by Sara DeHaven
“Thank you so much. You were amazing,” Bree choked out. The woman turned halfway back to her and gave her a sweet smile. “You’re welcome, ma'am.”
Bree took a quick look around and saw that the riot was effectively over. She was afraid if she did as the paramedic had suggested and sit down, she wouldn’t be able to get up again. She knew it was more than shock affecting her. She still didn’t have the hang of how to avoid pouring out so much power during battle that she didn’t leave herself a mess.
She knew she had to call Steve, but she made a sudden decision to bolster herself first by getting something to eat. If she didn’t get food in her, she might pass out. She made her way around to the front of the coffee shop. Miraculously, the windows remained unbroken. She strode inside, and saw a group of three young people in green aprons huddled together behind the counter. The two girls were crying. “Excuse me,” Bree said, scanning the baked goods case rapidly. “Can I get three marionberry scones, those two slices of pumpkin bread and a double tall mocha to go?”
The three baristas looked at her in frozen amazement. "Stress makes me hungry, so you better hurry it up,” Bree said, allowing some of the anger and upset she felt to edge her voice.
“Um, okay,” said the young male barista uncertainly. He had purple hair caught back in a braid and a number of ear piercings. One of the women, a rounded brunette, shuffled over the to display case and began putting Bree’s order into a paper bag. Thankfully, Bree still had the small zip up change person she’d shoved into her pocket with her ID and her debit card. She presented the latter to the brunette, who sniffed back tears as she rang Bree up. After what felt like eons, her bag of goodies was handed over, along with the coffee. “Thanks,” Bree said shortly as her hand dove into the bag, coming up with one of the scones and she shoved it immediately into her mouth, washing it down with a nearly scalding sip of her mocha.
She nearly moaned in relief. As she walked out of the coffee shop, she saw that police were starting to wander around, talking to the people remaining in the square. It belatedly occurred to her that she ought to get out of there, pronto, or risk being tied up by police procedure. She scurried back around to the rear of the coffee shop, getting out of line of sight, then made her way back to her car, looking around anxiously for Franchesca. Once she had the first scone in her, she promised herself, she would call Steve. Her mouth dried as she imagined what she would say to him, and the scone stuck in her throat. She quickly tossed back more of the coffee to wash it down. Bree continued on her way, munching and scanning for Franchesca, any remaining possessed or Keltoi, and police, in that order. And she dreaded the call far more than she feared any trouble with those she was trying to avoid.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The phone call to Steve was every bit as horrible as Bree had expected, as had been the drive over the Harborview. And the nightmare wasn’t over when she got there. She couldn’t get any information on Kevin’s status at all, as she wasn’t family. She waited in an agony of impatience for Steve to get there even though she feared his arrival. What if he blamed her for what had happened? She half blamed herself already.
But she knew that, in the end, the person wielding the gun was the one at fault, as were the thrice damned Keltoi Demon Masters who’d called all those demons. She continued forcing herself to eat the scones and pumpkin bread she’d bought earlier, and when she wasn’t eating, she was praying. She’d called Dion, Sophie and Bruce, but none of them answered, so she left messages. She considered calling Daniel, knowing he’d want to know about Kevin, but concluded the emotion that would cause posed a strong risk of destabilizing him when he was focused on trying to hold it together. At long last, Steve hurried into the ER waiting room, his shoulders drawn in with tension. “Any word?” he asked anxiously as he approached Bree and hugged her.
“They won’t tell me anything,” she complained.
“Don’t worry,” he replied grimly, “I brought all the paperwork.” He set off for the much beleaguered staff behind the ER intake counter. It was another lengthy wait for Steve to get someone to talk to him, then more time while they checked over advanced directive paperwork. At long last, he returned. “He’s in surgery. The intake nurse told me to wait up in the post-op family waiting area.”
“Where’s Hunter?” Bree asked, getting to her feet.
