Chapter Sixteen
Friday Mid-Morning
Nick drifted through a dense fog, too uncomfortable to remain asleep, but too drugged to focus completely on his surroundings. He knew he was in a hospital; very few places on Earth offered such dismal décor and narrow beds with linens starched to within an inch of their lives. And absolutely nowhere but a hospital came complete with monitors and IVs and tubes in places they had no business being.
They hadn't even provided him with a television or a window to help him gauge the time of day – whatever day this was. He vaguely remembered someone bidding him good morning before sticking something briefly in his ear and turning back both bed linens and the loose side of his gown to slap a cold instrument of some kind against his chest. But he'd been even groggier then, and he had no idea how much time had passed since. The whole episode lingered only as a half-forgotten dream.
He tried to blink away another layer of the fog and automatically started to raise his right hand to his chin, itching with the need for an overdue shave. The move, aborted by some kind of restraint around his arm, sent sharp pain lancing through his shoulder and chest, and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He tucked his chin and rolled his eyes downward, seeing the blurred outline of a bandage under the edge of the ugly hospital gown. Surely those little blue shapes were circles, not flowers?
Okay, so that hand wasn't going anywhere. He lifted the left one instead, feeling another slight resistance. A blue plastic clip taped to his first finger added an unnatural weight to his hand, the wire attached to it running back toward a cart-mounted box beside the bed. The clip pinched uncomfortably over skin scraped raw and almost beat out the sting of the IV needle taped in place over the vein inside his arm for its capacity to annoy. Wow. They must be feeding him some heavy-duty stuff to opt for the forearm instead of the back of his hand. It wasn't quite enough to dispel the overall feeling of aching misery, and he really wished someone would bring him another blanket. Even though his skin felt tight and itchy, as if from a bad sunburn, a chill radiated from deep within his bones.
He got no further in his self-inventory before the door opened, allowing a shaft of stronger light to spill in from the hallway outside and admitting two newcomers to the small, nondescript room. One he pegged as a nurse, judging by the colorful scrubs she wore and the medication tray she carried in and set down on the metal cabinet that served double duty as a bedside table. The other woman wore a white lab coat over plain green scrubs, and he could see just enough of her nametag to distinguish the M.D. after her name. She reminded him a little of Sara, lankily tall with a narrow, intense face framed by shoulder-length brown hair. But the doctor's hair was streaked with gray. She wore even less make-up than Sara, and wire-framed glasses magnified pale blue eyes edged with the beginnings of age lines.
"Mr. Stokes, I'm Dr. Gentry," she said briskly, flashing him a brief smile as she came to a halt beside the bed. The nurse continued around to the other side and began recording the readings displayed on the monitor, inflating the blood pressure cuff wrapped around his left arm.
Nick started to return the greeting, but failed when his voice came out as a scratchy whisper. He had better luck after the nurse held a cup close to his mouth and allowed him to drink a few sips of cool water.
"What day is it?" he asked, wanting a clear sense of how long he'd been drifting around in that weird twilight state where nothing seemed quite real.
"Friday," the doctor told him. "You were admitted yesterday morning. Do you remember being injured?"
He nodded. That part was all too real. "Mine cave-in," he responded promptly, and he couldn't quite suppress a frown as he added, "after I got shot." He glanced down at the leg that was slightly elevated beneath the bed covers. The entire limb throbbed in time with his pulse beat.
The doctor graced him with another small smile and went to work checking the wound while the nurse took his temperature again, announcing that it was down to 100.1. "That's quite an improvement," Dr. Gentry said approvingly. "All those antibiotics you've been getting since you came in seem to be doing the trick. The wound is draining well, and the infection seems to be under control." She rearranged the sheet and blanket over his legs. "Just try not to move around too much. I left a small tube in place to help it drain and reduce the swelling."
She methodically checked the surgical incisions left from the repairs to his collarbone and ribs, and listened to his lungs, seeming satisfied with the result of her examination. She folded her arms and regarded him steadily for a moment before she said, "I've been asked by a Captain Garza to notify him as soon as you're lucid enough to give a statement."
Nick rubbed an eyebrow, trying to bring a vague, drug-shrouded memory into clearer awareness – Warrick's voice telling him something about IA, mentioning the same name. "Is he here?" Nick asked, feeling a faint pang of apprehension. No one he knew had anything good to report about their dealings with IA, especially since Garza had taken command of the unit.
"Not at the moment. I told him I'd call him when I thought you were ready to answer his questions. Now, even though you're doing very well, considering that you've only been here 24 hours, I'm a little reluctant to subject you to that kind of stress." The corners of her mouth pinched in a slight grimace. "He is not a pleasant individual to deal with. You still have some fever, and you're due for another shot of morphine to keep your pain under control."
He had to admit the longer he was awake, the more acutely aware he was of his injuries. But he'd rather go ahead and get his encounter with IA out of the way rather than have that dread adding to his physical misery.
"I would recommend that you postpone your meeting with him until tomorrow," Dr. Gentry suggested. "I realize you're probably anxious to be able to have your friends visit, and I know they've been asking about you quite often, but you need time to regain your strength."
"No one's been here?" Nick asked, confusion twisting his features despite the pull on the stitches in his forehead and upper lip. "But I thought…I remember…"
Dr. Gentry shook her head. "No one has been allowed in except medical staff," she told him. "Captain Garza has had a guard outside your door since you came out of surgery."
Nick stared up at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the fuzzy memory of Warrick's voice, Warrick's face floating in the dim haze of drugged semi-awareness, with Dr. Gentry's assertion that he was not allowed visitors. The effort defeated him, and he closed his eyes, shoving the discontinuity into the recesses of his mind to deal with later. "Might as well get it over with," he said after a pause. "Waiting won't help his disposition any."
"How about a compromise?" Gentry suggested. "I'll tell him to come around later this afternoon. We can time it so the medication will have worn off enough for you to be a little more alert. In the meantime, you can rest, and we'll see if we can't get that fever down a bit more."
"Good plan," Nick agreed ruefully. "I gotta admit, I'm feeling a little rough."
"I figured as much," Dr. Gentry said with a knowing half-smile. "Usually the first question I get from young, otherwise healthy patients is 'how soon can I get the heck out of here?'"
To be continued…