A Deadly Game

by J. P. Bowie

  Each time he’d visited Eric, Nick found it hard to leave, and this night was no different. He was unaware of the time that had passed, until Roger’s hand on his shoulder reminded him that they had been waiting for him in the corridor.

  “Come on, son.” Roger took his arm and led him from the room. “I think we could all use a good stiff drink right about now.”

  Nick drove them back to the hotel, each one of them silently lost in their own thoughts. Nick knew that even though he had told them on the phone that Eric had been seriously injured, they had been unprepared to see just how bad it really was. They had been informed that a coma had been induced in the hope it might lessen the trauma and allow healing to take place. Nick had not told them that the doctors were, even then, less than optimistic.

  After three days, they had stopped using the drugs that kept Eric unconscious. They had told Nick that very morning that there was next to no chance of Eric ever recovering. Of course, his parents might very well insist on him being kept on life support—it was to be their choice alone. Many times, Nick had asked himself the question; what if it were up to me? Could I do this? Could I tell myself in all honesty that this is what Eric would want?

  They had never talked about a situation like this, at least one that affected them both so personally. Eric had been a paramedic in New York City and had witnessed some pretty terrible injuries inflicted on people, either by accident or design. Once, after being called to a truly gruesome accident scene, he had told Nick that he would prefer to die rather than live with the terrible disabilities the victims would eventually have to endure for the rest of their lives. But sometimes, when faced with the reality of the situation, people have changed their minds. Life is precious, no matter how compromised it may become.

  Nick could tell Roger and Dorothy were feeling the effects of their long flight from Ohio and the trauma of seeing their son lying in the hospital so close to death. After taking them back to their hotel, he stayed for only one drink, and then told them he would pick them up in the morning and take them back to the hospital. Dorothy graciously thanked him for all the trouble he was going to, while Roger smiled his thanks, shook Nick’s hand then and led his wife away, his arm around her waist for support.

  Nick watched them walk to the elevator with despair in his heart. Tomorrow would bring them the worst news of their lives.

  He was dreaming—he had to be dreaming. He was running on the beach again with Sam and Joseph. They had died four years ago, but here they were, as young and vibrant as they had been then, running on either side of him, talking and laughing as they churned up the sand with their sneakered feet.

  “Where’s Eric?” Sam asked him.

  “You don’t know Eric,” Nick replied. “You died before I ever met him.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Joseph said through his laughter. “Of course we know him.”

  “No, you don’t.” Nick shook his head emphatically and stopped running. He watched as the two men ran in front of him for a few more yards, then they turned, arms round each other’s shoulders and smiled back at him.

  “Come on,” Sam yelled. “Let’s find Eric!”

  “We can’t,” Nick said, feeling the first stirrings of anger “He’s in the hospital. I have to call the doctor. I can’t go any further with you.”

  “He’s fine, Nick,” Joseph told him. “Really fine.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s dying—” Nick turned and began to run in the opposite direction.

  Behind him, Joseph’s voice floated on the salty breeze. “He’s going to be all right, Nick. Even death can’t part you.”

  Somewhere he could hear a phone ringing. He was on a crowded boardwalk. Everywhere he looked, people milled about, wandering aimlessly, faces turned up to the sun’s rays. Anxiously he looked around for Sam and Joseph. Where had they gone? Hadn’t they followed him when he ran off? He wanted their company now.

  The ringing became louder, almost deafening. A woman in a yellow halter-top handed him her cell phone. “It’s for you,” she said, looking peeved.

  Nick took the phone with a muttered apology. “Hello?”

  “It’s the doctor, Nick. You really must stop pestering me with these inane questions.”

  “Questions?”

  “See, there you go again. I’ve told you a dozen times or more, Eric is very sick, but he’s going to be fine…really fine.”

  The crowd around him disappeared. He was standing in darkness, alone.

  He sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. The ringing became even more insistent. “Jesus,” he muttered, grabbing the phone off the nightstand. He glanced at the clock as he answered. Six o’clock.

  “Nick Fallon.”

  “Nick, it’s Dorothy. The hospital just called. They want us to come right away. Shall we get a cab?”

  “No, no. I’ll be right there. Gimme fifteen minutes, okay?”

  “We’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he repeated, jumping out of bed. He ran into the bathroom, where he splashed water over his face and chest and ran a comb through his hair, unruly from restless sleep. Pulling on a shirt, jeans and a pair of sneakers, he grabbed his car keys and headed out the door.

  As he sped through the town’s still dark streets toward Roger and Dorothy’s hotel, he wondered what could have happened for the hospital staff to make such an early morning call. Had Eric taken a turn for the worse? Had he actually passed and they hadn’t wanted to tell his parents on the phone? Jesus, how were they going to handle this?

