Unfortunately, their business in Omaha wasn't finished. After the late lunch consisting of garlic shrimp, Andrew had to get back to the hospital: his ribs had started to pain him again. At least he could walk on his own now. His wing, despite some pressure, had healed nicely, though not enough for flying just yet.
He and Rachel arrived in a lull. Omaha, as Andrew constantly reminded himself, wasn't near the booming metropolis of coastal cities, so the hospital lobby is pretty quiet. There's no one around save them and…
…that idiot rhinoceros they had tangled with two days ago. His eyelids were drooping, his face was slack, and he was altogether immobile. Ryan stood behind him to guide the wheelchair. He greeted them with a rueful smile, "Hey, guys."
Andrew was likewise chaired, per Rachel's command. "Hey, Ryan. How's Bobby doing?"
"Better. At least I think so. The doctor said it wasn't a concussion, but it came pretty damn close. They prescribed some painkillers, so he should be up and about in a week. Are you guys staying in town much longer?"
"We're leaving today, actually. Omaha's worn out its welcome for us."
The coherent rhinoceros chuckled. "I'm sure Bobby's going to say the same thing."
Andrew couldn't see his girlfriend's face, but she sounded chagrined, "Listen, Ryan, I'm really sorr…"
He raised his hoof to forestall her. "In my opinion, he had it coming. Neither of you have anything to apologize for. Maybe he'll be a little wiser than to mess with a marine in the future."
"How'd you…?"
"Family tradition," was his quick answer. He gripped the handles of the wheelchair and started pushing it forward. "Anyway, I've got to get this guy home. Good luck on the rest of your road trip."
"Thanks," Andrew replied absently. He felt sorry himself; not for Bobby, not really, but for Ryan. He couldn't fathom why the two were friends if Bobby kept up the pretentious manner of acting before deliberating. Andrew supposed that he, having the lawyer's mind, wouldn't be able to use it as a reliable reference in every instance. He hoped Ryan's words would hold some inkling of certainty, for his sake, but nothing could be one hundred percent certain. If he…well, if anyone could manage to endure a friendship with Stephen Nelson, the supreme prankster of Northwestern University, despite his faults, he was hardly one to judge that person's character.
The couple imperceptibly watched as he directed the chair to the parking lot from the lobby, and out of their sight, before Rachel took command of the wheelchair toward the elevator. He hadn't even seen his doctor, being unconscious the whole time, and then fleeing the hospital. Rachel seemed to know where she was going, at least. The hospital, as expected, was very plain, something he didn't take into much account. He didn't like being here, but Rachel had insisted. The place was a maze. She soon found the resident's office, situated on the top floor. An oryx, wearing wire-thin glasses and a long-sleeved blue t-shirt, was muttering in a deep baritone while going over some paperwork when Rachel knocked on his door.
He looked up. "Ms. Klein," he said. His timbre didn't match up with the rest of his face, set heavily in a frown. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Blair. I'm Dr. Owusu. Now, what is it can I do for you?"
"It's my ribs," Andrew answered. "You see, they're still…"
"Causing problems? Well, naturally they would, seeing as it's only been two days since you were released from the hospital. I was going to put you on some pain medication, but I'm afraid Ms. Klein escorted you out of the hospital too quickly for me to do so." He sent her a mild glare.
Andrew turned to Rachel, who looked sheepish.
"But you are very fortunate I still have the prescription on file," the oryx continued, digging into a drawer behind him, and pulled out a file with Andrew's name on it. He hesitated before handing it over. "Keep this in mind, Mr. Blair. You're only to fill this prescription if the first option doesn't cooperate with your body."
"Which is what?"
"The usual on the shelf drugs, as long as it's Tylenol or anything ibuprofen based. Also, I recommended that you not do anything," he glanced between the bird and the cat, "too…overly strenuous over the next six weeks."
Both blushed. Andrew only saw that Rachel was through the mirror on the doctor's wall.
"Is there anything else I can help you two with?"
"No, doctor."
"No, doctor."
"Then have a good day. I've got to get back to this paperwork."
Once out in the hallway, Andrew looked at Rachel flatly. "Are you mad? Go ahead and rub it in. I can take it."
"Rachel," he said, smiling up at her, "I'd never tease you for something so minor. You made a mistake, no big deal. I think that we've got something good going here, and like I said before, I'm ready to see it to the end, whatever mistakes either of us make along the way. Besides, I kind of reacted the same way when we left here the first time."
"You're such a liar."
That caught him off guard. "What?"
"Oh, don't you play innocent with me, Birdy," the feline responded, crossing her arms. He could see she was trying hard not to smile. "You took advantage of my weakness."
"What weakness?" Then he remembered. If there was one thing Andrew always prided himself on, it was keeping a straight face in these kind of situations. As of late, though, the habit had, in effect, deserted him, and right then he felt incredibly disinclined to care. He smirked. "Oh, you mean…this?" He reached up and tweaked her ear with one of his wing fingers.
"Ack! Don't do that here!" the leopard yelled. She quickly covered her mouth with a paw and glared at him in a way that said, 'You are so going to get it.'
He continued to smirk. 'Bring it on.'
—
Their seats had switched now as Rachel commandeered the driver's side. Since Andrew's ribs were broken, she had decisively restricted his driving ability to short and safe distances, and thus the road trip continued. The plan, as the two of them had worked out, would be to go to Denver first, then continue south through New Mexico, Arizona, Las Vegas and, finally, to San Francisco. As it happened, they were already late in leaving the self-proclaimed 'Gateway to the West'. Denver was a near eight hour drive west, and the black road had already twined into the incoming night sky.
