Merciless

by Lori Armstrong

  Along the corridor were rooms with curtains drawn and rooms with doors shut and rooms with doors open; empty gurneys lined the hallway. So much to look at I nearly ran into the back of the nurse as she let us into a tiny cubicle-like office.

  The man offered his hand. “I’m Dr. Jeffers.”

  “Mercy Gunderson, Mason Dawson’s fiancée. This is Lex, his son.”

  “Have a seat. I know it’s been quite a few hours since Mr. Dawson was brought in, but we needed to observe him before we decided on a course of action.”

  “Has he regained consciousness?”

  Dr. Jeffers shook his head. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Here’s why: the impact with the bull caused massive swelling in his brain.”

  I felt like I was going to throw up right on his neatly ordered desk.

  “At this point we have no idea if there’s brain damage. In the first hours he was under observation, the swelling increased significantly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We needed to take immediate action to stop the swelling. We gave Mr. Dawson an IV with Mannitol, a chemical compound that helps suck water out of the brain and reduces intracranial pressure. This procedure alleviated some of the pressure. Then my colleague, Dr. Masters, an anesthesiologist, recommended Propofol, a sedative used during surgery, to put Sheriff Dawson into a medically induced coma.”

  “Coma?” Lex repeated.

  I gently squeezed his shoulder.

  “There is some controversy surrounding choosing this method, but I spoke with colleagues after our first corrective attempt didn’t produce the hoped-for results. We believe a medically induced coma is the best course of treatment because Sheriff Dawson is young. He’s in excellent physical condition. Putting him under allows an opportunity for the brain swelling to recede, which limits the amount of brain tissue that can be permanently damaged.” Dr. Jeffers gave me a considering look. “Do you want to hear all this now? I know it’s late, and you’ve been here for hours.”

  “I’m fully awake, so fill me in.”

  “The benefit of this type of treatment is that the coma is reversible. We can adjust the amount of Propofol entering his system and bring him out of it at any time. Naturally, we want to do that only when his brain has had a chance to heal. During a brain injury, the metabolism of the brain is altered. With drugs that put the brain at rest, we can try to keep it from shutting down other important body functions. But because the main effects of the sedative are outside the brain, that also means he’s on medication to keep his blood pressure up and to keep his heart pumping. He’s also on a respirator, so we can mechanically control his respiration rate. We are closely monitoring his EEG—his brain waves. Any questions so far?”

  About ten million. “Any idea how long he’ll be under?”

  “There is no set time. I’ve dealt with this situation before, and if I had to hazard a guess at this point, I’d say we’re looking at around six to seven days. Obviously, we want Mr. Dawson brought out of it as soon as it’s safe because of the other potential health issues associated with his being in this state.”

  “What other health issues?”

  “Pneumonia. Blood clots. Muscle paralysis. All conditions that stem from patient immobility during the coma and that could linger after he regains consciousness.”

  I closed my eyes. So many thoughts racing through my head. Would Mason ever be the same? And if he wasn’t … would he push me away? Would he think I couldn’t handle him being less than perfect?

  “I understand it’s a lot to comprehend, Miz Gunderson. And the ‘wait and see’ diagnosis is never ideal, but it’s the only one I have right now.”

  “Thank you. Thanks for … working to save him.” That sounded lame, but I really didn’t know what else to say.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be monitoring his condition personally. And I’ll keep you as up-to-date as possible.” He looked at the chart. “This cell number is the best way to reach you? Do you have a work number during the day?”

  “I’m a federal agent with the FBI, but that number is your best bet for reaching me at any hour of the day or night.”

  His eyebrows rose, and he looked at me a little differently after I disclosed my occupation.

  Lex blurted, “When can I see him?”

  “He’s in ICU,” the doctor started. “It’s been a long night, and maybe if you come back tomorrow—” Dr. Jeffers stopped speaking when I shook my head.

  “We need to see him. If only for a minute.”

