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Chapter Eleven
"The Beginning of Recovery"
"Joey, just take him on into the spare bedroom while I get my first aid supplies."
Judy stopped at the doorway. "Cel, can you and Joey get his shirt off of him?"
"Sure, sure, Judy. No problem."
Joey pulled off Peter's boots and socks while Celeste unbuttoned his bloody shirt.
Joey's deep baritone voice startled Celeste. "There's blood all over his pants. Step aside and I'll take them off. There's some extra blankets in the-"
"I know where they are. I'll be right back," Celeste said, relieved to be gone for the detective's removal of his pants, preferring to give him that much dignity.
When she came back into the room, Judy was right behind her. Celeste spread one quilt over the other blankets and returned to the task of removing his shirt and t-shirt. "Oh Great Spirits!" Celeste exclaimed with a hand over her mouth.
Turning to Judy, she said, "Oh, no, no. He's got a bullet wound in his side!"
Judy pushed her way through and eyed the wound closely before pulling him towards her to check to see if the bullet had exited or was still there. She gave a sigh of relief when she found the exit wound.
Celeste was under Judy's elbow, nervously watching the condition of her prince protector. Judy caught Joey's eye and gestured with her head. "Call your dad, Joey. Now."
Judy started to usher Celeste out of the room. "Honey, I've got this. You go stay with Tommy for now."
Celeste turned toward the bed and whispered, "Judy, is he going to live?"
Judy bit her lip. "The bullet wound doesn't look that bad, but with the head wound too...I'll do my best. Just make sure Joey gets Whitehorse Sr, okay? Tell him to bring his medicine kit and get here as fast as possible."
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Peter came to realize he was in a warm place when he smelled the aroma of something with cinnamon baking and fresh coffee brewing. Wherever he was lying, it was a very soft, toasty warm place with blankets piled atop him, even tucked in at the sides. He drifted in that comfortable environment for a bit before he tried to figure out where he was without opening his eyes.
Had he spent the night with Paul and Annie? She loved to bake for him. No, this place didn't have the other smells of home to go along with it. Where could he be, he wondered. There was an odd scent in the air. Something usually associated with Thanksgiving. An herb of some sort.
He stretched stiff muscles, starting to raise his arms above his head when the fire in his side burst alive with pain, inciting his left temple and forehead to burn along with it. He groaned aloud with his discomfort, trying to bring a hand to the aching areas when he heard the soft sound of a rattle being shaken and a man's low humming begin from somewhere in the room. He was suddenly struck by the impression of being dropped into a scene from the old West.
Bringing a shaky hand to his head, Peter opened his bloodshot eyes in bewilderment. Looking around didn't help him, because everything he saw was doubled or tripled, but Peter knew he wasn't alone. He was also unable to fight off the urge to stay awake, so his eyes slowly closed again.
"Do not worry about me, young man," the aged voice said softly. "I am here praying to the Great Spirits to bring you back to health."
"Great Spirits?" Peter asked with still closed eyes, and a voice so weak it was barely understandable.
"Yes, they have been talking to me. The Owl says there will be death soon. Death in the mountains. Great forces at play and a newcomer would be at the heart of it. The Spirits would not tell me if you will survive or not, but they have promised to watch over you and the boy. The forest has been unsettled by what has happened and what is to come. The badger and the wolf have also whispered of an evil presence in the sacred woods. Maybe they will tell me more. Or perhaps they will tell you instead."
Nothing the old man said made much sense and his head was throbbing way too much to try and understand him, so Peter just drifted away again.
oOoOoOoOo
After a bit, Peter became more acclimated to the light and his vision had settled down to one set of images, instead of multiples. Glancing around the room, he saw he was alone. Peter didn't recognize where he was after his eyes adjusted to the bright afternoon light.
It was decorated with a Native American theme, complete with animal furs, pottery, and woven works of art. Peter tried to remember why he was there, but the more awake he became, the angrier his pain levels grew. His hand felt the presence of thick gauze bandages lining the left side of his forehead. Though he worked to remember, his memories were blank as to why he was there, or even how he came to be in that room.
