As John took off his sweatpants, Jessie took out the bandages, tape and gauze she would need and laid them out next to her. He could tell right away, that it wasn't going to be good. The guaze that wrapped around his thigh, holding the bandages in place, was damp and stained with a mixture of red and dark yellow. He rolled up the leg of his boxers as far as he could and unwrapped the gauze. The closer he got to the bandages, themselves, the worse it looked. When he finally got to the end and peeled away the bandages, he winced. The skin surrounding the wound was three different shades of purple and it hurt to touch. Some of the gashes and punctures had closed but others were bright red with inflammation and oozing blood, or pus, or both. The grapey smell of pus made his stomach turn, so he straighten up to get away from it. He looked over at Jessie to see if she was ready. She was staring at his thigh. He didn't think a person could be that pale and still be breathing, even the red flush in her cheeks from the fever was gone.
"Hey..."
Her eyes slowly found his. "John." Was all she could think of to say.
"Gross, huh?" He grinned, trying to play it off that it wasn't as bad as it looked. "I guess Langston didn't think to clean his toys in between using them...huh, you would think he would take better care of his stuff. Remind me, when the bastard's caught, to explain germs to him."
Jessie was not amused. She knew what he was doing. "Yeah? Well, let's hope you still have your sense of humor when they have to cut your damn leg off." She was angry, but just for a minute, and regretted saying it a minute later. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know you were just trying to...sorry." She looked down at the gauze she was holding in her hands. "I don't want that to happen to you-"
"Well, it's not number one on my list either." He winked and she relaxed. "Look, you were right before, there's only so much we could do here...so we'll make the best of it and maybe...just maybe... nothing will turn green and fall off." He laughed. "Because that would really suck."
Jessie shook her head, trying to fake annoyance, but she couldn't hide the fact that she was smiling. She gave in and laughed with him. "A couple more hours here and we'll both be ready for the looney bin. You ready?"
"No, but let's do it anyway."
He sat down next to her and took a couple long drinks from the whiskey bottle, then laid back on the duffle bag and waited while she rolled up some of their clothes and put them under his thigh, just above the wound, to prop it up.
"Want another drink?"
"No, go ahead. Don't clean it up right away, let the whiskey soak in really good."
Jessie nodded. "And don't you try to stay awake...if the pain's too much, let go...I'll be okay."
His body went rigid. Fire! Your leg is on fire! That's what his mind was screaming as soon as the whiskey made contact with his thigh. He cried out and closed his eyes against the white sparkles that danced in his vision. Fire! Fire! Was all his mind was registering and he could almost hear a fire crackling, and feel his flesh bubbling and burning in the flames. He was crying. Groaning. Begging his mind, silently, to do something. 'Make it stop. Make it stop.' His face softened as his mind obliged him and took the pain away. Took him away.
Jessie had set the whiskey down after she had poured it on his thigh and grabbed his hand. She told him, practically yelled for him, to stop thinking and let go. It seemed like it took hours, but it was only minutes before his body went limp and he passed out. She slid her hand from his, flexing it to get the blood flowing again, and opened up a bottle of water. The mixture of whiskey, pus, and blood running down his leg made her stomach roll and she started to feel dizzy. Shaking the feelings off, she poured water over his thigh, washing the mixture away, and wiped it clean. She found a small bottle of Betadine soap, while she was pulling out bandages, and used it on him. Covering the wounds thoroughly until the bottle was empty. She applied the 4x4 bandages next, using three at a time, she covered every gash and puncture completely. Then, she wrapped his thigh in several layers of gauze, to keep everything tight and in place. Closing the first-aid kit she put the other duffle bag on top of it and slid it under John's calf, so his thigh was elevated a little more.
"Take as much time as you need, buddy." She told him as she wiped tears and grime from his face with a clean, damp shirt. Satisfied that she could do nothing else, she took a couple mouthfuls of water and moved to sit in the corner, where she could watch him and wait.
