EYES ON YOU

by Lily Robins

  In what appeared to be slow-motion graphics, Ben Girard burst through the door, taking a dive headlong onto the floor…sliding…as the gun fired…the bullet hitting Roman a split-second before he registered the intense pain from it. Upright, he began tilting a bit and slumped into the chair, watching as Ben grabbed hold of Cynthia’s ankles, jerking her off-balance, the gun again firing, and a sickening thud erupting as Cynthia hit the floor face first. Ben performed a sideways maneuver, kicking the gun from her hand.

  “CLEAR!” Ben yelled while wresting Cynthia’s arms behind her back—as though she were a rodeo calf having its hooves bound, and then whipping off his belt. “CALL 911 RENE!”

  Nausea and light-headedness began to assail him, deep-seated pain ripping through his upper body. He began sliding to the floor, feeling the pulses of blood soaking his sweater and shirt. The feeling of sinking into an ominous black void was growing stronger, a shadowy, repellant place that held no appeal for him. He began gasping for breath, making guttural sounds, wheezing and rasping. Momentarily, the hazy images of Rene and Ben appeared above him, their horrorstruck faces and Rene’s anguished wails—emotions he should be able to…help them with. He tried to breathe, to expand his lungs enough to inhale, but there was no air left in him, and he felt himself being swallowed whole by the void.

  When he heard loud voices, he was surprisingly semi-lucid again, and there were people hovering over him and giving him air to breathe. He closed his eyes, but heard Ben Girard say, “This crazy bitch shot him!” He could feel the cool morning air, and then feel rumbles and scrapes beneath him, hear the loud blips of sirens, and the feel of tires beneath him, as he fought to stay conscious.

  From somewhere, he heard a woman say, “Gunshot to the shoulder with deep brachial artery involvement.” Roman managed to squint his eyes open, saw the woman pressing hard against his shoulder, but had lost much of the corresponding pain. “Dr. Mayer is somewhat lucid…” He could see blurs of rapid movement, hear rushed breathing coming from the woman’s mouth… “Two minutes, she said.”

  He was aware that he was in an ambulance, and being triaged by this young woman who must have had supernatural strength if she was able to cut off much of the feeling in his right arm. The incessant wail of the siren stopped, the door to the ambulance opened, and he was whisked rapidly outside again, while the woman kept pressure on his numb arm.

  “Stay with us, Dr. Mayer,” she said while laboring to breathe and running beside him.

  “Call me…Roman,” he managed to say.

  “What’s that?” she huffed, still running rapidly beside him.

  “I said…call me Ro…man.”

  The woman shot him a quick smile, slowed her running, and huffed out, “I’ve always liked your name. Here we go!”

  Inside, he was lifted from the gurney, onto another gurney, his sweater and his shirt were cut off him, and his pants were taken down and off with his shoes. He began to shake as something was inserted inside him that absolutely hurt to the core, and then he heard her voice.

  “Roman? I’m here! Cheryl’s with me.”

  “Hey Bro! We’ll be waiting right here!”

  “Tell ‘em I heard that,” he muttered, just before he faded out again.

  *****

  He regained consciousness with the sound of classic jazz filling his ears, a piano version of Misty, by Erroll Garner. Without any effort, he recognized the piece and who was playing it. Nearby, a nurse with her back to him was gently swaying to Erroll’s melody, while typing on a laptop. He croaked out, “Nice to see younger people appreciating Erroll’s gift.”

  The nurse had a ponytail that swished when she turned around, and she had a smile on her face. “Awake are we?”

  Roman answered with his eyes, closing and then opening them again.

  “You’ve got three ladies waiting to see you,” the nurse brightly informed him. “You’re in Recovery, so don’t let ‘em talk your ear off ‘til we get you moved to a room.”

  She walked to the opening of the cubicle he was in, and in moments, Jess, Cheryl and his mom stepped through, the three of them with reddened eyes and tear-streaked faces. He didn’t care about that. To him, they were inordinate beauties who would all remain that way for as long as they lived. Jess lowered her head close to his, leaving it there, and with trembling lips, she kissed him, unable to speak.

