Chapter 15
"Is he always like this?" Charlie was panting like he'd done twelve rounds in the wrestling ring. In a way, Alan reflected absently, he had.
"Not quite this bad, usually." Alan rested a hand on the side of Don's face, trying to gauge his temperature. A little better, he thought. The cooling blanket must be working.
"He seems upset."
"Well, he's delirious. Not the most rational state of mind."
"You think that's all?"
"I don't know, Charlie. Let the drugs work their way through and then we can speculate better."
"It could be the drugs." Charlie wrinkled his forehead at the IV lines. "Do you think it's the drugs? Maybe - "
"Charlie - " Alan shook his head tiredly. Suddenly he was back twenty-five years to when Charlie was five and almost everything was posed as a question. Usually unanswerable ones. One reason two parents came in so handy in this kind of situation. He had always been a little in awe of people who were brave enough to have three children or more, leaving themselves outnumbered. Well, he was outnumbered now, so he'd better figure out a way to deal with it. "Charlie, you've been up all night - why don't you make use of the cot?"
Charlie hesitated. "You've been up all night too."
"I know, but we were going to take turns - that was your idea, wasn't it? Why don't you lie down for a while and I'll wake you up if anything changes."
Charlie frowned at the cot, then back at his father, opening his mouth to protest.
Alan jumped in to forestall it. "Then it will be my turn. Believe me, I'll be ready for it. But I want to be awake for the doctor."
Charlie nodded reluctantly and sat down on the edge of the cot to remove his shoes. When Alan glanced up again, he was dead asleep, face buried in the pillow. Alan couldn't suppress a smile. In fact, with the steady, even breathing of a son on either side, he felt the knot that had lingered at the base of his spine ease. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.
It reminded him of the "guys only" camping trips he used to take the boys on when they were small - designed to give him some uninterrupted time with them and Margaret a break from her "men". Probably when she had written some of her music, he mused sadly. At the time, he had assumed that she spent those days with her girlfriends or a manicure or a good book, while he wrestled with fishhooks and campfires and over-energized boys, finally dropping off to sleep, exhausted, between them, at the end of the day. But he had always stayed awake just long enough to make sure they were both asleep first, and the peaceful, reassuring sound of their in-tandem breathing was still one of his fondest memories. Besides, it was about the only time they were both still and quiet.
"Well, it looks like someone had a rough night."
Alan jerked from his reverie, a little discomfited, to see the smiling face of the morning physician - a serene-looking Asian woman. A nurse hovered behind her with a wheeled cart. "Uh - yes. He did."
"I was actually talking about you…" She flipped open the chart and ran her eyes over the notes. "But I see what you mean." She read for a few minutes, glanced at the monitors.
"How is he doing?"
"Well, let's see." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. "You might want to take a walk for this. I won't be long."
"I'd like to stay. If that's all right." The doctor paused, eyeing him quietly. "Just to ask some questions," Alan persisted. "I'm his father and he's out like a light - I don't think privacy is a big issue right now. Besides, I've seen worse."
"All right." The doctor's voice was even and blank of any opinion. She glanced at the chart again. "Don? Can you hear me?" When Don didn't respond, she pushed at one eyelid with her thumb, flashing the light at the pupil, then tried the other eye before putting the flashlight away and sliding her fingers along the back of his head. Don flinched and jerked away, but didn't wake up. "Nice lump." The nurse handed her the chart and she scribbled something on it.
Alan opened his mouth to ask whether that meant good or bad, then closed it again. Probably one reason they asked relatives to leave the room. The next minute he forgot his good intentions as the nurse loosened the neck of the hospital gown and pulled the right half aside. "What's that?" The broad, almost-black bruise that crossed Don's chest looked vaguely familiar, but Alan couldn't quite identify it.
"Seatbelt bruise." The doctor didn't glance up. She was busy loosening the dressing on Don's lower abdomen. "Must have felt really nice across the appendix." She finished peeling back the dressing around the small drain in the wound and caught Alan's eye and frowned. "Mr. Eppes, are you sure you wouldn't like to take a walk…?"
"I'm fine," Alan insisted, then, because it didn't sound convincing even to him, added, "Really. He's been - very restless. Almost combative. Is there anything you can do about that?"
The doctor nodded. "I saw on his chart. Looks like the sedation was increased?"
"Yes - we - they - decided that was best. I was afraid he was going to hurt himself. What's causing that?"
