Darkness Into Light 1/6
Terry L Odell (tlco777@JUNO.COM)
Fri, 31 Aug 2001 13:21:44 -0400
Darkness Into Light
T. L. Odell
Part 1/6
See Part 0 for Disclaimers
~~~
Richie Ryan gasped. A flaming mass of pain enveloped his body.
Slowly, his eyes focused. He fought his way through the fog in his
brain, trying to figure out where he was, what had happened.
Gunshots. He remembered gunshots, a searing pain in his chest,
then darkness, then nothing.
He shivered in the cool night air. He tried to sit up, but something
pinned him down. He forced air in and out of his lungs with deep,
labored breaths as he took in his surroundings. Light from a
distant street lamp filtered through the bushes surrounding him.
Bushes. How did he get into a hedge? He wriggled free of the
encumbering branches and pushed himself up on his elbows.
Slowly, the memories returned.
Tessa. Mac. Some punk kid with a gun. But they had been in the
street. Why was he lying in a hedgerow? Slowly, carefully, he
rose to a sitting position, then to his knees. A wave of dizziness
and nausea rolled over him; he lowered his head until it passed.
Finally on his feet, he discovered he was not far from where the
shooting had taken place. Shooting! He looked at his chest. He
could make out some stains on his shirt; he felt the hole in the
fabric, and the rough crust of what he assumed was dried blood.
He gingerly reached under his shirt and fingered his chest. Sticky,
but no pain. He moved to a place where the street light's glow
offered more illumination. There was no wound.
He had to be dreaming. He'd wake up in his own bed. He touched
his chest again as his strength returned. He was Immortal. How
could he be Immortal?
He looked back to the street. Great stains of blood remained,
spread over the asphalt like a giant amoeba. Litter fluttered in the
breeze. He absently picked up one of the pieces of paper. Even
though they were torn, Richie could tell they were wrappers from
medical equipment-maybe syringes, or I.V. needles, or tubes or
something.
Oh my God. Tessa! Where was Tessa?
He shook his head to clear it. Of course. They took her to the
hospital. He refused to consider the word "morgue." He saw
Mac's T-bird, patted his pocket and felt the keys. He rushed to the
car and started driving, trying to sort out the frantic thoughts that
raced through his brain.
Mac wouldn't have left him for dead. No way. He had to have
known he would be Immortal. But how? He never said anything
about knowing someone was Immortal before they died.
Mac wouldn't just dump you in the bushes to die. He had to be
with Tessa.
That had to be it.
Why didn't that take away the feeling of betrayal? "For once in
your life, slow down and think," he said aloud. "Driving all over
the city isn't going to help anyone. Go back to the apartment and
regroup." The sound of his own voice calmed him.
Now that he had a sense of purpose, Richie's pounding heart
slowed. The nighttime streets were almost deserted; he was back
at the apartment in twenty minutes. He grabbed the cordless phone
and began calling the local hospitals while he washed the
bloodstains from his chest and changed into clean clothes. He
located Tessa on the third try and was back in the T-bird almost
immediately.
Arriving at the hospital's emergency parking lot, his heart sank
when he saw how full it was, even after midnight. He had to tell
himself to relax. He reminded himself that hospitals don't work
like the lines at the grocery store check-out. They take cases on a
priority basis.
He raced across the lot and found the emergency entrance. As he
stepped past the automatic glass double doors, he heard the sounds
of crying children, of doctors being paged on the loudspeaker; he
smelled the all pervasive hospital odor of disinfectant with
undertones of vomit and blood. Yet through all that, Richie felt his
entire being resonate. It felt like someone had found a way to
make his spinal cord vibrate up through his brain. His head
throbbed, and for a moment he thought he would throw up.
Duncan's familiar frame caught the corner of his eye, and he
realized he must be feeling what Duncan had told him about, how
Immortals recognized each other. How did they stand it? He
doubled over and someone in hospital garb came to ask if he was
all right.
He straightened and waved her away. "I'm OK. Just looking for a
friend. There he is. Thanks." Duncan stood in a corridor near
the waiting area, clutching a large plastic bag to his chest, speaking
to a man scribbling things in a small notepad. Richie strode over
to the two men.
"I told you, detective, there was nobody there--" Duncan was
saying.
"I know, I know," said the cop. "You were appraising some
antiques with Mr. Wolf, the lady was waiting in the car, you
thought you heard shots, you ran out. That's all you remember."
"I saw her, called 911 and waited for the paramedics. I came
straight here in the ambulance."
Richie heard the Highlander's voice begin to crack. He stepped
closer and touched Duncan's arm. "Sir, can't you see this man is in
no condition to be hounded?" Richie started walking to draw the
detective away from Duncan. "Why don't you leave us alone now,
okay? This isn't a good time for either of us. We'll call if we
remember anything."
The detective took Richie's name and phone number. "All right,
kid. I'll be in touch. Hope your friend is all right."
