by Ann Aguirre
“I’ll take care of it.”
He signaled to the woman behind the desk, conveying my story in far fewer words than I’d used. Then he concluded, “I’ll park her until you get the paperwork done and you’re ready to send her back.”
There were others ahead of me, of course. A gunshot wound, a stabbing, a little boy with a burned hand. His eyes were red and puffy with crying, his mother stroking his head worriedly. What a crappy place to end the day. Besides the antiseptic smell, hospitals radiated despair, as if the walls absorbed all the illness until it radiated on an emotional level. Probably that was just my personal distaste showing through. Probably. But I was careful not to touch anything, not to let my gift break free in these environs.
I’d filled out one form by the time Booke joined me, wearing a worried look. He knelt beside the chair. “Do you want me to take over?”
“My hands are fine. If you really want to help, apparently they need the dead dog for testing.”
“Rabies,” he guessed. The guy was smarter and more strategic than me.
“Exactly. I hate to send you back out there, but—”
“It’s not a problem. I’d rather stay with you, but if it needs done, I’m happy to help. But I insist on ringing Chuch or Shannon. You shouldn’t be here alone.”
Since I really hated hospitals, I didn’t argue. “Call Shan.”
Booke did as I asked, and the conversation was brief. Then he reported, “She’ll be here in half an hour.”
“Thanks, B.”
“I’ve never had a sporty nickname before. I rather like it.” Smiling, he kissed my cheek and then he strode toward the sliding doors.
The room didn’t get less depressing after he departed. In fact it was worse. At first I had the paperwork to occupy me, but that went pretty fast. The receptionist gave me a look when I presented my insurance card; I guessed I didn’t look like the sort who had any, but I paid the premiums knowing I was prone to trouble. Until now, I had been fairly lucky—I hadn’t been in the hospital as a patient since I fell through the floor of a burning building, years back.
The reason you finally left Chance.
Once I filled out all the forms and the receptionist copied my information, I wheeled myself away from the desk and found a place to park out of the way of hall traffic. The other patients went before me. I was still waiting when Shannon arrived, breathless and pale. I mean, she was always pale, but this time she didn’t have on any makeup to brighten her up.
She hugged me hard, brushing the hair out of my face. “You look like shit.”
“Right back at you.”
“Had a fight with Jesse,” she muttered.
“What about?”
“Please. I didn’t come to the ER to dump my probs on you. What the hell happened . . . and why didn’t you take me with you? I could’ve brought the undead, you know, dropped the unholy might of ghost-fu on their demon asses.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me. “I just got you home and safe. You’re crazy if you think I’m putting you at risk again.”
Saving you once cost too much already.
“Bullshit.” Her blue eyes snapped anger at me. “Don’t put that on me. We already went one round on this, and this is the last time I’ll say it. If we’re friends, we’re equals. You can’t protect me, can’t decide what I get to do . . . and I don’t want you around if you try.”
That was pure Shannon, bitching me out when I had a hole in my thigh. To be fair, maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation if I’d let her guard my back. She commanded the dead, plus some pretty impressive expertise with a sword these days, a skill she’d learned in Sheol. I still wasn’t clear on how long we’d been there. I only knew that time ran differently, so I suspected it was like a reversal of fairy legends, where it seemed like forever in hell, but on earth it had only been a few weeks.
“Fair enough,” I said quietly. “I should’ve brought you in when we went after Kel. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You’ve got too much on your plate,” she told me.
I sighed. “No argument from me.”
“You promise no more of this? I’m not a kid. You accept this?”
“I do.” Still, when you cared, it was second nature to try to protect them, even if they were old enough—and fierce enough—to do their own ass-kicking. “And when I figure out what I need to do to bring Chance back, you’ll be there. Promise.”
“That’s what I fought with Jesse about, actually.”
I raised a brow. “Really? Why?”
“He thinks I’m enabling you, encouraging your delusions.” Her mouth tightened. “But he wasn’t there. He didn’t hear what Chance said . . . and how he said it. If anybody can come back from the other side—”
“It’s him,” I finished.
“Yeah. I mean, he’s got the godling thing going on. That’s not normal either. So I told Jesse to STFU and butt out, unless there’s some reason he doesn’t want you back with Chance.”
“I’m guessing that pissed him off.”
Shan grinned. “Hells to the yeah. He accused me of not trusting him. I’m pretty sure he’s heard that shit before, but I was just ringing his bell.”
A belly laugh escaped me, startling the guy who had shot his own foot while cleaning his gun. “He’s gonna be even madder when he realizes you were just distracting him from the real issue. But I swear I’m not crazy.” I started to tell her about the dreams, but at that moment the receptionist called me to the back.
Shannon wouldn’t give way to the orderly; she pushed my wheelchair toward the door that led through into a kind of holding pen separated by cloth screens, metal framework and what looked like curtain rods holding everything together. She helped me from the chair onto the bed, and the medical equipment surrounding me gave me an unpleasant flashback to the last time I was admitted.
Please just fix me and release me.
