The young boy flew down the flights of stairs, taking two at a time, until he arrived in the marbled foyer. He looked around, eyes darting between groups of guests and bellhops, before seeing the older man, his hair graying at the temples, standing behind the counter to Brian's right.
"Ya gotta help me! My Ma, she's sick. She won't wake up," The small child ignored the surprised glances he was receiving from the people around him, who were reacting more to his loud manner, than to the content of his words.
"What was that, son?" The man turned his attention more sincerely to the child by that stage, as the blond-haired boy clutched to the high countertop desperately.
"Please, ya gotta get a doctor or somethin'! My Ma's sick." He felt his voice rise in his throat, although relieved when the man summoned two nearby bellhops.
"Which room are you in, son?" The manager, whose nametag identified him as 'Barnard', rested his right hand warmly on the panic-stricken boy's shoulder.
"I, I, can't remember. But I can show ya," Brian stumbled on his words, and instead turned back to head towards the stairs, still noticeably out of breath.
"All right," Barnard frowned, watching the boy take a deep breath and break out into a determined run.
"Hold up, little man! We ain't all as young as you," he chuckled lightly, still somewhat skeptical as to the boy's outburst.
"But ya gotta help her! Come on, come on," Brian turned back, his face deep red and petrified.
"We're right behind you, go on," Barnard gestured to the two, younger bellhops to match the child's pace, although still moving as fast as possible up the stairs after the group.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Ma'am? Ma'am? He's right. Summon the Doctor at once," Barnard nodded to the young, brown-haired bellhop, who immediately fled the room.
"How long has she been like this, son?" The manager remained crouched by the right side of the bed, having tried unsuccessfully to rouse the unconscious woman in front of him.
"I dunno, we had a fight. I was real mean to her. Then I, came back and she was all sleepy and told me not to tell and then wouldn't, wouldn't wake up. Just like before," His chin quivered, as he squeezed Michaela's right hand more firmly. His eyes lowered to his hands, noticing the clear, empty bottle once again.
"What have you there, son?" Barnard frowned, although having clearly seen the object, he held out his hand to the boy.
"It's medicine. Reckon Ma's sick. That's why she was seein' the Doctor," Brian naively handed him the bottle, the older man studying the item for several moments.
"Laudanum? Why would your mother have this, son?" He shook his head, and glanced back up at the other bellhop for an opinion.
"I dunno, it's what makes me think she's sick. She was real upset after we saw the doctor before. First I thought somethin' was wrong with the baby but maybe it's," Brian looked up when he heard the older man's soft, comforting voice.
"Your mother's expecting?" He raised an eyebrow of intensified concern to the bellhop, the younger, blond-haired man now departing from the room to speed up the doctor's call.
"Yeah, don't think she's happy about it though, coz she's been cryin' and actin' real strange, and," Brian glanced back around the room, seeing the glistening of metal against the far wall.
"What?" Barnard watched as the small boy crawled to the edge of the bed, slipped down and delicately retrieved the black object from the floor.
"Ma's stethoscope. What ya listen to someone's heart with." He protectively carried the object back and placed it on the bed.
"Oh, so it is your mother who is the lady doctor? I suppose that explains the medicine, but you'd think she would have known better than to take something like that. Obviously hasn't agreed with her." He shook his head and tentatively reached a hand forward to ensure the woman was still breathing.
"Maybe ya ain't meant to take it if ya havin' a baby?" Brian reasoned, suddenly beginning to feel very alone in what was unquestionably an extremely large city.
"Maybe," Barnard murmured under his breath, however beginning to suspect a far sinister explanation.
"Doctor's just coming, Mr. Thompson," The brown-haired bellhop, slightly out of breath from his frantic running up and down the stairs, arrived back into the room. The speed of his entrance drew both his manager's and Brian's attention.
"Thank-you, Arthur," Barnard nodded politely, realizing the seriousness of the moment, and respectfully gesturing for both young men to wait in the hallway.
"How, how come she won't wake up? Is the medicine makin' her too sleepy?" Brian swallowed as his sheer panic began to abate somewhat.
