CHAPTER 7
Sometime the previous morning, Beth McCullough had transported the entire blanket-fort-and-paper-star sleeping area up to the cabin's loft. It was either that or hope a miniature hurricane blew through and cleared a path to the kitchen before they all starved. In any case, the move had the nice side effect of moving the sleeping children closer to the hewn-beam ceiling, and the girls had drifted off pointing out their favorite stars and dangling snowflakes.
The result at the moment, though, was that Joe found himself creeping down a set of open plank stairs in the dark, holding his breath every time one of the boards creaked. It would have been easier without Laura an inch behind him, but the thirsty tot had refused to wait at the top of the steps while he got her a drink. Apparently, the flickering shadows from the fire that had been oh-so-fascinating before bed were downright scary in the middle of the night and now the preschooler was stuck to him like glue.
"Is there more juice?" The whisper came about two steps from the bottom.
"I don't know. Plenty of milk, if not. Shh." Joe crossed the floor into the small kitchen, squinting his eyes at the sudden brightness as he opened the refrigerator.
"There's still apple juice." Laura's voice was muted, but jubilant. There was an entire container of chilled apple juice and all was well with her world.
Grinning in spite of the risk of raiding someone else's food when they were clearly supposed to be in bed, Joe poured two cups of the juice before putting the bottle back on the shelf. He drained his drink, setting the glass in the sink, and watched his sister sip at hers. A small smirk played over his face.
"What Joey?" Laura didn't miss the amused expression, even in the dim firelight.
"Just thinking that for someone too thirsty to sleep, it's taking you long enough to drink that." Joe mouthed his reply, reminding his sister to keep her voice down with a single finger upraised across his lips.
"I'm little."
"Umm, yeah... So?"
"So I have to take little drinks."
The ten year old shrugged. Preschooler logic required a certain, ah, flexibility in interpretation. "Right."
"Done." Laura handed him her glass, too short to reach the sink herself.
Joe placed the cup beside his, frowning as he tried to decide if he was likely to get into more trouble for not cleaning up the glasses or for running the water at two o'clock in the morning. The McCulloughs seemed genuinely nice, but... he'd been down that path before. He gave himself a quick mental kick as he realized they should have shared a glass. That way he could have claimed he was the only one out of bed; kinda hard to make that believable now.
"Jo-ey?" The name came out more drowsy murmur than soft whisper this time.
He looked at Laura with a start. He must have been pondering longer than he thought as his sibling was now swaying alarmingly, falling back to sleep where she stood. "Come on, sleepy head, let's tuck you back in."
Laura nodded, a small fist winding in the back of Joe's dark flannel shirt as they tiptoed past the hearth to get to the stairs. Eyes half closed, she let him lead the way, too tired to even hold up her head. She stumbled just as they rounded the stone corner at the end of the fireplace, unintentionally yanking Joe backwards...
...which shoved her backwards, too...
...into a big floor vase full of some sort of decorative dried branches...
...which toppled over with all the subtlety of an elephant attempting a pirouette...
...and snagged the fabric of the crocheted mantle scarf on the way by...
... culminating in a freeze framed moment of airborne antique clock and brass candlesticks, launched from the walnut mantle above...
Time resumed with the crash of two suddenly very alert children, one humongous glazed pottery vase, three dozen assorted twigs, two hefty candlesticks, and an oversized glass clock into the silence of a snow-insulated woodland cabin in the middle of the night. An impressive crash, not to be confused with merely noisy. Nope, definitely not. Noisy was bad, but... heck... bad didn't come remotely close to conveying this amount of calamitous racket... this was somewhere past rock concert finale, rapidly closing in on Fourth of July fireworks.
Before the sound even stopped it was joined by Amy's frightened shriek from the loft above and a gruff male bellow.
"WHAT in the THUNDER is going on!?"
#####
#####
"And I said back up." The officer's voice wasn't loud, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable. He had no intention of permitting the two teenagers before him through the ICU door.
Frank's eyebrow rose in acknowledgement of the statement, but he didn't retreat an inch. "No."
The trooper grunted somewhat with the futility of explaining the situation yet again before launching into another try. Somehow he'd thought the brunette was the easier of two to deal with, but he'd been mistaken. "Look kid, there was a significant medical emergency in there and you'll be underfoot. Now back off and go sit down."
Frank shook his head, a sharp clipped movement. "Not without more information. Your explanation doesn't make sense."
"It most certainly does. There's a medical emergency. That requires doctors and nurses. You aren't either. It's plain enough." Anger began seeping into the patrolman's words.
"Frank, maybe we could-" Joe slipped his forearm from his brother's grasp, surprised to suddenly find himself the voice of reason. Five minutes ago he'd been the one all for charging through the door. Of course, five minutes ago he hadn't yet spotted a nurse entering the punch code to the side door. Sneaking in would be a whole lot easier...
