Chapter 9
Michael tossed restlessly on his office couch, in a doctor-with-a-critical-patient's version of sleep. Even sleeping that lightly (and uncomfortably) Michael was having a dream of his own...of sorts. He watched from the sidelines as what he could clearly tell was his good side battled the side that had cropped its ugly head up in that cabin with Jaime. His good side was tossing out words that made Michael (on the sidelines) cringe: kidnapper, abuser...rapist. The bad side of him merely laughed and looked prouder at each verbal taunt. Michael rolled off the couch onto the floor and woke himself up at exactly the moment when he couldn't bear the dream any longer.
The epithets stuck with him though - and made him shudder - especially that most hated of all words that now applied to him. Rapist. His record was clean again; there was nothing there to show that the ugly incident had ever occurred...but Michael knew...and worse than that, he was well aware that Jaime knew, too. As much as it tortured his innermost thoughts, what had it done to her? He'd spoken with her about it, in the best, most gentle way he knew how, and while he was grateful for her forgiveness (it was more than he'd have dared to ask for), he knew it still must affect her badly, in ways he couldn't even imagine. Maybe Jaime had forgiven him...but Michael wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself.
Russ wasn't sleeping, in spite of several doses of sedation. His doctors weren't quite sure what to do with him; any more could cause over-sedation and possible overdose. So...there he sat, staring at the padded wall, saying nothing out loud but plenty to himself in his own head. He had looked Jaime straight in her eyes - and pulled the trigger, shooting her in the head. Regardless of what his doctors (especially Mark) had told him, he didn't see how there could possibly be any sort of 'coming back' from that. Forgiving himself (because they told him it had not been his own choice, that he hadn't had control of his own mind OR his actions) was still not possible. He'd done it. No charges were being filed, but that was no consolation. Somewhere inside him beat the heart of an almost-murderer.
Jack Hansen slept lightly in his bed on the Second Floor. While he'd been returned to the locked ward (per everyone's - including his own - agreement), he had no need for a padded cell. He was no longer considered a danger to himself or others. He merely had 'issues' heavy enough to warrant working them out (for now) in a locked ward. He could acknowledge now (after speaking with Anna and then with the scientists) that what they claimed had happened really was possible, after all. But...had it happened to him? Had he really been the enabler who had given her all the information she needed to cause such chaos? Unlike some of the others, he had no memory of his actions and thus found it nearly impossible to believe...but he was trying.
Now, asleep in his bed, he heard Anna's voice speaking to him...and he nodded.
Rudy was in his own office, but rather than returning to his hospital bed and even attempting to sleep, he was seated at his desk and still hard at work (the very habit that had caused him to become a cardiac patient in the first place). He was looking at Jaime's brain scans - from before and after her latest surgery. The 'bleed' had been a devastating one, evidenced by the fact that they'd nearly lost her (had, in fact, lost her but got her back mainly through Michael's skill and determination). He had planned to send Michael away - and not to one of his other facilities, either - once Jaime was released from the hospital, but Rudy now found himself rethinking that decision. Yes, Michael had tried to kill him...but he himself - Rudy Wells, the healer - had tried to kill Jaime, also under the terrible influence of the Kingsleys' machines. In the last two weeks, Michael had proven that he possessed knowledge and skills that were quite possibly not to be found anywhere else. Brain cell regeneration was, after all, Michael's own discovery, after many years of study, practice and experimentation. Even if he had expressed willingness to teach the techniques to others (Savidge, for one), it would never be the same as having the originator right there, in his facility and on his staff.
Jaime was making a miraculous recovery - far beyond what anyone (except for Michael, of course) would have ever believed to be possible. With the injury she'd suffered, she should never have even survived those first few hours - and yet she was talking in full sentences, able to hold and nurture her child once again...and even walking! Her condition was still listed as Critical because of the extremely high potential for another brain bleed, but she was expected to be downgraded to Serious any day now - quite possibly tomorrow. Her vital signs were remaining stable and even the walk around the track that their very stubborn and willful patient had demanded had not altered those vital signs in the least. The wost of the danger had passed, it appeared, and their new goal would be to help Jaime return to her normal life, as smoothly, quickly and safely as possible!
Jaime woke in the middle of the night from her dream about her parents, turned her head and was instantly reassured to see that Steve was once again beside her, sound asleep. Except...WHY did he smell like cigars? Whatever had happened that day, she was sure he'd fill her in, first thing in the morning - after he'd showered to get rid of that smell! BLECH! It was nasty! And yet, seeing him there beside her was enough to allow her to drift back to sleep with a smile on her face - and renewed determination in her heart to work even harder tomorrow to grow strong in preparation for...whatever she was supposed to be preparing for.