by Larry Enmon
“No wife?”
“Huh-uh—deceased.”
A grimace crossed Adams’s face. “I believe his family should be notified.”
“Yeah, sure—we’ll let them know. This isn’t his first close call.”
“I’m not certain you understand what I’m getting at.” The doctor paused a couple of beats too long before continuing. “When someone receives a very serious traumatic injury and there’s blood loss, the body uses its natural defenses to rush chemical compounds to the site of the injury. You know, to clot the blood and stem the bleeding.”
Rob followed the doctor’s eyes as he spoke. “Yeah, I understand.”
“But when there’s a substantial delay in getting proper medical assistance, the body works overtime to stabilize things. If this happens, sometimes all the natural clotting chemicals get used up. The patient bleeds out.”
Rob shook and didn’t want to hear any more. He looked in the opposite direction. As if maybe if he didn’t stare at the guy, the nightmare would end—he’d wake up. A weakness and fear crept into his gut.
The doctor cleared his throat. “We haven’t been able to stabilize your friend. He’s still losing blood. He’s had numerous transfusions, and we’re pumping all the coagulants we can into him, but nothing’s working.”
Rob wanted to scream, But he’s alive, in a hospital, and you’re a doctor—save him! Instead, he only nodded. He squeezed his lips and his eyes misted. He sniffed and wiped his nose.
“So, straight up, doc. What’s his chances?”
Adams looked down and swallowed. “When someone gets severely injured, the body goes into shock. It’s very hard to reverse sometimes. It was made worse by the delay in getting him to the ER. In cases like this, it’s almost always a futile uphill battle. After this much blood loss, the patient seldom survives. One-in-ten chance, at best. If they wake up, they’re usually out of the woods. Most never regain consciousness.”
A dizziness clouded Rob’s head. He closed his eyes, grabbed the sides of the bench, and drew long, deep breaths.
A hand rested on his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, but any relatives should be contacted as soon as possible,” Dr. Adams whispered.
Warm tears skated down Rob’s cheeks. He wiped them and sniffled. “How long?”
The doctor stood. “No way of knowing. Depends on how strong the patient is. Hours—a day, sometimes.”
Rob stood, but kept a hand on the wall. This couldn’t be happening. “Okay. I’ll see they’re called.” He eyed the doctor. “Will there be indicators right before…” Rob trailed off, losing his voice.
Adams frowned. “His vitals will tank a few minutes before. We won’t be able to pull him out of the dive.”
An ICU nurse rushed up. “Dr. Singer needs you.”
Rob grabbed Adams’s arm, swallowing down something hard that had just appeared in his throat. “Hey, doc. I’m not a relative or anything, but we’re closer than brothers. If he has to die in a strange place, please don’t let him die alone—let me in.”
Adam’s expression softened. “Absolutely.” He touched the nurse’s shoulder. “As soon as they’re finished recording vitals”—he pointed to Rob—“he’s in.”
She nodded and Adams walked to the ICU entrance to confer with the other doctor. Rob collapsed on the bench. He wiped his eyes and gathered his wits. This call would be hard.
When he told Edna what the doctor had said, there was silence. He thought he’d lost the signal just before she said, “I understand,” and disconnected. She and Terry would soon be breaking all speed laws racing from Dallas.
Weeping from a young couple in the corner caught Rob’s notice. Their kid had been brought in just after Frank. His condition didn’t look good either. Death lingered around every corner of life. You never quite knew when you’d turn the wrong one and look it in the eyes.
Ten minutes later, Adams returned. “Okay, follow me.”
Rob’s wobbly legs barely held him. He followed the doctor through a swinging set of double doors at the end of the hall and entered the ICU. His stomach churned, and a sudden chill caused him to shake.
Few beds were occupied. Only three nurses worked the floor. One stood over a patient, blocking Rob’s view. Adams stopped there, and when she leaned back, Rob drew in a breath. Frank. His sallow complexion shocked Rob. He already looks dead. The nurse tore off another piece of tape and secured the needle in Frank’s arm. The tube led to an IV of clear liquid.
