Chapter 6

 

            Rick Simon was about to doze off in his truck.  To prevent that, he started the vehicle, intent on driving around the block.   A.J. had been gone a long time.  Rick hadn't seen hide or hair of the kids, either.  Maybe they'd emerged on the other side of the building and had been skateboarding in the parking lot when A.J. found them.  Possibly A.J. and Brendan were having their talk out there.  Regardless of the reason for A.J.’s and Brendan’s absence, Rick was sick of sitting in the truck waiting.  He had a tight rein on his temper now, and knew he could talk to the boy without getting angry.

 

            When Rick was twelve, he'd found productive discussion was always accompanied by food.  After all, what kid didn't like pizza, or simply an ice cream cone, if nothing else?  Maybe he could convince Brendan to spend the night on his boat.  The kid had loved the houseboat the one and only time he'd visited it.  If Brendan agreed to spend the night there, it would give Rick a chance to shoot the bull with him.  A chance to point out to Brendan where he was going wrong, while at the same time not sounding like a lecturing parent.  And it might save the kid some grief at home, too.  It might give his mom time to cool down.  Not that Lindy shouldn't be angry with the boy for skipping school, but Rick had a feeling Brendan had enough anger bottled up inside of him to last a lifetime.  Obviously, screamed admonishments and revoked privileges weren't the solution here.

 

            Rick kept an eye out for oncoming traffic - and cops, then, made a wide U-turn.  The side streets surrounding the morgue were one-way, meaning he had to travel a wide square before he could enter the morgue’s parking lot.   He was caught by three red lights, causing his journey around the block to be lengthened by several minutes.  He came upon the building again from its east side.  He didn't see any kids in the parking lot as he approached from two blocks away, but Rick did see a white van with the words, County Coroner, on the side of it.   He wondered about that for a moment, but then gave a small shrug of his shoulders.  He supposed it was possible that employees of the coroner's office still had reason to do business here.

 

            Before Rick's truck came abreast of the lot, the back doors of the van burst open.  Three people dressed all in black, wearing black flak jackets and with black ski masks covering their faces, hit the ground running.  Their military issue boots clacked hard and steady against the pavement.  Whether they were men or women, Rick didn't know.  Instead, his eyes were focused on the semi-automatic Lugers they carried.  He had no idea what was going on, but when the trio disappeared down the incline that would take them under the old building, take them right to where Rick had last known Brendan and A.J. to be, the detective's foot shoved the Ford's gas pedal all the way to the floor.  Gravel spewed from the truck's tires like shrapnel, and the rear end fishtailed wildly to the right when he careened into the lot.

 

            The rear wheels of the heavy Ford bounced two feet into the air as Rick barreled down the steep grade that led to the dark cavern below.

 

 

_______________

           

 

            A.J. streaked out of the amphitheater, following the path of the man who had just so casually pumped another human being full of bullets.  The detective was mindful of the fact he wasn't wearing his gun.  He had no plans to get close to the shooter; he simply wanted to determine which direction the man took.  Hopefully, Rick would spot the guy getting into a vehicle.

 

            Brendan watched his mother's cousin exit the old autopsy room without giving a backwards glance in his direction.  He thought A.J. might have forgotten him, but then discounted that possibility.  More than likely A.J. was expecting him to remain in the observatory where he'd been ordered to stay. 

 

            The boy trotted down the stairs, then slowed to a hesitant walk as he approached the man on the floor.  He could see blood draining freely from underneath A.J.'s sport coat, as though a hose had been left on.  It stained the grout in the floor tiles pink, running in a crooked river toward the boy's shoes.  But it was the man's eyes Brendan would never forget.  The wide-open pale blue eyes staring dully at the ceiling that seemed to say death had come far too early - that this man had so much to live for yet.

