A Long Winter for Willie Loomis

by
Mary E. Overstreet

PART TWO

- 8 -

It was around ten o'clock in the morning when Julia came into Willie's room, carrying a vase of fresh flowers. He pretended to be sleeping though he had not been able to since two nurses had been in and given him the works. Although physically more comfortable now, Willie was still shaken by the feelings it had evoked. And he couldn't put the unpleasantness out of his mind enough to let him sleep, even though he was now exhausted from being awake for more than an hour. And despite both the undesired lotion and massage, his skin still had that ultra sensitivity it gets when one has spent too many inactive hours in bed. A new, light hospital gown and fresh sheets helped some.

He could tell when Julia set the flowers down on the window sill and came to stand by the bed. "Willie, I know you're awake. I saw you look at me when I came in." She lightly pushed a lock of his hair, still damp from being washed, away from his forehead. "I hope you're feeling better today. I'm sorry this is so hard on you."

The seemingly constant congestion in his chest forced him to cough a little. It was over quickly, and she didn't have to help him do anything, but the pain lingered on, evident only in his tense posture. He pulled his arms close to his sides and would've put them on his chest if the boards to which they were strapped had not made that uncomfortable.

"Did you see the flowers?" She turned from him, seeing that he was all right, and picked them up, setting the vase on the tray table. Willie still hadn't opened his eyes. "There's a card here. I'll read it to you, if you like?" She gave him almost no time to respond, knowing he would not. "It says, 'For Willie. Hope you are feeling better soon. Love, Carolyn.'"

Willie thought it was very kind of Carolyn to send him flowers. Certainly no one had when he was shot. Out of respect for her consideration, he opened his eyes and looked at the flowers. Yellow chrysanthemums, baby's breath, and some orange flower he didn't recognize were arranged with greenery in a small white vase.

Julia knew better than to say anything now. He needed to sleep and not to be upset with her. She smiled at him and backed away.

Willie wasn't looking at the flowers any more. He pressed his lips together, feeling unwanted emotion rise. He let it out with as big a sigh as he could manage without too much pain and shut his eyes. The fatigue became more pressing than before. He kept thinking that he wanted to be over this.

*

Although he had not said so, Willie was glad to be rid of one of his IV's. A nurse had just removed the one from his right arm which was still a little sore, but at least it was easier to move. He had slept all day, eaten nothing since he was brought in, and still felt as weak as a kitten. He suspected that they were giving him something to keep him that way and just weren't telling him, because they were afraid he would start fighting again. But he usually knew when he was given medication because they would say something or give him a shot or do something worse. And the bed rails had not been lowered for more than a few minutes at a time, only when the nurses or doctors had to have them out of the way. It made him feel like he was in an oversized baby crib.

He looked at the flowers again, sighing—he would now have to see Carolyn to thank her. All the same, it was nice that someone had sent flowers. Perhaps he wouldn't seem as friendless as he thought he did. He had the unpleasant feeling that everyone knew everything about him, especially in the hospital. Certainly the nurses and doctors did. He had even made a point not to notice or try to remember any of the nurses' names, and Julia was the only doctor he already knew. Somehow not knowing who did what to and for him eased his embarrassment.

The nurse came in again and checked his remaining IV. "Would you like some water, Mr. Loomis?"

He nodded and almost spoke but decided not to. She poured from the bedside pitcher into a cup and elevated the upper portion of the bed. Willie reached up with a shaking right hand to hold the cup when she brought it to his lips. She let him hold it but steadied his hand with hers as he downed all of the water.

He hadn't realized how thirsty he was, or how exhausting drinking could be.

"Would you like some more?"

He nodded again, almost panting from his efforts and feeling some congestion in his lungs. He had a much more difficult time holding the second cup, and after the last swallow, coughed painfully. In the midst of it, the woman lowered the bed flat, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. She helped him turn onto his side to make it easier for him. He felt her hand on his cheek then forehead. He gasped for breath, every inhalation triggering a violent exhalation until he finally seemed to have cleared his lungs and throat.

"I think you're a little dehydrated, Mr. Loomis," she said in an almost sickeningly pleasant voice a few minutes later, and slowly wiped his face with a cool, damp cloth. "We'll just take your temperature to be sure you're not running a fever."

When that was all taken care of, Willie lay back with his eyes closed, too drained to even consider speaking to the nurse. But she seemed undaunted by his silence and told him cheerfully as she left the room that he had a visitor. He heard her tell whoever it was that he/she might stay only five minutes.

Willie expected to see Barnabas when he opened his eyes, so he kept them shut and listened to the sound of heavy footsteps and then audible breathing as the visitor stood by the bed. He knew it was not Barnabas.

