The sterile odor of the hospital corridor overtook Sinclair's nasal
passages. A wave of unexpected nausea washed over her body as she shakily
leaned against the smooth wall. Sliding to the cold tile floor, Sinclair
wrapped her slender arms around her knees.
Craig's words swam about her mind, drowning her with their bleakness and woe. Complex medical terminology invaded her every thought. What she had once considered trivial jargon was now something she struggled to fully comprehend.
Craig had not done Sinclair the insult of sugar-coating the truth about Zach's condition. As soon as he had conferred with the surgeons, Craig had solemnly relayed the facts. Though he may have omitted the more gruesome aspects of Zach's condition, Craig had made no attempts to conceal the severity of the situation.
Yet, some hidden part of Sinclair almost wished that Craig had cushioned the truth. Some part of her wished that Craig would have denied her request to actually see Zach. But, he hadn't.
Craig had taken her into ICU as soon as Zach was able to be seen. Sinclair had purposely ignored the pitying looks that were directed in her and Craig's direction as they passed by the nurse's station.
And, when she walked into the small room housing her brother, Sinclair fully understood why complete strangers would feel so wretched on her behalf.
Zachary Wesley was almost completely gone. The bruised and swollen form that laid before Sinclair could hardly be compared to the vibrant young man she had spent a lifetime adoring.
Craig had kept a firm grip on Sinclair's arm as she silently approached the bed. With the tubes and various other medical devices attached to him, Zach looked as helpless as an infant. When she reached the bed, Sinclair hesitantly reached out for Zach's face. However, she wasn't truly ready to handle the reality of his head injuries. Changing her target, Sinclair moved her hand down and wrapped it around Zach's.
Her eyes had remained locked on his face even as she stroked his hand and whispered almost incoherently. Her voice becoming marginally louder and more clear, Sinclair announced, "He's going to be really unhappy when he sees what your doctors did to his hair." With a hollow chuckle, she continued, "Zach's really not going to like it, Craig."
As her tears began to fall, Sinclair had drifted further from the reality of the situation. "Look at that. They . . . they shaved half of his hair off . . . he's not going to be happy when he wakes up . . ." Finally looking back at her older brother, Sinclair begged, "He'll wake up soon, won't he?"
In that moment, Craig had realized why he had decided to bring Sinclair into Zach's room, why he chosen to tell her before he had even called their parents. In all the world, Sinclair was the only person who loved Zach as much - if not more - than Craig. And, she was the only sibling Craig felt that he might have any chance of still helping.
Craig had wrapped his left arm around Sinclair and kissed her temple. It had been quite some time since the two had been so close, and Craig could only wish that he had made better decisions regarding Sinclair and Zach before such a tragedy had occurred.
In a whisper he answered, "I'm not sure when Zach will wake up." Adding the words that he knew would crumble his sister, Craig truthfully mentioned, "I'm not even sure if our Zach will ever really wake up. His eyes may open . . ." Craig had forced back his tears as he struggled to finish the sentence. "But, he may not wake up and be the way we remember him. He may have . . . problems."
That had been when the trembling first began. Craig had shown a faint light on what the future would look like. And, Sinclair did not like what she saw.
She had completely ignored Craig's last comment and replied, "He's not going to like it if he's scarred, either. If that cut on his forehead leaves a scar, he'll be really annoyed."
Craig had been torn between wanting to pacify Sinclair with fairytale answers and wanting to physically shake her free from the delusions that were serving as a defense mechanism. "Clair, you've never let Zach down. You've never been weak when he needed you to be strong. I know you won't let him down now."
"I didn't really believe you," sobbed Sinclair. "Before you brought me down here, I didn't really believe all the things you said about Zach's condition. I didn't believe he could really be gone."
"I know," soothed Craig. "I know you're scared and hurt and worried. And, I also know that Zach needs you more than ever."
Sinclair had pulled away from Craig, jerking free of his embrace. Shaking her head almost violently, she had declared, "I can't do this, Craig. Oh, God, I can't even breathe . . ."
With those words Sinclair had run away from the room and fled ICU. She had tried to physically escape the horrific images of her brother's face being swollen and bruised beyond recognition, the images of his bandages hiding bloody wounds and injuries.
Sitting on the hospital floor, Sinclair struggled to control her breathing. With her eyes squeezed shut and head leaning back against the wall, she slowly forced her breaths to escape in an even manner.
Finally opening her eyes, she cried to herself, "I've got to get out of here."
It was late Saturday afternoon when Craig stepped into the crowded hospital conference room. Before him was a collection of Zach's family, friends, and even the families of a few friends. However, there were a few notable absences - Jason Masters and Zach's own parents. Craig wasn't sure which bothered him more.
