by Naomi West
"He's going back in for Archer!"
"Of course he is." Polo nodded.
"He's not SWAT trained."
Polo shrugged. "He's Ben Dupont. That's just as good."
"But he's only going back in because I..." I didn't want to say it. "He's doing it for me."
Polo shook his head. "He sent Archer in there, and the man didn't flinch. No way would your Dad just leave him. He's not doing it for you. He'd do that for any one of us, and - whoa! Where are you going?"
I just barely heard the last few words of this, as the world had started to fade and my legs buckled beneath me. My vision swam, and I fought to maintain consciousness. It was as if it had all just caught up with me in that instant. The stress and the confinement all suddenly hit me.
I heard Polo calling for paramedics and was vaguely aware of figures running over, as my Dad's deputy laid me down on the ground. A voice beat through my mind, telling me to stay awake. I had to know that Dad was all right, if Archer was alive. But however strong that voice was, however desperate the desire to know, my body was having none of it. I sank into a blank, unresisting unconsciousness.
# # #
"Welcome back."
I blinked my eyes open and asked the stupid question that everyone in this situation asks, regardless of how pointless it is. "Where am I?"
"In the hospital," said the unfamiliar face, peering down at me. "My name is Dr. Yates. Can you tell me yours?"
"Cassidy Dupont."
"That's correct. Good news for both us."
"My dad..."
Dr. Yates held up a hand. "Just stepped out to get some coffee. What the man really needs is sleep, but when I suggested that, he just glared at me. At this point I'm more worried about his health than yours."
"He's okay? He's alive?"
"Oh, yes," the doctor nodded fervently. "Alive and intimidating. And, before he gets back..."
"What about Archer?"
I saw an expression of uncertainty spasm across the doctor's face. "I'm going to let your dad talk to you about Mr. Cyprian. But, now, before he gets back, I have to ask you something."
"What?" So many dreadful possibilities ran through my mind.
"Are you aware that you're pregnant?"
That had not been one of the dreadful possibilities.
"What?"
"You are pregnant, Miss Dupont. I didn't want to mention it in front of your father, in case you hadn't told him, and because he scares me. Besides, at this early stage, it seemed quite possible that you were unaware of it yourself. And that would seem to be the case."
"I'm pregnant?"
"Yes."
"That's impossible," I said, adding to my tally of stupid things said to Dr. Yates. "I've only been with one man."
The doctor pulled a face. "I know there are some weird beliefs knocking about concerning birth control, but let me assure you that it only takes one man. Did you and this one man have unprotected sex?"
"Oh, lots," I said, perhaps a little smugly. "It was awesome."
Dr. Yates shrugged. "Not medically pertinent, but good for you. Anyway, the point being that, lots of unprotected, awesome sex can result in pregnancy, even if it's just with one man."
"Yeah. Yes, of course," I acknowledged. "I do know that."
"Sure."
"I'm not a complete idiot."
"I know."
"It's just..."
The doctor smiled sympathetically. "It seems like it's been a bit of a week for you."
I nodded. That more-or-less covered it.
I had to tell Archer. And then I realized that I still didn't know what had happened to him. I still didn't know if he was alive.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Archer
It seemed to me that the least that you could expect from your body when you had been shot multiple times was to lose consciousness. That would certainly be the decent thing, because, if you retained consciousness, there was a great deal of pain, fear, and confusion which you really didn’t want to deal with.
I was certainly conscious enough to know that the fight continued around me, and conscious enough to know that, as long as that was the case, no one was taking me out of here. With every moment that passed, my survival became less likely, and I began to feel that I could actually sense my life flowing from my body, minute by minute. I was also conscious enough to recognize the figure who bent down over me as the shooting continued. I'd rather have been rescued by Polo Carter, someone who I had helped back in the day. Being saved by Ben Dupont... well, maybe he owed me one for going through with this plan and saving his daughter, but I would have done that anyway, so it didn't really count.
"This is probably going hurt," I think I heard him say. They were wasted words, really. I had lost all touch with my body. Either nothing hurt, or everything hurt, and I could no longer tell which was which. Dupont somehow managed to pick me up and half-carry, half-drag me through the warehouse.
"Did Cassidy get out?" I don't know how I found the strength to speak, or maybe I didn't, and it was all in my head, as Dupont didn't answer.
I may have blacked out there for a bit, but I found myself drifting through consciousness again as I was put into an ambulance. Dupont was once again hovering above me.
"Tell her I love her."
This time he answered. "She knows, son. And she loves you too."
