ANOTHER COUNTRY
Chapter 1 The Betrayal
Will stared at the burning wreckage of the limousine in disbelief. With pounding heart he glanced up at the lit windows of the Citizen building, thinking it was only a matter of seconds before they were seen and the chase began all over again. His thoughts raced as he considered the possibility of Freed blowing himself up just to keep his secret, or if another black op unit had interfered and wiped him out just to keep him from talking. If the former was true they had little proof left to clear themselves with Freed gone; if the latter was true, then once again he'd been betrayed by his country and government. But whatever the case may be, he knew he had to get Tyler and Jay far away from this place. Clamping a hand onto Tyler's shoulder he met his confused gaze with a frown.
"We have to go—now!" he ordered, scanning their surroundings before running back toward Tyler's SUV. To his surprise they followed, running toward where they'd hidden the vehicle in the alley with renewed surges of adrenaline. Clutching his side where the gunshot wound burned and throbbed, he gritted his teeth and ran as fast as he could manage.
"What the hell went wrong?" Tyler shouted, passing him in a sprint.
"Why didn't you warn us he'd do himself in?" Jay accused, coming up to his side. "Or maybe that was the plan all along, huh Will?"
"Shut up and run!" he ground out, surging ahead to catch up with Tyler, who was already unlocking the driver's side door as he ran to the vehicle.
Jay ran toward the passenger door as Tyler popped the rear driver's side door for him. He skidded to a stop as the engine roared to life. Jumping in as he accelerated, he threw himself onto the seat and slammed the door shut.
"Go, go, go!" he shouted as Tyler burnt rubber, backing up and plunging them deeper into the recesses of the dark alley. Gripping his side with one hand and the door handle with the other, he managed to shift himself higher in order to see out the windshield. Tyler hit the brakes and they spun halfway around, speeding off in the opposite direction.
"Now where the hell do you suggest we go?" Tyler shouted, running a hand through his hair and glaring in the rear view mirror at him. "That lunatic blew himself up, I tell you—"
"We don't know that!" he shot back, wincing in pain as he reached for the bag of first aid supplies he'd lifted from the Chinese grocer's. Pulling out another gauze pad, he leaned back and lifted shirt. The blood-soaked double bandage already needed changing, which wasn't a good sign.
"No we don't know a damned thing anymore, do we?" Tyler agreed, glancing at Jay just as he turned to see what Will was doing.
"You're bleeding like a stuffed pig!" he cried out, eyeing Will with shock. "We've got to get you to a hospital—"
"No hospital, no doctor!" he ordered, a wave of nausea surging within him. He swallowed hard, quickly dispelling it. "All gunshot wounds are reported to the police, which means they'll find us for sure."
"Then what do you propose we do, huh Will?" he argued, glancing at Tyler for his support. "How much longer do you think you can go with that kind of an injury? As a matter of fact how much longer do you think we can all stay on the run Will?"
"We've managed pretty well for over a week," he panted, dropping the soaked gauze into the bag before peeling the wrapping off another two pads. Pressing them gently over the exit wound, he knew he needed some kind of treatment before both wounds got infected.
"I'm heading for my father's condominium in Albany," Tyler declared, switching lanes to get onto the interstate. He glanced into the rear view mirror and met his gaze. "Like it or not that's where we're headed."
"Then drop me off at the Amtrak station there," he stated, applying pressure along the edge of the adhesive tape, a gesture which hurt more than it should.
"Oh and where will you be running off to, now that you've gotten us into even more trouble?" Jay wanted to know. "But I suppose that's what you're best at, huh Will—running away."
He looked up, eyeing him in challenge. "I'm just following standard procedures," he stated, pursing his lips as he sat higher. "And you should know by now that we can't stay together."
"Oh sure, I know exactly what to do," he said sarcastically, turning back around with a disgusted wave of his hand. "Like any of us really knows."
"Someone's following us," Tyler said soberly, eyeing the side mirror as he sped up. "There's some traffic, but this guy's definitely tailing us."
