Sylvie Kurtz - Remembering Red Thunder

“You’re not even trying to figure this out,” Tad said.

“I told you. I don’t remember.” The monitor took another leap and a nurse came in. He saw a syringe in her hands and a fresh wave of terror swept through him. With the drugs, he would be helpless, a bit of debris tossed about with no control. The images would drown through him again.

“No drugs.” He grabbed at the IV line. “I’ll rip it right out. No drugs.”

“Your vitals are off the chart, Mr. Conover. This will help calm you down.”

Chance dragged in a long breath, then another. Sweat soaked him from head to toe. “I’m calm. The deputy irritated me, but he’s leaving now. I’m fine. No drugs.”

The nurse looked at Tad. “Maybe it would be best if you left.”

Hat still in hand, Tad nodded. “I’ll be back.” His boots squeaked to the slow rhythm of his departure.

“Now,” the nurse said as she reached for the IV, “why don’t you let me look at that line and make sure you haven’t knocked anything out of kilter?”

“Take it out,” he ordered.

The nurse clucked at him. “I can’t do that without a doctor’s order.”

“I’m leaving,” he said, and started to sit up.

She snorted her disagreement. “And where would you go? You don’t even know where you live.”

“But I do.”

They both turned at the gentle, yet insistent voice. The woman from last night stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the doorknob, the other holding a bag. He couldn’t recall her name, but something about her presence sang through him.

She was small, nothing outstanding. All of her features were soft, almost invisible against the pale walls. But her eyes stood out like beacons, warm and welcoming. They were wide, bluer than a summer sky, and had a hypnotic quality to them that kept his gaze riveted and had his throat going dry.

“Do you want to come home with me?” Her eyes were earnest. Her body was braced to handle whatever answer he gave her.

She’d cried for him. She’d said she loved him. She’d told him she wouldn’t let him forget. He’d wanted to hang on to that promise. But promises were brittle. They broke like branches on the river and left you drifting still holding on to the thing that had let you down.

Now she was offering him a way out, another scrap of hope.

“Yes.”

A whoosh escaped her. Then she went into action, striding past the nurse and standing between them.

“I’m signing him out now.” The straight posture of her body dared the nurse to walk through her. If he’d had to take odds, he’d have placed them on the small woman’s determination even given the nurse’s fifty-pound and five-inch advantage. Did he deserve that fierce loyalty?

“That’s against regulations. The doctor—”

“Said there was nothing physically wrong with Chance. There’s no reason to hold him.”

“Dr. Benton—”

“Isn’t the admitting physician.”

The woman glanced at him over her shoulder. Her blue eyes revealed a mixture of soul-stirring warmth and utter sadness. “He’s my husband. I’m taking him home where he belongs.”

He got his wish; he was getting out of this nightmarish place. But as the nurse slipped the IV needle out of his arm, he swallowed hard.

He would be leaving with a woman who was almost as disturbing as the images flashing through his mind.

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