by Laura Acton
The three left the room and stood outside observing through the window as the doctor and nurses worked. No one knew what the medical staff did, but after several minutes, they saw the doctor and nurses remove the tubing from Dan’s mouth. One nurse put a non-rebreather oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.
They held their own breath waiting for Dan to take a breath on his own. Loki, Scott, and Erik let out a collective sigh when they saw Dan’s chest rise on its own. Progress. Now Dan needed to wake up.
Branded by Hellfire and Confusion
32
July 28
St. Michael’s Hospital – Room 1030 – 2:00 p.m.
Patch slowly pushed open the door to Blondie’s hospital room and sluggishly entered. He finished his tenth coffee and tossed the paper cup into the trash as he passed it. As he rubbed his gritty sleep deprived eyes, he nodded in greeting to General Broderick, all Blondie’s uncles, and two of his cousins as he. This is larger than a typical hospital room, Patch noted as he scanned the room.
As he went to Blondie’s bedside, he recalled Heather said the hospital converted a few rooms on the tenth floor for use by VIP patients. The room contained only one bed, leaving space for a small round table with four chairs, a couch long enough to sleep on, and two reclining chairs. Nine people could easily lounge around in this room without being crowded.
Patch reached Blondie and squeezed his left bicep as he did every time he visited. “I see more artwork has shown up on your walls. It’s time you wake up so you can see all the lovely pictures everyone drew for you.”
He sighed as he gazed at Blondie’s face. The bruising diminished to only a sickly, faded greenish yellow. The stitches above his right eye had been removed. Patch noted Blondie’s clean-shaven face. “The nurses are taking excellent care of you. Heather’s friend Betty has taken a real shine to you. You attract the ladies even while you’re sleeping. You’ve napped long enough now though. Time to wake up.”
Patch’s head dropped to hide the welling tears. The doctor stopped the sedation days ago, but Blondie had yet to wake. Professionally, he knew waking after such trauma would be a slow process, not an event, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier. Everyone appeared to be wearing down. “I’m back to being a civilian like you.” His voice cracked as a tear slipped out. “I processed out after my interview.” He shuddered thinking about the past three days.
The special investigation unit convened to examine Blondie’s service grilled him for three full days. They wanted all the details of every injury he ever treated Blondie for. Patch hated reviewing six years of Blondie’s pain and injuries. It emotionally exhausted him.
Blondie’s major injuries, those he suffered when tortured, almost blown to smithereens from the artillery strike, and when he was impaled brought up so many terrible memories. The investigators also wanted all the details on the serious ones too. Recollection of when he got poisoned, shot, temporarily paralyzed, nearly choked to death—twice, practically drowned—twice also had him feeling sick to his stomach.
When they showed him the full list of all the other assorted injuries—stab wounds, concussions, lacerations, dislocated shoulders, broken bones, bruised kidneys, dehydration, and the list went on he actually threw up on the list. Major Kenric had been kind and gave him a break to regain his composure after seeing a black and white list of everything his little brother suffered through.
Memories of all the times Blondie had been left on his own by other units—enraged him. Blondie usually came back physically exhausted and on an emotional edge. Living it for six years had been bad enough … they marched through hell together and somehow got through. Those six years forged bonds of brotherhood which would never be broken—ever.
But he needed to put all that behind him—it hurt too much. “Wake up little brother, so we can start to build a new life. We made it through purgatory. Life can be wonderful now. All you need to do is wake up. I’ll be here to help you build a new life. You can always count on me to be in your corner.”
Tears welled as Patch glanced at Blondie’s chest—his life most likely would not be the same. With his medical education, Patch understood what the others didn’t. The probability of Blondie making it back to his TRF job is so close to zero as to be non-existent. Though he didn’t burden the others with his knowledge because Blondie had beat the odds before—many times.
William stood and went to Patch. He patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry for what you went through the past few days. Grueling.”
Patch wiped his eyes, embarrassed crying in front of Blondie’s family. They were stoic and formidable men.
William saw the red creep into Patch’s face. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Real men feel emotions and express them.”
