Coma

Bellows had expected that there would be some sunken cellar windows to allow some light in but there was only darkness. He peered ahead after the pale shaft from his pen-light into what seemed like a rather large room. His penlight was little help beyond six feet. By moving around the room counterclockwise, Bellows found some broken but serviceable furniture, including a bed covered with newspapers and two moth-eaten blankets. A few cockroaches fled Bellows’s encroaching penlight.

There was a fireplace with a large stack of wood on the hearth. Within the fireplace were ashes that suggested a recent fire. Bellows reached down and picked up one of the newspapers to check the date. It was February 3, 1976.

Letting the newspaper drop to the floor, Bellows noticed another door, which was standing ajar about six inches. He started for the door but the penlight dimmed sharply, its miniature batteries drained by the continuous use. Bellows switched the light off for a moment to give it a chance to revive. He found himself in a blackness so dense that he literally could not see his hand in front of his face. And as long as he did not move, total silence reigned.

The sensory deprivation resulted in a building apprehension and Bellows switched on the light before he had planned to do so. The beam was significantly stronger and Bellows could make out white tile on the floor just beyond the door in front of him. A bathroom.

Bellows pushed open the door. It moved hard on its hinges as if it were made of lead. The meager and faltering light from the penlight outlined a toilet without a seat immediately opposite the door. Once the door was half open, Bellows leaned his head into the room. The sink was on the wall to the right around the half-opened door. The light moved over the sink, then up onto the wall and over the mirrored medicine cabinet.

Bellows’s scream was totally involuntary. It was not loud, but it came from deep within his brain, a primeval response. The penlight dropped from his hand onto the tiled floor and shattered. Instantly Bellows was plunged into darkness. He turned and ran in the direction of the stairs, falling over the furniture. He was in a total panic, and he slammed into the wall instead of finding the stairs. Running his hand along the wall, he reached a corner and realized that he had come too far. He turned and retraced his steps. Only when he was directly facing the stairs could he see any light from above.

He stumbled up the steps and ran back through the house and out into the street. Only then did he stop, his chest heaving from exertion, his right hand bleeding from one of his falls in the darkness. He looked back at the house, allowing his mind to reconstruct the image that he had seen.

He had found Walters. In the mirror in the bathroom, Bellows had glimpsed Walters hanging by a rope around his neck from a hook on the door. Walters was terribly distorted and bloated by stagnant blood. His eyes were wide open and appeared as if they were about to extrude from his head. Bellows had seen some awful things in emergency rooms during his medical training, but never in his whole life had he seen a more gruesome spectacle than the corpse of Walters.

Wednesday, February 25, 4:30 P.M.

Susan entered the dean of students’ office with some trepidation, but Dr. James Chapman’s demeanor quickly put her at ease. He was not angry, as Susan anticipated, just concerned. A small man with dark hair, closely trimmed, he always looked the same, in his three-piece dark suit complete with a gold chain and a Phi Beta Kappa key. Dr. Chapman paused between his sentences and smiled, not out of emotion, but more as a device to put students at ease. It was a distinctive habit and not unpleasant.

Suggesting the essence of the university, the office of the dean of students at the medical school had a more pleasant atmosphere than offices at the Memorial. A brass antique lamp stood on the desk. The chairs were all of the black academic sort, bearing a decal of the medical school’s emblem on the back. An oriental rug brightened the floor. The far wall was covered with pictures of previous classes at the medical school.

After some traditional pleasantries, Susan sat down across from Dr.

Chapman. The dean removed his executive reading glasses and carefully placed them on his blotter.

“Susan, why didn’t you come to me and discuss this affair before it got out of hand? After all, that’s what I’m here for. You could have saved a lot of grief not only for yourself but also for the school. I’ve got to try to keep everyone as happy as possible. Obviously, keeping everybody happy is impossible, but I do a reasonable job of it. Still, I need warning when there’s a special problem. I like to hear when things go poorly and when things go well.”