 

            Brendan began to shake. It wasn't so much that a dead body scared him, as it was the tremendous sorrow he felt over the man's violent passing.   He turned away, bending over to support himself by placing his hands on his knees while his stomach heaved forth the half digested hamburger and French fries he'd eaten at lunch.  Vomit mixed with the blood on the floor as Brendan retched three times.  He swiped the back of a quaking hand across his mouth when his body had nothing left to purge.  Tears streamed down the boy's face as he studied the pale corpse one last time.  With a choked sob he turned and raced up the stairs, the soles of his high-topped sneakers leaving bloody imprints behind.  He threw open the door and ran blindly down the dark, third floor hallway.                    

           

______________

 

            In another part of the building, Jeremy and Tim heard heavy boot heels thundering from the rear.  Before they had time to hide, a giant dressed all in black and wielding a gun snared Jeremy by the shoulder of his Guns and Roses T-shirt. 

 

            "What the hell are you kids doin' in here?" the man barked, his eyes nothing more than angry slits in the ski mask he wore.  He propelled Jeremy down the hallway with all the gentleness of an enraged Big Foot, while giving Tim a slam in the butt with the thick sole of a Herman Munster size boot.  The teenager's tailbone screamed with pain as he fell to his knees, his skateboard flying from his hands. 

 

            "Go on!"  the man roared.  "Get the fuck out of here!  Go on now!

 

            The boys' hearts raced like steam engines as they ran for the nearest exit.  Tim's skateboard was left behind, lying on its back with its wheels still spinning. 

 

________________

 

            Boot heels smacking on nearby stairs caused Brendan to freeze with fear.  He was caught in the open hallway like a trapped animal.   His head whipped to the left, and then to the right, frantically searching for a place to hide.  Just as two shadows with enormous guns appeared on the wall ahead of him, the boy dove into a lab.  He scrambled across the floor on all fours like a monkey, heading for a long section of empty cabinets.  He scrunched up inside one, making himself as small as possible before silently swinging the door closed.

 

            The boy willed his lungs to stop taking in and expelling air, when he heard two sets of boots make a quick circuit of the room.  Evidently whoever they were looking for wasn't small enough to hide in a cabinet, because they didn't bother opening any doors.  A woman's voice ordered, "Come on!  Let's keep going!"  right before the boots pounded out the door.

 

            Brendan remained where he was until he was certain the pair was gone.  He eased opened the cabinet door, peering through a mere crack.  When there was no sign of anyone lurking about, he crawled out the same way he'd crawled in.  He crept over to the door, flattening himself against it.  He looked down the part of the hallway he could readily see, then, risked poking his head out to look toward the stairs.  When he determined the coast was clear he took a deep breath and ran for all he was worth.  He hit the first step, jumped over the next three, scrambled down five more, then ran across a small landing before bolting down the remaining two flights that would lead him to the ground floor.

 

________________

 

 

            A.J. caught sight of the shooter ahead of him, long arms and legs pumping in beautiful synchronization like a collegiate track star’s.  The man heard the echoing footsteps behind him, rounded a corner, and fired three times without ever taking aim.  For lack of anywhere else to go, A.J. dove for the floor.  When he could hear the man running again he scrambled to his feet in pursuit.  Something compact and black bounced to the ground, sailing toward him.  Without breaking his stride, A.J. scooped the object up and deposited it in the right front pocket of his trousers. 

 

            At a distant intersection of hallways he saw Brendan's friends fly past.  Ten seconds behind them came Brendan himself. 

 

            "Brendan!"   A.J. hailed between gasping breaths.  "Brendan!"

 

            The terror-filled twelve-year-old never stopped or looked back. 

 

            Though the boys didn't realize it, they were only seconds behind the man with the gun.  He was so confused as to who all the clambering footsteps belonged to that he didn't pause to try to take another shot. He reached a hand up, jamming the fedora on his head as tight as it would go.   With his left shoulder he slammed into a set of double doors he knew were no longer padlocked, leaped off the concrete ramp with the grace of a ballet dancer, and kept right on running.

 

______________________________

           

            Rick Simon's truck flew down the seventy-five foot straightaway, its speed pushing fifty miles an hour.  There was no sign of the armed people in black anywhere.

 

            I gotta find A.J.!  I gotta get him and Brendan outta here before something happens!

