Santori Reloaded, page 8
part #3 of Santori Series
“Good morning, Peter. I’m doctor Sheridan. How are you feeling?”
“Strange,” I admitted. Then I glanced over at Gio, and a bolt of pure fear hit my heart like lightning. “How is he? Did he wake up?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Dr. Sheridan said. “I need to discuss Mr. Rivera’s condition with you. Are you awake enough to comprehend?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t quite sure if I was.
“I performed the surgery on him yesterday. He had what we call an internal carotid dissection.” He ran a finger down the side of his own throat to demonstrate. “There was a tear in the artery running along here, which caused blood to seep out. Then the blood formed clots, and those clots traveled up into his brain, where they blocked the blood flow.”
My heart plummeted inside my body.
“He had two clots on the right side, and one on the left,” the doctor continued. “We were able to remove one on each side, but the second one on the right is still in there. Overnight, there was bleeding in his brain, and now there is significant swelling. His brain is pressing against the inside of his skull.”
“Oh, my God.” I sank back down to the chair.
“We can operate to remove part of his skull to give it room, but it would be traumatic to him, and quite frankly I don’t think it would help much.”
“Much?” I asked stupidly, unable to latch onto any other word but that one.
“The swelling is bad, Peter. If we don’t stop it, it will kill him. But even worse is the bleeding. I’m sorry to say that Mr. Rivera has already sustained a lot of brain damage. Do you see how he’s moving?”
As if on cue, Gio’s arm and leg drew up in that familiar pattern I had memorized the night before.
I nodded.
“We call that posturing. That is just one of many signs he’s exhibited that tell us his brain has taken a lot of damage.”
“But can you fix it?” I asked.
Dr. Sheridan took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m afraid the brain damage is irreversible. There is a slim possibility that we could do the surgery and save his life, but the damage that has already been done is there to stay.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, feeling the room swim sickeningly.
“It means that even if we could somehow miraculously keep his body alive, his brain will never be the same. He will have to live out the remainder of his life in a nursing home. He’ll have to be fed through a tube. He won’t know who you are. He won’t be able to understand language or respond to people. Essentially, he will be gone. Everything that makes him who he is will be no more.”
I swayed in my seat, and Theo’s arm went around my shoulders to steady me.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Dr. Sheridan said. “Mr. Rivera is so young. I’m baffled by this case, to be honest. Typically, we only see this type of arterial dissection following a traumatic injury. Do you know of anything happening to him? A blow to the neck, perhaps? A fall?”
My brain swirled, searching for anything and finding nothing. I shook my head. “No. Nothing. I—”
Could something have happened while he was working? Something he hadn’t shared with me? I glanced at Theo, asking the question silently with my eyes.
He only shook his head, looking truly bewildered. “Nothing that I know of.”
“It’s not important,” the doctor said. “Either way, the outcome is the same. And I’ve heard of rare cases where this happened spontaneously. It’s just…” He shook his head. “Both sides of the neck. It seems unlikely that this would have happened without some sort of trauma.” He shook his head again, as if puzzling something out in his mind. “Was he seeing a chiropractor, taking yoga classes? Those are possible causes. Anything that could have put undue strain on his neck. Even overzealous sexual activity.” He coughed. “Sorry, I forgot this is your father. I was just thinking aloud.”
But I wasn’t hearing any more of his words. A high-pitched buzzing had started in my head. Overzealous sexual activity. Anything that could have put undue strain on his neck.
A scene played in front of my eyes. A visceral memory.
My legs clamped around Gio’s neck. My hand against his forehead.
Gio, stop. Too much. You’re going to kill me.
But who had killed whom? The room swam in my vision, and this time when I swayed, Theo’s grip on my shoulders was too lax. I toppled forward in the chair, and my knees hit the floor as darkness engulfed me.
Then I blinked, and Theo was cursing. Holding me upright on the chair. Dusting off my knees. “Pete, are you okay?”
