Appearances, copyright 2006, by Etienne. All rights reserved.

-34-

Attack

It was Friday morning, and Charles and I had just started our morning run. We were both looking forward to the weekend, the events of the previous two weeks having taken their toll. Lance, as usual, trotted along with us. Charles was holding his leash at the moment, although we took turns with this as we did with almost everything else in our personal lives. For late January, the temperature was bearable, and we were running shirtless.

We ran pretty much in silence, since I don’t like to carry on a conversation while running, and had just reached the northern end of the park, closest to the wooded area, when I heard a loud crack and Charles let out a yelp of pain and dropped to the ground. I stopped to see what was wrong when there was another loud crack and I was hit in the right arm with enough force that it spun me around, and I collapsed almost on top of Charles.

I noticed that he was moaning quietly, obviously in pain, probably going into shock, and holding one of his legs, and then the pain hit me and I realized that we had both been shot. Lance was beside Charles, nuzzling and licking his face. I crawled over to Lance and got hold of his leash with my left hand.

Just then, two runners, a youngish man and woman trotted up and stopped. I looked up at them “Do you have a cell phone? We’ve both been shot.”

The man nodded, produced a phone out of a fanny pack and called 911. When he had finished, I said “please call this number for me,” and gave him Richard’s land line number. “I need to have our roommate come and get the dog.”

The guy punched the numbers in and held the phone to my ear. I heard ringing. “Please Richard, pick up the phone,” I said aloud. After what seemed an interminable time, I heard Richard’s sleepy voice.

“I don’t know who this is, but you’d better have a damn good reason for calling at this hour.”

“Richard, shut up and listen. This is Philip. Charles and I are at the North end of the park, near the trees by the Driving Club. We have both been shot. Help is on the way, but you need to get here stat and take charge of Lance.”

He started to ask questions but I cut him off. “Richard, just do it now. I’m going to hand this phone back to its owner, and he will direct you to us.”

Charles wasn’t talking, he was just lying there moaning softly, so I sat back on the ground and held his hand with my left hand - the right one had gone all useless on me - and listened to one end of the conversation, as the guy said to Richard: “It looks like one of them has been shot in the leg and the other one in the arm. There doesn’t seem to be much bleeding, but that’s all I can tell from here. My girlfriend and I will keep the dog with us until you get here. Okay, bye.”

I looked up at him and said “he is less than ten blocks away between Piedmont and Juniper. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem, man. I wonder who shot you?”

“It’s not hard to figure out if you read the papers, I’m Philip d’Autremont and that is Charles Barnett. We just filed multimillion dollars lawsuits last week against the Rev Foible, the DA’s office, and the Atlanta Police Department. I guess we have pissed a few people off.”

“You’re the ones that got those two cocksuckers. Way to go, man,” the guy said. “My little brother is gay, and he followed your trial closely and kept us posted.”

I continued: “Richard Greene, the guy we just spoke to is thirty-one, about five eleven, and blonde. He will be in a red Mustang GT.”

“No problem, man. This really sucks, doesn’t it?”

“It hurts like hell, too,” I responded.

We heard sirens approaching, and in short order, Charles and I were surrounded by EMT personnel, and police, all of whom seemed to want to talk at once. Finally someone with a little more rank than the others yelled “shut the fuck up so we can find out what’s going on here,” and it got quiet.

Mr. Authority looked at me “Sir, can you tell us what happened?”

I said “We were out for our usual early morning run with the dog when I heard a shot and my friend went down, and as I turned to look at him, a second shot hit me in the arm. The force of it spun me around and I almost fell on top of him.” Charles was being hovered over by two of the EMT personnel and was moaning softly. I hurt like hell, too, but the adrenaline was still flowing, and that tends to block the pain somewhat.

Mr. A asked a few stupid questions, when one of the cops said in a loud voice “somebody get this mutt out of the way.”

I looked over at him. “Look, asshole, he is not a mutt, he is a pedigreed Irish Setter, and someone is coming to take care of him. “

The cop shot back “I got a gun that can take care of him.”

That really pissed me off and I struggled to my feet and got in his face. “Get this through your thick head, officer numbskull. Last week I filed a ten million-dollar lawsuit against the Atlanta Police Department in general and several of its personnel in particular. You hurt that dog, and you can count on your name being added to the list of defendants for another few million in a heartbeat.”

