Her Father's Keeper
3. A Midnight Visitor
The ride to the hospital passed by in a blur — I felt every bump we hit, but not much else. Officers Ross and Allison carried on a conversation, but their voices were little more than background noise.
Once the two officers had gotten me into the ER waiting room, Officer Ross borrowed Kate Allison's cell phone to call Andrews. I quickly understood that Ross didn't have a cell phone, because Allison was berating him about constantly using hers.
"Hey, Andrews," Ross said into the phone. "I'm at the ER. Kate and I had to bring in that kid, Arianna Hobson. Yeah, it was her. She really had us fooled ..." A long pause. "Yes, sir. Uh, sir, I don't know if that's a good idea right now ... okay, if you want to."
Officer Ross handed the phone back to Officer Allison. "Andrews is coming here," He said. "He wants to have a talk with our intriguing Miss Hobson here."
Oh, boy, I thought wryly. Andrews never had liked me, and he was really going to hate me now. Well, he could talk and yell and cuss all he wanted — he might be able to make a teenage gunshot victim cry, but he wouldn't make me talk about my father, or the Paper, or the stupid cat for that matter.
Kate Allison pursed her lips unhappily. "I don't think that's a good idea," She said. "Any fool could see that Arianna Hobson is in no shape to be questioned."
"My sentiments exactly," I put in. Kate Allison and David Ross both glared at me.
Andrews showed up within a few minutes, making me wonder how faithfully he had followed the speed limits that policemen were so careful about enforcing.
"So, Miss Hobson," Andrews greeted with a nasty little smile. "It was you who got in the way. You almost had everyone fooled for a while there." When I failed to reply, Andrews got right down to business. "How did your father contact you? Pay phone, cell phone, what?"
"He didn't contact me." For some reason, I thought, it seems like I've had this conversation before.
"Riiight." Andrews snorted. "Then how did you know exactly where to find him, Miss Hobson? Did a little fairy lead you there?"
I looked him straight in the eye and knew I shouldn't say what I was thinking, but I just couldn't resist. "Maybe I was just in the right place at the right time," I said.
For a split second, I thought Andrews was going to hit me; Ross must have thought so too, because he took a step forward. To Andrews' credit, he managed to control his temper. "Don't give me that, Miss Hobson," He said his voice icy and very precise.
I knew I shouldn't further antagonize the man, but I was getting sick of this whole darn thing. "I just had a feeling," I said, using another of my father's preferred clichés. "You know how that is, don't you, Andrews?"
His face practically turned purple and he spun away from me in an obvious attempt to keep from wringing my neck. "This is no kid," He snarled at Ross and Allison. "This is a darn clone of Gary Hobson!"
"Andrews, Andrews," Kate Allison said in a calming voice. "You know how I found out it was her? I forgot my jacket, went back to get it, bumped into her right arm on the way out. I can only imagine how that hurt. In that moment, she wasn't tough — she was just a hurt little kid."
Kate Allison's words must have helped, at least a little, because Andrews' face was considerably less red when he turned back toward me.
"Come on, Miss Hobson," He coaxed, changing tactics. "You know you aren't helping your dad by hiding him like this. It's cold out there and he's alone and injured. How long do you think he'll last?"
My head was spinning and all the colors in the room were beginning to run together before my eyes. "I plead the fifth amendment," I said, and fell off my chair.
Mercifully, I landed on my left side, but it still hurt like heck. I never really lost consciousness, but they must have thought I did, because I lay very still with my eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside.
"Dang it," Andrews said gruffly. "Just when I've decided to hate her, she does something to make me feel sorry for her. Hobson's just like that, you know — just when I had my mind made up that he was a dangerous criminal, he'd show up in the hospital having fallen out of a tree while retrieving a cat for a little girl, or having inhaled smoke while saving a kid from a fire."
He hesitated, and I could tell he was staring at me, even though my eyes were closed. Must be a 'sixth sense' I inherited from Marissa. "I guess," Andrews said finally, "that this latest episode pretty much proves what kind of man Hobson is."
No! I thought angrily. No, it doesn't prove anything except that my father is willing to risk his life to try to save others!