“I dropped him off at the Coen’s,” he responded, naming a couple with a boy Hunter’s age with whom Hunter often had play dates. “He was so scared, and trying not to show it…” Steve’s voice broke, and he put a hand over his face, obviously trying to repress his tears.
They went together through the hospital’s serpentine, worn corridors. The waiting area had groups of hard chairs with dark green upholstery that did little to make them more comfortable. There were several other small groups of people there, but the room was big enough that they were able to seat themselves far enough away to have some private conversation. As they settled in, Steve said, “I was terrified the whole way over that I’d get pulled over for being out after curfew. The highway was weirdly empty, but there were still some cars out.”
“I’ve been wondering how they can possibly enforce a curfew in city this size. I suppose they’re largely counting on most people doing as their told. I know I wouldn’t be out if I didn’t have to be,” Bree admitted.
Steve slumped down in his chair, long legs extended out in front of him, then turned his strained, pale blue eyes to Bree and said, “I know this is probably hard for you to talk about, but I need to know. How did Kevin get shot?”
Bree hadn’t told him any details on the phone, and she’d been expecting this question. “I still really don’t know. The whole thing was starting to wind down, and we were leaving. There had only been a couple of pops of gunfire before that, at least that I heard. I suppose it had something to do with the kind of crowd that was there. I don’t think protesters in general go to rallies carrying guns. It was a rougher crowd at Pioneer Square, so I kind of wasn’t surprised there. I looked around after he was shot, but didn’t see anyone.” She paused, considering whether telling him about Franchesca would upset him too much, but decided he had a right to know. “Franchesca Gambrini was there.”
Steve’s face hardened. “I'd bet money it was her.”
“It had occurred to me. Or maybe she was trying to shoot me. But I didn’t see her.”
“It absolutely burns me that she never paid for kidnapping Hunter. It’s hard to feel safe knowing that she’s alive.”
“I doubt she’d go after Hunter again. She never wanted Hunter for his own sake. She was just trying to pull in Daniel.”
“And what makes you think she still doesn’t want to get to Daniel?”
Bree winced. “Point,” she conceded. “You may recall, we’d heard she’d been seen in L.A. so I was kind of hoping she would stay out of our hair. I suppose I should let Daniel know, although…” She hesitated, not knowing how much Kevin had told Steve.
“Although she makes him crazy?” Steve offered.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Did you let him know what happened to Kevin?”
“Um, well, it’s just that, he’s not been well,” Bree stuttered.
Steve considered her, and Bree felt herself blushing. "The divided thing.” She sighed and leaned back, then had to lean forward again to rearrange her ponytail so it wasn’t getting pulled. “He’s been wanting to spend some time alone, to figure some things out, and to avoid any, ah, emotional complications for right now. So I’m afraid to stir him up.”
“He’d want to be here.” Steve’s tone was neutral, and although Bree wondered how he really felt about that, she wasn’t moved to try to read him.
“I know he would,” she responded tiredly. “But he’d likely make things worse.”
“Kevin told me he has the Healer talent.”
“Don’t worry, I already called Dion and Sophie. I know there’s nothing we can do while Kevin is in surgery, but when h
e gets out, if he needs it, I’m hoping to have a Healer here.”
“Good.” Steve closed his eyes, and Bree looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was after one. “You going to try to sleep?” she asked.
“Just resting my eyes, trying to stay calm,” he replied. Bree decided to go along with the ‘close your eyes and hope it will somehow be restful’ thing.
Although she worked at relaxing, as time passed, her worry escalated. Surely a longer surgery was a bad sign. She was tired enough to doze off briefly a couple of times, but every time Steve stirred or someone walked by, she startled awake. It was four o’clock in the morning before a trim Japanese-American doctor came out into the waiting room and said, “Family of Kevin Whitman?”
Bree and Steve hurried over to the doctor. “I’m Steve Vilchek, Kevin’s husband,” Steve said, shaking the doctor’s hand.