"I believe so, but don't you worry. Here," Barnard looked up as the hotel doctor entered the room, and proceeded to conduct an initial examination.
"Sorry to send for you at the end of the day like this. The lady's son here, just informed us of the situation," Barnard rose to his feet and stepped away from the bed.
"Ma'am, can you hear me? Son, was your mother ill at all?" The middle-aged physician completed the rushed exam, checking Michaela's pupil reactions, pulse and breathing.
"N-no, I dunno. She was seein' a doctor but she was sick before. She didn't say nothin' though," Brian answered the question honestly, the two men moving into a hushed whisper beside the bed.
"She's ah, in a delicate condition, too," Barnard cleared his throat uncomfortably, as the physician looked down at the empty bottle the hotel manager still held in his right hand.
"You found that? Where'd she get that?" The Doctor shook his head, although quickly dismissed the uncertainty, realizing that they needed to organize hospital transportation.
"What's gonna happen, sir?" Brian chewed lightly on his lower lip, knowing he had to be brave; that he had to look after his mother regardless of how scared he felt.
"Now, don't you worry, there. We're just going to take your mother to the hospital until she wakes up. All right?" The physician turned his attention back to the manager, who'd called the bellhops back into the room.
"One of you will need to carry her downstairs. Massachusetts General is the closest from here," he dictated. Brian slid across the bed, as the young blond-haired bellhop carefully picked Michaela up and all three men made their way towards the door.
"Come along, there," Barnard turned back to the boy, who continued scanning the room in a slightly preoccupied fashion.
"Wait, I need," Brian looked around the room until he spied Michaela's medical bag, still on the floor beside the bed from when he'd come in and found her earlier. "Can't go nowhere without this," he nodded proudly, remembering the utter desperation with which Michaela had clung to the object upon their return that afternoon.
"Come along, then," Barnard shook his head, with a small smile at the child's thoughtfulness; having no comprehension of the significance of the boy's perception. "Now, is there anyone we can contact for you? Where's your family?" The pair left the room and proceeded steadily behind the doctor and bellhops as they all began a careful descent down the first flight of stairs.
"Well, ah, Ma said, ah. Can you send my brother a wire? He'll know what to do," Brian nodded with more conviction, Matthew would be able to take care of matters.
"Of course. What's his name and where is he?" Barnard reached into his breast pocket for the small notepad and pencil he always carried.
"Matthew. Matthew Cooper and we're from Colorado Springs. That's in Colorado," Brian looked anxiously between the group several yards ahead of them, keeping Michaela's medical bag locked firmly in his right hand.
"Right, and what do you think I should say?" Barnard had a fair idea of what he was planning to say, however, thought it important the young boy feel he was keeping as much control over the situation as possible.
"Ah, tell him Ma's sick and that I really, really need him here and that Ma's been really upset and and," Brian lowered his voice, the manager straining to catch the boy's final uttered words, "and I'm scared," The child's shoulders dropped an inch, as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
"Now you just go with your mother. What's your name, son?" Barnard struggled to keep the boy's attention, as he was determined to not let Michaela slip too far away from him.
"Brian Cooper, mister." He alternated his glance between the older man, and the group carefully lifting Michaela into the awaiting buggy.
"Right. I'll send this right out and you can call me Barney," The manager reassured, making his way immediately to the telegraph operator's room by the reception counter.
"Thanks, Barney," Brian brought his right hand up into a half-hearted, yet sincere wave, as he pulled himself into the buggy. Glancing at the young bellhop, who awkwardly kept the woman secured against him, Brian's eyes darted from his mother's still unresponsive form, to the physician sitting opposite them.
"She gonna wake up once we get to the hospital, Doctor?" Brian frowned, well-intentioned possessiveness creeping into his voice, as the horses were moved into a quick trot.
"Yes, son. If all she has taken is this one bottle. Son, do you have any idea where your mother would have obtained this? She hasn't told you of any illness?" Brian blinked several times, not quite understanding the physician's question; it seemed perfectly reasonable for his mother to carry various medicines and instruments around with her.
