by
Mary E. Overstreet
- 6 -
Barnabas waited until he had gotten inside the house before checking to see what time it was. Julia would be by very soon, he noted, pleased that he had made it home before she came over.
He shed his heavy cloak, hung it, and stepped into the drawing room. He was shocked to see Willie lying face down on the floor in front of one of the chairs. There was dried blood smeared on his face and a large, dark patch of it in the rug below his mouth.
"Willie! Willie, what happened?" He knelt down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him lightly.
The young man stirred. He became aware of an urgent need to cough and gave in to it. He looked up to see Barnabas, and his face screwed up into a grimace at the pain in his chest and the fear he would be found out.
"Willie, who did this to you?" Barnabas could see the bruises on his face, obviously not the work of the few open-handed slaps he had given him. And Barnabas regretted that now.
He did not respond, only coughed a few times, trying to swallow the blood that came into his mouth. But doing that nauseated him. Willie felt so sick and disoriented, he was not sure what was happening. He even thought maybe he'd been shot again.
Barnabas fretted, repeating his questions, waiting for Julia to arrive. "It'll be all right, Willie," he told him. "Julia will be here any minute." He covered him with his Inverness cloak, his scant knowledge of first aid including keeping an injured person warm to prevent shock.
Willie heard him but didn't care. He was feeling some of the other places that were hurting, and he just wanted to go upstairs to bed.
The other man leapt up at the sound of the door. "Julia!?"
"Yes, what is it?" She looked at him, then Willie as he ushered her into the drawing room. "Willie!" Her expression grew hard. "Barnabas—"
"I didn't do it, Julia," he quickly reassured her. "I just came home and found him like this."
Willie had passed out again but came to as Julia touched him and made a quick examination. "You have to help me get him to the hospital, Barnabas."
Willie lifted his head when she mentioned the hospital. "No," he managed, slipping back into coughing. He pulled away from her with surprising strength. "I jus' wanna go to bed," he said in a weak, slurred voice, leaning against the chair again.
"All right, Willie," she assured him.
"But, Julia," Barnabas said, "you can't—"
"I know what I'm doing." She looked at Willie's glazed eyes, watching them lose focus as he lost control. "We'll help you up to bed, Willie."
He nodded, coughing weakly and letting the blood run down his chin. His eyes shut, and he fell forward again. Julia directed Barnabas to pick him up as carefully as he could and carry him to the car. Willie woke once, but the jarring from each step Barnabas took, quickly sent him back under.
Julia drove them to the hospital with the two men in the back seat. Barnabas would have preferred driving to trying to keep Willie from falling off the seat or coughing on him when he woke up several times. He didn't say anything to Willie who lay face down on the slick vinyl upholstery, one knee in the floor the other leg bent up, knee against the door. Barnabas kept him from sliding into the floor with the young man's head against his leg till they reached Collinsport's small hospital's emergency entrance. Julia went inside and returned with help a moment later. She went with them, leaving Barnabas to park the car.
Willie awakened to people touching him, probing his body. He had just been turned onto his back to complete the examination. His back and chest seemed on fire, and he struggled instinctively with the nurses who were trying to cut his clothes off. His jacket was gone and his shirt was mostly in pieces. IV's had been installed in both arms. "No!" he said, straining to break free of their grip on his arms and legs. "I don' wanna be here!"
Julia had asked for extra staff to attend, suspecting that he would react strongly. She was suddenly standing over him, and he looked up to see a crowd of faces looking down at him, nurses and doctors. It was right out of a nightmare. He screamed a long, "NO!" which ended in coughing and fought frantically, his body gripped in a violent frenzy.
"It's all right, Willie," Julia said in a soft firm voice, taking his still-bloody, deathly-white face between her two cold hands and forcing him to look at her. "No one is going to hurt you."
"Get me outta here!" he cried, imploring her with his panic-stricken eyes, pupils dilated, eyebrows up in terror.
"No, not morphine, pethidine in slow IV," he heard her tell someone. "He's heavily intoxicated." She turned back to him. "All right, Willie. As soon as you calm down, you'll stop bleeding inside, and we'll take you home."
"No, you won't!" he said, and with a final burst of strength, tore one arm free, knocking the nurse who'd been holding it down to the floor. One of the others quickly stepped up and took her place, but Willie had burned the last of his energy. He coughed hard and painfully, and they gently turned him on his side, using their hands to splint his back and chest during the paroxysms to ease the strain. He drew his arms as close to his chest as possible, where it hurt the most, though both his wrists and ankles were still held firmly by the medical staff, and they had to be careful not to let him dislodge the IV's.
The blackness was again on the edge of his awareness. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to bring it down on himself so he wouldn't have to see them and Julia and what they were doing. He didn't want to feel anything, but oblivion would not come to him. Instead, his stomach finally rejected the mixture of blood and alcohol and heaved violently.
Julia had stepped back to let them take care of him. It was always frightening when someone as sick as Willie went into convulsions or spasms like he was having. She feared for his life but knew he was simply having a natural reaction.
When it was over, Willie welcomed the ease from his pain that unconsciousness brought. He sank into it, never wanting to feel anything again.
