Resisting Ryann
Page 13
“Okay Reese,” Gia says, grabbing my shoulders. “Look at me. 301. That’s his room number.” She forces me to make eye contact. “The nurse says only one can go in at a time, and only family. Are you going to be okay in there by yourself?” Her eyes are warm, and she sighs. “I wish I could go with you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I murmur, licking my now dry lips, needing some water. My nerves are dehydrating me.
“You ready to go in?”
“As ready as I can be.” The nausea is swirling in my stomach, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle the sight of him lying alone in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.
The only time I’ve seen him vulnerable was the night he’d come to my work, begging me to give him another chance. And I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. What kind of daughter does that?
More tears spill down my cheeks, and I turn to Gia. “Can you do me a favor?” I ask, wiping my face.
“Anything.”
“Can you have Logan call Pam … let her know what’s going on?”
“Already on it.” She nods. “He took the call outside. The reception here sucks.”
“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be able to talk.” I’m stalling, afraid of what I’m going to find. “I’m scared.”
Hugging me again before she shoos me forward, she says, “Go see your dad.”
I hand her my phone. “If my mom calls, tell her everything,” I say over my shoulder, walking down the narrow hall. “I don’t want him to overhear me talking about him. Tell her I’ll call as soon as I can.” God, I pray he’s conscious. Just the thought of it makes me walk faster.
“Will do! Good luck!” she yells back. “I love you. Take all the time you need,” she adds.
Swallowing the lump that’s been lodged in my throat, I make my way around the corner, then walk all the way down to the end to find room 301.
The moment I spot my father’s lifeless body I freeze, hoping I’ve made some kind of mistake. He looks like a stranger, bloodied and broken, hooked up to every kind of medical machine imaginable. His chest rises and falls with the assistance of a plastic tube shoved down his throat. Of all the scenarios I’ve played out in my head, nothing could have prepared me for this.
An uncontrollable sob escapes me, and I cover my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, which only makes me cry harder. They told me he’d been shot, and that he was alive, but his condition was deteriorating. They never mentioned life support. I guess I was being optimistic. After hearing alive I stopped paying attention.
My eyes fall to one of his hands, and I hesitate before placing my own inside of it.
“Daddy?” I squeeze, hoping that for some miraculous reason, the sound of my voice will snap him out of this unconscious state. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I at least need to try. I get nothing, so I wait a little longer, moving my gaze to his swollen face. The top of his head is all wrapped up in gauze. I don’t even know how many times he was shot, or where. From the looks of it, I’d say he was shot in the head.
I pull down the sheet a little, finding multiple bandages on his chest, which I assume are more gunshot wounds. This definitely wasn’t an accident. Somebody wanted him dead. I cover my mouth, a little scared and in shock.
“What happened to you, Dad?” I cry. “Who did this?” My father never mentioned enemies. At the same time, he isn’t the type who likes to be the subject of conversation, always keeping the focus on me. Now I’m wondering if he had good reason.
A nurse walks in to check on his vitals. “Hello. Don’t mind me, I’ll be quick,” she says, taking her time, reading over the monitor, before her eyes flick down to my father. I can see her concern, but she masks it when she turns and gives me a warm smile. “All done. I’ll leave you two alone now.” And just like that, she disappears, not giving me a chance to ask her any questions.
Spotting the chair behind me, I move it close to the bed, so I can still hold his hand while I talk to him. But I’m so emotionally exhausted, I don’t have the strength to stand anymore. Watching the way his chest fills with air and then releases is disturbing. It looks unnatural. It is unnatural. Is he unable to breathe without it? Is it really just these machines that are keeping him alive?
“Dad …” My voice cracks as I look at his face. “I’m here. You’re not alone anymore. Okay? C-can you hear me?” I say, asking through the tears. I want him to hear everything, but it’s hard to hold back a sob with each word, and my throat is closing up. Linking my fingers with his, I’m startled by how lifeless and cold they feel. “I love you, Daddy. Can you hear me?” I lean over to kiss him on the cheek. “I said I love you. I love you so much,” I choke. “And I’m … I’m sorry for not saying it to you earlier. I was scared—I was scared you’d leave again, so I tried to fight it. It didn’t matter though because you squeezed your way back into my heart anyway, and I enjoyed every minute of it.”
My eyes flick up to the heart monitor that spiked for a few seconds, before returning to its normal pace. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you that day at the restaurant. I feel horrible about it, and I don’t think … I don’t think I ever apologized. I was being immature, trying to hurt you. If I could, I would take it all back. You know I forgive you for everything, don’t you?” More sobbing ensues before I can pull it together enough to speak again. “I hope you can forgive me, too.”
Grabbing a tissue off of the nearby end table, I wipe what looks like a tear coming from the corner of his eye. “Do you hear me, Daddy?” Squeezing his hand, I’m both excited and terrified at the sight. “Are you in pain?” Oh God, I hope he’s not in pain and unable to tell anybody about it.
“It means so much to me that you looked for me after all these years … that you wrote me all of those letters. You never gave up on me.” I rub my thumb over the back of his hand, holding it against my face. “I’m not giving up on you either.”