  After a couple seconds he nodded. “I’ll arrange it. But you should pass on the ‘no visitor’s’ policy to other family members.”

  “His coworkers, too?”

  He nodded. “The slightest infection is deadly for him. So if either of you develop even a case of the sniffles, you’d best stay away.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’ll take you up to see him right now. That way I can answer any questions.”

  “Sounds fair,” I said to Lex. “I know you’ll make your dad proud and follow all the rules, right?”

  Dr. Jeffers talked to Lex, trying to put him at ease. He led us out of the ER through a maze of hallways until we were at a bank of elevators, a different set than the ones I’d used before.

  We stopped on the fourth floor and took a left. The doctor spoke briefly to a nurse, and she directed us to an area where we put on protective clothing. Surgical masks. Latex gloves. Plastic gowns. Once we were suited up, Dr. Jeffers stopped in front of room 406.

  I froze outside the door, waiting for courage to muscle past my fear. Waiting for Dawson’s gentle hand to touch my face, urge me to open my eyes and reassure me that this was just another bad dream.

  Come on Mercy, wake up. It’s me. It’s just us here, remember?

  But the hand clutched in mine was small. The doctor had tried to prepare Lex for what he might see once we were in the room, yet I’d in no way prepared myself.

  I couldn’t do this.

  The hiss of a breathing apparatus echoed like a steam radiator, jarring me when Dr. Jeffers opened the door.

  I inhaled a deep breath. I clenched my teeth together as I exhaled out my nose.

  I couldn’t do this.

  “Come. On.” Lex dragged out those two words. Not even his impatience spurred me. He tugged at me until I followed him.

  We both stopped at seeing the big man lying in a hospital bed. The gown he wore left his body uncovered from midthigh. I had the overwhelming urge to cover him, knowing he’d hate being so exposed. His feet were encased in socks. I wanted to yank them off. He hated wearing socks to bed.

  I didn’t want to look higher than his feet, but I did.

  Mason was hooked up to machines and IVs, and I heard the respirator’s sucking, wheezing sounds as the machine breathed for him.

  “You can come closer,” the doctor said softly.

  Lex had to jerk hard on my arm to get me to move.

  A bunch of apparatuses surrounded his head, so I knew he was there, but I couldn’t actually see his face. His hands were by his sides. Even in sleep Dawson’s big hands were curled into fists. Or his hands were on me. They were never like this. Flat. Posed. Pale. Artificial-looking. Lifeless.

  Don’t even fucking think that way.

  “Dad?” Lex said. “I know you can’t talk, but I wanted you to know I’m here. Lex. And Mercy.”

  The surgical mask muffled the words, but not the earnestness in them.

  Stay strong. For fuck’s sake, stay strong for this kid.

  I held myself together even when everything inside me was starting to fracture.

  “Mercy?” Lex said. “Don’t you wanna say something to him?”

  I swallowed before I asked the doctor, “Can I touch him?”

  “Briefly.”

  My feet felt encased in cement as I closed the gap to the hospital bed. I ran my latex-covered fingers over his knuckles then up his wrist and thick forearm, stopping when I reached the sleeve of
his hospital gown. I leaned forward. “I love you. And if you don’t want the wrath of a crazy woman on your head, you will pull your stubborn ass through this. You will not leave me alone, goddammit. You will not—” My voice caught. Only through sheer will did I manage not to throw myself on him and weep.

  I turned away. The doctor had left and a young nurse stood beside Lex.

  She looked at me. “I’m sorry. You have to go.”

  Lex shook his head. “I can stay and talk to him. And when he wakes up, I’ll be able to run right out and let you guys know.”

  That’s when my tears fell.

  The nurse squeezed his shoulder. “That’s real sweet of you to offer, but the very best thing you can do right now? Allow your father time to heal.”

  “But they say on TV that people in a coma can hear and stuff. I don’t wanna leave him here. I don’t want him to think that no one cares about him.”