Patch snorted, caught by the irony. “Are you a real man? Do you cry, sir?”
A lopsided grin crossed William’s face. “Between you and me, yes, in private. But I have a job to do. So as the general, no, I’m just badass.”
Laughter erupted from the other Brodericks in the room.
Patch grinned. “Your secret is safe with me, sir.”
Afghanistan – Unit Barracks – 11:30 p.m. (3:00 p.m. Toronto)
Sergeant Murchadh-Ailpein Srònaich O’Naoimhín entered his barracks and noted none of his men were here. They must still be at the bar. The thought relieved him—it gave him some alone time to get sorted out before he had to face his men. Mason sunk down on his bunk and glanced around.
He sighed as his eyes landed on what used to be Blondie’s bunk. Pain so deep clenched his heart. He had no friggin clue what was going on. His unit was yanked from their mission at the last moment two days ago and told to report to the interrogation rooms. He spent the last two days in one room being hounded about his time in Blaze’s unit.
The investigator wouldn’t tell him why. He only badgered him with questions wanting excruciating details. Mason dropped his eyes down and studied his hands. Alone now, he released his pent-up tears.
Mason clenched his jaw tightly. These hands, his hands … he could never do enough to make amends to Blondie. The lieutenant colonel was relentless as he questioned him about the Humvee incident. The barrage of accusatory questions came flooding to mind.
Do you want to kill him? Are you sure you don’t harbor resentment towards him because he is the general’s son? Why did you hit him so many times? Were you upset you didn’t kill him? Did anyone direct you to kill him?
Growling out his frustration, Mason stood and went to the closest locker. His fists pounded into the metal. He would no more deliberately try to kill Blondie as he would try to kill his sisters Cala, Nan, or Em. Blondie is the little brother he always wanted. It hurt so deep to accept he almost killed him with his bare hands after the Humvee hit the IED.
“Where the hell are you, Blondie? What the hell is going on?” Mason shouted as he repeatedly punched the locker with all his might making substantial dents in the metal.
Blaze and Winds halted scarcely inside the barracks and witnessed Mason destroy the locker with his fists. They wanted to stop him, but it was suicide to get between Mason and his fists when he is in Highland Warrior mode as Brody had dubbed it years ago. They waited for Mason to tire and when the punches slowed, they moved forward.
Mason leaned his head on the dented locker. He couldn’t stop the sob which escaped. “Blondie, where are you? I miss you, little brother.”
“Toronto,” Blaze said softly.
Mason spun around. “What?”
Blaze reached up and laid a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Blondie is in Toronto. I’ve been trying to hook up with you for days now, but we were busy. Just like you.”
“Blondie is in Toronto? How do you know?” Mason asked dumbfounded as he sunk to the floor with his back against the ruined locker.
Winds sat down next to Mason. “Patch found Blondie, we air-evac him.”
Mason’s confusion grew as he studied Blaze. “Tell me what’s going on.”
&n
bsp; Blaze squatted in front of Mason. “That’s why I’m here. It’s a long story, and you’re not gonna like it.”
“Is Blondie okay? He’s alive, right? You air-evaced him. Please tell me my little brother is alive,” Mason begged, his voice choked with emotion.
“Yes, he’s alive. Let me tell you everything we know starting from when we pulled him out of the ravine on July fifteenth.” Blaze launched into the full story, leaving no detail out.
Mason stared at Blaze and Winds when they finished. He had trouble believing them. General Broderick didn’t want to kill Blondie? The general loved Blondie? Major Plouffe orchestrated it all?
His fists itching to plow into Plouffe’s face, Mason said, “I can believe it about Major Puffy and Murphy. Wish we had killed Murphy instead of only giving him the blanket party. Merrill, well, that one shocks the hell out of me. The odd little man is an assassin for hire?”
“Looks that way.” Blaze then asked, “Why were you beating up the locker?”
Mason gazed at his knuckles—reddened and hurting. His head dropped to his chest, and his voice quiet, “They asked if I deliberately tried to kill Blondie in the Humvee. I couldn’t believe they asked me something like that. Now I understand.” He lifted his head. “Were you interrogated?”
