CHAPTER 2

The nurse sat at the receptionist desk, aimlessly tapping her pencil. It had been a fairly quiet night. She glanced around the emergency waiting room at the few patients there were. A little boy with a bad cough sat in his mother's lap; a young man with multiple piercings and in a bad need of a shave sported a black eye and cradled a broken arm; a well dressed woman sat in the corner holding a red stained towel over a possible broken nose. Other than these minor cases, the waiting room was empty.

Suddenly the front doors flew open and in burst a spectacle that gave her quite a pause. The thin man stood before her clad in a pair of wrinkled Spiderman pajamas. Stray locks of ebony hair stood out at unusual angles, obviously uncombed. His large, dark eyes spilled frightened tears that trickled down his tan, angular cheeks. He reminded her of her six-year-old when he woke up from a nightmare. The only thing that broke that analogy was the limp, ghostly pale figure that he carried effortlessly in his arms. The dead weight of the grown man didn't appear to strain him whatsoever. Perspiration glistened on the man's slack, round face and his white, overly conservative pajamas that contrasted excessively with those of his friend, clung to the dampness of his rather compact body. It didn't take a doctor to see that he was in bad shape.

The man in the Spiderman pajamas rushed up to the desk and began speaking rapidly in a language she could not even begin to identify.

She reached down to press the intercom button. "I need a stretcher out here, now." She said urgently, then turned back to the man who was still jabbering frantically at her. "I'm sorry." She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders theatrically. "I...I don't understand."

He paused and gave her a confused frown.

"Maybe we can get a translator." Knowing he couldn't understand her she tried to radiate all the sympathy and assurance she could.

The man's face lit with sudden realization. Then with heavily accented but perfectly understandable English he said: "I'm sorry. I am so worried I forget I was speaking Myposian." The short, polite apology over he instantly reverted to desperation. "Please, you've got to help my cousin!"

"Name?" The receptionist asked.

"Balki Bartokomous."

She nodded and began to scribble down the name when he added: "...and this..." He indicated the unconscious man he still held in his arms. "...is Cousin Larry."

"What's his full name?" She asked as she erased what she had just written.

"Cousin Larry Appleton."

She frowned slightly. The man's accent made the name difficult to decipher. "Is that spelled with an 'A' or an 'O'?"

"This is no time for a spelling test! Can't you see this man needs help?"

To punctuate those words the man he was carrying let out a weak moan. Balki's attention instantly snapped to Larry. "It's alright, Cousin." The man's voice cracked slightly as if he were trying to hold back a sob. "We're here at the hospital and...and they're going to help you."

Just then two men in white, a short black fellow with a moustache and a tall blonde boy who could have walked right out of a sixties surfer movie, wheeled a gurney into the waiting room. The younger one took one look at Balki and his blonde eyebrows raised in a bemused expression. Whether it was at Balki's attire or the fact that he was holding a grown man in something other than a fireman's carry with no effort at all it was hard to tell because he instantly turned all business. "Set him down here, please." He motioned to the wheeled cot.

Balki gently laid his cousin down. Larry groaned slightly, either in pain or from the sudden change in position. "Don't worry, Cousin. I'm right here." Balki assured him again, petting the side of his face as the two men began wheeling the stretcher through two doors and into the ER. They moved him into what posed as a room, but really was nothing more than a bed and a chair enclosed by a curtain. The two men lifted Larry from the gurney to the bed. As they left the young blonde man gave Balki's pajamas one last disapproving glance before disappearing through the curtain.

Balki scooted the chair close to the bed and took his cousin's limp hand. He bowed his head and touched his forehead to Larry's fingertips. "Oh, Cousin," His voice was a cracking whisper. "I am so sorry I did this to you. How can you ever forgive me?"

He lifted his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. A large man in a white lab coat stepped through the curtain. He carried a clipboard like Cousin Larry's and a small pair of wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. He dipped his head slightly to peer over the frames at Balki.

"I'm Dr. James P. Sullivan." He announced in a deep, formal voice.

"Hello. I'm Balki." Balki tried to muster up a friendly smile but it was very difficult to be cheerful when he was so worried about his friend. "Can you help my cousin?"

"That's what we're here for." He said with a curt nod as a nurse slipped in behind him and strapped a canvas cuff around Larry's arm. "So, what are his symptoms?"

Balki tore his eyes from whatever the nurse was doing to his cousin and faced the doctor. "What 'symptoms' is?"

The doctor sighed and rephrased the question. "Why is he here at the hospital?"

Balki frowned. "I bring him here."

The big man groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward then turned to the nurse for support.

Understanding the unspoken request she turned her attention from Larry's blood pressure to Balki. "What's wrong with him? Why did you bring him here?"

"I don' know what's wrong with him! That's why I bring him here." Balki nearly broke into frustrated tears as he clamped a hand to his forehead. He was beginning to get a headache.

The doctor ran a hand down his face as if trying to wipe the irritation away. "Okay." He took a deep breath. "Let's try this another way."

"Please." Balki begged. "Any other way."

"When did you first realize there was something wrong with Mr. Appleton? And just tell us what happened from there."

