The Caregiver

Mr. Gaines was not breathing.

  Mr. Gaines was not breathing.

  Why wasn’t he breathing? How long had he not been breathing? Olive had been tired, yes, but she’d had a cup of coffee earlier. She would’ve had more if the coffee maker wasn’t broken. She must have fallen asleep. Had she fallen asleep? She couldn’t recall. Just like with all sleeping, time was indiscernible. She could check the chart. Yes! She could do that. She’d made sure to write down everything. Hadn’t she? No, the fields were blank. She must have forgotten to write the times into the chart and had fallen asleep. Maybe had fallen asleep. It was still uncertain. Who could possibly say if she’d fallen asleep or not? Olive didn’t remember dreaming anything. Then again, people don’t always dream, and if they do, they don’t always remember it.

  Olive began performing CPR. 1, 2, 3, 4…

  Why, oh why had she sat down? Her feet had been aching after seven hours of cleaning the industrial complex. Her ankles had been swelling. Why shouldn’t she have taken a seat? She deserved a rest, didn’t she? She’d even placed herself beside Mr. Gaines’ bed as a precaution, in case she were to fall asleep. She hadn’t, though. She was almost certain. Olive was a hard worker, a good worker. Day after day, she went out and earned her pay hours upon hours at a time. She rested little. The time she had outside of work, she spent with her two daughters. It was for them that she worked herself to the point of endless exhaustion. She walked around in a perpetual state of weariness that she’d become so accustomed to, it wasn’t a struggle to keep  moving—so long as she kept moving.

  9, 10, 11, 12…

  However, Olive had taken a seat. She’d taken a seat and shirked her responsibility to look after Mr. Gaines, a man who had no way to care of himself, a man with all the money in the world and no one to love him. She’d heard he had children, at least a couple, but there’s no telling where they were. Any family he might have was absent enough to need her, a stranger, paid to make sure he stayed alive. The staffing agency that Olive had received employment through was tasked with filling the position she now held. She wasn’t certified to be there. She didn’t have any real training besides CPR and basic first aid. Olive had retained some information from her stint in nursing school before dropping out when she got pregnant.

  18, 19, 20, 21…

She walked around in a perpetual state of weariness that she’d become so accustomed to, it was no longer a struggle to keep moving—so long as she kept moving.

It didn’t matter how much knowledge and skill she had or didn’t have if she was asleep, though. If only that damn coffee maker had been working, she wouldn’t have fallen asleep… that is, if she had indeed fallen asleep. She drank coffee all the time. Olive wondered if, perhaps, her body had become addicted to coffee and, without it, wasn’t up to her usual level of energy. Now, there was a dead body all because of a broken coffee maker. There was no way her job could be saved now. She needed this job, but, with a death on her hands, how would she ever replace it? Olive would lose her apartment. She wouldn’t be able to buy groceries. The bank would repossess her car. Her daughters would look at her and wonder why they were starving, their innocent eyes filled with disappointment and confusion. Then, the state would take them. And what then? What would she have left to live for? All because she’d chosen to sit down.

  …29, 30.

  Olive halted her thoughts, her mouth hovering over Mr. Gaines’ lifeless blue lips. Then, there in his throat, she saw an object black and shining like obsidian. Extending a finger, she reached in and hooked the object, then pulled it out, revealing a long chain attached that had been down his trachea. In a horrifying instant, Olive realized it was her own necklace, a black stone on a silver chain, the one passed down to her from her great-great grandmother. What the hell was it doing in his throat? Had that been what caused him to stop breathing? Dark mucus and thickened blood dripped down onto Mr. Gaines’ chest as the stone dangled from her fingers. She realized that as she pulled the chain and pendant, it must have dug itself in somewhere, scratching and cutting at his tissue. A puddle of blood began to form in his throat where the necklace had been. In a frantic start, Olive dropped the necklace and turned him onto his side. A gush of blood began pouring out, off the edge of the bed, and onto the floor at Olive’s feet. It flowed like a waterfall, splashing upon impact with the carpet that had so quickly saturated, it was becoming slick. Olive’s sneakers, at least three-years-old and devoid of any remaining tread, slipped over the blood. Her legs shot up from under her, and the last thing she heard was the snapping of bone in her neck.

  Olive’s eyes snapped open, and she sat upright in the chair. Panting, she looked at the floor, clean and recently vacuumed. With a trembling hand, she traced her fingers along her collarbone, feeling the cool metal and stone in its appropriate place. No broken bones. Her body relaxed. It had only been a bad dream. She would fix that coffee maker one way or another, and she would make sure to never sit down on the job again, damned the aching in her feet. New sneakers would help the pain. No more putting off buying new ones any longer. With a slow sigh, Olive allowed herself to smile. Finally, at ease, she looked over at the bed. Olive’s heart froze.

  Mr. Gaines was not breathing.

  Mr. Gaines was not breathing.


OTHER SHORT STORIES
BY STEPHEN DANIEL RUIZ

Enter: OBLIVION

Studies In gray.

THE SALESMAN

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