M Sellars - Miranda

“It’s a cheeseburger, Constance. I’m pretty sure they would revoke my membership to the man club if I did that.”

She shook her head. “You really have been hanging out with Ben too much.”

I decided that I was simply going to have to dive in and take my chances. Still, as a precaution I tucked my napkin into my shirt collar to form a makeshift bib, then finally managed to get my hands around the sandwich and haul it up from the plate.

Constance chuckled as she joked, “Should I flag down the waiter and ask for extra napkins?”

“Now you sound like Felicity,” I said.

“Well, she did tell me to look after you.”

“Did she teach you any Gaelic?” I asked. “Then I’d feel right at home.”

“Maybe I should call her and ask for a lesson or two.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to oblige.”

I returned my attention to the mammoth burger. All of my smashing at least allowed me to take a bite but not without a significant amount of struggle involved in actually getting my mouth around it. Of course, a side effect of the manhandling also produced a bit of a mess, just as I’d expected, most of which I was able to contain over the plate. However, some of it still ended up accenting my shirtsleeve, not to mention my face.

I laid the burger back onto the plate and began cleaning the catsup and such from my chin. Constance grinned at me, shaking her head before once again stabbing at her bowl full of healthful greens. I continued chewing while stifling my own urge to laugh.

The cheeseburger actually did taste as good as it had looked on the menu. Unfortunately, my enjoyment of it ended with that first bite because when I swallowed I felt a quick stab of pain along the side of my neck. What made it even worse was the fact that the stinging sensation was too familiar for words.

A swath of panic instantly rushed over me as I winced and reached upward, feeling around with my fingers. The burning sensation gave way to a tingling discomfort. When I pulled my hand away and looked, it was wet and smeared bright red. The light fixture over our table instantly bloomed, casting everything in a stark contrast of washed out colors and hard shadows.

Constance’s voice echoed in my ears. “You missed some, Rowan.”

I tried to look at her as a gelid chill penetrated my skin, leaching directly into my bones.

“How did you manage to get catsup on your…” Her voice rattled in my head again but stopped with a sudden yelp, leaving the question to dangle, unasked.

The room began to spin, and I pushed my hands against the edge of the table in an attempt to stop myself from sliding downward, but to no avail. I had already begun pitching sideways as darkness slipped in to replace the garish light.

I could feel pressure against my neck as I heard Constance, shouting the command, “Call 9-1-1. NOW!” Her voice was no longer jovial. It was authoritative and controlled but still couldn’t hide the twist of fear that corkscrewed through its tone.

As consciousness slipped away, I was certain I could hear Miranda laughing.

“Have you traveled out of the country recently?” the paramedic asked as he took my pulse.

“No,” I replied. The word was muffled by the oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth, so I shook my head for good measure.

“Have you been in contact with anyone who has recently traveled abroad, or have you…”

“No,” I replied again, cutting him off. This time I pulled the oxygen mask down away from my face. “And before you…”

“Sir, you need to leave that on.” He interrupted me and tried to move the mask back over my nose and mouth, but I pushed his hand away.

I continued with my objection. “Look, I know where you’re going with this, and I understand, believe me. But, you’re wasting your time. I haven’t contracted any virus, and I’m not contagious.”

“Sir, you don’t have any visible wounds, and…”

“…And I just bled all over the place, yeah, I know. Listen, just give me a minute here…”

Leaning to the side and looking past him, I moved on to a more pressing issue as I directed myself to Constance, “Do me a favor… Call Felicity and check on her…” I could hear the thread of near panic starting to unwind through my own voice, so I was certain she could too. “Make sure she’s still okay.”

“I’m sure she is,” she said, shooting me a puzzled look.

“Just call her and check for me, please?” I appealed. “Miranda has something to do with this, I’m certain of it.”

She nodded as she pulled her cell phone from her belt. “Okay. But don’t worry, I’m certain she’s fine.”

I nodded. “I know, but I just need to be sure.”

“You realize she’s going to want to know why it’s me calling instead of you, right? What do you want me to tell her?”

“The truth I guess. She’ll know if you’re lying to her.”

“Great,” she mumbled as she stabbed in the number. Then she tucked the phone up to her ear while wandering a few feet to the side so as to be removed from the commotion surrounding me.

I couldn’t hear what she was saying because her voice was drowned out by the paramedic once again insisting that I keep the oxygen mask in place. However, I watched her until she turned back to face me. Once she waved and gave me a vigorous nod, I relaxed as much as I could and allowed the poking and prodding to continue.

We were still in the hotel restaurant, with me sitting in a chair at the center of the mess. The scant few patrons who had earlier been enjoying a late lunch were long gone. That was understandable, of course. After all, the sight of a man bleeding profusely all over a table tended to have a dampening affect where appetites were concerned. Since the dining area was temporarily closed by the management, the only gawkers present were the wait staff, and they were at least keeping their distance.

“Follow my finger,” the paramedic instructed, holding his gloved digit in front of my face.

I’d been down this road so many times I suspected I could conduct the examination for him. It seemed as though every time I became involved in an investigation, I ended up in the back of an ambulance or sitting in an emergency room, whether I needed treatment or not. Still, I complied with the instruction then continued to sit quietly while he took my vitals for the second time.

“BP one-forty over ninety,” he called out to his partner.

“See,” I mumbled through the oxygen mask. “I’m fine.”

“That’s actually a little to the high side of normal, sir,” he replied.

“Especially for a guy who just bled all over the place, right?”

“There’s an explanation for…”

“I know there is,” I interrupted, voice still muffled but taking on a harder edge. “It’s because I’m starting to get really annoyed with all this.”

“Just calm down, Mister Gant.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Right.”

A few moments later I heard Constance say, “Rowan. Look up here at me.”

I brought my face upward, and the deceptively bright strobe of the small flash on her cell phone flickered in my eyes. At the same time, the electronically produced noise of a clicking camera shutter sounded in my ears.

I pulled the mask down again over the further objections of the paramedic and asked, “What’s that for?”

“It’s a compromise,” she said, eyes focused on her cell phone screen instead of me as she rapidly thumbed the keypad. “I’m messaging it to your wife as proof that you’re okay, so she doesn’t buy herself a ticket on the next flight she can find.”

“But she sounded okay, right?”

“Other than worried sick about you, yes. She says she’s fine.”