Take My Breath Away

  Chapter 18 Jason

  A dull pain slowly began to build throughout my body, most noticeable in my back. I could perceive a faint glow beyond my eyelids, but I had no desire to open my eyes. Each shallow breath brought more pain. I could hear a beeping noise—steady, like a pulse. Beyond that, muffled footsteps and voices I couldn't comprehend. Two pair of footsteps approached from the muddle of distant sound. Hard soled shoes, not boots—leather—maybe cops, I surmised.

  "Looks like he's still out," one of them said.

  Another set of footsteps—softer—approached.

  "You the kid's doctor?"

  "I am Doctor Chaudhry. What can I do for you Officers?"

  "I'm, uh, Officer Burns, this here's my partner Officer Grotzky. We were hoping to get a statement, but it looks like the kid's still out."

  "I'm afraid so. He lost quite a bit of blood—it may take awhile." The doctor sounded annoyed.

  "What about his old lady?"

  "His mother," the doctor enunciated the word, "is in the ICU. I don't think she'll be making a statement anytime soon."

  "Sure, okay, thanks Doc," Officer Burns said to the fleeing footsteps. "So what do you think? Should we hang around?"

  "Don't see why not, nothing else going on, heck I'm in no hurry to go back out in the cold."

  Wooden chair legs screeched across the floor and then the vinyl cushions groaned as the two sat. It was quiet for a few minutes and then I smelled stale coffee.

  "This is a strange one don't you think? I mean had to be some perp to throw this kid through the T.V."

  The frame at the foot of my bed rattled. "Jason Whitaker. Hey, isn't this the kid they brought down to the station back in the fall?"

  "Whitaker. Sure, that's right, the quarterback—what was his name—Derrick, Derrick Curly, that's it—yeah, he was taped to the goal posts and the Whitaker kid was at the scene. We had to let him go though, he alibied out."

  "Doesn't mean he didn't do it. You think maybe this Derrick kid has it out for him?"

  "Nah, he's still in a cast."

  "Friends?"

  "I doubt it. Those kids are mostly mouth and I can't see any of them breaking and entering—a fight at school, maybe, but not this." Officer Burns slurped his coffee.

  "Had to be a pretty strong son of a gun to toss the kid like that. You know the weirdest thing though was the way they found his mother."

  "You mean the blanket wrapped around her?"

  "It was more than just that. The paramedics said her lips were ice cold like maybe she'd been outside, and someone had to have been giving her CPR or she would have been dead by the time they got there."

  "Okay, so who tosses a kid and then gives his old lady CPR?"

  "Try this on for size. Someone breaks in while Jason here is playing a video game—he doesn't hear the guy and the burglar surprises him. They fight, Jason gets tossed and the burglar flees the scene except he runs into the mother on his way out. She has a heart attack. He's a repeat offender and doesn't want a life on his hands in case he gets caught so he calls 911 and gives the woman CPR."

  "That's a stretch."

  "Could happen. Let's see what's on the tube."

  The glow behind my eyelids brightened with a flickering light and I could hear the news—the channel flipped several times—and then laughing from the television. I drifted in and out of consciousness several times each time the pain in my back grew worse. Finally I'd had enough and I forced a weak groan.

  "Hey, I think he's coming around.," Officer Burns said. The television went off. "Better let the doc know."

  "Right." Officer Grotzky's footsteps raced out of the room.

  "Hey, kid, how do you feel?"

  I groaned again, too weak to speak.

  "Hey, don't worry kid, Doc's on his way."

  "Officers," Doctor Chaudhry acknowledged them. "Jason, Jason can you hear me?"

  "Yeah," I managed.

  "Keep still. You've had a bit of an accident and you lost a lot of blood."

  "Why am I laying on my face?"

  "You have some cuts on your back—a few needed stitches—how does your head feel?"

  "Like crap."

  "You have a mild concussion—nothing to worry about, you're going to be just fine."

  "What about Mom?"

  "She's a lucky woman, your mother, if the paramedics hadn't gotten there when they did—well she's going to be fine, just needs a few days in the hospital."

  "And Izzy?"

  "Izzy?" Doctor Chaudhry puzzled.

  "Who's Izzy?" Officer Grotzky asked.