Will tensed and glanced back, spotting the black oversized SUV as he gripped the back of their seat. "Lose him or we're all dead," he warned.
"I'll try," Tyler said tightly, concentrating on speeding up and shifting lanes. Sure enough the black SUV followed, speeding up as well.
"It's probably just our good friends from the FBI," Jay stated sarcastically.
"There's a station in Westchester, if you can make it onto the beltway," Will told Tyler, ignoring Jay. At least Tyler didn't give him as hard a time as Jay did, though Will understood where his animosity was coming from. They were closer friends than he and Tyler had ever been, without intended it to be that way. It was just that he and Jay shared similar backgrounds than he and Tyler did.
"So what's the plan, Will?" Jay wanted to know, turning around to look at him when he didn't answer.
"Better you don't know," he stated, glancing back at the SUV. Suddenly it veered into the adjacent lane and sped up. "He's coming up on your right—get down!"
Reaching beneath the seat for the gun he heard shots spit at the glass and break it. The passenger seat was littered with broken glass which slid toward him as they swerved into the left lane, cutting off a tractor trailer. The driver honked loudly as Will pushed the button and lowered the window, getting off a few shots. The tires of the SUV screeched as it swerved and cut back in behind them. It sped up toward them from the left lane but the tractor trailer cut it off, giving them an escape route.
Will swung, holding his pistol high as he saw the SUV contact the back of the 18 wheeler. Then it spun out of control while the other trucks dominating the highway honked threateningly. They watched as it hit the guardrail, ran up and over it and into the median. Lowering his gun he sat back, closing his eyes at the inevitable.
"You got him!" Jay cried excitedly, leaning around to watch the vehicle ignite as they passed. "Up in flames for him!"
"Yeah he deserved it," Tyler said less enthusiastically, glancing at Will's sober expression in the mirror. "You know who it was, don't you?"
"Not anymore," he sighed, leaning back and feeling weaker and weaker. The wound was more serious than he'd anticipated, and combined with not having slept for two days it was taking its toll.
"It must have been that big black guy— you know Will, the one who's really tough, right?" Tyler wanted to know.
"The funny thing was, he actually helped us escape FBI custody," Jay stated, turning to look at him. "He was at our hotel, then followed you up to Maine. He shot you with a tracking device when they grabbed you and threw you in a white van…whoever they were."
That would be Max… Too tired to open his eyes, he sighed. "We used to be on the same team."
"Well apparently that hasn't changed," Jay drawled, turning back around. "You spies should all get your acts together—"
"And do what exactly?" Will shot back, fed up with Jay's attitude.
"Oh I don't know—how about be on the same page for once?" Jay complained.
"Surely you realize there's a power shift going on in our government, " Will retorted, "which is why everyone's vying for control and until some semblance of order presents itself we're pretty much on our own."
"No Will, you're on your own!" he shot back, shaking his head. "Tyler and I just want our lives back."
"And you think I don't?" he shot back, telling himself it wasn't worth defending his position. Anyway he didn't really have one at the moment, except that of fall guy. But he was not going to stay in that position if there was anything that could be done about it."
"Lay off him, Jay," Tyler sighed, taking the ramp onto the northbound beltway. "We're just as involved as he is…"
"Yeah, because of him!" Jay cried. "And just for clarification's sake I'm not the one with a corrupt boss or father!"
Will met Tyler's gaze in the mirror, though he said nothing in response. "That was a low blow, Jay," he warned.
"Well I'm sorry but it's the truth," Jay said to Tyler before glancing out his window. "Now that I'm thinking of it you can drop me off at the Amtrak station too— I'm going back to New Haven and help Kim."
"You're crazy, man!" Tyler objected, glancing at him. "Or did you forget the FBI has her in a cage? They were going to execute us without the slightest concern, and if it hadn't been for Max we'd already be dead. So get off your high horse and face reality, will you?"
"Yeah, right," Jay mumbled, not bothering to answer him.
"What's the name of the female agent who shot me?" Will wanted to know, already forming a plan in his mind.