Dimly I realized that Kate Allison had been calling for a doctor. Hands lifted me, placed me on some kind of stretcher, cut away the sleeve of my shirt. I was given a shot, and it made everything fade in and out. Somewhere along the way I picked up a nifty new bandage and a bunch of stitches.
When I woke up, I was confused and woozy — I knew immediately that I was in the hospital, but I hadn't been hospitalized since I got pneumonia in first grade.
"Daddy?" I whispered, still drowsy and disoriented from whatever they had given me. "Daddy, where are you?" My voice sounded small and lost.
Kate Allison's face swam into view, and when I saw her, it all came flooding back — the accusations, the gunshots, everything. Every wall I had built around myself — my stoicism, my sarcastic attitude — melted away, and suddenly I was crying, crying hard. Suddenly I was nothing more than a little girl who wanted her daddy.
After using my left hand to wipe my face, I managed to say, "You won't let them kill him, will you?" When Kate Allison didn't reply, I added, "They were going to kill him. That's why I had to be there. They were going to kill him."
Andrews cleared his throat; I hadn't known he was in the room, but I didn't really care any more. "How can you be so certain they were going to kill him, Miss Hobson?" Andrews asked his voice surprisingly gentle. "They'll do everything they can to bring him back alive. Firing on him is a last resort."
"Like this was?" I asked wearily, gesturing to my right arm. "He wasn't threatening anybody, he was just running. What if he runs again?"
No one seemed to know what to say to that. Ross and Andrews left after a few more minutes, but Officer Allison said she would stay with me until Marissa arrived. I could only assume one of the officers had called Marissa.
"Andrews was telling the truth, Arianna," Kate Allison said quietly. "It's just that, in your father's case, he is considered armed and very dangerous. He was pretty much caught red-handed in the act of committing murder, and now he's free on the streets of Chicago. Can you see why they are desperate to bring him in?"
Rather than replying, I asked desperately, "Can't you even consider another possibility? Maybe he was walking by, heard a commotion, and went in to try to help." Oh, I wished I could tell her the truth, but I knew it would just make the situation worse.
Officer Allison sighed. "Why did he have the gun then, Arianna? And why did he run when the police arrived?"
Something suddenly dawned on me. "Officer Allison, are you sure my father was shot by a policeman? There were several shots from inside the house, but I heard that Charlie Dove was only shot once. If my dad had already been shot, he would have been confused and in a great deal of pain, as I can attest to. That would explain why he ran."
"What about the gun?"
I sighed. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he heard a commotion, went in to help, but got there too late. The shooter saw him, fired another shot that hit him. They struggled over the gun; daddy got it away and the shooter bolted out the back door, hearing the sirens. M-my dad was l-left holding the g-gun and going into shock. He was confused; s-so he r-ran."
"That's pretty far-fetched, Arianna."
"Maybe it is, but it's possible, isn't it? You have to admit that much stranger things have happened. It's possible."
Kate Allison didn't reply. I could see that she wasn't anywhere near convinced; she just didn't want to argue about it any more.
With strict warnings against using my right arm or staying on my feet too long or not taking the prescription he gave me, the doctor finally agreed to release me. It was just past 1 PM when I was wheeled out of the hospital; just 6½ hours since I had awakened that morning, but it seemed like a lifetime.
"Please, can I go home?" I asked Officer Allison, who was still at the hospital despite the fact that Marissa had arrived more than twenty minutes ago. "I just want to go home. Marissa can take care of me."
Kate Allison thoughtfully considered this for a moment. "Arianna, I know you want to go home, but how can I be sure you won't go looking for your father again? The doctor knows what he's talking about. A gunshot wound is serious — you need rest."
"I know I do." Marissa and Officer Allison helped me out of the wheelchair and into the back of the police car. I took a moment to catch my breath, and then made Kate Allison a lawyer-style promise, complete with fine print. "As things stand now, I have no reason to disobey the doctor's orders. Unless an unforeseen situation comes up, I promise to stay home and take it easy."
"From anybody but a Hobson, that promise might actually mean something," Kate Allison muttered. "With you Hobson's, though, it seems that your entire lives are a series of 'unforeseen situations'."
