Chapter 22

(NONONONO) In my semiconscious haze I saw Lloyd jerk his head over at the sound of a woman screaming. I couldn't believe she had given up her position. Why didn't she lay low? Surely someone was calling for the police by now. At first I could see that he looked back at the house, but he quickly realized that the sound was coming from the Suburban. And then Olivia joined in the fray.

"What the fuck is this, Hunter?" Lloyd looked down at me and suddenly he seemed to forget his initial plan to kill me, as self preservation kicked in and the need to eliminate any witnesses took over. Warily, he stepped over me and proceeded towards the Suburban. My strength completely gone, I managed an ineffectual swipe at his legs in an effort to trip him up. I really didn't have any other idea other than that because if I had actually managed to get him down, I had absolutely no breath to try and warn DeeDee or fight Lloyd.

From my position on the ground, I couldn't see her and the back door was open. I wanted her to shut it and wondered if I had left the keys in the ignition. Why didn't she drive away? Several precious seconds floated by and I desperately waited to hear the engine start.

It didn't happen and I somehow managed to roll to my side – trying to pull myself towards the vehicle. I didn't know what I could do – my movements were becoming weaker and weaker. The blood trail I was leaving behind draining my life force and thankfully any pain. Every once in a while I guess shock was a good thing.

Lloyd stepped around the open door, his gun aimed at the ready. Once again, I had to close my eyes. I couldn't watch this. I couldn't.

I heard DeeDee's scream mixed with the baby's and I knew this was it.

Seconds later, ambulances and LA's finest came roaring down the street.

Too late, was all that I could think. Too late.

Two gun shot blasts rang out in the twilight and I lost my battle with consciousness. It was over. I had failed.

Linda was dead.

DeeDee was dead.

Probably Olivia and Cain.

I willed myself to go and find them in the hereafter – whatever the hell that was. I couldn't protect them but at least I could see them for eternity.

Chapter 23

The strangest thing happened.

I opened my eyes.

That can't be right. I'm dead.

Aren't I? But if I was dead, why would I open my eyes?

Taking in my surroundings, it was pretty obvious that I wasn't dead. Unless the afterlife looked just like a damn hospital room and I don't think that it does.

So, since I was currently alone, I tried to figure out what kind of shape I was in. Using only my eyes first, I saw a clock that read 3:00 and since the window was dark, I knew that meant it was three in the morning. Which morning, I hadn't a clue.

I found out pretty quickly that raising my arms was difficult. Not only did I have an IV in each one, but I was extremely weak and the movement caused such sharp pains in my chest that it literally took my breath away. Struggling against the pain, I managed to lift my head and saw that I wasn't wearing a gown and my entire chest was bandaged with a tube coming out my left side. Sinking back onto the pillow, I fumbled for the call button. I had broken out in an icy sweat and I knew this was too much for me to deal with on my own.

Somehow I had survived the shooting but damage had been done and I needed to know what. As I tried to get a handle on my physical agony, I firmly pushed away thoughts of the women I had lost.

Nope – definitely wasn't ready for that. The last thing I remembered was gunshots and my inability to protect them hurt me in a way my bullet wounds couldn't come close to approximating.

I was about to press the call button again when the glass door slid open and a guy who looked to be about thirty came in, dressed in blue scrubs with a stethoscope draped across his neck.

"Hey," he greeted me, "Good to see you awake."

"Uh – thanks." I was a little confused. Since when did doctors answer call buttons?

He paused at the doorway to pull what I assumed was my chart from a rack on the wall and flipped through the pages.

"So, do I call you Sgt, or Mr. Hunter?"

I intended to shrug my shoulders wanting to show that it didn't really matter one way or the other, but the small movement intensified the ache in my chest, so I stilled my body with a wince. "Rick is fine," I said roughly, surprised at how hard it was to talk. I wasn't really a "Mr." kind of guy and right now I didn't feel anything at all like a police sergeant. Just Rick. I managed a painful swallow and asked for some water.

"Sure." He popped his head out the door and I heard him call for someone named Stacy to bring me some water. "My name is Gary, by the way. I'm your nurse for the next four hours."

(Hmph), I thought, (male nurse). I slumped back and watched Gary proceed to check every piece of equipment I was currently hooked up to as well as my IV sites and chest tube.

"You seem surprised," Gary commented nonchalantly and without looking at me.

"I guess I am a little," I mumbled, nonplussed, and hoping that I hadn't made some huge social faux pas.

"Hey – don't worry about it. I'm used to it. It's the price I pay for getting to work with all the latest and greatest technological medical equipment and meet some really great people at the same time."

I was spared further talk by the arrival of Stacy, bearing a glass of water and a larger pitcher that she placed on the bedside table. She and Gary helped me drink my fill and cool the burning in my throat.

"How's the pain, Rick?" Gary asked me. "Honestly," he prodded when I hesitated.

"Pretty bad," I reluctantly admitted with a sigh, but didn't elaborate just how much of it couldn't be helped with anything he would put in my IV.

Gary told me he'd be right back and for several minutes I was left alone with my thoughts. I closed my eyes, struggling against thoughts of my cousin, DeeDee – dead. And Olivia.

"Sgt. Hunter, I'm Dr. Miller."

I looked up to see a man of average height, wearing dark green scrubs, a slightly wrinkled white lab coat and looking like he'd just woke up. Behind him, Gary was hooking something up to my IV.

"Gary is going to show you how to work the self-controlled morphine pump to keep you comfortable. Press it when you need it – and don't worry, you can't overdose."

"Before you do, can you fill me in on what's going on?" Part of me really didn't want to know, but I realized that I really had no other choice.

"Of course," Dr. Miller answered. "I should have started with that." He paused long enough to pull up a chair and grab my chart. He stunned me by letting me know right off the bat that I'd been in for three days, now. As I was trying to wrap my brain around that, he explained that I was suffering from exhaustion, and two gunshot wounds that had broken three ribs on the left side and punctured a lung, and cost me a part of my liver and intestine. I was getting a second blood transfusion and on antibiotics. "You're very lucky to be alive."

I nodded my understanding, but I didn't believe a word of it.

"You should make a full recovery. I need to call your superiors to let them know that you've regained consciousness. They've been quite anxious to talk to you." He stood and turned back to Gary. "Administer a loading dose after you show him how it works."

"I'm on it," Gary responded, handing me a small gray device attached to the IV pump as Dr. Miller left the room.

"Wait – " I stilled his hand with my own. "Look, thanks for the update, but I – I need to know what happened and not just to me."

Gary dropped his eyes.

"Come on, man," I implored, unable to hide the agony in my voice. "I need to know. Tell me what you know."

Gary shook his head. When I felt the burning in my left hand, I realized that he had already injected the morphine.

"Tell me what you know" I ordered, but what little strength I had was fading and I know my words carried little authority.

"Your Captain was killed by the guy that shot you. Some guy named Lloyd Perry."

Numbness was spreading through my body, but the words still stung. Badly. Cain had just wanted to help and somehow Perry had found him, killed him and then lain in wait for us.

"Is – is – he –" My words were slurring and it was harder and harder to keep my eyes open, but I had to know more.

"Lloyd Perry is dead."

Then I was out.