Darkness Into Light 2/6
Terry L Odell (tlco777@JUNO.COM)
Fri, 31 Aug 2001 13:21:23 -0400
Darkness Into Light
T. L. Odell
Part 2/6
See Part 0 for Disclaimers
Richie made a quick trip to the apartment and gathered some clean
clothes, towels and toiletries. He picked up the telephone.
"Angie? Sorry to wake you. It's Richie. Just listen, okay? I need
you to do me a big favor. Can you get someone to pick up my
bike? I know Eric won't have any trouble starting it without keys.
No cops, you know? Just have him leave it at his place or your
place. I'll call in a day or two and fill you in." He gave her the
address and hung up before she could ask him any questions.
Back at the hospital, he settled down on the other recliner, caught
in that nebulous region between sleep and wakefulness, trying to
sort out the thoughts and emotions swirling through his mind.
I'm Immortal. Mac wants me out of his life now. I'm in the way.
He resents me because I'm alive and Tessa's dying. Tessa has to
live. Mac loves Tessa. I love Tessa. I'm going to have to kill
people. People will want to kill me. I don't know how to use a
sword.
The sound of someone stirring broke through to Richie's
consciousness. Duncan was up, pacing the small room. Richie
looked at his watch. It was not quite five a.m. They'd managed a
few hours sleep, anyway. Duncan headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Bathroom."
"Wait - as long as you're going, here's a clean shirt, and a
toothbrush and stuff. Maybe you should try to clean up."
Duncan accepted the bag from Richie and walked out the door.
"Come right back here when you're finished, okay?" Richie hoped
Duncan had heard him.
Duncan returned about fifteen minutes later, looking cleaner, but
only slightly less haggard. He flopped down on the couch, his long
legs stretched out in front on him.
Richie handed Duncan the television remote. "Here. Maybe you
can find something to distract you, to pass the time."
After ten minutes of watching Duncan scroll through the channels,
Richie gave up.
"What about some breakfast? The cafeteria doesn't open until
seven, but there are the vending machines."
"Not hungry."
"The other option is the surgical waiting room. Do you want to try
that for a while?"
The Scot shrugged his shoulders.
The surgical waiting room proved to be slightly more hospitable
than the stark one of the emergency room. There they found chairs
with blue padded seats, tables, a coffee maker with the usual
overcooked coffee, a small private restroom and magazines only
two or three years old. A television mounted on the wall in a
corner was tuned to the morning news. Nobody was watching.
Grace, the gray-haired volunteer at the desk, took their names and
promised to call them as soon as Tessa was permitted visitors.
Richie looked around. At 5:45 A.M., the room was almost empty.
A middle-aged woman sat knitting, a plastic bag of neatly folded
clothing tucked beneath her chair. Whoever she was waiting for
had arrived prepared for a scheduled procedure. Nobody else in
the room had the exhausted look of someone who had been there
all night waiting to see if a loved one would survive. Somehow, he
felt better that he and Duncan had cleaned up, that they fit in.
After what seemed like hours, Dr. Lindsey appeared at the door
and spoke with Grace. She pointed at Richie and Duncan. Duncan
bolted to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Good morning, Mr. MacLeod," Dr. Lindsey said. "Did you
manage to get some rest?"
He nodded. "Some."
"We've just finished the surgery and Ms. Noel is in ICU. There's a
good team of doctors there who will be overseeing her care. Once
she's situated, they'll call and let you see her. I expect it will be
about an hour."
"Thank you, doctor," Richie said. "We'll be here."
An hour passed. More people trickled in. Two ladies, probably
mother and daughter, sat in church clothes, handbags poised on
their laps. How comfortable could they be in those outfits? Richie
guessed they didn't plan to be there long. An elderly couple sat
side by side, holding hands. Were they waiting for a friend, or
perhaps a child or grandchild?
Duncan stared at Grace, at the phone on her desk, at the door.
Exhaustion overtook Richie, and he found himself dozing, but
never for more than a few moments at a time. Duncan picked up
magazines, fanned their pages, then set them down. He walked to
the coffee pot, poured a cup of coffee and ignored that as well.
"Mr. MacLeod?" called Grace.
Duncan jumped up. "Tessa. Can I see her?"
"I'm sorry, sir. Not just yet. They've had to take her back to
surgery. Someone will be down to explain everything."
Richie watched as his friend returned to his chair and sat, head
down, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. He couldn't think
of a single thing to say.
The waiting room had nearly filled. Most people brought books to
read. Many came in groups; families staying together through a
crisis. Richie wondered if Duncan even knew he was here, if he
even cared. They sat across from each other, in a section away
from the distraction of the television.
Finally, Dr. Lindsey returned and approached the men. Both were
on their feet as soon as she passed Grace's desk.
"Let's sit down," she said.
Duncan's faced paled. "What is it?"
"Miss Noel suffered some unforeseen complications. Some of the
repair sites are leaking, and we have to go back in and fix them. It
will be several hours yet. Why don't you go down to the cafeteria
and have some breakfast? We'll notify Grace here as soon as you
can see your wife."
