“Well? How bad? You look like someone shot your dog, LT. We’re all adults here; let’s have it straight.”
Green grabbed a step stool from a nearby corner and joined the others who were seated at the breakfast nook table. “The ‘straight’ of it is that…that Jack isn’t going to make it.” The two aliens were seated on one side of the table, and when Green made his grim pronouncement S’leen took it hard, literally collapsing against F’haan who quickly enveloped her in a comforting embrace.
The old cop seemed to age at least a decade as he outlined the situation. “S’leen—Oh God, I’m so sorry. I…I wish the news had been better, but Felicia–—that’s Dr. Fernandez– —has checked Jack several times herself, as well as talked to the surgeons who worked on him. She says that there’s too much damage, too many vital bodily functions compromised for him to have any long-term viability. In the short term he may improve enough to regain consciousness, but he’s already on partial respiratory life-support, his kidneys are virtually gone, his liver and spleen are barely functioning, he even lost a good portion of his intestines.”
Each damaged or destroyed organ, by itself, would constitute a serious problem, Green explained, but he had saved the worst for last. “Besides all that, and besides losing his left eye and the hearing in his left ear, there’s one more thing: Jack is almost totally paralyzed. One of the bullets punched through his belly to lodge in his spine. They’re afraid to disturb it for fear of doing even more damage, but where it is, as well as what the neurological tests show, says that his entire lower body is effectively dead. And because of his breathing difficulty and unstable heartbeat, they’re certain the bullet is affecting the nerves that govern his upper bodily functions as well.” Green took a long, deep breath, then added huskily, “Hell, if he’s lucky he might not wake up at all.”
* * *
Officer Mike Duncan was bone weary, more from the stress and tension, he admitted to himself, than from physical exertion, of which there had been virtually none in the past eighteen hours. Despite his intention to stay neutral in the Jack Ross affair, Duncan found himself pitying the gravely wounded man fighting for life in the cubicle behind his chair. Even though Ross was unconscious and supposedly felt nothing, nobody, Duncan thought, should have to endure the terrible, brutal indignities Ross experienced as the medical staff struggled to keep his bullet-shattered body alive.
Every so often Ross, whose breathing was occasionally assisted by an electro-pulmonary stimulator instead of the usual plastic tube down the throat, muttered and cried out in his sleep. The med-techs simply ignored it, since Ross was obviously unconscious and irrational. Duncan, however, heard one sound repeated more often than any other, and eventually he realized that it was a name.
S’leen.
The man was calling the name of his H’kaah companion, and Duncan’s weary brain pieced the obvious together; Ross had been shot while trying to protect her, no matter that she had subsequently killed the assailants. But Ross didn’t know that. Moments after he came to that conclusion Doris Tritt strolled over, having finally gotten to take her break.
“Excuse me Officer—Duncan,” she tentatively began as she read his nametag, “I was wondering if you’d like some coffee, or possibly a soda. I’d be glad—”
“Maybe later,” he interrupted, then realized how harsh he sounded to the young monitor tech. “Sorry, I’ll be glad to take you up on a cup of coffee, but first I need to know if Dr. Fernandez is still on duty. Can you find out?” He forced a smile that he hoped wasn’t too plastic.
Taken aback at the young officer’s question, she quickly returned to her station and dialed a number on her phone. After a few low-volume words were exchanged she caught the officer’s eye and nodded. He left his post by the cubicle and quickly stepped to the monitoring station. “Is that her on the phone?” Nod. “Ask her if she could swing by here in the next few minutes.” When the young woman’s eyebrows raised with doubt Duncan added, “It’s about Jack Ross, and I think it’s important.” When the message was relayed the monitor tech’s eyebrows climbed even farther up her forehead.
“She’ll be here in ten minutes,” she said incredulously as she hung up the phone. This Ross guy’s obviously a lot bigger deal than I’d thought, she silently mused.
Duncan nodded, then smiled and said, “Now, Ms. Tritt, about that coffee—”
Ten minutes later, his Styrofoam coffee cup still half-full and steaming, Duncan was eagerly explaining his concerns to the doctor. “—And that’s when I realized that he probably doesn’t know S’leen’s still alive.”
