This is it! Under thirty chapters is what I vowed and thirty chapters is exactly where this story landed. Enjoy:
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Chapter 29
Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 19 (continued)
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Spot woke up two weeks later feeling the same feeling he had felt since he first awoken here. Helpless. There were no more files to sort through, no more rooms that needed searching. She simply was not here. He hadn't given up in his mind, but logically he could see that the forces were greatly against him, and he had no clue of how to sway them to his favor.
Hope was beginning to abandon him, and he wondered if he would ever gaze on his beautiful woman again. The only thing left he held onto now was simple memories to keep his heart light—a smile here, a blush there. He could picture her so perfectly in his head, it was as if she was already here.
He looked to the man in the bed next to him, disrupting his thought by talking in his dreams. He was a large redheaded man, a military convalescent it seemed. His nightmares bothered Spot to the point of wanting to pull out his own ears. But Spot said nothing to protest the man's noise, much to the nurse's surprise, but simply let him go on dreaming.
But just when Spot was wondering if he'd ever feel happy again, something happened. That one young brunette nurse came to him rather hurriedly, and knelt next to his bed with an anxious look on her face, and said the words Spot had been dying to say himself:
"I know where she is," she said.
Spot immediately sat up in his bed and paid her his full attention. Not even the sky falling could have pulled his gaze from her at that moment.
"Tell me," he demanded.
"She was never put in the records, nor taken to this hospital. I found a hospital report from Mary—the receptionist? --And she told me a girl was transferred to Smith Memorial, which is a smaller hospital down the road where they put the special cases—rich people, mostly, who can afford the bills."
"Rich people?" Spot repeated. "She's poorer than me. Why would they put her there?"
"Some guy identified her real quick, and sponsored her invoices."
Spot leaned his back to the headboard of the bed, and sighed.
"Good ol' Howard," he concluded. "Guess he figured I'd be okay here in this sickbay—either that or he didn't give a hoot."
Spot forced out the dreaded question, and braced himself for a blow.
"So is she still… you know… alive?"
"I don't know."
Spot threw aside the blankets and leaped out of bed, even through the nurse's protests.
"You can't go!" she said. "You're not well just yet--"
"I can't stay," Spot said, prying her hands off of him. "That girl means more to me than living, and if I don't see her real soon—it'll definitely be the end of Spot Conlon, because I've given up everything else worth living for in my life. She's it, you understand? Now let go before I have to make ya."
She seemed rather surprised, but her grip stayed firm.
"I don't like hurting broads," he warned, slowly raising his fist by his head, cocking it threateningly.
Finally, she let go.
"I've never seen a street man so determined… for a lady."
"I'm determined in everything. What's your name anyway?"
"Anne Carter. I'll show you the nearest exit, and sign your release. I hope you live a wonderful life, Mr. Conlon."
"Thanks," Spot said. "You too."
She watched him carefully, as his hand slowly drifted to the nightstand, to his own items placed there, as if any sudden moves would make them shatter like glass. He grabbed his things off one by one, a swarm of memories coming with each item:
Red suspenders.
Slingshot.
Cane.
Key.
All meant the world to him, and he felt good again just putting them back in their rightful places on his person. Except for the one thing…
"By the way," Spot said as he handed the nurse the cane. "When the loud redhead wakes up… Give him this."
She seemed utterly confused, but agreed.
"And you might want to direct some of that 'customary nurse-patient flirtation' his way. He might appreciate it more."
"Will do," she said with a nod and a smile.
But even with all his items back in their places, he was not complete. There was one item left that needed to be replaced—and she was at Smith Memorial Hospital.
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The receptionist directed Spot to the room Cat was currently residing in. Spot spared no hesitation to go there, running up every stair and running past every floor to the next flight, his mind predetermined.
But as his foot hit the last step to her very floor, time seemed to suddenly slow. He saw her room number ahead of him, straight down the hall, seemingly ominous of something beyond Spot's comprehension.
It would seem that in this moment Spot would be rushing to his love, that he would spare no moment to enter that room and gaze up her face, but with every step Spot felt more dumbfounded, more bewildered, even panicked.
His emotions were overwhelming him, ones of anticipation, of excitement, of desperation, of longing, of apprehension. This was the end of his searching, the end of his journey, and the beginning… of his life as a whole human. The completion of him was near, and he met it with a spinning head.
He opened the door just as slowly, letting it swing open by it's own weight, then closed it quietly behind him, in case the dear lady was sleeping. The room was bright, lit by sunlight escaping through the thin curtain. He gazed upon the hospital bed, and the certain beautiful sight to be before him.
But his entire chest collapsed when he saw the bed was empty, the creaseless white pillow resting upon it, and the hospital issue blankets folded neatly on top of one another, which could only mean one thing.
"She's gone," Spot choked. "She's really… gone."
"I see he tracked her down," Spot heard a familiar deep voice behind him say through the closed door to the room. "How long did it take him?"
"Just a day," another man explained. "That boy must really care for that girl."
"Yes," the first man replied. "I daresay he does."
Then Howard entered the room, and put a hand on Spot's shoulder. Spot let his head fall, his tears threatening to escape his hold.
