Driven, page 16
Regret flashed over the towering man’s face. “Believe me, I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t break my cover.”
“Oh….” It was all starting to make sense to Oliver. Jack was the man on the inside Richards had talked about. That explained why he protected him when the shootout started.
When the ground kind of shifted under him, Oliver put his hand on the wall to steady himself. He cringed as flames of pain licked from his shoulder down his arm. Richards must have seen that pain and led Oliver around Jack over to an undercover car, sitting him down. The incessant wailing of an ambulance was growing closer as Oliver watched through half-closed lids as Marcus was led, handcuffed, into the back of a cruiser. Carlos was off to the side, cursing in Spanish. The words were foreign to Oliver, but the intent and hatred behind them were crystal clear.
Richards knelt at his side and tried to carry on a conversation, but Oliver found it very difficult to follow. A blanket appeared and was wrapped around his shoulder. He tried to bat it off, saying he wasn’t cold, but they told him it was for shock. He wasn’t in shock. He knew shock, and he didn’t function nearly as well when he was going through it. Harsh breathing reached his ears and he tried to tell Richards to have that person breathe into a paper bag, but he found he could no longer get words out, making him realize that the labored breaths were coming from him.
Two men in white-and-blue uniforms appeared at either side and started to poke and prod at him, asking if he was able to walk. Oliver stood but found himself listing to one side. One of the men straightened him out while the other went back to their rig for a stretcher. He tried more protesting, saying he didn’t need such a thing, but they got him up on it anyway, carefully lying him down. Pressure was applied to his forehead and a cuff was put on his arm. The men were talking gibberish, lingo he didn’t understand. He vaguely heard Richards say he would meet him at the hospital. Those words echoed in his ears before his eyes closed.
THE REALIZATION that bright lights were shining down from above had Oliver squinting. The room was quiet, short of a steady beeping sound. He braved the lights, opening his eyes. He saw Richards at the back of the room talking softly with his wife. She was obviously on duty, her long white coat flowing around her tiny frame, a stethoscope around her neck. She looked up and smiled when she noticed him looking at them. She broke away from her cop husband and came to his bedside.
“How are you feeling, Oliver?” She put the back of her hand on his cheek and he had a flash of memory of his mom doing the same when he was young and sick with the flu.
“Bright,” he replied.
She raised her eyebrows. “You feel bright?”
He shook his head slightly. It took all his energy to make that happen. “The room is bright.”
“Oh yes, it certainly is. I could turn the lights off if you want.”
“Naaaahhh.”
She smiled and turned to fiddle with the machine next to his bed.
“When can I leave?” he asked, struggling to sit up. He didn’t like to be lying prone with people standing over him.
She gently pushed him back down and sat him up using the bed controls. “Not tonight, Ollie. You’ve sustained a head injury so you’ve got to stay the night at least. You will probably want some pain pills for that shoulder too. It was dislocated.”
“No pain meds,” he said immediately. He hated the way they made him forget the pain. He needed to feel it full force.
“If you’re sure,” she said. He was glad she didn’t push the subject, but he was really unhappy he’d be there all night.
“Did I do good?” Oliver looked around Dr. Richards to his PO.
Richards smiled. “You did good. Who knew they would be stupid enough to spell everything out as well as they did.” The smiled slid off his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safe like I promised.”
“I’m alive; that’s good enough for me,” Oliver said trying to smile but failing spectacularly.
“I owe you,” the older man said, and Oliver just let it go. He knew Richards wasn’t going to back down on that front.
Janette and Richards spoke in hushed tones. Janette left, promising Oliver she’d check in on him throughout the night.
His eyes were getting tired again, but he fought the heavy hand of the Sandman. He knew if he fell asleep there, the nightmares of that night would come flooding back and if he started screaming, they might decide to move him to a place with padded rooms, outfitting him with a very unstylish jacket that fastened in the back.
Richards pulled up a chair and settled down, looking older than he had. “You go ahead and sleep,” he said. “I’m going to stay here the night.”
Oliver frowned. “If you stay, who is with the kids? Aren’t they too young to stay home alone?”
Richards smiled. “Janette’s mom watches them when we’re both working. No worries. You get some rest. I’ll be here if you need me. It’s the least I can do.”
Oliver tried to resist it, he really did, but the heavy weight of exhaustion, shock, and fear overtook him, forcing his eyes to shut against his will. He was powerless and hoped the Nightmare King would take mercy on him.
Chapter Thirty-six
OLIVER SLEPT much better than he had ever expected while within the pale green, bleach-scented hushed halls of the hospital. Turning his head, he saw Richards was slumped down in a brown leather recliner. His head was bent in what looked like a supremely uncomfortable position, and he had his arms crossed and one leg thrown over the arm of the chair. A strange feeling of comfort settled over Oliver realizing Richards had stayed true to his word and spent the night. It had been a long time since someone was really honest and truly there for him. It was a sensation he had forgotten about.
“Keep staring at me with that sappy grin on your face, and I’m going to have them drug you up,” Richards said, not bothering to open his eyes.