 

            All Rick would remember afterwards was standing on the brakes when first one person burst through the double doors to his right, then four more followed in split-second succession.  The truck's speedometer still read thirty miles an hour when a sickening 'thud' vibrated through the front grill. 

 

            The man was tossed in the air like a rag doll.  His body did two flips worthy of an Olympic gymnastics medal before he landed flat on his back on the pavement.

 

            Without conscious thought, Rick jammed the gearshift into neutral while slamming on the emergency brake.  He threw the door open and hit the ground running with a frantic cry.       

 

"A.J.!  A.J.!"

 

            Later, Rick would recall the armed trio in black bursting out those same doors only seconds after the Ford struck A.J.  But none of them stopped to offer help, and Rick himself didn't have the presence of mind to ask for it.

 

            The detective knelt by his unconscious brother's side.  Blood seeped from A.J.'s ears, nose, and mouth; his arms and legs were spread eagle on the concrete.  Rick reached out a trembling hand.  It hovered over the ashen A.J. as though Rick had no idea what to touch first or how to give assistance.

 

            "Oh, God," Rick pleaded.  "Oh, God, what have I done?  God, no. Please no." 

 

             Seconds passed before the dazed detective was able to take productive action.  He put an ear to A.J.'s nose and mouth while laying a light hand on his brother's chest.  A.J.'s breathing was ragged and shallow. An odd gurgling sound, like that of someone gargling, came from deep in his throat.   Rick reached for A.J.'s wrist next.  He had to move his fingers twice before he finally felt the thready pulse that beat beneath them.  He yanked his handkerchief out of his back pocket and with great caution turned A.J.'s head just enough so the blood could flow out his mouth rather than run down his throat.  Rick wrapped the white hankie around his right index finger and carefully swept his brother's mouth clean of what blood he could.  He tossed the stained handkerchief aside, his shaking fingers fumbling to loosen A.J.'s tie and unfasten the buttons of his shirt in an effort to offer a clearer airway.

 

            When he'd administered all the first aid he could, Rick tore his field jacket from his body.  The sound of running footsteps caused him to look up as he spread the coat over his brother.  Brendan stood pale and trembling a few feet away.

 

            "Get help, Brendan!  There's a store around the corner!  Tell them a man's been hurt!  Have them call 911!"

 

            The boy just stood there staring down at A.J., his young eyes wide and empty with fright and shock.

 

            "Dammit, Brendan, go!"  Rick barked.  "Go!"

 

            Just like Rick had done earlier, the boy pulled himself out of his dazed state.  He gave A.J. one last look that spoke volumes of his regret and guilt, then ran for the street as fast as his legs could carry him.

 

            Rick rocked back and forth on his heels, afraid to touch his brother for fear of hurting him further.  He watched the blood coming from A.J.'s ears stain the blond hair a dull, rusty red.

 

            "Hang on, A.J.  Just hang on.  Help's on the way, little brother.  Help's on the way." 

 

            As blood trickled down the side of A.J.'s face like tears, Rick turned his pleas to a higher deity.  "Make him hang on, God.  Oh please, make him hang on."

 

 

Chapter 7

 

            Rick Simon sat hunched forward on the couch, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.  Cecilia reached up and put the blanket back in place over his shoulders.

 

            "I shouldn't have given him a hard time about eating in my truck," the distraught man muttered.  "They're just bread crumbs.  It's not like they can't be cleaned up.  I shouldn't have given him a hard time."

 

            Cecilia's eyes flicked to Abby's.  Neither woman could hide her concern; both fearing Rick was on the verge of a breakdown.  Cecilia couldn't recall a time of crisis when her eldest son hadn't been a pillar of strength.  When he hadn't been the glue that held her family together.  Until now.   Now his eyes were distant and glazed, as though his mind was forcing him to relive, over and over again, the circumstances that had brought them to this fourth floor waiting area at County General Hospital.

