Brett Battles - Every Precious Thing

The parking lot of The Hideaway was small, and had been packed when he arrived, so he’d had to park along the side of the road a block away. When he got to his car, he unlocked the driver’s door and pulled it open.

“You’re looking for Sara?”

Pep turned. The voice had come from down the gap between two abandoned buildings, but it was too dark to see anyone.

“Who’s there?” he called out, instantly alert. He’d only been showing Sara’s picture, not giving out her name.

“I…I know where she is.”

“Tell me who you are,” Pep said.

“I can’t. They’ll kill me if they find out I’m here.”

“Who’ll kill you?”

“Never mind. I…I shouldn’t have…shouldn’t have come.”

Footsteps moved toward the back of the building, quickly fading to nothing.

Pep ran after them. “No. Wait. Please, just tell me where she is. I need to-”

The board hit him square in the face, twisting him to the ground. Immediately, someone jumped onto his back, holding him down and hitting him in the ribs and head and kidneys. Stunned by the initial blow, he could do little to fight back.

“Stop looking for her,” a voice whispered in his ear as the world started to close in on him.

Then another blow, and another.

If the voice said anything more, Pep didn’t hear it.

Logan’s eyes snapped open.

His phone was vibrating loudly against the nightstand, smacking against the hard surface. At home, a small tablecloth covered his stand, dulling the noise. That was definitely not the case here. He might as well have turned the ringer on.

He snapped it up and tapped the ACCEPT button.

“Hello?”

“Sorry to wake you.” It was Dev.

Logan swung his feet off the bed, and glanced at the clock next to where the phone had been. It was 3:42 a.m. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Pep.”

Pep? It took Logan a second, then he remembered-Pep, the man who Dev had arranged to check out Braden. “Did he find her?”

“He’s in the hospital.”

“Hospital? What happened?”

“I just got off the phone with a nurse a few minutes ago. Said Pep had asked her to call me. Apparently someone beat him up outside a bar. She tells me he wasn’t drunk. Pep, I mean. The other guy-they don’t know who he was.”

“Did you get a chance to talk to him?”

“No. But apparently he said he’d been showing a picture around.”

Sara’s picture.

“I’m heading out there, but it’s going to take me a good six hours at least,” Dev said.

The hotel where Logan, Harp, and Barney were now staying was in Laguna Beach. At this time of night, they could probably reach Braden in about half the time.

“We’ll meet you there,” Logan said.

By the time Logan was able to get Harp and Barney up and out the door, it was after four, so they didn’t reach Braden until a quarter after seven. Even at that early hour, it was easy to tell the day was going to be a scorcher. Already the temperature was north of ninety-five degrees.

As they drove into town, they caught a glimpse of the Colorado River to the east, its wide, blue stripe at odds with the brown landscape that surrounded it. The city limits sign listed the town’s population at 4,763. There was nothing gaudy or fancy about the place, just a working-class town full of people struggling to carve out an existence from one of the harshest environments on the planet. It wasn’t a place Logan would ever choose to live-not a judgment, just an observation.

Following the instructions from the GPS on his phone, they exited I-40 and made their way to the Braden City Medical Center. Like the town itself, it was small-three one-story structures connected by covered walkways. The buildings were made of tan concrete blocks, textured on the outside to give them a rough-hewn look, and were surrounded by low-impact desert landscaping.

The hospital’s lobby was about the size of Dunn Right’s garage back home. Behind a counter along the far wall were two nurses and an older woman who appeared to be the receptionist.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked as they walked up.

“Thank you, yes,” Logan said. “A friend of ours was brought in last night. Chris Pepper?”

Without even looking at her computer screen, she said, “Was he the one who was in that fight?”

“That’s what we understand.”

“We don’t approve of drunks in our town.”

“I was told he wasn’t drunk.”

She gave him a pitiful you-can’t-believe-everything-you-hear look. “He was near a bar.”

Logan forced a smile. “Is it possible to see him?”

She was shaking her head before he even finished. “You’ll have to come back. Visiting hours don’t begin until eight.”

He’d been afraid of that. “Is there at least a way to find out how he’s doing? We’ve driven for several hours to get here.”

Looking doubtful, she said, “Have a seat, and I’ll check.”

“Thank you.”

They found chairs not far away.

“I don’t like her attitude,” Harp said.

“Sometimes people get set in their ways,” Logan said. “Only see the things they want to see.”

Both Harp and Barney stared at him.

“Are you talking about old people?” Barney asked.

“We’re not the only ones who can get set in our ways,” Harp added.

Logan scoffed. “Did I say anything about old people?”

“It was implied,” his father argued.

A grunted laugh escaped Logan’s mouth. “Whatever you want to believe, Dad.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the door to the left of the reception counter opened, and a woman wearing a white doctor’s coat exited. She was short, with blonde hair and tired-looking eyes that Logan guessed meant she was closer to the end of her shift than the beginning. When she glanced at the receptionist, the older woman nodded toward Logan and the others.

“I understand you’re friends of Mr. Pepper’s, is that correct?” she asked as soon as she drew near.

All three stood.

“Yes,” Logan said.

She held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Ramey.”

“Logan Harper.” They shook. “This is my dad, Harp, and our friend, Barney Needham.”

“Barney’s a doctor, so don’t hold back,” Harp told her.

“Harp!” Barney said.

“Dad!” Logan chimed in at the same time.

“What?” Harp asked.

Logan took a breath, then said to the doctor, “How is he?”

“Better than when he came in. He’s got two broken ribs, a fractured cheek, numerous cuts and bruises. He definitely didn’t come out the winner.”

“What about the other guy?” Logan asked.

“As far as I know, the police are still looking for him.”

“Was he drunk?” Harp asked, his eyes flicking toward the receptionist.

She hesitated. “Typically, that would be confidential, but I don’t think it would be a problem to tell you he had no trace of alcohol or drugs in his blood.”

“So he wasn’t drunk,” Harp said.

“No. He wasn’t.”

Harp looked at the receptionist again, his eyes hard and narrow. “You should tell your staff that so they’ll stop making false accusations.”

The doctor looked back at the woman, sighed, and turned to Harp. “I’ll have someone talk to her.” Her tone made it sound like this wouldn’t be the first time.

“I know visiting hours aren’t for a while yet,” Logan said, “but is there any chance we can see him now? We came straight here the moment we arrived in town.”

Dr. Ramey considered it, then nodded. “Sure. For a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Logan said.

“This way.”

As she led them to the door, the receptionist looked over with both surprise and disapproval. Harp stared back at her, then said in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, “He wasn’t drunk.”