As he looked around more closely, he saw the slow burning embers of some type of herb in a small pottery dish left on the hearth of the fireplace. The dish was surrounded by a variety of other strange-looking objects, like a long smoking pipe with feathers bound together on its stem, and a bizarre rattle with more feathers, but there was no one else in the room except Peter.
He smiled when he recognized the aroma of the herb in the air. It was sage and Annie's favorite seasoning for the Thanksgiving turkey. Finally, he decided the only way he was going to get any answers was to leave his soft, comfy bed and find someone who could tell him what was going on.
Throwing back the covers, he found he was in his boxers, socks, and a brand new undershirt...not the sort he usually bought. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought.
That was when he first noticed the added layer of bulk under his t-shirt. Delicately raising the undergarment, he was shocked to see a heavy gauze dressing taped in place on his side, a bright red in the center of it already staining the bandage. So, that was the source of the pain in his side.
'What the hell happened,' he wondered, his brain still fogged with lost memories.
Most bizarre of all, was the long feather tied to a long strand of twine around his neck. Taking the feather in one hand, he lifted it into his line of vision as his face crinkled up in further bewilderment.
After a moment, he decided he had more important things to attend to. He rose slowly, so his head wouldn't give him too much trouble. He eventually managed to get to a sitting position, but he stopped when his side started screaming.
Feeling very woozy, Peter decided that staying put might be the wisest thing to do for the moment. Then, he heard voices from outside his door and knew he wasn't alone. Curiosity got the better of him and he stood gingerly, intending only to peek out and see who was with him in this unfamiliar house.
Walking on what looked like a large bearskin rug, he staggered towards the door and almost made it there before his world tilted. He lunged for the door knob to use as support, but as his arms swept outward, he managed to clip a nearby lamp, sending it to the floor with an obnoxious crash. Peter followed it as he dropped unceremoniously into
a semiconscious heap.
The sound of rapidly approaching feet and opening doors greeted him right before he blacked out. When he awakened again, he was surrounded by Celeste and her friends. His memory came rushing back to him as he recognized Celeste's petite form and he realized that they had to be in the upstairs apartment of Joey and Judy Whitehorse.
Judy moved away a tray with bloodied bandages on them and Peter surmised they had been the dressings he was wearing when he fell. One hand automatically rose to touch his injured forehead while the other brushed against his aching side.
"Stay still, Peter," Judy said softly as she worked.
The sound of a shaken rattle and humming started again and Peter peeked out around Judy to see a wizened old man with the rattle and burning herbs in hand praying by the fireplace.
"Judy, what do you think?" Celeste asked breathlessly.
Their conversation continued, "I've stitched up the stitches that broke open when he fell, but it's the concussion I'm worried about. That fall certainly didn't help him. Maybe Joey's father can do more than my nursing skills. I've seen a Shaman do amazing things before."
"Hey, I'm not that bad off. Don't worry. I've had worse," Peter whispered, and then suddenly reached for Celeste's hand and caught it. "Tommy, is he okay?"
Celeste's expression faded with sadness. "About the same."
Peter started to get up again, surprising all in the room. "I need to move the car."
Joey spoke up, "I've already hidden it away in the garage out back."
Peter didn't relent, now resting on his elbows. "I need to call my Captain, at the very least."
Celeste nodded and Judy brought him a cordless phone.
Everyone else backed away as Peter asked for Captain Blaisdell. His second father wasn't going to be happy about the turn of events, but at least he could call in the cavalry and it wouldn't be up to Peter alone to protect his witnesses.
After ensuring they were on a secure line, Paul exploded. "Peter, where the hell have
you been and why haven't you called in?"
"We've had a delay..." Peter started.
"What kind of delay would make you thirty-six hours late for a required check-in?" Paul's voice was so filled with anger, worry, and concern that Peter could almost feel him breathing down his neck.
"Thirty...six hours?" Peter said, stunned by the lapse in time.
