AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of the material toward the middle of this chapter might offend some readers. It is not my intention to offend anyone. Be Fehrly [okay lame] warned. THANKS!
* * *
NUMBNESS
Farron looked up when he saw Kara entering the ER waiting room. A few months ago, his brother had given them a spare key to the house due to their frequent babysitting duties when Angie wasn't available. Kara had stopped by Frank and Loralei's and gathered some clothing for their sister in-law. In the baggy hospital scrubs, Loralei looked very young, child-like. Farron had finally convinced her to sit down, but she refused to relax. She couldn't. She sat on the edge of a hard plastic couch, her body drawn up tensely. She had stopped crying a few moments ago, but it wouldn't take much to make her cry again. He exchanged a knowing glance with Kara and shook his head. It was funny how people learned secret signals undetectable to the grieving mind. Loralei hadn't noticed Kara's arrival, she was barely aware of Farron's presence beside her. She was back on the roof, back in time, falling with him. She had to shake it off. There were two children depending on her and she couldn't ignore them regardless of her mental state. She would go to them as soon as she could. She barely moved when Kara sat on the other side of her. Her sister in-law reached out and placed her hand on top of Loralei's. Loralei glanced up at Kara vaguely; her hand was warm and limp. Kara couldn't imagine how she'd feel if she were in the same position as Loralei. She didn't want to think about it.
"I brought some of your clothes from home," Kara said. "You can change into them whenever you're ready. I checked in on the children on the way over, and they're fine."
Loralei nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. "I appreciate it." Absently, she took the small overnight bag that Kara was still clutching in her right hand. Did she actually have the energy to get dressed? She wouldn't move a muscle until the hospital told her something. The waiting was the true torture. If he was dead, they needed to spill it, not hold back. Damn it. She had to know. Her brother and sister in-law flanked her on each side now, offering comfort and support. She glanced around the room and noticed that it was filled with the other team members. She literally had a whole family here. Look what her husband had done. Look at how many people he had touched and brought together. Would they ever see him again? She wasn't stupid. She knew he had fallen from a fairly good height. Shit. Tell me something, please. "I'll hang onto this for later," she told Kara. Feeling slightly suffocated, she moved away from the couch and the comforting nearness of Kara and Farron. She had taken to staring out the window again. How long would they make her wait? Did they enjoy putting them through such agony? She hugged herself again, running her hands along her arms as if she were trying to brush away a hard chill. Frank, wherever you are, I love you.
* * *
Frank Donovan was conscious, not in the physical sense, but perhaps the mental one. The neurons in his brain were busily firing, bringing in little clips of his past and present. He had heard of people seeing their lives flash before their eyes, and he supposed it was happening to him now. He saw himself and Farron as children, arguing over a stupid toy, and then it changed to the night he was gunned down in his mother's front yard. He saw Farron saving his life, killing Pablo Dominguez. The neurons fired again, and he watched as he hugged Farron for helping his wife. There was Loralei, a vision so clear and beautiful, comforting. He watched the births of his children again and felt a renewed sense of love and joy. He cried for them, mentally reaching out to touch them one more time before the light died. The worse thing about leaving this world was the thought of never seeing his wife and children again, but it wasn't anything he could control. Vaguely, from far, far away, he heard the voices of the medical team trying to save his life. They were frantically shouting "flat line…flat line." Flat line? Didn't that mean his heart had stopped beating? The neurons fired again and he was taken back to his wedding. His beautiful, beautiful Loralei. Dying had made him privy to several pieces of information he hadn't had access to ever before. She knew she was pregnant at the wedding. She had kept it locked inside for two weeks or more. She was a sly, sly woman. He loved her so much, he would miss her forever. The neurons fired yet again, probably for the last time as he saw a rather beautiful face. At first, he thought he was looking at Loralei again. She had the same dark auburn hair, vibrant green eyes, and peachy skin. There were a few exceptions. Her face was adorned with very high and sharp cheekbones, and her body was lean and tall, much taller than Loralei. This woman was familiar to him, yet not familiar at the same time. Was she a woman? At one moment, she came to him as a woman. At another, her image would shift, and she'd become a little girl before reverting to an infant. When he had visualized what his and Loralei's child would look like at her first pregnancy, this woman/girl/infant before him was exactly what he pictured. How odd.
