The cell phone in Henry's pocket rang disturbing the peaceful sounds of nature. He grumbled as he fished it out of his pants.
"Henry Spencer," he barked into the phone, irritated at the intrusion.
"Mr. Spencer? It's Gus. I'm calling about Shawn."
Henry sighed noisily into the phone. Of course it was about Shawn, there was no other reason that Gus would call him.
"What's he done now? He's supposed to be cleaning the attic out!"
"That's why I was calling. I went by the house because he said he would be there today, but no one answered the door and his cell phone is turned off. I was calling to see if he was with you because he is supposed to come by the office today and help me clean out the refrigerator. It's bio hazardous and I'm not going to clean out the fish and pancake tacos from last month!" Gus complained over the phone, irritated that his best friend was such a childish pain-in-the-ass.
"Well, that just figures doesn't it Guster! He's likely running around avoiding all responsibilities instead of doing what he's supposed to! I have no idea where he is then. But when I find him, I'll be sure to let him know how much of an idiot he is. We were supposed to have dinner tonight, maybe he'll show up then. I'll tell him to give you a call."
"Alright, Mr. Spencer. Thanks." Gus sighed then hung up.
Henry snapped his phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket. Damn kid! It never failed to irk him when Shawn flaked out on him, even though he had come to expect it by now.
When would the kid ever grow up?
Henry shook his head and re-cast his line. He was going to just focus on enjoying his day. He would deal with his way-ward son later.
Shawn blinked his heavy eyes feeling groggy. Good news, his stomach had stopped trying to purge itself for now. He had fallen asleep after that last batch of agony and when he awoke, he at least recognized where he was. He was still not sure what had happened, but he used his observational skills to piece together what must have happened.
Laying at an awkward angle at the bottom of the attic stairs surrounded by boxes of his junk led him to the conclusion that his dad was playing slave master again and that he must have fallen down the stairs. It's unfortunate that his mini golf trophy would forever lose it's sentimental charm and from now on be known as a tool for bludgeoning.
Bad news was that he was still in pain. After acknowledging the pounding in his head, it had receded to a constant pressure. Which left him able to address the teeth-gritting agony of his leg. As best as he could figure, his ankle or leg or both were broken. He had had his fair share of broken bones in the past, and they always sucked. Shawn couldn't help but think how much harder his visions were going to be to act out with a cast and crutches in the way.
Shawn was tired of lying on the floor and when his thoughts cleared, he was able to think about trying to get help. A moment of clarity earlier had provided him with the answer that he didn't have his phone on him and he hadn't seen it laying in the ground. But when he shut his eyes and tried to mentally walk through the house and figure out where it was, his headache increased and he had to stop pushing himself.
Shawn blinked his heavy eyes, trying to focus his thoughts. What was he supposed to be doing? Oh, right getting help. Which meant finding a phone, which meant moving. Well, this was going to suck. Shawn mentally mustered the strength to move, taking a deep breath, and wincing against the strain in his bruised chest.
He began pulling himself around to the stairs. He turned without sitting up, his head swimming from the movement and his body throbbing. But Shawn was determined to not remain laying there on the floor. He needed to get up and assess his injuries and see how bad it was. He needed to find a phone somewhere.
Shawn pulled himself slowly across the floor using his elbows, until he reached the bottom stair. He needed the leverage of the staircase to raise his body higher. He slowly sat up, the wooziness increasing making him clutch at his head with one hand, while using the other to help pull his torso off the ground. He gagged a few times, but managed a sitting position. He sat there propped against the hateful stairs, breathing unsteadily and pale. He closed his eyes and rested a moment.
He didn't mean to but the headache was increasing more and more and his leg hurt so much. He leaned back and let himself fall asleep where he sat. His brow beaded with sweat, breathing slightly labored, he leaned there, never hearing the pounding at the front door by his best friend and potential savior, Gus.
Sorry this took so long, but good news is that the next part is nearly ready to go up, so yay! Thanks for all the reviews guys! I really appreciate them and they totally motivate me to write faster!
