Meeting Midnight: Ankarrah Chronicles Book One Page 6

  We land in a pile of limbs. Josh’s labored breathing and low groaning are all I can hear over the screaming pain in my own body. I angle up enough to look down at him, and his arms slide away from me, dead weights.

  Josh’s face is collapsed in pain, his brow furrowed and dotted with sweat, his lips pinched. I can feel a seeping wetness under my hip. The red stain on the front my dress is being met by a widening pool of red from under me.

  Scrambling off Josh’s supine body, I see a grapefruit-sized hole in his lower abdomen. The shot must have gone all the way through me and into Josh. That bitch used hollow point ammunition! There’s no other way for the entrance hole into Josh to be so big.

  I hurriedly rub my hands together, letting the Spectrum surround me in a rush, and do something I promised I would never do: I heal someone other than myself.

  I place my hands against the ravaged skin of Josh’s lower abdomen, bow my head, and concentrate.

  In my mind, I can see the tissues, muscles, veins, arteries, and fascia all trying to reattach itself. Watching it happen reminds me of small spiders spinning silken webs, the various tissues look like their grasping eager fingers to each other and then bonding everything together. It looks like something out of a science fiction movie.

  I have to make sure I heal Josh from the inside out. Otherwise he could bleed internally, filling his insides with blood until he dies. Its exacting work, and I can feel myself begin to wane. I push against the fading feeling, needing to make sure Josh is okay. I’ve got to save him, save him, save him a looping litany in my head. I can feel the energy fading from my hands, the signal that I’m running out of juice. I bite my lip, pulling on the dregs of energy from the bottom of my being. I won’t give up until he’s better.

  Slowly, so slowly, the bleeding stops. Josh exhales a long, deep breath.

  I see his beautiful, beloved smile right before everything goes black.

  Chapter Six

  I slowly become aware of a steady beeping. It’s more annoying than comforting.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Whoosh.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Whoosh.

  I fade back into the black where nothing annoys me, and my body doesn’t feel like I’m skinny dipping in an active volcano.

  That stupid beeping wakes me again. At least this time, it doesn’t feel like my body is on fire from the inside out.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Whoosh.

  I cough, something caught in my throat.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe.

  Panic floods my system with adrenaline, rushing through veins to muscles that can do nothing but tense in futile anticipation. The sound of my heart beat is echoed by the beeping of the machine behind me.

  Beepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeep.

  “Hang on. Just give me a second, Fin. Hang on. I’ll get someone to get that out of your throat. Relax. Relax as much as you can.” A familiar voice fills my ears. The familiar voice yells for a nurse.

  I count to ten in my head.

  Nope, not nearly long enough.

  I count to twenty.

  I feel my chest expand on its own. Disconcerted to have it happen to me instead of me doing it. I have air again, at least.

  I start over at one. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  “I hear someone is awake. Just give me a minute and I’ll get that tube out, Ms. Tindol.”

  I nod at the perky voice; I just want to punch someone…as soon as I can breathe on my own.

  I reach twenty and feel my chest expand once more. Attempting to pry my eyelids open, I can’t see anything through the film covering my eyes.

  I feel panic set in again; I can’t breathe on my own, and I can’t see. I try to blink my eyes clear. It works a little better the second time. I do it again and again. It feels like I’m trying to scrape the inside of my eyelids free of soap scum.

  Finally, I can see the white room, and see the three big men surrounding my bed parting as a short, cheery-face nurse approaches my bed.

  Ms. Perky stands next to the bed in the small space deserted by the boys. Lifting her hand in a shoo gesture she says to the guys, “I need you guys to step away from the bed, please.”

  Looking at the beeping machine behind me, Ms. Perky has a conversation with the other nurses who have filed in; I can’t quite follow what they’re saying though. They all give a mutual head nod, and Ms. Perky clears her throat.

  “This is going to be uncomfortable. Your oxygen levels look good, and you no longer need the respirator. We’re going to get this out of your throat as quickly as possible. Please try to relax as much as possible, and we’ll get this done ASAP.” She gives my hand a little pat and she leans back out of my direct line of sight.