Oliver blinked. “How did you—”
“Don’t underestimate cop super senses,” he said, finally opening his eyes. “Well, that and dad superpowers. You’d be surprised at the things you pick up on, like someone’s gaze boring deep into your soul.”
Oliver chuckled. “Dramatic much? I was merely peeking at your sleeping position, not checking for your chakras.”
Richards shook his head, wincing and rubbing at his neck. “Why do you even know that word?”
Oliver shrugged. “I did have a life before living on the streets, ya know. Books, TV, cell phones, the whole deal.”
The older man frowned as he shifted into a more comfortable position. “Sorry, I know you did. Speaking of that, since you’re here, did you want someone to call your mom? I know you’re eighteen and legally considered an adult, but I wasn’t sure if it was something you’d want.”
Oliver immediately shook his head, instantly regretting the action when pain shot through his injured melon. “She made it clear she doesn’t care what happens to me. There’s no need for her to know any of this. Maybe she’s moved on and is putting together a new family or something….” He trailed off and Richards stayed quiet, apparently not wanting to delve any further into the subject. “There is a problem, though,” Oliver finally said.
Richards leaned forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped. “And what would that be?”
“I don’t exactly have insurance or a job, so uh… what do I do about hospital bills?”
“You don’t have to worry yourself over that. It’s taken care of,” Richards said, leaning back again.
“By… you?”
The side of his mouth turned up. “I don’t get paid that well, but I do have a wife who knows the system, and she got it all handled for you… but know if we could have, we would have covered it if need be.”
Oliver was humbled. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem. Let me go track down someone and see if we can get you sprung from here. I’m dying for a hot shower.” Richards got up and stretched his arms over his head, groaning as joints popped. He patted Oliver on the leg and strode out of the room in search of someone with a clipboard.
The call of nature was banging loudly from Oliver’s bladder, so he threw back the scratchy white blanket and swung his legs over the side. His arm was still in a sling—for the shoulder, he assumed. There was a dull throbbing in his head, but nothing he couldn’t live with. Slowly he edged off the side of the bed until his feet made contact with the cold floor. A shiver ran down his spine, but he’d have to deal, otherwise there’d be an accident for the nurses to clean up.
He was a little unsteady when he stood, his balance thrown off by only having one good arm. The throbbing in his head increased as he shuffled to the closed door he assumed hid the bathroom. After taking care of business, he ran the water, washing his good hand as he took a hard look at himself in the mirror. The circles he had sported while being homeless had returned overnight. Maybe they were brought on by stress more than lack of sleep. There was a bright white bandage on his forehead, held in place with gauze wrapped around his head. He looked like an unraveling mummy. Other than those things, he looked fairly normal, very unlike what he saw when he first looked in a mirror after the accident. Back then he had seen a mere ghost of himself; a feral animal wild with fear and guilt had looked back at him, demanding to see his family.
A soft knock sounded at the closed door. “Ollie? Are you in there?” He was surprised to hear Janette’s voice. He figured she was long gone. He turned off the water and grabbed some paper towels before opening the door. Both Richards and his wife stood on the other side, looking concerned.
“You probably should have waited for someone before getting out of bed,” Janette chided, taking Oliver’s free hand and leading him back to the bedside.
“Sorry,” Oliver said. “I, uh, had to go.”
She smiled knowingly. “Next time push the button so someone can come and make sure you get there safely.”
“Oh… right.” He felt stupid for not thinking of it himself. “Can I go?”
“Soon. We’ve got a couple tests to run before you go. We want to make sure nothing was too shaken up inside that noggin and that there were no torn tendons or ligaments in the shoulder.”
“Tests inside… machines?” The anxiety was already starting to build. Those loud, tight machines were too reminiscent of the crumpled car he had to be pulled out of years earlier.
“They are, but I’ll be right there, and if you need to take something to help you get through them, we can do that too,” she assured him.
“I don’t like taking meds… they make me feel… like someone else,” he admitted.
“I can understand that, but I promise it’s temporary and nonaddictive. If you’re too upset during the tests, they’ll take even longer to get clear images. Trust me?”
If it were anyone else, he didn’t think he would, but after all they’d done for him, how could he not trust her words. “Okay….”
She gave him a hundred-watt smile. “Attaboy. Let me go get things started so we can try to get you out of here as early as possible.” She left the room, her husband watching her go.
“You don’t have to stay,” Oliver told his PO. “You’ve been here all night. I’ll be okay.”
Richards looked skeptical. “I don’t have anywhere to be….”
“Then pick up your kids and spend some time with them. I’m sure they would love that.”
“You’re probably right. If you’re sure you’ll be okay… I can call Tude and Vera and have them come stay with you.”
“Do they know what happened?” Oliver didn’t want them to know he was almost pimped out to a Columbian drug dealer.
“They know you were involved in some police raid, but I didn’t go into details. I’ll leave that up to you if you want to explain your… uh, relationship with Marcus.”