  While trying to grasp her hand, he muttered, “Didn’t mean to scare you.” One side of him was all bound up, but he used his other side to fumble until he could take her cool hand in his.

  His mother moved to his other side and stretched herself to kiss his cheek and brow, allowing their closeness to linger. She tearfully said, “Thank God, Roman.”

  He muttered, “Yes, Mom. I thought of you…just before...”

  Jess raised up and moved over, and Cheryl took her place, bending down to kiss his cheek as she cupped it with an icy-cold hand. “A fine howdy-do on a Monday morning after spring break is over,” she said and then smiled. “I donated blood for you, Bro.”

  “Thank you,” he emotionally said. “What…what happened to Cynthia?”

  “Portland,” his sister replied. “She’s in the psych ward, restrained, and has a wired-up jaw she broke when she tripped on her dress.”

  He had the presence of mind not to contradict what he’d just heard. Instead, he said, “Ben?”

  “He saved your life. He and Rene. They’re here waiting…with a whole bunch of others.”

  He offered his beauties a tired, but meaningful smile, reaching for Jess’s hand again. “Bring it on,” he said.

  *****

  When he was transferred to a regular room, it had taken three male nurses to lift him from the surgical gurney to a bed, but they’d managed to do it in no time. Jess used a plastic spoon and began giving him small pieces of ice from a cup, something a nurse had told her she could do, but sparingly. The cold slivers soothed his mouth and helped him feel semi-human again. Going out the door, one of the male nurses commented on his size.

  “Runs in the family,” he responded.

  A female nurse looked at Julia before dubiously saying, “Yeah—right.”

  After he’d gotten settled into the room—which included checking his vitals, Ben Girard and Rene Sampson were allowed in. Ben had an expression of resolve plastered on him, while Rene began fighting back a fresh round of tears. Roman reached out to pull Ben close to him.

  “You did it again.”

  Ben leaned down close to the side of Roman’s head to reply, “I was spared so I could save others here.”

  Nodding in agreement, Roman said, “I think you were. Thank you for saving me.”

  “Who was that ugly bitch?” Ben asked.

  “A former client who…kept a hard-on for me.”

  Ben tried to suppress an explosive chortle, but couldn’t. Capturing one of Ben’s hands with his, Roman managed a brief soft chuckle before sharp pain gripped him.

  Rene was next. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, and said, “When you yelled, ‘Down Rene,’ I felt you push me, but I grabbed my phone off the desk.”

  Cheryl said, “And both of you compressed his wound.”

  “I used my coat,” Rene explained.

  Roman looked at his secretary with humble gratitude. He was aware that his conscious mind was beginning to fade, but he said, “I’ll listen to your wise counsel…next time.”

  Cheryl spoke up before anyone else could. “Next time?”

  As he patted Rene’s hand, Ruth Fenwick walked into the room. She touched one of Roman’s feet as a gesture of affection and said, “Someone told us in the restaurant that a terrorist was shootin’ people over here. We didn’t know how many there were, or who all they were shootin’ at.”

  “She was definitely a terrorist all right,” remarked Cheryl. “A one-woman show.”

  When she walked in, Tess Gilliland looked at everyone in Roman’s room, and smiled, before bending over Roman to kiss his cheek.

  �
�What could I have done differently?” Roman asked her.

  Shaking her head, not really knowing how to answer that, Tess said, “She told me she was making friends, and that she’d volunteered to deliver Meals on Wheels. None of that was true, Roman. That woman made stuff up just to appease me, but…” Tess looked off for a moment. “She never took her eyes off you. I see that now, how obsessed she was with you, and how far away from reality her fantasies were. In her sick mind, she wanted you so badly that nothing I said made any difference whatsoever. She settled for seeing me as an excuse to keep coming in to see you.”

  “I missed the signs, Tess,” he gravely said. “The indicators of schizophrenia that she was exhibiting.”

  Tess said, “Nobody’s perfect in our business.”

