Chapter Thirty-six: Fall

The gun went off beside of his left ear, and as he grabbed his head and fell over, Ian screamed. But he couldn't hear himself. Not even a little. His right hand was warm from the blood flowing out of his once good ear. The ringing. That was all he could hear. The familiar ringing that he'd heard once before. When he had lost his left ear to the chaos in Kuwait.

Ian curled into a ball as the pain overtook him. He shut his eyes tightly and gripped at his head. The floor shook beneath him as the man who had shot at him close range, missing on purpose, somehow knowing that Ian was deaf in the other ear already, stomped away.

He knew he had to do something, but his whole world was a throbbing, silent, hell. Yet Ian rolled onto his knees and forced himself up. Tried to stop the two men from leaving through the front door, into the evening rain, with Mandy.

Ian groaned, pulling himself up by the counter top with one arm, the other clutched his stomach, where blood spread quickly from the wound Ian held. Once up, Ian fell backward into the counter, trying not to go down on his knees. He dug through his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was cracked, by as he dialed 911, Ian was relieved to know that it would still make a call. Because they didn't have a land-line. All three of them used their own cellphones. And Ian didn't think he had it in him to search around for Mandy's.

Lip was gone. Wouldn't be back for a few more hours.

Panting, Ian held the phone to his ear and spoke with the dispatch operator on the other line. He stayed on the line with her until the ambulance burst into his already opened front door.

Hours later, Ian laid back in a hospital bed, nearly conked out by the medicines running through h;l is IV drip. Kind of sick at the sight of two bags of blood hung up around him, feeding his veins. The emergency doctor had removed the bullet, performed a minor surgery to seal up the damage. Now, two detectives stood in his room, trying to speak with him. But Ian was too out of it, so the doctor hurried them away. Ian's eyes fluttered closed. It seemed like maybe his eyes had only fluttered closed once and then reopened quickly after. But really Ian had slept well into the night. When his eyes opened back up, he looked around the room, finally setting his eyes on the figure sleeping in the chair nearest the window.

"Fiona?" he croaked, voice weak.

She jumped in her place. Although her face was hidden by shadows, mostly, Ian could see that Fiona was crying from relief. She ran toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Fiona held him for a while, cradling his head against her chest tightly, suffocating. Finally she let go and kiss his forehead.

"Am I okay?" Ian asked once released. He noted that the bags of blood were gone.

"You were shot," Fiona said, sitting on the edge of his bed and resting her hand on his knee, above the blanket. "Ian what happened? Lip said someone took Mandy!" she rushed to say.

Ian held his ear, face fading from shocked to elated. He smiled wide. "I'm not deaf," he said, just realizing. Although he could only hear from one, still.

Fiona smiled back and patted his knee. "No, they repaired some of the damage," she said, her pat settling down to a loving rub.

But the smile left Ian's face as the memories of that evening flooded him. "Mandy!" he chirped.

Fiona shook her head. "Did you know who took her?" she asked.

Ian darted his eyes around the room, trying to think. The men had been wearing masks when Ian first let eyes on them. During his fight with the man dragging Mandy, Lip had ripped the mask from one of the attackers face just before the other put his gun beside of Ian's good ear and pulled the trigger. "I can identify one of them," Ian said, wetting his lips and gingerly touching the needle in his arm. "But I didn't recognize him," he said and shook his head.

Fiona looked toward the door. "Think you could talk to the cops?" she said and looked back at Ian. "Are you awake enough now?"

He was, and he did, soon after Fiona stepped out of the room and rang one of the detectives. The next day, as Ian sat with a distraught Lip, the detectives brought in a sketch artist. The woman stared intently at the paper and pencil in her hand as Ian described the unmasked man. Tall. Average build. Maybe even a little husky. He'd had a slight double chin. His face was square. His eyes were dark brown. He was some kind of Hispanic. Had a thin mustache and a sole patch. His left eyebrow was partially tattooed on. His nose was straight and broad. He had a hole below the center of his bottom lip, probably from a previous piercing. His hair was shaggy and hug around his ears. But it was also curly. He had scars on his face, Ian said. "You know, like the ones some people get from breaking out too much when their young?" he added. And there had been an earring in the top of his right ear. Although maybe it had been just a cuff.

The detectives thanked Ian after the sketch artist confirmed the photo with the redhead. They left soon after. Ian had been hopeful when the detectives left. So had Lip. But after another week passed and September rolled around, Ian wasn't so hopeful anymore. There had been no sighting of the man Ian had described. Mandy hadn't been seen, either. They couldn't even identify the man's name. Not until the end of September's first week. But when they told it Ian and Lip, trying to see if maybe the name rang any bells, Ian could only shake his head along with his brother. Ian didn't know anyone with that name. To his knowledge, he had never met the guy.

The case continued and Lip spent more time off work, sleeping at the Alibi. Ian was finally sent home.

The leaves were starting to change color.