Prove It!

by Susanne Matthews

  He inhaled deeply, gasping at the soreness in his chest, and it now felt as if someone was slam dancing in his head. Obviously, thinking didn’t help matters. Painstakingly, he raised his heavy arm and with his fingertips, touched the oxygen mask on his face. Why was he on oxygen? Better question was why couldn’t he move his head? He let his hand move lower and touched the rigid ring keeping his neck immobilized.

  He tried to shift his legs, but it was as if they belonged to someone else and fear filled him. Struggling to wiggle his toes, he couldn’t tell if he’d succeeded or not. If he could use his arms, and his head and chest ached, then he should be able to move his legs. Why couldn’t he? Had he had a stroke? He’d learned about them in biology recently—at least he thought it was recently—they were on the rise in teens and young adults.

  The rapid beeping he heard intensified, and the door opened.

  “I see you’re awake,” a familiar voice said. “Welcome back. That staccato you’re hearing is your heartbeat telling me you’re scared. Don’t be. Things aren’t as bad as they look. Nurse, remove the oxygen mask for a few minutes, and we’ll see if he’d like to try to talk to us. The wiring came out of your jaw yesterday, so that might make it a little easier. I must say you’ve got impeccable timing. I just sent your mother home for a bit. She’s exhausted. It’s tough to get her to leave even now that you’re out of danger, but mothers are like that.”

  Liam’s tongue darted out of his mouth, licking lips that felt and tasted like sandpaper.

  “What happened to me?” he whispered. His voice sounded like the creak of rusty door hinges, but although it was rough, the words made sense, implying he wasn’t brain damaged even if he couldn’t remember why he was here.

  “You were involved in an accident, but as to what happened to you, I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “When?”

  “A little more than a month ago.”

  The man came closer and flashed a penlight in his eyes.

  Liam closed them against the sudden brightness. A month? He’d lost a month of his life?

  “Good pupil response. Do you remember me? Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

  “Liam,” he answered. “Liam Bruce Howard, and you’re Dr. Connors, Hannah’s father.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Do you know your date of birth?”

  “October second. I’m seventeen.”

  “That’s right. Do you know where you are?”

  “I think so. I’m in Cedar Grove Memorial. What’s wrong with me?”

  “You fractured you skull, broke some ribs, and punctured a lung. You also smashed most of the bones in your face, and had one hell of a concussion. There were serious abrasions and contusions, but Dr. Rivers is a top-notch plastic surgeon.”

  Liam swallowed. What had he done? Fallen out of a tree? Been thrown from his horse? He’d been no superstar in the looks department, but he’d thought of himself as ordinary. Now, he wasn’t even that. Knowing the doctor was Hannah’s father filled his head with thoughts of her. He’d wanted to ask her out, but now that wasn’t likely to happen. How would she see him? Like some sort of monster? As bad as that thought was, the one eating away at him involved the lower half of his body. The doctor hadn’t mentioned spinal damage or broken femurs, tibias, fibulas, or even patellae.

  “What did I do to my legs? I can’t feel them.”

  “You didn’t break anything, if that’s what you’re wondering, but you compressed your spinal cord.”

  “What does that mean? Am I paralyzed?” The thought filled him with fear, and the angry pounding in his head intensified.

  “There isn’t an easy answer to your question.”

  “Why not?” Either he was paralyzed or he wasn’t.

  “You just woke up, and it’s too early to know your long term prognosis. Incomplete spinal cord injuries can be tricky. I know you may think you can’t feel your legs move, but they’ve twitched, and the nurses have recorded that on your chart. Statistically, you have a 75 percent chance of walking again.”

  But that meant a 25 percent chance of ending up in a wheelchair for the rest of his days.

  “Can you feel this?” the doctor asked.

  The scraping of cold metal along the sole of his right foot made Liam shudder, and if he could move his leg he’d probably have yanked it away.

