Faith and Fidelity (16 page)

Wolkowski nodded, checked his watch. Evan had now been in surgery for almost two hours and he had yet to reach the MacGregors. He knew Evan had no other family aside from his in-laws and he didn't know what to do next.

“Still no word on the in-laws?”

“Nah. Got a uniform on the house, one on the sister-in-law's apartment. But nothing yet.”

“The kids?”

“Jensen is standing by— you want her at the house when they get home, right?”

Vic felt his temples begin to pound. Jesus Christ, how much more did these kids have to go through? “Shit, Moses. I don't know what to do about that. Jensen should grab a social worker or someone from family services to go with her. I wish I knew someone else... ” Matt Haight's face suddenly flashed in his mind. He'd seemed pretty comfortable with the kids on Thanksgiving...

“You going back to the station?”

“Yeah— Roarke's waiting for me. I have testimony tomorrow... ”

“Fine. Listen, Moses, do me a favor. I need a number from my Rolodex— Matt Haight.”

“Matthew Haight.”

“Matty? Vic Wolkowski.”

“Hey, Vic. What's going on?”

“Uh, listen... I'm down at St. Vincent's Hospital. Evan and Helena uh... here... both of ‘em... Evan got— ”

Vic heard Matt's breathing change on the other end.

“Shot?” He asked in a chilled tone, and suddenly Vic was remembering the sound of Matt's voice after Tony was murdered. “How is he?”

“Matty... listen... Evan's okay. Well I mean, he's in surgery but he's alive.”

“Shot?” Matt said again, his voice was shaking.

“Yeah... but the damage is from fragments— lousy shot with a poorly loaded shotgun through a door... ”

“The kids... ”

“That's the main reason I'm calling. I can't find the grandparents anywhere— any of them— and those kids are going to need someone they know.”

“I'm going to the house, to be there when they get home from school... I'll get to the hospital as soon as I can.”

And the phone went dead.

Vic's phone call propelled Matt into a frantic state. He listened to the words as calmly as he could—
Evan... shot... surgery
— then hung up the phone and darted into his boss's office. He kept his cool, his voice neutral. Spilled out a perfectly reasonable story about a close friend— a widower with four small children and no immediate family— in the hospital, with no one to look after the children. He needed to go, had no idea when he would be back in and could he just take the time as vacation (seeing as he had almost two full years worth sitting idly on the books)?

Once he had a yes, Matt flew out the door. He ran back to his apartment, changed, put some clothes in a bag, and grabbed his car keys. The drive to Queens took him a painfully long amount of time— lunch hour traffic on the bridge— and it was then, in his car, in the middle of a parking lot's worth of cars, listening to a news station prattle about the unseasonably warm weather, that Matt started to shake. Started to shiver and feel his throat closing up.

Evan... shot... surgery... Evan... shot... surgery.

Shot like Tony.

He pounded his hand on the steering wheel until he felt the pain all the way up his arm.

The traffic crawled and Matt grieved, and raged, and was kept company by his fear. He wanted to skip right past the responsible adult shit and go to St. Vincent's, yell at every goddamn doctor he could find until he was sure Evan would be all right. And then he'd go sit in his room and wait until he opened his eyes.

Vic was alone. He sat in a hard plastic chair, one of the many lining the hallway, staring at his shoes. Serena Abbot, red-eyed and frantic, had been here for a short time. Vic did his best to calm her down, then walked her to the wing where Helena was sleeping peacefully in her private room. He regretted having to see her under these circumstances.

It had been almost six hours since he'd arrived.

There had been a dozen or so people in and out of this hallway to talk to him— the officers investigating the shooting, his own officers coming to check on their wounded comrades. Someone from the mayor's office had phoned about handling the press. Vic handled them all efficiently, calmly. He held his tongue when necessary and patted quite a few shoulders as cops wandered in and out with that slightly terrified look that said thank God it wasn't me.

His head hurt, pounded from the pressure of the day. Both his officers were alive and doing well— Evan had finally been wheeled out of the surgical recovery room two hours ago, taken up to ICU for the night. Dr. Waresa assured Vic that he'd be fine, no permanent damage, nothing wrong with his heart or lungs— but he had a substantial recovery period ahead.

