Covert Identity (16 page)

What an intelligent thing to say. Bishop chuckled and took a seat next to her.

"I said they
didn't
go for his head. Didn't."

She fought the panic down. Jimmy would probably be himself when he woke up. Whoever that might be.

Even with this extra pause they reached a waiting room that seemed much too bright and cheerful much too soon. Selena stood over to one side with her arms crossed over her chest, listening to a man in a doctor's coat. Sharon wanted to tune the words out, but some still sifted through. "...a few ribs, lacerated spleen, internal bleeding, will put a metal plate with screws in his leg..."

Lalalalala!

Singing in her head didn't drown out the words.

She wished she could smack her hands over her ears, but that would probably be frowned upon.

To her horror, Bishop put a hand on her back and pushed her towards the doctor.

"Can she go in?"

The man in the white coat frowned.

"For a few minutes. He won't know anyone's there."

"Good enough. C'mon, I'll take ya."

She wanted to push her heels into the floor, lean backwards, and fight. Wasn't it enough that she made it to the hospital? Whatever horror waited on the other side of the door, she didn't want to know.

Coming was a mistake.

She should have stayed away.

Bishop's grip was firm, and she got the feeling that he understood, but he wouldn't let her back down when she got this far. It only took a few seconds before she was through the door and inside a very white room.

Jimmy's face was almost as pale as the sheets, but still seemed to be the only visible color. He was attached to large machines with tubes and wires, and the mere sight made her chest tighten.

Her new friend squeezed her shoulder.

"I'll be right outside."

"Please don't go. Something will happen the moment you leave me alone in here."

Bishop didn't smile, but his eyes looked amused. "Nothing will happen. And if it does, well, that's what all this equipment is for. You'll be fine."

The door closed quietly, and she took a tentative step forward. Tubes stuck out of the back of Jimmy's left hand, but the right rested by his side. She reached out for it, half expecting it to be dead and cold.

"I'm so sorry."

This might all be my fault. Maybe I kept him on the phone for too long, and kept him away too much. What if I made them suspicious, and he ended up like this because of me?

She swallowed the tears. This was a time to be strong for someone else, not for self-pity and bad conscience. His face was bruised, and she brushed her lips ever so lightly over his forehead, picking a spot that shouldn't hurt him.

"I love you. Jimmy, Paul, whoever you are, I love you, and you need to come back to me."

She pulled up a chair to the side of the bed and sat there, holding his hand. Once she settled in, the hospital wasn't too bad.

The door opened sooner than she expected and Bishop peeked in.

"It's time to go. C'mon, I'll walk you to your car."

Two nurses stepped in, looking impatient. She should move to the side and let them do their job. At this point in time, he needed professional care more than he needed her.

Figures. First she didn't want to go in, and now she didn't want to leave.

"But, I should stay. Shouldn't I stay?"

"No. There are many of us and just one of you. If anything changes, we'll let you know."

The next day, Bishop picked her up at the house and drove her to the hospital.

He probably wants to make sure I don't back out.

"Did Jimmy, I mean Paul ever... Did he ever say anything about me?"

Bishop glanced over. "You're worried you were part of the act."

"Wouldn't you be?"

He stopped at a red light.

"Fair enough. I have to admit when I saw you the first time I didn't figure you for Paul's type. He usually falls for something with, uh, less clothes. He didn't appreciate my opinion."

Sharon laughed in spite of all. "It felt real."

"He worships the ground under your feet. That's why he wanted to keep you out of all this shit."

––––––––

P
aul spent a long time in darkness.

When his eyes flickered open the light was much too bright, so he closed them again and drifted off. Voices broke into the void and he saw glimpses of a room, but nothing seemed worth the effort of staying awake.

Even when he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes open for more than seconds at a time.

How can I still be alive?

At first he was too medicated for any questions to seem important, but one day he woke up lucid enough to want answers.

Where am I? How much time passed?

He was queasy, his head pounded, and the world was out of focus. Everything looked too soft, as if he watched it through a soft focus special effect. His body ached, and when he lifted his hands, tubes stuck out of them.

He didn't want tubes in his hands.

Trying to pull them out rewarded him with company; the space around the bed filled up with people wearing scrubs. They held his hands and he tried to fight them, but he was so weak. One person had a syringe and he soon slept again.

The next time he woke, his arms were strapped to the bed. A familiar voice drifted through the door.
Sharon.
He wanted her cool hands and her voice, and he almost called out to her.

I lied to her. She'll be so mad when she finds out.

There was so much to explain and he was so tired. If he didn't get it right, she might never come back.

He closed his eyes, but pretending to sleep lasted for less than a minute. Darkness overtook him and he slept for real.

Days passed in the same fashion and staying awake grew a little easier. People visited, a parade of familiar faces, but if he was awake when Sharon came he pretended to sleep. He would feel her hand on his, or her lips against his forehead, and her touch helped him feel safe enough to sleep for real.

As long as he didn't talk to her, she might come again.

If he told her the truth, she might disappear.

Sharon's voice broke through the fogs in his mind.

"Are you sure he's all right? He told me he likes my new blue hair and that his grandmother sat in the corner knitting for him. It's not normal."

I've talked to her? I thought I avoided talking to her.

An unknown voice answered, "It's the morphine, ma'am."

"But it has been so long."

That couldn't be right. A few hours, couple of days, tops.

She sounded forlorn.

He should go to her, comfort her, but his body held no strength.

The unknown voice said, "He's healing well, he has had the last surgery, and we'll be cutting down the doses starting tomorrow. Once we wean him off you'll see a big change. A few more weeks and he'll be fine."

Weeks? How long have I been here?

"What exactly will happen?”