"You know, son," Howard said. "She means much to me too, which is why I let her leave for you—though she would have been better off in my care, though I fear that isn't best thing to say just now."
Spot, for one time in his life, didn't know how to respond. He couldn't speak anyway; his throat had closed and made him believe his just might never breathe again. Howard was right. She was better off with him, and they both knew it. But like he said, she had decided, and that was that.
"You're a good man, Howard," he said at last. "I'm sorry about everything. You have to understand though… love don't come easy in me, but I truly loved this woman. Really."
"I know, son," he replied. "I know. And all the money and protection in the world can never bring her the happiness she has with you… I understand, Mr. Conlon. Trust me, I understand. I lost a wife a long time ago, and I nearly died of heartbreak. I thought maybe if I could only replace her… I might feel happiness again. But wives should not be bought. I know that now. If it is to happen, I wish for it to happen something like yours. Slowly… Naturally… Earned."
Spot nodded, and rubbed his eyes in fatigue. It was over. The only problem, he had no idea where to go, what was next for him. His life had just ended too.
"Wait," Howard said. "Why do you say 'loved'?"
"Come again?" Spot said, his usual anger and frustration rising to his voice.
"You speak as if you are not going to see her again. Didn't I just explain that I was leaving her to you permanently?"
Spot looked to the old man with wonder, a flicker of hope coming to him.
"Ain't I not going to see her again?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to pass by her in the hall whether you like it or not. She should be back from the examination room by now. I expect she's just outside signing a few things for record."
Spot's eye grew wide, and his brow met in the center of his forehead, his head still sorting through the last bit of confusion. He sought frantically to rationalize it all.
Howard sighed as Spot overcame his shock, and then the old man pressed the tip of his top hat to press it deeper over his head, then opened the door to go on his way.
"Well, I hope you don't take offense to me saying," Howard said, waving his farewell. "Good riddance, to both of you."
"No offense taken whatsoever," Spot replied. "Same to you."
They nodded at one another as if they had just made a binding deal with each other, then Howard disappeared beyond the door and the two men never laid eyes on one another again.
Spot combed his fingers through his hair, in an attempt at encouraging the stray hairs away from his face, took a deep breath, and headed for that door himself…
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His heart did a
strange tumble as he walked back into that hall, and let his eyes
drift easily to the girl, who was standing over a far-off counter.
Her usually perfect curls were messily sprawled over her delicate
shoulders, partly covering the large bandage over her chest and arm.
Even from a distance, he could plainly see her large, slanted brown
eyes gazing hard on the paper she was signing, reading the content
carefully and not noticing much else.
Spot's heart was going to fast, his mind racing even faster—too fast to think, to speak… his legs moved beneath him involuntarily, slow at first, but as his excitement grew, so did his speed.
At the sound of the heavy steps of each steel-toed boot hitting the tiled floor, Cat looked up from her work only for just a moment, then her attention fell back to her paper. Spot wondered for a moment if she didn't care…
Suddenly her head whipped up in his direction, and the pen she held snapped in half under her sudden clenching hand. She began to run for Spot, but he was already swooping her up in his arms, swinging her around in circles, much to the confusion of all bystanders near to them. Her smile was wide, and though Spot put her down straight away once he remembered her wound, she showed no outward inclinations of pain. He only saw happiness spread out on her face, with a joy no person could better.
"God—You've done a number on me, lady," Spot admitted. "I swear if we are ever split up again, I'll fall over dead. Don't ever leave me again, huh?"
The receptionist watched intently from behind the counter, seemingly waiting just as impatiently as Spot for a response from Cat. Cat simply stood there and beamed like the glowing woman she was. She let Spot have a nod of acknowledgement, but otherwise stared with a blissful expression. It made him melt all over, and yet tense, like he was ready to seize her then and there at any given excuse.
"Cat-- this is honesty coming from me, so pay attention-- I love you—God, I LOVE you. I want to kiss you not just on your face—but everywhere!"
Cat chuckled, her cheeks falling pink, but she didn't dare open her mouth.
"I don't want to miss any inch of you that I haven't claimed as mine. I want to ravish you, over and over again, right here on this floor, for the rest of my life."
He looked around the floor as if scouting out a place.
"At least it will be clean," he added. "Let's get started, huh?"
The receptionist gasped.
"Spot--!" Cat began, protesting as the mannered lady she was, but Spot's hands had already palmed her cheeks, and his mouth had already found hers. There was no hesitation in his kiss, no patience of a skilled practitioner, none of how she would expect of him. There was only a greedy, velvet tongue and wet, longing lips. It was the kiss of a man who had imagined it in his head a thousand times, and now hungrily soaked it up for all it was worth.
Her own hands slipped around his back and pulled him closer to her, so that his body met hers, and she could feel his speeding heart through his chest.
"Sir… ma'am…" the receptionist protested, though her voice was unsure. "I'm afraid… I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to desist… You can't do that here… please…"
Spot broke off from Cat only long enough to shoot two words to the black-haired, middle-aged, glasses-wearing receptionist, before he resumed his long-awaited kiss.
"Shut up."
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You may review. Then move on, to the next chapter…
Signed,
--RedRogue