Vic had nodded, said his thanks, followed a nurses’ directions to the ICU floor, and went to wait on yet another hard, cold plastic chair. He didn't think it was right to leave Evan alone.

So he waited.

At four o'clock, he was dozing when he felt a squeeze on his forearm and jumped awake.

“Captain Wolkowski? There's a Mr. Haight downstairs.”

Vic nodded, tried to shake the fuzziness out of his brain. He needed to go downstairs, see how the kids were doing... and thought maybe he should see how Matty was doing ‘cause he'd sounded like shit when they talked this morning.

Matt Haight stood in the lobby of St. Vincent's hospital, holding Danny and Elizabeth's small sweaty hands tightly, feeling the throb of their fear keeping time with his own. Watched Miranda as she paced restlessly around the chairs and carts; watched Kathleen as she fidgeted with her jacket zipper, her eyes darting back and forth.

He wanted to throw up, he wanted to be drunk, he wanted to be anywhere in the world but in yet another hospital, waiting for yet another doctor to tell him that someone he loved was dead. Or just not coming back.

And he wanted to see Evan so badly it literally hurt.

Vic Wolkowski took one look at Matt Haight's face and felt something tighten in his chest. For a second he couldn't remember which time this was... morgue or ICU? And then he saw the white panicked faces of Evan Cerelli's kids and sighed.

“Hey, Matty,” he said, moving toward the small group in the lobby. “Hi, kids.”

He watched Matt pull himself together. “Vic. How... uh... how is he?”

Vic put the brightest smile he could on his face. “Your dad is doing just fine. He's out of surgery, and now he's in ICU. After we get the okay from the doctor, you can go see him.” He'd done his homework pretty well— talked to everyone he could find until he had the answers he wanted.

None of the panic on the children's face receded— he assumed that after what they had been through with their mother, they weren't going to believe anything or anyone until they saw their dad with their own eyes.

Vic understood. “I'm going to go check with the doctor again— find out exactly when you can see your dad.”

The oldest girl, Miranda (the names were slowly coming to him), nodded and stepped forward. “Can the twins go up? They're only eight. Usually they don't let little kids in.”

“I... ah... worked it out. They can go up.” Vic didn't mention that he'd launched into a heavy-handed speech about the kids nearly being orphans, keeping Dr. Waresa verbally pinned to a wall until the young doctor swore he'd arrange it so that all four of the kids would be let into ICU. He wasn't going to look into the faces of those little kids and tell them,
Gee— could you wait awhile before you saw your dad? Just a few days...

They all relaxed a little bit after Vic's assurance. The little ones weren't releasing their grips on Matt's hands and Vic didn't think he wanted them to. Matt looked terrible— maybe a few steps past terrible. Vic kept seeing little flashes of Matt— Tony's funeral, the trial... those had been bad. This seemed somehow... worse.

“Hey, Matty. Let's bring the kids upstairs— there's a waiting room on the second floor. I'll go check with the doctors, find out when their dad's ready for a visit.”

Matt nodded woodenly and guided the small children along to follow Vic, giving a nod to both the older girls, who fell in behind him. Vic kept sparing little glances over his shoulder, watching the subdued little family behind him.

Well. Family and Matt.

“Vic— I didn't even ask. How's Helena?” Matt asked in a somber tone.

“She's fine. Dislocated shoulder. She's resting— her mom's with her.”

Matt nodded. They stepped into an empty elevator and Vic pushed the button for the second level.

“Good— I'm glad she's all right.”

Vic knew he wanted to ask more, wanted the details of the shooting, wanted to know if the son of a bitch was in custody. But he also knew that Matt wouldn't bring it up in front of the kids.

The elevator crawled and Vic did a quick visual check on the other passengers. The kids were still radiating fear and misery; the littlest girl had wound herself around Matt's leg, and it didn't look like she was letting go anytime soon.

“Hey, hey, Elizabeth. It's okay, honey. Really. Daddy's okay.” Matt, still holding the little boy's hand, leaned down and spoke softly to the child. “You heard Captain Wolkowski right? He's resting and we're going to go see him now.”

Elizabeth said nothing, just buried her face in the seam of Matt's jeans and shook her head.

