Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

"I know I didn't."
    "I had a bad sore throat once . . . even had blisters. He might have that," Gavin said.
    "If we don't get the aspirin in him, his fever won't go down," I moaned.
    "Let me try," Gavin said. He held Jefferson in a sitting position and brought the glass to his lips. "Come on, buddy. Drink some of this," Gavin coached. Jefferson's eyelids fluttered and he opened his mouth just enough for Gavin to trickle some of the water and aspirin in. Once again, when it reached his throat, he began to cough violently, but Gavin held onto him and Jefferson was able to swallow some of it. Then he went limp in Gavin's hands.
    "Asleep again. Let's wait until he wakes up and then try once more," Gavin suggested.
    We sat by watching and waiting. Every time Jefferson opened his eyes, we were able to get him to swallow some more of the aspirin, but each swallow caused more choking. Eventually, we got all of it into him. Even so, I decided I would sit up beside him and watch over him until I was sure he was in a deep sleep.
    "I'll sit up, too," Gavin said.
    Jefferson closed his eyes, but he didn't fall asleep for a long, long time. He moaned and cried most of the remainder of the night. Shortly after he finally did fall asleep, both Gavin and I did, too.
    Morning dawned, grim, gray, forbidding. My eyelids fluttered open and I gazed around. For a moment it all seemed like a bad dream; perhaps I had walked in my sleep and sat down here and fallen asleep again, I thought. Then I saw Gavin still sitting on his bed, his head tilted, his eyes closed. He had drifted into a deep sleep watching over Jefferson and me.
    I leaned over slowly and looked at Jefferson. Although he was asleep, he looked so strange. It was as if he were having a funny dream. He wore a fixed smile and his eyebrows were elevated. But there was something about that look on his face that told me it wasn't just a smile caused by happy thoughts. No, the turn of his lips and the frozen way his eyebrows remained lifted made my own lips tremble and my hands shake.
    "Gavin," I said. "Gavin, wake up." I shook his leg. He opened his eyes and stretched.
    "Hi," he said. "How's he doing?"
    "Look at him, Gavin," I said. Gavin leaned over and gazed at Jefferson's face.
    "That's funny."
    "It's weird, not funny. Jefferson?" I put my hand gently on his forehead. He didn't feel any warmer, which I took to be a good sign, but when his eyes opened, he gazed at me with a look of utter terror. "Jefferson?"
    He groaned without opening his lips.
    And then, without any warning, his whole body began to shake. It was as if he had touched an exposed electric wire. The sight of him in such a convulsion took my breath away. Even Gavin couldn't move or speak for a moment. Then I screamed.
    "Jefferson!"
    Gavin rushed to him and embraced him quickly. Beads of sweat had broken out on Jefferson's forehead and a small line of perspiration formed down his right temple and cheek. Saliva escaped from the corners of his mouth. He gagged and then his eyes went back in his head and he went limp in Gavin's arms.
    "Gavin!"
    Gavin, shocked himself, lowered Jefferson to the bed and then put his ear to Jefferson's little chest.
    "His heart's beating very fast."
    "We've got to get him to a doctor . . . to a hospital!" I cried.
    Frantic now, I ran out of the room and screamed as loud and as hard as I could.
    "Help! Help! Aunt Fern! Aunt Charlotte! Someone!"
    Aunt Charlotte came running out of her bed-room, Luther pulling up his pants as he followed quickly behind.
    "What's wrong, dear? What's wrong?"
    "It's Jefferson! He's very, very sick. He's passed out," I said and began to cry. Luther went in to see.
    "What the hell's all the noise?" Aunt Fern cried, sticking her head out from her doorway.
    "It's Jefferson. He's sick," Aunt Charlotte told her.
    "Oh no, not that again. So keep giving him aspirin and stop shouting. There are two people who need their beauty sleep down here," she complained and slammed the door.
    "Luther wants us to take him to the hospital right away," Gavin said, emerging. "He says he's seen this before."
    I looked at Luther who stood behind him, his face full of concern, his eyes dark, the lines in his forehead and temples deep.
    "Oh Luther, what is it? What's wrong with my little brother?"
    "Can't be certain, of course," he said slowly, "but it looks like what happened to my cousin Frankie thirty-odd years ago after he cut himself on a rusty plow blade."
    "What . . ." I asked, my heart