Not Oscar. He slipped some folded bills in the cup. “No one would choose to live on the streets,” he’d said. “That man is probably a veteran who lost his mind after seeing horrible things in a war.”
“Do you know him?” young Jonah had asked.
“No, but I can see it in his eyes.”
There was so much admiration in Oscar’s voice when he spoke of someone who’d served in the armed forces. He had been declared medically unfit to serve, but his brother had died in Vietnam.
That moment between Oscar and the homeless man outside the ballpark was one of the few times Jonah ever got a glimpse of the humanity his grandfather hid beneath the gruff exterior, and it stayed with him all these years. It was also the reason Jonah joined the army when he graduated high school. He wanted Oscar to speak so reverently about him…just once. He’d let Oscar down so many times over the years, but being a soldier was something he could do. Jonah had looked forward to graduating from basic training and having his picture taken with Oscar and Granny after the ceremony, but it wasn’t meant to be. Oscar had died while he was in boot camp.
He’d been a colossal fuckup as a soldier too. He now understood the look Oscar had spoken about because he’d seen it in his own reflection. In this moment, he could honor the good part of Oscar who showed kindness to those less fortunate than him.
“Hey, buddy,” Jonah said softly. He was careful not to advance toward the man and startle him. “Can I help you with something?”
“I’m Hank,” the man said. Then he held up the bear. “This is Buddy.”
“It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Jonah. Do you need my help?”
“I’m okay, but Buddy isn’t.”
“What can I do for Buddy?”
“He’s hungry. The dumpsters are empty.”
Jonah remembered the uneaten food in the car. It would still be warm. “I have extra food I can share with Buddy. If that’s okay with you, Hank.”
Hank narrowed his eyes and assessed Jonah, nodding after a few moments. “Yeah, I guess that’s okay.”
Jonah hurried to the car to get the food. He slowed down when he approached the alley because he didn’t want to frighten the man. Hank still stood by the dumpster, but he’d place the stuffed bear in the front of the cart so it sat up like a toddler.
“Is it okay to approach?” Jonah asked.
“I don’t bite,” Hank said.
Jonah smiled as he approached the man and extended his offering. “Beef and cheddar, curly fries, and a Coke. How does that sound to Buddy?”
“Sounds delicious. Do you think Buddy will share?”
“I bet he will if you ask nicely,” Jonah replied.
“Thank you, mister.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you? Anyone I can call? Can I give you a ride someplace? A nasty storm is brewing.”
“Nah. This is enough. Bless you.”
Jonah swallowed hard and nodded. “Take care. It was nice meeting you, Hank. And you too, Buddy.”
Jonah exited the alley and headed back to his car. The wind picked up, and the increased cloud cover made the shadows shift all around him, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He heard the scuffle of shoes behind him while he was midstride. Had Hank followed him? He attempted to stop and pivot, but it was too little too late.
Someone delivered a blow to the back of his head. The pain was immediate and blinding. Jonah staggered forward, trying to get away, but he only managed one step before the world spun around him. He was unconscious before his body crumpled to the ground.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
Jonah’s face felt like it was on fire when he regained consciousness. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t see for the blood in them. The metallic, coppery liquid filled his mouth, threatening to choke him. He was going to drown if he didn’t move. It took all his strength, but he managed to turn onto his side.
His ears rang with a high-pitched noise that made him recoil. Acrid smoke mixed and diesel fumes filled the air, burning his throat and nose.
Eagle? Cobra? Dragon? Lion? He tried to speak but couldn’t move his lips. God, he hurt so bad. Was his face on fire? Was he in hell?
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
He recognized the rapid fire of the Al-Qaeda’s AK-47. Fuck. They were sitting ducks. Jonah couldn’t see a fucking thing, so he strained to listen for signs that his brothers were alive. He heard nothing but rat-a-tat-tat-tat and the high-pitched ringing.
Peaceful darkness pulled at him, but Jonah fought to stay awake. He had to get his guys to safety.
