Ficlet from Facebook Group #3
It was weird. Half of me wanted to say, “That’s how Sam Kage is,” and the other half of me was terrified because after the spike of adrenaline was over, he could have bled out or gone into shock or a million things that could never be accounted for.
I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief because obviously he was so tough, made of steel, and would, of course, be fine.
But what if…? And those words, those two little words, wouldn’t let me find comfort in any part of my husband’s heroics.
“Were any hostages hurt?”
“No,” Becker replied. “The staff members who were being held along with the rest of the prisoners on the ward are all fine.”
Because of Sam.
“He’ll certainly get a commendation.”
I just wanted him back in one piece.
“Okay,” Chris announced, looking at Ian.
“Go home. I’m going to meet with the Feds.
Wes is there now briefing them about the breach.
I have Judicial support sending over guys to guard the chief deputy’s room as soon as he’s in recovery.
The police superintendent reached out to offer protection, but I’m more comfortable with us handling it, and when I spoke to Marshal Kenwood, he agreed with my assessment.
They’ll report to Eli as soon as they arrive on-site. ”
Everyone nodded.
“Eli will call us all the second he knows anything, after which he’ll brief the press.”
“I will,” Eli acknowledged.
I shook hands with Chris, then Ian, and finally Miro, before Eli closed the door and I was alone in the back of the SUV with the partition up. Moments later, Eli got back in, retaking his seat beside me, as silent as we had been earlier.
Twenty minutes or so later, he got out to talk to two men. They had to be the guards, and so I leaned out and thanked them for being there to protect Sam. Each one shook my hand.
We sat there again, undisturbed, until a quarter to ten when I got a call.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
“Yes?”
“Good evening, Mr. Harcourt,” the woman on the other end greeted me warmly. “I’m Dr. Dorothy Chen at Northwestern, and I’m the one who treated your husband when he arrived.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I croaked, catching my breath.
“The chief deputy is a very lucky man,” she began gently. “There was a clean entrance and exit of the bullet, and there was no damage to any organs, meaning the small bowel, colon, liver, other vascular structures, his stomach or kidneys.”
“Really?” I was stunned.
“I’m as surprised as you are,” she replied flatly.
“Normally, there’s far more damage than skin and muscles when one is shot in the abdomen, but between the caliber of the bullet and how close to your husband the shooter had to be, I suspect the vest he was wearing played a pivotal role in his survival.
I believe the trajectory was altered by the vest, because the bullet itself was lodged there in the mesh when we took it off him. ”
“So if he was shot from the side, how did the bullet miss vital organs?”
She sighed deeply. “I’ve been a doctor for over thirty years, and I can tell you that at times they travel precisely as expected, and at others, they take strange and not at all plausible detours. Today, fortunately, we have a case of one that can only be accounted for as lucky.”
It hit me all at once, and my voice sounded rusty and broken. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Yes, he’s going to be fine. He should make a full recovery as long as he follows all aftercare directives and takes things slow. I can’t stress this enough.”
Her tone, which had begun calmly, had ended firm and severe, rising almost angrily, as though she were giving me an order.
“Dr. Chen?”
There was the hint of a growl under her breath.
I coughed softly. “I apologize on his behalf.”
“Oh no,” she rushed out, “that’s not necessary. I would like to see him remain in the hospital for a full seven days, and have put that recommendation into his chart.”
“Okay.”
“But here’s what happened,” she stated, and I knew she had to tell me.
Had. To. Her irritation was bubbling over, and she had to vent; she needed someone to hear her and commiserate, and that, more than all her words put together, settled me in my skin.
“He woke up when we hooked up his IV, and he then proceeded to tell me the bullet had to be lodged in the back of his vest, which, of course”—her voice went thin—“it was.”
I could imagine her wanting to strangle my husband right there in the middle of the ER.
“He went on to explain how much blood he thought he lost, but assured me that wasn’t a huge deal, and since we didn’t have to do any exploratory surgery, as the bullet wasn’t in him anymore, if I could just do an MRI to make sure it didn’t nick anything important on the way in or out, then he’d like to get sewn up, perhaps bandaged, and then we could just send him on home. ”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. The relief was too great.
