CHAPTER 10: PLAY DEAD
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(October 12)
The room seemed unusually bright when Mike entered. He glanced at the man in the bed, noting the still-closed eyes, and stepped briskly toward the table by the wall, maneuvering it back to the bedside with the skill of long practice. He pulled out the red and black plaid thermos from his backpack and poured the clear dark liquid into the small white Styrofoam cups, the invisible aroma of good coffee permeating the room as he watched the steam rise from the fluid surface broken only by a few tiny bubbles that popped out of existence with languid insolence. The first taste of the sweet strong brew caused Mike to shudder slightly, the burn welcome and familiar as it slid down his throat.
He retrieved the novel and a department memo from his backpack, set the novel aside, and cleared his throat. "Good morning, Derek," he said finally, eyes taking in subtle changes in his friend's face since his last visit. Did his eyelid just twitch? Mike shook his head, dismissing the notion and looking back down at the memo. "The good folks at HQ would like to educate us on traffic safety today, it seems. Let's see. Driving the apparatus in emergent status. Driving the apparatus in non-emergent status. Backing the apparatus. Blocking traffic with the apparatus on a scene. Directing traffic around a scene. I don't know about you, Watty, but this looks to be a real exciting –."
A raspy voice interrupted Mike's soliloquy. "Stokesy, will you shut up?"
"Derek?" Surprise caused Mike's voice to squeak. He could see his friend's eyelids lift and glimpsed the shiny white sclera, the bright green iris, the unfocused pupil. "Derek!"
"I'm tryin' to sleep here," Derek complained weakly, voice fading as his eyes closed again.
"Stay awake, Derek, stay awake," Stoker urged and reached for the call button to summon Nurse Carson and the doctor and Derek's family and the guys at the station –.
Mike's eyes popped open when his hand connected forcibly with the stout oak headboard in the McConnikee guest bedroom. He slumped back into the pillow, the throb in his knuckle joining the other aches in his body. I hate that dream, he thought, staring at the sun-streaked ceiling for several minutes before beginning the process of getting ready for the day.
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"Thanks for the lift, man," Stoker said a few hours later, sliding out of Chet's vehicle. He stood on one foot and worked the crutches out of the automobile before slipping the strap of his backpack over a shoulder.
"Need any help?" Chet peered over at him from the driver's seat, hand on the door latch. Mike had called him asking for a ride that morning, reaffirming that things were back to normal between them.
"Nah, I got it. Pick me up in a couple of hours?"
"No problem. I have a few errands to run and then I'll be back." Chet waited until the automatic doors closed behind Mike and then headed out of the parking lot, coaxing the beat-up van back onto the road.
When Mike arrived on the correct floor, he noticed a familiar face outside Derek's room. Before he could greet Derek's sister, however, Nurse Carson intercepted him and steered him toward one of the small conference rooms, holding the door for him. "What's going on?" he asked, sinking down into one of the uncomfortable orange plastic chairs and leaning the crutches against the wall beside him.
"Derek had a stroke."
Four words. A world of grief.
"How, how bad is it?"
"The doctors are not hopeful, which is why the family is here." Adelaide paused, knowing she was going to hurt him. "To say goodbye."
"Is he in any pain? Is he … suffering at all?"
"No, he seems peaceful."
"Do you know if I can see him? I don't want to barge in." I don't want to say good bye but …
"Let me go ask for you. Just wait here, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Nurse Carson returned a few minutes later, telling Mike the Watsons wanted him to join them outside Watty's room first. "It might not make any difference, but try to keep your visit with Derek as normal as possible. Do the things you usually do. Okay?" It'll be easier for you, firefighter.
"I'll try." He smiled briefly. "At least I've got a good story to tell him this week," he said, gesturing to his banged up body. Mike stood and maneuvered his way out of the room and into the hallway. He recognized the Watsons immediately and crossed to them as quickly as his crutches would allow. "Mr. and Mrs. Watson? I don't know if you remember me – ."
"You're Mike, Derek's friend from the Academy, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Still visiting him, I see."
"Yes, ma'am. I usually read to him and talk a bit."
"Miss Carson told you what's going on with my boy?" Mr. Watson asked then, eyes watery.
"Yes, sir." Stoker waited for a moment, wondering if the man would continue. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, son, nothing."
"If you'd like to see him, …," his mother started to say, voice trembling just a bit. She'd been trying to prepare herself for something like this ever since the phone call three years ago. When Derek hadn't woken up after a few weeks, she'd known that – for the first time in his life – the odds were not in his favor.
"I'd like that. We've got a little left of this story and then we can close the book on this grand adventure." The statement hung in the air between Mike and Derek's parents, the irony of his words cutting deep.
"Go ahead, then, and have your visit," Derek's father said. "We're going to get a bite to eat and then we'll be back to – ." He took his wife's hand and gently pulled her away, knowing neither of them could eat but knowing both of them needed a few minutes out of the ward before the final goodbye.