Dr. Sheridan leaned down over me, his concerned face huge in my vision. “He fainted. Are you all right, Peter?”
I gulped, feeling the wildness in my own eyes as they darted around the room. “What?”
“How do you feel?” the doctor asked. “Do you need to lie down?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I killed my husband. “I’m fine.”
Dr. Sheridan looked skeptical, but he continued cautiously. “I need to know how you want to proceed. As Mr. Rivera’s next of kin, it’s up to you. Do you want to move forward with the surgery?”
“Wh-what do you think?” I asked in a shaky voice.
Dr. Sheridan pressed his lips into a tight line before he spoke. “I can’t tell you what to do, but if it were my father… I wouldn’t put his body through that. The possibility that it could even help is slim.”
“And if we don’t get it?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“If we don’t do the surgery, the swelling will probably kill him soon.”
Black spots appeared in front of my eyes, and I nearly toppled from the chair again despite Theo’s arm holding me. He tightened his grip and righted me.
“Can we give him some more of that medicine?” Theo asked. “He’s not handling this well, and I think it’s only going to get worse. I know him.”
Dr. Sheridan turned to the nurse who was working the morning shift. A rail-thin blond woman. “Please check the chart and give him more of what he had last night. I forget what I prescribed, but it seemed to work well. And then get him a thirty-day prescription to take with him. Schedule a follow-up with Dr. Jackson in two weeks. He may need ongoing support.”
The nurse left the room, and Dr. Sheridan turned back to me.
“I need an answer soon, Peter. Time is running out for the surgery. Do you want to try?”
Somehow I found words and spoke them on autopilot. “And you don’t recommend it? You don’t think it will help?”
“I think there is a possibility that we can keep his body alive. But there’s something to consider here. If we do keep his body alive, there’s no going back. Mr. Rivera will be in a nursing home, and his quality of life will be significantly diminished.”
I glanced over at Theo for input, so confused now the doctor might have been speaking Greek.
Theo looked sheepishly up at me. “He’ll be a vegetable, Pete. What he’s saying is that you can let him go in peace, or you can try to keep him alive. But if you do keep him alive, there will be no going back on it. You’ll be condemning him to life as a vegetable. If you change your mind, it ain’t like you can slip into his room at the nursing home and smother him with a pillow.”
I expected the doctor to be appalled or at the very least shocked at Theo’s casual reference to cold-blooded murder, but he only nodded. “Now is the time to choose his fate.”
“I-I can’t,” I said, knowing I’d already done that a few nights back.
Baby, stop pushing. I can’t move when you’ve got me in a vise grip.
Tears streamed down my face, and I wiped ineffectually at them with the back of my hand.
“You’re the only one who can,” Dr. Sheridan said quietly.
“And what will happen next? If we don’t get the surgery?” I asked, wondering where the words were coming from, and how I was still upright.
“Then you’ll have to decide if you want him to continue on life support, or if we’ll remove the tube and see if he can survive on his own.”
I looked up at the doctor, stunned. “And you think he can do that?”
Maybe there was a chance. Maybe I hadn’t killed Gio or condemned him to a life of nothingness after all.
Dr. Sheridan tightened his lips into that grim line I was becoming all too familiar. “As I’ve said, the brain damage is extensive, and the swelling is continuing as we speak.”
“What does that mean?” I wailed. “Stop being vague and just fucking tell me.”
The doctor took a tentative step closer to me. “My expectation is that he will probably die within hours or minutes of removing life support. I doubt he will be able to breathe on his own for much longer, and he may have already lost that ability.”
All of the air rushed out of my lungs in one explosive sob. “So you want me to tell you it’s okay to take away the only thing that’s keeping him alive. You want me to suffocate him, like Theo said, only not with a pillow. You want me to kill him.”
You already did, a little voice in my head sneered, but I shut that voice down. I had to keep fighting. To make this right.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I wish I could offer you more hope.”