Winds blew out a long breath. “Yeah, they were at me for three days. One guy wanted to know why I would order Blondie to take meds which could compromise him and the rest of us on a mission.”
Blaze sternly said, “It was the right call at the time. Don’t second guess yourself. None of us knew how he would react. If the kid had been more forthcoming, you would’ve made a different decision. We all learned from that time.”
Mason chuckled. “Yep. Blondie and pain meds don’t mix well. Good thing we had Patch. He sorted it all out, so we didn’t have problems going forward. I’d say Patch is the first one after Brody to earned Blondie’s trust.”
“Yeah, but Blondie still kept secrets from us. Sara. I can’t believe we didn’t know about his little sister,” Winds said.
Blaze breathed in deeply. “We all have things in our pasts which are painful. I don’t talk about my parent’s death—nor Daphy’s. Doesn’t mean I don’t trust you all. Just too painful.”
The three nodded their heads as Blaze said, “I could use a cold beer.”
Mason stood. “So, Blondie, he’s gonna make it?”
Winds grinned. “He is gonna make it—he is Dantastic!”
St. Michael’s Hospital – Tenth Floor Nurse Station – 4:00 p.m.
Betty glanced up from her paperwork at the sound of the elevator and noticed a very young woman exit after General Broderick. The woman held the hand of the cutest golden-blond haired, blue-eyed little boy who clutched a small toy car. As the general headed toward Dan’s room, Betty focused on the unknown woman carrying a bag and following the general.
Due to security measures, visitors to all patients other than Dan on this floor had to be logged in at the nurse’s desk. The nurses recognized everyone allowed to visit Dan—this woman isn’t one of them.
Betty stood and called out, “Miss, you need to sign in. No visitors are allowed on this floor without signing in.”
Brandi stopped and turned to the nurse. She put on a smile and tried to fake her way through this. Brandi hated to lie, and her teeth toyed with her top lip as she thought about what to say. She had followed the general up to the floor. She knew it was wrong, but when the receptionist in the lobby informed her Dan isn’t receiving visitors, she couldn’t stop herself. Timidly, Brandi said. “I forgot what room Dan is in. Can you remind me?” Brandi hoped the nurse would give her the room number.
Betty went on immediate alert wondering what the bag contained, but she plastered on a fake smiled and said, “Wait here a moment, I’ll go see if he is up to having visitors at the moment.”
“Thanks.” Brandi loosened her grasp on Dillion so he could sit on the ground and play with his toy car. It was his favorite toy—his first toy—the one Dan gave him.
Hurrying to Dan’s room, Betty popped her head in and found the general, Scott, Bram, and Ray. They had a changing of the guard since the last time she checked on Dan. “Sir, there is a young woman at the desk asking about Dan. She has a little boy with her and is carrying a brown paper sack. I thought I should tell you. Should I have security escort her out?”
William stood with Bram and Scott. They headed to the door as Ray said, “I’ll stay with Dan.” Ray positioned himself between Dan and the door.
Bram nudged the armed patrol officer and said, “Come with us. It may be nothing, another fan, but to be on the safe side.” As they walked the long corridor to the nurse’s station, Bram thought the woman is probably another one of the Dan Fans as Loki dubbed them.
Women came out of the woodwork lately. A few claimed to be Dan’s girlfriend or fiancée and wanted to visit him. Most were a little touched in the head Bram thought. Dan’s picture had been on the news with the gang war, and the video of Dan taking little Sara to her mom endeared him in the hearts of many ladies. So the crazies out there latched on to him.
But not all crazy. The outpouring of support resulted in the hospital being inundated with flowers, goodie baskets, and cards for Dan. The general directed all the gifts be distributed to patients without families to brighten their days. The cards and letters, if appropriate—some were too suggestive, were taped to Dan’s wall so when he woke up, he had tangible evidence of how many people wished him a speedy recovery.
Bram’s heart beat with pride as he thought Allie and the rest of his girls were the most prolific well-wishers. Every day he visited Dan, he had another three or ten drawings to hang up so, in Allie’s words ‘When Prince Charming wakeded up from his nap he knows we loves him.’