"Hard to say for sure…" the doctor was examining the incision, and Alan decided to avert his eyes. "Could be reliving the trauma of the incident. What exactly happened?"
"I don't know. Exactly," Alan admitted.
"Could be imagining something else all together - delirium is a lot like dreams - doesn't always make sense. Looks like his temperature is down some. We have the results of the fluid we drew from his abdomen, so we'll be trying a different antibiotic - a little more specific than the broad spectrum one we're using now. That should help too." She must have finished with the incision, because she folded the hospital gown back over it and replaced the covers, reaching down to flip them back over Don's leg instead. She frowned a little as she studied the area around the bandage there, then started to carefully remove the dressing. This time Don mumbled and raised a hand as if to push her away. When his hand met with only empty air he twisted instead, trying to bury his face in the pillow. The doctor glanced at Alan. "Could you…?"
"Hm?" Alan dragged his eyes away from the Frankenstein-like row of stitches. "Oh - " He pressed lightly on one of Don's shoulders, hoping that would be enough. "Try and lie still, Donnie." He turned to see what the doctor was doing. The flesh around the stitches looked hot and deeply red.
The doctor was flipping through the chart. "This is the one that was impaled on the car?"
Alan frowned. "I - don't really know that either."
"Mm hm. Looks like for some time, too. Had to cut the metal out - must have been filthy. Could be something brewing in there. I'm going to recommend a topical, but if it doesn't improve, we'll open it up and drain it." She wrote on the chart again, for longer this time.
Alan turned back to check on Don, who was surprisingly still under his hands. He felt his grip contract convulsively in the cloth shoulders of the hospital gown, his knees suddenly weak: Don's eyes were wide open, dark pools in his white face. "Well - hello!" Alan's voice came out sounding strained and unfamiliar. "How are you?"
Don didn't answer, and it took Alan a stomach-clenching moment to realize that he wasn't really seeing him - or anything in that room - at all. His lips were moving, and there was the faintest suggestion of words on the short puffs of breath.
Somewhere behind him, he heard the doctor talking to the nurse about replacing the dressings and instructing her in the new medications, but he tried to block it out, to focus on the half-formed sounds, ducking his ear close to catch them. After a second, Don's lids fluttered and dropped closed again. He was silent.
Alan straightened slowly, releasing his clutch on the faded fabric, one hand automatically lingering to smooth back the thick hair. He was startled to find the doctor standing close behind him.
"What did he say?" Her eyes were suddenly kind.
Alan shook his head. "Couldn't tell." He left his palm where it was, as though the simple act of contact was a magic that could fix everything. The unnatural heat radiating under his hand made his fingers prickle. "Sounded like - something about fire."
He stayed like that until he felt the doctor's insistent touch on his shoulder. "Mr. Eppes - the nurse needs to clean him up and put on fresh dressings, so I really do need to ask you to step away now. But if you still have questions, I'll be happy to answer them out in the hall."
Alan reluctantly pulled his hand away, rubbing his palm as if it had been scorched. He shook his head thoughtfully. "Thank you. But - I don't really think you can." He stared a moment longer, until a soft throat-clearing from the nurse moved him toward the door. Probably time for another walk anyway. I need to think.
On the other side of the door he almost ran smack into a tall, familiar figure. "David!" He glanced automatically at his watch. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
David backpedaled a couple of steps. "I - just thought I'd stop by before work. See how he was doing." His eyes strayed to the hospital room door.
"Well, they're changing his dressings, so we're both persona non grata. It can't be visiting hours anyway - how did you get this far without being stopped?"
David cleared his throat. "Flashed my FBI I.D. How's he holding up?"
Alan chuckled, then sobered. "I don't know. Not so good." He eyed David consideringly. "Can I renege on my request?"
David looked distractedly back at the door. "Request?"
"I've changed my mind. I'd like you to tell me everything."
That got David's attention. He shifted uneasily. "…about…?"
"Megan said you rode in with him - stayed with him in the field. I want you to tell me about it."
"Oh." David looked acutely uncomfortable. "Mr. Eppes…"
"I know you're loyal to my son," Alan interrupted, anticipating his reluctance. "And I know he'd want you to soft pedal. But David, I - " he shook his head. "I don't know how else to help him."
David sighed, all the way from his toes. He stared at the closed door again, as though trying to read the answer there. After a minute he clapped Alan on the shoulder. "Come on - " he gestured toward the corridor. "Let's go to the cafeteria. Breakfast is on me."
TBC