  I tugged Lex against my side, and he burrowed into me. “He knows we care, Lex. I promise, if I thought the doctors were wrong, we’d be bunking in your dad’s hospital room.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  18

  I thought I might have problems staying awake during the drive to the ranch, but I focused on the sunrise. The purple horizon morphed into pink—hues ranging from bubblegum to salmon to cotton candy—finally bleeding into the orange and peach tones of dawn.

  First thing we did after stumbling out of the truck was feed the dogs. Strange to beat Jake to that morning chore.

  Then I started making calls.

  Lex stayed beside me as I gave Deputy Moore the lowdown about Dawson’s condition. She didn’t say much. I realized I probably should’ve called her earlier so she could have filled Mason’s shift. I shut off Dawson’s cell phone and put it in his T-shirt drawer.

  Next I called Hope. I pleaded exhaustion and promised to let her know when we woke up.

  I called Shay last. I needed his gruff demeanor more than sympathy.

  Lex was damn near falling asleep on his feet, so I marched him to his room. He let me tuck him in.

  Too damn wired to sleep, I paced. I sorted laundry. Geneva called to inform me that she’d be over later with food.

  Word got around fast in Eagle River County, and the home phone began to ring off the hook. I appreciated that the sheriff garnered such genuine concern, but it was emotionally draining to have to repeatedly explain what had happened.

  I checked on Lex and finally crawled into bed myself.

  I woke a little after three, not refreshed but grateful for dreamless sleep. I’d left the door unlocked and saw food piled on the table. As I contemplated snatching a cookie, a knock sounded. Shay let himself into the kitchen. Looking around, he took off his coat and draped it over the chair.

  The words Make yourself comfy dried on my tongue.

  I leaned against the doorjamb separating the kitchen and the living room, still in my pajamas.

  His eyes met mine. He seemed at a loss for what to do with his hands. Finally, he said, “Jesus, Mercy. I’m so sorry.”

  I didn’t move. He came to me. Standoffish Shay hugged me. Surrounded by warmth from his body, I hadn’t realized I’d been so cold until I started to shake.

  Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Still, I didn’t cry. Mason would’ve swept me into his arms and held me until the shakes stopped.

  But Shay wasn’t Dawson. He held on to me as long as he could stand it. Then he settled me on a chair, poured me a glass of Wild Turkey, and tersely said, “Drink.”

  I drank. As soon as the glass was empty he poured another.

  At some point I realized Shay had taken my hands while I stared at the second glass of whiskey. One night last year I’d done shots, determined to keep track of how many I could handle before I passed out. Fifteen. It wouldn’t take that many belts right now. Tempting, to test that theory.

  “Mercy?” Shay’s voice snapped me out of my imagined alcoholic stupor. “What have you been doing?”

  “Pacing. Sleeping. Wondering how I’ll get through the next week.”

  “That’s how long …”

  “They’re keeping him sedated? Yeah. It sucks.”

  “I bet.”

  I told him about the limited visiting hours. Five minutes an hour. “It sucks.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I told him about the “wait and see” diagnosis. “It sucks.”

  “Hanging out with an eleven-year-old boy hasn’t done your vocabulary any favors.”

  “You suck.”

  He smiled softly, and then it faded. “Talk to me.”

  “I will go crazy one minute at a time if I don’t have something to take my mind off this.” I’d already felt myself slipping into that deep pit of despair. Questioning why I ever thought I could be happy for any amount of time because something bad always happened and ruined it.

  “What can I do?”

  “Put me to work. I can’t stand around for a week and wring my hands.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.” I inhaled. Exhaled slowly. “Did you work on the cases this weekend?”

  “Some.”

  “Did you get anywhere?”

  “Not really.”

  “I got to thinking that I hadn’t told you about Penny’s son Devlin and his gambling problem. He owes money all over the place, including to Saro, Rollie, and Latimer—”

  “Mercy, stop.”

  Confused, I looked at him.

