Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
Leaning
his head against the back of the couch, unable to peel his eyes from her, Brad
slouched down and watched her sleep.
For
weeks, he managed to keep his distance, to propel thoughts of Ted making love
to her to the back of his mind.
He tried
to distance himself, to avoid touching her, holding her, now tonight as he held
her the world he once knew was over.
Cloaked in sleep, squirming against him, face turned toward
his, she sighed, almost contentedly, before nestling her head into his
neck.
A time when delight danced across
his skin making his breath come more quickly, his guts wrench as thoughts
scrambled.
“Jesus, Sam, I don't want to
fall in love with you, I can't.
You're
not mine.
Why did you come?
You have no idea of the hornet's nest you
have walked into.
Things were not good
before you came and now they have gone to hell. Christ, what will I do?
I've touched you, held you.
Your smell intoxicates me.
Dear God, help me.”
CHAPTER 15
”JUNE 2011”
Cracked
eye lids slowly unveiled narrow slats of light on a drab wall.
His head felt like a lump of lead shot out
of, a cannon.
Confusion swirled like
smoke.
Fingers began to massage his
skull as he wondered what had hit him. Searching his surroundings, eyes barely
focusing brought into view a shadow of a figure sitting beside him.
The face stirring a fleeting memory made
everything come thundering back. Wrenching himself up, he yelled, “Sam’s dead
isn’t she.”
A hand firmly grabbed his arm, “Easy,
son,” a familiar voice soothed.
“Ralph!
Sam is she . . . is she . . .”
“Son, pay close attention to what I
have to say.”
Coming
suddenly to a sitting position increased the thumping inside Brad's head.
His senses reeled.
Conquered by it, he plopped back down. “Sam's
in I.C.U., she's alive, but the prognosis is not hopeful.”
Ralph’s throat tightened.
Instantly two stocking feet met the floor
launching Brad toward the door, “I've got to see her, tell her I'm sorry, tell
her I lo . . . “
Knowing
it would not be advisable for Brad to see Sam unless fully prepared for what to
expect, Ralph thwarted him.
“Stop, stop
right now, you are too God damn hot headed for your own good.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….…………………............................................................
Dr.
Swartz reassured Ralph Brad's collapse was due to stress, lack of nourishment
and exhaustion.
Watching Brad sleep
fitfully, Ralph stationed himself alongside trying to come up with the words to
explain Sam's condition.
In conclusion,
no matter how he broke the news, Brad would go ballistic.
He would search until he found and killed the
guilty party.
Shaking his weary head,
Ralph mumbled quietly to himself, “No . . . no, I couldn't bear losing both of
them.
I can't tell the kid everything,
not all at once.
If I feed him a little
information at a time, maybe the two of us can fit the pieces together.” After
hours of scheming knowing his mission was beyond human control Ralph decided to
pray for divine intervention.
........………………………………………………………............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
“You
can't see Sam, not just yet.
I . . . I
. . . have to talk to you.
Now dammit,
listen to me.
I don't want to lose
either of you.
For once just sit and
shut up.”
Something
awful happened since he had left for Wyoming, Brad was certain.
It was grave or Ralph would not be trembling,
pacing, his face grizzled, jowls sagging.
His appearance was more than age, more like distress taking its
toll.
Gazing at his dear friend's
haggard features tugged at Brad's heart and filled it with remorse for being
gone so long.
Anxious to hear what Ralph
knew, he sank into a chair, his body, limp from the emotional merry-go-round
and reining apprehension.
“Come here, old man, sit,” Brad ordered.
Ralph
whirled.
“Who are you calling an old
man?
One of these day’s I am going to
thrash the hell out of you.
Your dad
should have done it more, you know, taught you some respect.
If you were my son . . .” Dammit, he cursed
under his breath for giving his personal feelings a voice.
A
slight mischievous smirk kissed the corner of Brad's mouth. “Got your
attention, didn't I, Pops?”
Tapping the
seat next to him, he reached deep within for a trace of long forgotten
humor.
“Come on, sit before you have a
heart attack and I have to perform C.P.R.”
The
barest of smiles eased across both faces as the older man conceded grumbling,
“No way, in hell, will your lips ever touch mine.”
A chuckle threatening to escape died in their
throats instead.
Leaning
over, positioning his elbows on his knees, and lacing the fingers of his hands
together Brad pretended to examine the worn tile floor as he spoke
quietly.
“What you have to tell me isn't
good, is it?”
Ralph shook his head.
“No, son, it isn't.
I've never asked you for anything, have I?”
“No.”
“Well,
I am now.
Promise me, you have to
promise me you'll listen, think clearly, objectively, and try not to fly off
the handle.”