"Agent Jan Marlow," Jay said without much interest.
"She was the only one who seemed like she might believe us," Tyler sighed.
"If by some chance she blows the whole thing out of the water we might have our answer," Will stated. "But give her some time to see if she's brave enough."
"She was the only one we've been able to trust," Jay complained, "until you showed up and screwed it up to get us back on your side!"
"Look there are no sides, ok?" Will shouted in frustration. "Or haven't you heard anything I've been saying all this time? None of us are going to know which end is up, not until the dust settles. So we're just going to have to wait, stay low and watch."
"Like you're going to do, riding off into the sunset?" Jay said, half turning toward him. "I'm through with taking your advice, Will or whatever your name is! There are only so many lies a person can take before it's over!"
"Fine then!" Will shot back,"go—and have a nice life keeping your head in the sand!"
"I plan to, thank you very much!"
Tyler eyed him in the mirror as he leaned back and sighed heavily, grimacing in pain. "Look I'm sorry," he breathed, eyeing them with sudden remorse. "This whole thing has just snowballed completely out of control—"
"Yeah you got that right," Jay harrumphed.
Tyler drove north as an uncomfortable silence filled the temporary bubble of protection his car provided. Will rested his head back and stared out the window, thinking of all the times he'd struggled with keeping his identity a secret from them. He'd been denied a normal life for most of his adult years, and was sorely tempted to defend his actions. But he knew that he couldn't afford to do so, for it would only put them in more danger.
From the perspective of his position as a government black-ops operative he knew this was all his fault, for he'd disobeyed orders to blow up the museum with them in it. But after wrestling with the twists and turns that position had taken he'd finally decided to go with his gut. Saving their lives had cost him dearly, and he had to admit that sparing them offered them little chance of a life from now on, unless they too disappeared under deep cover. His one conviction was that his position and his organization had changed drastically, and he'd never signed up to kill civilians even though the terrorist attack on their country had blurred the lines of military-civilian status considerably.
With a deep sigh he thought back to the days of his innocence when he'd signed up for ROTC and taken the oaths needed to defend his country by military service. He'd had such pride and confidence in this government, which had in the end betrayed him and now treated him like a criminal. Gone were the statutes and foundation this country had been built upon, and with them all his rights has gone as well. Jay and Tyler would never understand the system the way he'd come to understand it, but even in his bitterness he had to admit it was better that they didn't.
Less than an hour after bidding them a curt goodbye he sat huddled in the back corner of an Amtrak coach bound for the Northwest, a sketchy plan beginning to form in his mind. He remembered a few details and a location that might prove suitable for him to hide out for a while and monitor how things developed, if indeed he could convince anyone to help him. Shivering beneath the woolen blanket provided by the night porter, he gritted his teeth against the pain in his side and pulled out the tiny bottle of whisky he'd bought just before the club car closed for the night. Unscrewing the top, he lifted it to his lips and took a few swallows, feeling its warmth slide down his esophagus and settle above his stomach. Hopefully it would dull the pain, since the only meds he'd found were extra strength NSAIDs.
Replacing the bottle, he stared out the window at the dark landscape passing before him. His mind tried to process all that had happened in the last week, and as the miles between his last assignment and the next lengthened he felt the alcohol begin to relax him. With its comfort came the all too familiar weight of depression, threatening to descend upon him yet again and make him its prisoner. Resisting the temptation to yield to it he nevertheless faced his current reality with somber resignation. He had to disappear again, this time maybe for good. And he couldn't go back to working at what he'd done for the last 10 years of his life. He'd lost his past and his future, and there was only the present. All his plans had failed, and he was alone. Closing his eyes, he felt a different pain sear his heart and steal his breath.
Maya…
His mind filled suddenly with flashes of memory, from the first time he'd laid eyes up until he'd seen the vivid photograph provided him as evidence of her execution. His throat clenched with emotion as grief and regret filled his heart. He remembered trying to keep his distance from her, pushing her away with the warning to have as little to do with him as possible. But his six month cover as a small town resident of Maine entering the graduate program at Yale had backfired. Living in such close quarters with her and pretending she was his girlfriend had proven too much for him. He remembered the day he'd finally cast off the desperate loneliness that had been his only companion for years, allowing himself the luxury of falling headlong into an obviously ill-fated love affair with her. Now she was dead, and it was his fault.