The orderly—the same one who had helped me at the start—gave us a few instructions, which included me putting on a stupid gown. With Shan’s help, I managed it after he left. By the time I got settled I was winded . . . and my thigh was on fire. A few moments later, a doctor pushed through the curtain with my new chart in hand, looking too young to be done with medical school. But I didn’t care about her age, only her qualifications, and she looked professional with her dark hair caught up in a neat ponytail and a pair of rectangular glasses perched on her nose. Her name tag read DOCTOR ROSALES.
“I see you ran into some wild dogs while you were hiking. Let’s have a look.” She folded my gown back to reveal the wound, and my stomach churned.
By closing my eyes, I tolerated her examination, which seemed to take forever. So much poking and prodding while Shan stroked my head in a comforting fashion. Gods, I was lucky to have her.
Then the doc said, “I saw on your chart that you didn’t know your blood type. Have you never been treated before?”
“I just don’t remember what it is,” I admitted. “You can send to the hospital in Tampa for my records if you like.”
“Which one?”
I told her.
“We’ll do that, but I’m going to order a full panel of routine blood work just to be safe before we operate.”
“Why?”
“Just as a precaution. I need to make sure there’s nothing else going on before we put you under. If you have high blood pressure, we need to know in order to decide what kind of anesthetic to use.”
Put me under . . . ?
Shan put in, “You should tell her about the vomiting.”
I cut her a sharp look. “It’s eased off in the last week. I think the food in the U.K. just didn’t agree with me.”
Dr. Rosales studied me, made a note on my chart. “Have you experienced light-headedness, vertigo, stomach pain or dizziness, along with the vomiting?”
“A little dizziness or light-headedness, I guess. What does that have to do with my leg?”
“Nothing immediately, but we need a f
ull picture of your current health, Ms. Solomon. It all factors into the ultimate treatment plan. I’ll clean and dress the wound, order your admission—”
“What? I thought I’d just get some stitches.” Panic set in. I looked to Shannon for support, and her eyes were sympathetic, but she wasn’t going to argue against me getting necessary medical care.
Dammit.
“Unfortunately, you have some structural damage. The torn muscles require a suture, and you may need some physical therapy to restore full strength to your thigh. In fact, given the location of the wound, it’s a miracle the animal didn’t open your femoral artery. If it had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
If that was meant to make me feel better about surgery, well, it was working. I’d be a huge baby to complain about my lot when I could be dead in the wilderness right now. So I sucked it up.
“Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Dr. Rosales offered me a half smile. “I know you want to get in and out, but hospitals don’t always work that way. There are tests to run, lab work. I understand you have a friend delivering the animal’s body?”
“Yeah. Where should he bring it? Here?”
“No, it goes to Laboratory Services, run by the state. If you give me his cell number, I can text him the address.”
“Shan?”
In reply, she got out my cell and showed the number to Dr. Rosales, who quickly copied it to her phone. “I know it’s been a terrible day, but you’re alive, and that’s what counts. We’ll do everything we can to make things better.” She had a nice bedside manner for an ER doc.
Shannon didn’t leave my side at any part of the process, even when they asked her to step outside. But her angry face was intimidating, so they let her carry my purse with hidden dog, and my other personal effects, up to the room for me. It wasn’t long before I was settled into a bed every bit as uncomfortable as I remembered. Hospital rooms and cheap motel rooms had a few things in common: TVs bolted down and a weary procession of people in and out who didn’t really want to be there.
“Be careful,” Shan cautioned me. “There’s probably some bad shit stored up.”
“Yeah, I already thought of that. I’ll focus on keeping the evil memories out.” Gods knew, I had enough of my own.
In a little while, a nurse came in with a bunch of supplies on a tray, vials for blood, and needles, I hoped for pain relief. Fortunately, that was the first thing she did. The shot stung a little, but nothing compared to the agony in my thigh. It was like the hellhound was still chewing on me. I knew that was psychological—if there had been anything magickal about the bite, Booke’s statuette neutralized it. The medicine worked fast, which meant it was the good stuff. By the time Nurse Judy drew my blood, I didn’t even care. Of course, Butch got worried when she stole my life fluids and growled at her. That prompted a whole lot of drama and an angry diatribe about how I should know better than to bring that filthy animal into a hospital room. Shannon apologized on my behalf, as I thought the woman’s face was funny when she yelled and I couldn’t stop giggling.
Shannon finished with, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think. I’ll take the dog home. I was just worried about my girl. You get that, right?”
The nurse softened. “I understand. And he’s a little guy. He didn’t run around in here, did he?”
“No,” I managed.
Soon after, Shan left with a promise to return as soon as she could, leaving me alone with beeping monitors and my fear.
Dude, This Is Huge
Over the next few days, my life dwindled to what other people were doing to me. I ate when someone told me, slept, woke for various tests, and then went back to sleep. I barely remembered the corrective surgery where they sutured the tears in my thigh, but I sure felt the stitches. Visitors came and went, though they couldn’t bring Butch, much to my dismay. But the nurse was canny after that first time; she insisted on checking purses thereafter.
