Page 19 of Spooked
“The doctors want to keep you in for observation for a while. Do a few tests, make sure there’s nothing they’ve missed,” Drummer informs me. He pats my hand gently. “All you’ve got to do is rest and get well again.”
I’d already felt well, mentally, that is. I know my leg is still healing. I’m reeling from being back in the hospital again. Everything I’ve gone through feels so real. I can’t believe it was all a dream.
“Get some rest, Brother.” Bullet, too, sounds concerned as he gets up to leave.
“Maeve,” I croak out. “Maeve Sullivan. Get Mouse to look into her, please?”
“Sure, we will,” Peg placates me, placing his hand over mine. “Just concentrate on yourself for now, Brother. Get some sleep.”
After what happened the last time I closed my eyes, I’m not sure I ever want to sleep again. Even with all the evidence against it, I can’t believe the whole thing’s been a dream. That I never left the compound, never showed Bullet my photos, never met Maeve. Never revisited the Sullivan House. But it all seemed so real. Maybe I’m living in an alternate reality.
Alone, my heartbeat increases. I seem to be jumping from one time to another, and neither of which I want to be the truth. Which would I rather? To accept my brain is totally fucked, or to believe that, after witnessing a porn scene between ghosts, the woman I was with evaporated in my arms. Notwithstanding, I seem to have lived a day that didn’t yet exist.
Seeing as it’s hard as fuck to get any rest in a hospital, with nurses coming in and out to check you’re still breathing and other vitals, and trolleys rattling up and down the corridors outside, I don’t get a chance to drift into the deep sleep that I’d need to be in to dream. Early afternoon, I’m not rested at all, but at least I think I have my sanity about me.
Lucky, because it’s the consultant who’s been treating me who’s first up. Without niceties, he gets straight down to business. “You remember what caused you to black out?”
I have no recollection. Well, that’s not true. I recall clearly toppling down the stairs in the Sullivan House. But to explainhow my brothers found me collapsed outside my own home, I’ve no idea. I’m also intelligent enough to know there would be implications if I told the doctor that I didn’t know how I came to lose consciousness. I give him the words that I think he needs. “Fuckin’ crutches got caught on something. I went down hard. Obviously knocked the wind and senses out of me.”
He smiles and nods, as if I’m a child who has passed a test. Then, he informs me, “Your latest scans show no new brain bleeds or swelling on your brain. You clearly didn’t do yourself more damage.” I already know that. Drummer had told me. I acknowledge his words with a chin lift. After staring at me for a moment, he adds, “If you fell and knocked your head, that’s one thing. But if for no reason you blacked out, then that would be far more serious. I’d have to recommend you stop driving.”
Fuck no.It’s bad enough not being able to ride my bike, and while I hate being confined to a cage, I’d go totally mad if I lost my independence completely. “I fell,” I try to reassure him. “I’ll be more careful.”
“Mr Ockenden, may I remind you that you could suffer a number of effects after the serious injury to your brain? You could have seizures. It’s important that you’re honest and truthful, as more people than just yourself could be injured or killed if you’re trying to hide your symptoms.”
I don’t know what the fuck happened. I think one thing, my club tells me another. The truth lies somewhere in between. While I get what he’s saying, I refuse to believe I’m a danger to anyone other than myself.
“I tripped, I fell,” I tell him again. Not really a lie, I just hadn’t done it where my brothers thought I did. Or maybe I had. Fuck knows.
He sighs. “Okay, I’ll get the paperwork signed off, and you’re free to go home.”
Left alone, I’m lost in my head, visions of Maeve filling my mind. But if my brothers are to be believed, she’s someone I’ve never met. And, if I had delusions, she never existed except in my dreams.So why can I still smell the perfume that surrounded her? Why do I still feel the touch of her in my arms?Fuck having this blow to my head, I’ve no idea what’s real.
How can you feel the loss of something you’ve never had?
I suppose it must be guilt, thinking he pushed me too far, that has Bullet being the one to arrive to give me a lift back to the compound. The hospital demands I’m taken out in a wheelchair, although I stand on my one working leg and use crutches as soon as I can. Waving off Bullet’s help, I get myself into the truck.
On the way back to the compound, he tries to apologise again. “Brother, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you needed to rest.”
“Fuck that, Bullet,” I respond. “I went to the house and got the job done.” Remembering that going over the photos in his office was only something that had happened in my head, I add, “I went to the house, took the pictures you requested. I’ll get them to you so you can assess the state of the place for yourself.”
“For fuck’s sake, Hound.” He slams his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m driving you home from the fuckin’ hospital. There’s no rush, no hurry?—”
“I’m fine.” I put all the strength that I can into my voice. “It wasn’t what you asked me to do that caused me to pass out.” It was going back the second time, but, of course, I don’t mention that. “I went, I saw, and I’m fit to report back.”
“Appreciate that, Hound.” He gives a cautious glance toward me before returning his attention to the road. “I shouldn’t push, but I’m interested. What was your assessment?”
Place needs to be burned to the ground.Realising probably nothing I experienced was other than visions built up in my mind, I give him the answer I think will bear up. “Not too much structural damage, but the place is a wreck. In my uneducatedopinion, it would be better to knock it down. I suppose it could be restored, but who the fuck would want to buy a fuckin’ mansion like that? It’s too far out of town to be turned into a hotel, and the same goes for anyone wanting to build new houses there.”
He gifts me a glance that looks like he’s impressed. “Hear you loud and clear, Bro. I’ll look at the snaps you’ve taken. My gut feeling is that you’re right. Restored? Who would buy it? Build new? Same question applies. I’m starting to understand why no other construction companies wanted to take the job on.”
Thank fuck some of my thoughts make sense.
The rest of the ride back to the compound is undertaken in silence. When we arrive, Bullet sends me a questioning glance to determine whether he should drive me up to my house or park the truck behind the shop as usual. Pride wins out as I indicate I can take it from here. It’s my own fault that I’m faced with the long slog with my crutches and busted leg.
When he tries to offer help, I shrug him off, put a swing into my crutch-supported hop, and, trying to ignore the way he hovers behind me, make my way past the clubhouse, the suites, and finally reach my house at the top of the compound. My door’s not locked. What’s the point when there’s only Satan’s Devils on the compound? I push it open and step in.
I’m greeted by the aroma of cooking, and Sam, Drummer’s woman, Sophie, whose old man is Wraith, Becca, who’s Rock’s, and Blade’s Tash, all invading my kitchen. I suppress my annoyance as I’m actually hungry as fuck—hospital food sucks. I do notice my home is now spotless, discarded clothes laundered and put away, dust collected, and the weeks-old, tied-off condoms from mybefore-the-accidentliaisons with sweet butts thrown in the trash.
