Michael, Reinvented

by Diana Copland

  “Has the doctor been in?” Manny asked, standing near the door with his hands shoved in his front pockets. He looked miserable as he studied Gil’s battered face.

  “The neurologist said his tests look good. The orthopedist said there’s no indication of infection. Everything seems to be real positive. He just hasn’t woken up.”

  Vern straightened. “Well, he always has been a contrary son of a bitch, so I imagine he will when he’s good and ready. As for you, Hostess, you need to go eat a decent meal and get a good night’s sleep. Emanuel and I will stay until they throw us out at eight. You’ve done enough time in that chair today.”

  Michael’s gaze went back to Gil’s face. “You’ll call me if he wakes up?”

  “First thing, sweetheart. Now get out of here.”

  It was dark when Michael walked out to his car. The days would start getting longer soon, but for now as he walked across the lot, it felt like midnight, and he was tired. Traffic was awful, crawling up the hill. David sent him a text and asked if he could pick up coffee, which he was more than happy to do, but that made him even later. By the time he walked into the house, carrying a bag with coffee, bananas, and a frozen pizza, he was ready for some shitty food and a bed.

  David and Jackson were sitting on the couch, facing one another. Michael paused with the door open, studying their faces. They looked so somber, particularly when they turned to him.

  “What’s wrong?” Fear shot the length of Michael’s spine and his breath grew short. “What happened? Is it Gil? Did Vern call?”

  David stood and quickly came to him, his hands raised. “Relax. We haven’t heard anything. As far as we know, Gil’s the same.”

  “Then”—he looked between them—“what’s wrong, because something is.”

  David looked at Jackson, who sat back, his expression pensive. “Up to you, babe,” he told David.

  David grabbed Michael’s hand and pulled him into the room. “Come here.” He urged him to sit in the rocking chair. “If we discuss this with you, you have to promise to listen and not overreact.”

  Michael looked between the two of them. “Overreact to what?”

  David sat next to Jackson, turning to him. “You spoke with Detective Mitchell. You tell him. I’ll just get the details wrong.”

  Jackson studied his fiancé for a long moment. “Okay.” He turned to Michael, who was watching him, heart thumping uncomfortably hard. “I just got off the phone with Mitchell. You know I met with the police this morning at the site.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve worked with Gil and Vern a lot. I’ve even helped them put up scaffolding more than once. There is no one more careful about how the towers are assembled than Gil. He tests all of it himself, goes over every single plank to make sure there aren’t any weak spots. And if he finds one, he fixes it.”

  “Okay.” Michael frowned. “So?”

  “It seems unlikely,” Jackson went on, “that Gil would miss something that brought down an entire tower.”

  “But the tower fell. I mean, I watched it. It went straight—” Michael stopped, suddenly feeling like someone had punched him in the solar plexus.

  “It did,” Jackson agreed. “It went straight down. If it was a structural defect, that isn’t how it should have fallen. One break wouldn’t have brought the whole thing down. Even if more than one was faulty, it should have leaned, then toppled.”

  Michael felt sick to his stomach. “You think someone tampered with it.”

  Jackson hesitated, then nodded, his expression solemn. “We know someone did.”

  Michael blinked, registering Jackson’s emphasis.

  “I told Mitchell about your description of how the tower went down. It sounded wrong to me. I trust your powers of observation, and I’m sure it happened just the way you said. They’re still looking at it, but it appears the scaffolding was intentionally damaged.”

  “Intentionally damaged… how?”

  Jackson leaned forward, his hands linked between his knees. “It’s hard to explain if you haven’t built scaffolding, but the towers have two areas where they connect. One tower slides into the top of another, creating a seal, and then there are crossarms that connect to pins on the inside of the side poles.”

  “I watched Vern supervising the other guys for a few minutes this morning. I know what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay, good. Once the towers are stable, then the planks can be set in place. I know for a fact that Vern and Gil built the towers first thing yesterday morning. When you told me there was a snapping noise, it sounded like one of the pins broke. But one broken pin wouldn’t have brought an entire tower straight down.”