My last thought, as I once again slipped from lucidity, was that I had just had a 'moment' with Sheriff Ben Dupont. The day-to-day experiences of my life had changed in many ways since meeting Cassidy.
I couldn't call what happened next 'memories,' because, although the events certainly happened, I'm not sure if I remember them, or if I'm imagining it based on what people told. Me later. We arrived at the hospital, and I was rushed into emergency surgery like a hero. They gave me blood transfusions to try and restore my lost reserves. The anesthetist came in and looked gravely down at me, for what seemed like a very long while, before putting a mask over my face. He may have asked me to count down backwards from a hundred, which I seriously doubt I was able to do.
From that point, the dark, ugly periods of unconsciousness seemed to become a whole lot pinker and fluffier. I'd only been under anesthesia once before, and I remembered it as being a pretty relaxing experience, but I was vaguely aware that this time I might not come out again. What then? The pink and fluffy clouds just went on forever? Fortunately, such deep questions ceased to matter as the anesthesia took hold.
There was Cassidy. Seated in a tree, like the first time I saw her. Perhaps this was the first time I saw her. We went on our first bike ride together, with her holding me so tightly. I felt her eyes on me as I fought outside Fran's bar, and then felt her hands on me as she bandaged up the knife wound. I saw the first time we kissed and felt that precious rush of sensation. I saw the first time we made love and felt, again, the guilt afterwards, discovering that she had been a virgin. Yet, the guilt was tempered by desire to go further with this wonderful girl. I recalled the night by the waterfall, which was the last time when everything had really seemed right with the world. I watched the aftermath, the chases, the motels, and the lengthy lovemaking. What I watched, it occurred to me, as it had before, was a catalogue of bad decisions and mistakes made by two people who were in every way not meant to be together, except for the fact that we were perfect for each other. You couldn't fight against that. Sooner or later, love would force good intentions back into the natural pattern of things. Though life had done everything it could to distance us from each other, Cassidy Dupont and Archer Cyprian would always wind up together. That was the way of things.
I wondered at how much time I had spent pushing her back towards her dad. That had not been wholly wrong, but I should have been going with her. My mistake had been in thinking that she had to choose, when there was no reason we couldn't both be happy. If I got out of this, then that was what was going to happen. One big, happy family.
Even as I thought it, vaguely at t
he edge of my consciousness, I heard the flat-line and the voices of the doctors, grave and hopeless, pronouncing me. The pink fluffiness began to fade.
The hell with that. I had finally managed to realize how life with Cassidy could work. If that wasn't enough to keep me alive, then I couldn't imagine anything that might be. I had spent my whole damn life fighting for one thing or another, and I wasn't about to stop now.
Of course, all of this might just have been the product of dreams and anesthesia-induced hallucinations. But that was how it struck me looking back on it, and the fact that I could look back on it was the main thing.
# # #
The next thing I remembered was a woman's voice whispering to me, beckoning me back to wakefulness and to the land of the living. It was a voice that I'd crawl over broken glass to follow.
"Cassidy..." My mouth felt like I hadn't had a drink for a month.
"Archer! You're awake!"
"Am I? Oh good."
"I'll get someone."
I managed to open my eyes, but the world was bright, blurry, painful, and didn't make a whole lot of sense. "Who?"
"I don't know, a doctor, or someone."
"Am I ill?"
"You were shot."
"I feel like I'm over it."
"I'd better get someone."
"Okay, you do that," I agreed. "I might grab some sleep. I'm pretty tired." These few seconds awake seemed to have exhausted me. I couldn't keep my eyes open, and my words were slurring more and more.
"Okay, you do that."
"I love you." Was that the first time that I had said that to her? It couldn't be, could it? I'd meant it for long enough. But, thinking back over things, I found that, yes, because of my antipathy for actually saying the word, that was the first time I had said it to her. I had even told her Dad before her. How irritating that this important first should be now, when she was likely to write it off as the effects of the anesthesia on my dopey mind.
There was a long pause. Although my eyes were now closed, and I was sliding back into sleep, I could imagine the look of surprise on Cassidy's pretty face.
"I love you too, Archer," I heard her say. Then, as I really began to sink back into unconsciousness, I was sure I heard her add something else.
I might have been wrong Things were still very confused, and I was pretty addled at that point, but it sounded as if she had told me that I was going to be a father.
That was something to deal with when I woke up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cassidy
The joy of Archer making it through surgery and being on the road to a complete recovery was soon tainted by bad news from elsewhere. I had known for a few days that something was bothering Dad. I had overheard snippets of angry phone calls. He always shut the door when he realized I was nearby, but I heard enough to know that whatever was going on had something to do with Archer. Finally, I couldn't stand the tension any longer.