Adams scanned Frank’s chart. “Still holding at two cc’s?”
The nurse dropped the tape roll in her pocket. “Yes, we’re on our third platelets and three hundred out of the chest in the last hour.”
Adams looked her way. “Respiration?”
“Good saturation so far.”
He nodded. “We’ll hold off on intubation until needed.”
“Yes, doctor.” She moved to one side and revealed a chair. When she departed, she drew a privacy curtain around the bed.
The area had sort of a bad-breath odor. Rob had never smelled anything like it. One of those tube things for oxygen was wrapped around Frank’s head and poking in his nose. Several IVs hung above him, all leading to the tube with the needle. A half-depleted bag of blood also hung on a hook, draining down into the other arm. A digital monitor pinged while displaying sets of green numbers. Under the bed, two plastic boxes collected blood from giant hoses coming out of Frank’s chest. Rob had trouble processing the horror show.
“Stay as long as you like,” the doctor said. “You won’t be disturbed. I’ve left orders.”
Rob shook the man’s hand. “I really appreciate it. Anything I need to do?”
“No, a nurse will be around every few minutes, and the vitals are being monitored. Just spend time with him. He’s lucky to have you. Most never get that at the end.”
Adams pushed the curtain away and departed, pulling it back into place after he left.
Rob was afraid to sit, afraid that any change might trigger something. Finally he dropped into the chair and watched his friend’s chest move up and down—not looking at his face. He’d never felt so helpless, so useless. He took Frank’s hand, and the warmth felt good. Rob pulled in a deep breath and just talked.
“I’m sorry, Frank. I know you probably can’t hear me, but I need to say it anyway. The last three years with you have been the best of my life. You made ’em the best. I couldn’t have wished for a better partner. We had some times.” Rob choked and took a second to recover.
“You drove me a little crazy with your peculiarities, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” A new thought entered Rob’s mind. “I wished I’d known about your wife earlier. I would have understood a lot of the crazy shit you did. Would have been great to get to know her. Bet Carmen would have loved her.” Rob drew in a breath and wiped his eyes.
“You saved Trina, Frank. No one else could have figured it out—only you. When everyone doubted—you believed. God knows how many more you may have also saved. I even doubted and made fun of you … shouldn’t have done that. And I’ve picked at and harassed you about things I didn’t understand. Shouldn’t have done that either. Hope you’ll forgive me.” Rob blew his nose and shook his head.
“If this is our last time together, I want you to know that I love you. You got a bad break on this one. Could have happened to anyone. But you saved my life. Gave me a second chance to hold Carmen, to see my children marry, to play with my grandchildren someday. I can’t repay a debt that big. Saying thanks isn’t enough, but it’s all I have. If you have to go now, I understand.” Rob closed his eyes tight and drew in a breath. “Just wanted to get that off my chest.”
Tears dripped to the floor, and Rob had to blow his nose a couple more times, but he was sure Frank wouldn’t mind. Rob wrapped both hands around Frank’s, laid his forehead on them, and prayed:
“Lord, I come to you in humble obedience. I’ve sinned and fallen short of your grace, but you know I’m one of your children.
This man deserves to live. He’s also a sinner and fallen short. He may not be a believer, but I beg for his life. He’s a good person.” Rob choked on his words and took a second to calm down. “His life would have been different if things had happened differently. I know your will be done, so he was set on his course for a purpose. Maybe the reason for his tragedy put him in a position to save those two girls … I don’t know. Don’t let him die, not now.” Rob sniffed and wiped his eyes before crossing himself. “Amen.”
He released Frank’s hand and nodded. “Thy will be done.” He leaned his head into his palms and breathed deep, slow breaths. Fatigue enveloped him, and he closed his eyes. He just wanted to lie down. He didn’t want—
“Are you okay?” a weak, raspy voice asked.
Rob froze. He didn’t even breathe. He slowly lifted his head. Frank stared at him through clear, thoughtful eyes.
Rob gasped. “Yes … yes, I’m fine.”