Mr. Authority put two and two together. “You’re the guys that got Wetherbee and that prick Foible.”

“That would be us, now please tell that fool to leave the dog alone, he’s not hurting anyone, he’s just confused because his owner is down. Our investigator friend, Richard Greene, will be here any minute now to collect the dog.”

“Yes sir,” he said.

Just then, the calvary arrived in the form of Richard and Bruce. Richard took Lance’s leash and handed him over to Bruce, who led him away. “Is everything under control, Philip?” asked Richard.

“They got Charles in the leg and me in the arm. I think he is a lot worse off than me, but I’m no doctor.”

“Anything else you want me to do?” he asked.

“Call Gran. She doesn’t need to hear about this for the first time on the television. Call Rosemary and fill her in. Bring us some clothes to the hospital in case they will let one or both of us go home after they patch us up. Also, you will probably need to open an investigation. I expect it will be up to you to once again do the police department’s work for them.” Mr. A, who had been listening, frowned at that, and I addressed him. “Sir, Mr. Greene is an investigator, and his firm solved my wife’s murder while some of your guys were harboring the killer.” He wisely refrained from answering.

“On it, man, on it in spades,” Richard said.

By this time, the EMT people were poking and prodding at my arm. One of them pinched my arm and asked “Where does it hurt?”

“Pretty much everywhere you’re poking right now,” I snapped.

They asked a few more questions then I felt the jab of a needle and suddenly I was in la la land.

When I came out of the fog, I realized that I was on a gurney in a cubicle. Richard was sitting beside the gurney.

“Where?” I managed to get out.

“Piedmont Hospital Emergency Room,” Richard said.

“Charles?”

“Upstairs in surgery. >From what I have learned so far, the bullet shattered a major leg bone and they are having to put pins and things in to hold it together while it heals.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes, other than the bone damage everything else is fine. No major nerves or blood vessels were hit, or so they said.”

“I can’t move my arm.”

“That’s because it’s immobilized in a light cast. The bullet that hit you struck your arm bone a glancing blow and bruised it without breaking it.”

“Richard.”

“Yes.”

“Get the bastards. I don’t care how much money you have to spend, just do it. I’ll give you a blank check just as soon as I can sign one, or better still, when I can get to a phone, I will have Randolph write you as large a retainer as you think necessary.”

He nodded, but before he could say anything, the curtain was whisked aside and a Doctor stuck his head in the cubicle. “How’s the patient?” he asked the room at large.

Richard replied “Awake and asking a lot of questions.”

“Good,” said the Doctor as he walked to my side and began to take my pulse.

I looked at him, and said “First, one question: Charles?”

“The other guy that got shot.”

“Yes, my partner, Charles. How is he?”

“As I understand it, they are going to pin his leg back together, and he might or might not be in traction for a while and he will certainly be in a cast for a few weeks.”

I looked at Richard. “We will have to find some place to live, temporarily, he can’t climb three flights of stairs in the townhouse to get to his bedroom.”

Richard replied “I’ve already talked to Gran. I don’t know if you know this, but her house in Buckhead has an elevator - she installed it a few years ago when she started having to use a cane. She is already having his old room set up so that the two of you can stay there for the duration.”

I looked back at the doctor. “What about me? When can I get out of here?”

He answered “Very soon. We need to take a few more x-rays with that temporary cast in place, just to be sure.”

“I want to be wheeled to wherever Charles will be when he comes out of surgery, and if there is any bureaucratic nonsense about us not being related, let me tell you that he and I, as life partners, have full medical powers of attorney, and a briefcase full of documents, medical and otherwise to back it up.”

“No need to worry, I understand fully, and this hospital has extremely lenient policies in that regard. As soon as I finish checking your vitals, we can put you in a wheelchair and your friend here can wheel you anywhere necessary. Also, we have got to get that arm in a sling. You can’t go around with it dangling at an odd angle.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You haven’t tried to sit up and look at yourself?”

“No, I just came out of it and have been too busy being brought up to date.” I raised myself up on my good arm and saw what he meant. My right arm was encased in a blue cast of some material, and it was, in fact, bent at the elbow. “Geez, I didn’t notice that.”