  Closing my eyes, I count to ten again, focusing on the numbers. Forming each one in my mind before I count it. This is one of the tricks I’ve learned for managing pain.

  Someone holds my jaw open, and I instinctively try to swallow. Another person grasps the tube that’s against my lips and begins pulling. One of the singularly worst experiences of my life to date.

  Struggling to remain relaxed while someone is ripping a tube out of my open mouth is not a talent of mine. I force my body to remain motionless—as much as possible—and just pray they are done quickly. I can feel my body lifting off the bed as the tube pulls from my chest. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and keep praying.

  I flop back against the bed, finally tubeless. I feel tears leak from my clenched eyes and run quickly down the side of my face into my hairline. I can breathe on my own once again.

  I’ll mark that one as a win.

  “We’ll get a doctor in to see you as soon as possible. Try not to talk for a couple minutes; I’ll bring you in some ice chips to get some moisture in your mouth and throat.” Ms. Perky—whose nametag tells me is actually Sarah—informs me as she leaves the room with the Tube of Death dangling in her hands like a dead snake.

  “Fin. I’m so glad you’re awake.” Josh’s relief is written on his face.

  “Seconded,” Brent and Brian chime in.

  “I’m so sorry, Finley. I had no idea Mom even had a gun, let alone that she would use it on you.” Brian’s anguish is etched just as clearly as on his face as Josh’s relief was written on his.

  I shake my head at him, reaching my free hand out—Josh has claimed the other. I take Brian’s giant paw into my much smaller one. I squeeze his hand in mine. I barely have any strength, but he understands because he returns the squeeze and leans down to kiss my forehead.

  “We’ve been so worried. When you passed out at the house, and it took forever for the ambulance to arrive, we were so scared.” Brent pinches my toes; his eyes have a sheen of tears.

  “Then when we finally got here, you were taken directly into surgery. We’ve been waiting for two days for you to wake up.” Brian sits down at my right side still holding my hand.

  I try to swallow, but have absolutely no moisture in my mouth. It feels like steel wool in there right now.

  The squeaks that tell me someone is walking in from the door sound just before I see the nurse. Sarah with her wonderful ice chips.

  “Suck on these—one at a time. Go slow,” she says sternly. She sets the Styrofoam cup on a bedside tray. “She needs to stay as relaxed as possible, guys. Don’t get her riled up or you’ll be asked to leave.” Apparently her stern voice is for everyone in the room, not just me.

  She leaves the room again, and silence fills the space.

  Except for the infernal beeping.

  Josh, sitting in a chair on my left, moves the cup over and rests it against my leg. Dipping his fingers in, he pulls out an oval piece of ice and offers it to me.

  I open my mouth, and he slips the delightfully wet treat between my parched lips.

  Letting the ice just rest and dissolve on my tongue, slowly providing moisture to the desert that is my mouth is heavenly.

  I close my eyes and revel in the sens
ation. I’ve always taken water, ice, any drink really, for granted. I’m not going to be doing that anytime soon. I’m going to savor the ability to drink, breathe, and talk whenever I want.

  “I…” Coughing once again, I try getting some words out for my boys who look so miserable. “I’m glad you guys are here.” The words come out in a scratchy whisper. Brent has to lean in, so I’m guessing I’m a lot quieter than I had thought.

  “We wouldn’t be anywhere else, Finley-babe. Not one place else.” Brian squeezes my hand again.

  “Seconded,” Josh and Brent reply in unison.

  “You said I came in an ambulance, and that I’ve been here for two days. What happened?”

  “Mom going bat-shit crazy, is what happened,” Brent says, his voice dark. “She’s in jail right now, by the way.”

  I feel my eyes pop open wide at that. I’m amazed, a little happy with a couple twinges of shame and guilt. The shame and guilt take over the tiny zing of happiness. I never wanted to hurt their family. Now their mom’s in jail. While I know it’s not my fault, it sure feels that way at the moment.