"Who are you," he asked this vision before him. He hadn't actually moved his lips at all. He had transmitted the thoughts through his mind and heard them aloud.
"You can consider me a guide of sorts," she answered. Her voice was light and musical, just like Loralei's. Unsettling. "I'm stopping you before you move forward further. You have three people depending on your love and presence."
"Who are you," he asked again.
"You know me as Wenona."
Wenona? Where had he heard that name before? No. It couldn't be. Before they even discovered Loralei was pregnant the first time, they had been idly discussing having children and she had gone out to buy a baby name book. He sat up with her one night, choosing names at random, just to see how they'd sound with Donovan. Loralei had placed her finger on one. This one, Wenona Donovan, like the singer, baby. Look, it means first-born daughter, she said, awed. You would want to name our daughter that, Donovan had asked amusedly. I don't see why not? Hey, at least no one would ever forget it. What would you want to name her Frank, Frances Francine, she'd shot back, imitating his patented eyebrow lift. He was looking at their first child? Their lost child? Rendered speechless, he didn't know what else to say. He wanted to stay with her, to touch her, love her as he loved all his children, but it wasn't to be. She reached out to him, placing her hand on his chest, as if beckoning him to go back. The pressure was enormous, crushing. Damn it. His ribs. Broken. Please stop. You're killing me. It hurts, goddamn you. It huuuuuurts! Why were they doing this to him? He didn't understand.
Donovan opened his eyes and noticed that he was laid out in a pristine white room. He was in the hospital? He had been more than certain he died. He looked all around him for Wenona. She obviously wasn't a part of the real world. She was nothing more than a hallucination. He was, after all, a realist. He felt angered annoyance. He couldn't move his body. Either he was strapped down, or it simply wasn't listening to the cues his brain was giving it. That thought worried him. The attending physician and a few nurses caring for him came to his aid, thinking that he was having a seizure of some sort. There was nothing wrong with him. If they would let him off the bed, he could find his wife and get the hell out of here. However, a deep, scraping pain in his chest abruptly put an end to his struggle. Shit. Broken fucking ribs. For a brief moment, he watched helplessly as he was given an injection. He couldn't fight it, he was absolutely physically unable. Within seconds, he settled and fell into a deep, drugged sleep.
* * *
With the exception of Kara, Farron, and Loralei, almost everyone else had fallen into a fitful sleep. It had been hours and Loralei considered the wait a good sign. However, she had no idea what was going on. Apparently, the doctors had had to do a ton of work on him. She watched, horrified, as several life saving teams and their equipment rushed toward the back of the hospital. It could be anyone, she knew this, but she was more than convinced that it was Donovan. Somewhere back there, her husband was dying, and she was stuck at the fucking front of the hospital helpless and afraid. She tried to sit still, but couldn't. As much as her husband [You're rubbing off on me, Donovan], she began to pace about the room, seemingly making big circles around the empty floor space. Kara and Farron watched her sympathetically, wanting to do something to comfort her, but nothing short of a miracle would offer that to her. She stopped pacing long enough to approach the window. God. She was completely out of her mind. If they didn't tell her something soon, she would fucking demand an update. She was his damn wife for God's sake. Needing a center of gravity, a slice of sanity, she looked back at her brother and sister in-law. Without a word to either of them, she took hold of Cody's cell phone sticking haphazardly out of his back pocket. She held it up to them so they'd know she wasn't running off. She intended to call Angie and find out about the children. Although too young to understand, she realized that they would both be aware something wasn't right in their world. Loralei had barely gotten to the door when Farron's voice called her back. She turned, ready to wave him off, and was glad she didn't. It was an attending physician. God. After an eternity, she would finally receive the update she needed and feared.
