The rumble of thunder penetrated Luca�s mind, reverberating softly in the stillness, bringing him out of that dark, comfortable place that had cloaked him, and he gradually became aware of a difference in his environment. The recovery room nurse who had been attempting to rouse him before was conspicuously absent, and he experienced a curious sense of regret that he had never seen her face. Also absent were the sounds of distant voices discussing the condition of other patients, and he knew that he had probably been moved to a private room.
It was very quiet in the room, except for the strange beeps and hisses that he had heard before, sounds he had not yet identified. He was moving closer to total wakefulness, but his remembrances of his experiences inside the hospital seemed indistinct, as if the boundary between reality and imagination was not clearly defined. He had a vague memory of T. J. arguing with one of the nurses, but it was impossible to determine if it was real or if he had dreamed it.
He felt very tired and weak, but that overpowering drowsiness that had existed before was melting away, rousing him against his desire to remain in that warm place he had found that was without pain, and he was powerless to stop it. The pain in his abdomen was building again with agonizing severity, and he attempted to moan softly, but something in his throat was preventing the expression of pain to reach the surface.
As before, he felt sudden alarm at the air that was being forced into his lungs with steady regularity, and his instinct was to fight the unnatural quality of it. Strangling sensations tightened his throat, and the urge to gag was unbearable. Panic rose inside him again as he struggled to breathe. His eyes came open, but it was difficult to focus. He saw an undistinguishable shape near his face, something that was holding the tube in place, and he reached toward his mouth, determined to pull the device from his throat.
There was a sudden rustle of clothes as someone in the room moved toward him, and hands grasped his wrists, holding them firmly. Desperately, he attempted to struggle against the person who was preventing him from removing the offending object from his mouth, but the hands maintained their grip, keeping them just out of reach. The hands were larger and stronger than those of a woman, and he realized that they belonged to a man.
He fought back, frantically trying to free himself from this person�s grasp. Pain exploded in his mid-section, and he cried out in pain, but the cry was blocked by the tube in his throat, resulting in a strangling sound that seemed to upset the person holding his wrists.
�No, Dom,� said an anxious voice. �You have to leave that there.�
Dom recognized the voice, and his eyes shifted, seeking the face of the man who was preventing him from removing the device. The blurry form slowly took shape, and he recognized the blond curls as belonging to his friend and co-worker. Unable to speak, he used his eyes and his expression in an attempt to convey his needs, imploring his friend to help him. T. J.! Take it out! It�s choking me! his mind begged.
The door to his room burst open suddenly, startling both of them, and he shifted his pleading eyes toward it. Without altering his grip on Luca�s wrists, T. J. also turned toward the door. The ICU nurse, responding to the evidence of his distress in the elevated heart rate on the monitor at the nurses� station, hesitated in surprise when she saw the sharpshooter holding the struggling patient by the wrists, but quickly recovered. �What are you doing?� she demanded.
�He�s trying to pull out that tube,� T. J. explained.
She approached the bed quickly, and leaned over patient, quickly recognizing the expression of panic in the wounded man�s pleading eyes as he stared back at her. Her expression was sympathetic, giving the wounded man a brief moment of hope that she would help him.
�He�s fighting the respirator,� she announced. Instead of helping him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and held him firmly against the bed. �Officer Luca, you need to calm down. I know it�s uncomfortable, but you need to stop fighting the respirator. It�s helping you to breathe.�
Helping! Dom thought, frantically, incredulously. It�s strangling me! Oh, God! I can�t breathe! He thrashed, desperately, trying to break free from T. J.�s grasp, but the hands around his wrists tightened.
�Calm down!� the nurse repeated, more forcefully than before. �Relax and let it breathe for you.�
Dom�s eyes darted back to T. J. and saw that the sharpshooter was almost as frightened as he was, and was clearly upset that Dom was not calming down at all. If anything, he was struggling worse, and the coughing, gagging sounds he was making were terrifying. Both men�s eyes were huge, Dom�s with panic, T. J.�s from horror.
�Can�t you help him?� T. J. pleaded.
�I�m going to summon a physician. Just keep holding his wrists,� the nurse instructed. �But be mindful of the i.v. And whatever you do, do not allow him to pull out that tube!�
She disappeared through the door, leaving the frightened sharpshooter alone with the equally frightened Luca.
�Dom, settle down,� T. J. urged with more emotion than he had ever heard in his voice. Dark brown eyes bored deep into his blue ones, pleading for help that he could not offer. �The respirator is there to help you!�
The pain in Dom�s abdomen was excruciating, but he could not speak, could not alert anyone to his agony. A strangled cry managed to work its way past the tube as Luca tried to call out T. J.�s name.
�Dom, please, settle down,� T. J. continued to plead. �The nurse has gone for a doctor, but you need to relax. The machine is helping you breathe. Relax and let it do its work.�
Dom�s struggles were growing weaker as he exhausted himself, but his eyes remained locked with T. J.�s, as if attempting to desperately convey a message that was not being understood.