"Have you been talking to Andrews?" Marissa asked. Officer Allison nodded, a little sheepishly.
"What I've heard has made me wonder how on earth one man manages to get himself into so much trouble, and how such a trait could be hereditary. I mean, he seems to have passed it on to his daughter."
I could tell you, my dear Officer Allison, but you would never believe me, I thought. It all has to do with a cat and a newspaper, and a man so good-hearted he can't bear to pass up the opportunity to help someone. Caring too much is something else he seems to have passed on to his daughter.
There had been times — like yesterday — when I had cursed the cat and the newspaper, but I was proud of my father, proud of what he did with the knowledge entrusted to him. I was eight years old when daddy told me about the Paper, and ever since then, I've helped him out in every way I can.
Reluctantly — and as she said, against her better judgment — Officer Allison let me go home, but only after making Marissa promise to take good care of me. "Don't let her do anything crazy," Kate Allison instructed after dropping Marissa and me off at McGinty's.
Marissa smiled. "I'll do my best," She replied. "Where Arianna is concerned, though, I'm not going to make you any promises. She's too much like her father — stubborn as a mule when she sets her mind to something." Marissa's smile turned sad.
Kate Allison didn't seem to know what to say to that. I saw sadness in her blue eyes. At the door, she turned and asked suddenly, "Arianna, did your father have any reason to kill Charlie Dove?"
"No." I shook my head firmly. "I don't think he had ever met the man until ... y-yesterday."
Kate nodded a thoughtful expression on her face. "You take care of that arm," She told me, then turned and left. I waited until the sound of her footsteps had died away, and then spoke to Marissa.
"You want to know how daddy's doing, don't you?" When my question was met by a nod, I said, "He's been shot, as they suspected — he was hit in the shoulder. He said he was fine, but there was blood all over his jacket. Marissa, he's alone out there — it's so cold and he's hurt. I'm scared. I'm scared he's going to die."
Marissa put her arms around me and waited until my body stopped shaking. "Gary is strong," She said softly. "He went through something like this a few years before you were born, Arianna."
"Yes — Scanlon." I had heard the story before, from Chuck and Marissa — daddy didn't like to talk about it. "I know, but he was younger then, and he wasn't injured. He's so alone out there."
"Have faith, Arianna," Marissa whispered, as she had many times before. "Just have faith. There isn't anything we can do, except pray — not until the Paper comes tomorrow, anyway."
I spent the rest of the day sitting around and worrying about daddy. While I was watching TV, the cat jumped up in my lap and began to purr. I glared at Cat — it was his fault daddy was in this fix in the first place — but eventually I gave in and began to pet him. "I don't need you right now, Cat," I groused. "Why don't you get out there and keep daddy company? Make sure he doesn't get too lonely?" The cat's only response was a small "meow".
"Okay, okay. Stay here if you want, fleabag. Just make sure to bring the Paper in the morning, and it better have good news!" I shook a threatening finger in Cat's face. He looked at me, undisturbed.
Marissa stayed with me again that night; just before dark, she took a cab to her house to get some clothes and to tell her husband and daughter good-night. I felt bad about keeping Marissa away from her family, but I knew I could never talk her into letting me stay here alone, especially now that I had been shot.
The prescription pain medication I had been given made me drowsy, so I went to bed around 9 PM, sleeping, as I had the night before, in my father's bed. Marissa again took my smaller bed, which was in the living room. Daddy's bed still smelled faintly like him — cinnamon and Old Spice.
"Daddy, I miss you," I whispered just before drifting off to sleep. "Please take care of yourself."
Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I was awakened by a faint sound. For a second I thought it was the cat, but he was still curled up at the foot of the bed. I held my breath, listening, and I heard a soft footstep.
Before I had a chance to grab for the hockey stick lying next to the bed, a voice whispered out of the darkness.
"Arianna?"
I shot out of bed and into my father's arms, my joy at hearing his voice overcoming the pain I felt when I hugged him. After a moment I leaned back to look up into his face — the full moon streamed through the window and illuminated the room.
"Daddy?" I whispered. "Why did you come here? It's dangerous — what if they were watching?"