  “Your focus needs to be elsewhere this week. Not on the cases.”

  “But—”

  Shay shook his head and squeezed my hands. “Don’t try to bury yourself in work. It won’t help. Trust me, I know. You’ve got more important things to deal with.”

  The stairs creaked, and Lex raced into the kitchen, stopping upon seeing Shay sitting so close to me, holding my hands, while I was in my pajamas.

  I eased back. “Hey, Lex, you remember my coworker Shay Turnbull?”

  He shook his head. “Have you heard any news about my dad?”

  “No, I promised I’d wake you up if I did.”

  “So when can we go to the hospital?” His gaze landed on my empty lowball glass. “You haven’t been drinking all day, have you?” He stepped closer, sniffled the air like a human Breathalyzer.

  “I’m fine. We should both eat something before we go.”

  Lex’s mouth turned mutinous. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, I am. So park it. As soon as we eat, we’ll go.”

  “Is he coming with us?” Lex asked suspiciously.

  “Nope. No visitors, remember?”

  Shay took that as his cue to leave.

  I walked him outside. “I appreciate your driving out. I …” I wanted to ask him to stay longer and felt stupid for it.

  “Hey.” He grabbed my hand, forcing my attention. “Anything you need. Anytime, day or night. Call me. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He retreated. “I’ll see if I can arrange for you to help Carsten at the VS office in Eagle River this week.”

  “Thanks.” I watched his Blazer disappear down the driveway before I returned inside.

  I microwaved two helpings of Geneva’s chicken pot pie. Lex finished his in approximately three mouthfuls and was out the door, waiting in the truck, before I swallowed my last bite.

  Usually, I didn’t mind the silence between us, but at this moment, it was choking me. About halfway into town, I asked, “Do you miss your mom?”

  Lex squirmed. “Sometimes. But I like it here better.”

  Another silent void filled the cab. Then the boy started bouncing his feet. He leaned forward, burying his face in his knees and wrapping his arms around his calves.

  “Lex. Are you gonna be sick?”

  A muffled, “No.”

  “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He raised his head. “Why did y
ou ask about my mom? Is it because if my dad’s not all right, you’ll make me go back to Colorado to live with her?”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Because if he’s in a wheelchair, I can take care of him and stuff. I promise I would be a really big help.”

  Don’t cry. “I know.” I set my hand on his shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  • • •

  Monday morning Lex looked up from his bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal when I entered the kitchen. I paused in front of the empty coffeepot. Mason made coffee in the morning. It was just another pointed reminder that he wasn’t here.

  I snagged a Coke from the fridge. I turned around to see Lex frowning at me. “What?”

  “Will they let you wear a gun at the hospital?”

  “No, why?”

  “So why do you have it on?”

  “Because I have to go to work today, and you have to go to school.” His spoon clattered into his bowl. “What? No way. I’m going to the hospital to stay with my dad.”

  “There’s nothing you can do at the hospital.”

  “I can talk to him. You heard that nurse saying he can probably hear us. I want him to know I’m there.”

  “Which is why we’ll visit him after you’re out of school this afternoon.”

  His green eyes, identical to Mason’s, narrowed, and I recognized the look—ass chewing ahead.

  “So you’re just gonna go to work today and forget about him like nothing happened?” Lex demanded. “What if he dies?”

  “Don’t say that,” I snapped. “Don’t you ever say it, let alone think it, do you hear me?”

  Lex dropped his tear-filled gaze.

  Goddammit. I didn’t know how to do this. I probably should’ve hugged him—done anything besides yell at him. I counted to twenty. “Look, Lex, we’re both on edge because we’re worried about your dad. But there’s nothing we can do at the hospital today except get in the nurses’ way. We can only see him for five minutes at a time. He isn’t just gonna wake up, and honestly, that wouldn’t be a good thing anyway. He’d want you in class. He’d want me to go to work and do my job. And we’ll stay at the hospital as long as you want tonight.”