They'd have to settle for something in between.
It wasn't the most ideal, but North Platte was a relatively simple rural city. Everything was in 'Circa 1954' style down to the layers of bricks and the shingles on houses. There weren't that many hotels in the area, and none of them were in the town itself. The entire group of buildings were bundled together on the fringes of the highway like grapes on a vine.
"This looks cozy," Andrew muttered. Though his tone registered as slightly sardonic, his eyes belied it as he looked at her. Who was to say this wasn't some overly eloquent dream? Andrew couldn't find an excuse, but he was more than fearful of what would happen if he took his eyes away. That she would dim, that she would leave. There remained a strong possibility of that happening. Rachel never said why she had to go to California, but he suspected it had to do with the corps. Her departure was an inevitable circumstance, something in which he would have to be ready for, but for now he was just happy that she was by his side.
"You're lying again," she said/sang. "I can tell by your voice."
"I'll have you know I'm perfectly serious. What could be more comfortable than half a dozen hotels clustered around a highway? Cheap food, low fares, reverberations…"
"And a room and bed to ourselves," she finished. Her voice practically purred. "That's all that matters to me."
"Feeling a bit amorous, are we?"
"Just so long as we avoid the bars, yes."
Andrew laughed. "Agreed. Shall we?" he asked with a wave of his wing.
Her only response was to open the driver's side door and quickly run to open his in some bizarre turnabout of chivalry. "Rachel, I am able to walk, you know," he murmured to her, a trifle irritated. His words instantly betrayed him as he stumbled and almost fell due to a stray patch of ice in the Holiday Inn's parking lot. Rachel caught him halfway.
"Pull the other one, why don't you?" she asked.
He grumbled in his throat, but made no other protests.
"Oh, poor you," Rachel cooed.
He grumbled again, opening and flapping his wings as he did so, and for a few moments both were lifted from the ground.
"Hey! Andrew, put me down!" she exclaimed, gripping him for all it was worth.
"Never!"
But he touched down just outside the lobby despite his oath, grinning madly. The leopard swatted at his shoulder. "You are a sneaky bastard," she stated.
"Guilty as charged, Rachel," he replied, feeling not the least bit repentant. He couldn't believe himself right now, how belligerent he was becoming. Stephen may have done something wonderful for a change instead of for his own prideful endeavors, but at what expense? Andrew Ìmhear Blair was progressively turning into more and more of a jackass, and he realized he didn't like that side of himself. At all. He sobered up immediately.
She leaned in close, her lips almost touching his beak, and whispered, "Do that again without warning, and I'll break one of your wings."
He nodded, contrite. "I'm sorry."
Rachel sighed. "I only said 'without warning', Andrew. I'm asking for ample time to be ready for it, not that you shouldn't make the attempt. It's good to be assertive every once in a while, but you shouldn't go overboard in doing so."
"Understood loud and clear, ma'am!" he said firmly. The confidence boost had made its way back to him. He struck a military pose complete with a salute.
She snorted, covering her mouth. "Get inside, 'soldier.'"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Enough!" she laughed.
—
An hour later, Andrew was alone.
Rachel decided to loosen the reigns on his driving increment, and he now wandered around North Platte for a decent place to pick up food. After a few minutes of indecision, he called Rachel on the car phone.
"So far, I've seen a Chinese restaurant, a Mexican one, Tempura Japanese, and finally this 50's style diner called the Pink Poodle."
"Ooh, really? Why do they call it that?"
"Probably because the first owner was a pink poodle."
"Probably. That sounds like the best place. Pick me up a Caesar salad, dressing on the side, and some chocolate cake for the both of us."
"On my way," he replied, hitting the 'End' button and entering the driveway. Like much of the town, the diner was easy to miss. It was hidden in a small corner behind a bigger red-bricked building. The only indicators it was even there were its aqua-green coloring, its mini-marquee proclaiming it as the diner in question, and a single marble stone table positioned outside, now covered in cold white powder. He got out of the car, walked ten paces, and pulled the door open.
His head was facing down the entire time he made his way in, so he almost didn't notice how still the environment inside the diner was. He lifted his eyes, and then wished he hadn't.
The scene was terrible: there weren't many patrons at this time of night, and it was evidenced by the picture of an unknown golden retriever clutching his shoulder due to what was clearly a bullet wound. There was a palpable scent of blood in the air. Andrew's sure there was another person lying dead on the ground beyond his view.
What brought the picture into Andrew's full and unmitigated perspective was the figure standing behind the counter, now aiming a gun toward him. The figure himself, no question it was a he, had a ski mask pulled over his head. His teeth are bared in a silent snarl, golden eyes glowing balefully at Andrew. He was wrapped inside a large black jean jacket that clearly looked worse for wear, its seams ripped throughout, but the bird can see the tense muscles beneath, along with the tiniest hint of grayish dotted fur. A vague sense of recognition entered the culprit's eyes. He lowered his gun, keeping his eyes on Andrew, and opened his mouth, "I know you." The voice is cold, foreign, and predominantly English, but not cultured, putting Andrew in mind of the East London accents which he had come across in an English film not long ago.
Andrew kept his face blank as he raised his wings into the air. He had heard that particular voice before, and it was one in which he'd hoped never to hear from again.
He spoke calmly in the empty atmosphere,
"Hello, Nick."