At that precise moment, it dawned on me that I was naked under a sheet on the gurney. I looked at Richard. “Clothes?”

“Got you covered, kiddo, and he held up a plastic bag. Shorts, pants, shirt and deck shoes, and I found your cell phone.”

“Is Lance OK,” I asked.

“Bruce is looking after him.”

The Doctor looked puzzled. “Was there another victim I don’t know about?”

I answered before Richard could. “Sir Lancelot of Buckhead is a three year old Irish Setter with a championship pedigree longer than your arm. He was with us when we were shot. An asshole of a policeman wanted to shoot Lance at the scene because he was ‘in the way.’ I reamed him a new orifice and he backed off. “

Richard laughed. “His boss told me about that. Evidently you really put him in his place.”

“His boss?”

“Yes, the guy in charge at the scene.”

“Oh, Mr. Authority.”

“Mr. Who?”

“I didn’t know who he was, simply that he seemed to be in charge, so in my own mind, I thought of him as Mr. Authority.”

The Doctor, having finished poking and probing my body, smiled at this, and said “I think you are fit to get dressed and be wheeled about, now.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I said.

“Don’t start getting dressed until I get back here with the sling,” he said and disappeared.

I looked at Richard. “Just when you think everything is wonderful, life does have a way of kicking you in the ass, doesn’t it?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Richard obediently nodded and said “It sure does.”

The Doctor returned with a piece of blue cloth in his hand. “Okay,” he said. “Before you get dressed, let’s sit you up and I’ll show you guys how this thing works.”

The two of them pulled my body upright and I slid around so that my legs were dangling from the gurney. In the process, the sheet slipped to the floor. “Oops,” said the Doctor, and he bent down and reached for the sheet.

I laughed “Don’t bother with the sheet. We’re all guys, and I certainly haven’t got anything you haven’t seen before.”

The Doctor laughed and stood back up. “Okay, here is how this thing works,” he said, and he showed Richard and me how to adjust the sling so that my lower arm was fully supported. “You really need to keep this thing on all the time when you are upright, otherwise the strain on your upper arm muscles will eventually cause you considerable discomfort. Speaking of which, here is a small supply of Tylenol-3 which you can use for the moment pretty much as needed. I’ll prescribe something stronger before you leave.” He reached in the pocket of his lab coat and produced some individual packets of the pain pills.

Richard said “okay Doc, I think we’ve got the hang of this sling business.”

The Doctor left, saying that he would send an orderly with a wheelchair. He also told me to check with him for instructions on the care of my arm and cast, and I assured him that I would do so. “Fine,” he said, “I will leave orders with the x-ray department telling them what to do. All you have to do is stop by pretty much any time.”

Richard, meanwhile, opened the bag and produced pants, shorts, and a short sleeved shirt and laid them on the gurney beside me. I looked at him. “You’re not just feeding me a line are you? Charles is really in no danger is he?”

“I wouldn’t string you along about something like that, Philip, they tell me that he is really going to be okay, but it IS going to take a while.”

“It seems only yesterday that I found him, I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose him,” I said.

“I know,” Richard said.

He got my shorts and slacks up over my feet and onto my legs, and when my feet were clear of the fabric, I stood on the floor while he slid them up over my hips and straightened out the fabric. I was holding on to the gurney with my good hand, so he had to tuck my genitals in place in my shorts. It felt strange, having them handled by someone other than Charles. The shirt was a little more difficult to deal with, but it was a short sleeved shirt, and eventually we got my bad arm into a sleeve and the shirt buttoned. Getting the sling in place was a snap, compared to the shirt.

We had just finished when an orderly stuck his head through the curtains “Somebody here in need of a wheelchair?” he asked.

“That would be me,” I said, and I sat down heavily in it. My legs were not as steady as I thought they were. Richard knelt down and pulled my deck shoes on for me.

I had a sudden thought, and turned to Richard. “Where is Gran?”

“Probably in the waiting room closest to the Operating Room,” he said.

“Then that is where we need to go post haste,” I replied.