“So what’s your point?” Fernandez prompted.
“I’d like to try to get through to him, to let him know that she’s safe. Maybe…maybe knowing that will calm him down, let him rest. It’s obvious even to me that, given his critical condition, this restlessness isn’t good for him.” It was obvious to the doctor that the young cop had taken a very personal interest in the situation.
After a few moments of thought Fernandez said, “All right, you can try your theory, but only when he’s calling her name. I don’t want you disturbing him otherwise, understand?” She had to clamp down hard to keep from laughing, such was the young officer’s joy at being allowed to take an active role in the case. “And if you get a response from Ross, you’re to let me know immediately, got that?” Duncan promised he would, and she allowed herself a slight smile. “You pull this rabbit out of the hat, mister, and I might have to put you on our staff.”
* * *
In the ICU cubicle, deep inside his damaged psyche, Ross fought a frustrating, losing battle with black-suited, wolf-faced demons. The shadow-images kept taunting him, biting him, all the while getting closer and closer to his defenseless, helpless H’kaah companion. In his desperation Ross repeatedly tried to call out to S’leen, but often he seemed to have no voice, his efforts netting him nothing but pain. But now and then, for no apparent reason, he did seem to call her name, but still to no avail. She never replied; there was no response at all. And so he despaired.
But then something changed. Ross became aware of a reaction when he struggled hardest to call S’leen’s name. He could hear something; not her, he was certain of that. Yet something was happening, something apparently not related to the nightmare battle he was so hopelessly losing. Something was going on that he decided must be terribly important, and the more he tried to concentrate on whatever it was, the less real the nightmare battle became. Slowly, as if he were a great lumbering whale drifting toward the ocean’s distant surface, Ross rose from the depths of unconsciousness, rising toward the source of the disturbance.
Rising toward reality.
Chapter 9
To Wake the Dead
Dr. Felicia Fernandez was sprinting and dodging like a cat chasing a squirrel as she hurried through the maze of corridors and the scattering of personnel that separated her from the private administrative staff elevator. Most of the huge hospital’s staff had never seen the petite Hispanic woman move in anything more frantic than a professional hurry; they’d never dreamed the administrative physician was capable of anything remotely near the overt panic she seemed to be exhibiting.
At that particular moment the esteemed Dr. Felicia Fernandez didn’t care one hoot in hell what anybody in the hospital thought about her; she just wanted to be in ICU cubicle number seven. The best way she knew to accomplish that in the shortest possible time span was to throw dignity to the wind and do her best to outrun it.
Thirty seconds earlier she had received a frantic phone call from an ICU nurse. It seemed that the young police officer stationed outside Jack Ross’ cubicle had gotten a reaction from the comatose patient, and faithful to her instructions, he had called for help.
Fernandez just hoped she didn’t blow an artery from the unaccustomed exertion. She hadn’t been this excited in years!
* * *
“Jack Ross! Speak to me, Jack!” Officer Mike Duncan was hovering over Ross, emphaticall
y coaxing the man toward full consciousness. “Your H’kaah friend is safe, Jack—she killed the bad guys! Yeah, I know it’s tough that they got to you first, but in the end she toasted ‘em in grand style, man. Come on, Jack, speak to me!”
And Ross was trying his very best to speak, but the sometimes-clear voice he called out with in the nightmare had become a painful, twisted, breathing-hampered croak in what passed for reality, and while he didn’t fully understand what had happened, he instinctively knew he was in serious trouble. You don’t hurt the way he did, especially in the places he did, unless you were in deep shit.
And Ross was in a lot of pain.
“Don’t. Shout.” Ross struggled to make those two words come out understandable between the labored breaths something was forcing him to take. He finally got the words out clearly enough for his ear to understand them; apparently the loud, energetic voice heard them, too, since it backed way off in intensity. “Better,” Ross replied to the sudden reduction in volume from his unseen subject. “You say—S’leen OK?” When he got a quick affirmative answer he replied, “Good. Got to…to rest now,” and Ross seemed to relax for the first time since he had been brought to the ICU.
