Darkness Into Light 4/6
Terry L Odell (tlco777@JUNO.COM)
Fri, 31 Aug 2001 13:22:20 -0400
Darkness Into Light
T. L. Odell
Part 4/6
See Part 0 for Disclaimers
***
Richie found some unidentified leftover casserole in the freezer for
dinner. Duncan toyed with his portion; the food was spread over
the plate when he took it to the kitchen, but there was almost as
much on it as when he started.
"Mac, you need to eat. How about some soup? Toast?
Anything?"
"Sorry. I'm not very hungry." Duncan got up and poured himself
a Scotch. He swallowed it and poured a second.
Richie opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Let him
get drunk. Maybe it would help him open up. Yell at him, call
him names, tell him he didn't deserve to be alive. Anything.
Duncan merely took his drink to the couch.
"I've been thinking," Richie said. "About the shop and all. You've
got the ads in the paper for the re-opening next week. Maybe I
should drop you off at the hospital in the mornings and then make
sure everything's ready to open the shop. Maybe half days? What
do you think?"
"If you want."
Richie drove Duncan to the hospital the next morning. He thought
the Highlander would do all right once he was with Tessa.
Duncan stepped out of the car. Richie looked at the blank
expression on his friend's face, at the way he walked, head down,
shoulders slumped. "Wait a minute, Mac!" I'll walk up with you."
Duncan seemed to be on automatic pilot as he navigated the
hospital corridors. Tessa was still asleep as he took his usual
position by her side. Richie repeated what he had told Duncan the
night before. "Remember, Mac. When you're not allowed to be
with her, go to the chapel. Okay? I'll be back at lunchtime."
Duncan nodded. He stroked Tessa's hair. "I'm here, Tessa. I'm
back. Did you miss me?"
Richie went back and opened the shop. He spent the morning
trying not to be afraid. He found Duncan's gun and kept it in the
drawer by the register. If an Immortal came in, he'd shoot first and
ask questions later. He'd tie him up until Duncan got back to tell
him what to do. It wasn't like he was really going to kill anyone.
A little after noon, he closed the shop and went back to the
hospital. He wasn't sure who he was more worried about, Duncan
or Tessa. Tessa might be in critical condition, but she had a team
of doctors and nurses monitoring her. Duncan was alone.
No, not completely alone. He's got me. I may not be much, but
until he snaps out of this and sends me away, I'm going to be here.
He found Duncan sitting just where he had left him. Tessa stirred
restlessly. Her hair looked damp and matted; a sheen of sweat
glistened on her face. "Mac? I'm back. Any change?"
"Not really. She seems a little agitated. The nurses are keeping an
eye on her."
"Are you ready for some lunch? Morning hours are just about
over."
"A few more minutes."
Tessa's arms began a rhythmic jerking and releasing, jerking and
releasing. Duncan leapt to his feet, his eyes open wide, and
reached for the call button.
The resident on duty and a nurse arrived at Tessa's side before
Duncan's finger touched the button. Richie heard the doctor order
the nurse to do something "I.V. push." She busied herself with the
tubes and needles; another nurse paged Dr. Weinberg, stat. Richie
didn't understand much about the hospital, but he knew "stat" was
not a good thing.
The nurses motioned the men toward the door. "I'm sorry, but
you'll have to wait outside. The doctor needs room to work."
"Why? What's happening?" Duncan almost shouted, his
expression frantic.
"Sir, she's having a seizure and her blood pressure is dropping.
Please, wait outside. We'll call you as soon as she's stabilized."
"So much for the power of prayer," mumbled Richie. He pulled
Duncan out of the way and down the hall to the ICU waiting room.
Richie started timing how long Duncan could remain sitting down.
In twenty minutes, his record was forty-five seconds. Five trips to
the reception desk had provided no more information than, "we'll
let you know as soon as we know something ourselves." Give
them credit, they were patient and sympathetic.
After a sixth unproductive trip, Duncan sat down, crossed his arms
on his knees and lowered his head. Richie tentatively put his
hands on Duncan's shoulders. This time his touch was accepted.
He didn't speak, just slowly massaged the Highlander's taut
muscles. He could feel some of the tension leaving the Scot's
shoulders.
Duncan was mumbling something Richie couldn't understand;
from the cadence, he knew it wasn't English. Probably Gaelic.
Maybe remembering things from when he was a kid. Or maybe he
was praying and he knew the right words.
Neither man was aware of Dr. Weinberg's approach. "Mr.
MacLeod?"
Duncan raised his head. Richie saw the despair on the
Highlander's face; he felt his own stomach clench. Duncan just sat
there, staring up at the doctor.
"We're pretty sure that Miss Noel had a pulmonary embolism,
probably from a blood clot that broke off from the repair site. We
gave her ativan to break the seizure. She's on anticoagulants to
stabilize the clot and help the blood flow. She's heavily sedated."
Richie listened to the doctor but kept his eyes on Duncan. The
Scot was blinking, nodding mechanically. His mouth moved, but
he didn't seem able to respond to the doctor.
"You can sit with her for a while. Would you like me to prescribe
something for you, Mr. MacLeod?" Dr. Weinberg asked. "You
look like you need to sleep."
Duncan shook his head, but Richie spoke up. "I think that might
be a good idea, doctor. At least he'll have them if he changes his
mind."
The doctor pulled a tablet from his coat pocket and scribbled
something on it. "You can take this downstairs to the hospital
pharmacy."
"Thanks." Richie put the prescription in his pocket. "I'll do that."