“I’m Doctor Yamane,” he replied. “Kevin is out of surgery now, and in recovery. He’ll be going into the intensive care unit. I’m sorry to have to tell you that the surgery was only a qualified success. Kevin was shot in the lung and the liver. There was quite a lot of internal bleeding. We effected what repairs we could, but at this point, the outcome is uncertain.”
“So you’re saying Kevin could still die,” Steve choked out.
“I’m afraid there is still a possibility of that, yes. I’m terribly sorry.”
“How big a chance? What are his odds?”
The doctor hesitated, and Bree held her breath. “It’s difficult to assign a percentage number in these cases. In part, it depends on whether there are complications.”
“What kind of complications?” Steve was obviously working to make his voice steadier.
“Well, right now, Kevin is on an endotracheal tube attached to a ventilator to help him breathe. In some cases, it’s necessary to leave the tube in for several days, which can involve complications of pneumonia. He has to be immobilized for the chest tube to stay correctly in place. The immobilization can cause deep venous thrombosis, clots in the leg veins, or pulmonary embolus, which is when the leg clot breaks free and travels to the lungs. Either of these could kill him. Apart from those risks, it’s a matter of whether his weakened body can survive the effects of the wound and the surgery.”
“What’s this about a chest tube?” Bree put in.
“It’s a tube inserted into the space between the chest wall and the lung. It helps to keep the lung inflated and draws off any further bleeding and body fluids." He paused and looked at the floor. "If I had to give a percentage, I’d say he has a forty percent chance of survival. The odds go up if he’s able to get off the ventilator and we’re able to get him upright within 24 hours." His eyes flicked up at Steve, then over at Bree. "I’m sure you have more questions, but unfortunately, given the evening’s events, I’m needed back in surgery. Staff on the ICU ward will keep you updated.”
“Thank you doctor, so much,” Steve got out, shaking the man’s hand again.
“You’re welcome,” the doctor replied simply, and left.
Steve turned to Bree. “I don’t care what you have to do, you get him a Healer here, and you get him one now,” Steve whispered, leaning close so no one else could hear. His face was flushed with an anger that seemed to have come on him suddenly, if belatedly.
Bree’s heart skipped a beat at his intensity, but she answered it with some of her own. “I will, I swear I will.” She turned to go, reaching for her phone yet again. Still no messages. She stalked down the hospital corridors, calling first Dion, then Sophie, then Bruce, at every number she had for each of them. She wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t get Dion. He was probably working, and unfortunately, if that were the case, he may well have used up much of his Healer abilities already that evening. She knew he mostly tried to save it for life and death situations, but if he’d had anything to do with what happened at Westlake, then there was a chance he’d had that kind of situation tonight. Finally, on the third try, Bruce answered his home phone with a sleepy, “Hello?”
“Bruce, it’s Bree. Can I talk to Sophie?”
“She’s off delivering a baby. What’s wrong? What is it?”
“Don’t you ever check your damned cell phone? Or your home phone messages?”
“I guess I slept through it.”
“Well, there’s an emergency. Kevin’s been shot. He might not survive. I need any Healer I can get to come help out.”
“Babe, you know if it’s life and death, Sophie won’t be able to do much.”
“I know, I know, but anything has to help, right? I called Dion, but he’s not answering. He’s probably working. Who else do we know who’s a Healer?”
There was a silence as Bruce considered. “The only other one I know is Paul Corvin. But he lives up near the border with Canada. And he’s low power, lower than Sophie. Of course, there’s Daniel. Isn’t he high power in Healing?”
Bree’s eyes closed briefly in frustration. “Yes, although frankly I don’t think he uses it so much that he’s all that skilled at it.”
“As you just said, every bit helps”
“What if he goes insane under the pressure, calls a demon, and starts killing people?”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Bruce challenged. “Are you the one to make that decision? Don’t you think you should at least call him and see what he thinks, see if he thinks he can handle it?”
“You know he’ll say he can handle it! He’ll be beside himself about Kevin. He’d tell me anything if it meant he could at least try to help.”
