Chapter 24
Linney tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids wouldn’t cooperate. Her body screamed in pain. She heard muffled voices and suddenly she was walking along the shoreline of Silver Lake. The call of the loons echoed clearly as the sun set. The pain disappeared as gentle waves covered her feet and ankles before rolling back out again. She was in her happy place and Gran was calling to her. “Linney, Linney!” The voice changed, getting louder and deeper, drawing her away from the lake.
With great difficulty, she blinked. It was bright. So bright. She managed to keep her eyes open and then instinctively reached for her glasses to bring the brightness into focus, but her hand hit a railing. Where was she?
“Linney? Linney?” She was confused. That brogue could only be Mac, but that wasn’t possible. Was it?
“Wha … what happened? Where am I?” Her voice sounded like sandpaper. The last thing she remembered was being in the hotel bar.
“You’re awake.” Mac rubbed his eyes. Linney lifted her hand and realized she was hooked up to an IV.
“Mac? What happened?” she asked again, groggily. “Where are my glasses? Why are you here?” She coughed and felt another wave of pain.
He held her hand. “Don’t worry about any of that for now. How are you feeling?
“Hurts. Everywhere. What happened?” she asked a third time, grimacing. “Tell me.”
Mac gave her a high-level view of what he had learned from Grant and other news sources and assured her that he and Hassan were both safe and unhurt.
“Ernst?” she whispered.
Mac shook his head and told her that Ernst was one of the four journalists who had been killed, all of them photographers or camera people who had been closest to the action. “I know he was special to you,” he said, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Linney turned her face away from him and let the waves of darkness come over her again.
When Linney woke again, the pain was still there, and so was Mac, slumped over in a vinyl hospital chair pulled close to her. He had fallen asleep with his head on his folded arms on her bed. How long had he been there, she wondered. How long had she been there?
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. The noise startled Mac awake, and he jumped to usher someone in. A fuzzy white shape got clearer as a doctor approached her bed.
“Ms. McDonnell, I’m pleased to see you are awake.” The clipped German-accented English almost made her smile, it was such a stereotype. “I’m Dr. Fischer. I’d like to examine you now. How do you feel?”
She winced. “Everything hurts. And—” Linney put her hand to her throat. It was dry and scratchy. Dr. Fischer poured some water into a cup and let Linney take a sip with a straw. She struggled to sit up but gave up when another surge of pain made it clear that wasn’t an option. “Mac told me what happened, but I don’t remember anything.”
“It will come back to you in time. When you arrived last night, the first thing we had to do was put pins and a plate in your hip.” He pointed to her left side. “It was badly damaged. It was a difficult surgery, but I am confident you will recover fully, with no issues. You have a lot of bruises and some broken ribs, which will heal on their own, but no internal injuries. You are a lucky woman.”
Linney touched her temples—her head was pounding—and found a significant bump and several painful spots. “Ah, and we sutured several deep lacerations,” the doctor explained. Linney realized there were stitches near her hairline and on the left side of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s so bright in here.”
The doctor frowned. “We have been watching for a concussion too. I can lower the lights, but first let me look. He shone a light in her eyes, which made her head hurt even more. Frowning, he scribbled something in her chart.
“Is something wrong?” Linney asked.
“Nothing to be worried about just yet,” he said, not divulging any details.
Linney squinted, trying desperately to bring the room into focus. “I’m terribly nearsighted. I’ve worn glasses since I was little,” she said, anxious to be able to see clearly and feel more in control.
“If you know your prescription, we can help with that.”
“It’s on my phone,” Linney said, but then it occurred to her. “Oh.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve brought you a new one,” Mac answered the unspoken question. “I had the tech guys download everything you had backed up on the cloud, so you’re ready to go. I guess you’ll want to call your family.”
Dr. Fischer finished his examination. “Now, Ms. McDonnell, we’re going to get you sitting up this evening and tomorrow you can take a slow walk around the hall. It seems fast and it will hurt. But moving is important for healing. We will take it slow, given your head injury and those broken ribs. For now, I prescribe more rest.” He scribbled one last note and left the room.
The doctor may have wanted her to rest, but Linney was awake now and despite the pain, the journalist in her wanted answers.
“We don’t know much more than I told you earlier,” Mac said. “Grant and Hassan were out shooting—they’re both still there—there are a lot of unknowns.” He blinked several times and then continued huskily, making sure he was near enough for her to see him, “We were all terrified for you back in the London newsroom.”
Her face clouded over and Mac understood what she was asking. “I’m good. I was scared for you—I sent you there after all—but I’m sober and I’m fine.”
Linney closed her eyes again, letting darkness take her away.