  “Just tell me.” Michael stuffed his hands, which were suddenly freezing, under his arms. “I know you’re building up to something.”

  Jackson sighed, and David ran his hand down Jackson’s arm.

  “It’s okay,” David murmured.

  Jackson turned to Michael, the corners of his mouth tight. “The crime lab found the tower supports were cut part of the way through in several places, all on the side where Gil tried to climb down. No one would have noticed the damage unless they were specifically looking for it. You haven’t worked on scaffolding before; there’s enough overlap in the bars that unless you knew where to look for the cuts, you wouldn’t see them. The whole thing was set up the day before. None of the guys would assume it was tampered with overnight. There was no one on-site after dark, and the traffic sounds would cover the sound of a saw. According to Vern, Gil had only been up for a few minutes and he’d climbed up on the side that hadn’t been tampered with. When he swung over on the side that had been cut, his weight pulled it off-center, and one of the weakened places failed. It put stress on the others. As he fell, he took the rest of them out.”

  “They’re sure?” Michael asked, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. “That someone did this… on purpose?”

  “Yeah. There were hacksaw cuts in the steel. Richard and Lyle aren’t living in the house yet, but they wouldn’t have heard it anyway. Whoever it was used a handsaw. With the traffic noise in the area, and the back of the house not visible from the street—” He shook his head.

  “They don’t have cameras?” Michael looked between Jackson and David.

  “They don’t. They plan to install some, but the work hasn’t been done yet.” Jackson’s lips tightened into a hard line. “Whoever it is doing this shit isn’t stupid. Mitchell said they had to have staked out the mansion before that night, and knew there were no cameras. It was also a full moon with no cloud cover. They’d have been able to see without even needing a flashlight.”

  The level of sophistication involved was intimidating. This was no petty vandal.

  “Do they think it was the same guy who vandalized this house?” Michael’s heart was racing, fear and adrenaline making his chest tight.

  Jackson gave him a level look. “Mitchell thinks it seems likely, yes.”

  Michael shot to his feet, patting down his pockets, finding his keys and pulling them out.

  “Where are you going?” David asked, frowning as he stood as well.

  “Back to the hospital.” Michael headed for the door.

  “Michael, stop. What good is that going to do?”

  He turned on David. “I’ll be able to keep an eye out. You just told me someone tried to kill him yesterday, didn’t you? The same guy who came after me with a shovel?”

  “They tried to hurt someone from our crew. We don’t know they were targeting Gil.”

  “Even if they weren’t targeting Gil, they were trying to hurt one of us, and they succeeded. Which is why I’m going back.” Michael opened the front door.

  “Michael, they aren’t going to let someone just waltz into the ICU. Besides, they won’t let you on the floor,” David protested. “Visiting hours are over at eight, and it’s quarter to now.”

  “Then I’ll sit in the waiting room watching the fucking door. But I’m going. I�
��m not leaving him alone down there and defenseless.”

  “Goddammit, Michael.” David was so upset he actually stamped his foot. “None of us slept last night, and I know you’re exhausted. You have to sleep.”

  “I don’t.” He knew he sounded unreasonable, and he didn’t care. He felt a little wild and his body trembled. “I need to make sure no one gets to him.”

  “They have security at the hospital. We can call.”

  “Just stop.” Michael glared at him. “I’m going back, so stop arguing with me.” He rushed out through the front door, slamming it behind him, so angry he didn’t even notice no one had followed him until he was in his car and on his way back.

  IT WAS eight twenty when Michael walked back into the hospital. Most of the foot traffic was exiting the lobby, not going in, which was a relief, but he was so determined to get to the fifth floor they’d have had to tackle him to stop him. When he got as far as the ICU waiting room, he began to recognize the flaw in his plan.