A slight movement in his fingers captures my attention, and then he’s squeezing me back. Suddenly, he starts convulsing on top of the bed. My eyes widen, and I jump out of the chair, running down the hall in a panic. “Help!” I scream. “I need a nurse! “Somebody help! Please, I don’t know what’s happening!”
The nurse I saw earlier, along with three others, rush past me, making their way into his room, before they slam the door in my face. I take a couple steps back, until I hit the wall and slide down. Resting my forehead on my knees, feeling helpless, I say a silent prayer.
It didn’t take long before the nursing staff began trailing out of his room, acting as if he wasn’t just seizing on his bed. It was both comforting and confusing. As soon as I was allowed, I resumed my post at his bedside.
“You must be Reese,” the nurse I’d seen an hour earlier says, holding out her hand as she enters the room. A warm smile stretches across her face. “My name is Michelle. I’m the nurse on duty for the night.” Nudging her head toward my dad, she says, “Rumor has it this man is your father.”
“That would be a fact,” I answer.
“I can see the resemblance,” she replies, glancing back and forth between us. She’s probably in her thirties, with long brown hair and big hazel eyes—she’s pretty.
Turning my attention back to my dad, I pick up his hand again. “Everybody says that.”
She grins. “How’s he been doing since the episode? Any luck getting a response?” There’s sadness in her expression, like she already knows the answer. She did just check his vitals after all.
“No,” I murmur, clearing my dry throat. “I haven’t been able to get anything from him.”
They gave my father some anti-seizure medication to stop the convulsing. I guess the shaking is pretty common for a person in his state—at least that’s what they told me. For a brief moment I felt relief. But then another nurse mentioned his kidneys were no longer functioning, and it wouldn’t take long before the rest of his organs followed suit. In other words, she told me he’s dying. And there went any small hope I’d held on
to.
“I’m not the type to give up without a fight, though,” I say, glancing at him. “Neither is he.”
“That’s the spirit,” she replies with a hand on her hip. “I doubt he’d give up on you if you were in his position.”
I wish I were.
“You’re right. He wouldn’t.” There’s nothing worse than a pessimistic doctor or nurse. I’m thankful she isn’t one of them. “Is there anything I can do to help him?”
“You’re doing it,” she says, eyeing our connected hands. “Talk to him, hold his hand, tell him you love him, maybe read him his favorite book.” She’s about to say something else then pauses, before opening her mouth again to speak. “I hope this doesn’t upset you,” she says, slowly stepping toward me with concern in her face.
A sick feeling starts to settle in my gut.
“I overheard the things you said to your father earlier.”
Relieved, I close my eyes. “Believe me, that’s the least of my worries,” I say, my palm over my chest. “For a moment, I thought you were about to tell me somebody died.” I glance back at him.
“He may not look it, but he knows you’re here. What you said earlier was perfect.”
My eyes fill with tears. “Do you think he heard me?” Her words mean more than she’ll ever know.
Her brows shoot up. “Oh, most definitely,” she replies. “Don’t let anybody tell you differently.” Brushing her fingers over his head, she says, “They say that hearing is the last to go. Keep talking to him. He’s knows you’re here with him.”
“Thank you.” I really want to believe her.
“That’s why I’m here.” As she fixes my father’s bedding, she asks him if he’s comfortable. He doesn’t respond, of course, but it’s a nice gesture.
She’s already been pretty helpful, so I’m hoping she’ll answer some of my other questions. “Michelle.”
She lifts her chin to acknowledge me.
“Do you know what happened to him?”
By her hesitant expression, she was clearly hoping I wouldn’t ask.
Placing her hands in her pockets, she nervously glances at the door. “What have you heard exactly?” She’s speaking quietly enough so nobody else can hear.
“They told me he was shot. That’s it. But I know it wasn’t an accident. Look at him,” I whisper, tipping my head.
“I know. Anybody could tell that with one glance.”
“I haven’t seen the rest of him, but I’ve seen the bandages on his chest.” I say, covering my face with both hands. “Oh God, how long did he suffer before somebody brought him in?” Tears are spilling once again. “I saw him just a few days ago, and he said he was going out of town. He isn’t supposed to be here!” I sob.
Pressing a finger to her lips, Michelle says, “Give me a quick second. Okay?” I nod and watch her walk through the doorway. Someone standing in the hall exchanges a few words with her, before she comes back in, closing the door completely.
“I can get in a lot of trouble for this,” she says, making her way over. “If I tell you what I know, will you promise not to tell anybody?” She’s biting her lip nervously. “I could lose my job.”
“Yeah … yeah, of course,” I whisper. I would never rat her out for helping me.
“There’s been a cop standing right outside this door ever since your father arrived. As soon as you showed up, though, he left. I assume he maybe knew who you were.”
I nod, wondering if he’s a friend of my dad’s—someone I possibly know. Remembering the card my father gave me the other day, I ask, “Do you know what his name is? Or what agency he works for?” I grab my wallet out of my purse and pull out the card.