  “How did that happen?” I rasp.

  “Well, when we called nine-one-one, we told them we had gunshot victims. The dispatcher sent the police and the ambulance. Brent and I got the gun away from Mom, Dad rushed to get his old doctor kit once he saw that you and Josh had been hit.” Brian says.

  “By the time the ambulance pulled up, you had already healed Josh and passed out. You were still bleeding and I could see inside your body once Dad got you straightened out on the floor. You looked like death warmed over, and your hands were bone-white. The blood was so dark on your dress, and there was so much of it. I thought we’d lost you.” Brian’s tears slide down his hewn cheeks, his eyes full of sorrow and guilt.

  Brent came around and pulled Brian into his side. His other hand coming to join our clasped hands on the bed. Josh leaned across my body and joined his hands with the boys’.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I tell Brian.

  He only shakes his head, his eyes clenched shut. His face showing he’s denying my words, pushing them away.

  I look at Brent, his eyes are clenched shut too. Remorse covers his body like a shroud: slumped shoulders, pinched brow, pursed lips, and silent tears.

  I just lay there on the lumpy hospital bed with my boys all around me. We all shed some tears for the unexpected turn our lives have taken so recently.

  In the silence, I close my eyes and take stock of my body. I’ve still got some torn tissues in my abdomen. Not to mention the sutures in my veins and arteries. Noticing for the first time since waking that the Spectrum has been flaring this whole time, I work at directing it to the places in my body that are still trying to repair themselves. I’d rather not have to worry about sutures when I can heal the tissues from the inside out. I leave the external wounds so as not to have to answer any prying questions.

  I open my eyes to see I’m the center of attention once again. All three boys are looking at me with varying degrees of relief, joy, guilt, and shame.

  “I’m okay. I’ve got this part covered.” I tell them all, giving a saucy wink to Brian.

  Brent’s laughter erupts into the room. His shoulders shaking and a few stray tears sneaking down his already damp cheeks.

  “I see the party has started.” A nice baritone voice fills the room.

  From my vantage point, all I see is a full head of white-blond hair over Josh’s muscular shoulder. A couple more steps in and I get to see my doctor for the first time.

  His hair is in wild disarray, like he’s run his hands through it too many times after being caught in a wind tunnel. His dark chocolate brown eyes twinkle under his startlingly blond eyebrows. His smile is a little mischievous.

  “It never stops,” I reply.

  “Then we must have different definitions of party, because these guys didn’t look to be in the partying mood when they first showed up.” He waggles his thumb at the men around my bed.

  They’re each giving him the evil eye. Their behavior seems odd considering he helped put me back together. I wonder what happened between them that my boys are acting so acrimoniously to the hot doctor.

  “I’ll have to work on that with them.” I smile at the handsome doctor.

  “Gentlemen, if you’d give us a minute, I need to have a conversation with my patient, please.”

  “You can have that conversation with us right here. We’re not leaving,” Brian says, his voice gruff, his face unyielding.

  “Are you married to the lady?”

  “No, but we’re family.” Brian’s face flushes a deep red.

  “I’m sorry, only parents or biological family are allowed in here during our conversation. Since you all look related to each other, but none of you look like even the farthest of shirttail relatives to Ms. Tindol, I assume you’re not biological family.” The snappy grin the doctor gives them has me lifting my eyebrows at his audacity.

  Not too many men I know are willing to stand up to these three, especially in a one-on-three scenario. That the doctor is willing to do it gives me a warm and fuzzy sensation in my tummy. Granted, that could just be the healing I did, but I’ll give the doctor the benefit of the doubt.

  “It will only take a minute, you can even stand right outside the door glaring at me through the glass window. But you can’t be in here for our conversation. Unless Ms. Tindol wants you to stay. In which case, only one of you is allowed in here at a time.” Dr. Hot winds down before turning to me expectantly.

