by Kris Tualla
Now Miranda slumped. “No. Where are you going?”
Hollis coughed a weak laugh. “Nowhere. Especially not now.”
Miranda frowned. “What’re you talking about?”
Hollis smiled a truly happy smile. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Boss Lady. I’ll be permanent staff starting March first.”
Miranda let out a loud whoop, then clapped her hand over her mouth. But her eyes were smiling.
“Sorry,” she whispered after dropping her hand. “Forgot I was in a hospital.”
Hollis chuckled. “I was able to negotiate a pretty sweet deal. I’ll still have to do the ghost hunter stuff, but I’ll have flexible hours. I’ll come in at noon if I have to stay until eight. That sort of thing.”
Miranda looked impressed. “He agreed to that? He must really want you. But will you be able to get everything done that way?”
“I will with Tom’s help.” Hollis grinned. “Benton’s moving him up from intern to full-time staff. He’ll be my assistant.”
Miranda clasped her hands together. “Oh, I’m so glad! I really like him.”
“So do I,” Hollis agreed. “But more importantly, he really knows his stuff when it comes to European history. He’s perfect for the position.”
Hollis’s dinner tray was carried in; she smelled some kind of white meat. “Thank you,” she said to the aide.
Miranda stood. “Is there anything I can do?”
Hollis pulled the lid from her plate. Her nose was correct. The white meat was sliced turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy. Looked like a Swanson frozen meal, down to the peas.
She handed Miranda the lid. “Can you set this aside? There’s not really room on here.”
She did. “Can I turn on the television?”
“Yeah—the remote’s clipped to the bed.” Hollis said as she liberally salted and peppered the bland meal.
Miranda flipped through channels until she reached channel twelve. “Benton’s loyal if nothing else. He always goes to these guys first.”
Miranda turned her chair to face the TV and Hollis dug into her dinner. Neither woman spoke as story after story passed with no mention of Hollis, the Renaissance Faire, or the accident.
“Maybe it wasn’t newsworthy,” Hollis said as the newscast went to yet another commercial break. “One can always hope.”
“Benton will be pissed if that’s true.” Miranda looked at Hollis from the corner of her eye. “Maybe I’ll stay home tomorrow.”
The image of the perky blonde newscaster reappeared. “And now we have an update on yesterday’s freak accident and stabbing at the Renaissance Faire…”
Chapter Five
Hollis groaned, her eyes pinned to the screen as a photo of her at the Kensington Wing’s opening appeared in the corner.
At least it’s a good one.
“The woman hit by the stray hammer on Saturday was our own Hollis McKenna from the Arizona History and Cultural Center.”
While the reporter kept talking, the image switched to a random interview clip of her from the cable-based ghostbuster show that was filmed at the museum in December.
“You may have seen her appearance last Wednesday night on the season premiere of Ghost Myths, Inc. where this image—” The clip showed the glowing, green, non-descript Sveyn who showed up on the crew’s infrared depth camera. “—was caught.”
Miranda straightened in her chair. “Wait a minute…”
“The stabbing victim with Ms. McKenna at the Faire has been identified as thirty-four-year-old Sveyn Hansen—”
A photo of Sveyn taken on somebody’s phone sometime between his reappearance and his exit by ambulance now filled the box over the reporter’s shoulder.
“—who was allegedly stabbed in retaliation for recently abandoning his gypsy community.”
Miranda turned slowly to face Hollis as the blonde newscaster signed off and wished everyone a great Monday tomorrow.
“What?” Hollis asked, even though she had a fairly good idea.
Miranda put up one finger as if she had several questions. “Why were you at the Faire with that ex-gypsy?”
Hollis turned off the television and faced her friend. Giving a consistent explanation was key.
“He came to the museum on Friday asking for a job, but he didn’t have any documentation.” She shrugged with one shoulder but it still tugged painfully at her injured sternum. “You know: no driver’s license, birth certificate, or social security number.”
Miranda gave her a skeptical frown. “So you adopted him like a puppy?”
“No, of course not.” Keep it simple. “I ran into him at the Faire, right after my argument with Matt.”
Miranda’s eyebrows rose. “What did you argue with Matt about?”
Though Hollis was furious at the man and had no doubt that she made the right decision, Matt’s deep betrayal yesterday still stung. “When I told him about my new contract, I asked if he would move to Phoenix, or if I should decline it and move back to Milwaukee.”
Miranda knew enough of Hollis’s story that understanding washed over her expression. “And he said neither one.”
The silent blinking beeps on Hollis’s heart monitor stepped up their rhythm. “Yep.”
“Oh, Hollis.”
“I was angry and hurt and crying hysterically when I ran into Sveyn.” Hollis continued with the same explanation she gave the Sheriff’s Deputies when they asked. “I was so upset, in fact, that I didn’t see Sveyn get stabbed.”
Miranda considered her through narrowed eyes. “Did you notice how much Sveyn looks like that ghost image?”
There it is.
It probably wasn’t going to be the last time she would be asked this, especially when he became a solid part of her world.
What do I say?
“I did. It was weird.”
That’s safe.