Richard took the handles of the wheelchair and headed to the ER desk to ask directions. Having gotten them, he rolled me through an absolute maze and warren of corridors and elevators until we arrived at a sign proclaiming that the waiting room for OR 3 was to our right. We wheeled into the room and found Mrs. Barnett sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair with an impatient expression on her face.

Her expression brightened when she saw us. “Oh Richard, Philip,” she said. “I am so glad to see familiar faces. This is a terrible place and nobody will tell me anything.”

Richard rolled me over to a spot next to Gran and set the brakes on the wheelchair. “I’ll go rattle a few cages and see what I can find out,” he said.

She looked at me, took my good hand and squeezed it, saying “how are you holding up, my boy?”

I replied “Well, I’ve certainly been better, but all things considered I seem to be in decent shape. No bones broken, just one arm bone bruised a bit. The bullet struck the bone a glancing blow, or so I am told.”

“Have you heard anything about Charles’ condition?” she asked.

“My Doctor said that they were pinning one of his leg bones back together and that he may be in traction for a while and he will certainly be in a cast for several weeks. That’s about all I know, at the moment. I understand that you have offered us a place to stay until he can climb stairs again.”

“My dear boy, it will be my pleasure to have both of you at home with me for the duration. As we speak, Goodman and his wife are airing out Charles’ old room, and getting it ready for occupancy.”

Richard came back just then to tell us that Charles would be in a private room in a few minutes.

“Do you have the room number?” I asked.

“Does a bear...” he suddenly realized that Gran was in earshot, and started over again. “I do, indeed. I had to promise that little nurse my body, but she gave me the information.”

“Well,” I said, “no sacrifice is too great for your best friend since Seventh grade, right?”

“You betcha,” he replied.

A few minutes later, a cute little nurses aide stuck her head around the corner to tell us that Charles was in his room. Richard unlocked the brakes on my wheelchair, helped Gran to her feet and led the way, pushing me ahead of him. We arrived at the room, which was just a short distance down the corridor, and entered it.

Charles was in the bed, still unconscious, and there were tubes and things leading from his body at several places. I took charge of my wheelchair, rolled over to the bed and took Charles right hand, the one that did not have needles attached to tubes protruding from it. I kissed his hand, put it against my cheek, and found that I was silently crying.

Oh God, Charles, I thought to myself, I can’t bear seeing you like this. Come back to us now. Please. The tears flowed down my cheeks, but no sounds came out. Richard and Gran walked up behind me, and I looked up at them. “I’m sorry, but my background is French, and I don’t have Charles’ ‘stiff upper lip tradition’ to fall back upon. I’ve waited all my life to find someone to love like I love him, and to almost lose him is more than I can bear.”

Gran patted me on the shoulder, then placed her hand firmly on it before she said “I know, my boy, you have been through more trauma over the past several months than most people see in a lifetime, and you need to vent and get it out of your system, so go right ahead, don’t mind us. Frankly I need to do so as well, but that will have to wait until I am home.” She took a deep breath and continued, “But if you take an old lady’s suggestion, you might want to get yourself under control before Charles wakes up. Seeing how upset you are would not be beneficial to him.”

“Richard.”

“Yes, Gran,” he replied.

“Wheel Philip into the bathroom and see if you can’t help him wash his face and make himself look a little better for Charles when he awakes up.” She looked at me more closely. “It looks like he has been rolling around in the dirt.”

I had to laugh “When I was shot, I went face down on the ground, so I guess that qualifies as rolling in the dirt.”

“Will do,” Richard said.

Gran sat down in a chair, and Richard gently disengaged my hand from Charles’ hand and wheeled me into the adjacent bathroom.

“She’s right, you know. He has enough to deal with without seeing you all bleary eyed. Now let’s get you cleaned up a bit.” With that he went to the sink, wet a face cloth, and some soap. He studied my face.

“Boy, you do look like you’ve been rolling in the dirt.”

I laughed “As I just told Gran, I literally was.”

“Too right, I think I’m going to need soap and water, not just water.” He put words into action and scrubbed my face clean in short order, then he wet the cloth again and gave my face a once over with a cold damp cloth. Then he took a towel and dried my face. “Much better,” he said.

I stood up and looked in the mirror, and found that he was correct. My eyes were a little puffy, but otherwise my face looked normal.

