Part 38
Cassy stared in horror at the empty bed before her. It had been stripped of all bedding, leaving no sign that Tom Ryan had ever been there. Her cop instincts quickly took over and she moved to check the bathroom, only to find it empty as well. Her tired brain numbly processed the scene before her as she returned her weapon to her bag. No sign of a struggle, no evidence of foul play anywhere in the room. Time stood still as her mind floundered, trying to come up with any reasonable explanation for the empty bed. Only one came to her.
Shaking uncontrollably, she returned to the bed where her partner had been resting only hours earlier. One trembling hand slowly moved to the spot where Tom's chest should have rested. The cold feeling of the bare mattress seemed to seep through her fingertips and travel up her arm.
'It's too late.'
The chill spread through her entire body before enveloping her heart, threatening to crush it.
'Tom is gone.'
The icy fist around her heart squeezed harder.
'The infection must have gotten worse.'
Cassy found herself scarcely able to breathe as the cold grip tightened even more.
'He's gone. He's gone and he's never coming back.'
An unfamiliar voice cut into her thoughts, startling her out of her daze. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're too late." After dropping some fresh linens on the empty bed, the dark-haired aide smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. It's against policy for you to be in here and I could get into real trouble for letting you stay." At a lack of response by the detective, the petite young woman pressed harder. "His parents are in the waiting room. Maybe you should join them," she suggested.
Cassy's eyes never left the spot where her hand rested on the mattress. Still, she managed a fairly steady voice to ask the obvious. "How long ago?"
"They took him down about a half hour ago. He's probably on the table by now," the younger woman offered.
Stunned by the aide's attitude, Cassy turned from the bed to stare at her. Her steel blue eyes flashed with fire as the detective responded. "How the hell can you be so damn cavalier about this?"
"I'm sorry. Look, I know this is difficult for you, but you need to remember that this is better for him in the long run." The younger woman's patronizing tone and condescending attitude further infuriated Cassy.
"Just who the hell do you think you are to be telling me what's best? You think because you work in a hospital that makes you an expert? Well, I've got news for you. You're nothing more than a glorified candy striper, so leave the analysis to the professionals and stick to your bedpans and dirty sheets. That's what they're paying you for." As her stinging words hit home, Cassy didn't even flinch at the hurt look on the other woman's face.
"I'm sorry, you're right, I overstepped. Please accept my apology. I assure you I was only trying to help." A tinge of frost entered the woman's voice as she continued. "Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do. You can wait with Mr. Ryan's parents or elsewhere if you so desire, but you cannot remain here. I'm sure someone will let you know when he returns."
Cassy turned to the door, but stopped suddenly as the woman's last words finally sank in. Her heart pounded as she fought to remain calm. The trembling returned and her knees nearly gave way. It took her a moment to realize that the unsteady voice she heard over the roaring in her ears was her own. "W-when he returns?"
"Yes, when he gets back from surgery," came the irritated reply.
"S-surgery?" In her exhausted state, Cassy was unable comprehend the aide's response.
As she shook out the clean sheet and waited for it to float down to cover the bed, the younger woman turned her attention to the detective. "Yes, surgery. They're wiring his broken jaw." Noting the sergeant's pale complexion and shaky appearance, she quickly rushed to Cassy's side and guided her to the room's only chair. "Whoa, you don't look so good there. Sit down here for a minute and put your head between your legs till it passes," she instructed.
Cassy sat down, but ignored the rest of the other woman's advice. "H-he's all right? He's not… He's in surgery?" she repeated, still bewildered.
"Yes, ma'am, he's in surgery. Dr. Morris decided to take him off the respirator a little early, and he's down having his jaw wired. Didn't the nurse tell you on your way in?" At the same instant she finished the question, the answer occurred to her. "You didn't speak to the nurse, did you? Where did you think he was?"
She paused only momentarily, not waiting for Cassy to respond as this answer also came to her. "Oh my gosh, you thought we'd lost him, didn't you? Oh, I'm so sorry! No wonder you were upset with me. Really, ma'am, he's very much alive. They'll be bringing him right back here just as soon as he's out of surgery," she reassured.