  All three guys look at me—glaring at me really. How am I supposed to choose one out of my three favorite people?

  I look to Josh, a silent plea in my eyes. Heaving a huge sigh, he gives me a tired nod, and gestures the other two out of the room with him.

  I give all their hands one last squeeze as they leave the room. Brian gives the doctor another hard look, and murmurs something under his breath that I don’t catch. The doctor just nods his blond head and moves out of their way.

  What the heck is going on with these guys?

  “Now that I have you all to myself, let’s talk about what happened. I’m Doctor Jamison. Hunter, if you prefer.” He sits down in the chair Brian just vacated, running his huge hands through his hair. As he sits down, a spicy scent reaches my nose. It smells like balsam fir and cedarwood with hints of orange. I take another big breath, savoring the welcome change from the signature scent of all hospitals: Antiseptic Du Jour.

  Turning my head just a little, I look out towards the door and see all three guys standing watch through the glass partition. I give them a little wave and a smile.

  “They’re just protective,” I try to explain to Dr. Jamison.

  “We get many of those types in here.” He nods. “I’m not bothered by them, so have no fear on that point with me. I need to go over your injuries with you.” He lifts his tablet, but doesn’t read from it. He keeps his eyes locked on mine. I struggle not to squirm under that direct regard. I’m not used to strangers being able to hold eye contact with me for very long.

  “You were shot with a forty-five-caliber hollow point bullet. Your wounds were, and are, extensive. You lost just over three pints of blood, and had your family not acted so quickly, you wouldn’t be here talking to me. You had some major damage to the vasculature and needed extensive suturing, which we were able to do successfully. Other damage was done to parts of your colon, abdominal muscles, and underlying nervous tissue.” He recites all of this from memory, never once looking at his notes. My mind is reeling, but I keep my eyes locked on Dr. Jamison’s.

  Who knew Cynthia could even handle that big of a gun? If I weren’t so pissed off with her, I’d be a little impressed.

  “You’re lucky to be alive, Ms. Tindol. I’m under the impression that the person who shot you is related to your ‘family’ on the other side of the door. Do you have a safe place to go when you are released?” he asks me seriously. His dark eyes hold mine.

  “
Yes. I believe my family actually stood by and allowed their mother to be arrested—at least they told me she’s in jail right now,” I answer honestly.

  “Good.” His head dips down in a nod, a frown playing with the corner of his mouth. “Well, you’re going to be our guest for a couple more days while we watch your progress. I’ll be working with Dr. Singh, who has the night shift, during the length of your stay. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? Can I call anyone else for you: boyfriend, husband, girlfriend?” His eyes search mine, a spark of heat deep in the chocolate depths.

  I smile a little at his forwardness, a tiny shake of my head. “Just my parents, if they haven’t been contacted yet. The rest of my family, and loved ones, are out in the hall right now.”

  He nods again, a slight grin on his chiseled face.

  I hear the door knob rattle right before the storm of men come sweeping back into my room.

  “I think you’re done with the privileged information part of the conversation, doctor,” Brent sneers in his best lawyer tone. His glare is certainly more that of a big brother.

  “Family. You’re sure?” Dr. Jamison asks me, his eyebrows raised. A slight smile pulling on his lips.

  “Very sure.” I reply with an answering smile of my own.

  I’m single and ready to mingle, Dr. Hunter Jamison.

  A laugh slides out before I can catch it. The doctor gives me a full-blown smile before he turns back towards the door.

  “I’ll leave you to them then. Gentlemen.” He dips his head one last time before disappearing through the door.

  “Really, Fin? In the hospital? The man’s supposed to be making sure you get better, not hitting on you.” Josh’s huff of exasperation ruffles the hair hanging low over his forehead.

  “I’m feeling much better.” I quip, nodding my head innocently.

  “Uh huh. Don’t think we’re leaving you alone with him very long. Privileged conversations or not, we’re not letting anyone disrupt your recovery.” Brent crosses his defined arms over his chest. He’s trying not to smile.