Craig had originally planned to address the group in the hospital lobby. Yet, as the crowd grew in size, he decided it would be better to use his power to secure a conference room at the hospital. If any of Zach's friends responded as severely as his sister, Craig knew that privacy would be an appreciated comfort.
The elaborate conference table accommodated twelve while two armchairs provided additional seating for visitors. When Craig entered the room, every single seat was taken. Marlena and Hope were seated in two of the chairs at the conference table with their respective husbands standing behind them. On the same side of the long table sat Shawn, Philip, and Mimi. Craig was unable to remember a time when he had seen the three teens look as forlorn as they did at that precise moment.
Directly across the table from Mimi, Jeremy Horton sat. The rest of the conference chairs were filled with Hawk, Jan, and a handful of cheerleaders that were friends with both Zach and Belle Black.
In the two armchairs, Chloe and Nancy sat in apparent silence. Like a guard watching over them, Brady stood just a few feet away. His lean figure rested uneasily against the wall.
The entire room pulsated with a nervous, fearful tension.
"I stopped by Belle's room on my way down," greeted Craig. Like his younger siblings, Craig could tackle a situation with such direct force that it would dazzle any onlookers. Yet, like Sinclair and Zach, Craig had had also learned long ago how to make an art of avoidance. After the confrontation with Sinclair in Zach's hospital room, Craig had needed a little time before addressing everyone else. He had busied himself with paperwork, scheduling conflicts, and finally consulting with Belle's doctor. Anything was preferable to opening himself up to the painful truth in front of those who had gathered to offer their support.
"Dr. Carver and Dr. Glenmont want to keep her one more night for observation." With a nod in John and Marlena's direction, Craig added, "She'll be sore for a while, but I think it will do her good to get back in her own room in her own home."
Giving Craig a momentary reprieve, Jason and Erin entered from behind. As he brushed by Craig, Jason apologetically greeted, "Sorry for being late. I needed to take a shower and pick up my sister."
"It's okay," wearily replied Craig. With a feeling kin to suspicion, he watched Jason lean himself against the far wall. The younger man seemed both languid and restless. Both indifferent and terrified. If he did not have so many troubles of his own, Craig would have tried to investigate the clear emotional split that had assailed Jason Masters. Instead, he would have to trust Jason to work things out for himself.
"I want to thank all of you for being here," began Craig. "It means a lot to me, and I know it would mean even more to Zach." Craig almost felt like laughing as he realized that a lump was already forming in his throat. He had yet to really begin, and he could hardly bear to continue.
"Upon impact the left side of Zach's head slammed into the window on the driver's side. That is the injury his doctors are most concerned with at the moment. Though he had . . . numerable other injuries, none were quite as severe as the head trauma."
Craig paused and allowed his eyes to drift around the silent room. He had addressed many groups in that very conference room, but none had offered such undivided attention.
Continuing with as much composure as he could muster, Craig said, "A major worry now is the brain swelling. The more trauma the brain receives, the more it swells. In Zach's case, there is extensive swelling. We won't really know the extent of the damage until Zach wakes up."
His concern outweighing his desire to remain indifferent, Jason asked, "What kind of damage are we talking about here? I mean, how serious could this be?"
"Zach could wake up tomorrow and be just fine. Or, he could spend the rest of his life in a coma, never regaining consciousness." Craig immediately regretted illustrating his point in such a harsh manner. In an attempt to make the situation seem less bleak, he continued, "Most experts would say that roughly 10 percent of severe head injury patients fall into a prolonged coma. By prolonged, I mean more than two weeks. But, only 3 to 5 percent remain in a coma. There's a very good chance that Zach will wake up."
"But, you don't know that?" Jason asked. "You don't even know if he'll live, do you?"
"There are no guarantees," responded Craig with more patience than Jason probably deserved. "But, Zach's chances of survival are high."
"Will he even know us when he wakes up? Shawn's mom over there hit her head and was missing for years. Shawn said she didn't even know her own family when she came back to Salem."
Jason's emerging frustration tore at Craig's already shattered heart. With a bit of a smile, Craig responded, "Total amnesia is not nearly as common as local newspaper articles might make it seem. However, post-traumatic amnesia is often a sign of the severity of a head injury. Few patients actually forget their entire lives. In most cases, the events forgotten are those directly before the accident and even those immediately following the accident. I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances in Mrs. Brady's case."
Seeing that Jason appeared placated, if not entirely satisfied, with his answers, Craig concluded, "I think I'm going to take a page from Jason's book and head home for a quick shower. Thank you again for being here."