Shrugging off the memories he pulled himself together, took out the whisky and drained the bottle. It was his only comfort now, one he'd never used before. Hard liquor was the devil's curse, he remembered hearing all the years when he'd lived at home. Smiling as he envisioned himself as a homeless alcoholic, he appreciated the irony of his situation. In that role no one would notice him, and it would be a relatively safe place to hide. It might be fun, actually he thought, placing the empty into the cup holder. Maybe then somebody might come and save me…
Closing his eyes, he repented yet again for what he'd done. Repentance was vital in his line of work, even though it brought him no comfort. He'd been trained to fight and kill, and was paid well for it. Whenever he wrestled with guilt and remorse he'd executed his repentance entirely by faith, knowing he certainly didn't deserve forgiveness despite secretly longing for it. He imagined himself as a boy back home, running through the wheat fields in the heat of summer, all brightness and peace. But he couldn't go home, not until he was finally out of this business once and for all. If that was even possible.
"Dear God," he croaked hoarsely, compared where he'd come from and where he now was, "please, forgive me…"
"Agent Marlow, do you even have the remotest idea of how much trouble you're in right now?" the bureau head said quietly. She looked up, noting his menacing expression as he scowled down at her. Summoning her courage, she nodded.
"I know this sounds crazy sir, but if you'll just hear me out I can explain—"
"Explain what?" he demanded quietly, glancing toward the window in his door. Outside the room was busy with activity, even for this late at night. "How can you possibly explain the fact that you've brought up charges of corruption against your own boss and co-workers?"
"But it doesn't end there, Sir!" she insisted. "The corruption goes even higher than that, but if you'll just look at the evidence you'll see—"
"That's not up to me, but to the internal affairs investigation which by the way will also be leveled against. Which is why I need to convince you to change your mind. This department has had an impeccable record up until now, so why don't you just let us bring in those three terrorists and hand them over to Homeland Security?"
"But Homeland Security's Chief Freed is behind the whole thing," she screeched in frustration. "Furthermore those young men are not terrorists—"
"You're wrong! The one who calls himself Traveler is definitely a terrorist, a rogue agent who's gone off the grid judging by the consensus—"
"Will Traveler is no terrorist, sir and I can prove it," she insisted, cringing inwardly at his glare of denial. "Sir all I want is an in-depth review of everything that's happened since the Drexler bombing—in particular Will Traveler's involvement with Chief Freed, especially their work in Operation Hometown."
"Surely you realize this will go above us to the Department of Defense, don't you?"
"Yes Sir I am aware of that fact, but it's necessary to get the real story and exonerate both Traveler and his roommates."
He shook his head. "Freed is dead, so what's your point? We have the note from the terrorist group claiming responsibility!"
"Sir we are talking about high level government sanctioning of terrorist activity through black-ops involvement, something that reaches far beyond any Will Traveler or Chief Freed—"
"And how could you possibly know that, Agent Marlow?"
"Because of the money trail," she sighed in frustration. "Look at the file, Sir—the money is the clue, and it's the only way we can trace all this back to its origins."
He squinted at her suspiciously. "Awfully eager to defend Will Traveler and his buddies, aren't you? Is it because they're good looking young men, if I've heard correctly—"
"Sir please!" she objected, clenching her fists. "This is about finding the truth at whatever cost! It's easy letting Will Traveler be the fall guy, but why do that when we could go after the big fish instead?"
"You want me to bring down half the government with this foolishness, Marlow?"
She sighed heavily, holding his accusing gaze. "Yes sir…if that's what it takes for justice to be served."
He stared at her a moment before leaning forward and punching the intercom button. "Shirley—set up a call with whatever federal judge is on duty right now," he ordered. "Wake him up if necessary and tell him it's an emergency."
