A/N- Some chapters are more difficult to write than others and for some reason, this one was haaard! I had precious little time to work on it and every time I went back to it, it was like starting all over again. Giant chunks of text were changed, whole paragraphs were deleted and redwritten...argh, I need a nap!
What a Pain! - Chapter Thirty-Four
Chet's temporary absence from the living room gave Mike and Johnny just enough time to exhale and quietly release the laughter they held inside.
Gasping, Mike said, "J-Johnnny! In-ter-ior design? Good grief!"
Gage wiped a tear from his eye. "I know, it's a little over the top, but I just couldn't stop myself! Chet's probably in there checkin' his pants!"
"Hoo, b-boy, wh-when he fffinds out the t-truth, we're d-dead men!" Mike said, regaining his composure.
Johnny stifled another snicker, "Yeah, we are, but ya' gotta' admit, this is worth it."
They both looked up when they heard the bathroom doorknob rattle and swiftly changed the subject as Chet returned to the living room. Chet's mouth dropped open when he heard Johnny speaking.
"Well, anyway," Johnny fussed to Mike, "I told Cap that once Christmas comes this year, you and I will host the station's party. We should have all the painting done and the new carpet by then. Won't it look fab-u-lous with the new tweed sofa?" He innocently looked up at Chet, who stood in the doorway. "Oh, hey, Kelley. We were just talking about the re-do Mike and I have planned."
Chet cleared his throat nervously, "Y-Yeah, okay, uh, look fellas, I'd better get going. I'm serious about next Saturday night though, okay? 6 pm sharp, the game starts at 6:30."
Mike stood to shake Chet's hand as Johnny grabbed his crutches and started to get up.
"Stay put, guys, I'll let myself out," Chet told them as he backed up toward the door. "I'll uh, call tomorrow and see if you need anything."
With that, the mustachioed Irishman practically ran down the sidewalk to his waiting van, mumbling and shaking his head the entire way. Mike wrapped an arm around Johnny's waist and gently eased him to his feet and the two of them stood watching Chet as he repeatedly tried the ignition before the van finally sputtered to life. This would surely be another nail in The Phantom's prank-playing coffin.
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
The next morning Ellie Stanley stood near the hospital bed packing up her husband's things. It had been too long since he'd been home; it was surreal to think he'd finally be back where he belonged. She smiled when he exited the restroom, dressed in jeans with his shirt unbuttoned, exposing the white t-shirt underneath. He was healing very well now, and the physical therapy sessions, though uncomfortable, had done wonders toward keeping him flexible. She blushed when she caught herself thinking about testing that flexibility.
Hank approached his wife and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Well, guess I'm ready to go, babe," he told her.
Ellie turned around and laid her head on her husband's chest.
"Hank, I just want to get you out of this place right now and home where you belong. The girls are over at the Goldstein's again, but Betty said she'd watch for our car and send them home as soon as we get there."
"I can't wait," he said, "I miss all my girls."
Before they could leave, Doctor Ramsey made one last visit.
"Mr. Stanley," he said, extending his hand, "It's gratifying to see you on your way home. It's been a pleasure having you as my patient. " With a rare smile he added, "I wish you well in your recovery."
"Thank you, sir, I appreciate everything you've done for me," Stanley replied, with a firm handshake, "I trust you won't be offended if I say I hope I don't see you again in this manner."
Doctor Ramsey startled them with a laugh "Not at all, Mr. Stanley, not at all. Have a good day."
Stanley shook the doctor's hand again and as soon as Ramsey left, Dixie entered with a wheelchair and the final papers to sign.
"Miss McCall! How nice to see you again," Ellie greeted.
"Well, I wanted to make sure you were all set before you left us," she smiled, "I guess I'm a little partial to you folks."
Dixie held out the clipboard and had Hank sign his release papers, then patted the back of the wheelchair's seat. "Your chariot awaits, Captain! Let's get you out of here."
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Chet headed for home and once he opened the door, he looked around and decided there was more work to do than he thought if there was to be a party at his place in a few days. He tossed his keys in the bowl by the back door and perused the work schedule which hung on the fridge.
"Hmmm...work, off, work, off, work, work at 36's..." Chet thumped a finger on each square and continued making mental notes. He finally decided that to get ready for this party, he needed to call in the cavalry...his mom.