  First of all, there was no way for him to get into a room directly across from the nurses’ station without someone noticing him. He glanced down the hallway; the lights were dimmed and the floor was quiet but for the noises of the machines. That hadn’t lessened a bit. A woman with dark hair stood behind the desk at the nurses’ station, and he couldn’t see a way to sneak past her. He turned and went back into the waiting room, flopping into one of the uncomfortable chairs. He’d told David he would watch the door if that was all he could do. Well, apparently, it was all he could do.

  He was soon sorry that in his haste to get there, he hadn’t at least pulled into a drive-thru to get a hamburger on the way downtown. He hadn’t eaten since the popsicles that morning, so busy on his laptop at lunch he hadn’t even noticed his hunger. He yanked another chair over and lifted his feet onto it. He’d text David to bring him drive-thru in the morning. If David was still talking to him, after his flounce from the house. He leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair and rubbed his forehead, trying to think what he could text that might help make David forgive him.

  “Hello.”

  Michael looked up, startled to see the blonde nurse, Pam, from the day before standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, hi.” Michael dropped his feet self-consciously to the floor. “Sorry.”

  She grinned. “You honestly think your feet can hurt one of those chairs?”

  “I doubt World War III could hurt that chair.”

  “So, after the apocalypse, there will be cockroaches and these chairs?”

  “And Cher.”

  She laughed. “Okay, so who is David?”

  Michael blinked in surprise. “David—Snyder?” She nodded, brown eyes sparkling. “My best friend.”

  “I sort of figured that, actually. You see, I just got off the phone with him. He told me you were headed down here and determined to spend the night sitting out here watching the door to the hallway. So, you plan to stay until tomorrow morning, huh?”

  Michael felt his face heat. “Someone hurt him,” he said softly.

  “Gilbert?”

  “Yes. On purpose. They sabotaged some of his equipment, and that’s why he fell. And I can’t just stay at home… not and leave him here alone.” He had to stop talking. His voice had thickened, and he was afraid if he kept going he was going to end up breaking down.

  “Do you really think you could stop them if someone came here and decided to go after him?” Her voice was gentle. That was almost worse than if she’d laughed at him.

  “I have no idea.” He straightened his shoulders. “But I’d damn sure try.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “I like you, Michael. It is Michael, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought that was what David said, but I like to be sure. Anyway, because I liked you when you were here earlier, I went to my supervisor and got permission for you to stay in Gil’s room.”

  Michael stared, able to feel how wide his eyes were. “You liked me? Why?”

  She grinned. “You remind me of my brother. Anyway, she said it’s okay for you to stay.”

  “She can do that?”

  Pam shrugged. “Management wouldn’t love it, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. And it is discretionary. We’re pretty quiet right now. If we get a new case sent up, you’ll have to come back out. Or if for some reason Gil’s condition were to worsen, but that isn’t likely to happen.”

  “You sound so sure.” He knew he sounded needy, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

  “Pretty sure. I’ve been doing this a long time, and Gil’s having no problem holding his own.”

  “But he’s not awake yet.”

  “He will be. Cut the guy a break, Michael. He fell three stories. Takes the brain some time to come back from something like that, but it will.”

  Michael took what felt like the first deep breath he’d managed in hours. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now come on, before my boss changes her mind.”

  Michael stood and followed her. They moved quietly by the open doors to the other rooms. There had been at least six patients that afternoon, but only three of them were occupied now, and it was a lot quieter than it had been. When they arrived at the nurses’ station, the dark-haired woman on the phone looked up, giving him a slight nod.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, hoping she could see his appreciation on his face. She waved him away into Gil’s room with a small smile.

  He walked in, studying all of the equipment. The bellows in the ventilator moved up then down with a rhythmic hiss, and he watched the numbers on the screen across from the bed. Everything looked exactly the same as it had when he left, and he exhaled slowly.

  Pam came around behind him, pushing the recliner from the corner until it was right beside the bed.

  “Here you go. And I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.”

