Daybreak had rapidly approached. Bud Skeeter had been up all night,
searching for those responsible in the shooting of the town sheriff. He had
one more stop to make before he headed to his house-the home where Razor,
his cohort, and girlfriend had resided. Come hell or high water, Skeeter
was going to gain enough evidence to bring forth charges against the two of
them. He pulled the police cruiser into their driveway, got out and made
way to the front door; knocking until a rather young appearing women came
to the door.
"Is something wrong," she asked nervously.
"No, ma'am. I just came by to ask a few questions regarding a shooting that occurred earlier this morning," explained Skeeter.
The woman stepped away from the door. "I don't know anything about a shooting. My husband may know something about it."
"Is your husband here now?"
"No. He and a friend went out for the day. You'd have to come back later." Skeeter handed her his business card and asked to have him call when he returned. He then left to try and go home and get some rest-he wasn't sure if he could, replaying this morning's horrendous images in the back of his mind.
Back at Thayer, after a few hours of much needed sleep, Jimmy had become a little more coherent and begun to piece together what happened, often going back to step one and reprimanding himself. His family was still at the bedside, now peacefully napping when the first shift came in to introduce themselves. He hated lying in that bed, yet had no way of getting up because Jill made damn sure all four side rails were up. She knew he would try and escape-it was all a part of that Jimmy Brock demeanor. As he lay there, he couldn't quite decide what hurt the most-his pride or his gunshot wounds. He wanted so badly something to ease the pain, yet in a way felt shy in asking for anything his wife had ordered as routine post- operative analgesics. After a while, Jill woke up to check on her husband, found to be still staring at the ceiling tiles.
"Jimmy?" Jill asked.
He turned his head in her direction and looked into her tired eyes. "Jill, you look so...exhausted." She leaned over; give him a kiss on the lips and a much needed hug. Just then, their children had waked up and she sent them to the cafeteria so she and Jimmy could talk.
"So, what's on the agenda for today, Doc?" Jimmy joked with her. At least his sense of humor was returning.
"It is in my understanding that they want to do an echocardiogram and a few more x-rays, you know, to be certain everything is the way it should be," she explained. "After that, we'll have to wait and see." In reality, she ordered them to double check herself; she had been awake for eighteen hours, hauled into the OR to fix her husband's gunshot wounds-how can she be sure she had not over looked anything while his internal organs had been exposed to her discretion?
To Be Continued.
"Is something wrong," she asked nervously.
"No, ma'am. I just came by to ask a few questions regarding a shooting that occurred earlier this morning," explained Skeeter.
The woman stepped away from the door. "I don't know anything about a shooting. My husband may know something about it."
"Is your husband here now?"
"No. He and a friend went out for the day. You'd have to come back later." Skeeter handed her his business card and asked to have him call when he returned. He then left to try and go home and get some rest-he wasn't sure if he could, replaying this morning's horrendous images in the back of his mind.
Back at Thayer, after a few hours of much needed sleep, Jimmy had become a little more coherent and begun to piece together what happened, often going back to step one and reprimanding himself. His family was still at the bedside, now peacefully napping when the first shift came in to introduce themselves. He hated lying in that bed, yet had no way of getting up because Jill made damn sure all four side rails were up. She knew he would try and escape-it was all a part of that Jimmy Brock demeanor. As he lay there, he couldn't quite decide what hurt the most-his pride or his gunshot wounds. He wanted so badly something to ease the pain, yet in a way felt shy in asking for anything his wife had ordered as routine post- operative analgesics. After a while, Jill woke up to check on her husband, found to be still staring at the ceiling tiles.
"Jimmy?" Jill asked.
He turned his head in her direction and looked into her tired eyes. "Jill, you look so...exhausted." She leaned over; give him a kiss on the lips and a much needed hug. Just then, their children had waked up and she sent them to the cafeteria so she and Jimmy could talk.
"So, what's on the agenda for today, Doc?" Jimmy joked with her. At least his sense of humor was returning.
"It is in my understanding that they want to do an echocardiogram and a few more x-rays, you know, to be certain everything is the way it should be," she explained. "After that, we'll have to wait and see." In reality, she ordered them to double check herself; she had been awake for eighteen hours, hauled into the OR to fix her husband's gunshot wounds-how can she be sure she had not over looked anything while his internal organs had been exposed to her discretion?
To Be Continued.