* * *
He held onto her hand tightly, knowing deep down inside that she could never help him, never pull him up. What could he do? He could take her with him, die with her in his arms, or he could die for her, for the children. What kind of life would they have without their parents? He couldn't do that to her, couldn't harm her in any way. There had never been any other choice for him. Steeling himself, giving his wife one last, loving look, he pulled free of her. He was a realist, but he hung onto the hope that the beam would support him just long enough for him to get a firm grasp on a stronger one to pull his own body up and over. For whatever reasons known to fate and man, it wasn't to be. He felt his hand slipping, heard the beam cracking. It was over. Why fight destiny? It would win every time. As he was falling down to the muddy ground, he didn't scream, didn't breathe, and didn't blink. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind, most of them centering on his wife and children. He was leaving them behind. It was the thought that horrified him the most. He could think of nothing else. Loralei. Tristan. Rachel. He loved them so very much. When he landed on his back, his head cracked against something hard, before his body rebounded and landed on its side. He felt the agonizing pain of a rib [or two or three or four] cracking. He felt a tingling sensation in his lower back, and for a horrifying moment, he couldn't move. His vision was becoming dim. Within that dimness came light. That light was his family. Loralei. Tristan. Rachel. Would he ever see them again? Would he ever love them again? Tiredly, he rested his cheek against the soggy ground. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt if he laid here for a few hours and napped. Yes. A short nap and then he would go to his wife, to his Loralei. Blackness touched him and became his close, intimate friend.
* * *
Loralei sat in a chair she had dragged close to his bedside. Nervously, she leaned forward on her elbows. She chewed on the ball of her thumb as she rocked back and forth. Would he ever open his eyes? Would he ever look at her? His condition was sketchy at best, but at least he was alive. His injuries would heal in time, but there was one thing bothering them all. He had sustained slight bruising to his spine, and no one was certain what would happen. The next few days would be critical. The only thing that saved him from snapping his spine clean in two was the mud. If he had fallen on solid ground, he would have died. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she was instructed not to touch him, not just yet. It was killing her. Just hours before, she thought he was dead, but she had been spared that horror. However, she had to face another horror, no touching. She wanted to touch him, to prove to herself that he was actually alive and breathing. She had no idea that her thoughts were in line with Donovan's so very long ago when the situations were reversed. She watched curiously as his eyeballs moved back and forth beneath his closed lids. She wondered what kind of dreams and images were assaulting him. God, won't you open your eyes and look at me? In all the years they had known each other, she had never seen him in a hospital bed, and she didn't like it. She didn't like the way his olive complexion seemed to dull, the way his breathing seemed labored. However, she could deal with every single bit of it. He was alive. He had not left her or the children. Nothing else mattered.
During his drugged slumber, Loralei didn't leave his side. Every now and then, Farron was allowed back, but he only lingered a few moments. He couldn't deal with the sight of his otherwise strong brother so very beaten down. It was heart wrenching. He didn't understand where Loralei found the strength. His Kara, his Shel, was just as strong. They were both very lucky men. Before exiting a third time, Loralei accepted a long hug from her brother in-law.
"Thank you, Farron," she said through tears. "Thank you and Kara both. I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You do what you can for family," he said gently. "It took a long time for me to learn that, but now that I have, I don't ever want to release it." He glanced back at Donovan's prone body. "Yo lo amo, mi hermano. Sea fuerte. Regrese a nosotros." ["I love you, my brother. Be strong. Come back to us."] With one final nod toward his sister in-law, he left them alone.
The painkillers made his eyelids feel as if they weighed a ton, however, he struggled with them and brought them open slowly. Donovan thought he had heard his brother speaking Spanish to him. Had he been dreaming? Was it part of the weird vision he had had? He blinked two or three times before he gained control of his eyelids. He opened them wide and glanced around the room. Loralei was seated close to him, her knees drawn up before her, her head resting on them. She was crying. Nothing ate at him more than listening to his wife cry. He couldn't stand it. He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't move. His wrists were restrained and his lower body wouldn't move at all. What the hell was happening to him? Damn it. Why couldn't he go to her, hold her?
