was I trying to prove that night? Was I trying to get even with my
mother? Was I trying to break her record of screwing everyone in town, like
I’ve been doing ever since? Where are all these crazy questions coming from?
Not a good idea thinking about this crap. I need a drink…I need a party…I need…
The intercom warbled with unintelligible squawks and static,
and then went silent. D.R. blinked his eyes, looking around the stark hospital
room, focusing on the digital readout of his vitals, from the bedside medical
monitor that stared back at him like some science fiction monster.
He sighed heavily, thinking, I’ve got to get out of here. He
shifted in bed, felt around for the remote dangling from the bed rail. He
pushed a button and the foot of the bed jerked, sending a shot of pain through
his right ankle, but nothing like the agony he felt two weeks ago. Maybe he was
mending.
He poked another button and the head of the bed started to
grind upward. The world looks different sitting up, he thought, and it’ll look
a whole lot different when I get out of this lousy hospital. He braced himself
as he dragged both legs to his left, letting them drift off the side of the
bed. The injured right foot suddenly felt heavy and thick. Damn circulation, he
thought, perspiration breaking out on his forehead.
He reached around trying to untangle a mesh of wiring and
sheets, jerking them frantically. The medical monitor protested with flashing
lights and coded beeps and chirps, setting off a distorted intercom voice from
the nurses’ desk. How can I answer questions I don’t understand, he thought, so
he said nothing.
In a flash Rachel Johnson breezed into the room, eyeing him
sitting on the bedside. “What now, Fallington, trying to make a run for it?”
She chuckled.
He slumped in silence, thinking, his biggest nightmare has
arrived again. More humiliation.
Rachel, with a few adjustments, made the medical monitor
happy again. She checked his vitals again, pulled up a small chair and sat,
like she was going to visit with an old friend for a spell. Her wide face
smiled. A few crow’s feet appeared. “If you’ll cooperate with me, I’ll help you
get out of the hospital, Fallington. You interested?”
He couldn’t figure her out, but he said, “What’s the catch?”
“Well, let’s see. Your vitals are as normal as can be.
You’re a very healthy male with the exception of that ankle, but it seems to be
coming along nicely, according to your doctors. Your appetite is a little weak,
and of course your attitude has just about flatlined, but you already know
that. You haven’t been out of your room since you’ve been here.” She paused a
moment, looking at his eyes. “What do you want to work on first?”
He glanced at the clock, nearing noon. “Is it too late to
order lunch?”
The patient outside D.R.’s door quickly navigated her
wheelchair over to the large window overlooking a grove of trees, when she heard
the swift footsteps of Rachel coming toward the door. As Rachel started down
the hall she slowed and asked, “How’s my favorite inspiring person this
morning? Watching the birds again?”
With an innocent smile the patient said, “Yes ma’am. Spring
is here. The birds are chasing each other.”
“About time. I’m glad for winter to be over. I’ll check on
you later, honey.” Rachel hurried on down the hall.
The patient cautiously eased her wheelchair back near D.R.’s
door, listening. She could hear him mumbling to himself. She barely deciphered
“…gotta get out of this damn place.” She headed on down the hall toward the
corner sunroom, thinking that the patient in 405 must be crazier than she first
thought.
Chapter Nine
Sunday Afternoon
Janice Smithfield parked her car and hurried into the
Asheville Regional Airport, awaiting the arrivals of the managers of the
Fallington branch offices. She’d coordinated flights that would land within an
hour of each other, as
mother? Was I trying to break her record of screwing everyone in town, like
I’ve been doing ever since? Where are all these crazy questions coming from?
Not a good idea thinking about this crap. I need a drink…I need a party…I need…
The intercom warbled with unintelligible squawks and static,
and then went silent. D.R. blinked his eyes, looking around the stark hospital
room, focusing on the digital readout of his vitals, from the bedside medical
monitor that stared back at him like some science fiction monster.
He sighed heavily, thinking, I’ve got to get out of here. He
shifted in bed, felt around for the remote dangling from the bed rail. He
pushed a button and the foot of the bed jerked, sending a shot of pain through
his right ankle, but nothing like the agony he felt two weeks ago. Maybe he was
mending.
He poked another button and the head of the bed started to
grind upward. The world looks different sitting up, he thought, and it’ll look
a whole lot different when I get out of this lousy hospital. He braced himself
as he dragged both legs to his left, letting them drift off the side of the
bed. The injured right foot suddenly felt heavy and thick. Damn circulation, he
thought, perspiration breaking out on his forehead.
He reached around trying to untangle a mesh of wiring and
sheets, jerking them frantically. The medical monitor protested with flashing
lights and coded beeps and chirps, setting off a distorted intercom voice from
the nurses’ desk. How can I answer questions I don’t understand, he thought, so
he said nothing.
In a flash Rachel Johnson breezed into the room, eyeing him
sitting on the bedside. “What now, Fallington, trying to make a run for it?”
She chuckled.
He slumped in silence, thinking, his biggest nightmare has
arrived again. More humiliation.
Rachel, with a few adjustments, made the medical monitor
happy again. She checked his vitals again, pulled up a small chair and sat,
like she was going to visit with an old friend for a spell. Her wide face
smiled. A few crow’s feet appeared. “If you’ll cooperate with me, I’ll help you
get out of the hospital, Fallington. You interested?”
He couldn’t figure her out, but he said, “What’s the catch?”
“Well, let’s see. Your vitals are as normal as can be.
You’re a very healthy male with the exception of that ankle, but it seems to be
coming along nicely, according to your doctors. Your appetite is a little weak,
and of course your attitude has just about flatlined, but you already know
that. You haven’t been out of your room since you’ve been here.” She paused a
moment, looking at his eyes. “What do you want to work on first?”
He glanced at the clock, nearing noon. “Is it too late to
order lunch?”
The patient outside D.R.’s door quickly navigated her
wheelchair over to the large window overlooking a grove of trees, when she heard
the swift footsteps of Rachel coming toward the door. As Rachel started down
the hall she slowed and asked, “How’s my favorite inspiring person this
morning? Watching the birds again?”
With an innocent smile the patient said, “Yes ma’am. Spring
is here. The birds are chasing each other.”
“About time. I’m glad for winter to be over. I’ll check on
you later, honey.” Rachel hurried on down the hall.
The patient cautiously eased her wheelchair back near D.R.’s
door, listening. She could hear him mumbling to himself. She barely deciphered
“…gotta get out of this damn place.” She headed on down the hall toward the
corner sunroom, thinking that the patient in 405 must be crazier than she first
thought.
Chapter Nine
Sunday Afternoon
Janice Smithfield parked her car and hurried into the
Asheville Regional Airport, awaiting the arrivals of the managers of the
Fallington branch offices. She’d coordinated flights that would land within an
hour of each other, as
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