“Any hope, you mean.” My voice rang out into the nearly-silent space, harsh and so full of desperation and guilt.
Dr. Sheridan remained calm. Of course he did. It wasn’t his husband lying over there dying on that bed. “You can approve the surgery, which will give him a very slim possibility of living as a vegetable, or you can refuse treatment and allow him to go in peace.”
Theo grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Gio wouldn’t want to live that way. You know he wouldn’t.”
I ignored Theo and addressed the doctor. “But what if he just got better? He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known. What if his brain healed? Isn’t that possible?”
Please, please let it be possible.
“I’ve already given my professional opinion,” Dr. Sheridan said patiently. “The damage is permanent and profound. There would be no coming back from it.”
I turned, buried my face in Theo’s shirt, and sobbed for what seemed like hours. Then there was a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I looked up to find the nurse offering me a pill and a bottle of water. Sensing the futility of refusing the medication, I took it and swallowed it down. Maybe it would bring some relief from this awful guilt.
Theo patted me on the shoulder. “Good boy,” he said.
I stared up at him, my emotions warring within me. Did he know that’s what Gio said to me? Had he used his words on purpose? Part of me hated hearing them come from his lips, but another part of me wondered if maybe it was a sign. That maybe Gio was speaking to me through Theo.
It was stupid, I knew. And yet…
I looked up to find Dr. Sheridan inspecting Gio’s sleeping form. He used his thumb to open first one and then the other of Gio’s eyelids and shone a tiny flashlight into his eyes. Then he turned back to me. “I need your decision, Peter. Do you want me to perform the surgery to remove part of his skull?”
I buried my face in Theo’s chest again and whimpered one word. “No.”
“He said no,” Theo told the doctor.
“And do you want us to remove the tube?”
Still burrowed against Theo, I uttered the word that would condemn the man I loved to certain death. “Yes.”
The doctor suggested that Theo and I say our private goodbyes to Gio while the staff got prepared to unhook him from the machines. A small part of me resented the idea, because that meant I had to leave the room while Theo said goodbye.
I let him go first, of course.
I stepped out to the nurse’s desk outside his room and waited. Five minutes passed, and then a chorus of alarms sounded at the desk. The blond nurse jumped up and rushed toward Gio’s room.
“What is it?” I asked, following closely on her heels.
“The heart monitor and the ventilator. He may be going into cardiac arrest.” We pushed in through the door and were met with Theo’s shocked gaze. The alarms had ceased their racket, and it was quiet in the room.
“I don’t know what happened,” Theo said. “He just started coughing or something. Seems okay now.”
The nurse checked the monitors and gave Gio a cursory once-over. “Must have been fighting the tube.”
“He hasn’t done that for hours,” I said, hope blooming in my chest. “Is that a good sign? Does that mean he can breathe on his own?”
“The doctor doesn’t think so,” the nurse said, shaking her head in confusion. “Guess we’ll find out when we remove the tube. Are you ready to say goodbye?”
Theo stepped away from the bed and indicated that I should take his place. “I’ve said all I need to say, Pete. It’s your turn.”
Theo and the nurse left me alone in the room, and suddenly I was terrified. How could I possibly say goodbye? I had a lifetime of things to say to Gio. I wanted to say every word in the English language to him at least a thousand times. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to remind him of every wonderful second we had spent together since the day we met, and describe each and every one of the hopes and fantasies I’d had for our future.
I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for pushing him away when he’d only been trying to pleasure me. For tearing his arteries and killing him. For being too cowardly to admit it aloud. And for letting them pull the plug on him.
Instead, I lowered the bed rail, moved his arm out to the side, and climbed in beside him. I pressed my body against his and nestled my shoulder up into his armpit, wishing that arm could wrap around me instead of hanging limply off the bed.
“I love you, Gio,” I whispered against his ear. “You’re the only love I will ever have in this life. The only man who will ever touch me.” I kissed his cheek, his throat, his chest through the worn fabric of his gown. “My heart is inside you, my love. Forever.”