"I know." He exhaled slowly and ran his fingers through his tousled dark hair. "I had to come, Arianna — I had to tell you what happened." He looked tired, so tired, and I could feel him trembling slightly.
"I failed." His voice was soft and full of pain. "I got sidetracked and I didn't get there in time. I showed up on the scene too late to keep Dove's ex-wife from killing him." He paused, and I remained silent, knowing he would tell me the entire story in his own time. "She knew I'd seen her," He said. "She fired and I felt the bullet hit my shoulder. She would have killed me if I hadn't gotten the gun away.
"She heard the sirens before I did — I was in sh-shock, I guess — and she r-ran out the back door. That, uh, left me holding a gun and st-standing over a dead body. When I saw the p-police, I realized — I realized how the scene must look. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I just — I just r-ran."
"It's okay," I whispered. "It's all right, Daddy."
He pulled a gun from the waistband of his faded jeans and carefully placed it on the bed. "The murder weapon," He explained. "I thought about just throwing it away somewhere, but then it occurred to me that it must have Dove's ex-wife's fingerprints on it. Wrap it up in something and give it to the police."
We both knew he'd have to leave before dawn, but it was just 1 AM — there was still time for him to get some sleep. Surprised, as I was, that our conversation hadn't awakened Marissa, daddy told me to let her sleep.
Wearily, he took off his shoes, curled up under the covers and was asleep almost instantly. Just looking at him was enough to almost break my heart. He looked so young and innocent while asleep.
I awakened daddy just before 5 AM; I wanted to get a good look at his shoulder before he left. My fingers brushed his forehead and I gasped at the heat radiating from his skin. He was trembling and looked disoriented.
"Daddy, you're sick," I told him. "You have a fever. I hope your shoulder isn't getting infected." I helped him out of his blood-encrusted jacket and shirt, thankful he hadn't noticed that I was only using my left arm.
His shoulder was, indeed, infected — I bathed the wound in hot water, and then poured peroxide over it. On the way to get some clean fabric with which to bandage the wound, I swallowed a couple more pain pills. My arm was throbbing like crazy.
When I was done bandaging daddy's arm, I pressed my bottle of antibiotics into his hand. "Here, take these. They'll help with the infection. One in the morning, one in the evening."
Daddy squinted at the label of the medicine bottle. When he saw that the prescription was made out to me, and very recent, he looked up at me. "Arianna, what ...?"
I gave him a wry little smile; I had hoped to hide my injury from him. "You remember when you were running from the police yesterday, and one of them fired at you? I kinda got in the way. It's not bad, though — just a flesh wound in my right arm."
"Oh, Ari ..." For a second, I thought daddy might faint. Then he hugged me hard. "Why did you come back?"
"The Paper."
"The Paper — but Arianna, you know I wouldn't have wanted you to risk your live to keep me from g-getting captured. I mean, it's not — it's not the end of the world i-if I get taken into custody."
"You weren't going to be taken into custody, daddy," I told him gently. His gorgeous mud-green eyes widened a little.
"Oh ..."
"You want to take a shower and get on some warmer clothes?" I asked, changing the subject. "There's still time, but you'd better hurry. We need to get you out of here while it's still dark."
I helped him cover his bandage with a plastic bag, and he quickly showered, dressed in warm clean clothes, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He looked much better when he was through, but his face was still very pale and his eyes still had that haunted look.
"Here." I plopped a Cubs baseball cap on top of his damp, freshly combed dark hair. I placed the back of my hand against his forehead and was pleased to find that his fever had dropped.
Within 25 or 30 minutes, the sky was going to brighten as the sun neared the horizon. Daddy and I both knew he had to leave, but when we gingerly hugged each other for the last time, neither of us wanted to let go.
Finally, daddy stepped back and grinned at me — that sweet, all-American-boy smile that had long ago captured my mother's heart. "Take care of the cat," He said. "I love you, Arianna."
"I love you too, daddy." I tried valiantly to keep from crying, but it didn't work. "Take care of yourself." I handed him the bag of food and bottled water that I had prepared.
He kissed me on the cheek, and then he was gone, leaving only the faint scent of cinnamon and Old Spice.