 

            Rick's icy hands were shaking so violently when Cecilia tried to force them around a Styrofoam cup of coffee that the hot liquid sloshed over the rim.  If she hadn't jumped back she would have been burned.  That was when she asked a nurse for the blanket.  She was certain Rick was going into shock.  That thought was further confirmed when, so unlike him, Rick didn't question or protest when Cecilia wrapped the blanket around his huddled shoulders.

 

            The older woman glanced up at the clock.  It was after nine p.m. now, and A.J. was still in surgery.  The waiting area was empty save for the three of them.  What had exactly occurred that afternoon, Cecilia wasn't certain.  The first she knew anything was wrong was when she looked up from where she was kneeling in her flower garden pulling weeds, to see a young patrolman round the corner of her house. 

 

            "Mrs. Simon?"

            Cecilia rose, brushing away the dirt on her jeans.  "Yes?"

            "Lieutenant Marsh sent me to pick you up, ma'am."

 

            "Pick me up?"

            "Yes, ma'am.  I'm to take you to County General Hospital."

 

            At those words Cecilia's stomach had constricted, painfully tightening as though someone had it clenched in a strong fist.

 

            "Why?  Why do you need to take me to the hospital?"

 

            "There's been an accident of some sort involving one of your sons, ma'am."

 

            "What kind of an accident?"     

 

            "I'm sorry, Mrs. Simon, but I don't know.  I don't have any further details than what I've already given you."

 

            Cecilia never thought to change out of her dirty clothes, grab her purse, or even lock her house.  She allowed the young officer to usher her to his squad car.  She sat next to him wondering what had happened, and which one of her sons was hurt.  She didn't stop praying for both of them throughout the entire ride.

 

            It wasn't Rick or A.J. who greeted Cecilia at the main entrance doors late that afternoon, but rather Abigail Marsh herself.  She couldn't offer Cecilia much in the way of an explanation, other than to say A.J. had been struck by Rick's truck and was now in surgery. 

 

            Cecilia gripped the policewoman's hand.  "Please tell me Rick wasn't driving.  Please tell me he wasn't driving."

 

            "I'm sorry, Cecilia," Abby's eyes had brimmed with sympathy.  "I'm sorry, but he was."

 

            The older woman sagged against her friend.  "This will kill him, Abby.  This will absolutely kill him.  Please, take me to him."

 

            Without asking, Abby knew Cecilia was referring to her oldest son, not her youngest.  She thought of the devastated man she'd brought to the hospital.

 

            It already is killing him, Cecilia.  Believe me, it already is.

 

            Abby led Cecilia up to the surgical waiting area on the fourth floor where Rick sat alone on the couch.  He had his hands tucked underneath his armpits to stop their shaking.  When he saw his mother, he turned his face away from her.  He didn't want her to see the silent tears her presence evoked.

 

            Without asking any questions of him, Cecilia sat next to her oldest and enfolded him in her arms.  The only thing he was capable of saying was, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," until his throat was too raw to repeat the litany his mother softly assured him wasn't necessary.

 

            When Rick had control of his emotions once more, Abby was forced to question him regarding the events of the afternoon.  In his shocked state, he wasn't able to give her more than the barest of details.  The policewoman finally gave up on her line of questioning, knowing that in a day or two Rick would be able to draw her a clearer picture of the afternoon's happenings.  She'd experienced the same thing a million times with other witnesses. The first few hours after the trauma were always the worst.  The hardest time for them to compile their thoughts and reconstruct in words what they'd seen.  Yes, she'd experienced it a million times in her long career, but never; never had she witnessed Rick Simon upset to this point of incoherency.  Never in her wildest dreams, did Abby imagine she'd see this resilient, stubborn, commanding, tough-as-nails man, at the mercy of his emotions.  Abby found herself wondering how Rick would cope if A.J. died.  She chased the thought away, knowing right now he couldn't cope with news such as that.  Instead, she prayed he wouldn't have to.

 

            Rick had never looked up when Cecilia left to call Linda from a pay phone down the hall at six that evening.  It was evident the younger woman was waiting to hear from one of the Simons when she answered on the first ring with,  "A.J.?"