“And the girls?” Frank cleared his throat, swallowed, and grimaced.
Rob began laughing and crying at the same time. “Yes … yes, we’re all okay.” He shook his head. “Only you, Frank, would wake up after being shot and start asking about everyone.”
A mischievous grin crossed Frank’s lips. “Well, I didn’t want to piss you off by not asking. I know how sensitive you Mexicans are.”
Rob broke into a satisfied smile and grabbed Frank’s hand again. Rob’s eyes clouded with more tears, and his voice broke. “Cracker asshole.”
Epilogue
Tuesday Morning Rob pushed the wheelchair down the hall of Nacogdoches Memorial Hospital. This would be his last trip to this place, and he was glad. The sights, smells, and sounds held too many bad memories. Frank had been there for almost two weeks. During his stay he’d wanted for nothing. Edna and Terry had seen to that. A CIU detective was stationed in Nacogdoches to be at Frank’s beck and call. Frank had mended well and even begun physical therapy. He would fully recover.
It wasn’t Frank’s physical recovery that concerned Rob. During his stay in the hospital, he’d not received a visit, call, or card from Katrina Wallace. He’d asked about her a few times and Rob had assured him she was fine. He’d finally stopped asking and drifted into one of his familiar funks. Rob couldn’t blame him.
When Rob wheeled the chair through the open door of Frank’s room, he found him sitting by the window, staring at the vast green sea of pine forest behind the hospital.
“Ready to go home?”
Frank looked around and stood. He wore the T-shirt, shorts, and sandals Rob had pilfered from his condo a few days earlier. “Yeah,” he said, and picked up the patient bag of personal items, cards, and clothes off the bed.
“You already officially checked out?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, signed the papers about a half hour ago.”
Rob locked the wheels on the chair. “Okay, let’s go.”
Frank eyed the wheelchair a moment before saying, “Don’t need that thing. Been walking the halls for over a week.”
Rob thumped the top of his snuff can and got a pinch. “There’s a mean-looking RN down the hall. Says this is the only way you’re leaving this place.”
“Whatever.” Frank shrugged and took a seat in the chair. He set the bag on his lap and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Rob unlocked the wheels and backed out of the room with Frank in his full-slouch riding position. As they passed the nurse’s station, one attractive young nurse waved. She looked as if she might cry. Another, even more attractive nurse smiled and mouthed the words, “Call me.”
Um, must be the ones who gave him sponge baths.
Neither Rob nor Frank spoke until entering the elevator. As the doors closed, Rob said, “Edna made a big pot of stew and Terry a big pot of chili and a pan of cornbread. I left them in your refrigerator this morning before driving down. At least you’ll be eating well.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” Frank mumbled. His voice had a worn-out, flat sound, like that of a cat that’s just realized it’s lost a couple of its nine lives.
When the doors opened into the lobby, Rob swung left toward the patient loading zone. As they approached the doors, Rob said, “Can’t waste any time. Have to be in Hemphill in two hours to appear before the grand jury. They’re indicting the brothers and sisters today. Have just enough time to grab lunch before then.”
Frank jerked his head around. “Grand jury? I can’t appear before a grand jury dressed like this!”
“Don’t sweat it,” Rob said. “They only need me. I’ve scored you a ride to Dallas.”
The automatic doors swung open and a new, bright red, Audi S4 sedan came into view. Katrina stood holding the passenger door open. A full-toothed smile spread across her lips.
“Detective Pierce,” she said, “we have a lot of things to discuss. Hop in. I’m driving.”
Author Biography
Larry Enmon worked for the Houston Police Department for six years before joining the Secret Service. During his Secret Service career he acted as liaison between the USSS and FBI, working in the Joint Terrorism Task Force. He received special training from the FBI and CIA in weapons of mass destruction. He lives in Tarrant County, TX, and likes to spend time at his ranch in rural Eastern Texas.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Larry Enmon.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-553-7
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-554-4
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-555-1
Cover design by Matthew Kalamidas/StoneHouse Creative
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
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First Edition: April 2018
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