The gunfire stopped, and the silence was far scarier.
They were coming.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water splatted against Jonah’s face, a few droplets at first followed by a deluge. Where was he? Had enemy fighters captured him? Would they torture him?
When Jonah opened his eyes, clarity didn’t come to him right away. It came to him in stages—excruciating ones because his head felt like someone had sawed through his skull and removed half of his brain. First, Jonah realized he wasn’t in Afghanistan. He was lying facedown in a dark parking lot with his cheek pressed to the hard pavement. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, and he comprehended the water was rain and not a form of torture. Thunder rumbled loudly, matching the thudding of his heart.
Where was he? What happened to his head? He needed to get to his feet and find shelter from the storm. Knowing what he needed to do and accomplishing it weren’t the same thing.
Even in the rain, Jonah could smell the metallic tang of blood. Whose blood? He opened his mouth to call out for his brothers until he remembered they were already dead. Jonah’s eyes fell shut, and darkness beckoned. It was peaceful there. All he had to do was stop fighting its pull.
Another flash of lightning rent the sky, and it was so brilliant Jonah could see it behind closed eyelids. The violent clap that followed shook the ground. There are worse ways I could die.
A phone started ringing. Whose was it? “Help me,” Jonah whispered gruffly. No one rushed to aid him as Mother Nature’s temper tantrum intensified. The phone quieted, then immediately started back up again. The cool rain helped clear his brain enough to realize it was his phone ringing. Jonah supported his weight on one arm and reached into his pocket with the other.
The caller ID looked blurry, but he could still read the name. Avery.
Jonah stabbed his finger at the phone to accept the call, as the gulf between consciousness and oblivion grew wider.
“Help me,” Jonah said into the phone as he tumbled over the edge.
Jonah’s next lucid moment came when he was getting wheeled into the hospital on a gurney. The EMTs were giving a full report to a blonde-haired ER doctor, who kept glancing down at him as she ran alongside him.
The overhead lights were too bright, and they took on a strobe-like effect as Jonah moved beneath them. Jonah squeezed his lids shut, but it was too little too late. The lights and movement made his stomach revolt, and he made a gagging noise.
“Stop,” the doctor demanded. “Roll him to his side.”
They raised the head of the gurney up. Jonah turned his head and leaned as far as he could to empty his stomach on the tile floor. The smell and splattering sound made Jonah retch even more. His entire body tensed and seized up until fingers slid into his hair once more to soothe him.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Avery. But how?
Jonah’s teeth began to chatter, and his body shook, making him realize how cold and wet he was. The jarring motions exacerbated the pain in his skull to the point where he thought he might be sick again.
“We need to get him into a room and get those wet clothes off him,” the doctor said. “Let’s go.”
They started started moving, and the world started spinning again. Jonah closed his eyes, hoping to ward off another round of violent puking. He was so relieved once the gurney stopped inside an exam room. Everyone around him burst into
a flurry of motion with the doctor calling out orders. They removed his clothes, cutting through anything that gave them fits before covering Jonah with heated blankets. The weight and warmth made him relax into the bed. Darkness was calling for him again, and he had no reason to resist.
“Stay with me,” the doctor said sharply.
Jonah snapped open his eyes and stared in the green assessing gaze of the blonde doctor.
“I’m Dr. Sheridan. Can you tell me your name?” she asked him when she noticed his eyes had opened.
“Jonah St. John,” he replied. It felt like he was shouting, but she bent closer to him as if she couldn’t hear him.
Dr. Sheridan shone a penlight in his eyes, then continued asking him more questions. She wanted to know things like what year it was, who the president was, where Jonah lived, and his date of birth. “What’s my name again?” she asked.
“Um, Dr. Sheridan,” he whispered. Just answering those few questions had exhausted him.
