M Sellars - Miranda

Constance had apparently just turned back around to hand me the cup when the tremor began.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Rowan?” she asked, arching an eyebrow upward as she watched me shake.

“I guess so,” I said. “I think maybe I’m just feeling a chill.”

She nodded. “Okay. That makes sense. They keep it pretty cold in hospitals. I had chills too when I was laid up. Let me see about getting you an extra blanket.”

“Thanks,” I told her.

I was still tensing my body against the sudden cold, and my abdomen was starting to announce its displeasure with me because of it. Constance abandoned the cup to the tray and stepped out the door of the room. The moment it opened, I could hear the scratchy buzz of a radio, probably coming from the nurse’s station. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were listening to, but it sounded like it might be some kind of round-table talk show. Whoever the guests were, however, they didn’t seem to care if they talked over the top of one another. Fortunately, it was out there and I was in here, so it wasn’t as annoying as it could have been.

A minute or so later, Constance was back at the bedside, and a nurse carrying a blanket came through the door shortly afterward. The strain on my muscles was now squeezing the nerves in my neck, so the ache was crawling across my scalp and leeching into my skull. Of course, in comparison to my old norm where headaches were concerned, this one was an amateur with no skill.

“How are you feeling this evening, Mister Gant?” the nurse asked as she began to unfold the pre-warmed cloth on top of me.

“Okay, I guess,” I said, teeth chattering a bit. “A little cold, obviously.”

She nodded as she continued tucking the blanket around me. “That’s not unusual.” She shot me a smile and then leaned a bit closer and adopted a faux confidential tone. “I’m always cold around here too. I even keep a sweater here all year ‘round.”

When finished, she turned and gave the vitals monitors a once over then directed herself to me once again. “Okay, well my name is Anastasia. I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier because you were still asleep, but I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Is there anything you need right now?”

I shook my head as I consciously tried to soak in the warmth of the blanket. “No, I don’t think so.”

She gave the morphine pump a quick check. “It looks like you’re okay there. How is your pain this evening?”

“Not bad,” I answered. “Although, I am starting to get a bit of a headache.”

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad I don’t guess. I don’t really know.”

“Well, how would you rate the pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“Maybe a high seven,” I replied.

She raised an eyebrow. “A high seven? I thought you said it wasn’t that bad?”

“I know…I know… But I’m sort of used to them being more like a twenty-five with occasional attacks of fifty or better.”

She chuckled, but I didn’t bother to point out to her that I wasn’t joking. I really didn’t feel up to inventing an explanation at the moment, and the real one certainly wouldn’t do. Especially if my in-laws were trying to have me declared incompetent so that they could take over the decisions about Felicity’s treatment. The last thing I needed to do was provide them with a witness who would testify that I qualified as delusional.

“I think we can probably get you something for that,” Anastasia told me. “Let me check with the doctor just to be sure, and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Once the nurse had exited, Constance cocked her head and watched me carefully. After a short pause she said, “That came on pretty quickly, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, pushing out a heavy sigh.

The high seven had now progressed into a solid eight and seemed to be on the climb. It was still nothing by my usual standards, but it was definitely enough to let me know it was there. I looked past Constance and noticed the door had been left ajar, which explained why I could still hear the drone of the radio talk show wafting in from the nurses station. It seemed a bit louder now, and it was starting to annoy me.

“I wish they would…” I began.

Before I could finish the thought, a light rap of knuckles sounded against the door, and it slowly swung inward. Ben followed it and came cautiously through the opening.

“Hey, Kemosabe,” he said.

“Yo, Tonto,” I replied, teeth chattering slightly.

He strode over and gave Constance a light squeeze on her shoulder, but that was as far as he took the semi-public display of affection.

“We’re takin’ a break upstairs,” he said. “So just thought I’d come down and check on ya’.” He looked me up and down then said, “No offense, Row, but you ain’t lookin’ so good.”

I was certain he had a valid point. The solid eight had very quickly advanced to a twelve with little ceremony or warning, and it was still on the move. I grimaced but brushed off his comment and went straight for a question of my own. “How’s the interview going?”

He shook his head. “Right now, it ain’t.”

“I thought the victim was stable and alert?” Constance said.

“Yeah, he’s stable, I guess,” he replied. “And he’s awake, but I’m not so sure about alert. They got ‘im pretty drugged up, not that I can fault ‘em for that. He’s pretty tore up. But that ain’t the real problem.”

“Then what is?” Constance asked.

Ben hadn’t closed the door, so it was now hanging wide open. It wouldn’t have mattered except that someone had again turned up the volume on the radio out at the nurse’s station, and the frenetic talk show was now blaring through the opening. However, I still couldn’t make out what was being said because it seemed the host and all of the guests were stuck in a free-for-all with no regard for any type of order.

Ben shook his head in disgust and then proceeded to explain, “Fuckin’ bitch did somethin’ to his eyes, which is prob’ly why he was wanderin’ in the middle of a street when they found ‘im. Doc says he might regain part of his vision, but right now they’re all bandaged up.” He shrugged and then added, “And, of course, on toppa that she cut off all ‘is damn fingers.”

“What’s that…” I started then shook my head and changed course mid-sentence while nodding at the door. “Ben, could you please shut that?”

He gave me an odd glance then stepped over and pushed the door closed as he said, “Yeah, sure.”

The blare of the talk show didn’t stop. If anything, it became a little louder still.

“Is something wrong, Rowan?” Constance asked.

“That damn radio,” I said. “I wish they’d turn it down.”

“What radio?” she asked.

“You can’t hear that?” I replied, giving my head a shake.

Ben backed her up. “There ain’t a radio playin’, white man, trust me. This is the quietest floor in the whole damn place.”

The twelve had now become an eighteen, and a sharp stab of pain lanced from the base of my skull and directly into my frontal lobes. I winced and closed my eyes as my whole body tensed, which in turn set off the pain in my abdomen once again. Even under the warmth of the multiple blankets I became ice cold, and I felt the intense prickling of every hair on my body standing to rapt attention.

“Jeezus, Row, you definitely ain’t lookin’ good now,” Ben observed. “I think we need ta’ call the nurse.”

“Why the fingers?” I asked, pushing the question out through clenched teeth.

I didn’t quite understand why I so desperately felt the need to know the answer, but it was more than a mere curiosity. It had literally taken on an unearthly urgency. For some reason, in my mind, it seemed as if my very life depended upon hearing it.