Chapter 5

Now I'm Safe

Doctor Marcel couldn't find it in his heart to wake the sleeping couple. He knew their night had been long. He and the nurse quietly went about examining and seeing to Jack, changing his IV bag and doing all the things that needed doing. As far as Marcel could determine, things were looking up for his young patient. His temperature was now normal, his oxygen level near 100 percent. He seemed to be improving by the minute, actually. As Crockett leaned over the bed and put his stethoscope against the boy's chest, Kelly and in turn Stella began to stir. Crockett looked over and smiled. "Mornin', sleepy-heads. Rough night?"

Kelly swung his legs to the floor and dry washed his face with his hands. "Long," he muttered.

"I bet. Well, I can't unequivocally prove that your presence had anything to do with it, but I can tell you this: Last night I would have put his chances of beating this infection at almost zero, and his chances of surviving another surgery at maybe ten percent. In other words, if you had asked me twelve hours ago, I would have told you that he would probably be gone by this afternoon. Now...I'd say his chances are better than even. I can't completely explain it, but there you go."

"That's amazing news," said Stella, rising from the cot and stretching.

"What next?" Kelly wanted to know.

"I think it's time to start waking him up," replied Crockett. "I'm going to lighten his sedation, and if all goes well, I'll probably stop it altogether later today. We'll see what happens from there, I suppose. In all honesty, I'm feeling my way a bit. When somebody comes back from the brink and you didn't expect it, you sort of have to back off and regroup, and consider carefully what the next steps should be. So for now, we'll start waking him up and see what he and God can do.

"In the meantime," he said, scrutinizing them carefully, "I think you two should go home-"

"No way," interrupted Kelly.

"Just for a couple of hours," said the doctor. "Eat a little, catch a shower and a short nap, that's all I'm suggesting. Plan to be back by noon or so. By then I should be able to tell how he's doing and decide whether to let him go on and wake up."

"Babe," said Stella, rubbing Kelly's back, "It's good advice. You've hardly left this room for nearly two days now. Let's go home and stretch out in our own bed for just a little while. It will be okay."

Kelly recognized the signs of exhaustion in himself and in Stella, and he knew that they would be no good to Jack if they collapsed under this strain, so he gave in.

"Alright," he sighed, "but only until noon. And you'll call me if anything changes?" This last was addressed to the doctor.

"You know I will. Now why don't you tell your kid good-bye and let him know you'll be back soon."

Kelly stepped to the bedside and leaned down, gently rubbing his little boy's hair. "Hey, bud. I'm gonna go for just a little while. I'll be back before you know it. I'll read to you then, okay? How does that sound?" With a final kiss and head rub, Kelly left the room, throwing one last look over his shoulder as he exited, Stella in his wake carrying their shared duffle bag.

At a little after 11:00 AM, both Stella and Kelly were in restless sleep. Kelly's phone rang, and he answered it almost instantly, if a bit groggily. "Yeah?"

"Severide, Dr. Marcel here. You said to call you if there was a change."

Kelly sat up on the side of the bed in one second flat. "What happened?"

"Calm down. Nothing bad; just the opposite. Our little Jack has started to stir around a bit. He's doing great. It looks like all systems are go. He's doing so well that we're getting ready to put him in a regular room; he doesn't need the ICU any more. As soon as we have him moved and settled, I'm going to cut off the induced coma meds entirely. He should be awake by sometime this afternoon. I don't have the room number yet, but he'll be in the pediatric wing. Just ask when you get here."

"That's great! Thanks for calling, Doc. We'll be there soon."

"Not a problem. See you in a bit."

As soon as he hung up the phone, Kelly let out a celebratory whoop. Stella, who had raised herself to one elbow to listen to Kelly's end of the conversation, grabbed his arm and said, "What? What?"

"He's doing great! They're moving him out of ICU, and the doctor is going to bring him out of the induced coma. By the time we get dressed and get there, he should be in a regular room. Marcel said he would be awake in a few hours. Let's go!"

"Okay, okay," laughed Stella. "That's fantastic, but give me about two minutes to get my bearings, okay?"

Kelly stood and scooped her up in his arms. "Nope," he laughed. "Not even two minutes. Get dressed, lady. I have a son to meet."

Stella had to jog to keep up with her fiance as they headed for room 212 in the pediatric wing of Chicago Med. "Slow down there, Tiger," she panted. "You're leaving me in the dust here."

"You're a firefighter," Kelly grinned over his shoulder. "Keep up."

When they reached the door of the room, however, Kelly stopped and hesitated, taking a deep breath. He opened the door slowly. The room was pleasant, with pictures of fish on the walls and even some artwork on the ceiling. There was a window, so while the room was dim with the lights off, it wasn't dark in the midday sun. His son still lay sleeping, but some of the equipment was gone, and he looked more like a napping little boy than something from a sci-fi horror flick. There was still a monitor, but from what Kelly could tell, everything looked okay. This room had two chairs and a sofa that pulled out into an actual bed, because having parents stay overnight with their kids in the hospital was quite obviously a thing.

Peering into a closet, Kelly located the worn tactical pack that probably contained all of his son's worldly possessions. Pulling it out, he opened it and began to unpack it. As Jay had described, there were a few clothes—pitiably few—a battered five-subject composition book with the boy's name inscribed inside the rapidly deteriorating front cover, and a number of paperback books. There was also a switchblade, as Jay had mentioned, and Kelly pocketed that. All the way at the bottom was a small stuffed sloth. Kelly removed it and gently placed it on the bed next to Jackson. As Kelly perused the books, he was somewhat startled at what this boy chose as reading material.

"Must be a smart kid," he murmured to Stella, who was looking over his shoulder as he sat in one of the chairs.

"I'll say," she answered. "Shakespeare? Les Miserables? How old is he?"

"Ten. Just turned," Kelly told her. "But even if he were older, these are interesting choices for a kid who isn't being forced to read them. Anyway, I promised I would read to him when I got back. Let's see what else we've got here." Finally, Kelly located a worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, parked in the chair nearest the bed, and opened up the book.

He read to Jackson for nearly an hour, and then his voice began to give out. After he cleared his throat for the fourth or fifth time, Stella leaned over and put her hand on his arm. "You need to rest for a bit, babe. You're going to be so hoarse you can't talk to the child when he wakes up later."

Kelly sighed. "Guess you're right. It's just something I can do for him, you know?" But he closed the book, stood, and placed it on the end of the bed. Stretching, he said, "Man. I can rappel off of a roof, run up stairs with all of my turnout gear, a Halligan, and an air bottle, but this sitting for hours at a stretch...gets me right in the back, you know?"

Stella laughed. "You don't have to remind me of your prowess, big man. I'm already sold. I've agreed to marry you, remember?"

Kelly chuckled in return. "Yeah. I still can't believe that. You must be nuts, lady."

"No doubt."

The boy in the bed stirred and made a small sound, and Kelly was bent over him in an instant.

"Jackson? You awake, bud?"

The child's eyes opened, and Kelly was staring into beautiful, luminous blue. Those eyes held a puzzling expression of hope and fear and sorrow. In a voice hoarsened by days of having a tube down his throat, Jack whispered two words: "My dad."

Kelly, feeling as though his heart might explode, swallowed the lump that rose in his own throat.

"Yeah, buddy," he answered softly. "That's who I am." And he once again placed his hand on that dark little head.

His son reached up and placed his own hand on top of Kelly's. Still gazing at him with that same unfathomable look, his little boy uttered words that tore at his father's heart. "Now I'm safe." And then, heaving a sigh such as no child should, he closed his eyes and drifted off again.