As the meeting concluded and the group dissipated, Brady skillfully maneuvered Shawn into a corner. Offering only a cold stare, Brady commented, "I heard you say that you wanted to go by my sister's room."
"And?"
"And, I don't think it's a good idea. In fact, I think you should stay away from everyone in my family."
"What are you talking about? What is going on with you?"
Though Brady was most likely mad at Shawn because he had kissed Chloe, he did not mind voicing his other concerns as well. "I think my sister could use a little time with her family before you charge in there with the apology you clearly owe her."
"Ah, jeez," muttered Shawn as he rolled his head back. "I really thought that you had moved past playing the bad boy who tries to push everybody around."
"I'm just trying to protect my sister."
Shawn closely observed Brady's facial features and defensive stance. "Is that what this is really about? Are you just mad because Belle and I had a fight?"
Brady smirked almost wickedly as he glared at the younger man. "Unless there's something else you need to feel guilty about."
"What the hell is going on with you, Brady?"
Forcefully brushing past Shawn, Brady grumbled, "Just stay out of my way, Shawn-Douglas."
Just as Shawn was preparing to make an angry reply, Chloe approached the pair. In a loud whisper, she demanded, "What is going on over here?"
"That's what I'd like to know," answered Shawn, tossing a displeased glare at Brady. "Brady's acting like I'm the enemy, and I have no idea why."
Chloe slowly turned to face her husband. "Brady," she drawled. "What is going on?"
Trapped in the displeasure of his rare tantrum, Brady peevishly demanded, "Chloe, you can either trust me and we can leave. Or, you can choose your little friend Shawn - and, I'll leave alone. Your choice."
For almost a week, Brady had been brooding and working to conceal some mysterious hostility. Knowing that Brady was not the type of man to throw trivial tantrums, Chloe slowly responded, "Alright, Brady, let's go. Shawn, I'll call you as soon as we hear something about Zach."
"I'd appreciate that."
(late that night)
Passing by Austin, skipping Belle, and bypassing Chloe, Daniel skimmed through the stored names until he reached a contact simply entered as "Home."
"Bingo," muttered the bartender. Casting his eye toward the unconscious girl, he pointlessly declared, "I'm calling your family. You do have a family at home, don't you?"
Ending the trivial one-sided conversation, Daniel pressed the send button and impatiently waited for someone to answer.
On the opposite side of town, the shrill ring of the telephone jarred Philip from where he had fallen asleep on the sofa. Fearing it was news about Zach or Belle, Philip hurried to be the first to reach the phone. "Hello," he groggily answered.
Glancing once more at the young woman, Daniel wondered just how good of an idea it had been to get involved. Throwing aside his reservations, Daniel replied, "Hey . . ." And, words failed him.
After all, how did one begin such a conversation? Was there a polite way to tell a stranger that his wife or daughter or sister had passed out drunk on the floor of a bar?
"Who is this?" demanded Philip with just a flair of the Kiriakis impatience.
Daniel quickly regained his usual confidence. "This is Daniel Rilleton. I'm a bartender down at the Cheatin' Heart. I think I've got something down here that belongs to you."
Running his free hand through his hair, Philip struggled to control his tired frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Look, all I know is that I've got a girl down here in pretty bad shape, and this is the number she had labeled as home in her cell phone."
Several seconds passed in confusion and uncertainty. Then, Philip began to understand. It had been more than a week since he had seen his cell phone. Philip had feared that he had dropped the device in the rain when he and Jason had been running toward Titan that fateful Friday night. Philip now realized that his cell phone had never been lost; it had been precisely where he left it - in his coat pocket. And, that brown suede jacket was last seen with the mysterious Sinclair.
"This phone," speculated Philip. "Is it a small silver and blue Nokia?"
Daniel pulled the phone away from his ear to inspect it. "Yeah, that's it."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
Steering his father's stately Lincoln into the parking lot of the Cheatin' Heart, Philip immediately spotted Sinclair's yellow Spyder. It was a great contrast to its bleak surroundings. Not the building, the dull streetlamp, nor the shabby pick-up across the lot seemed as real or magnetic as the late model Toyota.
Philip parked the car in the space next to where Sinclair's car sat. As soon as he pulled the key from the ignition, Philip jumped out of the vehicle and quickly strode toward the Cheatin' Heart's entrance.
He kept his stride steady even as he began to have doubts. Philip had occasionally been told that he looked older than his seventeen years. Some attributed it to his Kiriakis demeanor, others to his own innate charm. A few gave credit to his height or build or intense eyes. Whatever the source, Philip hoped that those occasional comments had been true.
Entering the Cheatin' Heart as though he owned the place, Philip mightily approached the man behind the bar. Whatever confidence he lacked, he would surely improvise. His tone conveying the appropriate mix of authority and trepidation, he demanded, "Where is she?"