Chet happened to call on a day his mother was actually home and in a relatively good mood. On any other given day, Nessa Kelley was a bundle of energy which she spent on dozens of volunteer activities, leaving her frazzled and slightly cranky. Chet and several of his siblings had made mention to their mother that perhaps she ought to cut a few things out, but Nessa wouldn't hear of it- taking care of people and things is what she did best. Today she was devoting her time to cleaning the silver, washing the draperies and wiping down the window blinds; a rather low-key day for her.
"Hi, Mam, it's Chester."
"Chester Brogan Kelley! Well, it's about time you called your old mam! What has this day brought you, son?"
"Well, I kinda' need your help, Mam," Chet began, "I'm having some friends over next weekend and I..."
Chet didn't get a chance to finish before Nessa snapped, "Speak up, Chester, don't mumble! I'll never be able to finish my cleaning if you don't tell me what you need! A Kelley man must be heard, you know!"
Chet rolled his eyes and patiently waited for his mother to end her most recent tirade.
"Mam, I just wondered if you'd help me tidy things up around here for a party I'm having next weekend. Three of the guys from the station will be home from the hospital and I told them I'd have them all over," Chet was finally able to say.
"Well, why on earth didn't you just say so, son? Let me check my dates."
Chet's mother finally decided that the following Thursday would be perfect for not only her but also Chet's aunts, Trudy and Nan, who would accompany her on her newest mission. Cleaning Chester's home wasn't for the faint-of-heart, Nessa declared, and she would need the reinforcements.
Chet did try to keep his place tidy, mostly for the unexpected visits from Mam and the resulting tongue-lashing he'd receive if it weren't in visitor-worthy condition. Once Mother Kelley heard the word "guests" in relation to Chet's abode, she knew there'd be much work to be done...too much for her youngest son to tackle alone.
With the cleaning crew arranged, Chet rooted around in his cabinets, found and opened a can of peaches and sat down at the table with a pad of paper and a pen. He stabbed a peach slice and swallowed it in one bite as he tapped the pen on the side of his head, thinking of things to get done before the party.
As if touched by a matchstick, Chet's eyes lit up with inspiration. "Yes! That's perfect!" he shouted. He went to the drawer by the phone and pulled out the brown leather book that held the numbers of friends and family. "P...Q...R...S! Samuelson! Ronnie Samuelson! Man, Ronnie, I hope you're still in the business," Chet mumbled as he dialed his friend's number. He tapped a foot impatiently while waiting for Ronnie to pick up. If this worked,…oh, the results would be incredible!
"Hello, Babes in Boy-land, Ronnie speakin'."
"Ronnie! Hey, it's your ol' pal Chet Kelley; I was hoping I'd get to talk to you."
"Good lord, Chester Kelley, the man with a thousand pranks and none of 'em worth a good damn. What are you doin' callin' me?"
"Well, hey, I have a question for you. Are you still arranging uh, you know, 'party guests'?" Chet asked.
"Oh, I suppose I could maybe do that for an old pal. What do you need, when and where, exactly?"
"I need three for next Saturday, my house," Chet explained with a smile beginning to form.
"Three? At your house? You old dog, I never figured you for the type," Ronnie said with a hearty laugh.
"Naw, man, not for me. It's for a couple of my friends who just got out of the hospital. I'm having a little 'welcome home' party for 'em."
Ronnie laughed loudly again, "Ha! Chet, that's a hell of a welcome home! What time do you need 'em there?"
"7pm sharp, and Ronnie, make 'em good ones, okay? This is really important," Chet added.
"For you, I'll send my best ones. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know what I can get arranged."
"Far-out, man! Thanks! I'll talk to you then."
Chet hung up and crossed a line through that part of his to-do list. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. He slurped down two more peach slices, tossed the can in the trash and grabbed his wallet and keys. Time to go buy that new television he promised the guys.
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Once Chet was gone, Johnny groaned as he eased himself back down in the chair, propping his feet up on the ottoman. Mike sat down on the sofa once more and Sir Pain jumped up to join him there. He stroked the cat and stared off into space, thinking.
