Chapter Eleven
January 16
3:26 am
"I need to warn you, Mr. Eppes, that Charlie's appearance may shock you. When you see him, please keep in mind that his prognosis for recovery is excellent given time, proper rest and careful adherence to my instructions."
When he'd first entered the cubicle in the Intensive Care Unit, Alan had wanted desperately to take his son's hand in his own but he was afraid if he did he would disrupt all the tubes snaking into Charlie's veins. Tubes that kept him supplied with blood and fluid, antibiotics and painkillers. One of the nurses must have sensed his dilemma because she had come over and gently showed him how to grasp Charlie's fingers without disturbing the lines. He was grateful for that but it had also shocked him to the core. Charlie's hands were so cold! He remarked about it, not intentionally, but it had slipped out. "It was because of the blood loss," the nurse had said. He would warm up soon.
Blood loss. Yes, Dr. Mudamga had said Charlie had lost a lot of blood. They also discovered that he was anemic. That was due to his exhaustion, Dr. Mudamga had told him. Charlie had managed to work himself into borderline clinical exhaustion right under his watchful eyes and he'd done nothing to stop it. Margaret had been so much better at keeping their brilliant son in good health. She instinctively knew when he was working too hard, when he wasn't eating right, when he was pushing the line between fervor and mania. But he was still trying to get the hang of it. He was still trying to make headway into the bulwark of his son's psyche, a bulwark that Margaret had breached without any effort.
"I'm sorry, honey." He sent the thought winging into that special place he always visualized her after her death. "I let you down. I promised to take care of him and I didn't." He sensed somehow that she was here with him, with Charlie. That was how she always was. Margaret was always there when you needed her. It eased Alan's heart a bit to think of her here, beside him, beside Charlie.
Alan's eyes were drawn back to Charlie, and he took inventory of the injuries he'd sustained. He was grateful that Don had allowed him this time alone with his youngest. Don had wanted to come in right away, wanted to be there with him, but Alan needed this. He needed to see what had been done to his child without an audience, albeit a concerned one.
He absently rubbed Charlie's ice-cold fingers and tried to process what he was seeing. The clear line that carried crimson blood into his son's veins looked obscene somehow against the hand he held so carefully. Alan let the horror of it penetrate his soul like poison, then filtered it through his mind, knowing that, while time would heal Charlie's wounds, he would forever remember this sight of his boy, pale and cold as death, lying in this ICU, snatched from death's door solely by the grace of God himself.
"Charlie is suffering from a slight concussion. The laceration above his eye required stitches and there are numerous contusions along his jaw and cheekbones. You may be most alarmed by the presence of the respirator. During surgery, the area around his trachea began to swell in reaction to the trauma. We decided to leave the respirator tube in place until the swelling no longer posed a risk of obstructing his airway. It should be no more than twenty-four to forty-eight hours before the anti-inflammatory medication is able to eliminate that risk. Until then, he will be quite heavily sedated to insure he doesn't attempt to fight against the respirator's functioning. Paul and I both agree this is in Charlie's best interest as it will give his body time to rest and begin to heal."
The face that was so like his mother's was marred with huge black bruises. A neat row of stitches crisscrossed his forehead an inch from his hairline. The area around it, and Charlie's right eye, were painfully swollen. The lower part of his face was partially obscured by the thick artificial airway that kept his breathing deep and even.
"The bullet did a great deal of soft tissue damage which we were able to repair. It missed the major arteries, but nicked a vein, which caused him to bleed heavily."
Blood loss – because of a bullet – a bullet that someone had intentionally fired at his son. It was almost too much to take in. Alan's eyes lingered on the large dressing that covered the incision the doctors had made to remove the bullet and he shuddered. He visually traced the long, clear tube that drained the fluid out of the chest wound. A few inches to the right, and the bullet would have severed an artery. A few inches lower and it would have hit his heart.
"Both of the bones in Charlie's left forearm were broken in several places. Our orthopedist, Dr. Sanchez, will need to pin them back together in a separate surgery, but we wanted to wait until Charlie was a little more stable, as well as for the swelling to go down, before proceeding."
Charlie's left arm had been fitted with a soft splint and was propped up on a contoured pillow to minimize movement. Alan could see the thick, long bruise where Carlson had broken the bones with his hand. Dr. Mudamga and Paul had both assured him that Charlie would regain full use of the arm if he followed his physical therapy regimen.
"His kidneys are badly bruised and will take some time to fully heal. Movement will be painful and he will have to be conscious of his diet for a time. There were, miraculously, no other serious internal injuries."
A blanket covered Charlie's torso and Alan could not see the deepening bruises that marked Charlie's chest and abdomen. He knew they were there, though. He also knew that more bruises marred his back. Two days from now, when the contusions had had time to really bloom, it would be a miracle if there was any unmarked skin left on his son.
