The Witness

Chapter 2

"Stricken"

Kitty Russell sat on the edge of her neatly made bed, motionless except for the slight tremor in her hands. The nausea seemed to get worse every time she moved, so she willed herself to remain as still as possible. She blinked several times as the dresser mirror danced in front of her face over and over again, until she could stand it no more and closed her eyes.

It was a sensation not unlike a night of extreme overindulgence at the bar, something she did not experience often but was nonetheless familiar with. But she had consumed no alcohol this night, not even one glass of beer despite many offers from a saloon full of rowdy cattle drivers eager to enjoy the paycheck that finally came after weeks of hard work. She had directed them to the girls who specialized in encouraging such men to empty their pockets, a job Kitty had done for years before scrimping and saving her way into the respectable business world. This particular night, she could not have enjoyed a drink if she had wanted one.

Her symptoms had started early that afternoon, just a few hours after she sent Matt Dillon off to Hays with a proper, private goodbye kiss in his office. She hated when he was gone, but this time she had no objections—she was happy to see him travel as far as it took to convict that puny bastard Byron Krug. She knew it wasn't her fault, but Kitty couldn't help feeling partially responsible for what had happened. Walt Frazier was an innocent husband and father, and he had lost his life in her establishment. What if she had listened to her intuition and not hired Linda? What if she hadn't left to go to the bank when she did? Things might have been different. Of course hindsight was crystal clear, but it had weighed on her conscious and she was just as anxious about the trial as Matt. He had promised to wire her as soon as it was over, good news or bad.

Her nausea and dizziness had been manageable at first, and she suspected she had a random stomach ailment which would pass through her system quickly as such illnesses were likely to do. But this one was holding on for dear life and getting worse by the minute. She had managed to avoid Doc, knowing that he would hover over her like a mother hen and try to keep her from working. She was the sole owner of The Long Branch now and couldn't afford to be laid up in bed, not on a busy night like this. But the dead didn't need money, and she was beginning to feel as though that was her fate unless she got some help, and soon.

There was no way she could make it to Doc's office now. An hour ago she had managed to climb the staircase, one step at a time, holding the rail with both hands and slowly pulling her body to the next level. Normally Sam or one of the girls would have noticed such a sight, but this night she got lost in the sea of unsteady bodies that filled the room. She had barely made it to her bathtub before the glass of water she had forced herself to drink earlier in the evening came up in a warm stream. She felt temporary relief, but a wave of dizziness soon followed and she had been trying to find a tolerable position on the bed ever since.

The quiet told her it was past closing time, and Sam was likely sweeping the floor or washing glasses. She didn't want to alarm him, but she had to get his attention. She took a deep breath and stood up, putting her hand to her mouth as her stomach began to churn. There was nothing left to expel, but dry heaves were just as miserable. With the room spinning she took three long steps and threw herself at the door, catching the knob as she went down on one knee. She cracked open the door and called out in a weak voice. "Sam!"

She heard glasses clanking but no reply. He obviously hadn't heard her. She swallowed hard and crawled on her hands and knees into the hallway. "Sam!" she called louder, and this time her faithful friend and employee looked up in her direction. He hurried to the bottom of the steps with a look of concern.

"Miss Kitty, what's wrong?"

"I'm okay Sam," she assured him, realizing that her position on the floor indicated otherwise. "I seem to have taken a bit ill, and I need Doc. Can you go get him for me?"

"Right away," he said, and he meant it. Sam rushed out of the saloon with his apron on and a drying cloth in one hand. Kitty exhaled and lowered her body all the way to the floor, resting her head on her arm. Within minutes Doc was literally running through the batwing doors, Sam on his heels. He had not bothered to change out of his striped pajamas and cleared the steps like a man much younger to get to his patient. He knew that Kitty Russell would not have sent for him at this hour unless it was an emergency.

Doc set his medical bag on the floor and knelt beside her petite frame, gently putting his hand on her forehead. "Kitty," he said softly as her eyes fluttered. "What's wrong, Kitty? What happened to you?"

"I don't know," she muttered. "Just sick. So sick…"

"Sam, let's get her in bed," Doc directed, knowing that the large barkeep would have little trouble with the task. Sam nodded and scooped her up in his arms, effortlessly carrying her the short distance to her room. She moaned as he gently laid her on the bed.

"Does anything hurt?" Doc asked as he pulled out his stethoscope. Kitty shook her head. "No pain…just sick."

"What do you mean?" he pressed. "Sick how?"

"Dizzy, throwing up," she responded breathlessly. "I've never felt this bad."

Doc furrowed his brow and placed the stethoscope on her chest. Her heart was beating unusually slowly and she had an arrhythmia. He checked her hands and they were ice cold, a sign of poor circulation. He then listened to her inhale and exhale several times, determining that there was no fluid in her lungs. He had noted when he touched her forehead that she wasn't feverish. It could be some kind of common stomach illness, but he rarely saw one take down a young, healthy person this quickly and severely.

"When did you start having symptoms?" he asked her.

"Around noon," she answered.

"And you're just now telling me?" he chided, sounding angrier than he intended. Doc had little patience for stoic neglect of medical problems, especially with the people he loved.