"She, she always has stuff." He slowly moved his head downwards towards the black bag clutched in his arms, suddenly realizing he hadn't informed this unfamiliar man of what he considered an obvious assumption, "she's a Doctor," Brian shrugged, not understanding the ramifications of the less-than-subtle look of disbelief which crossed the physician's face.
"I see." He turned back in the direction they were traveling, more to conceal his expression of disgusted horror from the small boy.
"But everything's gonna be fine, ain't it?" Brian reiterated, running his right hand down Michaela's arm tenderly.
"Your mother will wake up in an hour or so, son. You don't need to worry about that. As for everything being fine, that's another matter entirely." He rested his left arm on the edge of the buggy, beginning to consider the odds of having to admit an expectant female, who was reportedly a physician, with a suspected attempted suicide. This was going to draw a crowd at the very least. Glancing back momentarily to the peaceful calmness of the unconscious woman's face; he tried to consider possible explanations; had she misread the bottle? Had she a self-diagnosed condition? However, none of these justifications excused her actions. As a physician, if indeed the child was to be believed, this woman should have known better than to have consumed any such substances.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"I told ya, Myra, don't mind either way," Horace piled the remaining day's worth of scribbled notes into an orderly pile, before glancing around the office ensuring everything was neatly put away for the end of business.
"I know, but ain't ya even considered it?" Myra ran her right hand tenderly over her still non-existent stomach, as she looked up from the chair by the counter, hoping for an interested response.
"No, just be happy knowin' it's healthy and you're safe. Been more nervous 'bout you than anything, what with you bein' so sick, and havin' the operation," Horace crossed the room and placed his large hands delicately over his wife's shoulders.
"Aww, Horace, why didn't ya say somethin'? Here's me thinkin' ya just weren't interested. Why didn't ya tell me you were scared?" Myra brought her hands to rest over the top of her husband's, her neck extended upwards, so as to make eye contact with him.
"Thought, thought you'd be worried and just didn't see the point," Horace deflected his gaze, as Myra squeezed his hands reassuringly.
"Now don't you go worrin' 'bout that. Dr Mike," Myra trailed off for a moment, being reminded of the disturbing information she'd gained only that morning, "Dr Mike said that ain't gonna be a problem with the baby, so we just gotta think positive. Please, Horace, I'm real excited 'bout this, wanted you to be too. Please don't go worryin' 'bout stuff we don't need to," Myra pleaded with a consoling smile, Horace about to suggest they treat themselves to supper at Grace's when he heard the familiar tapping of Morse code behind him.
"Just a minute, honey, just gotta." He searched the previously immaculate desk for a scrap of paper, struggling to retain the pre-deciphered words, as Myra handed him a pencil with an understanding smile.
Myra watched Horace's face twitch as he finished recording the message, his eyes narrowing, and mouth drawing into alarmed confusion.
"Somethin' the matter?" Myra waited until he'd wired an acknowledgement of receipt, before voicing her concern.
"Doctor," Horace widened his eyes immediately, realizing he could not divulge the contents of the message. Instead, he instinctively folded the small slip of paper and rested the pencil over it.
"Doctor what? Horace?" Myra frowned, hating the way her husband took his work so seriously.
"I'm sorry, Myra, took an oath, and I'm keepin' with it. Just don't quite know what to do about it right about now." He idly fidgeted with the thin pencil, and scratched the sideburn on the left of his face, as he repeated the contents of the wire over and over in his mind.
"Horace, sounds serious," Myra rose from her chair, as she considered the single word her husband had let slip. "Doctor? Doctor Mike? What about Dr Mike? If there's something wrong, Horace, ya gotta tell me, please," Myra clutched his arm, again reminded of the conversation between herself, Dorothy and Ingrid.
"No, Myra, I can't." He stood from the desk, and began pacing for several moments. An idea coming to his head after a minute or so, Horace located the small brown book in the top draw of his desk, in which he kept a record of names and addresses.