  “I can see you did,” the doctor said, his voice denoting his pleasure. “How about this?”

  “Ouch,” Liam cried, surprised by the sharp prick. Dr. Connors repeated the procedure on the other foot, and then moved closer to the head of the bed. He smiled down at him.

  “The fact that you can feel that improves the odds you’ll be able to walk again. We’ve had to keep you sedated, but the sooner we get your muscles working, the better.”

  “How long before you’ll know?”

  “That’s up to you and your body, Liam. It could be a month, two months, six months, or longer. It's hard to predict. Once the physiotherapist establishes a baseline, we’ll be able to monitor progress. As long as there’s improvement and you’re recovering additional muscle function, your chances of walking sooner rather than later are good.”

  “So, you’re sure I will walk,” he repeated, wanting to hear the doctor say it once more.

  “I’m sorry, son. There are no absolutes here. The longer you go without seeing results, the lower the odds are that things will get better on their own. The staff has done passive exercises and your legs have moved slightly, but the fact you don’t feel them moving is worrisome. The brain is a tricky organ, one we don’t fully understand yet. As I said, the fact that you have sensation means there isn’t any permanent nerve damage,” Dr. Connors answered. “But there could be a number of other reasons why you can’t feel movement. When your head hit the pavement, your cervical vertebrae compacted, squeezing your spinal cord. That’s why you’re in the collar to help it heal.”

  “When I walk again,” and he refused to accept the possibility he might not, “will I be able to run?” His future depended on it. His dream to go to medical school was tied up in that scholarship.

  “I won’t lie to you,” Dr. Connors answered, his brow creased in concern. “The odds are you’ll never run the way you did, but stranger things have happened. As I said, the brain is the final frontier in medicine. Your body sustained a hell of a shock. I’m not going to kid you, Liam, it’s a miracle you’re alive, and if you weren’t in the shape you’re in, you probably wouldn’t have. You aren’t going to walk out of here tomorrow. Maybe, in time, you’ll regain your speed, but it won’t happen overnight.”

  Liam swallowed. The thought that he might never run the way he had before brought on pain far worse than the pounding in his head, but despite his word, the doctor’s lack of optimism was daunting. If Hannah’s father didn’t think he would ever run the way he had, the chances were the man was right.

  “I know that isn’t the answer you wanted,” Dr. Connors said, “but you’ve got enough to deal with without false hopes. Right now, this probably feels like the end of the world, but it isn’t. A lot of people have been pulling and praying for you. Let’s take things one day at a time.”

  “Thank you,” he managed, emotionally exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open, the pain far more intense now than it had been.

  “There’s something else you have to consider. The inability to feel your legs could be part of the shock you’ve suffered. In other words, it could be emotional trauma rather than physical injury.”

  “Believe me, doctor, if I could move my legs I would,” he answered, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. Did the man seriously think he was faking?

  “There’s a little more to psychosomatic injuries than that. Everyone responds to trauma differently. Because you don’t remember what happened to you, I’ll arrange for you to see Dr. Miller, the hospital psychiatrist.”

  Liam, nodded, the pain in his head now far from bearable.

  “Here’s Kati
e. She’s going to give you something for the pain which I’m sure is pretty bad right now. Sleep. We’ll talk later. I know Hannah will be thrilled to hear you’re awake. Judging by the way she’s been cross-examining me, she’ll be overjoyed to know you’re out of danger.” He chuckled. “My daughter can be very determined when she wants to be. Get some rest. Your mother will be back soon. I’m sure your friend Erik will be here as well. That young man has spent almost as much time in this room as you have.”