  He remembered his dream and shook his head sadly. Sam and Joseph. Jeez. Why did he keep dreaming about them? And why in conjunction with Eric? And that “doctor” saying Eric was going to be just fine. Wishful thinking, that’s all it was, he told himself wistfully. Just god damned wishful thinking.

  Eric’s parents were standing outside on the sidewalk when he pulled up at the hotel entrance.

  “Thanks Nick,” Roger said, helping his wife into the car. “We didn’t want to go over there without telling you.”

  “I appreciate that.” Nick waited until they were settled, then asked, “Did they tell you anything at all?”

  “No, just that we should come right away.” Roger looked grim. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be good news.”

  At that moment, Nick came very close to telling them what he already knew, but he found he just did not have the heart to do it. It would be better coming from the professionals, he told himself. His folks just might resent his knowing before they did.

  “We just have to keep praying,” Dorothy said from the back seat.

  “Right,” Nick muttered, but kept inside himself what he was really thinking. Pray for a miracle, ’cause that’s what it’s going to take.

  The hospital elevator hummed quietly as it took them to the seventh floor where Eric lay. The duty nurse looked up from her desk as they approached.

  “This is Mr. and Mrs. Jamieson, Eric’s parents,” Nick told her. “They were told to get here as quickly as possible. Is something wrong?”

  The nurse gave them a polite smile. “If you’ll just wait over there.” She indicated the seats that lined one wall of the reception area. “The doctor will be with you in a moment.”

  “Can we see our son?” Dorothy asked, her voice querulous with worry.

  “In a moment,” the nurse said firmly. “The doctor will be right with you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  She rose and disappeared through swinging doors at the end of the corridor. Nick took that opportunity to walk swiftly to the ICU and open the door. He gasped as he looked at Eric’s empty bed. A feeling of nausea washed over him and he leaned against the wall to steady himself.

  “He’s gone,” he whispered into the silent, empty room. “Oh, dear Jesus, he’s gone.” He reeled away from the wall and looked down the hall to where Roger and Dorothy sat waiting for the doctor to appear. How was he going to break this terrible news to them—how could he tell
them that their son had died without them being with him? It’s going to kill them, he thought as he walked slowly back toward where they sat, patiently waiting. Dorothy looked up at him and gave a sharp intake of breath.

  “Nick, what’s wrong? You look terrible, dear.”

  Roger stood up and took Nick’s arm. “You’d better sit down, son. You look ill.”

  Nick sat next to Dorothy, who patted his arm to comfort him. “You haven’t been getting enough sleep,” she said in her motherly way. “That’s the problem. You look worn out.”

  Nick gazed into her eyes and found he could not tell her.

  “You’ve been overdoing it, son,” Roger said, sitting next to him. “All this running back and forth between the hospital and your office. It takes a toll, for sure.”

  Nick nodded, and then took a deep breath. He had to tell them. They had to know. At that moment, he couldn’t tell what was making him feel worse—their instinctive kindness, or the terrible news he was about to lay on them.

  The doors at the end of the corridor suddenly swung open revealing the duty nurse and a tall dark-haired man striding purposefully toward them.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Jamieson? I’m Dr. Burton.” He held out his hand in greeting. “I’ve been attending to your son, Eric,” he said as he shook hands with Eric’s parents. He looked at Nick and frowned. “Nick, you look awful—really run down. How’s that shoulder?”

  “What’s wrong with your shoulder, son?” Roger asked.

  Burton raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t he tell you? The man who shot Eric also gave Nick a nasty flesh wound. Another inch the wrong way it would have shattered his collar bone.”

  “Oh Nick,” Dorothy murmured, taking his arm. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I’m okay,” Nick assured her. He turned his attention back to Burton. “Where’s Eric?”

  Roger and Dorothy looked at him with surprise. “Isn’t he in the ICU?” Dorothy asked him.

  Nick shook his head. “The room’s empty.”

  Dr. Burton gestured down the hall. “Let’s go to my office, shall we? I have certain things to discuss. Sure you don’t want the nurse to look at your shoulder, Nick?”

  “I’m fine,” Nick growled. “Just tell us where he is, please.”

  “Better yet, I’ll show you.” Dr. Burton strode off down the hall, Roger and Dorothy striving to keep up.

  Nick looked at the duty nurse. “When did it happen?

  “About two hours ago, but the doctor will tell you all about it.”

  Nick nodded then hurried after Burton and Eric’s parents. He followed them through the swinging doors and into Burton’s office.

  “Please sit down.” Burton sat at his desk and Nick tried to read the expression on the doctor’s face. He almost screamed at Burton to get on with it, but instead he gripped the arms of the chair and steeled himself for what was to come. He looked across at Roger and Dorothy, who sat with expectant expressions as they stared at the doctor.