“No, I don’t have a name. They’re very secretive around here.”
“My father gave me this,” I say, showing her the front of it. “He told me to call this man if I ran into trouble.” The name on the card reads: Thomas Sullivan. “It didn’t make sense to me at the time, but now I wonder if it’s linked. Is there a phone I can use? I’m going to call him.”
“You’ll have to use the phone at the nurses’ desk. The staff was told to remove his courtesy phone.”
I tilt my head, confused. “That’s fine. I’ll use my cell phone. My friend has it in the waiting room. Why would you remove his phone?”
“Law enforcement has been in contact with our Chief of Staff. We were told it’s for the safety of the patient. They also explained that only immediate family members are allowed to visit the patients.”
“Wait a minute. Patients? As in more than one?”
Paranoid, she glances toward the window. “Your father was flown here at 4:28 AM with multiple gunshot wounds … one of them to the head,” she says, sneaking a sideways glance at him. “They took him straight into surgery. The other …” she adds, before pausing with pursed lips.
“The other?” My eyes widen, and I urge her to keep going. Afraid she isn’t going to tell me, I beg, “Please. I’m not going to say anything.”
“Okay, okay. He wasn’t alone. There. I said it.” She closes her eyes, sighing.
Taking a seat in the chair behind me, I ask, “Someone else was injured with him?”
She nods. “There were several. All of them with gunshot wounds. Most of them were dead when they arrived,” Michelle says, looking from side to side. “The buzz around here is it was some kind of drug bust, but that’s a rumor. With all the cops roaming the place, people start talking.”
I hadn’t noticed any cops, but then again, I wasn’t looking. “So where are they now?”
“Oh, they’re everywhere; not in uniform, though. They’re undercover. It’s easy to tell with some of them, by the way they carry themselves.”
“Ah, now I get it.” I turn toward my father. “You didn’t tell me what you were really planning to do, because you knew I’d try to talk you out of it,” I say, staring at his face. “I guess that answers my questions about the beard.” Leaning down, I press a kiss against his forehead. “Look what they did to you. Don’t let them win, okay?” My gaze flicks back toward Michelle.
“You said there were other survivors who came in with him?”
Clearing her throat, she says, “Yes, just one other.”
“Do you know if he’s a cop?”
“No. I wouldn’t have that information. I’m sorry.”
“So it’s possible that the person who did this,” I say, pointing at my dad, “might be on this very floor?” That concerns me more than anything.
“Shh!” She glances toward the door. “All I’m saying is that he isn’t the only survivor. I don’t know anything about the condition of the person or people who did this to him. What I do know is, it’s best if you leave the investigating to law enforcement, and stay out of this. Don’t go snooping around. It could be dangerous. You seem like the kind of woman who won’t stop until she gets her answers.” Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Am I right?”
“Maybe, but what’s wrong with that?” I’ve got to call that Thomas guy.
“I just told you what’s wrong with it,” she points. “Does your father work in law enforcement?”
“Yes and no. It’s a long story, and I don’t want to ramble. He does some work under the table,” I reply.
“Then let them take care of this. I’m not going to say any more. I’ve already said too much as it is.”
I smile, reaching for her hand. “Thank you for all your help. And don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”
It’s been over twenty-four hours since my father’s condition took a turn for the worse. After collecting my phone from Gia, I sent her and Logan home, not expecting her to wait all this time. She’s been texting me every hour since. I told her to take a long nap, and stop feeling guilty for leaving. None of us had any sleep last night.
I left a voicemail for Thomas Sullivan then attempted to reach my mom again with no luck. I ended up falling asleep on a cot next to my dad, mentally drained and emotionally exhausted. He had another seizur
e-like episode, which resulted in him receiving more medication. Just like before, it freaked me out. Now I watch him lie here all doped up on several medications. It’s not like I can tell the difference. In a way, it seems like I’ve lost him already.
Michelle told me last night that I would see the neurologist today. We’re supposed to go over the results of my father’s brain scan. He’s looking less and less like himself, as time progresses, and I’m nervous with what the results will tell me. I’m losing my optimism at this point, but the last thing I want to do is discourage him from fighting. I just don’t know if he’s here anymore.
“Hello,” comes the voice of a male behind me. Turning around I see who I assume is the neurologist, as well as another man dressed in regular clothes. Both of them are older with gray hair, though the man in regular clothes is nearly bald. The other one holds out his hand. “I’m Dr. Belding. You must be?” he asks, raising his brows.
“Reese.” I give a small grin, tipping my head toward my father. “I’m his daughter.”
“Nice to meet you, Reese,” he replies, gesturing to the man standing beside him. “This here is Pastor Sorenson.”
The pastor smiles, his eyes kind. “I’m one of the chaplains here at the hospital.”
My grin fades instantly. I can think of only one reason a neurologist would bring a chaplain with him, and it isn’t a good one. “S-sorry,” I stutter. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just—”
“I understand. Believe me, I get that look a lot. There’s no need to apologize,” he replies genuinely.