With a nod of his head, the bartender indicated a booth in the corner. At first glance, it appeared to be entirely empty. Yet, as Philip neared, he noticed a pair of bare feet hanging over the edge of the seat.
Kneeling down beside the booth, Philip spotted a pair of loafer pumps under the table. As he rose, he casually dropped the shoes on the table's scratched surface.
While Philip stood looking down at the quiescent beauty, the bartender noted, "She's been out for about thirty minutes now. She had refused to let me call her a cab; then, she crawled into that booth and nodded off. That's when I noticed the jacket and found her cell phone in the pocket."
There had been a time when the Kiriakis power only faintly showed itself in Philip's childish tantrums. Now he exuded it in a mature manner that he once doubted he would ever possess. Staring rather harshly at the barkeep, Philip stated, "First of all, it's my jacket and my cell phone. Second, you never should have let her have so much to drink. What were you thinking?"
Philip struggled to look stern as he silently prayed the bartender would not realize that he was merely a minor trying to play hero.
In his own defense, Daniel replied, "You want an honest answer? Your girlfriend came in here all upset. She was trying not to show it, but any fool could see the girl had been crying her eyes out. She honestly looked like she could use a drink."
"Yeah, well, it looks like she had more than just a drink."
"You're right," admitted Daniel. "She actually had quite a few. In fact, I have never seen someone that size hold their liquor as well as that girl."
"She's out cold!"
Daniel nodded and gave a grin. "True - but, it took a hell of a lot of drinks to get her that way."
Philip tossed the bemused bartender a disgusted look that wiped the smirk from his face. "At least tell me you had the sense to take her keys from her."
"Right here," Daniel answered, jangling a set of keys in the air.
As the last patron exited the establishment, Philip walked across the room. As he closed the distance between himself and the bar, he commanded, "Toss 'em here . . . and, my phone, too."
With the keys in hand, Philip returned to the corner booth. He reached down and gently shook Sinclair's shoulder. "Sinclair," he softly said. The brunette released a soft moan, but did not wake from her alcohol-induced sleep.
In spite of himself and the situation, Philip softly chuckled. "Okay, I see you're not going to be walking out of here." Placing Sinclair's keys in his coat pocket with his own, Philip grabbed the suede jacket from across the booth and wrapped it around Sinclair's slumbering figure. With immense care he then lifted her from the booth and into his arms. "Okay, let's get out of here," he whispered.
When he reached the Lincoln, Philip struggled to open the unlocked passenger door. Once he managed that, he graciously sat Sinclair in the seat. Again, she released a displeased, almost sad moan.
As he dug into his pocket in search of the car keys, Philip closely monitored Sinclair's troubled face. He couldn't help wondering what had happened to transform his wicked elevator-mate into the disheveled mess that was slouched before him.
His eyes still locked on Sinclair, Philip finally freed the keys from his coat pocket. However, as soon as Philip looked down at the keys, he realized they were not his but Sinclair's.
Glancing almost lustfully at the Spyder, Philip looked back down at the keys and remarked, "Even better."
Navigating the roadster through the mostly deserted city streets, Philip carefully scrolled through his contact list until he found a number he never thought he would have to use. After hitting the send button, he reluctantly brought the phone to his ear.
"What do you want?" crankily greeted the woman.
"Did I wake you?"
"Philip?" Nicole questioned as she turned to sleepily look at her bedside clock. "What . . . what is going on?"
For a moment, Philip considered lying to his father's wife-to-be. He desperately wanted to tell Nicole that he would be staying at Shawn's, Jason's, or even at the hospital. Instead, Philip chose to take an approach that was probably quite foreign to Nicole. He would simply tell the truth.
"I just wanted to let you know that I won't be home tonight. I didn't want my dad to worry if he noticed I was gone. Then again, he probably won't even care enough to notice. And, no, I'm not going to be at a friend's house or at the hospital."
Nicole surprised Philip by not giving the predictable argument that his father loved him but was a very busy man. Whether she felt it was a battle for another day or simply agreed, Philip was unsure. Throwing her head back down on the pillow, Nicole finally responded, "Just be sure to stop by the hospital."
"Why?"
"So I won't be lying at breakfast when I tell your father that you've already left the house because you had a lot to do and wanted to check in at the hospital."
Philip held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he used his right hand to shift gears. Taking hold of the phone once more, he responded, "Thanks, Nicole."
"Philip," Nicole hurriedly addressed before the younger man could disconnect.
"Yes?"
"Be sure to also stop by Salem Place sometime after you finished whatever you're doing and the sun rises. After all, you are going to be buying me one hell of a Christmas gift." Just as she was preparing to hang up, Nicole quickly added, "And, Philip, don't get into too much trouble."