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"'…Of Silver we have heard no more. That formidable sea-faring man with one leg has at last gone clean out of my life; but I daresay he met his old negress, and perhaps still lives in comfort with her and Captain Flint. It is to be hoped so, I suppose, for his chances of comfort in another world are very small.
"'The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me. Oxen and wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island; and the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts, or start upright in bed, with the sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears: "Pieces of eight! pieces of eight!"'"
Mike finished reading, both his coffee and Derek's cold and stale, and closed his childhood copy of the classic novel slowly. "Well, Watty, how did you like it? Any thoughts on what we should read next?" A dank-smelling silence greeted his ears. "I'll pick something funny; you always did like a good joke."
"Mike?" He'd only been peripherally aware that Derek's family had returned; he'd long since stopped feeling self-conscious about reading to Derek when others were in the room. They'd listened to him reading the last chapter of Treasure Island without interrupting as medical personnel moved into and out of the room silently. At one point, Mrs. Watson had stroked the hair back from Derek's forehead like he was a child again, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead before sitting down next to the bed.
"Or, maybe another one of those Louis L'Amour westerns. Those are good books, lots of action. It'll do you good to think about something with – ." Mike heard the silence then, his breath catching in his throat.
"Mike."
"Unless you want … some suspense, maybe … a mystery, something … to, uh, to keep you … on the edge … of your seat?" Tears slipped from his eyes as Mrs. Watson reached across Derek's utterly still body to grasp his hand.
"Mike, he's gone."
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I have to be there for Derek.
Don't think I can walk but I'll crawl if I have to, to honor him.
I have to be there for Derek.
Don't talk to me about the pain, this pain is nothing.
I have to be there for Derek.
Don't you understand – it could, no, it should have been me.
"Have to be there for Derek," Mike mumbled.
"You will be," Chet replied after a brief glance at his friend, his words falling futilely into the heavy silence that had been threatening to suffocate them during the drive back to the McConnikee home.
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(14 October)
"Dad, he's going to hurt himself if he tries to walk in the vanguard!" she exclaimed. "Can't you talk to him about this?"
"If he doesn't do this, dear, he'll be hurting more." Henry could see she didn't understand so he tried to ease her concerns, at least a little. "The men from his station will be there for him, during the procession and funeral; he's not going to be walking alone, you know. If he stumbles or needs a break, they'll see to him. I wouldn't be surprised if they find a way for him to ride instead of walk and still keep his pride intact."
"But, I want – ."
"You can be there for him at the end of the day. Be ready with his medicines, warm blankets, ice packs, comfort food, whatever. Be ready to listen if he wants to talk, to talk if he wants to listen." Morgan had been a natural at that, knowing what he needed to hear, what he needed to say. He would never have made it through the Royals' funeral if he hadn't known she was waiting for him, if she hadn't promised to be there whenever he got back … in whatever condition. She'd given him permission to come to her bed drunk and that had freed him to stay sober long enough to make it home to her and weep in her arms.
"Is that how I take away the hurt?" Patty asked earnestly, and Henry's heart broke just a little more because of the lesson she was going to learn today. Oh, my sweet girl, you never did understand that – .
"Baby, you can't take it away. You can only help him while he carries it."
"That really sucks, Dad." She burrowed into his shoulder, a little girl again.
"It's the real deal, Patty." You wanted to know, sweetheart. This is the way it works.
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(October 16)
"It's Kelly, isn't it?"
Chet turned from polishing the fitting on the engine to find Battalion Chief Tom McConnikee standing beside him. He stood up straighter, hands still gripping the metal he was working on. "Yes, sir," Chet responded respectfully, not even tempted to try to impress his superior today. "How may I help you, chief?" he asked.
"I, uh, just wanted to pick up Mike Stoker's dress uniform, from his locker. For the, uh, funeral."
"I had planned to drop it off in the morning, sir." Learning that Mike had been visiting Derek in the hospital regularly since the accident had shamed Chet, made him determined to do right by his brothers.
"I thought he might want it before then, to make sure it will work with the knee brace and all."
"He's still planning on walking with us, then?"
"So, I've heard." McConnikee paused. He didn't want to appear to play favorites for his niece's boyfriend – and he was sure the whole station knew by now – but he wasn't going to penalize the boy either. As he'd told Henry, Stoker was one of the good guys. I'd be willing to give any other injured fireman the same opportunity, he told himself. "Although, that might change."
Chet looked at the other man, trying to figure out what he meant, then abruptly decided to just trust the man. "I'll, uh, I'll get Mike's uniform for you, chief."
"Much obliged, Kelly, much obliged. I'll be in Hank's office."
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When he hobbled back into the guest room after supper, he saw the garment bag hanging on the hook over the bathroom door and knew it contained his dress uniform. The note attached to the dark jacket inside was immediately visible when he unzipped the bag.
Michael –
I noticed a ribbon missing from your
Class As. I know what tomorrow means
to you, so you can borrow mine until
you find yours again or get it replaced.
– Henry
Attached to the note was a gleaming green citation bar, edged in silver, with a single word on it.
COURAGE.
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