            "No...no, Lindy, it's Aunt Cecilia."

            Linda immediately picked up on the hesitation in her aunt's tone.

 

            "Aunt Cecilia, is something wrong?  Did A.J. ask you to call me?  Have you heard from him?  Do you know if he and Rick found Brendan?"

            "Isn't Brendan home yet?"

            "No.  Since I hadn't heard from A.J., I assumed Bren was with him and Rick."

 

            "Honey…" Cecilia's eyes followed a doctor as he rushed by her.  She couldn't help but wonder if he was being called to assist with A.J.  "Honey, there's been an accident."

 

            Linda's voice rose in panic.  "Involving Brendan?  Has Brendan been hurt? 

Has--"

 

            "Lindy, no.  No, Brendan hasn't been hurt...A.J. has."

            "Hurt?  How?  What happened?  Will he be okay?"

            Cecilia quickly relayed what little she knew, starting with her sons spotting Brendan and his friends skateboarding at the old County Coroner's building, and ending with Rick hitting A.J. with his truck. 

 

            "He's in surgery now." Cecilia bit back her tears.  "A nurse came and talked to us a little while ago.  Things...it's very serious, sweetie."

 

            "Oh, Aunt Cecilia...oh, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  It's my fault.  I never should have asked Rick and A.J. for help.  If I hadn't, this never would have happened."

 

            "You stop that right now, young lady," Cecilia ordered, the firmness in her tone overriding her tears.  "No one, and I do mean no one, is to blame.  It was an accident. Do you hear me?  An accident."

 

            Thirty seconds passed before Linda could speak again.  Thirty seconds in which she easily came to the conclusion her aunt had already been forced to voice that same admonishment many times this evening to another member of their family.

 

            "Rick...how is Rick?"

 

            Cecilia looked down the hall at the pitifully hunched form with the pasty complexion and trembling hands.

 

            "He's not good, Lindy.  He's not good at all."

 

            "Tell him...tell him I'm sorry."

            "That's not necessary, but I'll pass the message on.  Listen, the reason I was calling was to make sure Brendan got home okay, which I realize from what you said he hasn't.   Rick sent him to call for an ambulance after the accident happened, but never saw him again."

 

            "I'll have Mark go out to look for him right now."

 

            "I think that would be a wise idea."

 

            "Aunt Cece?"

 

            "Yes?"

 

            "Call me when you know more - after A.J. is out of surgery and you've talked to his doctor.  I don't care how late it is, please call."

 

            "I will, honey.  And I hope Mark finds Brendan.  If he doesn't, I think you should contact the police and have them begin looking.  Tell them it’s in regards to the case Lieutenant Abigail Marsh is working on."

 

            Cecilia could tell her niece was writing the information down on a piece of paper.

 

            "Lieutenant Abigail Marsh," Linda repeated.  "Yes, we'll do that.  Thank you."

 

            The women hung up simultaneously, both shrouded in worry for their children.

 

__________________

             

            It was quarter to ten when the Simons finally saw a pair of doctors headed toward them that evening.  Joel Lankey, Rick and A.J.'s physician, led the way.  A thin oriental man with square wire rim glasses perched on his nose followed.  Both doctors were wearing blue surgical scrubs, though Abby immediately noted no blood was visible on their clothing, causing her to conclude they had changed before coming to talk to the family.

 

            As always, even in clean clothing, Doctor Lankey had a casual, rumpled appearance about him, as though no pair of pants or shirt had ever been made that could remain wrinkle-free on him for more than five minutes.  His dark shaggy curls bounced on his shoulders as he walked, his stocky frame forever possessing twenty more pounds than he preferred.

 

            The anxious group, including Rick, rose as the doctors approached.  The blanket slid off the detective’s back, lying forgotten on the couch behind him.

 

            Joel quickly made introductions.  "Rick, Mrs. Simon, Lieutenant Marsh, this is Doctor James Cho.  He's the neurosurgeon who operated on A.J."

