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The waiting room was a lonely place, though crowded with people who waited on word from a loved one. A television was tuned to a talk show, its feature today ignored by those in the room. Plastic plants and hard chairs were placed around the room. A few recliners sat to one side.
Paul waited in one of the chairs next to the room's only window, his mind lost to the worries of what was going on. Peter had been his son in every way, but name. Having taken the boy in when he was a young teenager, Paul and Annie had fostered Peter, helped him through the rough teenage years and guided him to adulthood.
"Paul?" Frank's familiar voice broke through his memories. "Heard anything yet?"
Shaking away the gangly, long legged boy's image from the past, Paul stood and greeted Frank and Blake. "No, nothing yet. He's been in surgery for nearly two hours. Did you find Annie?" He knew it was a stupid question. If they'd found her, she'd be there with them now, unless she was…'Stop it, Blaisdell,' he admonished himself.
Frank hesitated to ask questions, but knew if anything happened to Annie because of his slow moves, he'd regret it for the rest of his life. "Paul, did Peter tell you anything?" A shake of his friend's head caused him to press on, "Anything at all? Think, Paul. A word or something odd?"
"Damn it, Frank! Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew? Someone has tried to get Annie and now she's missing and Peter is in the hospital fighting for his life." Paul's words lashed out.
Standing like a rock in a storm, Frank took the verbal abuse and let it go. "I'm sorry, Paul, but Peter's the only answer to this puzzle. We need to talk to him."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible."
All three men turned to face the intruder.
He had on green scrubs that had splatterings of blood on his shirt top, droplets that had made their way through the sterile gown when a vein had been nicked by the scalpel. Dark rimmed glasses were perched near the end of his nose as gray hair - curled by sweat, poked out from under the green cap he wore.
Blake spoke up, having been quiet while Frank spoke with Paul. "He's not…"
Seeing the frozen look on Paul's face, the doctor realized his words and how they had sounded. "No, no. He's alive. It's just that he will probably be out of it for a while. As I told Captain Blaisdell earlier, he has a severe concussion which combined with the anesthesia, can cause the patient to go into an almost coma-like state."
Color returned to Paul's face as he recalled the doctor's talk before he went into surgery with Peter. Blinking away the memory, Paul asked, "When can I see him?"
"He's still in recovery. They'll be moving him to intensive care when he's stable enough to move. If you'll go to that waiting room, someone will come out and get you. It's on the fourth floor," the doctor said. "Aside from his concussion, he has lost a lot of blood. I've left orders to transfuse two units tonight and more lab work in the morning. I won't lie to you, there is a chance that he will lapse into a coma and die. But, he's young, healthy, and has a good family pulling for him. I'll let you stay in the room with him as much as possible, Paul. Just talk to him and be there when he wakes up. From what you've told me and I over heard just a few minutes ago, he's going to need support and someone to restrain him from going out and finding his mother."
Paul had known Doctor Easle for years, both as neighbors and professionals. Any officer wounded was automatically referred to Easle for any surgery that was to be performed, though the man did not have a contract with the city. Paul had liked the man for his bedside manner and no nonsense attitude with some of the unruly officers, including Peter.
"I'm sorry, Paul. I wish I could give you some better news." Doctor Easle put his hand on Paul's shoulder in an offer of support.
Paul looked at his friends, then back to the doctor, "You already have." Turning to look at Frank, he shook his head. "I called Caroline. She said she'd come over as soon as she could. Kelly wasn't home, I guess she's still at the courthouse."
"I've got to go by there on my way home, Captain. Want me to see if she's in and tell her where you are?" Frank offered, wanting to take some of Paul's worry away. The one thing the older man didn't need was one more problem.
"Yes, if you don't mind. Don't tell her about Annie, or how bad Peter is, okay?"
"Sure. Blake, you want to come with me?"
Shaking his head, Blake answered, "No, you can drop me off at the precinct. I want to look up something then go back to the restaurant."
5:00pm
St. Agnes Hospital was one of the oldest buildings in the city. During its years as a hospital run by the Catholic nuns and had been renovated and expanded. Unlike the newer hospitals that kept their critical care units sealed off from visitors and only provided small cubicles for its patients, St. Agnes kept their units large so that at least one visitor could stay at the patient's bedside if needed.
Paul sat at Peter's bedside, in the only chair provided. The room was smaller than the normal rooms on the floors outside the unit, with room enough for the machinery that lined the walls. Monitors above and beside the bed continued to read off Peter's vital signs, wires stretched from the machines to his body. Paul was sure that they were moving on their own accord, much like small worms or snakes.
A nurse came in with a clipboard and wrote down the numbers from the monitors. She smiled at the silent parent, understanding the older man's quietness. Her only other patient was next door, alone in his fight for life. It was quite a contrast to the visitors who had come and gone from Peter's room during visiting hours.