* * *
There was an intense discussion taking place at the ICU monitor station. The fact that it was being held at a stage-whisper instead of at the top of everyone’s lungs was testimony to one person’s influence, and what was even more impressive, that person was NOT Dr. Fernandez. Officer Mike Duncan demanded vocal restraint within earshot of cubicle seven; he didn’t want HIS patient to be disturbed now that HIS patient was resting peacefully.
And “resting peacefully” was exactly what Ross was doing, Duncan emphatically stated, and all the devices keeping tabs on Ross supported that assessment. “He was worrying himself to death about the H’kaah who was with him when he was shot. I convinced him that she was safe, and in fact had killed his attackers.” Duncan shook his head, adding, “Why he believed me, why he accepted the fact that a creature as gentle as a female H’kaah could be capable of killing three armed men—people, that’s something I can’t explain. I only know that once I told him that he…he totally relaxed. Go figure!”
Dr. Felicia Fernandez had almost stopped gasping for air as she recovered from her long sprint, but she hadn’t stopped grinning. “Young man,” she wheezed, “if it wasn’t for the fact that Nolan Green was involved in this mess (wheeze) I wouldn’t believe anything I’ve seen or heard regarding this matter. But (wheeze) I’ve known Green for some time now, and after meeting that distraught, overgrown cuddle-bunny he (wheeze) dragged into my office this morning I…I don’t doubt anything about anybody connected to this case.” She winked at the cop. “Even you, ‘Doctor’ Duncan.” When the man looked surprised she stated, “While you’re not a real doctor, and you don’t even play one on TV—” several nearby technicians and nurses snickered while she paused for breath, “—I think you made a sound medical decision when you brought Ross up from his comatose state and then told him the one thing he desperately needed to hear.” “But according to Lieutenant Green, what I told him is the truth!”
“Son,” she said, “it wouldn’t have mattered if you’d told him a fairy tale. It was exactly the thing he needed to hear to satisfy that part of him that couldn’t turn loose.” She smiled, shaking her head. “A few hours ago I didn’t give Ross more than a day or two to live; now, who knows? There’s no getting around the fact that his wounds will ultimately kill him. But if his vitals remain as good as they’re currently showing—hell, he could recover enough to go home, even if only for a few months. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a phone call to make, and I’ll wager a couple of very special people are going to be glad to receive it.”
* * *
“WHAT?” Green shouted into the telephone handset. “Felicia, I…I don’t know what to say!”
Green, Teddy Shapiro, Ron Washington and the two female H’kaah had been gloomily sitting, slouching and lightly dozing in Ross’ living room as the afternoon wound its way toward early evening. The cordless telephone handset had been brought from the kitchen when the group adjourned to a more comfortable part of the house, and when it suddenly began trilling the two aliens awoke with a guilty start. Both were near exhaustion, but for different reasons, while the three humans weren’t in much better condition. Yet shortly after Green reluctantly answered the insistent device everybody’s attitude changed.
“But of course I’m thrilled, Felicia! Good God, woman, I think I just wet myself, and I’m afraid to look too closely where everybody else was sitting. Yeah, right, they probably would hit me! But…but you’re saying we can come up and maybe get to see him? Oh, Dear Felicia, you don’t know what that means; you have no idea. Great, great, that’s just wonderful. You bet, Dear. OK, we’ll be there in an hour. What’s that? Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right. He needs the sleep more than we need to see him. We’ll use the time and grab some rest ourselves, and we’ll be up in the morning. Thanks, Dear. You know I still love you. Bye.”
The four others in the room, both H’kaah included, were almost ready to throttle Green as the man simply sat holding the telephone handset, a silly grin on his craggy features. Finally Shapiro snarled, “Damn it, Noach—what happened?”