Seconds ticked, neither man
relenting until Ralph pleaded again. “Promise me, son.”
Adversely, Brad gave in.
“If I'm going to get anything out of you, I
guess I'll have to.”
Calling up a soothing
tone, Ralph proceeded.
“I spoke with the
doctor after you collapsed.
He allowed
me to see Sam for a few seconds.”
Voice
cracking he continued, “She's in a comma.
Her parents are on their way.”
Without lifting his eyes from the one
foot square beneath his feet, “Quit beating around the bush.
Tell me what's wrong with her.”
Placing his hand on Brad's shoulder,
“Sam was severely beaten, son.”
Anguish,
hot and painful, penetrated Brad's heart like a bullet, jerking his head in
Ralph's direction words gushing up ended on his lips as he remembered his
promise.
Lowering his eyes, shaking his
head he reluctantly resumed his position.
“Guards
are stationed at her door, family will have the only access, even they will be
searched.
Whoever did this, son, didn't
want to just hurt Sam.”
Trying to swallow
the bitterness of his anger, Ralph hesitated, “He . . . he . . . intended to
kill her.”
There was a need to pause
again to regain some strength.
Realizing Ralph was in as much pain
as he, Brad nudged the elder's side with his elbow. “It’s O.K. Pop’s, go on.”
“Sam has a fractured skull,
lacerations of the face, her right eye is damaged.
They won't know until she, regains
consciousness how much vision has been lost.”
With
each word spoken beneath his hand Ralph felt Brad's shoulder muscles flexing.
When Brad’s head fell into the cup of his
hands to muffle an escaping groan, he flinched.
Though he wanted desperately to stop, he
knew he couldn't.
While he still had
control of his voice, he needed to finish.
“She has four fractured ribs, a broken arm, ruptured spleen, and bruised
kidneys.”
As
his head rocked from side to side, Brad's hands muffled his ears to shut out
the verbal horror, gasping for air, he moaned, “No, no, no, more.
Why would Ted do such a heinous act, God in
heaven why?
She's just a kid.”
Turning his face into Ralph's well-padded
shoulder, he sobbed like no other man Ralph had ever heard.
There was more to tell, but Ralph could not
find the grit to persevere.
The
door squeaking open revealed a large figure looming in the doorway.
Nodding a greeting to Ralph, the man spoke,
“Mr. Johnson, I'm Dr. Swartz.
May I come
in?”
Recognizing the uniform
and face, Brad temporarily pushed aside his emotions and agreed with a painful
shake of his head.
Motioning to a chair, “May I?"
Not waiting for a
reply, he sat.
One of his hands rubbing
his chin for a few moments offered Brad time to collect himself.
“That young lady in there must love you very
much.
Your name is the only word I heard
her mutter.
It would not take a wizard
to get the impression the feeling is mutual.
Your friend informed me you are not her husband, so I'm fully aware of
the seriousness of this situation.”
Even if Brad did not utter a word,
his eyes did it for him.
“That's right,
doc, but, I'll do anything, anything at all.”
“I'm
counting on that.
You see, I think
Samantha has given up.
Her fracture does
not appear severe enough to induce a coma.
My feelings are she simply does not have any fight left.
No will to live.”
Leaping
to his feet, Brad barked, “She can't give up.
I won't let her.”
Spinning around
he charged the window.
June, with all
its glory, had arrived presenting a bright sunny day with fluffy, cottony
clouds bobbing in the sky.
Tree limbs
were dancing to a warm breeze. Flowers were smiling a welcome in the circle
below.
Regardless, Brad shivered.
Why did he feel so cold?
Was it death's pick chipping at his frozen
soul?
Sam could not die he would not
let her.
She had a whole life ahead of
her.
She did not deserve the hand she was
dealt.
As if talking to the window, he
asked, “Tell me what I can do.”
“Sam
needs your support.
Talk to her about
anything, everything, hopefully your voice will get through.
Reassure her she is going to make it.
That everything will be all right, that there
is nothing to fear, there is a future.”
Wrath
grabbing Brad's shoulders spinning him around aimed his explosive voice toward
the doctor.
“Do you want me to lie to
her?
How can I promise her something I
no one knows for sure?
She is married to
my best friend, for God's sake.
I don't
even know if he did this to her.”
Shooting
to his feet, his anger an equal opponent, the doctor met the challenge.
“I guess I was wrong about you, you are not a
fighter after all.
Your exterior appears
tough, full of guts, but inside, you are full of self-pity.
Sam does not need someone like you.
There is no time for a defeatist attitude,
young man you had damn well better convince yourself and her.
If not she will die and then the lunatic who
did this will have won.
Is that what you
want?”