98
Rune Alignment
Chapter 36
A rage like none other descended on Bobby. He threw his coat and tie on a chair, hands fisting and unfisting. His face literally darkened, his breathing deepened and the others could see him shake, trying to remain in control. He looked at Deakins and the two women as if he could kill them with his bare hands. Then he looked at Sledge. Bobby walked to him; got up in his face. The other three and the two uniforms stepped toward Bobby; nobody did anything. Sledge stood his ground.
Through clenched teeth, breathing heavily through his nose, Bobby said slowly, darkly, "I wanted to pick up that bastard. I wanted to bring him in for questioning. He wouldn't have been there. He wouldn't have shot up all those people. Gleason would not be dying right now. You goddamn bastard."
Sledge took it all without a flinch, he never broke eye contact. He waited for Goren to swing at him, expecting it. Sledge could say nothing. The men stared at each other, and then Sledge turned and walked away. The other three watched him stop and speak to the two uniforms, one joined him, they walked to the elevator and Sledge pushed the down button.
Bobby was still shaking, his fury unchanged. Everyone, including the other people in the waiting room, watched him.
"Wintermantle family?" a woman in green surgical scrubs, reading from a clipboard, called out as she turned the corner to enter the waiting room.
The group turned toward the voice. Bobby and Eames walked to her.
"I'm Dr. Creighton," she said reaching for Eames', then Bobby's, hands. "I'll be operating. Ms Wintermantle is in very bad shape. I am surprised she is still alive after losing so much blood. She took three bullets, all entering through the back." She read from the clipboard, "One bullet entered the back wall and exited the front wall of the upper lobe of her left lung, collapsing it; that bullet is still inside. A second bullet missed her spine, but nicked the coronary artery and it is still inside. That wound did the most damage; she bled externally and internally. Her chest cavity filled with blood, further restricting her breathing. The third bullet passed through without doing much damage."
She stopped and looked at them both and then continued, "I want to emphasize how grave her condition is. She had a crisis while being prepped."
"What kind of crisis?" Eames asked.
The doctor took a deep breath and said, "Her blood pressure plummeted, she stopped breathing and her heart stopped. We were able to resuscitate her. When she is stable enough for surgery, we'll begin."
Bobby had been standing with his right hand tucked in his left armpit, his left arm bent at the elbow, chewing on his thumb. His head dropped and he squeezed his eyes with the fingers of his left hand. He removed his fingers and his eyes were red. He sniffed.
"I know this is hard to hear. I'm sorry," the surgeon said kindly.
"What will you do?" asked Eames.
"We're going to use a newly developed patch to repair the nick in the artery and the two holes in her lung. It is a hybrid tissue made of titanium and polyester threads woven with threads of human tissue. We suture the patch over the hole, and as the human tissue assimilates with the surrounding tissue, the titanium and polyester assimilate as well. It forms a tremendously strong closure. The patch has proven to be about eighty percent effective.
"This procedure is not without risks, of course. The patch may fail to assimilate; or, the suture line may rupture. However, the bigger risks include infection and rejection. Infection is always a threat with any kind of surgery. And, because the human tissue in the patch is not her own, she stands the chance of rejecting it. She is receiving three patches, so her chance of failure, rupture, infection or rejection triples her risk. Please keep in mind she may not survive surgery." She looked at them both and walked back the way she had come.
Bobby issued a shuddering sigh, pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his eyes and nose. Eames stood beside him. He turned toward her then followed her back to the others, who stood watching.
Bobby kept walking and sat off by himself. Eames filled in the others.
"Where the hell do you keep it," Sledge mumbled to himself as he sat at Bobby's desk, rummaging through the center drawer. He found what he sought, stood, then turned and headed to the crash room. Sledge scanned the doors on the six-foot rack of square, metal lockers. He found the one with "Goren" written on a strip of tape stuck to the door and opened the lock with the key he had taken.
He pulled out a backpack, set it on the bench in front of the lockers, straddled the bench and opened it. He pulled out a pair of old tennis shoes, a pair of old jeans, an old ripped tee shirt and nothing else. Sledge threw the ripped shirt into Bobby's locker, slammed it shut, locked it and went to his own locker.
From it, he took a clean black tee shirt – a work tee shirt with 'POLICE' printed across the shoulders in white. He figured he and Bobby were about the same size. He shut his locker, tossed the black shirt, shoes and pants into Bobby's bag, snapped it shut and went to look for the uniform he had told to wait.
"I thought we needed something," Bishop returned with a tray of coffee and assorted creamers, sugars and so on.
"Thanks," Deakins and Eames said together, each reaching. Eames stood and took the cup over to Bobby.
"Here," she said, holding the cup out to him. He sat as before, elbows on knees, fingers laced, staring at the floor.
"I don't want anything," he whispered. She took the seat beside him.
Eames had no idea of what to say to him. She could barely breathe when she let her mind tiptoe to the vast wasteland of guilt she harbored. She could not even begin to reconcile the blame she carried for convincing Bobby not to bring in Elliott. Bobby was right about things, especially people, ninety-nine times out of every hundred. Why hadn't she trusted his thinking this time?
They were partners, he was her other half. He made her whole. Over the years, they had come to work as a single entity. She was supposed to stand by him, back him up every step of the way. Yet, she had betrayed him, had taken Edward's side. Why had she done that? She knew why.
From the moment Bobby found Gleason lying on the floor, Eames had been in charge. She automatically kicked into protection mode, like a little sister looking after a hurt older brother. He just followed her, let her do the talking, let her get the information, let her take care of him.
Eames had never seen Bobby cry, not even when his mom was at her worst. She had never seen him so angry; she honestly thought he was going to hurt Sledge. Everyone did, even the uniforms, they had stepped up to separate the two if it came to that. She had never seen him so loving, kneeling over Gleason, being so gentle with her. She had never seen him so frightened, watching the EMTs work on her.
I need him to say something, scream at me like he screamed at Edward, she thought. Say something, anything. Don't let this hang between us like this. She spoke in her mind all that she wanted to say to him. She apologized, begged his forgiveness, swore allegiance to their partnership. She knew she would never have the opportunity to say anything to him. He would keep this mountain between them. It would never be the same.