Page 83 of Just Friends

Rebecca gawked at Dalton. “A fist fight?”

“He was looking for a fight, and his mouth got him one,” Dalton said.

“Typical,” Ben muttered. But Dalton was studying her.

Dalton pushed to his feet and grabbed her hand. “I need a word,” he said pulling her from the waiting room.

“Didn’t you already have a word with me?”

“A different one,” Dalton said. “I got a little worried back there cause Weasel once mentioned things about your ex in passing. Now, I don’t have details, but he’s worried there was some abuse.” Dalton put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want you worried that he’ll hit you or anything––” This brought the first genuine laugh out of her in a while.

“I know,” Rebecca said to his puzzled expression. “So sweet of you to worry.” The tears started to fall again. “I’m always safe with him. He’s proved that to me again and again. And I’ve known for a little while that if I ever told Weasel what my ex did, he’d be a dead man. So, I’ve kept it quiet.”

“Good idea.”

The waiting room door opened, and Autumn and Dan walked out. “Everything okay?” Autumn asked.

“Yeah,” Rebecca replied.

“You look beat,” Autumn said. “Why don’t you let me drive you home?”

“I don’t want to leave,” Rebecca said.

“Go home and get some sleep,” Dalton said. “Weasel’s got a nurse looking after him in ICU, and he’s sedated. He’s not waking up tonight. Take care of yourself.”

“Are you going home?”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Cindy said coming out of the waiting room in her coat. “Might as well talk to a brick wall as to convince an Anderson man to take care of himself. Weasel already designated himself your protector; this one willtake that role when Weasel’s not around.” Cindy threw an arm around Rebecca and pulled her to the elevator.

“I need to see Weasel again,” Rebecca said. Cindy let go, and she walked past Autumn and Dan back into the ICU and past the nurses’ station to his room. Nurse Thomas was in there.

“Excuse me,” Rebecca said. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just going to tell him goodnight, is that silly?”

“Not at all,” she said smiling. “It’s wonderful.” She left Rebecca alone.

Rebecca inhaled. Unconscious, Weasel couldn’t respond, and he might not even hear or remember this. But, just in case, she couldn’t let the last thing she said in that fight be the last thing ever. “Weasel, it’s me,” she began and leaned over and kissed his forehead and whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I wasscared; I’m still scared. But, I didn’t mean it. I love you.” Rebecca said it before she could chicken out. She kissed his forehead again. “Goodnight, Harlan.”

Thirty

For the next day, his lung function held steady, but it was not improving. Rebecca stayed in the room most of the day; she didn’t want to leave his side. The others dragged her out occasionally for food. Ty, Nick, and a steady stream of uniformed officers came in and out for quick visits. Weasel’s progress stalled and Rebecca started to despair. Then night fell and improvement came. The respiratory therapist adjusted the machine down several times. The sooner removal from the ventilator happened, the better. At midnight, he was still under heavy sedation.Cindy took Dalton home to clean up and rest; Rebecca camped out in the chair.

The doctor removed the ventilator the morning of day three and lowered the sedation. The nurse warned that coming out was unique for everyone; Weasel might have moments of consciousness coupled with confusion or agitation. Weasel may or may not even recall the shooting. There were a wide variety of possibilities, and no one could predict how this would play out. Thus began another long day of waiting while he drifted in and out without an intelligible word, and little movement.

???

Weasel hurt like hell and could force nothing into focus. He was so tired his extremities didn’t want to do what he told them, and did his legs exist anymore? There were doubts. In a futile effort to bring back what had happened, his brain had turned into nothing more than cotton candy. When was the last time he’d had cotton candy? It’d been too long. Cotton candy sounded delicious. No, wait, chili was better. No, not chili, his throat hurt. Wait. Where did the sore throat come from? Throat, now that’s a funny word. Stop and focus. Was this the afterlife? Could be. If he were a ghost, maybe he could solve crimes by interviewing other spirits. Was a ghost detective a thing? Anderson, Ghost Detective. Woah, someone had shot him. Was that real? In a convenience store. He’d pumped gas first then walked inside… Where was that beeping coming from? The beeping faded.

Where am I? Had he fallen asleep? Weasel tried to move. “Harlan,” a woman’s voice spoke in the darkness. Who said that? Who was Harlan? Oh, wait…him. No one called him that. Weasel blinked, and a green-eyed angel stood there. Rebecca? Weasel swore and closed his eyes. Oh man, an asshole had shot him. He died, and was sent straight to Hell where he’d spend eternity tormented by the vision and the voice of the one woman he’d loved and lost. That’s great… “Weasel,” Rebecca repeated, but this time from farther away.

There was beeping, and a fire in his rib cage; Weasel blinked, and white fiber ceiling tiles fell into focus. He was in a hospital bed. Taking an inventory, noting two arms and legs, a good sign. His arm taped to within an inch of its life and some tubes coming out from under the tape. A tube stuck in his nose and taped to his cheek. More bandaging under the hospital gown and something coming out of his side. A chest tube. Someone had shot him in the chest; it wasn’t a dream. Weasel turned his head to take in the room and stopped cold, the green-eyed angel was seated in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, and reading a book.

???

Rebecca settled in for the night the best she could in the supposed fold-out chair in Weasel’s ICU cubicle. She’d grown smart and picked up a book, two blankets, and big fluffy socks to be semi-comfortable for another long, sleepless night. The twenty-four lights, the constant sounds of the machines, along with the alarms, and the second-hand adrenaline rush from witnessing the occasional patient resuscitation, left her agitated. Rebecca drew the curtain closed and tried to relax. She peered up from the novel and into a pair of gray eyes fixated on her. She was uncertain if he was genuinely conscious yet. He’d opened his eyes several times only be incoherent and go back to sleep.

“Hi,” Rebecca said, setting the book aside. “Are you with us now?”

“I think so,” Weasel’s tone gravelly.

---