Oh, thank God, I must have been a good boy after all.
That was Bob's first thought as consciousness clawed its way in through the catflap of Bob's mind. Amidst a haze of light -- a sort of fluorescent haze, a pesky part of his brain noted in puzzlement -- he could see an angel. A resplendent vision in white, with a billowing mist of golden hair. She smiled at him, radiating tranquility, and all he could think was that heaven was better than he'd ever dared hope.
"Oh good, Mr. Gillis, you're awake. We'll be needing some blood now. And there's some coppers that are eager to talk to you."
Blood? Had he landed in some twisted Anne Rice version of the afterlife? And, coppers? Why should antique coins want to talk to him?
The angle came at him with a needle that felt like a piece of industrial tubing. The sudden shock of pain brought back unwelcome memories -- of Marisa, and the tattooed trucker at the end of the bar that had turned out to be her boyfriend, and a possessive one at that. Bob had only learned of the 7-foot-tall sociopath's status after he'd downed several fifths of nitroglycerin-strength vodka and belligerently attempted to prove to Marisa that he wasn't using his flashy Mercedes to compensate for anything.
After that, it all went sort of hazy. He had a vague feeling he might have done something ill-advised. Like drive home.
"Mr. Gillis -- if I were you, I wouldn't say anything till I called a good lawyer."
"A lawyer?" Bob asked faintly, wondering when his angel had turned into such an agent of pain and darkness.
"Mm." The angel -- who looked to be pushing 60 and had hair more bleached than golden, Bob noted with growing awareness and dismay -- patted his shoulder sympathetically. "On the plus side, I'm going to go tell Dr. O'Brian you're awake, and maybe he'll let you have something nice, like a morphine drip."
---
Both Joe and John ignored the phone for the first dozen rings. John finally broke the frozen silence.
"Don’t you have an answering machine?"
"Don't we have more important things to talk about?"
John didn't respond. The phone kept trilling. Finally, Joe snatched it up in exasperation.
"I don't want any!" he barked, slamming the receiver back down.
Almost instantly, it started up again.
"For God's sake --"
John pulled the receiver away before Joe could bash anything with it.
"What? He's unavailable, just give me a message to pass on... Sue? She's -- what the hell happened? Yes, I know her, I'm her -- I mean, I know her. What the hell do you mean no further details are available? Ok, look, we'll be -- he'll be right there. Yes, I'll pass the message on."
John was on his feet before the phone landed back in the cradle.
"There's been an accident. We need to get to the hospital, now."
--
Kathy hummed to herself as she rifled through her bag. One, two -- three duckies left, each inscribed A Gift From Consolidated Duck of Hillglen. She'd been to seven rooms so far, not bad for an afternoon.
"Where to next?" she called Mita, the desk nurse, as she sailed past.
"Let's see ... how about pediatrics? There's a few new arrivals you could check in on. The desk can point you toward the rooms."
"Sounds good. I might need some more ducks, though." It would be terrible to arrive in the ward, intent on distributing rubber ducks and good cheer, only to run out of duckies. That would upset people, and when people got upset, Kathy got upset, and Kathy being upset tended to set off terrible domino-like chains unpleasantness.
Past tense, she firmly reminded herself, trying to shut down the worrying train of thought before it built up too much steam. This had been a good day, and a good week, and she was determined to keep her upbeat mood intact.
"Sorry, I'm fresh out," Mita answered. "You can restock at the supply room near the ER, though. I think they just stashed a batch there yesterday."
"Off I go, then." Still drifting along in an off-key reverie, Kathy went down the corridor and decided to head out of the hospital, then back in through the main ER entrance. It would be faster than winding through the snaking interior corridors.
Outside, the weather was crisp but clear, with just a few fluffy clouds drifting lazily around. It was the kind of Midwestern day she'd missed in Oregon; really, the first perfect weather break since she'd returned to Hillglen.
Kathy smiled. The day seemed a good omen for new beginnings. Perhaps she'd even make that phone call later she'd been working up to. It would be nice to have progress like that to report to Dr. Baxter on Thursday.
As Kathy turned to head into the ER, her bag of ducks flew from her hand -- launched into the air by the man tearing past.
"Hey!" she called in outrage. Ok, people heading for the ER were probably in a distressed state, but they didn't have to be rude about it, right? "You knocked over my ducks!"
A second man came hurrying by. He started on an apology as the first man turned back around. As the person who had knocked aside her ducks spun, Kathy lost track of the second man altogether, staring ahead in shocked amazement.
"It's you," she cried out.
--
Who is it?
Is this whole duck theme going anywhere??
Never mind the accident victims, what about the big football game???
These questions, and one we blatantly stole from Soap, will be answered in the next drug enhanced chapter of... CLIFFHANGER.
Posted by Stacy at November 15, 2003 10:53 PM