"Well, oh, please, Horace. I promise, I mean, really promise I won't say nothin' but if there's something wrong with Dr Mike, ya gotta do something, she," Myra felt her jaw drop, equally aware that the physician's pregnancy was not a topic for general discussion, and was to be kept to the womenfolk of the town.
"Now, there ain't that much I can do, what with Sully and the kids gone, except," Horace managed to locate the information he'd been searching for in his brown book. He perched back at the desk, and began to send another wire.
"Except, what? Horace, Horace what are ya doin'?" Myra frowned, turning quickly to the brown book on the counter, and spied the name and address of which Horace had located. "Horace, wait, don't," Myra ran back to his side, and locked her hands tightly around his arm in protest.
"Just a minute, Myra." He fought the physical distraction, until he'd finished the telegram he'd been sending.
"Horace please tell me you didn't," Myra cringed as she turned back to the empty office, her hands going to her forehead in panic. "Look, ya don't gotta tell me, exactly but if there's somethin' wrong with Dr Mike, please tell me you didn't go wirin' her mother," Myra reached for the open brown book, and gestured to the relevant name.
"What else was I meant to do, honey? Got a telegram from a hotel in Boston, said Dr Mike's taken ill. Little Brian's all alone, was wantin' Matthew to come take care a stuff." Horace shook his head, defensive of the accusing tone in his wife's voice.
"Oh, Horace just, I wish ya hadn't a done that. That is gonna be a disaster. Ain't there some way you can stop it? Take it back, cancel it, whatever. Dr Mike's mother knowin' she's in Boston is gonna just make everything worse," Myra clasped her hands desperately around her waist, as she softened her voice slightly.
"Didn't have no choice, honey, the hotel said she'd been taken to hospital. Can't have little Brian all there by himself. Gonna take days for Sully and the kids to get there. What's she doin' in Boston, anyway? Told me she was goin' to Denver," Horace frowned, as he skimmed his eyes back over the small piece of paper in front of him.
"Aww, this is horrible. Poor little Brian, alone in that big, scary place. Did, um, did it say what's wrong with Dr Mike?" Myra enquired very tentatively, afraid that Horace would clam up again.
"N-no," Horace answered hesitantly, not wishing divulge the contents of a private telegram. "Just said she'd been taken to hospital," he paused, his voice acquiring a very serious tone. "Now, Myra, you have to promise you ain't gonna repeat that, coz ain't no-one meant to know but me. Promise me, now," Horace raised his right eyebrow nervously.
"Don't be silly, Horace, of course I promise. Just wish there was somethin' we could do," Myra glanced around the tidy office, feeling helpless.
"Well, that's why I wired her mother. If she's there, then at least there's someone lookin' out for Brian until Sully and, hey, won't they think she's gone to Denver? How they gonna know she's in Boston," Horace shook his head, as he stood from the desk and carefully destroyed the small piece of paper.
"Reckon they know, Horace. If Dorothy knows then," Myra pulled her gaze away, concern written across her face. "Horace, ain't there anything you can do to stop Dr Mike's mother knowin' she's there? Please, it's real important," Myra tilted her head, trying to strengthen the conviction of her words.
"Why you actin' like Dr Mike's mother knowin' she's in Boston is so dreadful? And if she's ill, surely she'd just wanna help out. There's nothin' else I could do, honey, done all I can. I'll wire the station house in Denver first thing in the mornin', too; so they can let Sully and the kids know the minute they get off the stage," Horace pushed the chair back under the desk and reached for Myra's shoulder affectionately.
"I, guess you're right. Guess ya didn't have much choice. Maybe it's a good thing, her bein' ill," Myra looked up as Horace interjected sharply, not having realized she'd vocalized her thoughts.
"Now, I don't see how Dr Mike bein' ill can be a good thing." He brought his arm further around her back, as he directed her across the room and towards the door.
"No but maybe it is. Maybe'll mean she can put this whole nightmare behind her," Myra finished her thought out loud, not bothered that her husband didn't understand the significance of her words.