  “About two hours ago,” Burton began, “I received a call at my home asking me to come immediately to the hospital. The call concerned your son, and I’m afraid that I feared the worst. Eric’s life has been hanging by a thread for the last seven days. As you know, we induced a coma with the expectations that it might be beneficial in the healing process. When we stopped the drug inducement, Eric did not respond. Your son received a wound that would have proved fatal in many cases. A bullet from a .38 revolver punctured his right lung. He suffered a great deal of internal bleeding, from which he would have most certainly died had it not been for Nick getting him help in a timely fashion. Nevertheless, we were not at all hopeful that we could save him—until two hours ago.”

  Nick felt as though the floor had jolted beneath his feet. “You mean he’s not dead?” he yelled, jumping to his feet.

  “Nick!” Dorothy looked at him in amazement. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I went to his room and he wasn’t there and—”

  “And you feared the worst,” Burton said, with a sympathetic smile. He turned to Eric’s parents. “Nick, of course, has not told you just how close to death your son has been. He wanted to spare you that until we could give a definite prognosis. I have to tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Jamieson, that Nick thought you were being called here today to give your permission for us to turn off your son’s life support. That, I am happy to tell you, is no longer something that we have to worry about.”

  Nick felt his knees go weak and he sank back onto the chair. “What happened?” he managed to croak.

  “One of those inexplicable little miracles that we in the medical profession are always so happy to witness. About two hours ago, the night nurse on her rounds, was checking Eric’s charts when she heard him say ‘Hi…’ Really, it was more of a croak, the ventilating tube in his throat can cause a nasty swelling in the vocal chords. However, it was enough, she told me, that she almost dropped the clipboard she was holding, she got that much of a start. When she went to him, his eyes were open, clear and focused and he said ‘hi’ again, and smiled at her. He has caused quite a stir, I can tell you.”

  Nick looked at the doctor, his eyes brimming. “You mean he’s going to be all right?”

  “Eventually, yes. He has a long convalescence ahead of him, but it now looks as though he will make a full recovery.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Dorothy said, clutching Roger’s arm.

  Nick sat, still stunned by the news. Two hours ago, he thought. Just about when I was dreaming that Sam and Joseph were running on the beach with me. They said he was going to be all right—and I wouldn’t believe them. How could they have known? How could they have told me so in a dream? Nick shook his head in wonder and then he smiled, a big, broad all encompassing smile that lifted the care-worn expression from his face. Thank you, Sam. Thank you, Joseph. Thank you, whoever sent you to me. Thank you.

  “Can we see him?” Roger asked, taking his wife’s hand.

  “Of course.” Dr. Burton rose and opened the door, gesturing that they should follow him. “We have him in a side ward for observation—just as a precaution, you understand. Once we’re satisfied with his progress we can give him a regular room and he can have visitors.”

  Nick, still feeling somewhat dazed by the doctor’s revelation, followed them down the corridor to a room, the door of which was marked Critical Care. He’s still critical, he thought. Maybe he shouldn’t get his hopes up too much. But his fears were dispelled when the doctor swung the door open and he could see Eric lying there, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling from the smile that played on his lips. He was still hooked up to a formidable array of machines, but Nick sighed with relief because Eric was, at last, breathing on his own.

  “Hey, Mom…Dad.” His voice was no more than a whisper, but it was music to Nick’s ears. He felt a big goofy grin of happiness spread across his face as he watched Roger and Dorothy kiss their son in greeting.

  Then Eric’s eyes met his. “C’mere, you big lug,” he murmured. “Mom and Dad won’t mind if you kiss me too.” Nick stepped forward and lightly brushed his lover’s lips with his own. He had to resist an almost overpowering urge to pull Eric into his arms and hold him in a crushing embrace. He smiled as Eric whispered against his mouth, “You’ll have to do a lot better than that when I get out of here.”

  Nick straightened up and looked at Eric’s parents, his face distinctly red. He cleared his throat of the enormous lump that had developed there and said, somewhat shakily, “I’ll step outside and let you guys visit for a while.” Before they could protest, he left the room and joined Dr. Burton in the corridor.

  “Feeling better now?” Burton asked.

  Nick nodded. “I kinda lost it when I saw the ICU was empty. I still can’t quite believe he’s come out of it so well. When I think of what happened on the yacht, how close he was to death—”

  “He’s very lucky, Nick,” Burton agreed. “A lot of people could never have survived that kind of wound. Eric is
in great shape, and that definitely helped.” He looked in at Eric’s parents sitting by their son’s bedside, engaged in murmured conversation. “I wouldn’t stay too long today. He needs lots of rest.”

  “Gotcha,” Nick said. “Thanks again, Doctor.” He reentered the room and touched Roger lightly on the arm. “The doc says we shouldn’t tire the patient out. We can come back later.”

  “Right.” Roger stood and smiled down at his son. “We’ll see you later, then. Come on, Dorothy, let Nick say his goodbyes.”

  Eric waggled his fingers in a token of goodbye as they left the room, then tapped the side of the bed. Nick sat on the edge, took Eric’s hand and raised it to his lips.