Wow, some of you reviewers are pretty damn dependable!
Thanks, guys!
Especially to: HappyAbby, starbright, britgirl2003, angel dust and two long and therefore great ones from:
KayH and Caroline25
So thanks to all – things are going to be moving slightly faster from now on
As in, there'll be a lotta talking and a lot to take in
If you want to, that is
But if you do or don't, Enjoy! Love LJ xXx
Beyond All Of Everything. Chapter Nine. What Meets The Eye
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o SUMMARY OF CHAPTER 8: Abby comes into the ER concussed. When they tell Carter how it happened, Ollie's and Abby's stories don't match up.
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"Roller skates?" Carter demands as he comes bursting into Abby's room. She has just slipped her shirt on and is reaching for her jacket.
"Huh?"
"When you pick an object for your elaborate lie, at least pick a toy your son actually owns." Carter snaps.
"What?"
"Ollie doesn't have roller skates."
"Oh –" Abby struggles to keep her panic down and stare Carter in the eye. "Well, it could've been anything. I don't know; it was dark."
"Really? Are you going with that now? You seemed pretty adamant before." He retorts, viciously.
"Well what do you care?" she mutters as she grabs her bag and walks out, pushing past him. He turns and marches after her.
"I know, that's what I've been wondering," he follows her outside into the empty ambulance bay. Ollie is watching through the window whilst knelt up in a red plastic chair. "Why the hell do I care that you've been drunk?"
"I don't know why I ever asked you to help me," she rolls her eyes.
"Because you're some self-obsessed alcoholic, maybe?" Carter spits. Ouch. That one hurt, but Abby glares back, determined not to let it show.
"Oh screw you, Carter. You don't know crap about me."
"What is there to know? You get disgustingly drunk around a five-year old."
Wow, Carter is just full of them today. Abby can't stand to look at him anymore, for fear she'll scream or cry or do something else equally embarrassing.
"You really don't know anything, do you?" she speaks softly to her feet.
"Oh really, then would you like to tell me exactly what happened?" Carter's voice is full of sarcasm. Abby looks up at him, about to say something. Her eyes are oddly bright but he doesn't notice; his eyes are blazing. "Or do you want some time so you can plan another lie and then teach it to your son."
Ollie. Abby eyes are drawn to the ER and she sees him, watching through the window with an expression she's never seen on him before.
"Right. I was drunk," she whispers and looks down at the ground.
Feet crunch in the gravel and two arms are flung around her. Ollie has come running out now that the fight is over. He didn't hear the angry words – maybe it's better that way – but he sees his mother standing looking more dejected than ever. He says nothing but holds onto her.
"Oh Ollie…" Abby kneels on the floor and hugs him back.
"Feeling better?" he asks quietly.
"I'm feeling great." Her voice takes on an upbeat tone. It doesn't seem to belong to those blank, hollow eyes of hers that stare over her son's shoulder at the retreating back of John Carter.
Dr Carter slams Mrs Lockhart's chart onto the desk, irately. His colleagues around him look up, shocked, but they hadn't heard of seen the brutal exchange between him and Abby. It's probably better that way, too. He stalks off towards his next patient, who is starting to feel increasingly nervous at the furious figure approaching.
It's a shame he didn't even flick through the chart, though. Now all of her details will get filed, sent up to some godforsaken, impartial place. They will be tapped into a computer; a huge database that no-one will check. The paper, itself, will get shredded and nobody will ever read it.
Abigail Lockhart.
Female, 33.
Head CT: normal – no signs of damage to the brain.
Tox Screen: clean.