The Night of the Floundering Female
Chapter 11
What Loveless did
"Jim! Jim!" There was no response. Artie looked at Webber over the top of Jim's head. "What's happened, Doctor?" he asked.
Webber took Jim's head in his strong clasp and probed into his ear. With an exclamation of triumph, he drew out the pronged mechanism that Loveless had placed there and which was now loose.
"He should be all right now," he said, smiling.
Artie wasn't so sure. That thing had been in there for days.
"Why has he collapsed?"
"It's probably the shock. He could be out for a couple of hours or a couple of days. It depends on how long it takes his brain to recover. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like."
"Thank you, Doctor Webber. I'll gladly take you up on that offer."
"He ought to be lying down," Sweetie said. "Can you manage to get him upstairs?"
"No problem," Artie said, hefting Jim's trim form up onto his shoulder. "Lead the way, young lady!"
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The next evening found Artie sitting in an armchair next to Jim's bed, studying an article on brain injuries that Dr Webber had lent him. It had only increased his fears for Jim. His optimism was further dented by the fact that his partner hadn't moved a muscle since Artie had gently laid him there the day before.
Sweetie put her head round the door. "How is he?" she asked.
"You can see for yourself," Artie replied, inviting her into the room.
Sweetie crept over to the bed and took a long look at the handsome man lying there. She couldn't bear to think that she was the cause of all his problems.
"You don't have to creep about like that," Artie said. "I'd give anything for him to wake up; I can't take all this waiting."
"Oh dear," Sweetie said. "You must really hate me for doing this to Jim."
Artie looked at her. "Don't worry, you're not the first pretty young lady who's been taken in by Loveless. And I've been with Jim long enough to know that he's not vindictive and actually has a tendency to be very lenient with young ladies. There was this woman once who actually tried to shoot him, while he was having dinner with her..."
Artie's words were cut short by a groan from the bed and suddenly two pairs of eyes were fixed intently on Jim's face.
"Jim!" Artie said. "Jim, can you hear me?"
"No need t-to sh-shout, Artie!" Came the low-voiced reply.
Artie could hardly contain himself. He wanted to hug Jim or dance round the room. He did neither, as he had to think of what was best for his partner. He did take hold of Jim's hand, though, which was lying on the bedcover.
"Oh Jim, I'm so glad you're back with us," Sweetie said, falling to her knees and taking Jim's bandaged, hand in hers.
"How do you feel?" Artie asked.
"Like I'm in the m-middle of a t-tug of war," Jim said.
Both of them immediately let go of his hands. Artie placed his hand on Jim's forehead instead. His skin was cool and dry, a good sign. He checked Jim's pulse; it was strong.
"Don't worry, Jim. Everything's going to be all right now. Sweetie, will you ask your father to come up here?"
"I won't be long," Sweetie said to Jim.
It was only after she was gone that Artie worried that she would fall down the stairs in her excitement at Jim's recovery. Oh well, too late now. Thankfully there were no sounds of a catastrophe and Sweetie was soon back, with Dr Webber in tow.
"Hello, young man," he said to Jim, "I see you're back with us again. How do you feel?"
"St-strange, Doc."
"Hmm, that's not surprising. At least your speech has returned, and your hearing seems unimpaired. Are you able to move?"
"I th-think s-so." He lifted his left arm a few inches off the bed. "S-sorry, I feel a b-bit weak."
"You should get some rest now and I'll see you in the morning. You should have regained some strength by then."
"I'll sleep in here tonight," Artie said, "just in case Jim needs me." The look he gave Jim meant that he wouldn't pay attention to any arguments from him. Truthfully, Jim was glad to have his company. He'd been unsettled by his recent experience and was still worried about the future. He had yet to regain his usual fitness and he was aware that he seemed to have picked up a stammer.
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Knowing that Jim was now secure, and almost recovered, Artie allowed himself to fall into a light sleep late that night. He was awoken by a noise from the direction of the bed, followed by a mumbled cuss word, and sat up in his chair to see if Jim was all right.
He was half sitting up, trying to pour water, from the jug beside his bed, into a glass, which was now residing on the bedside rug. Artie stood and picked up the glass.
"Here, let me do that," Artie said, filling the glass with water.
"Th-thanks," Jim said, taking the glass from him and drinking a long draught. He was obviously very thirsty, despite the fact that he had been given water since he came round the previous evening. Artie realised that, when he was under Loveless' control, Jim hadn't been able to eat or drink without being ordered to. He could believe that the doctor had revelled in starving the agent and only letting him have just enough to drink. Now Jim needed to replenish his body's supply.
When Jim had finished and the glass was back on the bedside table, he didn't try to go to sleep again but looked at Artie. "I feel like t-talking," he said.
"Sure," Artie replied, surprised that Jim still had the stutter.
"I don't want t-to go t-to Denver," he got out.
"We don't have to, now we've already met up with the Wanderer," Artie assured him. "Where do you want to go for the rest of our leave?"
"Just th-the t-two of us?"
"Of course."
"No hospitals?"
"What do you mean?" Artie was alarmed.
"B-brain damage."
Artie took his friend firmly by the arm. "Jim, come the morning, you'll be fine, just you see. You need time to get back to full fitness, that's all."
Jim shook his head. His hair was tousled and made him look younger and vulnerable. "Th-the st-stammer," he managed to get out, with difficulty. It was obviously frustrating for him.
"It's probably only temporary, Jim, but if not then we'll deal with it. You don't need to be worried or embarrassed."
"Don't t-tell anyone!"
"Alright, Jim, whatever you say. We'll take the Wanderer..."
"No. Just you and m-me."
Artie nodded. "We'll do what you want. I know of a place we can stay, a hunting shack, where no-one will bother us." 'And where you can lick your wounds in silence,' he thought.
Artie had tried not to let his thoughts dwell of the indignities that he and Sweetie and, worst of all, Loveless and his wife, had witnessed Jim undergo. That was enough to damage him psychologically, without having that 'thing' being attached to his brain. Artie was happy to prevent him having to deal with this new problem in front of others. They had sixteen days of leave left and, if necessary, Artie would apply for more and, if he was refused, well – they would take the time anyway. He owed Jim that.
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The following morning, Jim was able to walk and to mount his horse. Sweetie packed them both a parcel of food and filled their canteens with fresh water.
"Good luck," she told Artie, as she kissed him on the cheek. "I'm getting married at Fort Cheyenne on the fifth of next month. I'd really like it if you and Jim could be there."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, "but it's up to Jim. I have to put him first."
"I understand," Sweetie said. "Look after him for me."
"I will."
"Good-bye Jim!" she called out. She was aware, since breakfast, that he was reluctant to talk so she was content with the nod he gave her.
"I'm not happy with you travelling so soon after I removed that thing from Mr West's head," Dr Webber told Artie.
"Don't worry, Doctor," Artie said. "I'll take good care of him."
"I hope we'll meet up with both of you again. I like to keep in touch with my patients. If you have any trouble, please contact me straight away, won't you?"
"I won't take any chances with Jim's health," Artie assured him.
Farewells over, the two agents rode away.
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