Johnny sighed, "Well. Um...now what? Chet's planning this big shindig for us and how, exactly, are we going to handle it?"
Mike inhaled deeply, "I don't rrreally know, I g-guess, but mmmaybe you sh-should stay here f-for a few d-days, a-any-way. I-If Chet comes b-back and y-you're nnnot here, th-that'll blow it f-for sure."
"Hmm," Johnny added, "maybe we didn't plan this out as well as we should have." He snorted a soft laugh and shook his head, "Chet just begs to be messed with some days and I guess I can't resist."
Later that evening, Mike and Johnny stood on either side of the kitchen sink, both snarling about trying to open their medication bottles. Twice, Gage had nearly flung his pain pills across the room and Stoker had actually cursed when he couldn't twist the cap back on a bottle.
"We're quite a pair," Johnny growled. "How do people who have to take this crap everyday do this?"
"B-Beats me," Mike snarled back as he put the third bottle back in the bowl by the sink. "I f-feel like a w-walk-ing ph-pharmmmacy!"
"I'm pooped, Stoker; I'm headin' to bed. Want me to take the couch or the spare room?"
"Y-You can have the e-extra rrroom," Mike told him, "it's p-prob-ably quieter."
"'K," John answered. He filled two ice bags to use that night and with Mike beside him to help, Gage slowly navigated the crutches down the hall and into the spare bedroom.
Once he was settled with his one ankle propped on a pillow and another pillow boosting his opposite knee, Gage placed the ice bags on each aching joint and pulled the blankets up around him. His back was hurting badly by then and he fell back into the three other pillows behind him and exhaled. This was the pits!
Sir Pain followed him in and leaped to the bed, making himself comfortable in the crook of Johnny's right arm. It didn't take long for both man and feline to fall asleep.
Mike went to his own room and stood for a while in the doorway. His hand slid around on the cold wall as he searched for the light switch. Finding it, he flipped on the light and stood staring at the bed for a minute. Then let his head flop back and he groaned softly. He hated the night-time now.
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
It took him nearly an hour, but Chet had finally hooked up his new television. It was much bigger than the old one and with the help of a new rotor box, he could get both VHF and UHF. He stood back and admired his handiwork.
"Pretty impressive, Kelley," he told himself. "Tomorrow at work I'll make sure everyone's all set for this weekend and then sit back and wait. This'll be phenomenal!"
He dusted his hands off on his pants and gathered his tools together and put them away in the garage. Mam and his aunts were coming in three days and Chet was already nervous about it. They would be there while he was at work and if there was anything out of place when they arrived, Mam would find a place for it. That usually meant Chet would never see it again.
"I'm gonna head for the barn," Chet decided. "I'm beat."
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Mike lay back in his bed and stared, wide-eyed, at the ceiling. Every night since he came home it was the same. The noises that had been a part of life ever since he moved in had become things to be afraid of. Whenever the refrigerator kicked in, he jumped, thinking a stranger was in the kitchen. He never left the windows open at night anymore, not even a crack, afraid that someone could get in. He had taken down the wind chimes he once had on the patio because their ringing might mask the sound of an intruder. His sleep, when he got any, was broken and fitful. He desperately longed for a night of peace.
A scant three hours later, Johnny was awakened by Sir Pain, head-butting him in the forehead and pawing at his face. Gage growled, "G'way, cat!" and swatted blindly at Sir Pain. The cat continued his pestering until Johnny had had enough. Stiffly, he sat up, intending to shove Sir Pain to the floor, when he heard a sound.
It wouldn't have been loud enough at first to awaken him, but now that he was awake, he could hear it clearly. He just wasn't sure what it was. Sir Pain pawed at Johnny's arm.
"Awright, kitty, I know; I hear it," Johnny reassured Sir Pain. He removed the ice bags and eased himself upright, wincing with how stiff and sore everything was. He sat at the edge of the bed and listened. Still not sure of what it was, Johnny reached for his crutches so he could, wisely or not, investigate. Taking a deep breath, he leaned heavily on the crutches and launched himself off the bed. He stood, wobbling for a moment, then hobbled out the door.
As he made his way down the hall, Gage could hear the sounds much clearer and louder now, and his heart fell as he realized what it was.
Stoker was having a nightmare.