“You’ve got one hell of a concussion,” Dr. Sheridan said. “Let’s run some tests to see the extent of his brain trauma.” Brain trauma? That sounded bad. Really bad. She rattled off the tests to the team, using acronyms. He recognized one or two from his previous injuries ten years ago. “We need to get his head wound to stop bleeding so we can assess the damage there. Any idea what his attacker struck him with?” Dr. Sheridan asked.
“No idea,” Avery said.
“The weapon wasn’t on the scene when I arrived,” said another voice he didn’t recognize. A cop? A paramedic?
“Can you get Detectives Locke and Key here?” Avery asked.
“Sure thing,” the man said. Footsteps echoed and Jonah caught a glimpse of him as he passed Jonah’s bed. It was a patrolman.
The machines in the room beeped and whirred to life as the nurses moved around Dr. Sheridan hooking him up to things. A new sound joined the medical equipment. Ringing. A phone?
“Hi, Commissioner Rigby. It’s Avery. Jonah’s been injured,” he urgently said, then rattled off the hospital. “Someone hit him on the head. The doctor said something about a concussion, but they’re running more tests.” How had Avery found him? Jonah vaguely remembered Avery calling him when he woke up.
“Doc, radiology is ready for him now,” someone said.
“Let’s move him,” Dr. Sheridan said.
Wait. He needed to tell Avery to get far, far away from him. It wasn’t safe. Jonah opened his eyes and realized the hospital bed was moving again. Big mistake. He began dry heaving, sending jolts of pain to his brain every time his body tensed in preparation.
“Poor guy,” someone on the team said. “Let’s get moving again. The sooner they assess the head injury, the faster they can pump medications into him.”
The bed started rolling once more, and Jonah tried his best to relax into the thin mattress. He prayed for the blissful darkness to swallow him up again and got his wish.
The atmosphere was drastically less chaotic when Jonah resurfaced the next time. He was also in far less pain, and his stomach wasn’t in turmoil. Jonah remained still, assessing his surroundings. He could tell by the antiseptic smell, uncomfortable mattress, and beeping machines that he was still in the hospital. God, he fucking hated hospitals. Jonah mentally slammed on the brakes before his brain could take him down memory lane. He didn’t want to think about the field hospital where they’d stabilized him for the long flight to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany, then on to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. Jonah had stayed there for a while to heal and recover before heading home to the States, where they began reconstructive surgery on his face. Jonah would give almost everything he possessed if someone could erase the memories of the emotional trauma and physical pain he’d endured during those long months of recuperation.
Hushed whispers snagged his attention. Jonah cracked open his eyes. Avery, Royce, Sawyer, Ellen, Rocky, Felix, and Marla stood in a small huddle, talking quietly. Jonah only had eyes for one of them. He raked his gaze over Avery’s face, noting his puffy, red eyes and pale face. Regret and guilt squeezed Jonah’s heart like a vise grip. He must’ve made a sound of distress because all eyes turned on him.
Even though his arm felt like it weighed two hundred pounds, he raised it enough to crook his finger.
“Which one of us is he beckoning to?” Royce asked.
“Doubtful it’s you,” Sawyer said. “It was probably your big mouth that woke him.”
“You love my big mouth, asshole,” Royce said softly.
Sawyer glared daggers at Royce, but Jonah saw his mouth twitch.
Avery shushed them and hurried to Jonah’s side. “Hey,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Like roadkill,” Jonah replied. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and his throat was as dry as a desert. “How’d you find me?”
Avery removed a reusable plastic water bottle and straw from the cellophane, then filled it with ice water from a pitcher. “Here, drink this.” Avery placed the straw against Jonah’s lips, and he complied. “Some guy named Hank picked up your phone after you passed out. He gave me a general location, and I got in the car and drove around until I found you.” Avery’s eyes watered. “Hank stayed on the phone with me until I got there. He told me what you did for him and Buddy.”
Jonah let the straw slide from his lips when he was done. Avery pressed the back of his hand against Jonah’s cheek. He couldn’t resist leaning into his touch, soaking in his warmth. After a few moments, Jonah wrapped his hand around Avery’s wrist and pulled his hand away. “Avery, I think you should leave. Get as far away from me as you can.”