Robert sat back in the chair at Patrick's desk and sighed heavily. He had just got off the phone with the funeral director that was going to handle Patrick's body and services. Patrick wanted to be cremated and buried with his wife and son, he told the man, and even as he said it didn't seem real. Maybe it was because Jessie wasn't there to grieve with him, to make it final. He didn't know. All he did know, is that for the last twenty-four hours he had been walking around in a foggy dream and he was waiting on edge for it to end. Was he or was he not going to have to bury his best friend's daughter also? He wiped at his eyes, impatiently, and started to get up to pour himself a drink, but went to the window instead. He opened it and took a deep breath of the city air. It was exactly fresh air but it felt good. It soothed him. He was so lost in it, he didn't hear the office door open or Sam walking towards him.
"Hey," She said tugging on his shirt sleeve and smiling. "You okay?"
He nodded and smiled back. "Yeah, sure. Thanks. I uh...just made the arrangements for Patrick to be cremated..." He quickly looked out the window, so Sam wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.
Sam knew why he looked away from her so quickly, so she put her hand on his back and moved it in small circles, comforting him.
"There won't be a wake or anything...he didn't want Jessie to go through that...he just wanted to be buried with Carolyn and Travis... and have a short graveside service" He looked at her and smiled. "All of you have been really great, since this whole thing started, despite knowing who Patrick was and...what he did...ya know, how he was with John. It meant a lot to us."
"Patrick was, clearly, not the same man John knew as a child and the minute he excepted that...we did. He loved John, you could see it in his eyes...that day in the interrogation room...as tough as Patrick tried to be...when John came in the room...his walls crumbled a little and I saw a father there...I saw love. I'm glad John eventually saw it too...that they got to know each other again. I think they both needed it."
"I know Patrick sure did. He thought about John alot...he watched over him...protected him-"
"Protected him?"
"It doesn't sit well with the other families that Patrick has a cop, or even worse an F.B.I agent, for a son...but he made it very clear that no one was to ever touch him, no matter what, no matter how close John got to them...they were better off dead or in prison...then to have to face Patrick if something happened to his son. He only had to make good on that threat once...once was all it took."
"What happened?"
Robert shook his head, it wasn't a story he was willing to share. It showed the dark side of Patrick, that even he was afraid of, and he didn't want that to take away from the way they thought about him now. "It's nothing you need to know or worry about...just know that Patrick has always looked out for him."
The phone at Patrick's desk started ringing and Robert was happy for the much needed, distraction. He knew Sam wasn't satisfied with the answer he had given her, but he just wasn't going to go there. Absolutely not. Not for anyone. He excused himself and headed for Patrick's desk.
"Hello?"
"Bobby, it's Brian. I think we have something, we're on our way there..."
"We?"
"Joey's with me...it's a long story...stupid kid, he could've got himself killed."
"Is he alright? Are you alright?"
"The kid's a little banged up but he'll live. I'm fine, nothing that a little ice won't fix."
"Well Jesus, Brian what did you find out? Do you have a lead on them or what?"
Sam stepped up to the desk. "Did he find them? Does he know where they are?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out." He told her, then. "Brian, c'mon give me something here."
"Look, it could be nothing but...we need to take a look at Shawn O'Doyle's warehouses again. Apparently, some of them had underground storage facilities that are not public record...only a handful of Shawn's men knew about them...so the information we acquired is a little weak...we know they're there, just not which of the eighteen of them has them. Get those guys started over there, Bobby, I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
Robert hung up the phone. "Bailey, where's Bailey?"
"He's downstairs, checking in with the rest of the team...What? What's happened?"
"A few of Shawn O'Doyle's warehouses have storage facilities built underneath them...they're not on any blueprints...no one knows about them or exactly which ones have them. We need to go back and look at them again. It's got to be where they are. Langston was Shawn's right-hand man, he would have known about them."
"It would've been just another way to hurt Patrick...to use his own father's place...to kill his children." Sam took out her cell to call Bailey back up to the penthouse. "I'm calling Bailey. See if George can narrow down the possibilities and maybe get us an idea of where to look once we get the searching started."
Tbc...