 

            Doctor Cho shifted a large manila envelope he carried to his left hand.  He shook hands with the Simons and Abby, murmuring polite greeting.  Rick estimated him to be in his early forties.  Between his first name, and the fact that his speech held no hint of an Asian accent, the detective surmised he was American born and raised.  

 

            "There was also an orthopedic surgeon present," Joel said,  "but he's been paged for another operation.  For the time being, I'll discuss his role with you.  If you have any questions I can't answer, I'll make sure you get a consultation with him."

 

            For the first time since she'd arrived five hours earlier, Cecilia heard her oldest son take charge of the situation.  His voice was strong and firm - to his mother a welcoming familiar beacon in the midst of a raging storm.

 

            "How is he, Joel?"

            Cecilia's heart beat a warning rhythm in her chest when the doctors refused to talk to them in the waiting area.  Joel spread his right arm as though trying to encompass her, Rick, and Abby in one sweep.  He urged them forward, pointing down the hallway.

 

            "There's a consultation room ahead on our left.  Let's go there to talk."

 

            This time Doctor Cho led the way, flipping on the lights as they entered the room.  It contained nothing more than a table in the center of it that sat eight.  Joel pulled out a chair for Cecilia, while Abby and Rick took seats on either side of her.  Doctor Cho laid the envelope on the table, taking a seat across from Rick.  Doctor Lankey settled into the chair next to the neurosurgeon.

 

            Joel took a moment to study the faces of the mother and son opposite him.  He knew this was a strong family, but wondered just how prepared they were for all that would be revealed by the time this conference came to a close.  When he could stall no longer, Joel took a deep internal breath, and offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

 

            "Let's start with the least serious of A.J.'s injuries.  As would be expected, he's sustained multiple bruises and contusions on most of his body.  Every cut and abrasion has been thoroughly cleaned.  I don't foresee any complications from these wounds, but, of course, we'll keep an eye on them as they heal."

 

            "And the orthopedic surgeon you mentioned?" Rick asked. "What was he for?"

            Joel held up his left arm, pointing to the heavy bone that ran from elbow to wrist.  "A.J.'s suffered a fracture of the ulna.  It was repaired and set by Doctor Emmonds.   He doesn't anticipate any further problems, though A.J. will have to undergo several physical therapy sessions in order to regain full mobility."

 

            "And what about everything else?"  Rick pressed.  "What about the injuries that are the reason behind you bringin' us in here?"

 

            The doctors exchanged glances.  Their silence only further frustrated the detective.

 

            "Look, Joel, I'm not stupid.  When someone's bleeding from the ears, I know that means they've suffered a head injury.  I hit A.J. with my truck for God’s sake!  I know...I know he was in serious condition when he arrived here this afternoon."

 

            Cecilia reached over to give her son's hand a firm squeeze.  It was the first time all night he'd released productive emotion surrounding the accident he blamed himself for.  She offered up a brief prayer, asking the Lord to give both she and Rick the strength they needed to cope with what they were about to be told.

 

            Dr. Cho stood.  He flicked the switches on the square panels mounted on the wall behind him, causing translucent light to shine through them.  He reached into the envelope on the table and pulled out two sets of X-rays.  He shoved the first one underneath a clip on the nearest panel.

 

            "This is a picture of what the skull looks like when it's injury free."

 

            Rick, Cecilia, and Abby studied in profile a human skull.  It was not unlike pictures each one of them had seen over the years in books and on television.

 

            The second X-ray was placed on the panel next to the first. 

 

            "And this is a picture of A.J.'s skull as taken in the emergency room prior to surgery."

            Cecilia's hand rose to her mouth.   "Oh, Lord," she mumbled.  "Oh, Lord, no."

            Rick closed his eyes and turned away, refusing to look at the damage.  Refusing to see the tiny fractures and fissures that made A.J.'s skull appear like the shattered shell of an egg.

 

            Dr. Cho allowed the family the time they needed to compose themselves.  When he had Cecilia's and Rick's attention once more he continued.  He pulled a pen from the breast pocket of his scrubs, using the retracted tip as a pointer. 