"Please don't yell at me," Kitty requested pitifully. "It wasn't that bad when it started. I didn't think it was anything serious."

Doc saw her eyes fill with tears, and his gruff demeanor disappeared. It pained him to see her like this.

"I'm sorry," he offered genuinely. "I just can't help worrying about you. It's my job."

Kitty managed a weak smile. It was his job, but there was no doubt that she held a special place in his heart. His concern was not merely professional, and that was just fine with her.

Doc looked up at Sam, who had been silently and anxiously watching his examination. Doc appreciated his help, but they needed some privacy.

"I'll take it from here, Sam," he said tactfully. "I'll be sure to let you know if she needs anything."

"Sure thing," Sam replied in his quiet, gentle giant kind of way. "You take care of yourself and feel better soon, Miss Kitty."

"I will," Kitty promised, not at all convinced that she would.

Sam exited the room and Doc scrubbed at his moustache. "Kitty, I need to ask you something. Please understand that I wouldn't ask this if I didn't absolutely have to, but you're very sick right now and it's important that I know everything before I try and diagnose this. Do you understand that?" Kitty nodded.

Doc looked serious and reluctantly continued. "Is there any chance you are pregnant?"

They both knew he hadn't asked without good reason. She and Matt Dillon had been lovers for four years now, and despite the town gossip, Doc was the only person in town who truly knew the nature of their relationship. Kitty confided in him whenever she needed a friend's perspective, and Matt didn't deny his feelings for Kitty on the occasions that Doc felt the urge to offer some unsolicited advice on love. That was probably the closest the introspective marshal was ever going to come to actually talking to anyone about it.

Kitty was not offended and shook her head no. "You're sure?" Doc verified. It was rare for pregnancy to make a woman this sick, but he had seen it happen.

"I'm sure," she confirmed. "I just finished my cycle."

Doc nodded, relieved yet anxious. Pregnancy would certainly have been an unwelcome complication for the couple, but he would have known what he was dealing with. He had a vague, uneasy feeling about the nature of this illness.

"When did you last eat?" he wondered.

"This morning. Matt and I had breakfast at Delmonico's before he left for Hays."

Doc nodded, remembering running into the couple as they were headed there. It was awfully early for Kitty to be up and about, but she wouldn't miss seeing Matt off to Hays. "Did you notice anything tasting strange? I mean worse than usual," he clarified. They always joked about the food at Delmonico's, but food poisoning was a real possibility anywhere.

"No, I had eggs and toast and everything tasted fine," she recalled. "I felt funny and wasn't hungry for lunch, and by dinner time I was completely nauseated."

"Well, you're dehydrated for sure, and that's probably adding to the dizziness," he surmised. "Let me get you a glass of water."

Kitty made a face, remembering where her last glass of water had ended up. "I don't know if I could keep it down, Doc."

"Let's give it a try," he insisted. "I have some powders here that just might settle your stomach, and if you can stay hydrated I guarantee you'll start to feel better."

Kitty reluctantly agreed. At this point, she was willing to try almost anything. Doc unscrewed a small jar and measured out the crushed anise seed, mixing it with a glass of water he poured from a pitcher on her dresser. She was parched, and despite her aversion to ingesting anything at the moment she had to force herself to take small sips instead of thirst quenching gulps. Doc helped her steady the glass as she drank.

"How do you feel?" he asked after she finished the glass.

"Not any worse," she declared optimistically.

Doc chuckled. "Well, I did take an oath not to make my patients sicker. I'm glad I'm still holding up my end of the bargain on that. At least so far."

"Thanks for coming, Doc," she said gratefully, noticing for the first time how tired he looked. "I've kept you up way past your bedtime, I think you should go on back and get some sleep."

"And leave you here alone in this condition? Not a chance," he scolded. "You couldn't even get up off the floor when I got here, what's going to happen if you need help in the middle of the night and Sam's not here to come and get me?"

"But you—"

"But nothing, young lady," he interrupted, eyeing the wooden trunk at the end of her bed. "Are there extra blankets in there? I'm going to make myself a place to sleep over here by the window, and I don't want to hear any arguments."

Kitty sighed. "There's a pillow and a couple of quilts in there. Help yourself." She sounded resigned but was secretly relieved. Doc was right, she was in no condition to spend the night alone.

"Well that's more like it," he said, satisfied with her quick compliance. He opened the trunk and pulled out his makeshift bedding as Kitty rolled over and hugged the extra pillow. It smelled faintly of musk and for a few seconds she forgot how sick she felt, comforted by his scent. She missed him but was glad he was not here to see the ugliness of whatever had done this to her. He wouldn't be home for several days—maybe she would be better by then.

Doc finished arranging his covers and checked his patient one more time. She felt clammy and still showed no signs of fever. He retrieved the small wash basin from her dresser and set it next to her bed in case she needed it. Still fully clothed, he knew getting her into a nightgown would be difficult and uncomfortable, so he decided to leave her be.

"Promise me you will wake me up if you need anything," he told her. Eyes closed, she nodded her understanding. With that, Doc turned down the lamp and settled on the floor for what he anticipated would be a restless night.

TBD