They cracked open your chest to stop the bleeding and
put a chest tube in between your ribs. It’s hooked up to suction.
That thing’s called a pleuravac and you’ll hear bubbles in the background.
Now, when you wake up the tube will hurt a bit. There
are two IV’s in place and you’ll have this oxygen tube in your nose
for a while longer. Other than that, you’re just fine.”
He was breathing slowly, smoothly. The bubbles sounded in the
background. “The house is gone and I’m very sorry about that,”
she said. “They couldn’t save anything. I’m sorry, Dad, but we’re
alive, and that’s what’s really important. I just realized that not
everything is gone, though. After Mom died, I put all of her things
in a storage facility in the Bronx. There are photos there, and a lot
of her things. Maybe there are even letters. I don’t know, because I
couldn’t take the time to go through her papers. We’ll have those.
It’s a start.”
Did his breathing quicken a bit?
She wasn’t sure.
What was important was that he was alive. He would get well.
She laid her cheek against his shoulder. She stayed there for a
very long time, listening to the steady sound of his heart beating
against her face.
She got the call at the hospital at eight o’clock that evening.
She’d just left her father and was going back downstairs to be with
Adam when a nurse called out, “Ms. Matlock, telephone for you.”
She was surprised. It was the first call she’d gotten, or rather, it
was the first call they had put through to her.
It was Tyler and he was talking even before she could say hello.
“You’re all right. Thank God it’s all over, Becca. Jesus, I’ve been
frantic. They had footage of your father’s burning house, for God’s
sake, with this huge safety net in the front yard. They said you’d
nearly died, up there on that roof with that maniac, that you shot
him finally. Are you truly all right?”
“I’m fine, Tyler. Don’t worry. I’m spending all my time at the
hospital. Both my father and Adam Carruthers were shot, but they’ll
both survive. The media is outside, waiting, but it will be a long wait.
Sherlock is bringing me clothes and stuff so I don’t have to try to
sneak out of here and take the chance the media might nab me.
How’s Sam doing?”
There was a bit of silence, then, “He misses you dreadfully. He’s
really quiet now, won’t say a word. I’m worried, Becca, really worried.
I keep trying to get him to talk about the man who kidnapped him,
to tell me a little bit about him and what he said, but Sam just shakes
his head. He won’t say a word. The TV said that man was dead, that
he set himself on fire and hurled himself at you. Is that true?”
“Very true. I think you should take Sam to a child psychiatrist,
Tyler.”
“Those flimflam bloodsuckers? They’ll start psychoanalyzing
me, claiming I’m not a fit father, tell me I need to lie on a couch
for at least six years and pay them big bucks. They’ll say it’s about
me, not Sam. No way, Becca. No, he just wants to see you.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave here for another week, at least.”
Then she heard a little boy’s wail, “Becca!”
It was Sam and he sounded like he was dying. She didn’t know
what to do. It was her fault that Sam was having problems, all her
fault. “Put Sam on the phone,Tyler. Let me try to talk to him.”
He did, but there was only silence. Sam wouldn’t say a word.
Tyler said, “It’s bad, Becca, really bad.”
“Please take him to a child shrink,Tyler. You need help.”
“Come back, Becca. You must.”
“I will as soon as I can,” she said finally, and hung up the phone.
“Problem?” a nurse asked, a thick black brow arched.
“Nothing but,” Becca said, and lightly touched her fingers to her
right arm. The burns were healing and were itching a bit now.
“Problems are like that,” the nurse said. “It rains problems, and