Part 35
The captain watched the retreating figure of Lyam Ryan in grim silence. Harry shuddered as the cold threat from the angry father replayed in his mind, wincing in pain from the involuntary movement.
The doctor's voice brought Harry's attention back to the present. "I've already talked to a colleague of mine about working with Sergeant Ryan. I'd be glad to recommend someone for his father or anyone else who might have a need," he offered with a pointed look in Cassy's direction.
Harry's eyes followed Dr. Morris' to his detective. After Lyam departed, Cassy had turned her back to them and stood staring into a painting on the wall. She appeared not to be listening to the conversation, but Harry knew better. "Cassy."
He wasn't surprised at the reaction his one simple word provoked. Cassy whirled around to face him, her blue eyes burning with anger. "I don't need a shrink, Harry. You and I both know that Lyam won't go for the idea, either--and neither will Tom."
Dr. Morris nodded in resignation and moved toward the door. He paused halfway there and turned back to face the two officers. "Sergeant, if you really want to help your partner, you'll convince him to talk to Dr. Gaylord. Even if no sexual assault occurred, he's still going to need help dealing with what happened. We know without a doubt that he was tortured, beaten, and then stabbed. He nearly died. A person can't survive an ordeal like that and just move on like nothing happened. He's going to have to come to terms with it--and he's going to need professional help to do it." Without waiting for a reply, the doctor turned and left the room.
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Margaret Ryan checked her watch for the third time in less than ten minutes. The worried mother scanned the length of the hallway for any sign of her husband. As her gaze traveled to the uniformed officer standing guard over her son, Margaret's eyes came to rest on the weapon holstered at his side. The sight of it was comforting, and yet terrifying at the same time. She knew it would help keep Tom safe, but at the same time it served as a vivid reminder that a madman was stalking her son.
Tearing her eyes from the officer's gun, Margaret turned back to look into the room where a nurse was now tending to Tom. After changing one of the IV bags, the young woman was now carefully checking the seemingly endless number of tubes and wires that were connected to his body. 'What's taking Lyam so long? What if there's bad news? Maybe--no, stop it. You can't think that way. Tommy is going to be just fine. He just has to.' Margaret drained the last of the coffee that Frannie had brought her and turned once more to check the hall for any sign of her husband. 'Lyam Ryan, where the hell are you?'
Absorbed in her thoughts, Margaret started at the sound of the nurse's voice behind her. "All done, Mrs. Ryan. You can go back in now."
With a grateful nod, Margaret walked over to retake her seat next to her son's bed. After tossing the empty cup into the trash, she carefully lifted Tom's hand and began to speak. "Now, where were we before that pretty young nurse so rudely interrupted? And don't you be thinking about that, Thomas Patrick Ryan. She's not your type anyway, you know. A mother knows about these things," she teased. Fighting back the tears at the sight of her son's bruised, swollen, and totally unresponsive face, she managed to continue. "Oh yes, that's right. I was about to tell you your father's latest scheme for the restaurant, wasn't I?"
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"I'm going back to the station now. I'm going to find that son-of-a-bitch if it's the last thing I ever do," Cassy St. John declared as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
"Hold it right there, St. John," Harry commanded as he rose from his chair. "Let's get one thing straight here. This one gets played strictly by the book. You aren't going to pull any Jane Wayne stunts this time, Sergeant." The captain hadn't seen this look in his detective's eyes since Tom had been shot in the head when mobster Viggo Kirby had hired a hit man to keep Tom from testifying against him. His instincts screamed at Harry to keep a tight rein on Cassy this time, and not allow her to assume the dangerous risks he had condoned in building the case against Kirby. "I'm not going to let anything jeopardize our case against Gordon Leonard. Not even you."
Cassy abruptly stopped and turned to face her superior. "I'm not going to let him get away with this, Harry," she defiantly announced. "I don't care what it takes or what I have to do, that bastard is going to pay for what he did."
The determined set to her jaw told him it was pointless, but Harry tried to reason with her anyway. "Come on, Cassy. You said it yourself, we don't know that anything actually happened. All we can do is wait for Tom to tell us."
As expected, Cassy exploded at her captain. "Oh, come on, Harry. You don't buy that anymore than I do."
"You certainly sounded like you bought it when you told Lyam," he countered.
Cassy took several slow, but deliberate steps toward Harry before she responded. "Yeah, I guess I did believe it. I actually had myself convinced that nothing really happened when I said that to Lyam." The icy tone of her next words hit the captain as solidly as a physical blow. "But then I didn't have all the facts yet, did I, Harry?" she accused. "You hadn't told me what you heard that sicko say, had you? You hadn't told me how you just stood there and watched while he kissed Tom like that, had you, Harry?"
"I...I told you that I wanted to talk to Tom about it, first," he stammered in defense. "Besides, you heard what the Doc said. There's no physical evidence of...of..."
"God, Harry, you gotta stop living in denial! Listen to yourself. You can't even say the words. Well, here, let me help you--Tom Ryan was sexually assaulted. That pathetic little piece of slime sexually assaulted him and we both know it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go nail the son-of-a-bitch." Ignoring her captain's uncharacteristic silence, she wheeled around and stormed out of the room.
Harry's shaky legs finally gave out and he sank heavily back down into the chair. Resting his forehead on the heel of his hand, he slowly shook his head and spoke aloud to the empty room. "Dear God, what the hell have I done?"