After Willie's bruises had been tended, his lungs suctioned via bronchoscopy, and he was otherwise made as comfortable as possible, Julia went to Barnabas who waited in the lobby. He sat in a worn, plastic chair. "Well?" he said, rising. "It's been nearly an hour. Is he all right?"
"Yes. He'll be all right." She went to sit down, feeling drained. "You won't be able to visit him tonight though."
"I'd like to just look in on him before I leave. Surely you could arrange that?"
She eyed him, wondering if he cared as much as he seemed to. "Maybe. He's in serious condition, Barnabas. Whoever beat him up ruptured scar tissue in his lungs. The stress and straining he apparently went through only caused more damage and bleeding. That's why I didn't want to upset him back at the Old House by telling him he was going to the hospital."
"But why shouldn't he want to come here?"
"I don't know. But he's very sick."
Barnabas sat back down, looking at her. "I feel so terrible, Julia."
She said nothing and waited for him to elaborate.
"I-I was harsh with him this evening—when I saw he was drunk. It was during one of those moods." He looked down at his hands.
"When I saw you this afternoon I thought you were over it. What did you do to him?"
"Nothing really. I frightened him," he got up, turning his back to her, "humiliated him."
"Poor Willie, It must've been a bad day for him. I'd embarrassed him too. I'm not surprised he was drinking."
They were silent for a moment, both full of pity for Willie and guilt. "May I see him now, Julia?" He turned to her.
"All right, but you mustn't make a sound. We don't want him disturbed because he isn't sedated heavily and might wake up. He has to have complete rest. Pneumonia could set in very easily if the bleeding starts again, or he might have to have surgery."
Barnabas ended up wishing he had not seen him. Willie lay on his stomach, head turned to one side, propped generously with pillows and covered with a sheet. There were tubes running to each arm and one up his nose and the side rails of the bed were raised. He had been cleaned up, and the bruises on his face were more visible. He looked utterly helpless and fragile, lying there, breath rattling in and out of him. He was so completely vulnerable, Barnabas wondered how he could ever have taken such pleasure in hurting him.
He made a silent apology and left the dimly lit room, thanking the nurse for holding the door. Julia had been waiting, and he went to her. "He looks so pale."
She nodded. "Do you have any idea who would do this to him?"
"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. There were a couple of young men with him in the Blue Whale. They were about his age or younger perhaps. I think they wanted something from him—he said they wanted him to leave with them, but I'm not sure I believe that that's all they wanted. He said he knew them before he came to Collinsport."
"You should tell the sheriff. He may be able to apprehend them if they haven't left town yet."
"You're right. I'll go now. It may not be too late. Would you care to come with me?"
"I don't think so, Barnabas. I'd be of more use here if Willie needs me."
"What time may I come see him tomorrow?" he asked her before leaving the waiting area.
"After eight," she smiled, glad that he did care about Willie.
*
Barnabas entered the hospital at a few minutes before eight-thirty. Julia intercepted him before he reached Willie's room. He thought she looked as if she'd had no sleep. "Good morning, Julia. Did you stay here all night?"
"Yes, I did, Barnabas, and I'm afraid you won't be able to visit Willie now."
"But why not? Is he all right?" He found he was gripping his cane far more tightly than necessary and forced himself to relax.
"He had a bad night, and he's under heavier sedation now." She forced her eyes to open more, but fatigue pulled at them.
"What happened?" He took her by the elbow, guiding her over to the waiting area to sit down.
"Well, every time the nurses would try to turn him, he'd wake up and start struggling with them to get out of bed, and it took us a while to calm him down each time." She shook her head. "He wasn't rational. We finally decided it would be safer to give him a strong sedative than have him go through that."
Barnabas looked at her. "You could use some rest yourself, Julia. Why don't you let me take you to Collinwood?"
"Thank you, but I caught a few hours last night. Did you talk to the sheriff?"
"Yes, but he did not think there was much chance to catch those two. We looked around town for them, but never saw them. We don't even know who they are. Only Willie does, and I don't think he would tell us even if he were able. Oh, by the way, here are your car keys." He took them out of a pocket in his cloak. "I returned your car to the parking lot last night, and the sheriff took me home."
She dropped them into her pocket. "Thank you, Barnabas."
"What time do you think would be best to come back?"
"Around noon, I guess, but I'm not sure it'd be a good idea for him to have visitors for a while yet. He's been so agitated when he's awake, I don't know how he'll be after this much rest."
"But why does he get so upset?"
"I don't know. He just says he doesn't want to be here. I think perhaps this experience reminds him too much of being shot."
"But that was almost four years ago. Surely he's over that."
"No, I'm afraid not." She looked at him with slight irritation. "Barnabas, you don't seem to realize how seriously he was injured. Physically, he'll never have the endurance he used to have. Why do you think that beating he took put him in the hospital? And mentally and emotionally. . . He's likely to fall into a serious depression or breakdown after all this."
"I hope not."
She clasped her hands together, looking at him. "All we can do is hope. And do what we can for him, what he'll let us do."
*