"Ain't got any idea what you're talkin' 'bout but let's just go get some supper, what do ya say? Not worry about stuff we can't do anythin' about," Horace patted her shoulder trying to settle her emotional display.
"You're right. Ain't nothin' we can do about any of it from here," Myra lowered her gaze, as she paused on the porch. Horace secured the door firmly and reached back again for her upper arm, the couple pacing slowly onto the main street in the direction of Grace's.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Brian kept his fingers interlocked tightly together, as he sat by his mother's bedside. She'd remained asleep for the duration of their trip, and still lay motionless as the nurse draped the blanket over her sleeping form.
"Sweetie, how about you wait outside? Maybe we could get you a nice glass of juice, would you like that?" The young, blond-haired woman rested her hands on her knees, as she smiled down at the child.
"No, I'm all right. Rather wait 'til Ma wakes up," Brian frowned, and turned the corner of his mouth up slightly into a pleading request.
"Well, it's up to the Doctor, sweetheart," The nurse turned with a sympathetic shrug to the small group of physician's who stood at the end of the bed.
"Doctor Campbell?" The young woman summoned the middle-aged physician's attention quickly. "Did you want me to take the young boy outside, or may he stay?" She queried, knowing it unusual to allow a child to remain in the room during examinations.
"Perhaps you'd best take him. You'll also need to have the patient changed, and," the admitting physician, Dr Campbell glanced across to the psychiatrist briefly, checking what measures he wished to be taken, "Dr Edwards?".
"Thank-you, Doctor. I'm not taking any chances. Please, take the child outside. Best he not be around," The much older gray-haired psychiatrist cleared his throat awkwardly, as the young nurse obeyed his request and reached for the child's hand.
"Come along." She squeezed Brian's hand affectionately, seeing the disturbed frown cross his face.
"But I wanna stay. Please?" He looked back up to the older physician who had given the order moments earlier.
"I'm sorry young man but you'll need to leave whilst we finish our examination. Eva here will let you back in when it's appropriate," Dr Edwards voiced gruffly, as he flipped the large file closed in his hands, and gestured to the door behind them.
"But, said I," Brian remained on the chair, not about to give in that easily.
"Oh, it won't be for long, sweetheart. Now just be a good boy for the doctor's and you'll be able to come back," Eva pulled lightly on the child's left wrist, as he slowly relented and began to get to his feet.
"Said I'd be good." Brian dropped his head, his shiny new shoes dragging slightly along the floor as he ambled from the room. As he and the nurse arrived by the large wooden door, Brian turned, and took one lingering glance in Michaela's direction, before the young woman's hand pressed gently on his right shoulder to guide him from the room.
Dr Edwards turned back to the two doctors beside him; Dr Campbell, Michaela's admitting doctor who had been summoned by the hotel, and Dr Hodge, an on-staff obstetrician.
"Is everyone agreed that this incident should be treated as suspicious?" Dr Edwards raised a single eyebrow, as Dr Hodge reached forwards to take the file from his proffering hand.
"Well, in my mind, there is no doubt whatsoever. As a physician, she was undoubtedly aware of correct dosages, which in her condition, was out of the question to start with, and in any case, no competent physician would prescribe such a sedative to any woman had pregnancy been a consideration. Am I not correct in that assumption, Dr Hodge?" Dr Campbell finished quickly, as he glanced over for a second opinion.
"Quite with my thinking, Doctor and here," The obstetrician reached to the edge of the bed and retrieved the precisely folded piece of stationery handed to him by the young boy during his mother's admission. "Her son found this in her bag. It might appear that this act of stupidity was an attempt to abort the fetus, not an attempt on her own life, per se," Dr Hugo Hodge handed the folded letter to the psychiatrist, who scanned it quickly.
"This leaves absolutely no doubt in my mind. I shall be placing her under psychiatric detention, until such time as I deem her health, and that of her unborn child, to be no longer at risk. Dr Hodge, you arrived before me. Is there any indication of trauma to the fetus?" Dr Edwards spoke crisply, his words emotionless and harsh.