"He has two broken ribs on his left side. They will be painful as well, but caused no other damage to surrounding tissue. I know you will find this hard to believe when you see your son, but, all in all, Charlie is a very lucky young man. The damage could have been much worse."
"Dad?"
Alan heard Don calling to him softly. He didn't answer, but he tilted his head a bit to let Don know he heard. He felt his older son approach and wasn't surprised by the arm that crossed over his shoulders.
"You okay, Dad?"
"Yeah," Alan assured him without much conviction. "I'm just … trying to take it all in."
"Yeah." Don agreed. He wasn't especially okay either. He stood by his father and really took the time to look at his brother. Charlie was almost white where he wasn't turning black and blue. His untidy dark curls had been pushed back out of his face and lay limp against his head. The darkness of his hair only accented the pallor of his face and Don thought, for a brief moment, that his brother had turned to porcelain, he looked so pale and fragile. And that splint … Don couldn't imagine how he could have missed an obviously broken arm in all the commotion. He figured it must have been overshadowed by all the blood... there was a growing pool of blood forming under Charlie and Don knew that time was running out…Don slammed his eyes closed and willed the image into submission. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
"Ahem…Uncle Paul says we have fifteen more minutes, then he's driving us home."
"Home?" Alan shook his head. "No, I need to stay with Charlie."
Don nodded. "I know, Dad, me, too. But we only got in here tonight because Uncle Paul used his clout. And he says that if we don't go home and try and get some rest, he'll make us adhere to the posted visiting hours instead of cutting us some slack."
"Rest? How can I rest when my son is lying here like this? Charlie needs me and I'm staying." Alan was getting angry. How dare Paul Wentworth tell him what to do? He didn't just sit through the last ten agonizing hours just to see his son for fifteen lousy minutes!
"Dad …" Don was at a loss for words. He knew what his father was feeling. He was feeling it, too. But he knew they needed to get out of this hospital, if only for a short while. The long night of waiting had taken its' toll and they were both exhausted. And right now Charlie needed rest as much as they did. He wouldn't want his father to run himself down staying needlessly by his bedside. Don took a deep breath and told his father how he felt.
Alan opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Instead he resumed his watch over Charlie and let his mind work He'd heard Don's words, he knew they made sense but he didn't see how he could leave his boy, not now. Margaret, help me. I can't do this.
"How can I leave him?" he asked aloud, so quietly Don had to strain to hear. "How can I just leave him here? Like this?"
"Dad, we need to get some sleep. We can't do Charlie any good right now." He wanted to add that his little brother was so drugged up he didn't even know they were there but he refrained. Observations like that would do no one any good. He opted for a more diplomatic approach.
"Charlie needs us to be strong, Dad. He reminded me of that before he went into surgery. We can't be strong if we drive ourselves into the ground with waiting. And you heard Dr. Mudamga, it will be at least twenty-four hours before they even let him wake up. We can get some sleep and then come back. Later, I'll make arrangements so that someone is always here with Charlie, someone he knows, for those times when we need a break. Okay, Dad? Can that work?"
Sometime during his speech, Don realized how very tired he was. He wasn't even sure he could walk out of the building if they didn't leave soon. His father must have sensed this because he turned from Charlie and looked at his oldest, really looked at him for the first time in hours.
"I'm sorry, Don. I keep forgetting that this is hard on you, too." He heaved a deep, heavy sigh and turned back to his unconscious son. "We'll go now. You said we can come back when we're ready? We don't have to wait for visiting hours?"
"Yeah, Uncle Paul will arrange it for us but not until morning. Later in the morning I mean. He's going to come back after he takes us home and set everything up and check on Charlie one more time."
His father nodded his assent but his eyes never left Charlie. He raised his hand and brushed it slowly along Charlie's face. Then he leaned in close to his ear. "We'll be back soon, son. I promise. You get some rest, okay?" Then, in a voice so quiet Don wasn't sure he heard it at all, "Your brother and I love you very much, Charlie, remember that while you sleep." He pressed a gentle kiss against his son's forehead. As he straightened up, a whisper of his wife's perfume wafted through his senses.
Don heard his father gasp. "Dad, you okay?"
"Yeah, just a back spasm. I'm getting to old for his kind of thing."
Don huffed out a laugh. "You and me both, Pops. You and me both."
Reluctantly, Alan released Charlie's still cold fingers, carefully pulling away so as not to disturb the IV lines as he moved. He really didn't want to leave but he knew it was best. He and Don needed to regroup and take some time to process what had happened. Besides, he knew without a doubt that Charlie wouldn't be alone tonight.
He turned to Don and gave him a slight smile.
"He really will be okay, you know? I mean, he has the best guardian angel in heaven watching over him and I know she'll keep him safe while we're gone."
Don smiled in return. His father was right. Margaret Eppes would keep watch over her son tonight. He was sure of it.
