by 33 authors
Her first call was going to be to Anya, to see if she could bring the slip and slide back over, along with her kids and maybe a couple of their friends. Then she had some errands to run. Actually she’d call Anya from the car. Bluetooth was a wonderful thing when you were pressed for time.
Oh, wait. Anya and her kids were heading up to her mother-in-law’s cabin today for a couple of days. D'oh! That explained why her friend hadn't picked up the phone earlier. Well, she’d figure out something.
When she opened the front door, a stack of pink flamingos blocked her in. What in the world?
Mrs. Becker was yanking out the birds. Enough was enough. Shannon didn’t like the idea of being rude to the older woman, but sometimes no other options were available.
“Mrs. Becker!”
The woman turned a blank stare in her direction and went back to pulling up the flamingos. Her frail hands wrapped around the body of one bird, yanked up, sending her staggering back a step or two before she regained her balance and took it up the walk.
Not meeting Shannon’s eyes she carefully stacked the bird, patted it and went back to pull another.
Something was horribly wrong. This wasn’t the Mrs. Becker she was used to. And where was Mr. Becker?
She scrolled through her contacts and hit Bryce’s number, so much for putting in as blocked.
“Hello?”
“Bryce! I need your help with the Beckers.”
“I told you—“
“No, it’s not that. “ She gave him a brief rundown of Mrs. Becker’s flamingo dance and summed up with, “And Mr. Becker is nowhere around.”
“Damn! Let me call their condo. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll see if maintenance is around to check on him. Don’t let her get out of your sight. Call 911 if you need to.”
Mrs. Becker was approaching with another bird.
“Why are you collecting the birds?” Seemed the simplest way to engage the woman.
“Because Father told me to.” Mrs. Becker’s voice had a distinct British accent. Clearly, she was in the past. “I need to take all the dead chickens and put them in the far field. That way the scavengers won’t get too close to the house. Not that there are many of those left, either.”
“Can’t you eat the chickens?” The question popped out before Shannon could stop it.
“Oh no! They’ve been dead for at least a day, perhaps more. Depends on if they were killed in the dust storm on Saturday or the one on Sunday. Father relegated us to the root cellar. We couldn't save them, all we could do was sit and watch as the dirt came sifting through the doors." Mrs. Becker stared off for a moment before turning back to the birds. "Have you seen Mother? She refused to leave the horses and Father assured us she’d be safe in the barn.”
Shannon blinked. Was Mrs. Becker talking about the dust bowl years? Had she lived through that? Whether or not that was the case, she wasn't in the here and now. Shannon dialed 911, only to find an ambulance was already on the way. For Mr. Becker or Mrs. Becker, she wasn’t sure. Hanging up, she called Bryce.
“Any word on Mr. Becker?”
“Yeah, he’s passed out on their front porch, and his breathing is shallow. We’ve got him lying down now. How’s Mrs. Becker?”
“She’s lost it. I’m going to try to get her inside and away from the birds. Maybe give her some tea.”
“Just be careful, sounds like she’s unpredictable.”
The wailing of a siren grew closer. Mrs. Becker straightened and looked frantically around.
“Ernie!” She tucked the bird she’d been carrying under her arm like a football with foot-long rods attached and took off toward the street.
Shannon jumped over the pile, trying to catch her. Landing awkwardly on the other side, her feet skidded out from under her, and she fell with a painful thump on the single stair. Biting back her yelp of pain, she got up and ran after Mrs. Becker.
“Stop her! Stop her before she hurts herself!” No one was about. The first weekend of the summer, people were scarce.
“Ernie!” Mrs. Becker stopped in the middle of the street, looking straight at the ambulance as it headed toward her. The narrow subdivision streets had forced them to slow down, but it was still going to difficult to stop in time to avoid her.
The driver laid on his horn.
Mrs. Becker didn’t move.
