Reconciliation
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Spike was watching Jet pace. They had been here for only a couple of hours, and by Spike's estimation, the entire uninsured population of Mars had wandered in the doors of the emergency room this evening. Every chair was filled with the sneezing, hawking, bleeding, snoring, and otherwise ill or injured masses. Ed was sitting on the floor at Spike's feet, typing loudly on her Tomato, in between glances up to look at Jet. So far Ed had been accosted by about a dozen children to see what she was doing, and whether they could play too. After being coughed or sneezed on for the third time, Ed had managed to score a mask and a pair of gloves. Ed leaned back on Spike's legs and looked up at him.
"Papa's losing it."
"I know."
"Can't you do anything?"
Spike knew what she meant. Unfortunately, he had come unprepared; that is, he didn't bring an extra deck of smokes, nor one of his ubiquitous and random flasks. "What can I say, Ed, I'm slacking today." Ed harrumphed back at him. "Can't you do anything?"
"She's at the top of the queue already; I can't bump her any more forward."
"What does her chart say?"
"That she's been through about four batteries of tests."
"Anything definitive?"
"She's pretty well banged up, but it's not as bad as it could be. Oh, and . . .oh."
"What?"
Ed stared at the screen for a moment. Then she clicked off the window and said, "Nothing." Oh, Faye. Faye-faye, oh, please don't say it's . . . Ed slammed the computer closed and stood up. "I need to talk a walk. I'm getting all stiff." She rummaged briefly in her rucksack, and handed Spike a deck of cards. "Here, you slacker. At least I know how to be prepared."
Spike watched her as Ed roughly shoved her computer into her rucksack and then wandered off. He frowned at her retreating figure. He guessed that Ed saw something in the chart that bothered her, but by the same token, she wasn't going to talk about it. Somewhere along the way, Ed had become the ultimate secret-keeper. This amused and annoyed both him and Jet, as Ed generally had excessively good information.
How the girl grew up to have a conscience while living with us, I'll never know, Spike mused, as he noticed that two chairs and a small table had been vacated. He moved over quickly and began shuffling the cards. "Jet." Jet didn't respond. "Sit, Jet, and cut the cards."
Jet closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and sat opposite Spike. He cut the cards, and Spike dealt a hand of gin. They played in silence, only uttering the occasional knock, and gin, peppered with sack of shit and asshole.
Ed went outside into the cool damp air. The rain had finally slowed to a drizzle, and she moved out from the overhang to feel the mist on her face. She wondered about Faye, and what her plans might be.
Ed looked at the moon, clouded over, and prayed the prayer of the godless: Please, please, let everything turn out okay.
Faye had spent the last couple of hours praying the same prayer, except with quite a few more expletives. She'd been jostled, moved, lifted, turned, prodded, and poked to the degree that she wished that she could just walk out under her own power, but that was currently impossible, even with the amount of painkillers she had in her system. And the doctor didn't want to load her up with the really good stuff, because.
Fuckola.
The doctors had been telling her that she was lucky, indeed. Her injuries did not require surgery. The final tally was, on the right leg: broken ankle, broken tibia, dislocated knee. Left leg: sprained ankle, dislocated knee. Broken tailbone. Sprained lumbar. One bad case of whiplash. And as a bonus, four broken fingers on her left hand, thanks to the bounty cracking her a good one across the knuckles like a crazed nun. The same ones she broke when she missed Spike's smug face and hit a wall instead. She was so fortunate, Faye was, for landing in very soft mud rather than the concrete walkway that was about six inches away.
Fortunate. Ha.
So now, Faye was lying prone in a hospital bed, in a private room. At least the room looked restful, not like the hospital rooms she was used to. The room was dim and had pretty wallpaper, and what looked like a very comfortable recliner. She also had her own bathroom. And it was so quiet.
The nurses had done their routine checks. Once again, Faye was waiting.
Faye figured she'd be doing a lot of waiting in her near future. For the next 34 weeks or so. She'd passed through the first 40 days of this process rather obliviously and she was already wistful for those days. 40 days had passed since a little evening that involved a little bottle of shiraz and little trees. Faye's mind continued to wander, and she was struck with memories of her school days, of the nuns teaching her all about different episodes where in the number "40" figured: 40 days on the ark, 40 days in the desert, 40 days of Lent. . .
These forty days of Lent, oh Lord, with You we fast and pray
Teach us to discipline our wills, and follow, Lord, Your way . . .
Faye made a scoffing noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her mind was doing terrible things to her, bringing up so much from her religious upbringing that she had abandoned so long ago, so much . . . rhetoric . . .that she had assumed that she had forgotten forever.
What in the world was happening to her?
There was a knock on the door. "Ms. Valentine?"
Faye dashed a tear away. "Yes, come in."
The door opened slightly, and someone came in, but Faye was unable to turn her head. He came closer to the bed. Faye looked up to see a very short man with spiky hair and a young face. He was wearing the collar of a Catholic priest. "Hello. I'm Fred."
"Are you really a priest?"
"Yes, I am." And he smiled the sweetest smile at her.
Faye burst into tears. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."
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These 40 Days of Lent – traditional hymn
This is a work of fiction, and the CB characters are copywrited by someone other than me. Please leave a review!