After a second's pause she answered. "Yes sir—I'll do my best."
He planted his hands on his hips and nodded toward the chair. "You'd better sit down, Agent Marlow—it's going to be a long night."
Clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering, Will pulled the black down parka tighter. Gasping in pain as its contacted his side, he blinked several times to clear the moisture from his eyes and found focusing difficult. He was losing it fast but still he waited, staring at the office building and relieved when the lights finally went out. Tensing as the doors opened and a family came out he counted seven altogether, with the children ranging in ages from two to high school, though judging by their clothing they were no doubt homeschoolers. He watched them pile into their van and eventually drive off, shifting his attention back to the library. Glancing around and seeing no one, he started toward the back entrance. There was only one car in the small lot, the old Subaru registered in her name and confirming his research. Climbing the three stairs at the back, he pressed against the wall and listened intently, eyeing his surroundings. The buildings adjacent to this one were empty this time of night, so he reached out and popped the flimsy lock, entered and stood in the dim light until his eyes adjusted. He studied her carefully, making sure it was really her.
"That's right," she breathed into the receiver, nodding once as she flicked off the computer. "It should arrive on Monday…yes, we're open at 1:00 every Monday….you're welcome. Good night."
With a frustrated sigh which sounded loud in the cavernous room she went back to work, turning off the lamp and bending to pick up her messenger bag. Dropping it onto the counter she reached for her coat and pulled it on, mumbling to herself as she worked.
"Yes, we're open every single Monday of eternity Mrs. Hughes, as you very well know," she mumbled, fastening the buttons down the front. "And yes it takes Interlibrary Loan at least three days to process your request," she sighed, crossing the strap of her bag over her chest. "And yes you do have to pay late fees, which frankly aren't that much for a rich old lady like you! And might I say that considering our extended hours you should have had plenty of time after work to get in here to return your late books! We close at 6 pm every weekday except Fridays, and I'm sure you remember that we're—"
"You're open til 9," he finished as she came toward him. Gasping in fear she stopped, pressing a hand over her heart as she stared at him in the dim light. After a moment her eyes widened even further.
"I know that voice," she said quietly, holding her ground as he took a step closer, into the light. He felt lightheaded for a moment as recognition dawned in her expression. "Will?" she gasped, "Will Traveler?"
He nodded, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "Annie Greene," he breathed, fighting his pain as she came closer and stopped with arm's reach of him.
"But—what on earth are you doing here?"
He choked out a hoarse laugh. "I came to see you…"
Her eyes widened even more before she tilted her head slightly. "You look…you don't look well—"
"I need your help," he admitted, hating the fact that he had to reach out to someone and praying that it wouldn't get her killed. "There's no one else."
She came up to him and took his arm, looking up into his eyes. "You look feverish—"
"I've been shot," he croaked, shaking his head. "There was a misunderstanding and—"
"Shot? Oh my God Will—let me help you," she insisted, leading him back down the corridor. "The health clinic's on the other side of town, but there's a doctor there till 11—"
"No doctor," he warned, gripping her arm as he leaned back against the door jamb. He could hear the wind howling around the building and braced himself to go back out into the cold. "Please—I need you to help me, and I know you're a bio major—"
"I can't treat you with that background—"
"Please, Annie—"
"especially a gunshot wound!"
"You can do it," he insisted, shoving the door open. "No one can know, or they'll find me and kill me!"
"Who, Will?" she gulped, slipping her arm around his back as they descended the stairs.
"Better you don't know," he panted, resting at the bottom of the stairs. "Please Annie, I've got nowhere else to go!"
"Ok but wait," she urged, lifting his arm over her shoulders, "if you lose your balance and fall I'll never be able to get you into the car."
He slowed his steps, feeling increasingly lightheaded. Leaning heavily on her support he eyed the car, thinking it looked like it was a million miles away. "God— I'm sorry to ask you," he choked, shivering violently before he leaned against the passenger side door while she unlocked it.