“Okay,” I said. “Now let’s get back out there and see if our boy is ready to wake up, but before we do, I need to pop one of these.” I dug into my pants pocket and produced a pill. “This thing is starting to throb like a son of a bitch.”

I sat back down in the wheelchair. Richard took the packet and extracted the pill. He put a glass under the tap and filled it half full before giving it to me. I took the pill and drank most of the water. “Thanks.” He nodded and then rolled me back into Charles’ room. Gran looked me up and down and said “Much better.”

Charles made a slight moaning sound, and we all turned to the bed. I wheeled myself back to his bedside and took his hand again. He was definitely stirring and starting to wake up. I said “Richard, should you go tell the nurses that he is coming around?”

“I don’t think so. As I understand it, they are monitoring his vital signs from the nurses’ station. When he starts to come to, they will know about it and respond.”

As if on cue, a nurse and an Intern entered the room. “Looks like our patient is starting to come around,” the Intern said. He tactfully went to the other side of the bed so as not to disturb us and began to check Charles’ vital signs.

Charles tried to say something and failed, then tried again. This time we clearly heard “Thirsty.”

There was a glass of water with a flexible straw on the night stand, and Richard picked it up and held the straw to Charles’ lips.

Charles pulled on the straw for a bit and said “Thanks. Where am I?”

I answered “Piedmont Hospital.”

“What happened? I don’t remember much except falling down in the park.”

“We were both shot, you in the leg, and me in the arm.” I pointed to my cast.

“How bad?”

“In my case, the bullet glanced off the bone and bruised it without breaking it. In your case, I think a major bone was shattered - the surgeons spent some time pinning you back together again.”

The Intern, whose name tag proclaimed him as Dr. Taylor, interrupted.

“How do you feel, Mr. Barnett?”

“I hurt.”

“I’m sure you do. This gadget here is a morphine drip and I’ll show you how to work it in a few minutes. It will allow you to select a level of pain that you can tolerate.”

Charles said “why is my throat sore? I wasn’t shot in the neck, was I?”

Dr. Taylor laughed. “No, but you were under a general anesthesia for the surgery and that involves intubation, which means a large tube was forced down your throat in the process. You will have a sore throat for a couple of days.”

Charles looked at me “Are you okay?”

“I am now that I have seen you awake and functioning.”

“Well I am awake, but I don’t know about the functioning bit.” He seemed to remember something. “What about Lance?”

“A couple who were running just behind us stopped and called 911, then I had them call Richard. He and Bruce came and collected Lance.”

“I seem to remember you yelling at a policeman about Lance.”

“The cop was annoyed that Lance was there and would, I think, have shot him if I hadn’t reamed him a new one.” I suddenly remember that we were in mixed company and said “Sorry, Gran. I forgot you were here for a moment.”

She said “Don’t worry about me, my boy, I’m sure I have heard worse things than that.”

“Perhaps, but not from my mouth,” I said. “I told the cop that I had just filed a ten million-dollar lawsuit against the Atlanta Police Department and several of its members, and if he hurt Lance, I would be happy to add his name to the list of Defendants and up the ante a few million.”

“Wow. What happened then?”

“I told his supervisor who we were and he got control of the situation. He handled things with the proverbial kid gloves after that.”

“Good,” Charles said. He turned to Dr. Taylor. “How long am I going to be here?”

“That decision will be made by your orthopaedic surgeon, but I would guess two or three days.”

“I want to go home,” said Charles, stubbornly.

“In due time, Mr. Barnett, in due time.”

I squeezed Charles’ hand. “Gran is having your old room fixed up so we can stay there until you are able to climb stairs again.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “the elevator.”

Dr. Taylor looked at me. “You have stairs at home?”

“We live in a three-story townhouse. The bedrooms are on the third floor.”

“Well, he won’t be climbing them for six or eight weeks,” replied the Doctor.

Gran jumped into the conversation. “When my legs began to get weak a few years ago, I had an elevator installed in my home in Buckhead. My grandson’s boyhood bedroom is being set up for him as we speak.” She thought a moment, and continued. “Doctor Taylor, will we need a hospital bed for him, or any special equipment?”

The Doctor said “I don’t think so. He is young and seems to be extremely fit. As long as he has help, he will be okay.”

