scarin’ the girls again.’ Sammy climbed down from his funny horse and made an effort to control himself. ‘I had to, Roy. There’s nothing else to do around here for an old codger that won’t die.’ ‘He’s 55 and waitin’ to croak,’ Roy said to me by way of an explanation. ‘He thinks 55’s old.’ ‘I’ve been in a coma for nearly three years since I had my heart attack,’ Sammy added. ‘Did I say going on 2?’ muttered Roy. ‘And they refuse to switch off my life support. I’m wasting away in this blasted hospital and they won’t let me die with dignity. Is it a wonder I’m so pissed off that I haunt them? Is it?’ ‘Is that my fate, too?’ I asked him. ‘Those doctors are arsholes! Arsholes!’ ‘Calm down, Sammy,’ Roy interjected. ‘They keep monitoring and injecting me with drugs; they think they’re helping me. But they’re not. They’re keeping me from Heaven. I should be up there, with God and all those lovely angels and my beloved Dotty, having a ball, free of shitty human living.’ The typical tormented spirit? What did Man truly know about Existence? ‘I’m fed up, Roy! I want to end this curse. Why won’t they let me die?’ ‘Okay, Sammy,’ Roy said. ‘I’m sorry. Wish I could help ya.’ ‘Sammy!’ I cried, with compassion. ‘Listen to me. I want to help you. Maybe I can. If I can regain consciousness I can tell the doctors to switch off the machines. Help me to help you.’ Sammy ground his teeth, controlling himself with a contorted frown. ‘How? Can you end your coma? Because that’s the only way out of this.’ ‘So it’s because I’m in a coma that I’m like this - fuzzy?’ ‘Yes. I suppose so. You think I have all the answers?’ ‘You know more than I do.’ ‘That’s not saying much.’ ‘He’s from Bolton,’ Roy piped in, as if that would help. ‘That’s in Lancashire, right Sammy?’ ‘Flippin’ use that is,’ countered Sammy. ‘Just tryin’ to be civil.’ ‘Look,’ I butted in before things could escalate. ‘Let’s analyse this situation.’ ‘What situation?’ I glared at Roy. ‘The situation that Sammy and I are in. The comatose-zombie world. I don’t want to end up haunting this place like Sammy. No slur intended. I want to live a proper life or die in the trying.’ ‘What’s wrong with being a ghost?’ ‘But we’re not ghosts, are we? We’re dying while waiting for Death. We’re in the middle, stuck between planes, as you put it.’ ‘Like I said,’ Roy said. Puzzled, I queried: ‘Sammy, if you can move that sheet and make people hear your ghostly moans, why can’t you switch off your life support yourself?’ Sammy shrugged. ‘I tried. I just couldn’t do it. Something wouldn’t let me.’ ‘How do you mean?’ ‘I don’t know. It’s different. I couldn’t make the switches move.’ ‘And what about asking someone else to do it?’ ‘Like who?’ ‘Any of the doctors and nurses.’ ‘They can’t hear you,’ Roy put in. ‘All they can hear are noises. That’s how our voices carry across, except to them smart-arse clairvoyants and things.’ ‘Well, there’s our answer then! Let’s find a clairvoyant.’ ‘I’ve tried, but I can’t leave the building!’ Sammy growled. ‘I’m bound to the limits of this hospital.’ ‘What?’ I replied. ‘What?’ echoed Roy. ‘Ya mean to say you’re stuck in here? No wonder you’re goin’ nuts!’ ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Neither do I, exactly,’ Sammy said. ‘But I suppose it’s something to do with not being dead, exactly.’ ‘Shit!’ I snapped. ‘I don’t have that problem,’ Roy announced. ‘I can leave the hospital any time I want.’ ‘Then why didn’t you go?’ ‘What do I need with a clairvoyant? Dead is dead.’ ‘Not for yourself. For Sammy!’ ‘Oh - I never thought of it.’ ‘And I suppose it never occurred to you, either, that you might be able to switch off the machines for him?’ ‘Now that’s a different - actually, no.’ I frowned. ‘Incidentally, just how do you actually move anything since everything you touch has no substance?’ Moving toward the bed I tried to lift the sheet that Sammy had been playing Phantom of the Hospital with. My hand simply went straight through it. ‘Not like that!’ Sammy castigated. ‘You can’t touch anything so you have to use your mind.’ The sheet suddenly whipped up off the bed and danced above my head. ‘I remember watching Patrick Swayze going through this same problem,’ I said, keeping my eyes on the hovering sheet above me. ‘He was told to get angry before he could force things to happen.’ ‘That’s only a movie. All you need to do is think about it. Decide what you want to do and do it.’
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