Green didn’t answer right away, but instead he simply continued grinning. As Shapiro was getting ready to do physical harm to his old friend a solitary tear spilled out of Green’s right eye and skittered down his face to leap onto his dark blue uniform shirt. He blinked and this brought forth a companion tear from the other eye. Finally he said, his voice husky with rare emotion, “Felicia says Jack came out of the coma, talked to the JSO patrolman guarding him and…and he’s improving. She says that he’s sleeping peacefully now, and when he wakes up tomorrow morning we can visit with him for a few minutes.” Green looked directly at S’leen, then said, “Apparently a great deal of his instability was caused by him worrying about you, Dear, and when the JSO officer told him you were OK, and that you’d killed the dirtbag attackers, it…it changed things. He’s actually resting peacefully now, and Felicia sounds a whole lot more upbeat about his condition.” He looked at the others in the room and softly added, “Maybe I quit believing in God too soon.”
* * *
Intensive Care Units are a nether world to both patients and caregivers. They’re never dark, never on “night shift”, always at 100% efficiency. Patients often complain that they have to move to lower-level, more “normal” hospital rooms to get any rest. It’s always “mid-day” in the ICU.
Jack Ross, however, seemed to be the exception to the rule that said patients couldn’t sleep in the ICU; as far as the multitude of sensitive electronic monitors were concerned Ross both slept and appeared to enjoy his slumber. Since the JSO cop had informed him of S’leen’s safety Ross had slept soundly, his gravely injured body repairing itself as much as humanly possible. After making sure “his” patient was stable Duncan called for another officer to relieve him while he went home and grabbed a solid night’s sleep. He planned to be back at the hospital when Green came to see his friend; he wanted to see the look on the gruff old cop’s face when Ross spoke to him.
Officer Mike Duncan also hoped Ross’ H’kaah companion would accompany the Lieutenant. Maybe he’d even get another chance to talk to her. Who knows, she might even be happy to see him. Duncan was glad he wasn’t married; it made living with his adolescent feelings a whole lot easier.
* * *
Ten o’clock Monday morning found a small mixed group of people gathered outside Ross’ ICU cubicle. Dr. Felicia Fernandez was talking in low tones to S’leen and JSO Patrolman Mike Duncan, while Green, Washington, Shapiro and F’haan hovered in the background and tried not to get in the way.
“Mike,” Dr. Fernandez said, “we’re going to try something terribly unorthodox; we’re going to let you try to wake Mr. Ross, and then you’re to let him know that S’leen is waiting to see him. The ‘catch’ is that Mr. Ross must
not get too excited; doing so would probably critically destabilize his vital functions, and S’leen will have to leave. If he behaves himself the rest of this motley group will be allowed to briefly pay their respects. Understand?”
“I understand, Dr. Fernandez.”
“If you fail, Mike, you don’t lose—Jack Ross does.”
* * *
In Ross’ ICU cubicle Officer Mike Duncan took a deep breath as he studied “his” patient. According to the bank of complicated monitors above the bed, Ross was merely sleeping. His respiration was slow but relatively steady, except— once in a while he simply didn’t take a breath. That was when the microprocessor-controlled electro-pulmonary stimulator gave his diaphragm a nudge, forcing him to take the breath he needed to stay alive. It functioned through implanted wires and several sensors that monitored both the level of oxygen in his blood as well as the carbon dioxide content.
Other than that, Ross seemed little different from the normal ICU “trauma victim”-type patient. He had tubes and IV lines connected to numerous parts of his body, and bandages covered much of the rest. A large white bandage covered the left side of his face and head; Duncan knew that beneath the gauze was a type of cranial injury few people survived. That Ross survived not only that massive insult but a multitude of other potentially mortal injuries was a testament to both his incredible vitality and the trauma team that worked so hard to pull him back from the brink.
Finally Duncan moved to rouse Ross. “OK, Sleeping Beauty,” he said in a low voice, “it’s time to wake up and smell the bedpans. You’ve got visitors, and I think there’s one in particular that you’d really like to see. C’mon, Jackie Boy, rise and shine. You’re sleeping what’s left of your life away.”
Redeeming Factors (Revised) Page 22