Craig's words swam about her mind, drowning her with their bleakness and woe. Complex medical terminology invaded her every thought. What she had once considered trivial jargon was now something she struggled to fully comprehend.
Craig had not done Sinclair the insult of sugar-coating the truth about Zach's condition. As soon as he had conferred with the surgeons, Craig had solemnly relayed the facts. Though he may have omitted the more gruesome aspects of Zach's condition, Craig had made no attempts to conceal the severity of the situation.
Yet, some hidden part of Sinclair almost wished that Craig had cushioned the truth. Some part of her wished that Craig would have denied her request to actually see Zach. But, he hadn't.
Craig had taken her into ICU as soon as Zach was able to be seen. Sinclair had purposely ignored the pitying looks that were directed in her and Craig's direction as they passed by the nurse's station.
And, when she walked into the small room housing her brother, Sinclair fully understood why complete strangers would feel so wretched on her behalf.
Zachary Wesley was almost completely gone. The bruised and swollen form that laid before Sinclair could hardly be compared to the vibrant young man she had spent a lifetime adoring.
Craig had kept a firm grip on Sinclair's arm as she silently approached the bed. With the tubes and various other medical devices attached to him, Zach looked as helpless as an infant. When she reached the bed, Sinclair hesitantly reached out for Zach's face. However, she wasn't truly ready to handle the reality of his head injuries. Changing her target, Sinclair moved her hand down and wrapped it around Zach's.
Her eyes had remained locked on his face even as she stroked his hand and whispered almost incoherently. Her voice becoming marginally louder and more clear, Sinclair announced, "He's going to be really unhappy when he sees what your doctors did to his hair." With a hollow chuckle, she continued, "Zach's really not going to like it, Craig."
As her tears began to fall, Sinclair had drifted further from the reality of the situation. "Look at that. They . . . they shaved half of his hair off . . . he's not going to be happy when he wakes up . . ." Finally looking back at her older brother, Sinclair begged, "He'll wake up soon, won't he?"
In that moment, Craig had realized why he had decided to bring Sinclair into Zach's room, why he chosen to tell her before he had even called their parents. In all the world, Sinclair was the only person who loved Zach as much - if not more - than Craig. And, she was the only sibling Craig felt that he might have any chance of still helping.
Craig had wrapped his left arm around Sinclair and kissed her temple. It had been quite some time since the two had been so close, and Craig could only wish that he had made better decisions regarding Sinclair and Zach before such a tragedy had occurred.
In a whisper he answered, "I'm not sure when Zach will wake up." Adding the words that he knew would crumble his sister, Craig truthfully mentioned, "I'm not even sure if our Zach will ever really wake up. His eyes may open . . ." Craig had forced back his tears as he struggled to finish the sentence. "But, he may not wake up and be the way we remember him. He may have . . . problems."
That had been when the trembling first began. Craig had shown a faint light on what the future would look like. And, Sinclair did not like what she saw.
She had completely ignored Craig's last comment and replied, "He's not going to like it if he's scarred, either. If that cut on his forehead leaves a scar, he'll be really annoyed."
Craig had been torn between wanting to pacify Sinclair with fairytale answers and wanting to physically shake her free from the delusions that were serving as a defense mechanism. "Clair, you've never let Zach down. You've never been weak when he needed you to be strong. I know you won't let him down now."
"I didn't really believe you," sobbed Sinclair. "Before you brought me down here, I didn't really believe all the things you said about Zach's condition. I didn't believe he could really be gone."
"I know," soothed Craig. "I know you're scared and hurt and worried. And, I also know that Zach needs you more than ever."
Sinclair had pulled away from Craig, jerking free of his embrace. Shaking her head almost violently, she had declared, "I can't do this, Craig. Oh, God, I can't even breathe . . ."
With those words Sinclair had run away from the room and fled ICU. She had tried to physically escape the horrific images of her brother's face being swollen and bruised beyond recognition, the images of his bandages hiding bloody wounds and injuries.
Sitting on the hospital floor, Sinclair struggled to control her breathing. With her eyes squeezed shut and head leaning back against the wall, she slowly forced her breaths to escape in an even manner.
Finally opening her eyes, she cried to herself, "I've got to get out of here."
It was late Saturday afternoon when Craig stepped into the crowded hospital conference room. Before him was a collection of Zach's family, friends, and even the families of a few friends. However, there were a few notable absences - Jason Masters and Zach's own parents. Craig wasn't sure which bothered him more.