"Willie, how are you?" Professor Stokes asked softly.

Willie looked up at him, swallowing. "I'm okay," he said hoarsely.

"I'm so sorry that you're laid up like this. I only heard about it this afternoon from the sheriff."

"It's okay, thanks." Willie looked away from him. The sheriff? he wondered, what could he have to do with it? Unless somehow Barnabas knew what he was going to do and was having the sheriff standing by. He hoped that wasn't it and looked back at the big man. "H-how'd the sheriff know?"

Stokes could see how tiring even a little talk was to him and really did not want to bring up what had led to Willie's hospitalization. "Barnabas told him so they might catch whomever did this to you." He didn't want him to think he was probing for information, so he spoke again before Willie could more than look away. "How are you feeling?"

"Lousy," Willie admitted. He didn't want to be seen like this, and hoped the man would take his hint and leave.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He patted his hand, looking around the room for a distraction. "I see you've received some flowers. They're quite lovely. Who're they from, if I might ask?"

Willie sighed, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. "Carolyn."

"I suppose I should have brought you something, but I've only just heard you were in here, and I'm not in the habit of giving flowers. I do have a large library, however, and would be most happy to bring you a book to read when you're up to it." Stokes looked at him, seeing the frown and the troubled eyes which kept closing. "You obviously aren't up to that yet." He gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Get your rest, Willie. I'll come see you again."

"Thanks, professor." Willie found he could still feel where the other's hand touched his even after he had left. But little else was in his mind as he fell into sleep.

Stokes returned to his house, his active brain having carefully analyzed Willie's situation and drawn some possible conclusions.

Keith Henry, once known only as Adam, sat reading the local newspaper on a sofa in the den. He looked up, then stood respectfully for his friend and mentor. "Eliot, hello. I was waiting for you."

"So I see." Stokes hung his coat and went to pour himself a glass of sherry. "Something has happened that disturbs me," he said after taking a sip and watching Keith sit back down.

"What is that?" Keith shook the paper back out in front of him.

"Well, I know you will not find much to be concerned about in this, but I wonder. . ." He sat across from the couch in a large recliner.

The younger man lowered the paper. "What?"

"Willie Loomis was hospitalized after a brutal beating. I realize there was never any love lost between you, but—"

"I know what you're thinking, professor. I had nothing to do with it. It's true, I do despise him, but he's not worthy of my attention." Truly, he was surprised to hear that Willie was in the hospital. He hadn't thought Willie's old friends had been that rough on him.

"I've just come from seeing him." Stokes locked eyes with his companion. "I would not like to think you would do that to someone as helpless as Willie."

Keith flung the paper down. "Helpless? I don't remember him being helpless. I was the one that couldn't talk and didn't know what was going on. Willie took advantage of me. He wasn't helpless!"

Stokes didn't say anything for a moment, letting him cool down. "Do you know where Willie was before he was told to look after you?"

"No, and I really don't care." He stood up. "I was waiting for you to get back because I wanted to tell you I'm going back to Vermont tonight."

"Very well, Keith. But I am disappointed. I know you've been hurt, but I thought you'd learned more compassion. After all, it's been several years, and you could not possibly have understood Willie's motives back then."

"I don't care about Willie Loomis," he said slowly.

"Well, I do. And I don't like seeing him hurt. He's troubled enough as it is."

"Why should you care about him? What has he ever done for you?"

"Is that the limits to which you have grown? You judge people by what they have done for you? Again, I am disappointed."

"No, I judge people like Willie on what they have done to me."

"But you won't even bother to find out why."

"Why should I? I wouldn't change anything."

"You're right. It wouldn't. You are incapable of learning greater compassion." Stokes got up to pour himself another sherry.

"That isn't true, Eliot. And if it were, you can blame Willie and Barnabas."

"You were mishandled, I agree, but you must admit, Nicholas Blair had a great deal to do with it."

"Yes. But that does not excuse Willie."

Stokes almost addressed him as "Adam". "Keith, I hardly think Willie's teasing and tormenting of you is really very important compared with some of the things you did when you were under Nicholas' sway. Willie had just been released from a mental institution because he had suffered some kind of mental breakdown after being shot four or five times in the back. He was trying to save Maggie Evans when that happened. You, on the other hand, were not sick, merely impatient when you did the things you did."

Keith stared hard at the other man for a moment, then looked away. He had not known Willie had been shot or in an institution. If it had been mentioned in front of him, it must have been when he could understand little English. But it was hard for him to give up his pride and concede that Willie may not have been rational. Four or five shots in the back was rough, doubtless they were more serious wounds than the glancing one Barnabas had inflicted upon him. Eliot was right, he thought glumly, always right. "That's too bad about Willie." He looked back at the professor. "But he always hated me."