Miranda looked like she couldn’t believe she was asking the next question. “Is Sveyn your guardian angel?”
Hollis thought out loud; that seemed the most logical and believable way to answer the expected query. “Angels can’t bleed, can they? Or be operated on?”
Miranda looked disappointed and relieved at the same time. “No, I don’t suppose so.”
Good.
This train is rolling.
“And this guy was definitely not angelic in any way while the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance,” Hollis continued. “I was sort of out of it, but it sounded like he was swearing worse than any sailor.”
She smiled inwardly at her own reference.
Captain of her heart.
Miranda shifted in her seat as she shifted her point. “Do you think the angel appeared in Sveyn’s likeness so you would want to help him when he asked for a job?”
Ooh.
Good tie-in.
Hollis puckered her brow. “I hadn’t thought about it, Miranda, but you could be right.”
“Two lives saved,” the brunette mused.
“Saved if you’ll hire him,” Hollis grabbed the opening.
“To do what?” Miranda asked. “Does he have any skills?”
“No,” Hollis admitted. “But he could do maintenance, or maybe be a guard.”
“He looked like a pretty big guy.” Miranda was clearly considering it.
“I already asked if the hospital’s social worker could help him with paperwork.”
Miranda nodded. “That’s good.”
“And…” Hollis gave Miranda a tentative smile. “I sorta told them that if they did, we’d hire him so he could start paying his bill.”
Miranda laughed. “I bet they’ll jump on that.”
“I hope so.” Hollis’s mood dimmed. “I don’t know how else he’ll survive living in this century.”
Miranda’s head tilted. “What an odd thing to say.”
Hollis sucked a quick—and painful—breath. “You know what I mean. He’s already living in this century, but completely off the grid.”
�
��Oh. Right.” Miranda stood. “Hopefully by the time he recovers this will all be sorted and he can start working.”
Relief flushed Hollis’s body. “Thank you, Miranda.”
The tall brunette leaned over and kissed Hollis’s cheek. “Get better. And take this whole week off. I don’t want to see you in the office until next week. Am I clear?”
Monday
January 11
Though Sveyn had regained the ability to taste just before he got his body back, he was not practiced at actual eating. Yesterday’s lunch and dinner were excruciating ordeals, requiring hours of his time.
First off, twenty-first century silverware was not familiar to his hand. Luckily he had watched it being used often enough to know what to do with the various utensils, but knowing and doing were not the same thing.
Once he managed to portion a suitable bite and lift the food to his mouth, the explosion of full flavor made him stop to fully appreciate it. He held the bite in his mouth and breathed past it to allow his nose to enhance the taste.
Then came the chewing.
He kept biting his tongue—and with his nerves still zinging at each new sensation that really hurt. The damned thing had a mind of its own and kept getting in the way. More than once he tasted blood.
Sveyn felt every morsel, every crumb, every hint of temperature and pressure against his teeth. The ache of a tired jaw long unaccustomed to use soon slowed him even further. If it wasn’t for the insistent rumble in his belly he might have given up.
Swallowing, however, was worse.
Sveyn thanked God that he was alone in his room as he forced the food to move down his throat. He gagged with every bite at first, and the heaving spasms in his gut pulled achingly at his wound.
But when he ate dinner, swallowing without gagging became mercifully more frequent, until about every third or so bite went down without incident.
I am making progress.
Now he stared down his breakfast, daring it to defy him and willing his body to take the nourishment without objection.
He was fifty-percent successful, swallowing every other bite without gagging or choking. At this rate, he should be able to complete this meal in forty-five minutes, leaving him a quarter of an hour before he would be required to walk.
What will walking feel like?
He didn’t have his boots any longer and his feet were thankfully bare—he doubted he could stand the constant rubbing of leather against his soles. The sheets resting on the tips of his toes were bad enough.
The man who was to assist him was late, which only ratcheted up Sveyn’s anxiety.
Please, Father God, do not let me fall.
“Good morning, Sveyn. My name is Pete and I’m going to help you take your first post-surgical walk today.” Pete was a thick, robust man who looked to be half-a-head shorter than Sveyn. “Are you ready?”
He was not. “Yes.”
“Great. First we are going to disconnect a few things. I think you’ll feel better once we do.”
The first thing Pete did was lift the bottom of the sheet. “I see you’ve been drinking liquids and passing them adequately. Your bag is full.” He smiled at Sveyn. “Let’s remove that catheter.”
What’s a cath—“Ow!”
“Sorry, buddy. There’s no way to make that pleasant.” Pete held up a translucent bag filled with pale yellow liquid.
“Is that piss?” Sveyn had been wondering why he never felt the urge to empty his bladder.
“Yep. From now on, you’ll use the bathroom.” Pete pointed at the door closest to the bed.
He nodded, still unsure about how that bag had been attached to his now very-tender member.
Pete went into the bathroom and returned with an empty bag, which he placed inside a red container on the room’s wall. He returned to Sveyn’s bedside.
“Now let’s take out the IV.”
What’s an—“Ow!”
Pete pulled the flexible needle from the thick vein in the back of Sveyn’s hand. Then he pressed against Sveyn’s hand to keep it from bleeding.