Craig had originally planned to address the group in the hospital lobby. Yet, as the crowd grew in size, he decided it would be better to use his power to secure a conference room at the hospital. If any of Zach's friends responded as severely as his sister, Craig knew that privacy would be an appreciated comfort.
The elaborate conference table accommodated twelve while two armchairs provided additional seating for visitors. When Craig entered the room, every single seat was taken. Marlena and Hope were seated in two of the chairs at the conference table with their respective husbands standing behind them. On the same side of the long table sat Shawn, Philip, and Mimi. Craig was unable to remember a time when he had seen the three teens look as forlorn as they did at that precise moment.
Directly across the table from Mimi, Jeremy Horton sat. The rest of the conference chairs were filled with Hawk, Jan, and a handful of cheerleaders that were friends with both Zach and Belle Black.
In the two armchairs, Chloe and Nancy sat in apparent silence. Like a guard watching over them, Brady stood just a few feet away. His lean figure rested uneasily against the wall.
The entire room pulsated with a nervous, fearful tension.
"I stopped by Belle's room on my way down," greeted Craig. Like his younger siblings, Craig could tackle a situation with such direct force that it would dazzle any onlookers. Yet, like Sinclair and Zach, Craig had had also learned long ago how to make an art of avoidance. After the confrontation with Sinclair in Zach's hospital room, Craig had needed a little time before addressing everyone else. He had busied himself with paperwork, scheduling conflicts, and finally consulting with Belle's doctor. Anything was preferable to opening himself up to the painful truth in front of those who had gathered to offer their support.
"Dr. Carver and Dr. Glenmont want to keep her one more night for observation." With a nod in John and Marlena's direction, Craig added, "She'll be sore for a while, but I think it will do her good to get back in her own room in her own home."
Giving Craig a momentary reprieve, Jason and Erin entered from behind. As he brushed by Craig, Jason apologetically greeted, "Sorry for being late. I needed to take a shower and pick up my sister."
"It's okay," wearily replied Craig. With a feeling kin to suspicion, he watched Jason lean himself against the far wall. The younger man seemed both languid and restless. Both indifferent and terrified. If he did not have so many troubles of his own, Craig would have tried to investigate the clear emotional split that had assailed Jason Masters. Instead, he would have to trust Jason to work things out for himself.
"I want to thank all of you for being here," began Craig. "It means a lot to me, and I know it would mean even more to Zach." Craig almost felt like laughing as he realized that a lump was already forming in his throat. He had yet to really begin, and he could hardly bear to continue.
"Upon impact the left side of Zach's head slammed into the window on the driver's side. That is the injury his doctors are most concerned with at the moment. Though he had . . . numerable other injuries, none were quite as severe as the head trauma."
Craig paused and allowed his eyes to drift around the silent room. He had addressed many groups in that very conference room, but none had offered such undivided attention.
Continuing with as much composure as he could muster, Craig said, "A major worry now is the brain swelling. The more trauma the brain receives, the more it swells. In Zach's case, there is extensive swelling. We won't really know the extent of the damage until Zach wakes up."
His concern outweighing his desire to remain indifferent, Jason asked, "What kind of damage are we talking about here? I mean, how serious could this be?"
"Zach could wake up tomorrow and be just fine. Or, he could spend the rest of his life in a coma, never regaining consciousness." Craig immediately regretted illustrating his point in such a harsh manner. In an attempt to make the situation seem less bleak, he continued, "Most experts would say that roughly 10 percent of severe head injury patients fall into a prolonged coma. By prolonged, I mean more than two weeks. But, only 3 to 5 percent remain in a coma. There's a very good chance that Zach will wake up."
"But, you don't know that?" Jason asked. "You don't even know if he'll live, do you?"
"There are no guarantees," responded Craig with more patience than Jason probably deserved. "But, Zach's chances of survival are high."
"Will he even know us when he wakes up? Shawn's mom over there hit her head and was missing for years. Shawn said she didn't even know her own family when she came back to Salem."
Jason's emerging frustration tore at Craig's already shattered heart. With a bit of a smile, Craig responded, "Total amnesia is not nearly as common as local newspaper articles might make it seem. However, post-traumatic amnesia is often a sign of the severity of a head injury. Few patients actually forget their entire lives. In most cases, the events forgotten are those directly before the accident and even those immediately following the accident. I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances in Mrs. Brady's case."
Seeing that Jason appeared placated, if not entirely satisfied, with his answers, Craig concluded, "I think I'm going to take a page from Jason's book and head home for a quick shower. Thank you again for being here."
As the meeting concluded and the group dissipated, Brady skillfully maneuvered Shawn into a corner. Offering only a cold stare, Brady commented, "I heard you say that you wanted to go by my sister's room."
"And?"