  Crap, now I've done it. 'Be on the lookout—Izzy Faulkner—vampire—last seen tossing her idiot boyfriend through the T.V.—fanged and dangerous, that is all.'

  "Jason, who's Izzy?"

  "What day is it?" I stalled, trying to think of something plausible.

  "Wednesday."

  "Oh, okay, doesn't matter then."

  "Why don't you let us decide if it matters? Who is she?"

  "My girlfriend. She was staying with us, but she went back to Georgia on Tuesday."

  "So she wasn't at the house?"

  "Right—not there." I groaned.

  "That's enough for now, Officers," Doctor Chaudhry interrupted. "He needs to rest."

  "Sure. Thanks kid, we'll see you tomorrow."

  I closed my eyes as their footsteps trailed off toward the door.

  "You think one of us should stay here?" Officer Grotzky said.

  "The hospital has security. I'm sure he'll be fine," Doctor Chaudhry said.

  "So Doc, those injuries to his back, what made them—some kind of animal trap?"

  "We didn't find anything like that at the scene," Officer Burns added.

  "That was my initial thought," Doctor Chaudhry said, "but the instrument was much sharper than any trap wounds I've ever seen. If I didn't know better I'd say they were fingernails, but the wounds were to deep, too clean, almost surgical in nature. I'm afraid I haven't a clue."

  "Umph, darndest thing."

  Not sure, but I think I drifted off again.

  "Jason!" A loud female voice announced. "You asleep?"

  If I was, I wasn't now.

  "I'm Nurse Holland—like in the Netherlands. Where does it hurt?"

  "Back," I groaned. "Ribs—and my freakin' head."

  "Sorry about the ribs, we had to lay you on stomach to tend to the cuts—your ribs are bruised—nothing serious, but I'm sure they must be tender."

  I felt her hands on my back.

  "I'm going to change your dressings and see how those cuts are doing. This might sting a little."

  "Jeez!" I grimaced, opening my eyes for the first time when she ripped back the bandages.

  "Sorry about that. Oh my—"

  "Something wrong?"

  "No, no, those nasty cuts—the deep ones—are healing very quickly. I don't think I've seen anything quite like it."

  "That's good, right?"

  "Yes, I think we might be able to remove the stitches before we send you home."

  "Is that what itches?"

  "I don't think they'll even leave a scar. Why don't we try rolling you over on your side?"

  I had nurse Holland roll me over on my left side, since it was my right ribs that hurt. That left me facing the wall, but she spun the bed around.

  "You need something for the pain?"

  "Nah," I gasped.

  "Now, now, no need to be brave, nobody will know." She fumbled with the I.V. machine and I immediately felt the pain subside. "You get some rest, I'll be back in to see you later."

  "What about my mom?"

  "Oh, yes, I almost forgot. She's awake, breathing on her own. They're still waiting for a few of the test results, but I think she's out of the woods."

  'Out of the woods,' resonated in my aching head. Was Izzy back in the woods? I think I recall the officers saying she wasn't at the house when they got there. Okay, so I guess that made sense, she wouldn't want to be around and deal with a
lot of questions, not to mention a possible trip to the hospital. So where was she? She wouldn't run—not over this, it was just one of those heat of the moment things. We could talk it out. I groaned as I tried to sit up.

  "Hold on there a minute, you're not going anywhere." Strong hands—much stronger than her voice indicated—grabbed my side. "That's it, lye back down."

  "Guess I'm not quite ready for a road trip."

  "We're going to keep you overnight—just for observation—and then we'll see how you're doing in the morning."

  "And Mom?"

  "She'll be a few days longer. We'll work it all out tomorrow, you get some rest."

  I swear she must have given me more painkiller because I couldn't keep my eyes open.

  The pain eventually returned—not really sure how many hours later. It was dark, only the florescent night-light lit the room. I thought about buzzing for some more pain meds, but decided to wait it out. It was difficult to put the evening in perspective. First, I could remember Izzy in her shorts—who could forget that—especially when she was in front of the television. Mom was out for the evening, or at least she was supposed to be, but after that, things were fuzzy. The big night, me and Izzy, we'd talked about it, agreed—or maybe not. "Augh." I jumped over the couch at her—I remembered that. What I'd expect her to do? Of course she threw me into the television I was lucky she didn't rip me apart. I forced my eyes open. "Where is she?"