  Liam felt something cold go into his arm and closed his eyes. He wasn’t paralyzed, but God alone knew when he’d be able to control his body again, and what about his face? He might look like some Frankenstein’s monster, his face crisscrossed with scars. He should probably be grateful to be alive and not dwell on what might be gone forever, but the idea that he might never run again and Hannah could find him repulsive destroyed what little joy he could muster. Erik would tell him the truth even if no one else would. Unable to fight the drugs, he let himself drift back into the oblivion of sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah, still dressed in her church clothes, sat across from Erik, sipping on a strawberry shake, and examining the information on the tablet’s screen. Neither Papa nor the Howards had been in church this morning, but she had a shift at the hospital this afternoon and would stop in to see Liam. Since he’d awakened last week, Papa had restricted the number of visitors he could have, other than Erik and the family, but her volunteer uniform got her access to places where others couldn’t go.

  For the past week, she and Mari had been helping Erik put together info on who might be responsible for Liam’s accident. Although he himself hadn’t called her, Mari had several times. While he’d concentrated on the staff and students at Ivy Hills, she’d tried to see who at Central, other than Malcolm, stood to gain with Liam out of the picture. Her list was extremely short—the jerk and a few of the seniors on the track team. Mari was looking into past students who still lived in and around Cedar Grove, those less than stellar human beings who’d dropped out or been expelled who might have something against Ivy Hills and not necessarily Liam. He could simply be collateral damage or a means to an end. Despite the fact the police had cleared him, Malcolm seemed to be the only one who would benefit from Liam’s accident. He needed scholarship money if he wanted to get out of Cedar Grove.

  His father, Jackson Porter, left town years ago, and nobody really knew why, although there were plenty of rumors to go around. Some said he’d run off with his secretary, others claimed his business had been a Ponzi scheme, and some went so far as to suggest he’d been murdered. Everyone agreed on one thing, both his son and his wife were better off without him in their lives. He was what Papa called a mean drunk, and he’d been drunk more often than he’d been sober.

  Mrs. Porter had done her best, supporting herself and her son as a kindergarten teacher, but she would never be able to pay for a college education like the one Malcolm could get if he won that scholarship. Sure, there were others available, but none with the prestige of New Horizon, and let’s face it, Malcolm was no brain. He got marks in the low seventies, high enough to stay on the team, but not good enough to compete with academic scholars.

  Forcing her thoughts back to the table, she scrolled down the page, pursed her lips, and then handed the device back to him.

  “You’ve managed to eliminate all but ten of the students and two staff members at the school, but are we any farther along?”

  “Yes and no,” Erik answered.

  “I hate it when you answer like that,” Hannah grumbled. “I always thought anyone involved with technology would see things as black and white, you know, in keeping with binary code, not so wishy-washy that you couldn’t give me a straight answer.”

  Erik exhaled heavily. “Sorry, but so far, everything I’ve found is wishy-washy as you put it. These ten people aren’t kids I’d put on my Christmas card list. For the most part, they’re loners, at Ivy Hills because they got into trouble with the law, and their parents managed to get them sent here instead of into juvie. I’m still looking for evidence, but rumor has it, if you want something you shouldn’t have, some of the guys on that list can get it for you.”

  “I see,” she answered. “Would any of them have had an issue with Liam?”

  “Not sure, but Sam Fitzroy got kicked off the basketball team last spring. The coach found steroids in his locker. Sam might not have it in for Liam, but he does have issues with the coach.”

  “I see. Well, that’s more than I’ve found,” Hannah said, and let out a frustrated sigh. “Does Liam remember anything about the accident?”

  “So far, not much, and his parents don’t want me discussing it with him. The police are waiting to question him, but your dad won’t allow it just yet.” He sighed and shut the cover on his tablet. “For all we know, I’m whistling into the wind, and this is all a big waste of time. It could be a simple hit and run accident that has nothing to do with the threats or the pranks. Maybe Liam was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I can’t believe fate would be that cruel.”

  “I’ve thought of that, too. Sometimes bad things happen to good people for no reason that we can understand, but the fact whoever did this stopped, kicked him in the ribs, and left him there to die, tells a different story.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any less frustrated. The people I’ve managed to eliminate were long gone before the accident, and all of them were nowhere near Liam’s locker at any time, but these are all rich kids, capable of buying whatever they need.”