"Nnnnnooooo," the low moan escaped Peter's lips as he turned his head to get away from the invisible attackers.
Quickly moving to his son's side, Paul brushed away stray strands of dark hair and whispered words of comfort, "It's all right, Peter. I'm right here."
His right arm encased in plaster and too heavy for him to lift, Peter was only able to fight off his attacker with his left hand. He didn't hear Paul's words, nor did he recognize the voice. "No, no. I won't tell you. Get-Get away."
The nurse watched as patient and parent struggled. She reached into a small drawer and pulled out a soft cloth with laces then applied it to Peter's left wrist. His struggles, she could see, were weak against Paul. Tying the laces to the bed frame, she then turned to leave. "I'm going to go get him something for pain. It'll help him to relax."
Paul nodded, never stopping from caressing ever so softly Peter's forehead, whispering reassurances. "Shhhh, come on, Peter. It's me, Paul. You need to relax."
Minutes later, the nurse came back and connected a syringe to a port in Peter's IV line, then slowly pushed the medication into the line, watching for signs of the drug's effectiveness as it entered the injured man's blood stream. After five minutes, Peter's struggles lessened and he relaxed. Pulling the sheet up, straightening out the wrinkles, she gave a brief smile to the worried parent. "You need to go home and get some rest, Mr. Blaisdell. I'll call you if anything happens."
"I'll stay with him, Daddy."
Paul looked up and the nurse turned to see a blonde woman in the doorway. She was dressed casually, her hair pulled back with a clasp, her cheeks red, matching the thin lines in her eyes.
"Caroline," Paul breathed out, his weariness preventing him from giving a more welcoming greeting to his oldest daughter. "What are you doing here?"
"To relieve you. You need to go home and rest, Daddy. You're not going to help Mom or Peter by exhausting yourself," she chided, walking over to her father and foster brother. Reaching out, she started massaging Paul's shoulder closest to her. "I'll call you if anything happens."
Searching for any sign of wakening from Peter, Paul realized that his oldest daughter was right. He felt the stiffness of his joints, the heaviness of his eyelids as he blinked. Only then did he hear his stomach growl in protest of the self-imposed starvation.
The only sign of life from his son was the slow rise and fall of his chest. Dark eyelashes rested on the pale cheeks; lips that usually held a slight smile were straight and relaxed. The usual restless energy that spurred Peter on was quiet.
"I guess you're right. I'll only be gone for a little bit. It'll give me a chance to check in with Frank and Blake." Paul stood, giving Peter's hand a squeeze before Paul released it. "I have my pager, Sweetie."
Caroline gave Paul a kiss on the cheek and watched him leave the room; his steps that were usually purposeful were now slow and small. Turning back to Peter, she took up the vigil in the same chair their father had vacated.
**
The blaring sound of metal rock grated on few of the patron's ears. Most had already either learned to ignore it or, if they were frequent guests, had become slightly deaf. Dancers in various stages of undress moved their hips and extremities to the music; a few accepting waded bills being stuffed into their g-strings.
Spotting his employer, Matt Hannah passed the drunks that hung onto the barstools and made passes at total strangers that had no where else to go, no one to go home to. Matt kept the balding man in his line of sight, taking in the dark suit that was out of place in this bar. On closer inspection, he saw manicured nails and hair that lay in place, not daring to move.
"Strange place you wanted to meet in," Matt shouted over the music as he pulled out a chair. Angry brown eyes glared up at Matt as he sat down. "Where is she?"
Attempting to act casual and not show the fear that he felt rising in his chest, Matt smirked. "Well, she's where the cops can't get her."
"I did not ask for any smart answers. The plan was to get her and hold her until…" his accusations interrupted.
"Look, you pay me to know what is going on and how to get it done. Somehow, it seemed to slip your man's mind to tell me her son was a cop." Matt allowed his fear to change to anger when the suited man started getting haughty. There were very few things that got him mad. The worst thing was people in high positions who looked down on him. Smiling to himself, he thought, 'until they need to get some dirty work done, then I'm the first person they call.'
Not one to let others think they were the leader, the stranger grabbed Matt by his shirt collar and hissed, "You're right, I do pay you. And I believe I have paid you well. I want her by tomorrow and any witnesses taken care of."
Releasing the collar, the man sat back, his mind quickly thinking over his options. "But if the cops don't have her and we don't have her, then I think I can put my plan in motion. This doesn't get you off the hook, Hannah. Have her by the deadline or you'll be the next person with a contract." Not explaining the threat, he got up and left, sure that the job would be handled, but just in case, he started running through his mind the list of hit men he had employed in the past.