"He'll need physical therapy. He should be able to move around on his own in about a month, and once everything is healed we can treat him on an outpatient basis. He might need a cane for a little while, but he was so fit before all this happened I'm not too worried about it. Three months from now he'll be able to do most things he did before, and in six months to a year he'll be like new."

The world disappeared again.

*****

S
haron spent as much time as she could in the hospital. Now when she was over the first anxiety, it wasn't so bad.

Some nights, when the nurses approved, Mona looked after Tiffy and Sharon slept in a chair by Paul's side. He was sometimes awake, but never coherent.

She spent hours holding his hand and talking to him.

"I think you look a little better. I don't know if you can hear me, or if you will remember this, but I love you. I'm gonna have to work a little more, I've fallen behind, but I'll still be here every day. I promise."

It was a promise she intended to keep, even if she could only stay for a few minutes. Sometimes the doctors were busy with him, but most of the time he slept.

I wish I could bring Tiffy.

The dog would be able to get through to him like no one else.

Would they permit it?

Not likely.

Maybe if she'd been a service dog, but she wasn't. She was just a puppy, in over her head, just like Sharon.

Could she smuggle the dog in?

No. Tiffy might be a puppy, but she wasn't exactly a pocket pet.

She gave up on the idea for the time being, but kept it in the back of her mind.

How long should she worry about the bikers coming back for revenge? Many weeks had passed, but even if gangsters A, B, and C were in prison they surely carried a grudge, and they had friends on the outside. They might send thugs D, E, and F after both her and the neighbors.

All these criminals had families. Some might even be released and able to come themselves.

Stop thinking about it. Cowering in fear means they win. You have the police outside your house, Mona on the couch, and a loaded gun.

If someone came, now or later, she'd have to deal with it.

Bikers on TV like to torch buildings.

She pushed the thought away. Her fears might never come true, and they didn't matter. Paul mattered, and he needed her.

One day when she arrived, the bed was empty and she ran for the nurse's station in half panic. A short woman in pretty blue scrubs smiled.

"He's in physical therapy, in a wheelchair for now, but he'll be walking in no time. From what I hear, he doesn't like the exercises one bit."

Paradoxically, Paul doing better meant she saw him less. She tried to coordinate her schedule with the nurses, but it didn't work out. Every time she arrived he was away somewhere, or asleep.

*****

P
aul returned to his room from physical therapy, leaning on a cane.

He couldn't remember much of what happened, but the end result sure sucked.

Walking through the corridor exhausted him and he had to stop several times to catch his breath. He opened the back door to the room and shuffled in, and saw Sharon disappear out on the other side.

Dammit.

Pretending she wasn't there seemed an okay idea as long as he was doped up. Now he was clearheaded enough to understand she knew the truth and still kept coming back.

"Sharon!"

It was too late. She didn't hear.

He hurried through the room as quickly as he could, but he was much too slow. When he opened the door on the other side and looked into the corridor, it was empty.

"Fuck."

He knew she'd been there when he slept. She left little things for him, like a photo of the dog, and sometimes he could swear he could smell her shampoo. When he was awake, he always seemed to be somewhere else when she stopped by. They kept his few waking hours on a tight schedule.

His legs wanted to buckle and he needed to lie down. All this standing up was overrated.

There was a note on his nightstand and his hands shook when he took it and unfolded it. He might have missed his chance and she was saying goodbye. He was a burden.

The mere thought created a lump in his throat.

"Dear Jimmy, or Paul, or whoever you want to be. =)"

His eyes paused at the smiley. It was so Sharon. Who else would write smileys with pen and paper? He touched it with a finger, and a sensation of loss welled up in his chest.

"I have bad luck getting to talk to you, I guess I have a crazy stalker act going on watching you sleep, haha."

Maybe I didn't just imagine her staying over here the other night. I thought I woke up and she was there, but it might not have been real.

"The doctors say you're doing better and I hope it's true. I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you. Tiffy and I miss you much. She's a great girl, good company. You have no idea how grateful I am you saved her and brought her home."

That's good. One good thing came out of this fucking mess.

"Anyway, since I can't seem to catch you in person and awake I just want you to know I'm thinking of you. I miss you, and I love you."

He read the last part several times, and could almost hear Sharon's voice say the words. For weeks his will to live had been washed away by physical pain and morphine. The note helped rub the lethargy away. After everything that happened, she still loved him.

"I need to get out of here."

His voice sounded strange and flat in the empty room.

Up until now he'd barely even looked at the room. A locker on the other side of the bed held fresh clothes, keys, his wallet, and his phone. Had Sharon brought him all this?

Damned phone, no battery, no charger. Maybe the room has a phone?

It did not. Alternate ways of finding one seemed to require a superhuman effort.

He still moved slowly, but he was quite able to dress himself and these days, every little victory counted.

Getting out of the hospital might not be so easy. They would try to stop him.

Peeking out into the corridor, it was completely empty. Good start.

––––––––

P
aul looked out at Sharon's little house through the cab window. It looked like an oasis in an otherwise insane world.

He lived there for so long, and now he was a stranger. Would things have been different if he'd been able to tell her his name?

"Do you want me to wait?"

The cab driver looked concerned.

I probably don't look so good. I don't feel so good.

"I'll be okay, thanks."

The panorama window on Sharon's living room stared at him. It reminded him of the first time he was there and Mona peeked out the window with her pink shotgun. It seemed a lifetime ago.

It was another life in a way. He had been another man with another name.

The few steps to the front door were much too long and his legs too weak. This might not have been his best idea ever.

What if she's not home? Well, if she doesn't open, I guess I'll wait.

He still had her key on his keychain, but using it was out of the question. She gave it to Jimmy, not to him.