Cassy leaned back in the chair, ignoring the woman's double use of the hated "ma'am" during her explanation. She closed her eyes and allowed the fear and tension of the past few minutes to drain away. Tom was all right and in surgery, not dead.
Excitement began to build as a thought suddenly occurred to her--Tom would be awake and able to talk to her very soon. Without a word to the other woman in the room, she stood and hurried out to the waiting room and Tom's parents, her exhaustion all but forgotten.
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Familiar voices echoed in the distance, but Tom couldn't seem to place a face with any of them. They were calling his name, urging him to go to the light at the far end of the very long tunnel that was slowly materializing around him.
He tried to comply and take a step forward, but found his legs seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each. As the voices whispered their encouragement, he finally managed to drag one foot forward a few inches. Drenched with sweat and weak with exhaustion, Tom paused to gather his strength before attempting another step.
As he stood bent at the waist and hands on his knees, he suddenly realized that even though his feet were touching the paved stone floor, he felt like he was floating above it. The voices continued to echo around him, softly calling his name, and he slowly raised his head to look for them. Finding only the far away light, he took a deep breath and straightened, ready to try again. Once more, he found his legs too heavy to lift and barely managed to drag his foot several inches.
Drained from the attempt and disheartened, he collapsed onto the cold stone. He began to shiver as the cold from the floor seeped through his clothes and into his bones. The voices continued to call to him, comforting him and gently urging him onward. Unable to stand, but not wanting to disappoint the callers, he raised up on his arms and tried to drag himself toward the light.
His body felt like lead and refused to budge an inch. Tom couldn't stop the sobs that came as a result of his failed efforts. "I'm sorry. I tried. I really tried. Please forgive me," he implored the faceless voices. Utterly defeated and disheartened, Tom slipped back into the safety and comfort of unawareness.
***********************
Harry Lipschitz paused at Tom's door only long enough to get a status report from the officer guarding the injured detective. Reassured that all was well, the captain quietly entered the room.
Margaret Ryan had resumed her position at her son's bedside the moment the nurse had allowed them back into the room upon Tom's return from surgery. She had heard the two men speaking outside the door and turned to greet the visitor with a welcoming smile. "Look, honey, Captain Lipschitz is here to see you. You need to wake up now so we can all have a nice visit."
As he moved closer to the pair, he took note of the change in Tom's appearance. The breathing tube was gone, as was the tape holding it in place. He couldn't help but note that there was no response from the detective to his mother's request. Though he wasn't certain, Harry thought the swelling around Tom's right eye had lessened slightly; both eyes remained closed. Several splits in Tom's lips were now visible in the absence of the tape, as were more bruises. The captain was relieved to see his detective's chest rise and fall of it's own accord, the hissing and clicking noises of the ventilator conspicuously absent.
"How's he doing?" Harry gently inquired as he came to stand beside Margaret.
Margaret turned her attention back to Tom as she answered. "He's still running a fever, but he's been breathing well on his own since he came off the respirator. The nurse was in here a few minutes ago and said he's doing very well. She said he should be waking anytime." She gently caressed Tom's hand, which she had been carefully holding since before Harry had entered the room. "I thought he might be coming out of it a little while ago. His fingers twitched a couple of times, but he didn't open his eyes at all."
As if he'd heard her, Tom's fingers again began to twitch. Margaret was on her feet in a flash, but careful of the hand she still held. She leaned over to kiss his forehead and urged him to awaken. "Tom? Can you hear me, honey? Open your eyes and look at me."
Harry quickly rounded the bed and stood across from Margaret to help prod the detective. " Listen to your mother, Thomas. It's time to wake up."
Their excitement grew as Tom's eyes fluttered several times, then finally remained open. Margaret's heart was racing as she watched Tom slowly blink several times in an obvious attempt to focus and clear his vision. She kept her voice calm as she encouraged him. "That's good, Tommy. You need to wake up now."
Margaret's heart nearly burst with joy as her son's lips suddenly drew up into a faint smile of recognition. She knew she'd never heard a sound so sweet as when the long-silent voice rasped out a single, barely audible word.
"Mom."
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End Part 38
To Part 39