“As though there’s anything not important that a bullet could nick on its way in or out of your body,” she nearly snarled.
Leave it to Sam to annoy a perfectly rational and kind trauma surgeon.
“I told him I thought he might be having an aneurysm, and he told my nurse to check my breath because I might be drinking on the job.”
Oh dear God.
“I then informed him I was going to call for a psych eval, at which point he assured me all accusations that a marshal is not fit for duty are taken seriously, and are fully investigated by the Office of Professional Responsibility. He went on to state that if I wanted to pursue that course of action, I needed to first contact the office of Tom Kenwood, US marshal of the Northern District of Illinois, because he was the only person who could authorize me, and my hospital, to begin a psychological evaluation of the chief deputy.”
I could only imagine how cold and dark Sam’s voice had been when he told her all that.
He had never, ever, been the guy you wanted to threaten, especially with something that could potentially strip him of his freedom and his career.
Because yes, on the surface it was basic, but underneath, his freedom allowed him to be with his family, and his job provided for that family.
She had endangered both with her angry words.
“He can get a bit mean if you corner him,” I offered in explanation.
He had been an ass, but he’d been shot and beaten and also saved people, so he could be given some slack.
By the same token, he’d been telling an ER doctor how to do her job, and that was uncalled for.
She had probably been there for hours before they rolled in a man who could try the patience of a saint. I could see both sides quite clearly.
“I broke down and yelled at him, Mr. Harcourt. I told him he was seriously hurt and I needed him to understand that and act accordingly!”
She had lost it in the middle of her own ER. Of course she wanted to murder him.
“And then?” I was almost afraid to ask.
“Well then, because he knew he had me, he smiled and nodded and said of course he understood, and he’d be all about following orders.”
“I can assure you he wasn’t patronizing you because you’re a woman.”
“Oh no, I understand that. He was just as dismissive with Dr. Liddell, our head of internal medicine, when he came to speak to him.”
Sam treated women, men, and everyone else exactly the same. If he thought he knew best, you were simply wallpaper, there to be ignored.
“This is why I’m stressing aftercare with you,” she explained curtly. “He needs to allow his body the time to fully heal.”
“Of course. How long do you want to keep him?”
“Again, I’d prefer that he stay seven to ten days,” she replied, exhaling. “I strongly advise seven, and hope for five.”
“But Dr. Liddell is the one overseeing his care now, correct?”
“Yes,” she told me sadly. “And I suspect when your husband tells our chief that he’s ready to leave, he will be discharged.”
I would have liked to promise her right there and then he would stay all the days she wanted, as many as she wanted, but it would depend on what he looked like when I walked into the recovery room.
Everything hinged on that. The last time I had gone to see Sam in the hospital was years ago, and he had looked so much smaller than normal.
He’d been gray lying there in the bed, and appeared frail.
I would know when I saw him how long his convalescence would be.
“But he’s going to be okay.” I needed that confirmation.
“Yes,” she answered with a soft chuckle. “Are you close, because he’s already informed us he won’t sleep until he sees you.”
“I’m right outside.”
“Excellent. It’s after visiting hours, but I have you on the list, so just sign in at the front desk and you can come up.”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Chen.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Harcourt, and good luck.”
She hung up first, and I turned to Eli, who was smiling at me.
“I had no doubt,” he assured me.
I was still cold, even in a heavy cardigan, one of Sam’s that I couldn’t help but grab, and was hugging myself as I walked with Eli to the front of the hospital.
With his badge, they didn’t question my companion, and I had to wonder, what if my license, which I had to show the guard, was a fake?
What if Eli’s star wasn’t real? How did they know who we were, really?
Even at the door to Sam’s room, where the two marshals I’d met earlier were stationed, I thought, what if they didn’t know Eli on sight?
What if I was an assassin, and my partner had Eli’s kids at his home with a gun trained on them so Eli was forced to walk me in to kill Sam, and then I shot out the window and jumped free, hang gliding from the height safely to the street below?
And yes, the scenario was insane, but the point was that there were holes in every system.
If you really wanted to, it was just a question of waiting for your moment.
The thought terrified me, and I started to tremble as my brain ran free.