Vic watched Matt stroke the girl's hair, coaxing her face up to meet his— and never letting go of the boy.

“Elizabeth. I promise. Daddy's okay and you're going to see him.”

She sniffled wetly and gave him a tiny nod.

The elevator lurched to a stop on the second level and the whole group shuffled out. Vic led them to the little waiting room at the end of the quiet floor— giving a wave to the desk nurse, Pam. She had been very kind to him, and she knew to expect the kids.

Pam followed them to the waiting room, waited quietly at the door next to Vic as Matt helped the twins out of their coats, settled them down into chairs. Kathleen and Miranda took care of themselves, but both chose chairs closest to where Matt stood.

Matt turned to Vic, his mouth set in a grim line. “So Vic, where's this doctor? Maybe I can talk to him for a few minutes?”

Vic couldn't do anything but nod because the look on Matt's face, the utter weariness of his voice, was making him nervous. This was Tony's funeral all over again and there was very little— aside from a cop being shot— that connected the two.

“Yeah. Sure. Pam, do you know where Dr. Waresa is?”

“I'll go page him,” she said soothingly. “Would you kids like something to drink? Some soda or juice?”

None of them moved. Matt answered for them. “Thanks a lot. Maybe some juice and a few bottles of water— that would be nice.”

Pam nodded and walked out of the room. Vic leaned against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving Matt's face.

Matt wouldn't meet his eyes.

Oh shit. That was bad. What was he missing in this picture?

A few minutes of silence passed. The kids fidgeted, Matt paced a little, and Vic just... leaned.

Pam came back to the door, bottles of juice and water balanced in her arms.

Vic turned and saw her precarious hold, took some of the drinks to ease her load.

“Dr. Waresa is waiting for you gentlemen in the hall. I got someone to cover the desk, so I can sit here with the youngsters while you're gone.”

Vic put the drinks on the small side table closest to the kids. Matt gave Pam a small smile.

“Thanks.” He turned to face the children. “You guys wait here. I'm just going to go check on things, then I'll come back and hopefully you can go right in and see your dad.”

Miranda nodded. “Okay. If you get to see him first, tell him we're here, okay? ‘Cause he's going to start worrying about us.”

“I'll do that. I promise. But don't worry about it, you can tell him for yourself.”

Matt walked out the door, barely sparing Pam or Vic a glance— Vic could see he was in a hurry to talk to the doctor. Vic patted Pam's arm, then followed his friend into the hallway.

“Hey, Matty— wait up.”

Matt stopped his long anxious strides and impatiently waited for Vic to catch up. Fuck, he knew he was blowing this, totally losing it in front of Vic— Vic who knew him so well, who knew the very distinct look of Matthew Haight melting down.

Vic reached his side and Matt took off again, not wanting to risk a moment alone with his friend. Because if he asked... well, Matt was about six seconds away from spilling his guts, and he wasn't quite ready to do that.

“That's Dr. Waresa,” Vic huffed, trying to keep up. The young doctor was standing at the end of the hall at the nurses’ station, reading a chart. He looked up and nodded in Vic's general direction.

Evan Cerelli figured there was a safe— one of those big steel ones that fell on people's heads in old movies— sitting on his chest. He could barely take a breath in...
whoa that hurt way too much
. Actually every part of his body hurt way too much.

His eyes fluttered open and he saw ceiling, white acoustical tiles. He wasn't home, in his bed. This was a strange ceiling...

He tried to remember what had happened last... Had he been at work? Home? He struggled to connect to something, anything...

He had flashes of his kids... of Matt... Helena talking... walking up the stairs...

Helena. Something had happened to her. He didn't know where she was...

He didn't realize he was struggling until a firm hand held him down against the bed.

“Mr. Cerelli? Sir, just relax. You're fine, but you have sutures in your chest and we don't want you to pull them out.”

What
? He wanted to ask questions but his mouth wasn't working at all. He couldn't even move his lips.

“You're in St. Vincent's Hospital. I'm Dr. Waresa. You were shot— do you remember that?”

Shot? Oh Jesus— Helena.

“Mr. Cerelli, you're going to be fine. We performed surgery to remove fragments from your chest. The slight paralysis you feel is a normal aftereffect of the anesthesia.”