It was the third day after my arrival at the ER when Dr. Rosales came into the room. I was itching to be released, but from the look on her face she had news for me. Hopefully it wasn’t something dire, like I’d never again walk without a limp. She’d mentioned PT, of course, but not permanent disability. Still, I clicked the mute button on the remote and let her determine her approach.
“From our prior discussion, I’m positive you don’t know . . . but I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
“What?”
“You’re approximately six weeks pregnant. Congratulations.”
I stared, unable to process this newest crisis. Me? A mother? Good gods. Though I managed well enough with Cami, any time I spent with her was influenced by the awareness it would end. My own kid wouldn’t be like that at all, no giving the baby back when it started driving me crazy. Maybe I should’ve been excited, ecstatic even, that part of Chance would live on through me, but cold terror coiled in my stomach instead.
Somehow I managed not to babble the usual denials and incoherent questions, but I think my silence alarmed her. The doctor studied me. “This was an unplanned pregnancy, I take it? I can’t make any recommendations, of course, but just remember that you have a number of options.”
“I know,” I whispered.
But no matter how scared I might be, that wasn’t an option. I ached, thinking about the life Chance and I had created. Gods, I hoped I hadn’t hurt it with all the crazy shit I’d done in the last six weeks. The poison magick spell I’d set off, oh, baby, I’m so sorry. But maybe the amniotic fluid filtered such effects. That wasn’t the kind of question a doctor could answer, but Eva might know.
“Is the peanut okay? I mean, I’ve had pain meds and there was anesthetic . . .”
“Yes, all your treatments are known to be safe for expectant mothers. No worries on that front, though you do need to take better care of yourself. Rest more, drink plenty of fluids, eat well, take prenatal vitamins, and see your regular practitioner for regular checks.”
“Yes, I will.”
A horrifying thought occurred to me. Not long ago, I’d been in La Rosa Negra with Booke—I searched my brain frantically—but I’d refused alcohol that day because I was driving. Oh, gods. At Twilight, I’d had one full Agave Kiss and part of a second one, comped by Jeannie the bartender, who thought I looked like I was having a rough night.
My panic must’ve shown because Dr. Rosales asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I had a few cocktails. Before I knew. Will it hurt the baby? I’m not normally a big drinker—”
“How many is a few?”
“One . . . and part of a second.” I told her what was in the Agave Kiss. Hopefully, I hadn’t hurt the peanut.
“That’s not heavy or binge drinking. Alcohol can lead to fetal cell death, but thousands of women have a few drinks before they realize they’re pregnant. Just . . . take care of yourself from this point. Your body will do its best to protect your child. It’s your job to make it easy.”
“I’m on the wagon from this point on,” I promised. “I just . . . I had no idea.”
She laughed. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that, sometimes from women who come in with severe abdominal pain and have no clue they’re about to deliver.”
“Really? I think the barfing might’ve clued me in eventually. The nausea hit hard for a few days, then it tapered off. Now it’s mostly triggered by certain smells. Is that normal?”
Dr. Rosales answered, “To be honest, every woman and every pregnancy is different. I’ve treated women who were so sick, the whole time, that they were malnourished by the time they delivered. And I’ve admitted those who never had a moment of discomfort.”
“I think I’m jealous. Do you have kids?”
She shook her head. “Too busy.”
We shared a smile. Then I said, “Not that I’m ungrateful, but when will you spring me?”
Her smile widened, telling me she had good news. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve already signed your paperwork,
so if you want to call a friend to come get you, you’re ready for discharge.”
“Thanks. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
With a few words in parting, the doctor went on her way. I crawled out of the hospital bed and rang Shannon’s cell. “I’m out of here. Can you pick me up?”
“I’d be mad if you didn’t call. I’ll borrow Maria’s car and be right there.”
She didn’t have a job at the moment, as she had been gone a while, and retail managers didn’t waver when employees stopped coming in. People quit mall jobs just like that all the time; it was a simple matter to replace a clerk. If Shan had a vehicle of her own to drive, it would be easier. I resolved to do something about that, but it couldn’t be my top priority. Once everything else was squared away, I’d help her out.
After hanging up, I got dressed, which took me ten minutes. I was tired and shaky by the time I got my skirt on, and I was grateful someone had thought to bring me one with an elastic waist and flowing lines. The T-shirt wasn’t elegant, but it covered me. At this point, I only cared about the latter, not the former. I shoved my feet into some sandals and waited for Shan, all my other possessions in a plastic bag beside me.
It was half past the hour when Shannon arrived and another fifteen minutes to find an orderly to wheel me down. This was for insurance reasons, but honestly, I wasn’t sure if I had the fortitude to make it to the car on my own anyway. Things felt like they were such a mess, important matters unresolved, and I was in no condition to fix them—now more than ever.
When Shannon had to repeat herself for the fourth time, as she drove me to Chuch and Eva’s place, she finally asked, “What is with you today? Are you stoned?”
“Not anymore. But there’s something major on my mind.”
“Chance,” she guessed.
“For once, no.”
“Kel?”
“Colder.” I wasn’t trying to be annoying; I just didn’t know if I was ready to share such fresh, earthshaking news.
“Just tell me already. What?”
I pressed both hands to my abdomen. “Baby.”
