Brett Battles - Sick

Billy pushed past both of them, heading straight for a sink against the wall. “There’s a shower and some gowns back there,” he said to Ash, pointing at a door in the far corner. “When you’re done, come back here and I’ll throw a couple ideas at you.”

Ten minutes later, they were all standing in front of a computer screen on a counter not far from the surgery table.

“If we had time, I’d do a lot more, but for now we need to achieve the biggest change we can with the minimum amount of downtime for you. Now, this is what I was-”

“I don’t care what you do,” Ash said.

“Don’t you want to have some say?”

“I just want my kids back.”

No one said anything for a moment.

Matt gave Ash’s shoulder a pat. “I’ll choose for him.”

Billy looked at Ash, silently asking if that was okay, but Ash said nothing.

The ranch’s doctor shrugged. “All right, then. Let’s mark you up.”

Rachel was sitting next to Ash’s bed when he woke, a book in her lap. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

His whole head throbbed. “I’m fine. What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Evening, or…or morning.”

“Evening. You haven’t been out that long.”

It had been two p.m. when the surgery began, so he’d been unconscious for seven hours. He tried to touch his face, but it seemed to be covered in bandages.

“You’re a mess right now,” she said. “But in a couple of months it’ll all look normal to you.”

He tried to push himself up, but couldn’t. “I can’t…wait a couple of…months.”

“Of course not. We talked about that, remember?”

Did we? Maybe.

“Two days only, and we’ll use that time to get you as prepared as possible.”

Two days also seemed like too long. But what choice did he have? Without the new face, there was no chance he would ever even get close to his kids.

“Do you want to go back to sleep? Or get started?”

“Get started,” he said, his voice still weak.

“Excellent.” She picked up a folder that was on the stand by his bed. “Who are you?”

He squinted at her. “What?”

“You can’t be Captain Daniel Ash anymore, so who are you?”

Now he understood what she meant. A false name. “I don’t care. Anything. John Smith.”

“I think we can do better than that. Besides, you’re not just choosing for yourself, you’re choosing for your kids, too.”

He started to shake his head, but it only made it pound harder. He gave it a few seconds, then said, “Once people know what happened…we can go…back. Be ourselves again.”

She gave him a sad, knowing smile. “I tell you what. Why don’t we just pretend it’s important for right now? Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Sure. Whatever,” he replied, thinking he’d just choose the first name that came to mind. “How about-”

She touched his hand, stopping him. “I have some choices for you.” She opened the folder. “Tell me which one of these grabs you. Tyler Wright, Harold Boyce, Adam Cooper, William Keys, or Samuel Hunter. Anything stand out?”

He honestly didn’t care at all. “The third one,” he said.

“Adam Cooper?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He was silent for a moment. “Because I like the number three.”

She raised an eyebrow, then laughed softly to herself. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged, rifled through the papers in the folder, and pulled one out. “All right, Mr. Cooper. Let’s see exactly who you are.”

Karl Trainer could have just let it go, but he wasn’t that kind of friend. Besides, his route took him near Hector Mendez’s house anyway, so stopping for a quick check to see why his friend hadn’t shown up for work wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

When he got there, the first thing he noticed was Hector’s car still parked out front. He’d been hoping that maybe they’d just missed each other on the highway, and Hector was already at the warehouse. Of course, it could have been that his friend was having car troubles and hadgotten one of his neighbors to drive him in. That would definitely explain why he was late.

Sure, that had to be it.

Karl almost drove off, but, hell, he was here anyway. Might as well check. He went up to the door and knocked.

No answer.

“See? Not home,” he said to himself.

As he took a step off the porch to head back to his rig, the nape of his neck began to tingle.

“Dammit,” he said.

His wife called it his whodoo-voodoo. He’d get it every once in a while, a feeling that something wasn’t right. The feeling itself wasn’t always right, either. Still, there were enough times it was that he’d learned not to completely ignore it.

With an exasperated sigh, he decided to have a look around.

He’d been to Hector’s enough times that he knew its layout. Contrary to most of the houses he’d lived in, the living room in Hector’s place was in the back. Up front were the spare bedroom and the kitchen.

He skipped the window to the spare bedroom because he knew Hector only used it to store his mom’s old stuff, and glanced into the kitchen. There was nothing unusual there. An empty beer bottle on the counter, but what house didn’t have one of those now and then?

Hector’s place was far enough out of town that he didn’t need a fence. So Karl simply moved around the house and looked through the sliding glass door into the living room.

Nobody there. Nothing out of the ordinary. But that damn tingle wouldn’t go away.

He moved along the back to the window that looked in on Hector’s bedroom. The shade was pulled down, but the window was open about four inches so air could get inside.

“Hector?” he called through the gap.

Silence.

“He’s not here,” he said, trying to convince the tingle this was one of those times it was wrong. But it just kept burning away back there, in no apparent hurry to leave.

The screen over the window was loose, so it was a simple matter to pull it out a few inches, slip his hand behind it, and move the shade out of the way so he could take a look.

The room was dark, full of shadows, but the glow from the clock radio on the nightstand was bright enough that Karl could see someone lying on the bed. By the guy’s shape, Karl was all but positive it was his friend.

“Hector, is that you? Buddy, what are you doing? It’s after midnight. Hector. Hector! Wake up.”

Hector didn’t even twitch.

Karl’s first thought was that his friend had had a heart attack. Hector did love his greasy burgers so it wouldn’t be a huge surprise.

“Goddammit. I swear if you’re dead, I’m going to be pissed!”

Not knowing what else to do, Karl pulled the screen all the way off, pushed the window out of the way, and climbed through the opening. There was a dresser just on the other side, and as much as he tried to be careful, he ended up knocking a few things onto the floor before his feet reached the carpet.

“Sorry,” he said automatically.

Hector was lying on his side, facing away from him, so Karl moved around the bed, flicking on the bedroom light as he passed the switch.

It was Hector all right.

Karl put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and was surprised at how cold Hector felt.

“You okay, man?” he said, shaking him.

He touched his friend’s neck, searching for a pulse. But there was nothing.

“Oh, God.”

He was too late. Hector had already passed. As he started to pull his hand back, he noticed a whole pile of tissues, half on the bed, half on the floor below it. Without even thinking about it, he leaned down to take a closer look, then suddenly stopped himself and took a step back.