"And, I don't think it's a good idea. In fact, I think you should stay away from everyone in my family."
"What are you talking about? What is going on with you?"
Though Brady was most likely mad at Shawn because he had kissed Chloe, he did not mind voicing his other concerns as well. "I think my sister could use a little time with her family before you charge in there with the apology you clearly owe her."
"Ah, jeez," muttered Shawn as he rolled his head back. "I really thought that you had moved past playing the bad boy who tries to push everybody around."
"I'm just trying to protect my sister."
Shawn closely observed Brady's facial features and defensive stance. "Is that what this is really about? Are you just mad because Belle and I had a fight?"
Brady smirked almost wickedly as he glared at the younger man. "Unless there's something else you need to feel guilty about."
"What the hell is going on with you, Brady?"
Forcefully brushing past Shawn, Brady grumbled, "Just stay out of my way, Shawn-Douglas."
Just as Shawn was preparing to make an angry reply, Chloe approached the pair. In a loud whisper, she demanded, "What is going on over here?"
"That's what I'd like to know," answered Shawn, tossing a displeased glare at Brady. "Brady's acting like I'm the enemy, and I have no idea why."
Chloe slowly turned to face her husband. "Brady," she drawled. "What is going on?"
Trapped in the displeasure of his rare tantrum, Brady peevishly demanded, "Chloe, you can either trust me and we can leave. Or, you can choose your little friend Shawn - and, I'll leave alone. Your choice."
For almost a week, Brady had been brooding and working to conceal some mysterious hostility. Knowing that Brady was not the type of man to throw trivial tantrums, Chloe slowly responded, "Alright, Brady, let's go. Shawn, I'll call you as soon as we hear something about Zach."
"I'd appreciate that."
(late that night)
Passing by Austin, skipping Belle, and bypassing Chloe, Daniel skimmed through the stored names until he reached a contact simply entered as "Home."
"Bingo," muttered the bartender. Casting his eye toward the unconscious girl, he pointlessly declared, "I'm calling your family. You do have a family at home, don't you?"
Ending the trivial one-sided conversation, Daniel pressed the send button and impatiently waited for someone to answer.
On the opposite side of town, the shrill ring of the telephone jarred Philip from where he had fallen asleep on the sofa. Fearing it was news about Zach or Belle, Philip hurried to be the first to reach the phone. "Hello," he groggily answered.
Glancing once more at the young woman, Daniel wondered just how good of an idea it had been to get involved. Throwing aside his reservations, Daniel replied, "Hey . . ." And, words failed him.
After all, how did one begin such a conversation? Was there a polite way to tell a stranger that his wife or daughter or sister had passed out drunk on the floor of a bar?
"Who is this?" demanded Philip with just a flair of the Kiriakis impatience.
Daniel quickly regained his usual confidence. "This is Daniel Rilleton. I'm a bartender down at the Cheatin' Heart. I think I've got something down here that belongs to you."
Running his free hand through his hair, Philip struggled to control his tired frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Look, all I know is that I've got a girl down here in pretty bad shape, and this is the number she had labeled as home in her cell phone."
Several seconds passed in confusion and uncertainty. Then, Philip began to understand. It had been more than a week since he had seen his cell phone. Philip had feared that he had dropped the device in the rain when he and Jason had been running toward Titan that fateful Friday night. Philip now realized that his cell phone had never been lost; it had been precisely where he left it - in his coat pocket. And, that brown suede jacket was last seen with the mysterious Sinclair.
"This phone," speculated Philip. "Is it a small silver and blue Nokia?"
Daniel pulled the phone away from his ear to inspect it. "Yeah, that's it."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
Steering his father's stately Lincoln into the parking lot of the Cheatin' Heart, Philip immediately spotted Sinclair's yellow Spyder. It was a great contrast to its bleak surroundings. Not the building, the dull streetlamp, nor the shabby pick-up across the lot seemed as real or magnetic as the late model Toyota.
Philip parked the car in the space next to where Sinclair's car sat. As soon as he pulled the key from the ignition, Philip jumped out of the vehicle and quickly strode toward the Cheatin' Heart's entrance.
He kept his stride steady even as he began to have doubts. Philip had occasionally been told that he looked older than his seventeen years. Some attributed it to his Kiriakis demeanor, others to his own innate charm. A few gave credit to his height or build or intense eyes. Whatever the source, Philip hoped that those occasional comments had been true.
Entering the Cheatin' Heart as though he owned the place, Philip mightily approached the man behind the bar. Whatever confidence he lacked, he would surely improvise. His tone conveying the appropriate mix of authority and trepidation, he demanded, "Where is she?"
