Part Four
"What do you think you're trying to do?"
Chagrined and a bit irritated, Sam glanced toward the kitchen door to see Alice standing akimbo, frowning at him. Damn. I thought she would be longer in cleaning the dishes. "I'm just... I only need..." He sighed and quickly thought up an excuse—this one brought about by actual need. "I need to use your restroom, if you don't mind."
His voice was ridiculously hoarse, and standing on his feet, he was weaving this way and that like a drunken man. Drunk on pain, he supposed. That ever-present pain.
"Why didn't you say so?" Alice sighed with an air of resignation. "Come on. I'll help you there." She crossed the living room floor and looped her arm through his.
A sudden, horrifying thought came to Sam. "Just—just take me there. I can—I can do the rest alone."
Alice made a soft sound. He thought it was a laugh, but he wasn't sure. "Good." She helped Sam down the hall to a narrow door on the right. "You're still too warm, Sam. We need to work on this fever, and that means rest."
"Yes. Yes, I know," Sam murmured, suddenly dizzy and nauseated from his walk down the hall. He staggered into the bathroom, using the wall and then the counter for support. Sharp twinges of pain clenched his stomach, and he was trying very hard not to think of the words "internal injuries." Instead, he concentrated on a new plan to carry out what he had been trying to do earlier—get to a phone. He had a suspicion, and he wanted to find out if it were true.
It could save him from being convicted of murder.
Alice washed a few more dishes, then poured herself a hot mug of tea. She was a bit weary today, mostly on the inside. Worry for her husband and for this injured friend of his was wearing her out. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the hot liquid slowly pour down her throat and warm it... Her eyes flew open as soon as she realized that she had forgotten Sam! She was so used to being at home alone...
Swearing, she set down her tea mug and rushed out of the kitchen, across the living room and into the hall. An ominously familiar sound greeted her as she stopped at the bathroom door. It was a sound she had heard many times before, after Gene had drunk a bit too much. Wincing, she knocked on the door. "Sam? Are you okay in there?"
The pitiful sound of more retching was her only reply.
"Sam?" Alice started to turn the doorknob. "Sam, I'm coming in." She quickly opened the door and slipped inside, grimacing at the sight that greeted her.
The DI was bowed over the toilet bowl, clutching it with both arms, as if for dear life. His slender little body was shuddering and convulsing with dry heaves. He looked up at her, face pale, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "I've got—I've got nothing left," he gasped out, then turned back to the bowl and started hacking again.
"Oh, sweetie." Alice's heart went out to him. She hurried to wet a washcloth and moved to kneel beside him, draping the cool cloth over the back of his neck. Then she sat back from him, allowing him his space and privacy. She had never liked being touched while she was throwing up, and she figured the sick DI was probably the same way.
After a few agonizing minutes, Sam turned to her with a wan smile. "Thank—thank-you," he stammered. He reached with a shaky arm to flush the toilet, then very politely closed the lid. "I'm sorry." He blushed a bit, then, looking away from her and finally resting his head on the toilet lid.
Alice was glad she had let Gene talk her into buying that hideous brown lid cover. At least it was soft. "You need a doctor," she told the sick man firmly.
"No." Sam shook his head where it rested on the toilet lid. "No doctor. I don't—I don't think I have internal injuries."
Alice's eyebrows rose. "Oh really? Is that why you're bent over a toilet puking up your guts?"
"That's just the thing," said Sam with what could only be described as a smirk. "I didn't puke up my guts. No guts. No blood. Just dinner."
"Well that's good." Some of Alice's worries settled a bit at that. "Still..." She resisted the urge to start biting her nails. She didn't want this lad dying on her. For one thing, he was Gene's friend, one of Gene's team. And for another thing... He seemed like a very nice young man. "Do you think you can stand?"
"I can try." Sam pushed himself up by leaning his trembling arms on the toilet, his breath coming in short, jerky pants.
Alice hurried to his side and helped him, her worries rising again at the feel of heat emanating from his body. "Let's get you back to the couch." She draped his arm across her shoulders and supported him into the hall. Before they could reach the living room, Sam's breath left him in a hitched moan, and he leaned heavily against Alice.
