CHAPTER 5 #2
“Folks, I know you’re all concerned about Mr. Dean, but I assure you, we’ve got matters well in hand.
He’s regained consciousness, and he’s given me permission to update his friends.
Now, I think he meant his friends with the MFD, his co-workers, if you will, but since so many of you know and care about our own original orphan, let me tell you how he’s doing.
He’s burned lightly across his back, from teakettle to neck, but his uniform saved him from more serious injury.
The only part that got the brunt of the flames was the nape of his neck where the helmet rose up.
We can thank Mr. Truman’s mortuary for the generous donation that allowed the MFD to purchase up-to-date protective gear this past winter, because otherwise, Sam’s injuries would have been considerably worse. ”
A lot of people nod and agree.
“Now, it seems it took some time to douse the flames enough so the rest of the MFD could pull Sam out. The time on the ground means Sam inhaled a lot of smoke into his lungs. Even the best respirators aren’t sufficient under such conditions, so we’re not out of the woods quite yet.”
“Used a helicopter and crane to get the boy out,” someone shouts. I think it’s Mr. Applebaum. He owns a car wash just outside the town limits. “Otherwise, there would have been more injured, or our Sammy would be a doornail.”
“You should have seen him fall. How’re his bones?” someone else asks.
I look over and find Guy Falker. I don’t much like Guy, never did, but he seems pretty worried about Sampson.
“Sam’s banged up, but he’s built sturdy.
No broken bones. Now, I’m going to ask you all to go home, even you gentlemen from the MFD.
We’re going to keep Mr. Dean under light sedation for the pain, and force our hospitality upon him overnight to make certain there’s no internal bleeding, but he’ll probably be released tomorrow.
You can send your casseroles and flowers to him soon enough.
Now, let’s free up the front here, so sick people can get in to see us, okay?
Thanks a bunch!” He waves his hand and turns away, before striding over to the front desk to have a conversation with Charmaine Tillis, the nurse who mans the reception desk.
“Come on, Nicholas. Might as well go home. Hey, maybe you can make Mr. Dean a card?” I say, messing up the boy’s tawny hair.
“I guess. You sure Mr. Dean’s okay?”
“That’s what Dr. Feinbaum said. No reason to doubt him, right?”
But I’m just pulling him away when Charmaine calls my name. “Nina? Nina Adams?”
“Here.” I hold up the hand that’s not attached to Nicholas’s like I’m in school.
She waves me over to the desk, and with everyone making a beeline out the door, we manage to arrive with minimal effort. “Doctor would like a word.” She gestures.
Dr. Feinbaum drops the folder he’s flipping through to give me a kindly smile before coming around the partition to ruffle Nicholas’s hair as well. I don’t blame him. Nicholas just has the ruffly kind of hair. “Hey, Nina. Could you come with me, please?”
“I’m babysitting, so I can’t leave Nicholas. Why? Is there a problem?”
“No, no problem. It’s just that Mr. Dean was mumbling your name as he came to, and he seemed kind of anxious. I thought I’d just bring you by him to ease his concerns.”
“Concerns? What possible concerns could he have where I’m… concerned?”
“Don’t know, and none of my business. I just thought that since he seemed so riled, talking to you might do him a bit of good.
I didn’t want to say so in front of the crowd, but seeing as how you’re obviously close…
” He winks before he leans in to speak more softly next to my ear.
“The fact is, matters aren’t as simple as I made them out to be.
Sampson fell a great distance. He’s lucky to be alive.
The MFD guys say he was blazing like a Yule log, but his suit protected him from the worst of it, that part was true.
The fall, though, did a number, and what he needs most in order to heal is peace, quiet, and calm. I’m assuming you can give that to him?”
And I only realize how worried I’ve been for Sampson by how my relief at first hearing he was okay now disappears. Anxiety so strong that it pits my stomach, races through me on acid-dipped feet.
What can I say? I’m slow sometimes to understand my own reactions.
Without any further argument, Nicholas and I follow Dr. Feinbaum past the entrance and into the main hallway. We walk the maze of corridors in silence until we stop before one of the open doors.
“I’ll give you a few moments alone, but not more than five, you hear? Whatever he needs to say to you is none of my business, so long as you keep our Sam calm. I won’t have my patient over-tired, so if this is some lovers’ tiff he’s worried about, put it on the back burner.”
“It’s not…” But I don’t finish because there’s no way to explain away a relationship that doesn’t exist. “We’ll just visit with him a few minutes.
” Truth is, I have nothing to say, not to Sampson, not to the doctor, and not even to myself.
My heart is pounding too hard to find words.
I don’t know why. I’m not scared, not exactly, but this whole situation is just too…
weird. Since when does a person’s enemy call out their name after they’ve fallen out of a tree and into a roaring fire?
Maybe Sampson wants to apologize. After all these years, it’s about time.
Once the doctor leaves, Nicholas and I walk through the blue tiled room to the far end.
I think it’s an operating room, actually, that they’ve made into a patient room, because the floor has a drain in the middle, and it looks sterile, with machines and instruments everywhere.
Two twin-size beds have been stacked longwise.
Pillows have been added to make a soft ramp over the touching head and footrest. Sampson’s knees lie over the connection, bent slightly.
“I think he’s sleeping,” Nicholas whispers.
Judging by the resounding snores, I’d say so, but that’s not what worries me. There’s a gurgling sound every time he inhales, and a wheezing, as if he’s struggling for breath.
“Yeah. We should go.”
“But he wants to talk to you. You heard the doctor. Besides, he saved you yesterday. You owe him.”
Great. Now I have a child as my conscience.