"None from the limited exam I was able to conduct. If you've no pressing issues, gentlemen, I'd like to conduct a pelvic exam, to confirm gestation." Dr Hodge placed Michaela's chart back on the small table at the end of the bed, before he turned and reached for the door handle as he politely waited for a reply.
"Well, her respiration and pulse seem stable. You'd be best to finish your work before she is conscious, it might make matters easier. Dr Edwards, if you need a co-signatory on the detention order, then that's no trouble either," Dr Campbell had opened the chart once again, and was satisfied with the maternal health of his patient. He was more than ready to call, what had been a tiresome day, to an end.
"Agreed. I'll have a nurse assist you and make the arrangements for the necessary physical restraints. We'll also need to speak with the boy. See if there's any family that can take him in until we've a clearer picture of the situation," Dr Edwards nodded, as Dr Hodge begun to open the door slowly.
"Wait," he froze, turning and addressing the two physicians who had looked up with intense confusion as a result of his rather uncharacteristic utterance. "Quinn, was it?" He looked towards Dr Campbell, who still stood with the open notes in his right hand.
"Ah, yes. Quinn, Michaela. That's about all we know at this stage, why?" James Campbell looked up as the obstetrician tapped his fingers slowly on the round doorknob.
"Dr Edwards, I hope I am mistaken. The late Josef Quinn, did he not have a daughter who was pursuing a career in medicine?" Hugo frowned, watching as the man opposite him clasped his hands behind his back, pondering the suggestion.
"I wasn't especially close, merely worked with him on the odd occasion, before he began to devote more of his time to private practice, with, heavens, yes. It was his youngest daughter. My Lord," Dr Edwards would have not remembered had it not been for the insidious gossip surrounding a female physician.
"The thought never even crossed my mind. It was over five years ago. I suppose it's possible," Dr Hodge allowed the consideration to linger for several moments, Dr Campbell, however was far less interested.
"Well, that's all very fascinating, gentlemen. I however, have a family waiting. I'll drop back on rounds tomorrow morning." He placed the closed chart back on the table with obvious disregard, and arrived by Dr Hodge's side.
"Ah, yes, well I'd best organize for the necessary procedures," Dr Hodge felt the disturbing revelation absorb his attention for several moments, the younger admitting physician slipping quickly past him and disappearing along the corridor.
"I've some paperwork also. Shall we consult in several hours once the patient is conscious?" Dr Edwards glanced at the unconscious woman in the bed whilst he awaited the reply.
"That's fine. Thank-you for your support, Doctor," Dr Hodge turned in the doorway, as Dr Edwards joined him.
"Quite all right. We shall speak later," he nodded with a curt smile of professionalism, before he too headed back down along the corridor.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Colleen? Colleen, move your, thank-you," Matthew awkwardly shifted his sleeping sister's head from his shoulder, having caused his arm to go numb several minutes before.
"Mm-hmm, sorry," The young girl muttered incoherently before falling back to sleep, Matthew rolling his eyes with a small smile.
"Don't reckon she got much sleep last night. Been worried about Brian. Reckon deep down more worried about Dr Mike, though," Matthew rubbed his sister's right arm softly as he turned his head towards Sully, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Yeah, doesn't help bein' here either. Feels kinda frustratin', don't it?" Sully unbuttoned the gray suit jacket, and repositioned himself on the uncomfortable seat.
"Sure does," Matthew nodded, pausing before choosing his words carefully, not really sure as to why he was saying them. "Um Sully, listen. Yesterday, the stuff I said, I was real angry at ya. Know now probably ain't ya fault. Just wanted to say," Matthew was silenced by Sully's raised hand and small smile.
"Ya don't needa. We all been under too much pressure, only natural we're gonna say stuff we don't mean. We're gonna sort it though. Once we find ya ma and Brian, work it all out," Sully straightened the lapels of his jacket, as his fingers began to nervously fidget with the neatly pressed material.
"Um, how? Ya gonna make her go back to town? What if she won't? What if she wants to stay in Boston permanent?" Matthew gripped his right knee with his right hand.
