5. Ian
5
IAN
Moving to my door, I open it to check if I've heard the sound correctly or if I'm just manifesting trouble in my head.
I hear nothing, so I close it again.
“Ian, are you still there?” Richard's voice comes from the phone in my hand, and I put it back to my ear.
“Yes, Richard. What is it you said you called for again?” I ask him in annoyance.
I would very much like to be left alone right now. It's been a long day and an even longer night. All I just need is a good night of sleep, and tomorrow I can figure out what my next line of action is because right now I can’t put shit together.
“I’m just checking on you, Ian. Seeing if you're doing alright.”
“Well, I am certainly not doing fine thanks to you, but I'm alive, and there's no burning house for me to jump into where I am, so you can go to sleep and let me do the same,” I rant, expecting him to end the call on me now.
But leave it to him to just not take a very clear clue.
“Glad to know you're doing good man. The team misses you.” His voice ends in a reflective tone, and it almost makes me want to soften on him. But all I have to remember is that no one would be missing me if he hadn't suspended me.
I should be in my home now, not some cheap motel in a town where I barely know anyone.
I should be tired from a long day at work, not from having a shitty day.
I should be getting into bed right now, feeling fulfilled after another day doing what I love the most, which is saving people. But no, I don't have any of that!
And he wants me to be happy he's calling me?
No way.
“There wouldn't be any need for that if you didn't kick me off the team,” I snap at him.
I hear a long sigh from his end of the phone. I’m waiting for him to be done with this conversation and just end the call. He's not one to give up easily, though, so I'm not surprised when he speaks again. It's the tone with which he speaks that totally catches me off guard.
“This again. I didn't kick you off the team, Ian. I suspended you!”
“What's the difference?” He snaps in irritation.
“When you're kicked off the team, you are fired, man—fired, no coming back! Suspension, though, means you are being given a compulsory leave. So the difference here is that you get to come back as soon as you are okay,” he explains in frustration.
“And I'm not okay now?” I retort, knowing my question is a totally unnecessary one.
“God, I can't argue with you, man,” he says in a groan.
We are getting somewhere.
“The feeling is mutual,” I respond, even though I don't mean it.
I'm just hurting right now, and I need someone to lash out at. He's just unlucky to be the only person willing to put up with me.
It doesn't help that he won't hang up, and I'm too stubborn to be the one who gives in. If I'm going to be honest, I don't even want to end the call. Sleep is not something I'm sure I'll get any time soon, and being on the call with him gives me a couple of minutes’ break from the self-hate campaign I have going on.
“Stop doing this to yourself, man. Just… Just get the help you need, please.”
His voice is so soft this time around I fear he's going to get through to me.
I hear a crash in the room beside me again. This time, it's too loud for me to ignore.
Grateful for the escape, I speak.
“I think something is going on at the motel where I am. I'll call you tomorrow, good night.”
Whatever protest he has in response to me never comes as I end the call, toss my phone on the bed, and dash out of the room. As I open the door, a sneaky feeling that I might need my phone fills me, and I rush back to get it.
As soon as I pick up the phone, I remember I'm still in my towel, and I quickly pick up the jeans I was previously wearing, which are lying on the ground, and pull them up my legs.
Next, I ruffle through my duffel for a clean shirt. The one I was wearing was stained with blood from my cut, so I left it in the bathroom.
I choose the first shirt I find, putting it on as fast as I can as the sound is now getting louder. I tuck my phone in my pocket and then step out of my room. In front of the room where the sound is coming from, I start to bang on the door, and an eerie silence falls upon the hallway.
What's going on?
Muffled voices come from the door, and my instincts instantly flare up. Something is wrong.
Now, the wise thing here would probably be to rush down to reception, have the receptionist call the cops, and wait for them to show up.
I could even call 911. I have my phone with me.
But these two smart options just don't sit well with me.
What if someone is being raped inside the room?
What if they died before the cops arrived?
What if, what if, what if.