Loralei's head shot up. If the situation weren't so serious, the effect might have been comical. She thought she heard Donovan moan. When she looked at him, his eyes were closed tightly again. The stress had made her hallucinate. She had nearly lowered her head back down to her knees when she heard the noise again. This time when she looked up, his eyes were opened, but unfocused. He was struggling weakly against the wrist braces, apparently not understanding why he couldn't move. She stood up slowly, backing the chair away. How she ached to touch him. She wished the doctors knew his prognosis. This was torture of another kind.
"Frank," she whispered. "Baby?"
He heard the soft, musical voice. A smile touched his lips. "Wenona?"
The name sent chills down her spine. She hadn't heard it uttered in over two years. Why would he suddenly utter it again? Dear God, what happened to him? "Na-no," she whispered, her voice shaky, her body covered in chill bumps. "Frank, it's Loralei."
"Loralei," he said. "Where am I?" In his drugged state, he believed he was still wavering on the plane between life and death. He saw Wenona, their daughter, shadowing his wife's body. His smile fell away. He knew he wouldn't see her again, not for a while. "Until then, my beautiful daughter," he said.
She stood back and gazed down at his face. He was looking at a point behind her where nothing lurked but medical equipment. Until then, my beautiful daughter. Who was he talking to? Rachel? Yet, she was certain it wasn't Rachel. Wenona? Their first child? The baby she'd miscarried? Impossible. Completely impossible. She started to speak, but the words refused to leave her throat. She swallowed a lump that had formed there, one that had choked her effectively. "You're in the hospital, Frank," she said. "You were pushed off a building."
Ah yes. He remembered now. He had wanted to remember nothing about that, but it all came rushing back. He had recalled seeing Loralei falling, thinking that she had been tossed over the side. Instead, he had gone over. Yes. It was coming back to him, slowly but surely. "Why can't I…why can't I move?" She didn't immediately answer, she couldn't. The silence was deafening. "Tell me," he demanded weakly, his voice dry and cracking.
"Frank, I think…"
"Loralei, if you love me, tell me."
"The fall, you…you landed badly." She sighed and fought back her tears. She couldn't talk to him this way. If she did, nothing would make sense. "Something happened to your spine, an injury…"
Before she could say any more, he interrupted her. "I'm paralyzed," he asked in stunned disbelief.
She scrubbed the tears out of her eyes. "Frank, we…we don't know yet. There was some…some bruising, and we can't predict what will happen. It may only be temporary paralysis. Nothing more than that."
No. He wasn't hearing this. This wasn't happening. "But it could also be permanent. Just say it. You're my wife, Loralei, don't bullshit me."
"Yes. It…it could."
He turned his head away from her. For the moment, his head and upper body was all he could move, and he couldn't move much of that with his wrists in the damn braces. He chewed on his bottom lip mercilessly. How could he be a proper husband and father if he was half a man? How? Damn it. Damn it all to hell. "Get me out of these," he commanded through gritted teeth. He was straining against the braces desperately.
She exhaled a deep breath and chased away her tears. This time, he would listen to her. She wouldn't have it any other way. "No," she said firmly, stubbornly. "I can't. I won't. The slightest movement could break the fine line between temporary and permanent. They stay on until we have a definite answer."
Donovan turned his head back toward her. She stood with her fists planted firmly on her hips, her foot aching to tap impatiently. "I mean it," he said. "Get them off."
"And I mean it when I say no. I won't take them off. For once, Frank Donovan, shut your mouth and follow someone else's orders for a change. They come off when we receive an answer."
"What if one never comes," he asked softly.
There were tears shining in his eyes. He was so scared. She had never seen such fear in his eyes before. "Then you'll spend eternity in them, and I'll be right here to ensure that you do."