With a nod of his head, the bartender indicated a booth in the corner. At first glance, it appeared to be entirely empty. Yet, as Philip neared, he noticed a pair of bare feet hanging over the edge of the seat.
Kneeling down beside the booth, Philip spotted a pair of loafer pumps under the table. As he rose, he casually dropped the shoes on the table's scratched surface.
While Philip stood looking down at the quiescent beauty, the bartender noted, "She's been out for about thirty minutes now. She had refused to let me call her a cab; then, she crawled into that booth and nodded off. That's when I noticed the jacket and found her cell phone in the pocket."
There had been a time when the Kiriakis power only faintly showed itself in Philip's childish tantrums. Now he exuded it in a mature manner that he once doubted he would ever possess. Staring rather harshly at the barkeep, Philip stated, "First of all, it's my jacket and my cell phone. Second, you never should have let her have so much to drink. What were you thinking?"
Philip struggled to look stern as he silently prayed the bartender would not realize that he was merely a minor trying to play hero.
In his own defense, Daniel replied, "You want an honest answer? Your girlfriend came in here all upset. She was trying not to show it, but any fool could see the girl had been crying her eyes out. She honestly looked like she could use a drink."
"Yeah, well, it looks like she had more than just a drink."
"You're right," admitted Daniel. "She actually had quite a few. In fact, I have never seen someone that size hold their liquor as well as that girl."
"She's out cold!"
Daniel nodded and gave a grin. "True - but, it took a hell of a lot of drinks to get her that way."
Philip tossed the bemused bartender a disgusted look that wiped the smirk from his face. "At least tell me you had the sense to take her keys from her."
"Right here," Daniel answered, jangling a set of keys in the air.
As the last patron exited the establishment, Philip walked across the room. As he closed the distance between himself and the bar, he commanded, "Toss 'em here . . . and, my phone, too."
With the keys in hand, Philip returned to the corner booth. He reached down and gently shook Sinclair's shoulder. "Sinclair," he softly said. The brunette released a soft moan, but did not wake from her alcohol-induced sleep.
In spite of himself and the situation, Philip softly chuckled. "Okay, I see you're not going to be walking out of here." Placing Sinclair's keys in his coat pocket with his own, Philip grabbed the suede jacket from across the booth and wrapped it around Sinclair's slumbering figure. With immense care he then lifted her from the booth and into his arms. "Okay, let's get out of here," he whispered.
When he reached the Lincoln, Philip struggled to open the unlocked passenger door. Once he managed that, he graciously sat Sinclair in the seat. Again, she released a displeased, almost sad moan.
As he dug into his pocket in search of the car keys, Philip closely monitored Sinclair's troubled face. He couldn't help wondering what had happened to transform his wicked elevator-mate into the disheveled mess that was slouched before him.
His eyes still locked on Sinclair, Philip finally freed the keys from his coat pocket. However, as soon as Philip looked down at the keys, he realized they were not his but Sinclair's.
Glancing almost lustfully at the Spyder, Philip looked back down at the keys and remarked, "Even better."
Navigating the roadster through the mostly deserted city streets, Philip carefully scrolled through his contact list until he found a number he never thought he would have to use. After hitting the send button, he reluctantly brought the phone to his ear.
"What do you want?" crankily greeted the woman.
"Did I wake you?"
"Philip?" Nicole questioned as she turned to sleepily look at her bedside clock. "What . . . what is going on?"
For a moment, Philip considered lying to his father's wife-to-be. He desperately wanted to tell Nicole that he would be staying at Shawn's, Jason's, or even at the hospital. Instead, Philip chose to take an approach that was probably quite foreign to Nicole. He would simply tell the truth.
"I just wanted to let you know that I won't be home tonight. I didn't want my dad to worry if he noticed I was gone. Then again, he probably won't even care enough to notice. And, no, I'm not going to be at a friend's house or at the hospital."
Nicole surprised Philip by not giving the predictable argument that his father loved him but was a very busy man. Whether she felt it was a battle for another day or simply agreed, Philip was unsure. Throwing her head back down on the pillow, Nicole finally responded, "Just be sure to stop by the hospital."
"Why?"
"So I won't be lying at breakfast when I tell your father that you've already left the house because you had a lot to do and wanted to check in at the hospital."
Philip held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he used his right hand to shift gears. Taking hold of the phone once more, he responded, "Thanks, Nicole."
"Philip," Nicole hurriedly addressed before the younger man could disconnect.
"Yes?"
"Be sure to also stop by Salem Place sometime after you finished whatever you're doing and the sun rises. After all, you are going to be buying me one hell of a Christmas gift." Just as she was preparing to hang up, Nicole quickly added, "And, Philip, don't get into too much trouble."