  *****

  Minutes later, Roman faded back in from a semi-conscious state and finally agreed to the nurses’ advice that he receive a drug for pain, allowing a nurse to inject something into his IV. Just as some of his discomfort was beginning to subside, Jess brought Molly in to see him.

  He held out his hand to the girl as she tentatively walked forward to place her small hand in his. In her expression, Roman could tell that Molly felt anxious, but there was also relief there, at actually seeing him.

  “Who knew that being a head shrinker could get you shot at?” he asked her while Jess leaned down to kiss his brow.

  “You don’t really shrink peoples’ heads—do you?” Molly asked in horror.

  Roman kissed the top of her hand as he held it. “No way. That’s just a joke. All I do is talk to people, and they talk to me. We try to work out their problems together.”

  “That must not have worked out too well if a lady shot you,” she earnestly said.

  Roman smiled at this bright young girl’s astute comment. “It surely didn’t, Molly.”

  Jess said, “There are a few people who Roman sees who have mental illnesses that are difficult to recognize.”

  With a big swoosh, the door to the room opened widely and four people entered like a huge gush of wind. Three were young men, and the fourth the city’s acting police chief. All four held animated looks of relief on their faces at seeing him.

  “Takes a lot to keep a good man down,” Roman commented to Aden, Patrick, Danny and Eli.

  “You look sorta down right now,” chided Patrick, looking at all of Roman’s surgical bindings, the hospital bed, the IVs, and attached monitors. He heard the other two agreeing with Patrick’s comment.

  Jovially, Roman remarked, “I said ‘keep a good man down.’ Give me a day or two, and I’ll be back in the game—better than ever.”

  “I like hearin’ that,” Eli said. “You two have a date to get hitched on Saturday.”

  Roman reached across his body to take hold of Jess’s hand. “Neither wild horses, nor crazed women, and not even a zombie apocalypse could keep me from getting married this Saturday.”

  All three boys loudly cheered at that announcement. Soberly, Eli observed, “She was goin’ to take you out, Roman, and most likely, she was gonna shoot Rene too, ‘cause the two women butted heads a lot, and then—based on how she was all dolled up—she was gonna take herself out. All in a grand finale! But Ben Girard showin’ up changed that. That second shot went through a wall as she was fallin’ down.”

  “We heard about Mr. Girard,” said Aden. “He’s the town hero.”

  Dryly, Eli commented, “Whittler shut down again and rumor had it that a terrorist cell had taken over the city.”

  Rumbles of raucous laughter burst forth from the younger ones in the room.

  Aden asked, “Mona’s going to want to see you. Want me to bring her?”

  Shaking his head definitively, Roman said, “Best not to, Aden. When Mona’s brought into a hospital, her gift tends to overwhelm her. She wants to be with everyone who’s anxious, or suffering, or who needs comforting—and that’s most everybody here. She tries to go from room to room to do her thing, and she soon becomes confused, and exhausted from her efforts.”

  Eli, Patrick and Danny were solemnly nodding. They had already experienced Mona’s dilemma when Roman had broken his ankle months before, and they had brought her in to see him.

  CHAPTER 41

  After Eli took the kids out to dinner, Roman and Jess were left alone in the room. Finding a chair she could move beside the bed, Jess pulled it close and took hold of his hand. Gently, she laid her head near Roman’s chest.

  Remembering the horror she had felt that morning, Jess said, “After I dropped off the kids at school, Cheryl caught me before I re-boarded the ferry.”

  “I’m sure it was like déjà-vu,” he somberly remarked.

  “My mind wouldn’t accept what she was telling me.”

  When she lifted her head to look at him, he earnestly said, “I’m so sorry, Jess. I really am.”

  “You’re alive, and you’ll be okay,” she quickly reminded him. “You know, I’ve been listening to a lot of the comments, and I’ve been thinking.”

  “Second thoughts?”

  “NO!” she adamantly said. “It’s that…I’ve been reminded that everyone’s life hangs precariously in midair, like we’re all tightrope walkers and don’t even realize it. Freaky things happen so quickly, and to anyone.”