“Well,” Gran continued, “these two young men can handle almost anything, and we can engage a nurse if need be.”

Charles looked at the Doctor. “One question.”

“Yes.”

“We, that is Philip and I, run five or six miles every morning. Will I be able to do that again?”

“Eventually, I should think. It all depends upon how well you heal, and how well you follow your Doctor’s advice.”

I looked at the Doctor. “The three of us,” I said, indicating myself, Richard, and Gran, “will see to it that he takes his medicine, even if we have to hold him down and force feed it to him.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about medicine, per se, and in any case that will be up to his Surgeon. I am fairly certain that he will have to have physical therapy when he comes out of this cast, and he needs to be religious about that - it is essential. After six or eight weeks of being laid up, his whole muscular system is going to begin to suffer, and he will need to follow a regimen of exercise and therapy. He is extremely fit right now, but six weeks in bed is no way to maintain that fitness.”

Charles spoke up “Richard, do the police have any idea who shot us?”

“Not at the moment, but I have two working theories: A, it was one of Foible’s followers, or B, it was someone on the police force who is truly ticked off at you for taking so many of them down after the trial.”

“Richard, we didn’t ‘get’ those guys. They ‘got’ themselves when they deliberately chose to obstruct an investigation and all the rest.”

“I know that, but you must realize they don’t see it quite so clearly.”

“I suppose not,” Charles said.

“I have already given Richard a blank check and told him to get whoever did this,” I said. “We all know from experience that the police may not be terribly helpful.”

“That was then, this is now,” Charles said. “With all the scrutiny the lawsuits will bring, they may be just a bit more diligent than we expect.”

I could see that he was getting weary, so spoke up. “I think we need to let you rest now. There’s no need to exhaust yourself talking to us.”

Richard said “I think that is our cue to leave, Gran,” and she agreed. Richard said “Philip, do you need a ride?”

“Not yet, I’ll catch a cab or something when Charles drifts off.” I had a sudden realization.

“Dr. Taylor,” I said, “where are the clothes he came in wearing? He had on running shorts, no shirt, Nike running shoes, and most important, a fanny pack containing a garage door opener that we carry when we run, so we can get back into our home.”

“Someone in ER will have custody of everything he, and for that matter you, were wearing, when you were brought in. We can track them down.”

“All I had on were shorts and Nikes. I had forgotten all about them.”

Richard said “I’ll inquire on the way out of the hospital, and either get the device to you later or bring you a spare.”

“Thanks, Richard,” I said. Then I had a thought. “can we leave Gran here with Charles while you wheel me back down to the ER. I need to get instructions from my Doctor and also get formally released.”

“You got it,” he said, and down the long corridors we went.

We were in luck. My Doctor was not working on a patient when we arrived back in the ER. I told him I was ready to be sprung from this place and needed both his blessing and his instructions. He went over to the nurse’s station, retrieved my chart, and came back and sat with his in the waiting room. “Are you in any discomfort?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “It began throbbing earlier, but I took one of the pills you gave me and eventually it stopped.”

“Good,” he replied. “Just to be safe, I’ll give you a prescription for a mild painkiller.”

“You mentioned more x-rays earlier, but I haven’t been there as yet.”

“It can wait until tomorrow. I presume you will be coming back to see your friend in the morning.”

“Doc, I will be sleeping on a cot in my Partner’s room tonight.” I emphasized the word Partner.

“Good. You will also need to be careful with that cast, it is a very light one but take care not to get it wet.”

“How long will I be in it?”

“It is there to keep you from putting undue stress on the bone that got bruised. Of all the kinds of bruises your body can suffer, a bone bruise is the most severe and the most painful. The bullet went through your arm rather cleanly, and you have stitches in the entrance and exit wounds. In a week or ten days, we can probably take the cast off and remove the stitches in the same visit.” He handed me a Prescription form. “When you are ready to leave, go over to the Cashier’s counter and you can sign yourself out.”

“Okay, thanks. Do I have to stay in this thing,” I asked, referring to the chair.

“Until you are officially discharged and out of the building, yes.”

I thanked him again, and Richard obligingly wheeled me back up to Charles’ room, where we all visited for a few minutes. Then Gran kissed Charles on the forehead, gave me a hug, and she and Richard left. Dr. Taylor came back into the room just as they were leaving, and made a cursory check of Charles.