"No, Joe, we couldn't." Frank's voice dropped half an octave, irrelevant to the officer, but a shrieking warning to his sibling. The elder of the pair was both unaware of an alternative entrance option and rapidly working his way from controlled annoyance to blatant anger. Frank nodded toward the older man, staring into ebony eyes not six inches from his own. "I understand about staying out of the way, but whatever was going on in there medically is over. Something else is happening."
"No visitors are allowed and you have no way of knowing what's going on in there, son. SIT!"
Frank moved, but it was toward the shorter officer, encroaching on what little space remained between them. "Actually, I do. One, you said no visitors, but our father is still in there. Two, a nurse came out right after the code and spoke to a family, all of whom left - crying. Three, two men with a gurney and a dark velvet blanket went in there. Hospital transport doesn't use blankets like that, but the morgue does. Four, everyone that's gone in there since the morgue fellows left has been in a cheap dark suit. Government guys, not doctors. Five-"
A large palm shoved into the middle of Frank's chest. "Let me stop you right there before you run out of fingers."
"How about you let me stop both of you." There wasn't a hint of question in the firm words, the command forcing the policeman to take a hasty step away from the youth in front of him.
"Dad?" Joe ripped his eyes away from Frank at the sound of his father's voice, grateful for the senior detective's interruption. The tenuous grip he had on his brother's shirt wasn't going to last much longer.
Fenton trailed his fingers through his hair before blinking at his sons. They looked as exhausted as he felt, but there was an undeniable tension there as well; one he needed to defuse. He pointed at two of the waiting room chairs, confident the boys would follow him. "I was coming out to find you - they're moving your mother upstairs."
"We heard the code and we..." Joe hesitated... And we were going to break through the door?... We were about to slug our way in because we're scared half to death?... We were afraid Mom was really gone this time? "... and we were coming to check on Mom."
"She's fine - or she's the same anyway." Fenton slumped into a seat, impatiently gesturing at his sons when they didn't immediately follow suit. "All the patients that can safely be moved are going up to the eighth floor. There's a locked ward up there that hasn't been used in years apparently. It's being cleared out for the crash survivors; it's easier to secure."
"A locked ward? What's the hospital got that for?" Frank seemed to be settling down.
"It used to be psychiatry, but that's primarily handled at another campus with more modern mental health facilities now. The old design does make security easier, though."
Frank stood again, edging half a step toward the ICU door before Joe caught his eye and squirmed slightly.
The silent interaction wasn't lost on Fenton. "Something you'd like to share, boys?"
Joe picked randomly at his thumbnail, saying nothing, while Frank drew a tentative breath before answering. "Not particularly. It's just... like Joe said. We were coming to check on Mom. Joe was a little anxious about the code and I was keeping him from breaking through the door."
That statement brought a soft snort from Joe and a questioning glance from his father. "That's not precisely how it looked when I walked in, Frank."
"Um... it did start that way..." Frank looked over at Joe until the younger boy shrugged, conceding the point, "But then I guess I got a bit irritated with the officer. Something else is going on in there, Dad, no matter what that cop says and..."
"And we can talk about it after we go upstairs." Fenton stood, moving toward the elevator.
"I think we should talk to him first. He knows something; I'm sure of it."
"Upstairs, Frank." Fenton leveled both his children with a stare that announced he was well aware something didn't add up. "Now."
Joe flicked his eyes between parent and sibling, sending a silent apology to his brother before stepping around Frank to enter the now open elevator car. Frank followed him in. Maybe the eighth floor would hold some answers.
Fenton relaxed as the door closed, turning to face his elder child. "I thought you were bringing us coffee?"
"Yeah, about that - "
#####
#####
"I... I didn't mean to. I'm s-sorry... I..."
Benjamin McCullough had charged down the cabin steps ten seconds earlier, pausing only long enough to flip on the lights and simultaneously grab a broom handle before darting to the chaos strewn fireplace. Laura seemed to be more or less on top of the mound of broken glass and pottery shards; only a few twigs overlying her tiny form.
A visual sweep of the room dispelled his initial fear that either a clumsy burglar or enraged bear had entered while they slept. Still shaken, he scooped the child from the mess, carefully brushing away glass slivers from her hair. He had deposited her on the couch and was returning for Joe when the stammered apologies finally registered.
"What?" He pivoted back to the sofa, torn between hearing the quiet words and reaching the boy coiled on his floor. Joe wasn't getting up.
Laura spoke again, a little louder, although she'd started to cry. "I'm s-sorry."
"Shh. It's ok. Are you hurt?" Sorry could wait, as long as she was alright.
"N-no."
"Ok. Stay right there." Ben stifled a yelp as a stray piece of glass made its way through the thin leather of his slippers. "Joe? Are you ok? I need you to answer me. Joe?"
#####
#####
to be continued...