“I think you’re underestimating him. Just call him. Read him if you have to. I don’t know of any other options.”
“Will you come down here to Harborview and sit with Steve? He doesn’t have any family here in town. He’ll be in the ICU waiting area.”
“Of course I will. And I’ll make sure Sophie comes straight there when she’s done. If the birth was normal, she should have some Healer resources available. I’m sure she’ll do everything she can for Kevin.”
“Thank you, Bruce. You’re a rock.”
“And built like one too.”
Bree smiled as she hung up, for what felt like the first time in days. She called Daniel, and the phone went to voice mail after only a few rings. She called again, then again, hoping that, like Bruce, he was just sleeping through the ringing. After the third try, she decided she should start heading over towards his place.
She told Steve where she was going and hugged him goodbye. She got outside to find that it was still dark and a thick fog had descended on the city. It was hard to remember a time she’d sen a fog more dense. The streets were blessedly light in traffic. It was still technically curfew time for people who couldn’t justify going to work early, but like Steve, she had the good fortune to avoid any police hassles. She tried Daniel's number several more times on the way with no luck.
Her phone rang just as she was leaving the freeway for the Wallingford exit. It was Dion, and as she’d expected, he’d been pulling a long shift, though apparently not at Westlake. “There was a big gang confrontation down in Rainier Valley,” he told her tiredly, “not to mention the usual craziness we’ve been having for the past couple of weeks. Look, I’ll stop by Harborview on the way home. I’m just about out of juice, but if they’ll let us in to see Kevin, I’ll do what I can.”
“Steve will probably be grateful to have someone medical there to help him ask the right questions if nothing else. I’m sorry to ask it of you, it being so late and all…”
“For Christ’s sake, Bree he’s my friend too,” Dion replied, annoyance creeping into his tone.
“Okay, right, sorry. Just running low on tact. As usual. Gotta go, I’ll see you back there.” She tried Daniel’s number for about the twentieth time, and still got no answer. His house wasn’t that far from the freeway. She pulled up and sprinted up to his front door, leaning hard on the doorbell. She waited, in more than a little tension about what his reaction would be to seeing her t
here at this hour. Well, that’s what he got for not answering his phone, she thought grouchily.
After what seemed like enough time had gone by for him to make it downstairs, she rang the bell again, several times. Still no response. She stood back to look at the house. It was completely dark, and the blinds were drawn.
What if he’d left town? What if he’d decided that was the best way to get time alone? Or what if he’d decided to leave Seattle entirely, just get away from the whole benighted, complicated mess?
Heart in her throat, she went back out to the street and started walking up and down, looking for his car. He didn’t have a garage or driveway, so it could be parked anywhere within a block or so. She got progressively more frantic as she found no sign of his Jaguar.
She had just turned to go back to her car when she remembered that Daniel liked to go rowing early in the morning. Four thirty seemed awfully frigging early, but maybe he’d not been able to sleep. She climbed back into her car, and made the circuit of the block, just to be on the safe side. No Jaguar. So she headed back south, down to Lake Union, where she knew Daniel kept his rowing scull, those long, narrow boats she associated with upper crust British and East Coast colleges.
It only took ten minutes to drive there and park. Unfortunately, she had only a vague idea where his rowing club was. She walked up the lakeside block and finally spotted the place. The fog was, if possible, thicker down by the water, blurring the edges of everything. It made dim, glowing orbs of the few lights around the club building.
She walked around it to find a dock at the back, jutting out into the lake. There was no one else around, and Bree began to doubt her inspiration that Daniel would be here. She hadn’t seen his car on her quick walk to the building. She strode out to the edge of the dock, eyes straining for any sign of a boat. The smell of water, oil and wood filled her nose. In desperation, and feeling somehow foolish as she did it, she shouted, “Daniel! Daniel Thorvaldson!” She listened hard, hearing nothing but the lap of the gentle lake waves against the dock. The city lights of downtown across the lake were only visible as a distant, muted glow.