Charles said “Dr. Taylor, can Philip stay with me? I mean can we get a cot in here so he can sleep here if he wants or needs to?”

“I think I can arrange that,” the Doctor said, and left the room.

I looked at Charles. “Alone at last.”

“Come here, you,” he said, “I desperately need to kiss you right now.”

I stood up, leaned over the bed and we kissed for a long time. The tears started to flow again.

He broke contact. “What’s this? Tears?”

“Oh, babe, the thought that I might lose you after only having just found you, was absolutely terrified. The tears started flowing the minute I saw you lying there.”

He said: “You won’t get rid of me that easily - it will take more than a bullet to get rid of me.”

“Charles Marks Barnett, I love you more than I ever thought I could or would love anything or anyone. Sometimes it scares me, when I think about how dependent I am on you.”

“I know, and the feeling is mutual. I know it, you know it, and we both know that we know it,” he said with a little smile.

I sat back and took his free hand again. At the same time an orderly came into the room carrying a bundle. “I’ve got some clothes and stuff here from down in ER. Your friend insisted that they be brought up here to you.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I took the proffered bundle. Opening it, I found our shoes, shorts, and more important, the fanny pack with the garage door opener. I looked at the orderly. “This is what I needed, we were in the park, running when we got shot, and I need this garage door opener to get back into the house.”

“Cool,” he said, and left.

I took my cell phone out, and punched the speed dial button for Charles’ private number. Rosemary picked up immediately.

“Hi Rosemary, Philip here. I’m with Charles in his hospital room right now.” I filled her in on everything and then handed the phone to Charles. “She wants to talk to you.”

He spoke to her at length about client matters, and told her that he would be telecommuting from Gran’s house in a few days. He said goodbye, and handed the phone back to me “She wants to talk to you.”

I put the phone to my hear and she began asking for more details. I assured her that everything was under control, and that Gran, Richard, and I were committed to making Charles pace himself. We said our goodbyes and I flipped the phone off and shut.

We sat quietly for a bit, holding hands, before Charles broke the silence “If you catch a cab now you can get home before rush hour begins. Come back after supper with my travel kit, my cell phone, and anything else the two of us will need for the night.”

“I just realized, I don’t have any money for a cab, but I guess the driver will wait while I run into the house.”

“Yes you do,” he said, “there should be a couple of twenties tucked into an inner compartment of that fanny pack.”

I rummaged around and found the stash. “Got it,” I said.

“Good,” he said, “now get going.”

“I hate to leave you like this,” I said.

“I know, babe, but I am going to pump this morphine drip up a tad and take a little nap. It’s beginning to hurt again.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so we swapped spit for a few minutes and I said “see you later,” and wheeled myself somewhat awkwardly back downstairs. First I went to X-ray and they took some pictures, then I went back to the ER. I checked myself out, and walked somewhat unsteadily out the door to find a taxi. As luck would have it, there were taxis lingering at the hospital entrance, so I was back at the Town House in record time.

I let myself in through the garage and went up to the kitchen. Lance was sitting at attention just inside the door, having heard the garage door open, no doubt. “Hey, boy,” I said, and got him a treat before I climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. God I looked unshaven and grubby. I felt even grubbier than I looked and would have killed for a shower. Shit, I thought, forget that, you can’t even get your clothes off and on without help right now, so I did the next best thing, an APC (arm pits and crotch) bath. I took a wash cloth with a little soap and water and thoroughly washed under my arms, then I pulled down my pants and shorts and thoroughly washed my groin and ass. In this middle of this, nature called. Afterwards I found it extremely awkward to wipe my butt using my left hand. Finally, I took the washcloth, cleaned myself thoroughly, and tossed it in the dirty clothes hamper. Somehow I managed to get my shorts and pants pulled back up with one hand, and everything tucked into its proper place. The process wore me out, so I lay down on the bed for a minute.

I woke up with a start and looked at the clock. Shit, I thought, I’ve got to get back to the hospital. I rushed around the room, found Charles’ cell phone, his travel kit, and a few other things, and called a taxi so I wouldn’t have to deal with driving just yet, and was back at the hospital half an hour later.