Chapter 7
880 Words
White…
Everything is white…
Something smells odd…
Antiseptic?
Cabbage?
I should know where I am…
I think…
But nothing connects to anything else.
A blur of red and green swims into view…
A face…
Is it a face?
…
From somewhere far away, a voice,… “Larry? Can you hear me?”
Then another voice. “We’re all here, Dad. We’ll still be here when you wake up properly.”
*****
Christ!
That hurts…
Blurred shapes move against a pale background. Trying to focus hikes the banging in my head to pounding. I try to move and fire spears down my neck. Something under my ribs pounds.
Where am I?
My thoughts won’t knit. Closing my eyes helps, taking the edge off the pressure in my skull. But nausea churns my gut.
What’s happening?
Around me, sounds, garbled…
Voices?
But they make no sense, won’t focus…
Something bleeps… And keeps bleeping…
The yammering under my chest subsides…
… and I try opening my eyes again. Everything feels too bright, but at the window, the slats on the blind are almost closed.
One of the blurred shapes detaches itself from the others, hovering above me. “Larry?”
Something swishes over me, tickling my face. The blur looms closer. Another scent…
Mint?
Why do I smell mint?
I know it should mean something, but…
“Larry? Can you hear me? Do you know me?”
And as though someone twisted the focus knob, the blur resolves into a face. “Mitch?”
Or that’s what I meant to say, but nothing comes out.
The other blurs coalesce into more faces: Jenny, James, Haswell…
Stanton…
Stanton?
The pale background morphs into a white ceiling, white walls, white sheets; and another blur into a white-coated medic. From a seat beside me, Mitch holds my hand in hers.
A hospital?
And this time, my voice works. “What the f**k am I doing here?”
Expressions of concern crackle into laughter. Stanton’s voice booms... “Sounds like you’re feeling like yourself again, Mr Waterman.” … My skull vibrates.
“Will someone turn off that f*****g bleeping racket.”
The medic Tuts. “There’s gratitude for you. The bleeping stays on, Mr Waterman, while we keep an eye on you. You should be dead. As it is, you’ll have another scar to add to that collection you already have.”
Tuts.should“A scar? What am I doing here?”
Stanton speaks. “Don’t you remember?”
I’m still foggy, but something emerges from the clouds… “He was ahead of me… The Surgeon… He ran into the traffic and I followed him.”
My head bangs and I press fingers to my forehead… “There was… a car… I think…”
Then the memory surfaces, sharp and bright. “Yes, a car. I didn’t have time to react. It hit me.”
Stanton huffs, then perches a hip on the side of the bed. “You may think you didn’t have time to react, but I’ve seen the footage from the traffic cam. And I’ve read the witness reports. I’d say reflexes and old training are what saved you. At the last instant, you lifted yourself and rolled over the hood, then curled up with your arms protecting your head…”
thinkHe sniffs. Rubs his nose. “It’s a move you see used by stunt-men in the movies. On the hood, your back and shoulders impacted the windscreen and the glass absorbed most of the shock. But as you rolled off again, your head cracked the ground. And although you were fast, you weren’t quite fast enough. The fender caught one leg. Nonetheless, you avoided the full force of the collision. Almost anyone else would have been dead as they hit the ground.”
quiteThe doctor breaks in, brisk and curt. “Which is why, Mr Waterman, you’ll be staying here for a day or two. Over your body, you’ve not received much more than bruises. But you’re certainly concussed and we want to be sure there’s nothing worse involved with that head injury. We need to be sure too, that there’s no internal damage. The leg is a clean fracture and should heal in six to eight weeks.”
why, “Six to eight weeks? I’m supposed to stay here for…”
weeks?“No, Mr Waterman. But we do want you in here for a few days to be…”
“How many days?”
manyMitch’s mouth purses. Jenny stands behind her. “Be sensible, Dad. You’re not going anywhere right now.”
Stanton stands again. “It astonishes me to admit, Larry, that I’m pleased to have you still with us.” He levels a finger at me. “Deal. You stay put. Don’t give the nurses any grief. And I’ll bring you files on Harkness with what we know about him.”
“Sounds fair to me. I’ll stay put, then.” It’s bravado. Exhaustion sweeps over me. My eyelids are fighting to droop.
“That’s enough,” says the doctor. “And now, I’d like you all to leave...”
“But…” Mitch’s grip on my hand tightens…
“You may stay, Mrs Waterman, if you wish. But only you.”
only*****
- Writer