"What's going on?" I sat Dad down at the kitchen table and demanded an explanation.
"Not much. What's going on with you?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Almost never." Dad tried to keep things light, but I could easily see that he was hiding something.
"Dad, I know something's going on with Archer. I need you to tell me what it is. Have his doctors told you something?"
"No. Nothing like that." Dad instantly reassured my worst fears. "He'll make a full recovery. Tough son of a bitch."
"Then what? Don't tell me it's nothing."
Dad met my gaze. "The charges against him aren't being dropped. He'll stand trial as soon as he's well enough."
I just gaped. "But, didn't you make a deal with him?"
Dad shook his head. "Everything he did was voluntary. He knew that this was a risk."
Of course he had. Archer would never have stood for a deal, even if it was just for show. The idea that he would only have come to my rescue if the charges were dropped would have sickened him.
"You've got to be able to do something!"
"I've tried."
"Try harder!"
"Cassidy..." Dad reached out and took my hand. "I have tried. But everyone I speak to knows what Archer did for me. They all think I owe him. Ironically, they all think that there was a deal. Like an unofficial one, under the table. My word holds absolutely no weight where Archer is concerned. Which is right. That's how it should be. The justice system has to be fair for all, or it's fair for none. And I am biased in this."
"You can't be serious." Anger was now replacing dismay in my body, hotly burning through me. "After all he did for you! I thought you stood by the men who helped you!"
"Which is why I went to bat for him as hard as I did," Dad said. "And it goes against the grain to let him down, but..." Dad rubbed his head in frustration. "All those bogus, trumped up charges that Quint and Hamlin were trying to pin to Archer - those are all gone now. They've all been pinned to Rassi, as deserved, and he's dead, so that's the end of that. What Archer is accused of, and I've been through it all line by line, is what he did. He is guilty of this stuff. And while you may think that he's exonerated himself by helping us, there's a bunch of people out there affected by his crimes, who've not had any recompense. It's up to the state to deliver that. I've spoken to Archer and, to his credit, he's not trying to weasel out of this. He committed the crimes, and he's willing to do the time."
"I'd be dead if it wasn't for him." I could see how my words affected my Dad, twisting his face. Just the suggestion hurt him.
"And I'll never be able to repay him for that."
"Yes, you can!" You can fix this!"
But Dad shook his head. "I can't. And I'm not sure I should, if I could."
There was so much I wanted to say to him, so much I wanted to throw in his face. But there was stuff there that I would not be able to take back. I got up and walked away from the table.
"Where are you going?" Dad asked.
"I'm going to visit Archer."
"I'm sorry, Cassidy."
"What?!" I turned back around sharply. "Are you forbidding me from seeing him? Because we both know how well that works."
"Now that he's no longer in immediate danger, he's been moved to a prison hospital."
I blanched. When was I going to get to see him again? "When are visiting hours?"
"I'm sorry, Cassidy."
"What?!"
Dad stood up. "I think this is for the best. There's no telling for how long Archer's going to be gone, and I don't want you to waste your life pining away for him."
"I love him!"
"I know," Dad said sincerely. "I do know that. And I know this must be incredibly difficult, but please try to see this from my point of view. I came so close to losing you, all because of him, because you were close to him and became a part of his world. Maybe, if he wasn't going to prison, Archer would be able to walk away from that. Maybe. I don't know. But people in jail for any length of time do what they can to survive. They make friends, and they make enemies. And those enemies have friends on the outside. If you stay connected to Archer, then you're going to wind up in danger again."
"I don't care!" I practically shrieked. I thought that dad and I had put all this stuff behind us, but here we were again, at each other's throats, and I didn't know how to fix it.
"But I do."
"You can't stop me from seeing him."
"Archer won't see you."
I saw in his eyes that he was telling the truth. "You spoke to him."
Dad nodded. "I told him what I just told you. He knew that I was right."
I stormed out.
# # #
In a strange way, the immediate threat of the mafia had held Battle Pride together in the absence of their president. But now that threat had been neutralized, and with Archer looking at serious jail time, there was no longer anything to keep the group together, or anyone with the force of character necessary to lead it.
"Did you never think abo
ut leading?" I asked Fran, as we watched Joe Henry carrying boxes of my stuff from my car.
"Me?" Fran shook her head and laughed. "I was a biker groupie. Just liked the idea of the danger, I guess. It's easy to get addicted to that. But the gang itself? Don't tell Archer or Joe that I said it, but I think there's something a bit childish about it. We're all grown-ups, for goodness sake. There are better ways to solve your problems."