"Yes, you've been AWOL for the past day and a half. Now tell me what's been going on!"
"You aren't going to like it," Peter said with a deep sigh.
He gave Blaisdell a rundown on the hit men's attack, the trip around a mountain on an unmarked road, the car phone's failure, and his own cell phone's problems. He hedged about his injuries. If he said that he was injured, Paul would send in someone to replace him. For some reason, Peter felt more than an obligation to complete his original orders. There was a tangible connection between him and the boy. He knew in his gut he had to see Tommy through this mess safely.
So, he told a white lie that was grounded in truth. "The boy, Tommy Hills, was traumatized by the heavy gunfire. His aunt requested we stay with her close friends in this out of the way place to give him a chance to recover and me a chance to hook up with you. I was just able to get to a working phone to give you this update."
Peter held his breath as Paul considered the information.
"This is not good, son. It was Celeste Crowfoot's greatest fear."
Sighing with relief that Paul didn't push the matter any further, Peter replied, "Yeah, I know. She's holding up pretty good though, all things considered. Paul, I think there's a leak somewhere. I know we'd lost those assassins, but somehow they knew the route we'd be taking to meet up with the state troops. Something is mighty wrong here..."
"Well, I received a telephone call from my friend at the state trooper's headquarters that you missed the rendezvous with them. They began back tracking and found the remains of what looked like a head on collision. You weren't involved in that, were you?"
Peter smiled. "No, but not because they weren't trying damned hard to catch us between two black SUVs. We went off the road and then over a mountain path. It was the only way I could think of to save them. I wasn't up to another encounter with the bad guys, so we backed off to a semi-secure location and that's where we are now."
Paul almost growled with the information. "We've been suspecting some type of leak, now we have confirmation of it. Dammit!"
"That's what I said."
"Tell me where you are and I'll send you some backup. I want you to sit tight until the backup gets there."
"Do you have someone in mind?" Peter asked.
Blaisdell only replied with, "Oh, yeah."
Peter chuckled in response.
"Peter, is your location secure for any length of time?" Paul asked quietly.
"Unknown for sure, but it's far away from where we left the smashed Explorers. I think we've got a pretty good chance of hiding here undetected...Unless there's a delay in my backup arriving. Why do you ask?'" Peter answered, but his senses were warning of more trouble.
"I'm looking for a safe house for you to hold up in..."
"A safe house? Well, Celeste mentioned a cabin–"
"No, don't tell me where. Not even over a secure line. When your backup gets there, I want the three of you to go to the safe house and await orders from me. Your backup will know how to get hold of me, if necessary."
"Wait? How long are we talking here?"
Peter's question was met with a lengthy silence.
"Peter, I'm afraid you may have to remain there until the trial begins."
"BUT THAT'S THREE WEEKS AWAY!" Peter shouted, and then had to hold his head as it ached with a vengeance.
"I know, but I think it's the safest way to go."
"Paul, that's crazy!" he said through gritted teeth.
"No, it's smart and if you would stop to think about it, you'll agree it's smart, too."
A long silence met Paul's response. Finally, Peter spoke, "Well, you better tell my backup to bring a cell phone with plenty of battery packs because they don't have a phone where we will be going."
"Okay, got it. Anything else?"
"Kelly and my long johns..."
Paul chuckled. "I'm afraid I need Kelly, but we might be able to arrange some cold weather clothing."
Peter grunted. He was getting tired again.
"Peter, are you okay? You sound...like you're hurt."
"I'm fine, just tired. Just didn't get a lot of sleep last night," Peter lied.
The call ended shortly afterwards with Peter feeling guilty about lying to Paul. His current health problems would only cause Paul more worry and he didn't need that right now, but there will be hell to pay when Paul finally found out.
'Maybe,' Peter thought, 'I could appease him by saying I'm not as angry at my father anymore. And, perhaps, I've learned something about how others worry for me and that humble feeling is helping me to forgive Pop.'
Peter sighed. It might work. Hell, they might not even make alive to the cabin, so why worry about possible lectures?
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