Shannon ran out and wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders, moving them both to the side. One step. Two. Then Mrs. Becker was fighting her, bashing her around the head with the flamingo, the metal pins whipping in the air. Lurching toward the berm, Shannon let herself fall, pulling Mrs. Becker down with her. Her purse dropped to the ground, and her hip landed on the concrete curb.
Ow. Ow! Ow! A sharp pain jabbed her side and ricocheted down her leg.
Mrs. Becker landed on her, the flamingo flying out of her hand and cracking on the driveway.
The ambulance stopped beside them, and a paramedic got out.
“Just stay there, ma’am.”
“No, you need to go to Mr. Becker’s. It’s two doors up.” Shannon flapped her hand in what she hoped was the right direction.
“Mr. Becker? Oh no! I need to go help!”
Shannon got an elbow in the gut as the woman tried to get up. Her breath whooshed out as bile rose in her throat. Mrs. Becker couldn't seem to get the leverage to roll over and get up.
“Mrs. Becker, it’s okay. These nice men are going to take care of him. You—”
“We need you two houses down.” Bryce’s voice cut through the turmoil. “That situation is critical.”
One of the crew ran off while the other headed back to the ambulance. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like from Shannon’s limited perspective. A fire truck pulled up behind the ambulance, and the boots of several firefighters appeared in her field of vision. Back up for the ambulance, she heard they sometimes did that.
“Delores.” Bryce's voice was calm. “Listen to me. They’re going to put Mr. Becker in an ambulance—“
The woman became frantic again. This time, her elbow connected with Shannon’s face, whipping her head back and into edge of the driveway. Her ears rang, and her vision clouded. Agony radiated from the side of her head. She moved in a futile attempt to make it go away, only to make the ringing and pain worse. The weight of Mrs. Becker slid off her side. Shannon wanted to curl up in a ball but was afraid to move and bring on more pain.
"Careful there," a voice she didn't recognize said. "I think she has something against the EMT's vehicle.”
A grunt was the only response. Shannon gingerly opened eyes she didn't remember closing to see Bryce standing behind Mrs. Becker with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her secure
“Breathe,” he said, suiting actions to his words.
“Count,” Shannon added, her voice slurred, making the word unintelligible. No sense in talking any more; it simply hurt too much. One of the firefighters knelt by her and talked to her in a calming voice, although she couldn't seem to focus on his face. Another firefighter led Mrs. Becker away, leaving Bryce free to come over. She didn’t understand the fuss. Okay, her head and her hip throbbed so hard she was having trouble concentration on anything but them. And she was sweaty and sticky all over; her hair felt like it was almost glued to her head. The entire left side of her head was one painful throb. Mrs. Becker had a really sharp elbow.
A second ambulance pulled up, lights off and no sirens. The paramedic headed for Shannon. She fluttered her hand at him, attempting to wave him off.
“Ma’am, your head is bleeding," the firefighter above her said. "We need to take a look.”
The paramedic settled in to her right. She turned to face him and blacked out. Jarred awake by the rattling of the ambulance, she woke to the sight of a swaying IV bag. Closing her eyes against the rising nausea, she drifted off again.
* * *
“Ma’am. Ma’am. I need you to wake up.” A hand rubbed the inside of her wrist. Another pinched the thumbnail
on her other hand.
Which was good, as she didn’t want the woman touching her face. Shannon’s left side felt like a glowing hot softball had taken up residency in her cheek. Voices floated around her.
“Her name’s Shannon McKiplock.”
“Reset the cuff, it’s too loose.” A man’s voice this time.
“She talked after she fell, correct?” Papers crinkled by Shannon's ear.
“After she fell the first time, not the second.”
“One more time.” Fingers pressed down on her breastbone. Shannon tried to move her hand to swat away the annoyance, but couldn’t lift the weight. “Ms. McKiplock, you need to wake up.”
Shannon merely grunted, unable to form the word, “no.” She blinked, aware even her eyes hurt. Not too bad, but then the only light spilled in from the hall. It was busy, noisy busy, with beeps and hums and… why in the world was her arm getting squeezed? Several people hovered around the cot. Talking to her, to each other.