In actuality, T. J. understood completely that Dom was desperately asking for help, but he could not help him in the way that Dom was requesting. He could not remove the breathing tube; that could only come from the physician�s direct order, and until then it must remain in place.
After what seemed an eternity, but was in reality only few moments, the nurse returned with a young doctor in a white smock. She had apparently told him what was happening, for he was carrying a syringe loaded with something that T. J. hoped would help his friend.
�I tried to get him to calm down, but either he can�t hear me or he�s too panicked to obey,� the nurse was saying as they came through the door.
The doctor assessed the situation quickly. �All right, I�m going to sedate him. I don�t want him pulling out that tube or opening up that wound again.� Quickly, he uncapped the syringe and emptied the contents into the i.v. line.
Almost immediately, Dom felt the effects of the medication as it seeped into his bloodstream through the i.v. tube. At first, it carried with it a pleasant numbing of the pain in his abdomen, and his rigid torso began to relax. He felt T. J.�s hands still gripping him tightly around the wrists, but he no longer felt any inclination to struggle against him.
As Dom ceased his struggling, he felt the sharpshooter lower his arms onto the bed at his sides and finally release him. The light in the room was beginning to fade, and then there was blessed darkness.
The nurse immediately inspected the i.v. needle to make certain it had not come loose during the struggle.
The doctor withdrew a coiled stethoscope from the pocket of his smock, put the earpieces in place, and slipped the metal disk down the front of the hospital gown and pressed it against Luca's chest and sides, listening to his heart and lungs.
T. J. watched as he did this, trying to interpret that peculiar neutral expression worn by most physicians as they examined their patients. He wondered if they received special training to maintain that expressionless countenance indigenous to medical doctors.
Nodding with satisfaction, he returned the instrument to his pocket. �He seems okay, now. Doctor Windom has gone home for the night, but I am certain that he will want to remove that tube in the morning, so, in the meantime, we�ll keep him sedated to prevent a repeat.� He looked up, focusing on the wide-eyed man who stood on the other side of the bed. �What are you doing in here?� he demanded.
�Doctor Windom gave permission for him to stay,� the nurse told him in a clipped voice when T. J. failed to speak. She was obviously still annoyed that he had been allowed to remain.
From the instant change in the young doctor�s demeanor, T. J. deduced that Windom carried some administrative clout within the hospital. �Well, it�s against procedure, but if Windom gave his approval then I cannot overrule it. In actuality, it�s probably a good thing you were here. Nurse McGuire told me you were already restraining him when she came into the room.�
T. J. nodded, mutely, too upset by what had just happened to speak.
�The way he was struggling, he could have broken open that wound or pulled out that tube, and if there is any swelling in there it could have been difficult to reinsert.�
T. J. nodded again. He cleared his throat, but he was surprised by the quaver in his voice when he asked, �Is he doing any better?�
�He�s still holding his own,� the doctor replied. �We probably won�t see any significant change in his condition for another day or so. Until then, we�ll just keep hoping and praying that he will continue to hold out. You�re planning on remaining the rest of the night?�
�Yes.�
�All right. If you notice any changes, summon a nurse immediately. We�ll want to keep a close eye on him for a while.
�I will.�
The doctor and nurse left the room, pulling the door closed behind them, leaving T. J. alone with the wounded Luca again. T. J. sank down in the chair he had pulled near the bed, calming his pounding heart as he looked at the now-sleeping patient. The incident had shaken him badly, and he was profoundly grateful that Dom�s mother had not been there to witness it.
It was nearly three o�clock in the morning. The only noise in the room was the repetitive blips of Dom's heartbeats on the monitor and the low whishing sounds of the respirator, and T. J. had sat for a long time and watched the electronic green line spike with every blip. It seemed steady, a good sign, but he was admittedly no expert on medical matters.
He felt a yawn building, and tried to fight it off but without success, and as he yawned he simultaneously rubbed his fingers in his eyes in an attempt to push the sleepiness from them, but it only made them feel more tired. Standing up, he stretched his legs and moved to the window to gaze out into the night.
It was raining now, and the normally busy streets that ran before the hospital were nearly deserted. Only a few vehicles with their headlights turned on made their way toward destinations unknown to the troubled officer. Farther out, most of the business complexes were dark, waiting for the employees to arrive for work. Only a few contained lights in the windows, attesting to a few night-owls or nightshift employees. There were still cars in the hospital parking lot, but that was not unexpected, given the number of patients and staff.
Rolling his head around his shoulders in an attempt to work out the stiffness, the weary officer returned to the bed and sank down in the chair again to gaze with worried eyes at the face of his friend and teammate. Since the brief return to consciousness and the struggle over the respirator hours earlier, Dom had not moved at all during the rest of the night. His eyes remained closed, and his face was relaxed, as if sleeping. But it was not a natural sleep; it was drug-induced to prevent him from causing further injury.
It was difficult to see Dom Luca in this way, but it was more difficult to think of leaving him there alone. The quiet form on the bed was a startling contrast to the cheerful man he knew, so full of life and energy.
Deep in thought, T. J. was not aware when the door opened. Lieutenant Harrelson paused in the doorway, surprised to see the other officer standing at the window, gazing with a worried expression at the motionless form of their wounded colleague.
