Chapter 7

Alan started to stand when a doctor entered the waiting area, but light pressure on his arm from Cecile kept him seated. The doctor sat down opposite them.

"This is Dr. Chamberlain," introduced Cecile. "He's one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country. People come from all over to have him do their operations."

Alan nodded gratefully and the doctor leaned over to shake his hand. "Modesty would have me protest, Mr. Eppes — but false humility won't reassure you as to your son's condition, so I'll agree with Nurse Randle — I'm one the best."

Dr. Chamberlain smiled disarmingly, hoping to cut through some of the tension he could feel emanating off the man, but his plan backfired. The smile just reminded Alan of Charlie, and he hurried to speak before the memories overwhelmed him. "Please…how is Don?"

The doctor sensed Alan's fright and decided to cut right to the chase. "I can speak best of his tibial fracture. The tibia heals very slowly. This could be a career-ending injury. Agent Eppes is young, and strong, and I've treated this injury aggressively hoping to avoid that — assuming he will want to continue with the FBI."

Alan nodded. "I'm sure we'll both appreciate that, someday. Right now I just want to hear that my boy is alive — and will walk, again."

The doctor's face softened. "Of course. Don is in no immediate danger. He will suffer considerable pain when he wakes up, from his ribs, his leg…He'll probably have a pretty good headache, as well."

Cecile couldn't wait any more for Alan to voice the question. "The brain swelling?"

The doctor tilted his own head in acquiescence. "Still significant. He'll undergo another CT scan as soon as he's out of recovery. The good news is there was no increased pressure noted during the anesthesia and surgery."

Cecile took Alan's hand again. "That is very good news," she assured him.

The doctor waited for further questions, and when there were none, continued his explanation. "Anyway. Back to your son's leg. I've used the intramedullary nailing technique. This is fast becoming the standard for the treatment of tibial fractures. For the next three weeks Don will stay an inpatient with his leg suspended in a kind of hammock. Manual traction will be applied for a total of about 12 minutes per hour, every hour, around the clock. It will be painful, but better than standard traction, which would have to be applied for at least 25 minutes per hour."

"Dr. Chamberlain helped develop this technique," put in Cecile. "Don couldn't have a better doctor for his injury."

Alan looked at her and then back at the doctor. "Excuse me…did you say 'nails'? Don't you mean pins, or plates?"

The doctor grinned. "You heard correctly, Mr. Eppes. Medical-quality nails. I have nailed your son's leg back together. After the three weeks of traction, he'll be casted and released, with no weight-bearing. Three more weeks, and he'll start an aggressive physical therapy. Tibial fractures treated in this way have very good chances of complete and strong healing, and a return to pre-injury activity levels. I'm not sure of the current odds…" He stopped speaking when he saw Alan pale, unsure as to how he had upset him. Cecile silently squeezed his hand, knowing even this small allusion to numbers was reminding him of Charlie.

"Of course there are risks," Dr. Chamberlain finally continued. "One or more nails could become infected, or he could develop knee pain later that would necessitate their removal. Even if everything goes according to plan, Agent Eppes will be off-duty for at least three months, and then hopefully can return for another month of light duty before he's in the field again." The doctor leaned forward. "I fully intend to send your son back out there, Mr. Eppes."

Alan tried to feel relief, but the feeling of betrayal was stronger, and he actually had to stop himself from letting go of Cecile's hand long enough to slap this doctor.

He was going to send Donnie back out there, and Alan was going to have to lose him all over again.

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"…moron?"

The word sank into Charlie's consciousness.

"He threw up on me." Charlie recognized that voice. The man with the shotgun — and he still didn't sound too happy.

"He can't even open his eyes, they're so swollen. I thought you understood why you were bringing him here. He can't do it if he can't see!"

Charlie tried to concentrate. He thought he recognized that voice, too…but he couldn't quite get it. He wished he could open his eyes. He tried again. He would have lifted a hand and pried them open with his fingers, but he didn't want them to know he was awake.

"And what happened to his arm?"

Shotgun snickered. "This is rich. Me and Max was talking. Neither one of us did it. Nearest we can figure is that when he jumped me on the roof, he got in the way of his brother's bullet." He snickered again. "Too bad it's just a graze."

Charlie was so shocked by that revelation that he missed part of the other voice's response. With difficulty, he pulled himself back to the conversation.

"…him this. It's enough to knock out a horse, so it should put him out for the rest of the night. I'll stay here with him while you two morons go find a mattress you can drag in here…get some ice for his face. We need him to be able to open his eyes."

Shotgun sounded suspicious. "What's in that?"

Charlie felt hands on his good arm, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, and he automatically tried to jerk away.

"Hmm. None too soon, I see." Charlie felt a needle inserted into his upper arm, and would have squeezed his eyes shut — if they weren't shut already. "It's morphine."

"Morphine? Where did you get a syringe full of morphine?"

There was a low chuckle. Charlie was already feeling the effects of the drug he had been given, but again he had the feeling that he knew that voice.

"You think a man in my position can't get his hands on just about anything he wants? Get something to clean his arm up, too. And when he wakes up tomorrow, I want you to feed him, get some water into him. He's no good to us dead, either."

"Let me see if I understand." Shotgun sounded sarcastic, now. "You want me to tuck him into bed, give him first aid, feed him, water him — and then torture him?"

The chuckle again. Charlie was trying to hang on, hear more…but everything was fading to a delicious buzzing…

"Just persuade him to do what we want. Be creative. If you kill him before he's done it, I'll kill you."