“Ms. McKiplock,” a woman with short, spiked greying hair leaned over and looked her in the eyes. “Give me a thumbs-up if you hear me.”
Shannon rolled her wrist and gave a thumbs-up without lifting her hand.
“Good. I’m Amelia. You’re in the emergency room. The EMTs got the bleeding to stop, but with the injury to your head, we want to be sure you’re okay. We’ll be doing a CT scan on your head, and possibly x-rays of your hip; we’re waiting for one more opinion. Can you talk at all?”
“Woh.” Was that her “no”? Sounded like a beached whale. Other aches crept into her conscious, her hip, her scraped knees and arm, her bruised tailbone. She gave a thumbs-down and the nurse nodded.
“Here we go.” The cot clanged and shuddered beneath her. Apparently, someone else had shown up. Shannon found herself moving out of the room and past the nurse. And she rolled past Bryce, who stood in the hall.
“Take good care of her,” the older man next to him said.
“I insisted they take her here because you have the highest quality of care.” If Bryce said anything else, it was cut off when she entered another area through a set of double doors.
The technician in x-ray was a sadistic bastard. He slid her onto the table using the sheet of her gurney. Nausea roiled.
“Don't you dare throw up,” he said as he turned her onto her side. Pain radiated from her hip down her leg as he moved her into position for the imaging.
Try as she might she couldn’t hold still. She blacked out again as someone came in and yelled at the man.
* * *
Bryce headed back to Shannon’s room. After staying by her side all night, he'd been kicked out to give her some privacy once she woke up. He’d pulled a couple of strings, going on record as her boyfriend in order to not get kicked out. Now that she was up, he was anxious to hear from her if she was okay. And talk to her.
Bryce shifted the bag he’d gotten from his car and a coffee into one hand as he tapped softly then opened the door. Sun filtered through the drapes of the hospital room. Shannon sat, propped up by the tilted head of the bed. She looked a mess, one side of her head shaved and bandaged, and deep bruises along her jaw.
“I’m sorry about the coffee,” he said as he entered, leaving the door open. “They tell me your breakfast is on the way.”
Shannon stared at him eyebrows furrowed in confusion before her expression cleared. “Mmph. Becker.”
Was she asking about Mr. or Mrs. Becker? He went with Mr. Becker, easier to explain. “He seems to be fine. Got light-headed and sitting down didn’t help. It wasn’t until we got him to lie down that the problem went away. They brought him in, checked him out. You’re in worse shape, actually. He’s already gone home.”
He took a sip of the coffee before setting it on the windowsill. “Hold on.” From the bag, he pulled out a flowery, young girl’s journal and a pen. The Shannon he knew asked lots of questions, she was probably bursting with them. “This is all I could find. I figure if you still aren’t up for talking, at least you might want to write things down.”
He handed them to her. She started to grin then grimaced. Her face really was a mess. Hard to be angry with Mrs. Becker, she’d no clue what she was doing, but a lingering annoyance that Shannon had been hurt at all, that he couldn’t have prevented it lingered. Pushing it aside, he sat gingerly on the edge of her bed as she wrote. Flipping the book around she showed the page to him.
Thank you! Mrs. Becker?
“Hard to say, could be anything from dementia to drug interactions. Thankfully their daughter has flown into town and can help navigate the doctor’s appointments.”
Shannon started to nod and then stopped. Bryce tried not to let his worry show. They didn’t think she had a concussion, but it wasn’t entirely ruled out. Only time would tell. She was busy writing again.
Did anyone check on Martin, Sinatra and Davis?
“Who?” Bryce had no idea who they could be. He knew she didn’t have dogs, and doubted, given how stressed she’d been about the fines for breaking the associations bylaws she had cats.
Shannon hastily scribbled. My birds. When am I getting out of here? They need food and water.
