by T. L. Hart
At the hospital, Jo kissed me and stayed with me until they made her leave to get checked out herself. She protested, but I made her go, not wanting her to see me until I was able to at least breathe without wanting to cry. I liked being a tough girl, and this was playing hell with my image.
Aggie wasn’t swayed by my half-hearted pleas for her to see a doctor or by the threats of the nursing staff’s answer to Nurse Ratchet. She refused treatment until I was in surgery. She insisted she was going to stay at my side until they wheeled me into the operating room.
She was a woman of her word, standing beside me, holding my hand on the uninjured side, turning a funny shade of blackish green when they started giving me my pre-op shots. The grip of the pain lifted by half before the needle was out of my arm, replaced by a peculiar funny-rippling effect.
“Aggie, you’re my best friend.” My words were slurred like those of a drunken sailor. “My very best friend. I love you.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, embarrassed by the public declaration in front of the nurses. “I bet you say that to everyone who saves your sorry ass.”
“I do.” It still hurt when I tried to nod. “Yes, I think I do.”
“You got some powerful painkillers on board, babe.” She grinned at me and squeezed my hand. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“Watch out for Jo. She’s going to fall apart when it gets quiet.” I was starting to feel pretty happy, but my eyes were having some difficulty focusing. “She loves me a lot.”
“Right.”
“I don’t care if she’s a gold digger.”
“Cotton, babe, I didn’t say that—”
“Doesn’t matter.” I was feeling happier by the moment, but less able to maintain a thought. “I love her, and I love you.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
She looked at the nurses. No problem—they were smiling. Everyone seemed happy and I was the center of everything. The world was starting to get a little wobbly, kind of like a Jell-O mold, but with people instead of bananas. Know what I mean?
“Aggie?”
“Yeah I’m here.”
“How did you get to the lake so fast?”
“Just put the pedal to the metal,” she said. “Now shut your eyes.”
“I figured you’d have to drive real slow. With all that fog.”
“What fog, Cotton? You’re getting a little foggy yourself, I think.”
“No, the fog was so thick you couldn’t see but a few feet. Maybe just at the lake…yes, the fog was at the lake.”
“It was clear as a bell tonight, babe. A million stars bright in the sky.”
“No fog?” I said. “You sure ’bout that?”
“Clear and not a cloud to be seen.” Aggie turned my hand loose as they wheeled me through the double doors into the operating room. “See you in a little while.”
“I’m counting on it.”
The operating room was blindingly light and freezing cold. The nurses lifted me onto the table. I cried out at the pain. A masked man appeared and held up another syringe. He pumped it into the port in my IV and the universe melted. I smiled my way to sleep.
I like morphine.
* * *
Fog rising like magician’s smoke. Filled with comings and goings.
Secrets told. Bargains fulfilled. A life returned whole for a job well done. Presto chango! Maybe this would come close to providing the promise of justice I was bound to honor. The thread breaks and I am released. I am free—leaving Jennifer to her plans here; I start my journey back to Jo, back to the world.
On my way out of the fog, I hear a voice that sounds a lot like Gregory. He doesn’t sound happy.
Sometimes there are welcoming committees.
Sometimes not.
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