"Matthew, can't be thinkin' about all that stuff now. Need to find ya ma, make sure she's all right first. Then see what she wants to do," Sully felt his tongue run along the inside of his mouth; his consoling reply didn't manage to even convince himself.
"Make it sound like it's that easy, maybe stayin' in Boston would be easier but I don't know if I," Matthew trailed off, the reality that his family might not be returning to Colorado Springs for quite some time caused him obvious distress.
"Hey, just you stop puttin' the cart before the horse. We gotta find ya ma and Brian. Havin' that baby in Boston's gonna be a lot harder than home, ya ma'll realize that," Sully kept his voice even and calm.
"You ain't really expectin' Dr Mike to go through with it?" Matthew's jaw dropped, as suspicions began to creep back into his mind.
"Ain't any other choice. You heard Colleen and ya read that letter," Sully gestured to the young girl's sleeping form to Matthew's left, before he turned his gaze to the ground, still battling to truly get his head around the situation.
"Yeah, but that's just cruel, that ain't right either," Matthew shook his head vehemently; if it weren't for the danger to Michaela's life, he'd had never agreed to this pursuit.
"None of this is right, Matthew but being unfair and cruel, doesn't change the situation. Just wish I'd," Sully heard the young man's dry voice finish his sentence.
"Stopped this from happening in the first place?" Matthew raised an eyebrow, as he turned his attention to the ground also.
"Was gonna say, realized what was wrong sooner. Been over four months, Matthew. Ya ma's been hidin' this for ages," Sully sighed audibly, as he considered the significant amount of time that had passed, all the small, seemingly insignificant moments beginning to drop into place; that afternoon whilst the children were fishing, when Michaela had run from him; her fainting spells; her distress after the fall from Flash; the evening of the play. There had been so many times when he should have been suspicious but once again, he had let her down.
"I know. Colleen knew for a few weeks, before she told me. Swear, Sully, I didn't know Dr Mike was plannin' somethin' like this. I mean, didn't know she was gonna leave or try and… Didn't know she was this desperate. Even once she'd left and we found out why, I can't say I blamed her. I just didn't realize it was dangerous. Wish we'd gone after her sooner," Matthew moved slightly in his seat, and carefully settled his sleeping sister's head back on his shoulder.
"So do I, Matthew but we're doin' the best we can," Sully focused his attention on the concerned distress he could see in the young man's eyes; he was seeing his raw fear, devoid of anger or blame for the first time.
"But what if it's too late? What if we can't find her in time. What if," Matthew pulled his eyes from his sister, and brought his gaze downwards as his voice caught in his throat.
"Hey. Thinkin' the worst ain't gonna help anything. Gotta think for the best. We'll get there Tuesday mornin'. Just gotta trust that nothin' gonna happen between now and then," Sully nodded several times, aware that his action was more to assure himself than the young man to his left.
Sully returned his absorbed glare back out to the passing countryside, briefly considering the last week. He knew now that Cloud Dancing's words had been significant; that Michaela was in need of his unwavering support now, more than ever. He knew he could give her that; he knew without a doubt in his heart that this was what was right; this is what he needed to be doing.
He reflected on several phrases that Cloud Dancing had used over the past few months, now for the first time, Sully begun to interpret their meaning: You will need to be there; to finish what has been started.
The four days he'd spent alone, he'd been confronted with many painful visions. He had been forced to relive many events that he would have sooner tried to forget. Momentarily chastising himself for such selfishness, Sully folded his hands across his chest and continued his fixated gaze to the open countryside. How dare he expect to put these memories behind him; Michaela couldn't. It was to be expected that she truly never would.
Sully was in that moment, reminded again of Cloud Dancing's words: it is not simply a matter of moving on, it is accepting that a time of grief is necessary. Living every day is not about ending this grief, it is about accepting that it is there. Trusting that it will improve in time.
Turning back and locking eyes with Matthew, the pair remained in silence, each consumed by their own thoughts and fears; each wishing that they might have prevented this disaster; each feeling the bond between the other strengthened; through determination, commitment, and unquestionable love.