Richie turned back toward Duncan who was now listening to a
woman in blood-stained scrubs. Richie moved closer, close
enough to make out the doctor's words.
"She's lost a lot of blood and she arrested twice on the way here.
Right now, I'd have to say she owes her life to some quick thinking
and strong work by the paramedics. It's thanks to them your wife
has any chance at all right now. She was lucky; another few
millimeters lower and the bullet would have penetrated her heart.
As it is, it damaged one of her pulmonary arteries-those are the
main vessels that carry blood from the heart to the lungs to get
oxygen. She's going up to surgery now-we have to repair the
artery. I won't lie to you; it's a delicate and difficult surgery. I
can't make any promises."
"She's alive?" Mac's voice was a hoarse whisper.
"At the moment," the doctor replied.
Mac's knees buckled. Richie stepped forward and helped the
doctor support the tall Scot. "Here, Mac. Let's get you to a chair."
"She's alive," he said again after Richie guided him back into one
of the cold plastic waiting room chairs. Richie watched the color
return to Duncan's face.
"Is he a friend of yours?" asked the doctor.
"Yes. And so's Tessa, the woman he brought in. I'm Richie.
Richie Ryan."
"I'm Dr. Anne Lindsey, Richie. Right now your friend is running
on caffeine and adrenaline. What he needs is something to eat, or
at least something sweet to drink. I'd also recommend a change of
clothes, and a few hours of sleep. We have rooms available for
situations like this. Why don't you see Jennifer, the patient
advocate, at reception, and she can let you know what our family
rooms are like and set things up. He won't be allowed to see his
wife until she's out of surgery."
Richie didn't correct the doctor; it was probably easier for Duncan
to stay with Tessa if they thought he was her husband. "You can
count on it, Dr. Lindsey." He turned to his friend. "You heard the
doctor, Mac. Time to get some rest."
Duncan said nothing. He just continued to stare into space,
murmuring, "She's alive."
Richie noted Duncan's bloodstained sweater and his red-rimmed
eyes. His dark hair, free of its clasp, fell about his face in unruly
tangles as if he'd been pulling on it. Whatever had held him
together for the last few hours had deserted him. "Mac. Get up.
Let's go." Richie extended his hand. He tried to take the bag from
Duncan; the Scot tightened his grip. Richie looked more closely at
the bag and saw it contained Tessa's bloody clothing and other
personal effects.
Duncan blinked and shook his head, and his eyes regained some of
their focus. "I should be here."
"You will be here, Mac. But let's follow the doctor's orders first,
okay?" He found Jennifer and got directions to the room Dr.
Lindsey had mentioned.
"Here we are. Family Room Two." Richie opened the door.
Inside he saw two oversized brown vinyl chairs that looked like
they might recline into something approaching beds. A wall
mounted television set, a small green sofa and a few old magazines
atop a coffee table completed the décor. The yellow-green paint
coating the walls turned Richie's stomach. A miniscule closet
revealed a couple of thin blankets, airline-sized pillows and toilet
paper for the restrooms across the hall.
Richie directed Duncan to the couch. He pulled the green and
brown plaid curtain on the window aside and looked out at a brick
wall. He let it fall back. "They've got some great doctors here,
Mac. Tessa will be fine."
Richie looked down at Duncan, waiting for him to take charge, to
be the leader Richie needed right now. To explain the incessant
buzzing in his head. Duncan stared straight ahead and remained
silent, still clasping the bag of Tessa's things.
Richie shook off his fear. All right. You can do this. Mac and
Tessa have been there for you. They're probably the only real
family you've ever had or ever will. Forget about yourself for a
while. Right now, just take care of Mac.
"Mac, I'm going to get you something to eat. I'll be back in a
minute."
Richie studied the offerings of the vending machine in the hall. He
returned with two colas and two chocolate bars. Duncan hadn't
moved. He popped the lid of the soda and offered it to Duncan.
"Here, Mac. Drink this. It should help. I'll just put Tessa's things
right here on the table. See. They're right here." Duncan
relinquished his hold on the bag and took a sip of his drink.
"How about a candy bar?" Richie continued. "Chocolate's
supposed to help, right? It'll give you some energy."
"I'm ... not sure ...."
"The doctor said you needed something. She said something sweet
would help. Come on, Mac. Just a little?"
Duncan took two bites of the candy bar before lowering his head
into his hands. Richie saw the shaking of his shoulders, heard the
sobs begin. He didn't think he'd ever seen Duncan cry before. A
few tears, maybe, but not this convulsive weeping.
Richie wanted to shout, to get Duncan to tell him Tessa would be
fine. To tell him he would be fine, too. That nobody would be
waiting to take his head.
What a selfish bastard he was. Richie adjusted the hospital chair
as far as it would recline "Come on, Mac. Try to get some sleep."
Richie watched as Duncan collapsed into the poor excuse for a
bed. Richie worked a tiny pillow behind Duncan's head, and
covered him with a blanket. The sobbing stopped, and the
Highlander finally slept.
End of Part 1