“You’re supposed to get released this morning, after the doctor checks you.” He looked up at the clock. Seven, they should be around soon.
Shannon slumped back in relief. Bryce wasn’t sure if it was about her birds or that she was going home. Birds, he almost chuckled, that was one way to get around the no pet wording. He wasn’t surprised; she’d spent a lot of time volunteering at a no kill shelter when they’d dated before. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them, cocking her head as she stared at him. The pen flew across the page again.
Why are you here?
“Past time to explain what happened and I have a captive audience.” He smiled. Of course that she couldn’t interrupt him with questions would both annoy her and make his telling easier. “Plus, it’s a long story. It starts back with a comment you made about your mother.”
He crossed the room, and closed the door. No reason for people at this hospital to find out about the case before things were public. Pulling a chair up, he told her how her words about her mother’s surgery not being thorough enough had made him realize just how often he’d heard that phrase for that particular surgery center. He had the means so he dug a little. When his initial search uncovered possible malpractice against a doctor and his surgical office, he’d been scared and a bit paranoid. Worry over the possible scope had led him to cut off his associations with his friends and family. He skipped over details of his efforts to gather evidence to bring to the state’s attorney’s office to show them the systematic abuses. Instead he emphasized that he realized he’d acted inanely towards her and his brothers. That when he’d cut ties with everyone he’d been perhaps a bit overprotective. Her snort made him grin, although he wasn’t sure it was at his saying he’d gone too far or in acknowledgement that he could be overprotective.
“Miss Woods, who you met yesterday, works for the state’s attorney’s office. She finally got a subpoena to confiscate computers and databanks containing the evidence they need to make a case late on Friday. When you saw her, she’d come to tell me they’d taken a look and the case seemed solid. After two years of helping I can get back to my regular life.”
Shannon blinked at him. He’d given her a lot to think about. That didn’t stop him from adding, “I’m hoping it includes you.”
Before Shannon could write a reply, a crowd bustled in. The doctor introduced himself as well as the several residents he had with him on rounds. Bryce stood up and shook the doctor’s hand.
“Nice to meet you Dr. Bower, staff,” He nodded at the pair of men and trio of women. “I’m Bryce Andojar, chief strategist with Blanc QA Corps.”
The doctor nodded and stood a little straighter. One of the young women shot a glance at Shannon and back to him. Ah, a potential future administrator if she knew about compliance consulting already.
Bryce stepped out and scrolled through his messages while Shannon was checked over yet again. Joseph and Tomas had both called, Sean, Harvard and David had all texted. Right before Shannon had called about Mrs. Becker he’d sent out an email to his brothers saying he was finally free of his project and he’d love to get together with any of them. He replied to Harvard—one day he’d need to change his contact list to say Harvard instead of Niall—asking him to let his brothers know something had come up with his girlfriend and he’d get back to them later but, yes, next Sunday was probably good. Of course ‘girlfriend’ was currently a misnomer, but he hoped to change that soon.
“You can come back in Mr. Andojar. Ms. McKiplock is free to go once we get the paperwork done.”
The doctor went over some of what Shannon could expect during recovery, including no work for a day or two. Shannon nodded once, then switched to thumbs up to show she understood when he paused and checked with her. Her only question was whether she needed someone around to keep an eye on her or not. Dr. Bower said it would be better but not necessary.
As soon as the doctor left Shannon looked around the room. Do you know where my purse is?! I need my phone.
“Your purse is in the trunk of my car, I put it there for safe keeping after they copied your insurance and ID cards. Your phone, unfortunately, is shot, got run over by the fire truck.” He watched her start to write again. Laying his hand on her wrist and stopped her. “I’ll take you home.”
Neither mentioned his declaration he wanted her in his life or the fact she hadn’t replied. By the time they’d gotten her checked out and home Shannon had made it clear she didn’t think he needed to stay, but had been unable to reach her friend Anya. The first thing they’d done when they’d walked in the house was check on her birds. He’d had no idea they could be so noisy.