He slipped quietly inside, and carefully closed the door behind him. "T. J.?"
Startled by the unexpected presence of the team leader, T. J. whirled toward the door. "Lieutenant."
"What are you doing here?" Harrelson asked.
T. J. shrugged. "I couldn't get him off my mind, so I decided to come back here. I thought maybe having someone in the room with him, someone he knows, might help. You know, let him know that we care."
"I came by to see how he was doing, and the nurses told me you were here.�
T. J. gestured toward the door. �How did you get past that linebacker at the nurse�s station?�
�It wasn�t easy. I had to do some mighty fancy talking, I tell you that. She granted me five minutes, and If I�m not out of here by then, she�ll come to get me."
Harrelson moved closer to the bed, observing the pale face of his wounded officer. T.J. noticed with surprise that the lieutenant�s face was uncharacteristically gentle with concern as he viewed the respirator and the monitors. His jacket and trousers were spotted with raindrops.
"So, has there been any change?"
"He was awake for a few minutes before midnight, but he started fighting the respirator so they had to sedate him.� He deliberately neglected to inform the lieutenant about the frightening struggle, and how badly shaken it had left him afterward. �Didn�t you go home?�
"I'm wound up tight as a fiddle string," Hondo admitted. "Betty was getting tired of my tossing and turning, so I went down to the jail and dragged that young punk out of bed, the one who shot him. He told me he was hiding in the boys' bathroom, and admitted that he shot Luca from ambush. Dom went down on the first shot, but he must not have realized that he was hit, because he got back up and traded shots with the kid. It ended when the kid tried to hightail it out the door."
Just a bunch of stupid kids," T. J. said, bitterly. "They'll be back on the street before the ink is dry on their fingerprints.
"Not this time, at least not the shooter. The attempted murder of a police officer will keep him behind bars while he awaits trial."
"What about the others?"
Hondo shrugged. "Well, that is a bit less certain. My guess is that the first one we apprehended, the one who panicked and ran, will probably be back out in a day or two. This is his first offense, and he doesn't seem to be directly involved in anything violent. I think they'll go easy on him. As for the other two, we have them on intent to commit murder, particularly this Michael fellow."
T. J. got up from the chair and wandered to the window again, as he had done intermittently all night. Pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the pane, he gazed out at the wet parking lot below, lit by street lamps. Moths fluttered around the bright glow of light, apparently oblivious to the rain.
Hondo observed his sharpshooter quietly, detecting weariness in his posture. Mental stress could be as exhausting as physical stress, and he knew that was what he was seeing. Turning over his wrist, he glanced at his watch. "It's nearly three. I think it's time we went home and got some sleep."
"You go ahead. I want to stay a while longer."
Hondo could see that his sharpshooter was exhausted. "T. J., you won't do him any good by ruining your own health. Now, I want you to go home and get some rest and have a good meal."
T. J. shook his head, negatively. "I'm all right, Lieutenant."
Hondo was dissatisfied with the response, "T. J., you're exhausted. Do I have to make it an order?"
T. J. drew a deep breath, and released it in a heavy sigh, a vivid gesture of resentment. Disobeying an order issued by his supervising officer was an offense that could incur disciplinary action, but he knew that if Hondo issued this particular order, he would ignore it. Looking directly at his supervisor with defiance in his eyes, he said, "Lieutenant, please don't make it an order, because it's an order I'll have to disobey."
Hondo was not surprised by the response; he had, in fact, expected it. "Do I detect deliberate insubordination?" he asked.
T. J. continued to gaze at him, steadily. He did not answer verbally, but the expression in his blue eyes offered vivid confirmation.
Hondo finally nodded. "All right. I won't make it an order. But you need rest, T. J. We return to duty tomorrow, and the city expects us to honor our commitment to the community. The chief was very generous in giving us until noon, but even with that you�re going to be sleep-deprived.�
�So are you,� T. J. replied. �So are Jim and Deke. Do you really think any of us are going to get any sleep tonight?�
�No, I suppose not.�
�Lieutenant, I want to stay here until his mother gets back. Now, I�ll be there at noon if you absolutely need me there, but afterward I�m coming back here.�
Harrelson drew a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh. �Very well. I�ll give you permission to stay here, but remember we�re on call tomorrow. Do you have your beeper?�
�It�s in the car.�
�Get it and keep it handy. If we get a call, I expect you to be there.�
The door to the room opened, and Nurse McGuire stood silhouetted against the light behind her, her hands on her hips. �Lieutenant, you talked me into giving you five minutes and you�ve gone over that time.�
�Sorry,� Hondo apologized. Turning to T. J., he said. �Hopefully, we will not get a run tomorrow, but if we do I expect you to be there.�
�I will be,� T. J. promised.
�Lieutenant,� the nurse insisted.
�Coming.� Casting one last, lingering glance at Luca, he made his departure. The nurse stood there for several moments looking disapprovingly at T. J., who obviously had no intention of leaving. Then she backed out the door and pulled it closed behind her.
Go to Chapter Ten