Balki snapped to attention. Finally, a question that made sense! "I wake up at two, I know because I look at the clock and that's what it says, then I hear Cousin Larry and he don' sound too good. When I go in his room, (it's right across from mine) he was holding his stomach and moaning like a cat on a fence. I take his temperature and he have a fever. He tell me to go away and not to worry because it is only indigestion. But then he try to stand up, and I tell you he screamed bloody Mary. He was in too much pain to walk by himself so I carry him to the car. He lose his conscience on the way here."

"Hmmm." The doctor unbuttoned Larry's shirt and began poking and prodding his stomach. He didn't wake up but a couple of times his face pinched in reaction to the doctor's touch. "Did he eat anything unusual that could have caused this?"

Balki winced slightly as if the question had been a physical blow. "Well," He hung his head and his voice wavered. "He eat a whole plate of Mokk Bok Tokki."

Dr. Sullivan raised an eyebrow and glanced at the nurse. "Mokk Bok Tokki?"

"It's a Myposian dish." Balki explained.

"Anything unusual in it?"

"Not really." The Mypiot said with a tiny shrug. "Just a little garlic, chopped goat kidney and pickled chicken tongue."

The doctor's face grimaced in disgust while the nurse tried to suppress a gag.

Balki looked up at the large man, guilt rimming his dark eyes. "I can't vouch for the origins of the chicken tongue." He quickly turned away in shame. "I know! I know! I should have check the label."

Ignoring Balki Dr. Sullivan turned to the nurse. "Possible appendicitis. I want a white blood cell count and an abdominal x-ray. And make it snappy."

She nodded and made a hasty exit.

"And get somebody in here to change him!" He hollered after her. "We can't have these big buttons on the x-ray."

"Yes, sir!" Balki heard her reply.

"Now," The doctor began.

Balki started at the man's deep no-nonsense tone.

The doctor held a pen poised over his clipboard. "Does he have any medical conditions we should know about?"

Balki thought about it for a moment. "He throw his back away a lot."

"Is he currently taking any medication, prescribed or over-the-counter?"

"Sometimes he takes aspirin for a headache and he drinks Maalox like it's water." Balki frowned slightly. "Is that good for you? Because it seems kind of…"

"Did he take any aspirin recently?" The doctor interrupted.

"I don' think so."

"Is he allergic to anything we should know about? Latex? Tape? Anesthetics?"

Balki's eyes widened in confusion at the rapid-fire questions. "I…I don' know about any of those things. But I hear him tell Jennifer once that I give him hives."

"That doesn't surprise me." Dr. Sullivan mumbled under his breath. Aloud he said: "Well, that's it for now. I'll be back when the tests come in." And before Balki could even utter a 'thank you' he was gone.

The two orderlies returned, one of them carrying a hospital gown. Balki noticed for the first time that they had nametags pinned to their shirts. The tall blonde's tag, which he wore upside down, read 'Zach', and his shorter and darker companion's read 'Jerry'. Balki offered them a friendly 'hello' to which only the Jerry returned. The Mypiot was amazed at the speed that they stripped his cousin of his pajamas and replaced them with the thin, revealing garment. He felt a twinge of sympathy for his cousin because he knew Larry would be thoroughly embarrassed at the whole procedure had he been awake.

"So, do you like your jobs?" Balki asked them by way of friendly conversation as they slipped the hospital gown over his unconscious cousin.

"This ain't really our jobs." Jerry explained, pulling the blankets over Larry. "We're volunteers."

Balki cocked his head. "Volunteers?"

Jerry smiled slightly at the question, his white teeth contrasting pleasantly against his dark brown skin. "We don't get paid to do this."

"Oh," Balki stood up and took both of them by the hand. Jerry looked at the Mypiot in surprised amusement while Zach just seemed irritated. "That's the nicest thing I ever heard. You are truly good people. Thank you for helping my cousin."

"You're welcome." Jerry gave the young immigrant a gentle pat on the shoulder.

Zach pulled his hand away from Balki's and started for the curtain, tapping his comrade on the shoulder as he went. "Come on, dude! We don't have time to sit and chat."

Jerry nodded and began to follow him. "I hope your cousin will be okay."

Balki nodded solemnly. "Me too." Jerry was halfway through the curtain when Balki raised a hand. "Oh!"

The shorter man turned questioningly.

"Can anybody volunteer?"

Jerry nodded. "Sure. Just ask for a form."

"Jerry!" Balki heard Zach urge from the other side of the curtain.

"I'm comin'!" He replied irritably as he disappeared from view. "Don't lose your shirt!"

Balki moved to his cousin's side and ran a gentle hand through Larry's dark curls. He wished there was more he could do to comfort him, but kind words and a soft touch were the only things he could think of. "Did you hear that, Cousin? Those nice men are here helping the hospital for free. Isn't that thoughtful. When you're all better I think I'm going do that."

He glanced down and noticed with mild surprise a plastic band around Larry's wrist. The nurse must have put it on when he was talking to the doctor. "Hey, Cousin. Look this." He brought Larry's limp arm up to examine the object closer. "They give you a nice bracelet. It even have your name on it!"

He tried to keep the conversation light and carefree so as not to upset his cousin. But the worry and guilt never completely left his voice. How could he ever live with himself knowing what he had done to his best friend?