“I’ll leave him a note.” But as I search the room, I can’t find anything with which to write, or anything to write on other than the chart hooked to the end of the second bed.
It doesn’t matter, because with a loud snort, Sampson opens his eyes. His breathing evens out, though there’s still a rasp that makes me… nervous. He blinks his large green eyes at me. “Nina?”
My name is barely a whisper, but an enormous wave of relief swamps me. He recognizes me. That must mean he’s going to be okay?
I push Nicholas before me until we stand next to the main bed. “And Nicholas. He insisted we come and make certain you’re okay. Are you, um, okay?”
He begins to nod before wincing. “Yeah. Just a little banged up, I guess. I think my neck’s burned.”
“The doctor said the burns aren’t so bad. You’re going to make a full recovery,” Nicholas assures him.
Sampson sends the child a strained smile. “Great. Thanks. Uh, hey, would you mind asking the nurse for another blanket? You’d think that after being doused with flames, I’d be hot, but my bones feel like ice.”
“Sure. Be right back.” And Nicholas takes off before I can warn him not to move too far. Not that there’s a lot of danger in this town, but still.
I sigh. “I’m a lousy babysitter.”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind having you watch over me.”
I blink. Several times. It doesn’t remove the fond expression from his face except during those brief, fluttery moments when my eyes are closed. “Er…”
He laughs before wincing. “Great response. Just as quick as I remember.” He mirrors my remark from yesterday when I implied he was slow-witted. At least that means his memory isn’t fried.
“Asshole.”
“Hero asshole to you, Jelly Bean.”
“Why are you calling me that?” I demand, even as my heart does a tiny flip in my chest.
“Because you’re sweet as candy, I guess. Though usually not to me.” His smile sobers. “What are you doing here?”
“Nicholas dragged me to join half the town of your biggest fans, all of whom required an update on your condition. And then Dr. Feinbaum said you were calling my name, and that I should come talk to you about it.”
“I was?” A flash of red suffuses his features before he smiles again. “Must have been having a nice flashback memory from yesterday. It was yesterday, wasn’t it?”
“Creep.” But I feel the heat on my own cheeks. “And yes. You’re not that injured, so don’t try to milk it.”
He laughs again before coughing. I’m just about to panic, hating myself for setting him up for an attack that’s going to kill him, when he manages to stop. “Ugh. I feel like poop.”
“Poop? Who the hell says poop instead of shit?”
“People who don’t use their mouths as toilets? What’s with you and the language, anyway? I don’t remember you swearing in high school.”
“I’m shocked you remember me at all.” Even I hear the whining tone in my words, but I’m not sure why. It’s not as if I want him to remember the day he made me feel like a whore.
“Not remember the single most beautiful girl in the world? Not remember how I came upon her while she was enjoying the attentions of two guys? Not remember how she screamed when I showed up in the locker room, and wouldn’t stop screaming until I left, making me feel like the worst kind of rapist or predator in the world, even though I never touched her and only happened upon her by chance?
Yeah, I’d say I remember that girl.” His eyes go as flat as his deadpan tone.
But it takes me a few minutes to unravel what he’s said. Because that’s not at all what happened.
But he’s still speaking. “At least yesterday I finally got to see what all the fuss was about. Trust me, Jelly Bean, after feeling your silk, you’re going to stay in my head for a very long time, and for a very different reason than you used to plague me before.”
Several more beats go by. I don’t know how to respond. I’m about to pull words out of the air, something that writers are usually good at, when Nicholas scampers into the room, followed by a nurse I don’t know.
Thank heaven for great interruptions.
“Visiting time’s over. Give him a kiss and get gone so our local hero can get his rest,” the nurse orders, fluffing out the blanket she carries before placing it over the ones already covering him like a patchwork since he’s so large.
“Oh, and I told your other visitor he’d have to wait until tomorrow to see you, Mr. Dean.
You’ve had enough excitement today. Relative, I think, by the looks of him. Wouldn’t give me a name, though.”
“Relative?”
And just like that, I’ve lost Sampson’s attention. Just in time, too, because I feel the energy building inside me from the mix of so many emotions. I’m about to explode like a volcano, and I don’t know if I’m going to kiss Sampson, rail at him, or hit him; that’s how frustrated I suddenly feel.
The last thing anyone needs is to see me in volcano mode, especially my injured enemy. With a nod and a wave, Nicholas and I take our leave.
I’m at the door when Sampson calls. “Hey, Nina?”
“Yeah?” I ask, turning.
He chews on his bottom lip for a second before finally saying, “Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate the concern.”
“Sure thing. Glad you’re not, um… dead.”
And that’s that. Time to put Sampson Dean in my rearview mirror. Plus, I suddenly have a great idea for a new vampire hero. He’s tall, auburn-haired, green-eyed, and works nights as a fireman. I’ve been wondering how to set Darius apart from the other Dunleaven heroes. Now I know.
Nothing says I can’t steal fiction from real life, right? And maybe I can work out some of those fantasies my brain keeps trying to have about Sampson from the relative safety of my computer. Clove can jump Darius’s burned and broken bones, healing him with the magick of her pussy.
Idiotic, but at least the idea is more constructive than my other urge, which is to slide on top of Sampson, and rub up and down all the hard angles of him until he cries.
Which is weird. I mean, I’ve hated Sampson for years.
Once upon a time, he took my gray soul and tarnished it so black that it burrowed in the ground like a diseased worm and tried to pretend like it was dead.
To want him now, when I’ve put my past behind me and regrown my ego, must be a sign that I’m truly deranged.
Though the extra-large male would be a worthy ride—if only he didn’t remember me from before.
There’s no coming back from before.