  “Every day, an abnormal thing does happen to someone, somewhere.” Roman looked up at the ceiling, remembering how a piece of pipe, a fluke happening, had nearly destroyed his life. He looked down again at Jess’s contemplative expression, pulling his mind back to the present. “When Cynthia pulled out that gun, you were the first person I thought of. You, and Aden, and Molly. The three of you have become my life. I’m so damn lucky! And I never thought I’d say that again.”

  “I’m never going to take one day, or one hour for granted ever again,” Jess said. “And I’ve determined to slow my driving down, so that I’m not as apt to be the cause of an accident.”

  Roman smiled before turning solemn. “Thank you. And what you’ve said about making every day count—I’m all for that, Jess.”

  *****

  Roman had slept only a little during the night, and Dr. Mark Finney came in before daylight. Nurses had checked on him several times during the night, and now the doctor was doing the exact same thing. His dirtiest deed involved turning on all of the bright lights in the room. Roman winced from the assault to his eyes.

  “You’re damn lucky,” Finney pronounced as he shined yet another excruciatingly bright light into one and then the other of Roman’s eyes.

  “I know,” Roman said, unable to see a darn thing after that onslaught.

  “The shot grazed your heart and punctured one of your lungs.”

  “I turned sideways,” Roman glowingly said.

  “That’s good,” the doctor dully remarked. “You’ve sustained some soft tissue damage, along with a messed up shoulder joint. You’ll need a replacement joint for that in another couple of weeks or so.”

  Roman ruminated on that before he asked, “But a new joint will last for another fifty years?”

  “Doubtful,” Finney droned as he began to remove the bandages and dressing on the wound.

  “I’m getting married on Saturday, I have to be able to throw a baseball with my son, I’ve got to get back to work, and…”

  “You’ll be able to do all that,” Finney dryly interrupted. “Eventually. Married huh? Good luck with that.”

  Sudden doubt assailed what remained of Roman’s flagging equilibrium, especially after he heard the word eventually. Finney had the personality of a codfish, his bedside manner dry and pitiless! Roman felt anger building inside his chest as his hopeful look expired. In a low, semi-threatening tone, he spoke clenched-jawed, through his teeth, demanding to know “When am I getting out of here?”

  Appearing unfazed by his patient’s theatrics, Finney turned as a nurse brought in a new supply of dressings and bandages on a tray. The guy turned back with an ominous-looking smile so wide that Roman could see most of his molars, his
expression oddly comical and severely at odds with his demeanor mere moments before. Pleasantly, Finney asked, “How does tomorrow sound?”

  Hot damn! Survival for one more day.

  *****

  It wasn’t in Roman’s nature to depend on pain medication, but then, he’d never had to deal with a gunshot wound before. Cynthia had nailed him through his upper arm, and the bullet had gone out the top backside of his shoulder. He had always heard that the first day after surgery brought with it the full gamut of accompanying discomfort, and whoever said that knew exactly what he, or she, was talking about. Finally relenting, he called the nurses’ station, and received another injection in his IV port for relief from the incessant throbbing pain.

  Just after eight, Jess walked in with a reassuring smile, and her presence, along with the potency of the medication that had begun to soothe him, made for a blissful combination. Keeping her bright smile while kissing him on the mouth, she said, “Did you have a restful night?”

  His eyes wandered all over her beautiful face as he said, “There’s no sleep allowed, and I’m drugged out of my ass. How are the kids doing?”

  “They’re doing okay,” she answered, her concern for him obvious. “They’ll be fine when you can get home.”

  “Mona?” he asked.

  “She’s fine. She’s with your mom, as usual. Julia and I believe she understands every word we say to her.”

  “She does,” he answered with total conviction. Moistening his lips with his tongue, he managed to smile as he said, “My schizoid doctor says I can go home tomorrow. I’d really love to get that guy on my office couch.”

  Jess thought about that before asking, “You mean he’s a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde character?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Tomorrow?” she excitedly asked in sudden realization of what he had just said.

  “In and out, thank God. And if that dude changes his mind, I’m going to bash his head in.”

  Jess suffered Roman’s frivolous threat with an indulgent smile. He grabbed her hand again, never wanting to let go of it.