“Yeah, that stings. But it hurts less than the catheter, eh?”
Sveyn nodded. “What more?”
Pete grinned at him. “Nothing. You are now free of hospital paraphernalia.”
He didn’t recognize the word, but understood its meaning nonetheless. “Thank God.”
Pete laughed. “Can you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed?”
That is an excellent question.
When his body first reappeared, Sveyn reacted out of the instinct of an animal in pain, writhing and curling without thought. Now that he was expected to be deliberate with his movement he wondered if his muscles would obey him.
Sitting up was not a problem; he had been doing that since the damned constrictors were removed from his legs. He threw aside the sheet and blanket rather than slide his skin against them.
“Whoa. You’re going to need another gown to cover your backside. And a pair of booties. Let me get those.”
Pete left the room and reappeared a minute later. He handed Sveyn a tunic like the one he was currently wearing. “Put this on like a coat.”
Sveyn grasped the point and obeyed, assuring that his arse would not be on display when he got off the bed.
Pete slipped blue booties over Sveyn’s feet. “Okay. You’re set.”
Sveyn clenched his jaw, an ancient habit that now caught him by surprise. He relaxed it.
Left leg first.
There.
Now his right leg.
Sveyn heaved a sigh with real breath, noticing that his lungs no longer burned when he did so. He looked at Pete, ridiculously proud of himself.
“Put your hand on my shoulder.” He did. “Now slide off the bed and just stand. Don’t try to walk yet.”
Do not worry—I will not.
When his feet hit the floor, Sveyn’s long legs were still bent.
“You’re a tall guy,” Pete said. “Can you stand?”
Sveyn focused his energy and leaned forward, shifting his weight from the mattress to his slippered feet. Then he straightened his legs.
Pete looked up at him. “You okay?”
He hated admitting any kind of weakness, but he said, “A little dizzy.”
“That’s normal. Let me know when it passes.”
Incredibly, it already had. “I am good now.”
“All right. When you’re ready.” Pete put his arm around Sveyn’s waist. “Use me for balance.”
Again, he moved his left leg first. Forward.
Transfer my weight.
He pulled his right leg past the left.
Transfer my weight.
He pulled his left leg past the right.
Again.
Sveyn gradually picked up speed until he was walking at the rate of a man past his prime. But that was not the point. The point was that, for the first time since the year ten-seventy, Sveyn Hansen was in control of his own body.
“Again?” he asked once the circle around the nurse’s station was completed.
Pete rested his fingers against Sveyn’s wrist. “How is your energy level?”
“Good.”
“And your pain level? One to ten.”
Sveyn had already considered that question, having been asked it repeatedly over the last forty-eight hours. They weren’t asking about the pain that was especially his—the scratch against his skin, the burn in his lungs, the ache of his jaw. They wanted to know about his wound.
“My wound is not a bother,” he answered truthfully.
“Give me a number, Sveyn.”
His brow twitched. “What number lets me walk again?”
Pete laughed, though he clearly didn’t want to. “Your pulse is steady, not elevated. And if you can make jokes, I guess you aren’t in too much pain.”
“No. Not too much,” Sveyn agreed.
“Okay.” Pete faced forward. “But squeeze my shoulder if you get dizzy again. You don�
�t want to fall and rip your incision open.”
Chapter Six
Sveyn was exhilarated after his two circles around the nurse’s station. He eased himself back onto the bed, removed the extra tunic and booties, and then stretched out on the almost too-short mattress.
“When can I walk again?” he asked Pete.
Pete pointed at the bathroom. “Every time you need to go.”
Sveyn grinned his understanding. “And outside this room?”
Pete shook his head. “Wait a few hours, Sveyn. You don’t want to push too hard or you’ll actually slow down your recovery.”
Though he doubted that was true, he agreed. Then he asked how to call Hollis’s room.
“Do you know her room number?”
“Three-oh-five.”
Pete lifted the handle-looking part and handed it to Sveyn. “All you have to do is hit pound and dial her room number.”
Sveyn frowned. “Pound?”
“This one.” Pete pointed at the hash mark. “Like this.” He pushed the hash mark, the three, the zero, and the five.
Sveyn heard a rumbling buzz through the handle.
“Hello?”
He knew that voice. “Hollis?”
Pete waved and left the room. Sveyn raised one hand and waved back.
“Sveyn—you called me!” She sounded very pleased.
“Yes. And I walked.”
“Really?” Hollis sounded awestruck. “How’d you do?”
“It was hard at first,” he admitted. “But it came back to me. I went around the nurse’s area twice.”
“I’m so glad.”
He nodded though he knew she couldn’t see him. “My body is becoming mine again. One piece at a time.”
*****
Hollis rested and waited for Doctor Khan to make his rounds. While he said he might release her today, she wasn’t feeling strong enough to be on her own. Her head still hurt and there was no way she could put a seatbelt across her chest.
Might be weeks for that.
Besides, she had no way to get home. Thankfully Matt had brought her purse when he followed her to the hospital on Saturday, so she had cash to pay for a taxi. But the thought of calling one exhausted her.