"Sam?" She turned so that she could see him better.
He was blinking rapidly, his lips pressed tightly together.
"Sam!" Alice shook him gently, careful not to touch his stomach or ribs. She reached to feel the pulse beating at the base of his throat, and her own pulse began to race when she felt how fast it was. "Sam, you have to calm down and breathe."
Very carefully, she helped him lower himself to the floor. She took the cool cloth from his neck and began mopping at his face. His breaths came erratically, raggedly, and with each one, his body tensed. Must be his ribs hurting him, she surmised. She winced as she realized that he had probably hurt them worse with all that horrible dry heaving.
"I know it hurts, luv, but you have to breathe," Alice cooed, forcing herself to remain calm. "You have to breathe."
Sam nodded, but still struggled with his breath, head thrown back, hands clenching at the thick carpet.
Alice felt helpless. Tears of frustration threatened to spring to her eyes, but she fought them back down. "Come on, Sam," she pleaded. "Come on."
The front door burst open with a volume only one person could manage. Alice felt like shouting with relief. In fact, she did. "Gene!" she called. "Gene, I need you!"
As much as she hated to admit it. Oh well. He could tease her about it later. For now, they needed to work together to keep his DI from dying.
Gene came sweeping into the hall, his camel hair coat whipping around him. "Oi! What's the matter?"
"I can't—He's not breathing well. He was throwing up earlier, and I think he hurt his ribs worse." The words came out in a desperate tumble.
"Oi! Tyler!" Gene knelt beside his wife and wounded DI. "You've got to keep breathin', you div. D'you hear me? This is your DCI speaking."
Sam looked up, looked toward the sound of Gene's voice. That strong, familiar voice cut through his panic at struggling to breathe. "Gene!" he coughed out. Fingers of fire seemed to be ripping at his ribcage. His eyes watered at the pain. "I'm trying, Guv."
"You keep tryin', Sammy." Gene reached out and placed a surprisingly gentle hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
Sam instinctively leaned into Gene's hand, relying on the strength that was his DCI. He would regret it later, he was sure, and he hated that his superior—his friend—had to see him in such a pathetic state, but for now... He had to draw on whatever strength he could.
"You do yer job, Tyler. Keep breathin'. That's it."
Gene's hand gently pressed his shoulder, while Alice softly touched his forehead with a refreshingly cool cloth.
Sam dragged in a gulp of air, and in spite of the twinges in his ribs, it made him feel instantly better.
"That's it, Sammy. Keep goin' like that."
In. Out. In. Out. In. Ouch!
"We've got to get him to a doctor, Gene. His ribs are broken, and he's sick."
Another deep breath. Another.
"He's under house arrest, Alice. We'll have to bring a doctor here."
Tired, suddenly so tired...
"Fine. We'll do it. We have to do something. I don't want this man to die in my house."
"Hell, I don't want him to die anywhere."
That's nice of you, Guv.
"You okay now, Sam?"
Sam opened his eyes. He hadn't realized they were closed. "Yeah." He nodded, panting and worn. "Think so."
"Come on. Let's get you to bed."
"To sofa, you mean." He smiled at that, proud of his wit in spite of injury.
Gene and Alice exchanged a glance, then hurried to gently help him up. He couldn't exactly find his balance, so Gene picked him up like a child and carried him into the living room, followed closely by Alice.
As Gene carefully set him down on the couch, Sam remembered something—something important. "Guv." He swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Guv, there's something I have to tell you."
"Save it, Tyler, and get some rest," Gene ordered. He motioned to Alice, and she brought a blanket, which they draped over their guest.
Sam frowned, frustrated. "Guv, listen to me. It's about the case!" His own fervor was tiring him—and fast.
"Don't get yerself all worked up. You'll hurt yerself again," Gene cautioned. Then, as if finally realized what Sam had said, he asked, "What? What did you say, Sam?"
"I think I've got a lead," Sam told him, fighting the sleep that was trying to overtake him.
"A lead?" Gene was all ears now.
"That man... The man outside the restaurant..." Sam couldn't hold on any longer, and sleep won its battle.
(A/N: And so the mystery begins, heh heh.)