 

            "While fractures of the skull in and of themselves are serious matters, they will heal.  The skull is designed specifically to protect our brains from trauma.  Regrettably, some traumas transcend even the skull's ability to keep us safe.  A.J. suffered internal brain hemorrhaging as a result of the accident.  His brain is swollen right now, which makes it difficult for me to fully diagnosis which abilities have been impaired."

 

            Rick's could barely force his question out his mouth.  "What...what do you mean?  What abilities are you talkin' about?"

            The pen made a circular motion over the upper left quadrant of A.J.'s skull. 

 

            "This is the area of A.J.'s brain that sustained the majority of damage.  It's almost a certainty he's lost part of, or all of, his ability to remember words, construct sentences, read, write, organize his thoughts, do simple math problems--"

 

            "Why don't cha' just tell us what he can do," Rick snapped. "The list will probably be a lot shorter, thanks to me."

 

            Joel admonished Rick before Cecilia got the chance.

 

            "Rick, look, I know how you feel, but--"

 

            Rick's eyes flashed in the doctor's direction.  "No, Joel, you don't know how I feel."

            Joel ignored the man's anger, knowing it wasn't aimed at him.  Knowing that Rick Simon's wrath was aimed at no one but himself.

 

            "But," the doctor continued, "until A.J. regains consciousness, there's a lot we can only speculate about.  Once we know for sure what abilities have been impaired, Doctor Cho and I will discuss with you how things must proceed."

 

            "Proceed in what way?"  Cecilia asked.

 

            "If A.J.'s injuries prove to be as I've outlined, Mrs. Simon," Doctor Cho stated, "he faces months of rehabilitation therapy."

            Rick's voice contained the first ray of hope he'd felt all evening.  "So he can recover the abilities that have been damaged?"

 

            "A.J. may be able to be retaught them, Mr. Simon, but he won't recover them. At least not in the sense that one day everything will simply come back to him.  Rather, he will in essence, be starting anew.  Like a young child, he'll learn language skills by hearing words repeated to him, and by associating those words with objects.  As time goes on, he may learn to construct sentences again, to write, to read, to do mathematics - he may relearn all he's lost."

            "Or he may not," Rick finished what the man had yet to say.

 

            "No, he may not.  A lot depends on the severity of the injury, as I've already stated.  The brain is a very complex, fickle organ.  It controls everything we do on a daily basis, but when traumatized it's not particularly resilient."

 

            Rick had to push past the lump in his throat in order to speak again.  "Doctor Cho have you seen...have you seen people injured as severely as A.J. make a complete recovery?"

 

            "Yes, Mr. Simon, on rare occasions I have.  As a matter of fact, I danced with a young bride last summer at her wedding  - a young bride who, three years ago, was one of my patients.  She suffered a head injury after falling from a horse.  The trauma she incurred was more severe than what your brother has sustained.  Through her magnificent will, the grace of God, and many factors I can't even begin to guess at, she now lives the same full life she once did.  On the other side of the coin, I've seen patients whose injuries aren't as severe as A.J.'s never regain all they've lost.  I wish medical science could explain to both you and me why this happens. Unfortunately, because of the complexity of the brain, it can't at this time."

 

            Doctor Cho's words hung heavy in the air, offering hope, yet dashing it all at the same time.

 

            Joel waited a full thirty seconds to see if either Rick or Cecilia had any further questions of the man.  When neither of them spoke, he took over the discussion.

 

            "A.J.'s in a coma right now, which isn't unusual given the type of injury he sustained."

 

            Rick was taken aback. He thought they'd received all the bad news they were going to for one evening.  "How long before he comes out of it?"

 

            "We really have little way of knowing, Rick.  We hope not long.

Healthy brain cells will be impaired the longer A.J. remains in a comatose state."

 

            "Meaning he'll lose further abilities," Cecilia stated.

 

            "Yes, Mrs. Simon, that's what it means," Doctor Cho acknowledged.  "For now, all we can do is wait and see.  I'm hopeful this condition won't last more than a few days.  As Doctor Lankey pointed out, it's not unusual with head trauma this severe."