Duncan resumed his place at Tessa's beside. "I'll just go down and
get this prescription filled," said Richie. "I'll be back in a bit."
Visiting hours over, the men returned to the apartment. Duncan
got out of the car and went straight to the liquor cabinet. Richie
watched him down three glasses of Scotch. Richie set the bottle of
pills on the kitchen counter. "Guess these won't be too smart right
about now. Maybe later. You're probably not hungry, either."
Richie went to his room and showered. When he returned, Duncan
was sitting on the couch, holding the bottle of pills. "Oh God.
What did you do?" Richie pried the bottle from Duncan's hand. It
was empty. So was the bottle of Scotch. "Geez. No food, Scotch
and sleeping pills. Damn! Shit! Okay, let's get you to bed."
Richie worked his way under Duncan's shoulders and walked him
to the bedroom. He managed to maneuver him onto the bed before
Duncan passed out. Richie pulled off the older man's shoes and
covered him with a blanket. He wondered if the Scot had taken
enough pills and whisky to kill him. Or would he just wake up
with a horrendous hangover? Did Immortals get hangovers? Or if
he died in his sleep, would he wake up feeling fine?
"Damn it, Mac!" he shouted. "I don't know anything about this
Immortality. Help me!" Duncan's snoring was the only response.
The tears started streaming down Richie's face. He didn't care; he
went to his room and flung himself down on his pillow. Soon he
was sobbing uncontrollably. He cried until he, too, fell asleep.
The ringing of the telephone brought Richie to consciousness the
next morning. He fumbled for the handset by his bed. "Hello," he
said, his voice thick with sleep. He stumbled out of bed looking
for Duncan. The Highlander was still asleep, his breathing slow
and rhythmic. "I'm sorry, Mr. MacLeod is still asleep. You can
give me the information," he said to the nurse on the phone. "She
did? She is? That's great! Thank you."
He hung up the phone and gently shook Duncan's shoulder. "Mac?
Are you awake? The hospital called." Duncan groaned and turned
over, but didn't open his eyes. "I guess you need to sleep it off a
little longer. That's fine; we can't see Tessa until afternoon hours
anyway. But she had a good night; they didn't have to put her back
on that breathing tube thing. You just sleep. I'll wake you when
it's time to go." He jotted a note giving Duncan the news and
propped it in front of the clock on Duncan's nightstand.
Richie worked in the shop until eleven. The buzzing in his head
grew stronger and he stepped closer to the gun in the drawer. He
looked up; Duncan stood at the rear entrance, freshly shaven and
dressed in slacks and a turtleneck. "Hi, Mac. You got my note?"
"Yes, thanks."
"Do you want me to fix you breakfast? We don't need to leave
until twelve-thirty."
"Thanks, Richie. I've already eaten. Looks like you're doing a fine
job here."
"Thanks." His spirits lifted when he heard Duncan speak his
name.
"I called the hospital," Duncan said. "Dr. Weinberg thinks Tessa
should be out of the ICU in a couple of days. She'll need lots of
rest, and will probably be in the hospital at least another three
weeks, but he thinks she'll be all right."
"That's great." Richie waited for Duncan to say something about
the shooting, how it wouldn't have happened if he'd listened and
not gone to the house after Duncan. Or something about his being
Immortal now. But Duncan turned and went back into the
apartment.
Richie stared after the Scot. Well, 'Richie' is a start. For now, he
can only talk if it's about Tessa. Eventually he'll remember me.
At the hospital that afternoon, Tessa acknowledged the presence of
both her visitors, but was still asleep most of the time. Richie tried
to read the expression in her face when she looked at him. Did she
hate him, resent him, just wish he was out of sight? He didn't
know what was worse, the unmitigated terror he felt when he was
alone, or the fear of being rejected by Tessa and Duncan.
Three days later, Tessa was moved to her own room. Duncan's
attitude improved markedly. He read aloud to Tessa. Richie sat
and enjoyed listening to the Scot reciting passages from "The
Taming of the Shrew." Richie had never liked being forced to read
Shakespeare, but somehow, listening to the words instead of
reading them made all the difference in the world. He could
almost see the action unfolding in front of him. He was amazed at
how well Duncan could do the female parts. He pictured Duncan
as the shrewish Kate and had to stifle a laugh.
The next day, Richie again suggested that he work in the shop
while Duncan stayed with Tessa. "She's barely awake enough to
know I'm there, Mac. I know you like to be alone with her; I'm
spending more time in the chapel than with her. I can do more
good here. I can drive you to the hospital and pick you up if you
want."
"I think I'm capable of driving myself. If you think that's a good
idea, then it's fine with me."
For the next week, Richie busied himself in the shop during the
day. He fielded telephone calls from Tessa's friends, and did his
best to deal with the follow up calls from reporters and the police,
who had no leads on the shooter. Richie didn't have the strength to
answer any more of their questions. They had found Pallin Wolf's
body, but apparently Duncan was no longer a suspect. They
seemed to believe that whoever shot Tessa was trying to rob Wolf
and killed him. Richie was happy to let them think so.
Duncan came home emotionally drained. He'd shower and eat
whatever Richie had had delivered, which was either spaghetti,
pizza, or Chinese. He never said a word about the night of the
shooting. Richie couldn't figure out a way to bring it up. All
Duncan would talk about was how Tessa was doing. He brought
books to read to her, he stopped at the florist on the way to the
hospital every morning, he borrowed Richie's portable CD player
so she could listen to music. He delivered the cards that well-
wishers had sent. One night he brought home a guest.
End of Part 4