  “Thank you,” he said, meaning it. His stomach rumbled, and he covered it with a sheepish look.

  “And maybe a turkey sandwich?”

  “That would be amazing.”

  She gave him a wink and headed toward the doors, pausing before she walked out. “I don’t know if anyone mentioned it to you earlier, but talk to him. I can’t tell you the number of people who tell doctors they could hear their loved ones while they were comatose. It will make him feel better to know you’re here.”

  Michael carefully curled his hand around Gil’s, and perched on the edge of the chair. “I’m here,” he murmured, squeezing Gil’s hand. “Right here. And it’s time for you to wake the fuck up.”

  Pam returned with the promised blanket and pillow and a turkey sandwich on wheat with a bag of chips. By the time he dug in, his stomach had begun to feel hollow; the food helped a lot. He adjusted the chair until it was closer to the bed, took off his jacket and shoes, then covered his legs with the blanket. He still found it impossible to relax.

  When he’d been there about an hour, and he knew he was overtired and jittery at the thought someone out there had hurt Gil intentionally, he scooted to the edge of the chair, one hand curled around Gil’s fingers. The other moved up and down the bruised skin of Gil’s thick forearm, and he leaned forward, suddenly exhausted, gingerly pressing his forehead against the solid wall of Gil’s shoulder.

  “Pam said to talk,” he began, feeling awkward. “I think she probably meant more than me just telling you I’m here, over and over again.” He lifted his head and studied Gil’s black-and-blue forehead, the bandage that now had some pinkish discharge coming through the gauze. They’d drilled two holes in his head; the thought made Michael shudder. He wanted to fix it, to somehow make it better with the brush of his fingers. It was stupid, but it was how he felt.

  He concentrated on Gil’s long dark brown eyelashes. “It’s been a damned long day and a half, Gilbert,” he started, trying to talk to him as if he were awake. “And by the way, I have a bone to pick with you. Who in their right mind named that saber-toothed tiger you
live with ‘Pixie’? It’s like that neighbor of David’s naming their poor corgi Bootsy. There should be a law that you’re not allowed to humiliate your animals with stupid names. That cat could eat you in your sleep, Gil. You should have been nice and named it something butch, like Clint Eastwood or Bruce Willis.” He smirked. “Although Pixie could be a good drag queen name. With that bushy tail of his, it’s like he carries his own boa. So maybe the name isn’t so bad after all.”

  He shifted his gaze to the hand under his, studying Gil’s nails. There was a spot of gray paint on his thumbnail. “So what else shall we talk about?” He picked at the small gray spot. “This is easier when you’re being a snarky smartass, you know; I’m not much for monologues.” He snorted softly. “I can just imagine what you’d say to that. ‘You’re full of shit, Michael.’” He slipped his fingers between Gil’s thicker, beefier ones. “Sometimes I am full of shit. And so dumb. You must be unconscious if I’m admitting that.” He rested his other elbow on the edge of the bed and leaned his forehead on his hand. “I’m going to tell you something you aren’t allowed to hold over my head later, okay? I’m sorry I kept pushing you away. I didn’t want to. But you scare me, Gil. You really, really scare me.” He clenched his hands around one another. “I guess I have to explain that, don’t I?”

  He thought of the morning he’d wakened safe and secure in Gil’s arms, how right it had felt. How terrified he’d been. How terrified he’d been for five years.

  “I went to the University of Washington. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that, have I? I’m one of those snotty, rich frat brats. And I’m actually the worst of the worst; I’m a legacy brat. Both of my parents went to Washington. My mother was even the president of her sorority. And if you met her, you’d be able to see it all over her, right down to the four-carat rock on her hand and her cultured pearls.” He chuckled, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I think it was the only thing my parents actually expected of me in my life—that I’d go to the U, pledge a fraternity, graduate with honors. Two out of three isn’t bad, right?” His smile faded and he stared at the pattern on Gil’s gown, let his eyes go unfocused. “Or so you’d think.”