 

            Rick voiced the question his mother was too afraid to ask, and he was afraid to hear the answer to.  "What are the chances of us...losin' him, Joel?  What are the chances of A.J. not pulling through this?"

 

            "I can't quote you odds, Rick, but I won't be dishonest with you, either.   A.J.'s injuries could still claim his life.  However, his condition is stable right at the moment.  Both Doctor Cho and I plan to do everything in our power to see it stays that way.  The next forty-eight hours pose the largest concern.  After that, well after that, we'll just have to take things as they come."   

 

            Abby spoke for the first time since they'd entered the room.  She directed her inquiry to the neurologist.

 

            "I realize, Doctor, you may or may not be aware that A.J. very likely witnessed a crime being committed this afternoon.  How much of what he saw will he remember once he regains consciousness?"

            "Probably nothing.  As time goes on, he may begin to recall bits and pieces, Lieutenant, but that could be months from now.  And even if he does have some immediate memories...well, quite frankly, I don't know how he would communicate them to you."       

 

            Abby heard Cecilia's sharp intake of breath and saw Rick reach for his mother's hand while swiping at his sudden tears.  The policewoman wished she never asked that question of the doctor.

 

            More importantly, however, she wished he'd never answered it.

 

________________________________

             

 

            Linda Ecklund hung up the phone at ten-thirty that evening after talking to Cecilia a second time.  Mark returned empty handed from his search for Brendan during the middle of the conversation.

 

            Linda turned, slumping into her husband's chest while racking sobs overtook her.  She felt his strong arms come around her to pull her close.  She was so grateful for his love and support.  She had no idea how she'd survive this ordeal without him.

 

            "That was...Aunt Cecilia," she gasped between her tears.  "Oh, Mark.  A.J...A.J.'s suffered severe brain damage.  He's in a coma.  They don't...the doctors aren't certain...what kind of lasting affects this will have on him...but it's not good.  It's not good at all.  They're already predicting he's probably lost...lost his ability to speak, to write, to read...oh, Mark, he...I don't know how he'll cope with that.  He's always been such a...a proud man...like his father...my Uncle Jack.  He's always been so...independent...so strong."

 

            Mark kissed the top of his wife's hair, murmuring words of comfort.   “Shhh, baby, shhh.  Don't cry.  Don't cry over something you can't change."

            "But if only...if only I hadn't asked for their help this never...never would have happened."

 

            Before Mark could offer his wife further platitudes, a small child padded into the room.  Heather's long, golden pigtails were askew from sleep, the one on the right side sitting higher than the one on the left.  Hair escaped the rubber bands, wispy strands hanging down her neck and around her baby soft cheeks.  Her pink Little Mermaid nightgown was really too small now, stopping several inches above her ankles, but she refused to go to bed wearing anything else.  She clutched her Cabbage Patch Doll, Hilda Lu, to her chest and looked up at her mother.

 

            "Mommy, why are you crying?"

 

            Linda bent down, holding her arms out to her little girl.  She hugged both Heather and Hilda Lu. 

 

            "Mommy's very sad tonight, Heather," Linda gulped through her tears.   "I just found out my cousin A.J....you remember A.J., don't you?"

 

            Linda felt the child nod against her shoulder. 

 

            "A.J.'s been hurt very badly in an accident."

 

            "How was he hurt?"

            "Looking for your brother," Mark said darkly.

 

            Linda pulled away from Heather.  She glanced up at Mark, shaking her head no.

 

            Round, pale blue eyes looked to Linda for answers.  "Is Brendan all right, Mommy?   Where is he?"

            Although, in many ways, Heather no longer understood the moody older brother who had once been her favorite playmate but now generally told her to get lost when she entered his room, she still loved him.   Loved him, worried about him, and recognized he was the source of many of the problems in her household.

 

            "I don't know where Brendan is, Heather."  Linda's eyes returned to Mark.  "I talked to Rick for a minute.  He said we should call the police."