Avery sucked in a sharp breath and recoiled, almost dropping the water bottle. He set it down and fell into the seat beside Jonah’s bed. He looked dazed for all of three seconds before he straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. “The hell I will,” he said.
“It’s time for us to step out and give these gentlemen some privacy,” Marla whispered.
“But, Mom,” Royce whined, “we’re just getting to the good part of the show.”
“Out now, before I drag you out by your ear,” Marla said forcefully.
“Will there be spankings if we’re really naughty?” Royce asked.
Marla giggled. “You’re too eager. Come on, now,” she said, herding them all out the door.
Once alone, Jonah reached out and caressed Avery’s face. The firm press of lips and determined expression let Jonah know he was facing a losing battle. To be honest, his attempt was feeble at best. “You know that tattoo on my back?”
Avery nodded.
“It’s to honor my four friends who died in combat because of a horrible mistake I made. I can’t let this go until I solve what really happened to Earl Ison. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because of me.”
Avery leaned into his touch. “Nothing will happen to me. You and your friends will see to it. I’m more worried about you. You could’ve died tonight.”
“If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. It was a warning. One I will not heed.”
A promise made was a promise kept.
Jonah woke a few hours later and found Marla sleeping in the chair beside his bed. As if she sensed him stirring, Marla sat up straighter and reached for his hand.
“Where’s Avery?” he whispered hoarsely.
“I sent the little lamb home to get some rest.”
Figures Avery would listen to Marla. Everyone did. Jonah snorted, then winced when just that motion sent pain reverberating through his skull.
“How you feeling, baby?” she asked.
“Bad,” Jonah admitted. “Really fucking bad.”
Marla caressed his face with cool hands. “I’ll get a nurse for you.”
Jonah gently wrapped his hands around her wrist to stop her. “Go home to Amos. You can’t rest comfortably in these chairs. It’s not safe to be around me right now,” Jonah replied.
Marla gave him one of her patented, long-su
ffering sighs. “What is some big baddie going to do to me that cancer isn’t already doing?” Her response caught Jonah off guard, allowing her to continue arguing unopposed. “I’ll spend the rest of my fucking days doing what I damn well please, and it pleases me to look after my dear friend, especially since he’s in this mess because of me.”
“None of this is your fault.”
“Let’s make a deal,” Marla said. “I will stop believing your injury is my fault as soon as you stop blaming yourself for every terrible thing that happens to the people you love.”
Jonah wished he could just flippantly agree to her bargain, but he couldn’t. Or maybe he just wouldn’t. It was easier to keep people at a distance than to lose them after they got too close.
“I see,” Marla said after a long pause. She pulled her hand free of Jonah’s loose grip, pressed the call button for a nurse, then settled back in her chair. And that was the end of the argument with Marla.
Against Dr. Sheridan’s medical advice, Jonah signed himself out of the hospital the following morning. “I suffered a much worse concussion the time I bounced face-first down the side of Kilimanjaro.” Jonah pointed to the scar on his face. “It’s how I got this.”
Dr. Sheridan snorted while Marla just shook her head.
“I’ll pull the car around front,” Marla told Jonah.
“I thought you couldn’t drive.”
Marla rolled her eyes. “Just because I choose not to drive doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”
“I beg to differ,” Jonah groused during the short drive home. Marla had taken corners too short and waited too long to apply the brakes as she approached stop signs and red lights.
“You’re not supposed to stop in the crosswalk,” Jonah teased.
“Keep it up, wise guy.”
Over the next few days, Marla oversaw Jonah’s care, playing both nurse and psychologist to him. She also made his meals and herded cats, which is what she called policing his many visitors. Avery came over every evening after work and stayed until the sun went down, but Jonah talked him into going home to sleep in his own bed since he was still getting up several times a night.
Ride the Lightning : Sinister in Savannah Book 1 Page 20