Loki referred to Dan as Sleeping Beauty trying to bring humor into something which is difficult for them all. Last night, Loki teased Lexa she should kiss Dan so he would wake up. To everyone’s surprise, Lexa replied ‘according to Loki I’m not into the macho, all brawn and no brain, he-man types. My type is sleek, finely tuned, and intelligent Italian Stallions.’
When Lexa puckered her lips and rushed over to Loki to kiss him, Loki screamed and ran to hide behind Ray. Bram thought the whole room would die of laughter at their antics, they sure lightened the mood last night. Approaching the nurse’s desk, his attention turned to the young woman. She seemed vaguely familiar.
William approached the woman, but his eyes landed on a little golden-haired boy playing with a toy car on the floor at her feet. For a moment, he had a flash of Danny playing with his cars on the floor. He guessed the little boy is between eighteen and twenty-four months old. When the boy glanced up, he saw sapphire blue eyes, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
Scott continued forward focused on the woman. She seemed awfully young to be one of the Sinner’s conquests. “Miss, how do you know Dan?”
Dillion’s eyes went wide, and he left his toy on the floor. His little feet flew as he ran to Scott calling out excitedly, “Da, Da, Da.”
Scott, William, and Bram froze.
Dillion wrapped his little arms around Scott’s leg. “Da, play, Da, up. Up.”
At the shocked look on the man’s face who was a duplicate of Dan, Brandi hurried forward. “Oh, my gosh, you … Dan. I didn’t realize he had a twin.” She pulled Dillion of the man’s leg. “He must think you’re Dan.”
William’s mind registered all she said. His eyes never left the boy. Do I have a grandson? Does Daniel have a family? The woman didn’t look older than seventeen. His eyes went to her left hand—it was empty, no wedding band. Did Daniel … no, his son wouldn’t do that to a young girl. But little boy … the facial features aren’t Broderick, but the golden hair and those blue eyes are exactly like Daniel’s. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m General Broderick, Daniel’s father. What’s your name, miss?”
Brandi’s insides whirled facing such a formidable man. She chewed her bottom lip a moment tr
ying to hold on to Dillion as he fought to get back to the man he believed is Dan. “Brandi and this little rascal is Dillion.”
“What brings you to see my son?” William asked.
Feeling a little intimidated, Brandi stepped back a few paces. “I um … um … I wanted to see how he is doing. I know I shouldn’t be here. I don’t really know him too well. It’s just I … well I …”
Dillion cried out, “Da, Da, Da” as his little hands reached for Scott.
William broached the subject he didn’t want to address, but at the boy’s cries, he had to. “Is Daniel Dillion’s father?”
Brandi’s eyes flew open with surprise. Then she burst out laughing. “No. No. No, Dan isn’t Dillion’s father. Why would you …” She realized what Dillion was saying. Amusement in her voice she said, “Dillie can’t say Dan yet. He tries, but it comes out da.”
William sighed with relief, but also with a little sadness. It would’ve been wonderful to have a grandbaby—Yvonne would’ve loved it.
Scott chuckled.
Bram patted Scott’s back. “That trouble with twin thing almost got you a sweet little boy.”
He turned back the young woman, and it came to Bram where he had seen her before. “Dan caught the guy who stole your purse near last Thanksgiving.”
Brandi recognized the officer, his size hard to forget. “Yeah, he did. You guys weren’t too nice to him. Did you know he hurt his shoulder? All the bald officer did is yell at him. Because of Dan, Dillion didn’t go hungry. The last of my money was in my purse and was needed to get Dillion formula.”
Bram’s eyes flicked away feeling shame. He redirected to Brandi and said, “Yes, we found that out. I’m sorry we behaved poorly. We’ve come a long way since then. What are you doing here?”
Brandi held up the paper bag. “Gladys made Dan his favorite cookies. In the bag are also cards from everyone at the Mayfield. We all hope Dan gets better quickly. We miss him at the soup kitchen.”