"Easy," she said softly, glancing around at the deserted buildings. "Now be careful—there you go!"
He fell heavily into the seat, leaning his head back as a wave of nausea hit him. He felt her lift his legs and shift them inside, groaning at the pain the movements caused. His whole left side clenched with searing pain as she shut his door, then went around to the other side. She got in and shut her door, turning the key to start the engine as he shivered again.
"We'll have heat in a minute," she said, her eyes wide with concern. "You really need to see a doctor, Will—I'm no substitute."
He tried to focus on her face, feeling spaced and weaker by the second. "I can't…please…"
She leaned toward him to fasten his seat belt but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Don't!"
She looked up at him. "You have to buckle up Will, or you'll go sliding off—"
"Can't," he moaned, curling his arm around his middle. "I'm shot in the side…" he said, gagging with dry heaves.
"God—how long have you been like this?"
"Two days," he groaned, resting his temple against the window and closing his eyes.
"It must be infected by now—why didn't you get treated before? And how did you get here—"
"Train…" he sighed just as darkness rushed up and swallowed him whole.
Annie Greene pulled up in front of her uncle's veterinary hospital and set the e brake. Glancing worriedly at her passenger, she texted her uncle who was thankfully working tonight, as he'd informed her 20 minutes before. Despite their heated argument he'd agreed to let them come, stating that he'd give his assistant the night off.
"He'll be right out," she breathed, reaching over to touch Will's cheek, which felt cold and sweaty. Glancing up she saw Howie coming down the ramp toward them and shoved open her door. Climbing out she glanced at him in apology before he frowned at the dark form slumped inside her car.
"What's this all about, Annie?" he accused, "some friend of yours has a gunshot wound?"
"Shh! Keep your voice down!" she ordered, going to the passenger door. "He showed up unannounced at the library, saying they'd kill him if they knew he was here!"
"Who's they?" he growled before leaning in to touch Will's chest. After a moment she heard him say gently, "hey buddy, we're gonna take care of you now, but can you help us get you out?"
"Hummhh?" she heard Will moan. Bending to watch, she saw him try to open his eyes and exchanged worried glances with her uncle.
"Ok, easy now," Howie urged, leaning in to slip an arm behind his back. She stepped out of the way as he lifted Will's legs and planted his feet on the ground. "Get on his other side, Annie."
She moved into position, warning him before they lifted him out. "Watch his left side," she said quietly before they got him to his feet. He swayed before Howie caught him.
"We're gonna take it slow up the ramp," he lectured as he pulled Will's arm over his shoulders. Together they coaxed him the 20 steps into the hospital where he told her to bolt the door.
A blast of warm air hit them as they started toward the operating room where she'd assisted him many times. Panting with effort and trying to ignore his gasps of pain, she felt exhausted by the time they'd sat him on the table and started to remove his coat. He gasped softly until they eased him onto his back, then his head rolled to one side.
"He's out," her uncle stated as he checked his heart rate and temperature while she eased off his hiking boots.
"He's burning up—103," he stated, looking up at her. "His heart rate's over 100 and I don't even want to know his blood pressure. Your friend needs a hospital, and I'm not talking animal hospital."
"I'm sorry Uncle—who knows who's after him, maybe the Mafia!" she hissed, moving to his side and staring at his blood-soaked shirt.
He pulled an oxygen mask closer and turned the knob, adjusting the volume. "Keep the oxygen on while I wash up," he ordered after placing it over Will's face and heading toward the sink area.
She tried not to panic at the grayish pallor of his skin and the beads of perspiration dotting his forehead. Gently unbuttoning his shirt, she heard her uncle's steps come up.
"Just cut it off him," he ordered, throwing the paper towels into the trash and reaching for exam gloves. "We need to see that wound."
She got up and took a pair of scissors from the tray at her side, then began to uncover the wound. Will turned his head toward her, muttering softly under his breath.
"He's coming to," she announced as she worked, finally exposing his chest. Staring at the quarter-sized hole low at his side, she froze.