  “There you go letting your reverse snobbery out of the box again,” she snapped. “Not every person with a big bank account is out to get you. I’m considered a rich kid, you know.”

  “Sorry. If it helps, I don’t think of you as one of them. I’ve thought about what you said, and I guess you’re right. It’s just so frustrating. We have to work like dogs to get ahead and everything just drops into their laps. It isn’t fair.”

  “I know you’ve heard it before, but nobody ever said life is fair. It is what it is. All you can do is try not to make things worse for someone else.”

  He shrugged. “I guess. There are two staff members left on the list: Dooley Jones who works as a part-time janitor and also as a hired hand for Liam’s dad. I’m not sure how he could’ve left the notes or why he would’ve sabotaged Liam’s gear, but he might have been able to do it at the farm, eliminating the need to go into the dressing room. As far as the vandalism goes, he was there after hours, so he had access. The day of the accident, he’d gone for more lumber in Westley. His truck was pretty beat-up to begin with, so even the police might not have noticed any additional damage.”

  “Dooley wouldn’t do this,” she answered with conviction. “First, Liam’s like a son to him, and he’s worked for the family for more than ten years—he was there when Michael drowned. He knows firsthand how that family suffered. Second, I’ve seen his feet. He wears work boots and the toes aren’t pointed. Who’s Eli Morrison?”

  “He’s the track coach—the only person with unlimited access to Liam’s locker,” Erik explained. “The last time we talked, Liam thought he might know about the bullying but wasn’t doing anything about it. When he left Ivy Hills on Thursday afternoon, he was driving a small truck—not more than a couple of years old—but came back the following week with a brand new SUV.”

  “Suspicious, but it’s unlikely he’d have ditched the truck. The police looked into all new vehicles in the area. Once they couldn’t find the damaged truck, they turned to examine anyone who’d bought a new vehicle within a day or two of the accident. Besides, what motive would the coach have for wanting Liam out of the competition? If he wins, the coach wins, too. Twenty thousand dollars isn’t something to sneeze at.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m confused. Every crime needs a motive,” Erik admitted, “but I’m convinced the coach knows more than he’s saying.”

  “So, while the coach probably isn’t directl
y involved, he could know who is, or who wanted him out of the race. Your coach is a lot like Malcolm,” Hannah said, unable to keep the distaste out of her voice. “He might be innocent, but he’s still involved somehow. Leave him on the list for now. How are you going to deal with the other suspects?”

  “Caleb, and the other members of the relay team—Josh, Sam, and Jerry—all guys I’ve scrutinized closely and are in the clear, want to help out. Each of these other guys left Cedar Grove, by car, after the accident, and even though none of them own a truck, they’ve got more than enough money to buy one and then dispose of it.”

  “I thought we’d agreed to keep this quiet. It was supposed to be limited to the six of us. The more people know about your suspicions, the more dangerous this could be for all of us. If someone did purposely try to kill Liam, they aren’t going to want us looking into it.”

  “Calm down, Hannah, I know that. Sam and Jerry caught Caleb cleaning out Liam’s locker and threatened to go to the coach. And while I think of it, Coach Morrison is interested in knowing who might have taken Liam’s shoes. He had every locker and room at Ivy Hills searched, so he knows there may be more to this, but nothing turned up. He’s offered a sizeable reward for information.”

  Hannah nodded. “I wish it were that easy to check to see if anyone at Central has them, but I think whoever stole them just got rid of them. Did your online search turn up anything?”

  Erik shook his head.

  “Nothing of any help. There were shoes on sale the same make and model, but they weren’t available from anyone within a hundred miles. All of them claimed to be brand new, and none of them were elevens. I checked out the IP addresses just in case, but all of them are regular dealers. Listen, why don’t I get you a copy of the coach’s reward poster? If someone saw the shoes they might come forward.”