*********************
Tom Ryan slowly fought his way back to awareness. 'Cold. Cold like Boston. Must be home, but why? When?' As his fuzzy mind struggled to comprehend his situation, a familiar voice registered. 'Mom. Mom's here. Have to ask her. Mom will know what's going on.'
Margaret Ryan literally jumped out of the chair as Tom, unaware that he was trying to voice his thoughts out loud, began to moan. She brought his limp hand to her cheek and then kissed it as she encouraged him to waken. "It's all right, honey. Come on and open your eyes now. Everything is going to be just fine," she crooned in a soothing tone, as she petted his hand. She was immediately rewarded with a feint fluttering of her son's left eye. The right was still too swollen to open more than a tiny fraction.
Encouraged by the movement, she continued to coax her son back to consciousness. "That's right, honey. Open your eyes and look at me now. It's time to wake up, sleepyhead." Margaret was nearly giddy with excitement when Tom's left eye finally ceased fluttering and stayed open to slowly focus on her.
Tom's vision finally cleared to reveal the welcome sight of his mother's face. He tried to smile at her, but found he was unable to move beyond opening his eyes. 'Mom, what's happening here? Why can't I move? Help me, Mom! Please, help me.'
Tears welled in Margaret's eyes at the sight of the smile that registered only in her son's open eye. She pushed them down and began to reassure Tom, as a look of desperate panic immediately set in to chase away the smile of recognition in his eye. "Listen to me, son. It's all right now. You're in the hospital and you're going to be just fine. Do you remember what happened, honey?"
Confusion set in to mix with the panic Tom was feeling. 'Hospital? What happened? Why am I in the hospital?' The blare of the alarm on the respirator further increased his anxiety as he fought to breathe on his own. 'Help, Mom? What's going on here?'
Margaret pushed the alarm's reset button and squeezed Tom's hand tighter as she tried to calm him. "It's all right, honey. You have to stay calm here. You were stabbed and your lung collapsed. The doctor wants you to stay on the respirator just a little longer to let your lung heal properly. You have to stop fighting the machine, honey. You have to calm down now and let the respirator do its job, okay? It's all right now, and you're going to be fine, so just calm yourself. There you go, that's good, honey. Just try to stay calm now," she crooned as her soothing words had the desired effect.
Tom fought to do as his mother asked him and remain calm. When his mother again pushed the reset button, the alarm ceased its wail and remained silent as he allowed the machine to take over breathing for him. 'Stabbed? How the hell did I get stabbed?' Fear threatened to overwhelm him as memory of George Stein and his captivity came flooding back.
Seeing the fear in her son's eye, Margaret quickly reassured her son. "George Stein is dead, Tom. He can't hurt you anymore. Just stay calm and let the vent do its job, honey," she coaxed, praying that she wouldn't need to tell him about Gordon Leonard.
Tom's gaze moved to the other side of his bed as a strange voice interrupted his mother's explanation. "Well hello, Sergeant Ryan. It's so good to see you awake. My name is Wendy and I'll be your nurse today. You're doing great, but we need you to keep letting the vent do the breathing for you. We should have you off of it by tomorrow, so just hang in there for a little while longer, okay?"
Tom's eye moved back to seek his mother's familiar face. 'It's so hot now, Mom. Why am I so hot? I was too cold just a minute ago. What's happening to me, Mom?'
Margaret saw the plea in her son's look and attempted to find the source of his confusion. "What's wrong, honey? Are you in pain? Blink once for me if you are." Receiving no response, she tried again. Noting the flush to his skin, she asked, "Are you too warm?"
Tom blinked one long blink in answer. 'Yes! What's going on, Mom?'
At the affirmative response, she cautioned him again. "It's all right, honey. You have an infection and are running a fever, but the doctor is giving you antibiotics to get rid of it. You'll feel better really soon," she reassured.
'My shoulder,' he recalled. As the feel of his mother's hand running through his hair registered, he couldn't stop the surge of memories from his captivity. 'NO! Please, Mom, stop it. Please don't do that, please?' he mentally pleaded. As if in answer, the stroking miraculously stopped and he heard another familiar voice.
"Hello, son. I'm glad to see you finally decided to join the rest of the world again," Lyam teased in greeting.
"Yes, Lyam. Tommy and I have been having a nice little visit, haven't we son?" she encouraged as she resumed running her hand over his hair.
Panic set in again and Tom looked over to where his father's voice had come from for support. "Please, Dad. Get her to stop. Please...' The mental plea died as he found his father's face. His panic intensified and the alarm for the respirator began to blare once more. Unable to look at his father for more than that brief moment, he closed his eyes to shut out what he'd seen.
Wendy pushed the reset for the respirator's alarm as the parents tried to calm their son. "Please, Tommy, you have to calm down and let the respirator do the work, honey. Just like we talked about earlier," Margaret implored as she continued to stroke the fevered brow of her son.
"Tommy, you need to stop fighting or they'll have to drug you again," Lyam pleaded, as Wendy again reset the alarm.
Tears began to slide slowly down his face as the pleas from his parents fell on deaf ears. They continued to fall as the nurse worked with the alarm and joined in coaxing him to relax, but Tom didn't hear any of their words. All he could see was his father's face as one thought ran through his mind until the drugs pulled him back into blissful unawareness. 'Oh, god. He knows. My father knows.'
End Part 35
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To Part 36