I have to go in
Without hesitation, I kick the door down with my foot and burst inside a pitch-black room.
Whatever movement that was going on before I entered ceases, and I squint my eyes, waiting for a few seconds to let them get acquainted with the darkness before they settle on the two individuals in the room. They are stealing the electronics.
Oh boy.
The two men in masks stare at me, both dead serious, waiting for me to attack so they can give me the best beating of my life.
The way I see this, I could turn back like a coward and go do what I should have done, which is to call the cops. Or I stand my ground and try to hold my weight against them. The odds are clearly against me, though, because one of the men is my size while the other seems to have more muscle than his friend and I combined.
As if they could read my thoughts, the big guy sneers at me and then speaks.
“What is it going to be?”
Well, I guess I am getting a beating.
Sucker for pain, I know.
I attack first, going for the guy that's my size. Big mistake. He lands a punch in my face before I can even throw one at him, making me lose my balance, and that's how my chances against them move from fifty to zero.
The other guy joins in, and they both start to beat the living daylight out of me, some of the punches hitting me in the face.
I try to hold my weight against them, doling out consequent punches to both where I know it'll have impact, but there's only so much I can do with the two of them against me.
Eventually, the sound of cops arriving reaches my ears, and I swear, hearing a police siren has never sounded so good.
God bless whoever called the cops.
Everything else after that happens so fast.
The cops come in, apprehend the guys. The medics come for me, and it isn’t until the lights come back on that I realize the extent to which I've gone this time. The whole room is a mess, the guys don’t look so good. My whole body hurts.
If Richard sees me like this, he's going to keep me off the team forever. Maybe I do need the time off anyway.
As a medic guides me to lie on the stretcher and wheels out of the motel, all I can think of is how easily this could have been avoided.
Why didn't I call the police?
Why didn't I walk away when I saw that the odds were clearly not in my favor?
Why was I suspended from my job?
I'll give you one answer. Just one word.
Justin.
Who is Justin?
He was my younger brother, and that's all I'm saying about that.
As I am carted into the ambulance, Susie, the motel receptionist, comes out fussing all over me and apologizing to me for not calling the cops in time and saying all that happened is due to her carelessness.
I can barely speak, so I don't waste any energy trying to tell her otherwise. If she wants to feel guilty about something she had no power over, who am I to dissuade her?
In fact, I say welcome to the club. It's getting lonely, anyway. Maybe I could use a partner.
Damn.
Even in my thoughts, I sound so crazy I'm having a hard time believing it.
But sadly, this is my new reality: jumping into burning buildings without taking proper precautions, jumping in front of a truck to save a woman I've always wanted but couldn't have, and now getting beaten by burglars over electronics worth a few hundred dollars.
When does it end?
Hell, if I know.
Soon, I am in the ambulance. The receptionist couldn't follow me because she's on duty. I'm grateful for the reprieve, and then the bus starts to move.
We get to the hospital in record time. The EMT staff tends to me, a few of them talking about how crazy they think I am for getting beaten up over nothing, right in my presence.
And I thought the night couldn't get any worse.
Another nurse joins the group, admonishes the staff for gossiping, and then asks what I am in for.
I tune it all out as they start to tell her. I can feel her gaze on me, though, but I try to ignore it until I realize that she looks familiar. I can't remember from where.
After getting checked out, they tell me I have no major injuries except the swelling on my face that now makes me look like a nincompoop, no doubt.
They give me some prescriptions, say it'll be charged to the motel, and then tell me I can go home.
When I'm finally left alone in the room, I allow a loud groan to leave my mouth, properly letting myself feel stupid for getting pummeled for no reason.
I gather my strength and then jump off the bed. Entering the bathroom, I glance at myself in the mirror.
Yup, I look stupid.
Shaking my head, I walk back into the ward and exit it. As I step out, my movement falters on instinct when I see Sarah walking toward me.
The thought of running back into the ward occurs to me, but she's already seen me, her eyes zeroed on me with a pissed look on her face.
What is she doing here?