Part 3

There was a little, insistent beeping noise, as regular as clockwork. It was getting annoying. Beep…beep…beep. It just wouldn't give it a rest.

If anything, it was getting louder and clearer. Beep…beep. Like a heartbeat. It seemed to pick up its pace a little, at the same time as the pain started.

His chest hurt, really quite badly he was discovering, making him acutely aware of each time he breathed in and out. The stabs of pain closely coupled each breath, and the beeping followed like a sadistic spectator, quickening as everything else did.

Then came the ear-splitting sound of metal scraping over metal. Too loud. Far too loud. He felt his facial muscles tighten into a wince.

What was making all this noise? Everything was dark, pitch-black. The darkness was peaceful, it didn't make noise. It must be something else.

A rustling, flapping noise. Paper. Paper?

"Open your eyes, Mr. McCoy."

Were they not open? That would explain the blackness. Oh, then that was a good idea.

He was surprised to find opening his eyes much harder than he remembered. His eyelids felt heavy, like they were weighted down. It didn't hurt, it was just difficult and tiring, making the effort to wake seem the opposite of what he should be doing. But he kept trying. He wanted to know what was going on.

Finally, his eyelids slid back and bright light, white and fuzzy, filled his vision. It seared through his head, blurring his thoughts and making his eyes squeeze shut. He heard a moan and felt vibrations through his throat and jaw.

"Mr. McCoy."

Tentatively squinting, he watched smudges move, gray and formless, wading through the fog in his mind. Slowly the grayness defined itself into wobbly shapes and brightened into color, settling into the form of a friendly face to match the friendly voice.

She was a woman in her thirties, curly blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and she was smiling warmly. He didn't have a clue who she was.

Panic gripped hold of his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. Where the hell was he!

He panted through the pain, trying to stop the room spinning long enough for him to see it clearly.

"Hey, take it easy." The woman gently touched his arm. "It's ok, you're safe. You're in hospital."

Hospital? That was ridiculous!

The white, sterile-looking room rocked before his eyes, with its beeping monitoring equipment and the metal-railed bed he was lying in. It was worryingly hospital-like.

The woman was dressed in white scrubs, hugging a clipboard to her chest and eyeing him critically. His gaze settled on her nametag – Nurse Sally Andrews. She went over to a phone on the wall and spoke quietly into it.

He shouldn't be in a hospital! What was he doing in a hospital?

Someone had dressed him in a gown and a blanket was pulled up to his waist. Tubes and wires led from various parts of his body to the surrounding equipment. He waggled his forefinger encased in the plastic clip of a pulse oximeter and cautiously touched the tubing attached to the catheter imbedded in a vein on the back of his other hand.

What was wrong with him?

He heard the metal scraping against metal sound, and looked up to see the nurse hooking his chart back onto his bed. His hospital bed. His medical chart onto his hospital bed.

He looked at the nurse in bewilderment, his wide eyes begging for answers.

"What happened?" His voice was faint and his throat dry. He swallowed, before pressing on. "Why am I here?"

Sally rested her elbows on the railings of his bed. She smiled kindly at him.

"My name's Sally. I'm a nurse," she said, pointing at the nametag he had already read. "Can you tell me what your name is?"

He frowned, confused as to why she would ask such a stupid question – she already knew who he was. He was the one who didn't know anything! Then he realized. It was one of those medical assessment questions normally asked of patients who had just regained consciousness for the first time. And he was one of those patients.

"Danny," he replied, obediently. "Daniel McCoy."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital, apparently."

"That's right."

He would have found her condescending, if it weren't so hard to stay focused. As it was, he welcomed the reassurance.

However, he didn't quite manage to return her smile. "Why am I here?" he asked again.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sally asked, gentle and patient.

"I…I…"

The last thing he remembered…

The Montecito. He'd been at work, in the Montecito. Some sort of problem downstairs…

The managers of the fashion show had just arrived…but twenty-seven personnel didn't have rooms booked…were getting rowdy…he was trying to placate them…

Ed was turning away, telling him to sort it – he'd arranged to take Jillian out for lunch. A man in a baseball cap…pushing his way through the noisy crowd… The shady character he'd spotted in the lobby earlier and chased across the parking lot… A gun…raised and aimed at Ed's back… Dived without a second thought… Then…nothing.

Ah.

Danny's hand went to where it hurt most, touching his chest, feeling the bandages through his gown.

Oh great.

He swallowed thickly. "I got shot."

"I'm afraid so," Sally replied, sympathetically.

"But I'm going to be ok?" He needed to check. It was somewhat disconcerting to realize you'd been shot, especially in the chest.

"Yes." Sally smiled again and patted his hand. "Dr. Saunders will be here shortly to look you over and explain things. But you're doing well."

Danny tried to look on the bright side. At least he knew where the bullet had ended up. That meant Ed was ok.

Then a worrying thought occurred to him. He couldn't be sure of what had happened next…had more shots been fired?

"Ed…is he…" Danny found himself unable to ask directly. He tried a different approach. "Am I the only one injured? Was anyone else in the Montecito hurt?"

"You were the only one. As I understand it, the gunman was seized after firing the first shot, which hit you. And is now beginning a slow rot in a jail cell."

Danny sighed, releasing the tension from his chest, lessening the pain a little.

Ed was all right. Everyone else was all right, too. And the bastard that had shot him was locked up, hopefully for a long, long time.

The door opened and a woman, who Sally greeted as Dr. Saunders, walked in. Her long copper-red hair was flipped up and clipped to the back of her head, her lab coat fitted well enough to hint at hourglass curves. Shadows of tiredness cupped her eyes, but they were still bright and attentive, and her pleasing lips curved into a professional, yet warm smile.

"I'm glad to see you awake, Mr. McCoy." She came over to his beside, picking his chart up on the way. "There are some people waiting outside desperate to see you."

TBC…


Author's Note: Sorry updates are taking so long, I'll try to be quicker next time. I hope you're all still enjoying the story!