I lay there against him, tears flowing so long and hard that his gown was soaked through. There was no end to them. No bottom to the well of despair.
Sometime later, there was a light knock at the door. When I didn’t respond, people started filing into the room. Theo, the nurse, the doctor, the person who was in charge of the ventilator. I heard them talking as if from a great distance, and still I didn’t budge from my spot or react to them in any way. It was a dream. That was all. Just a dream.
Eventually, the nurse tried to urge me from the bed, pulling gently at my arm. I pulled away from her and burrowed in deeper against Gio’s body. Another attempt, but I held tight, and then Theo’s hands were on me, too insistent. I snatched away from him and whined.
“Just leave him be,” the doctor said quietly. “We can work around him.”
I vaguely heard the shutting down of the machine and felt the air cease to move within Gio’s chest.
I saw with only a hint of comprehension that someone attached a syringe to a small port on the breathing tube and pulled the plunger back. Then the sickening wet slide of the tube coming out, trailing saliva and God knows what else onto Gio’s gown and my hand that was clutching the fabric.
The beeping of the heart monitor slowed and settled into a steady tone, and someone thankfully turned it off.
“Time of death is ten-seventeen.” It was Dr. Sheridan’s voice. So matter-of-fact.
And then the sounds faded away to nothing, and I was alone again. I closed my eyes, twined my limbs around Gio’s body, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 9
PETER
Minutes passed. Hours. Days. All in a blur.
There were tears and there were pills. There were wails and whimpers and soft pleading. There was a void that swallowed me sometimes.
And there was the funeral. Theo had called in Teddy and Frank and Carlos, and they had worked together to handle the arrangements. For my part, I stood beside that yawning rectangular hole and fought not to throw myself in there with Gio.
And then I clicked the deadbolt and climbed into the bed that seemed too empty now.
Time passed. The phone rang. And then the knocking started up. The banging and banging and banging that had made my heart feel like it was going to jump out of my chest with every strike of fist against wood.
It was Theo, demanding to be let in until his voice was hoarse.
I’d finally unlocked the deadbolt and let him in, then immediately gone back to bed. Now he was standing over me as I lay twisted in the covers.
"He left you everything." Theo glared down at me, looking sharp and intimidating in a tailored suit that smacked of Gio Rivera. Patent leather wingtips, fitted gray slacks, white dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal a hint of chest hair. A gold herringbone chain glinted within the open vee of his collar, and I wanted to rip it off of him and tell him he wasn’t worthy of anything even remotely reminiscent of Gio.
I wanted to tell him that Gio had been a god, and that the rest of them—Theo, Frank, the whole crew—were nothing but poseurs. Little wannabe Gio’s running around after him, trying to scavenge any crumb of him and make it their own. I wanted to tell him he was a piece of shit and that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be half the man Gio was.
It was all because of that suit. That chain. He had no right.
I wanted him to know these things, but I didn’t want to say them, because I didn’t want to talk at all. I didn’t want to talk about the money or the business or the damned hotel I now owned. I didn’t want to talk about Gio or how wonderful he was or how he’d left me to fend for myself in the world. I didn’t want to talk about how goddamn angry I was. Or how broken.
Or how it was all my fault. I would take that with me to the grave.
"You inherited it all,” he said. “His entire estate. Pete… do you understand what that means?" When I didn't answer, he ran a hand through his golden mane and growled. "It means you've gotta get up off of your ass and run your fucking business. No more moping, no more ignoring me, and no more lying around waiting to die. And why is it so goddamn hot in here? It’s like we’re in the bowels of Hell.” He stalked over to the bedroom door and leaned around the corner to adjust the thermostat. When he returned, he raked me with his gaze—blue like Gio’s, but different in so many ways—and sighed. “You look like shit. How long has it been since you had a shower?"