"Don't let him take the mask off," he urged, whistling at the sight of the wound. "I'm putting an IV in."
She watched as he expertly anesthetized his hand and inserted the line. Then he leaned closer to study the wound.
"You sure you know how to treat humans?" she tried joking, watching as Will's expression began to relax as the anesthesia took effect.
"You kiddin?" he laughed, removing the oxygen and dabbing Will's side with pads of gauze. "I was a combat medic before I went to vet school on the GI Bill." He tossed the bloodied pads into the trash and stood up. "Now help me turn him onto his good side so I can see the other wound."
She gaped up at him in surprise. "You were? And what 'other wound'? Was he shot more than once?"
He gently lifted Will's arm as she helped turn Howie turn him onto his good side, placing a foam wedge beneath his back. "See? This one's much smaller," he pointed at Will's back, "typical entrance wound."
She was stunned, and eyed Will with growing concern as her uncle took a blood sample. "You mean he was shot in the back?"
"Indeed he was," he said in a calm voice that further unnerved her. Glancing down at Will's peaceful expression, she saw him in a different light and began to question his coming to her.
"Do you think he came here not because of me, but because of your combat training?" she said quietly, feeing unnerved and sensing that some giant cosmic plan might be falling into place. She had always had her doubts about Will, for he seemed more capable and mature than most of the other grad students she knew. As if that wasn't really who he was.
"How would he find that out, when you didn't even know," Howie said, glancing up at her as she stared down at their patient. "By the way, where did you meet him? In grad school?"
She nodded. "Yeah…he tutored me in organic chemistry, but I always thought he was above that, like on a much higher level. "
"Sure he wasn't a Ph.D. candidate?"
"No, he said he was working on his master's," she sighed, watching him clean the wound and slip on h is magnifiers. "And he wouldn't take any money for the tutoring."
"That's because you're so pretty," he sighed, glancing up at her. "Hand me that probe, will you? After I repair any damaged tissue and stitch him up, I'll need your help changing him."
"I'm sorry to dump all this on you," she explained, trying to hide her embarrassment at the thought of stripping somebody like Will. He was a great guy but far too attractive she thought, glancing down at the light dusting of hair low across his abdomen, then at the fine lines of his muscular arms and chest.
"Thanks," he said, taking the probe from her hand as he eyed her critically. "You know I'm not blind, Annie. How long you been sweet on him?"
She pulled her gaze from Will and stared at her uncle. "Honestly Uncle Howard, he's just a friend."
"'Uncle Howard?'" he repeated knowingly. "'Friend' huh? How come he came all this way to see you?"
"Like he said, he had no one else to go to," she explained with a shrug, watching him probe and clean the back wound. As he began to stitch the different layers of skin she glanced away, feeling queasy.
"Hey go check on his blood work, will ya?" he said distractedly. "We need to know what we're dealing with… it should be finished in about 10 minutes."
She went into the sample room, collected the bandages needed and finally found the silver nitrate. The monitor beeped and spit out his labs, which she tore off and carried with the other supplies back into the OR.
"Oh good you got the stuff," Howie breathed, still stitching the outer layer closed. "Read me the abnormals?"
"Sodium is low, electrolytes way off, white blood cell counts off the charts…hematocrit low-normal."
"As expected…I'd say it's a clear cut case of penetrating abdominal trauma with stage 4 hypovolemic shock with weak pulse, a bit of tachypnea, low systolic BP, cool and pale sweaty skin, slow capillary refill of the nail beds—"
"I'm impressed," she smiled when he looked up again.
"Yeah well we'll see what real impressiveness is when he doesn't develop peritonitis," he groaned, stretching his shoulders back. "Help me bandage him up, then we'll deal with the front, ok?"
They worked together in silence, taking much more time with the larger exit wound near his left lower side. She increased the level of sedation before the wound was thoroughly probed, rinsed, debrided and stitched in all levels. Howie put in a drain and closed the remaining surface, which they dressed and wrapped in a compression wrap. Then he did an external exam, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Well my guess is he'll recover well enough, but without a CT scan there's no way to be sure the bullet didn't nick the peritoneum. But so far there are no bruits and no diminished bowel sounds. His abdomen is extremely tender but there's no rebound or distension."