"You were a rival." He intentionally did not mention that Julia had told him her theory about why Willie continued to work for Barnabas even after he could have fared more prosperously by going out on his own. She had held him in her confidence, saying that Willie had fixated on Barnabas and made himself so dependent that leaving was unthinkable. Julia had only told him this much because he had asked her if she thought Willie's staying with Barnabas had anything to do with his earlier service to him, that is, when he was in the vampire's power. Stokes himself had surmised that Willie had seen Adam as a rival.

"So? What do you expect me to do now? Go visit him?"

"No, of course not."

Keith felt badly about having paid Willie's friends to force him into cooperating. But not badly enough to confess what he had done. "Look, what do you expect me to say?"

"I don't know. You don't have to say anything. I was just hoping that perhaps you would not hate Willie any more. It isn't good for either of you."

"Have you been talking to him about me?"

The thought hadn't occurred to him. "Why no. Actually, I don't think it would be a good idea."

"Good. I don't want any of them to know I've been back in town."

"I understand. It might be best if you never come forward."

"You're probably right."

*

Breathing was too difficult; he couldn't pretend he was asleep.

"I know what you're planning to do, Willie," Barnabas said in an icy tone.

Willie acknowledged his presence when fear clutched at his stomach. The realization that he was completely vulnerable made Barnabas's words terrify him even more. He didn't dare keep up his silence. "W-what do you mean?" The words seemed to strangle him.

"Fool. Do you think I'm that stupid?" Barnabas went to the bedside. "You're going to betray me."

"No!" Willie gasped for breath. More words wouldn't come, only a creeping darkness. He tried to scream as Barnabas's hands closed around his throat. He thought he was in a deep black well under hundreds of feet of water, climbing for the surface. Slowly he became aware of voices, and hands touching him, moving his body. There was a sudden sharp pain in his chest, and air flooded into his lungs. He began coughing and gulping in air, feeling something in his throat trying to choke him.

He had been through this before. He knew it was clotted blood broken loose in his lungs and breathed into his throat during sleep. As terrifying as the feeling of suffocation was, Willie remembered the dream more when the coughing had stopped, bringing up fresh blood with the old. He felt nauseated and became sick to his stomach. Julia's voice could be heard discussing treatments with another doctor while the nurse held a pan under his mouth.

Moments later, Willie lay on his back, panting as a nurse finished bathing his face. He looked up at Julia, and she turned to stand close to the bed, gazing down at him and stroking his hair back. Willie needed reassurance that Barnabas had not been in the room trying to strangle him. "W-where's B-Barnabas," he whispered.

Julia could see fear in his eyes, and until his question had thought it was due to his choking experience. She nodded to the nurse who gave him a shot to calm him. "He's at home. Would you like to see him?"

"No!" he whispered urgently, not at all in control of what he said. "I. . . I. . ."

"Are you afraid of him?" She leaned down, closer, touching him more gently, and speaking very softly. He did not have to reply for her to know the answer was yes. "Did you have a bad dream about him?"

He nodded, blinking and looking away in embarrassment. His emotions were at it again.

"Can you tell me what it was?"

He knew he couldn't do that and turned his head to the side away from her. He became afraid she would think he was insane and would try to send him back to Wyndecliffe. "I-I'm not crazy," he whispered almost inaudibly.

"Of course you're not," she said reassuringly. "And don't worry about Barnabas. He won't hurt you. There'll be someone with you at all times. He won't be allowed in unless you want to see him."

He nodded again, then looked at her briefly. He was feeling calmer now and not breathing as hard. The drug was working rapidly. His discomfiture over her physical reassuring was only a quick flare.

Julia watched his eyes close and his brow relax before moving away from him. She turned to the other doctor, a tall, anemic-looking man. "He's not getting the kind of rest he needs. He's bleeding again."

"I know. We'll just have to sedate him more heavily with his strength coming back."

They looked down at him. "He does look better," Julia said. "But I'm afraid he's going to start having a lot of bad dreams now. That will disturb his rest." She looked up at the man who nodded. "Perhaps as he gets stronger they won't bother him so much."

"Dreams?"

"Yes. Part of the problem is that he will never talk about them." At least he would speak to her now, she thought. That he had been afraid of Barnabas, she did not find surprising. Maybe his determination was weakening, and he would then allow her to help him.

"Have you any recommendations, Dr. Hoffman?"

"He must have someone with him constantly. He could still wake up choking again." She began to open her purse for her gloves. She would have to explain to Barnabas that he would not be able to visit Willie for a while. Even though today he had merely looked in on him as he slept. "Be sure to call up to Collinwood if anything happens. I'll be there for the night."

*

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