“I had no relationship with him! I didn’t work for him or anything, he just saw me around the streets. We talked a couple times, but that was it. I swear! I mean… I’ve done some things in the past to get by… things I’m not very proud of, but it never involved him.” Oliver wanted to make it very clear that while he may have sold some of his services, he was never a full-on prostitute, and Marcus was never his pimp.
“I got it… although I have to say I’m sad to hear you had to turn to certain… unsavory deeds while out there. I should have gotten you out of that situation sooner,” Richards said, hanging his head.
Oliver felt awful that he had made the man feel bad. “I wasn’t looking for help then. I wasn’t looking for anything at all. I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t need anyone to survive because everyone else had left or let me down. I didn’t think I needed help until you tricked me into helping Tude.”
Richards rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “Yeah, you’re a stubborn one. I didn’t even think that was going to work.”
Oliver smiled. “I’m glad it did. It’s nice to be able to help and to feel needed.”
Richards nodded in agreement. He stepped forward and put a hand on Oliver’s good shoulder. “No matter how dark your day seems, there will always be someone out there who needs you in some way. It may be to help them from a fall, or to say a kind word, or to hold a door open for them. You have value and I hope you’re coming to believe that.”
“I think it’s starting to become clearer, but there’s a lot of grime I still need to wipe away before I can see the full picture.”
Richards squeezed the shoulder. “I understand, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll bring the Windex, you bring the paper towels, and we can work on it together. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
EVEN WITH the medication he was given, Oliver had a hard time with the tests: the tight space, the confining restraints, the loud banging sounds. It was a special brand of torture that made him wonder if Carlos’s treatment would have been easier to handle. He was sweating and shaking by the time it was all over.
A nurse brought him back to his room and helped him to shower. It was rather mortifying but with the bad shoulder he couldn’t do a lot himself. He supposed it would have been worse if it were a male nurse. Then he probably would have had a whole host of other issues spring up.
Tude and Vera had come while he was in testing. They brought him clean clothes and lots of hugs. Tude was surprisingly misty-eyed when she embraced him, saying how glad she was that he was going to be okay. They told stories of the adventures they got into as teens and taught him to play gin rummy while waiting for the all-clear to be released.
Janette stopped in before going home to say she was passing him over to another doctor, but that from what she saw, things looked good, and he should be able to go home soon. She gave him a hug and her cell phone number, saying to call at any time if he had pain or didn’t feel good.
Oliver was overwhelmed by all the care and support from everyone. After years of feeling like no one cared, he suddenly had a support system anyone would love to have. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
After what seemed like an eternity, Oliver got test results and discharge papers. He might need therapy for the shoulder, but nothing was ripped or torn, so that was good news. Vera gathered all his stuff and got him into the car. Again he was surprised to find his anxiety was under control when he sat in the back. He leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes, tired from the ordeal of the past couple days. The motion of the car must have lulled him to sleep because before he knew it, they were in the driveway at the house, Vera gently shaking him to wake him up.
“Poor thing, you must be exhausted. Let’s get you in and feed you some real food, then you can turn in early,” she said. “I don’t know how anyone survives on that hospital rubbish.”
Vera carried his bag and helped him up the stairs. He looked over at Simon’s house, wondering if the neighbor knew about any of what went on. Oliver wondered what he was and wasn’t allowed to say. They would probably call him back to court to testify or something, so maybe it would be best if he kept his mouth shut about it, at least until he asked Richards if it was okay.
He gorged himself and upon entering a self-induced food coma, he practically fell into his comfy bed. Sleep beckoned him, and there were no bad dreams to interrupt for a change.
THE GREEN glowing numbers of the clock told him it was 12:00 when he opened his eyes. The bright sunlight streaming into the room told him it couldn’t possibly be midnight. He sat up, the blanket pooling in his lap, surprised he had slept so long without waking up, without the women waking him to do something. They must be taking pity on him.
Very slowly he raised his shoulder, testing how bad the pain would be. He was surprised to find it was quite tolerable. He probably shouldn’t be doing bench presses anytime soon, but he figured he could wash his own hair. A shiver ran through him at the thought of having to ask Vera or Tude to help him in the shower. He’d turn into Pig-Pen before he’d let that happen.
The house was quiet as he made his way down the hallway. He wondered if the women were out or if they were just reading downstairs. He’d find out eventually. Washing his face and brushing his teeth after using the toilet made him feel more human and more presentable. It was a bit of a struggle to get clothes on, getting him sweaty in the process. Maybe he should have asked for help.
By the time he got downstairs, he was ready for a nap. Who knew getting ready could be so exhausting? Tude was waiting for him in the living room, beckoning him to come join her on the couch. He found that Vera was out getting groceries. Oliver felt bad that he couldn’t even run the errands, but Tude waved away his concerns, saying it was more important for him to get better than to get groceries.
Their conversation was interrupted by a sharp knock to the door. Oliver made to get up, but Vera was coming through the door before he could do more than sit up. He wasn’t sure whether she was the one who knocked or if someone else was out there. His question was answered when he heard her having a one-sided conversation.