She nodded, not quite understanding it all. "So he'll be ok?"
"Pray that he is," he sighed, nodding toward his clothes. "We have to strip and wash him before we're done so I'll need your help. You call your Mom and tell her anything?"
"I just said I'd be by in the morning—I didn't want to worry her."
"So if she calls your place she won't get the answering machine and worry?"
"No—I told her I'm not keeping my land line so she'll call my cell."
"Good thinking, but you need to tell her," he advised. "Otherwise you'll have a lot of explaining to do about your friend here."
"But how can I explain what I don't even know?"
"You'll think of something," he said with a slight smile, reaching to unfasten Will's belt. "You work that end, I'll work this one."
"Yeah well just warn me before I see something I've no right to see," she said, pulling off Will's socks and stuffing them into his hiking boots.
"You're not even curious?" he joked, unzipping the fly as she looked back down and started to wash his feet.
"I didn't say that…"
"I'm draping him so your feminine sensibilities aren't offended," he huffed, unfurling a sheet over Will's torso. Ignoring him, she grabbed the bottom edges of his jeans and pulled, and together they stripped him beneath the covering.
"Can I wash his things in your machine?" she checked, wondering if it was full and thinking he'd let her fold and sort whatever was in there without a moment's hesitation.
"Yeah go ahead, but don't worry—Marcie already did what was there before she left."
"I'm so grateful," she smiled, carrying Will's things into the laundry room. She dumped his jeans, briefs and socks into the washer and started it, turning to the sink and trying to wash out as much blood as she could from his flannel and tee shirts. But they needed to soak overnight, so she filled a pan and set them in the utility sink for now.
An hour later they had Will settled comfortably on the sofa bed in her uncle's office, which she'd made up well as comfortably as possible. Howie left for home to feed his dogs while she locked herself in and sat down wearily at Will's side. Reaching over to tug the sheet and light blanket higher up his chest she eyed his IV and checked his vitals again. Then, leaning her head back against the upholstered chair she sighed tiredly, her gaze traveling slowly over his features. She listened to the sound of his evened out breathing, grateful that the meds were forcing his fever down. Studying the masculine line of his slightly parted lips, she say how dry and parched they looked and made a mental note to buy some lip balm the next day.
Lifting her gaze to his black hair, she wondered why he'd died it and when. It had been an attractive dark blonde with lighter highlights from the sun. Then it occurred to her that he might be trying to disguise himself. She wondered if he'd put contacts in to change the color of his eyes from that amazing dark blue she remembered. They'd have to check that in the morning because it would be foolish disturbing him until he'd had a chance to get some rest. Shifting her attention to his broad shoulders and muscular arms she admired the fine condition of his body. He'd always looked athletic, and she'd seen him a few times jogging with his roommate Jay. They seemed to get along well enough, which made her wonder why he hadn't gone to either of his roommates for help. They'd only graduated a week ago and had packed up for their cross-country trip while she was still completing her first year. Will had wished her a good summer and assured her that she had what it took to do well her remaining year. His facebook was still active, and she'd wished him success in his job search and a good summer. Other than that last few minutes together, she'd not expected to see him again. And she certainly never would have imagined he'd appear practically on her doorstep, needing her help.
What's happened to you, Will? She wondered, studying the fine contours of his face and high cheekbones. As the hours wore on and he slept peacefully, she fought sleep as she let her mind drift to memories of the past. Howie was right, she'd secretly liked Will and wondered if he had a girlfriend.
Of course he'd have a girlfriend…she sighed, half asleep. Someone who was rich and beautiful, one of the popular girls…not like me…
But when she thought of the brilliant Will Traveler sharing the same OR table as the dogs and cats of their humble town outside of Vancouver, she had to smile and agree. For whatever reason, he'd ended up here. And he'd kept her in mind when he needed help.
c. 2011 by Christine Levitt
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