"But-but she's going to be all right. Isn't she going to be all
right?" Richie blurted out.
The doctor looked at Richie. "We're doing everything we can. I
have to be honest. Right now, we're guardedly optimistic."
Richie watched Duncan fight for control. "Thank you, doctor," he
heard him say. Richie felt his own control slipping as well.
Guardedly optimistic. What kind of doctor crap talk is that? He
reached to put a hand on Duncan's shoulder; Duncan recoiled from
his touch.
Richie stepped back as though he had been slapped. He fought
against the tightening in his throat, willed away the tears that
threatened to spill down his face. Was he crying for Tessa or for
himself? He didn't know or care. He fled to the bathroom and
looked into the mirror. He looked almost as bad as Duncan. He
called on the years of hiding his emotions as he was moved from
one foster home to another. Richie washed his face with cold
water. He set his expression to what he hoped was a look of
optimism and went back to Duncan.
"She's a fighter, Mac. She'll get through this. Let's get out of here
for a little while. How about something from the cafeteria?"
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten anything but half a candy bar. Come on. You
don't want to pass out before you can see Tessa, do you?" Richie
tried his hardest to coerce and cajole Duncan out of his state of
withdrawal. "Or just keep me company. I could use a change of
scenery if nothing else." He tugged on Duncan's arm and half
dragged him out of the room.
"Wait," Duncan said. "Grace..."
"I've got you in the cafeteria. We'll find you."
Richie returned her smile. "Thanks."
The aroma of food from the cafeteria hit Richie while they were
still half a corridor away. Aside from the candy bar, he hadn't
eaten anything since lunch the day before. He grabbed a tray from
the stack and filled it with fruit, oatmeal, eggs and muffins. He
poured a glass of orange juice from the dispenser and sent Duncan
to get the silverware. He paid for the food and found a quiet table
by a window overlooking a landscaped garden.
"Here, Mac. I got some oatmeal for you. Good Scottish breakfast
food. Probably not as good as your mother made, but it'll keep you
going."
Richie looked at Duncan, willing him to speak. Mac, I'm here.
Can't you just look at me? Say my name just once. Anything. I'd
trade places with Tessa in a heartbeat if I could.
Duncan sat down in front of the bowl of oatmeal. He sprinkled
some brown sugar over it, stirred in some raisins and topped it with
cream. Then he stared at it.
"Eat it, Mac. And drink your orange juice. We're not going to
leave here until you finish your breakfast." Richie didn't think a
threat would work, but he didn't know what else to try. He was
surprised to see the Scot pick up the glass and drink his juice, then
start to eat the oatmeal. Richie turned his attention to his own
breakfast.
Grace smiled and made a note on her chart when they returned to
the waiting room. The slight shake of her head told Richie that
there was no more news of Tessa. Richie tried once again to doze;
Duncan resumed his pacing, magazine non-reading and coffee
pouring ritual. An occasional trip to the bathroom was the only
variation.
Doctors came and went, calling people into the hall, giving them
news. Most of them looked relieved. Other times, Grace would
answer the phone, check her chart, and call a name and a room
number. Someone would rise and leave the room. After one such
call, the knitter jumped up and repeated the number. "Room four
twenty-eight?"
"Yes," Grace replied. "Take the elevator to your left up to the
fourth floor. The nurses will direct you from there."
The knitter gathered up her belongings and stopped in front of
Duncan before she left. "My prayers are with you, son."
Duncan raised his eyes. "Thank you."
At one o'clock, Dr. Lindsey returned. "Don't sit down," Richie
muttered under his breath. "Please, don't sit down."
She motioned them to the hall. Richie breathed a sigh of relief.
That had to be a good sign. "How is she?"
"When can we see her?" asked Duncan.
"Very soon. She's going to be in Intensive Care for quite a while.
She's heavily sedated, but you can see her for a few minutes. She
gestured toward another doctor who had joined them. This is Dr.
Weinberg. He's the attending physician in the ICU; he'll be taking
over Tessa's case while she's there. I'll leave you with him now.
She's in excellent hands."
"Thanks, Dr. Lindsey," Richie said. He nodded to Dr. Weinberg, a
somber middle-aged man dressed in the standard white hospital
coat, stethoscope draped into the breast pocket.
"Yes, thanks," echoed Duncan as Dr. Lindsey walked away.
Dr. Weinberg pressed the elevator call button. In the elevator, he
explained Tessa's condition. She would have to remain in the ICU
until they were sure she was stable and able to breathe on her own.
Then she could be moved to a regular room until she was strong
enough to go home.
"I just want you to understand what you're going to see. We have
to keep her very heavily sedated and on a ventilator. We're giving
her antibiotics to ward off infection and we're supporting her blood
pressure with medication to help her heart work better. We've
given her twelve units of blood." He walked with them past the
central station where nurses could monitor all the patients, down
the aisle of curtained glass-walled cubicles until he came to the
third one. He pulled the curtain back. "Just a few minutes," he
said. "I'll be in the hall."
End of Part 2