Angie was there in the morning when I woke up. She brought three other people in, told me their names which I promptly forgot and that they were replacing the other late-night shift as it was now daytime. I couldn't tell when the day turned to night, there were no windows and the clock was in military time which I always had trouble translating into real time.
She ordered breakfast for me as I pointed to the dishes on the menu, said goodbye and walked out, just as the New York detective walked in.
"Cris!" he said and bolted to my side. "No one told me that you had wakened." I sat forward so he could wrap his arms around me. Both of us were crying, sobbing on my part. I soaked the shoulder of his thin wool jacket, ignoring the tissues that Angie's replacement offered us.
"Oh God, Cris," he bawled, not ashamed to be crying in front of these girls. "I thought I'd lost you again."
I patted his back as the staff looked on in surprise. They moved aside as the doctor, Soong stopped in the doorway.
"Detective Eachann," he greeted. "I thought you had returned to New York?"
"No. I'm not leaving Cris."
"You are not his legal guardian," Soong pointed out. "You being here violates his HIPAA rights."
Vehemently, I shook my head. Yes, yes, he is my guardian. He's my real father. Straining, I managed to spit out the word, 'Da'. He stroked my head and held me close.
"Whether you believe me or not, the truth is still true. Cris was once a boy named Crispin Lacey. I was his father, Captain Faille Lacey of the Washington, D.C. Quartermaster Corps. You can look up my records, I served from 1825 to 1832 under the command of General Nathan Redford. My son, Crispin Lacey was kidnapped and murdered by a member of the Johannsen crew. The ransom for my son was a government gold payroll that was never recovered. Today, it is worth over fifty million dollars."
"You could have found all that out on the Internet," Soong protested.
"Except that Cris found it. And Tempe Neige took it from him. He has all that convertible income and he can hide with it. Cris isn't safe until Neige is brought in."
"So, what do you plan to do, Detective? Take Cris and run with him? That's kidnapping. No judge is going to award you custody over his real father no matter how you protest you're his reincarnated father.
"We deal in facts. DNA evidence and your DNA cleanly states you are no relation to Cris Lacey."
I swiveled my head back and forth between the two of them, becoming more and more anxious over their argument. I was afraid that Soong would call Security and have Matt escorted out.
I shoved my legs as hard as I could, got them over the side of the rails. Slowly, carefully, I slid out of bed to stand between Matt and the rails. With an intense effort, I spoke. Haltingly so that I could understand and hear what they heard. Trying to make sense because it was important that I be heard.
"Muh name Crisp in Lace E. He muh fah er," I grunted. I looked Soong in the eyes. "Ah stake...Ah dial."
"Are you saying that you would try to hurt yourself, Cris?" the doctor snapped. Matt gripped my hand.
"Nuh, nuh, nuh," I shook my head. "Snow kill."
"Snow?"
"Tempe Neige. Neige is 'snow' in French. The Americanized form of Cris' last name," Matt explained. "He's saying that if he stays here, his real father will kill him, even knowing that he won't get a penny."
He picked me up carefully and placed me back in the bed. "I don't think you're ready for a stroll or an escape attempt, buddy. Not on that leg."
Dr. Soong agreed. Matt and the nurses stood aside as he checked my legs, ribs, lungs and reflexes. He seemed pleased.
"Your eyes are focusing better, and your speech is clearing up. Your lungs sound clear, too. We were worried about the pneumonia for a while, the antibiotics didn't seem to touch it.
"You're a medical miracle, young man. I, for one, didn't think you would come out of the coma and be...cognizant. I heard you ate dinner and a good breakfast. That's great. In another few days, we'll do an MRI and look at your brain. Make sure that there are no chances of seizures re-occurring. Then, we can start therapy. Physical and speech."
"Shit-fire and damnation," I mumbled. Soong looked scandalized and Matt burst out laughing.
"That's exactly what Mr. Fitzsimmons used to say when he cursed. Crispin picked it up and I couldn't get him to quit using it. Not even when I threatened to wash his mouth out with lye soap."
“That’s child abuse,” Soong said angrily.
Matt raised an elegant eyebrow. “Not in 1825. Besides, I only threatened to do it. Crispin was a good lad, kept out of trouble.”
He gazed down at me fondly and I could almost hear Dr. Soong’s thoughts. Crazy. Delusional. Brain injury worse than he’d suspected.
“Mah,” I said and poked him in the ribs. Rolled my eyes and spoke in Gaelic. "Matt, caewch eich ceg cyn iddo roi'r ddau yn y nuthouse."
Funny, I could speak clear enough in another language but from the look on Soong’s face, he thought I was talking gibberish. He handed me the clipboard and pen, but I didn’t want to write anything. Matt stared at my hand on the pen. My hand.
“You’re left-handed?” he said in surprise. He spoke in Gaelic.
“I am?” I looked down at the hand holding the felt pen and wrinkled my forehead. Seems I remembered me as being right-handed. When I was Cris. “Wasn’t I always?”
“No. Cris is right-handed. Crispin was left-handed. Since when you write with that hand?”
“Uh, now?” I switched to English before the doctor had a cow. He looked worried, checking my eyes again.
“Cris, are you right or left-handed?” he asked me, and I switched hands. I wrote the same on both, barely legible. Shrugged as if I didn’t know, didn’t care and wasn’t impressed.
“Lunch?” I managed, and the aide tittered as if I had amused her.
“In an hour, Cris,” she promised. “Don’t forget to order it. I can bring you a sandwich, ice cream or snack if you can’t wait. Detective Eachann can help you with the menu. I’ll be back later to help with your wash up.”
I handed Matt the laminated folder with all the food choices. Dr. Soong followed her out, giving him a dark look. Maybe he was afraid that Matt would snatch me and run away. I wouldn’t have stopped him if he did.
Matt waited for the room to clear and closed the door before he sat down in the chair that he pulled next to the side of the bed. Telling me the latest news, he said that he had flown to NYC, talked to his Watch Commander, the Lieutenant and taken a Leave of Absence. Jake was doing okay, back to work at his precinct. The good news was that he was no longer a rookie but a first-year patrol officer with his own car and route. In one of the more active neighborhoods of the city. He had told Matt that if we needed anything, we had only to call him, he’d be there as fast as he could drive or fly.
“Tempe?” I asked, getting the word out clear enough so that he understood.
“No sightings of him, but we know he’s cashed in most of the gold. With his connections in the department, he knows all the fences and markets to pass it for cash. So, he has a working capital of millions.
“The Beilbys were sighted. Twin was picked up in town, but he said he left Clovis when he heard that you were to be dropped in the swamp to die. Or to be killed so that Tempe wasn’t complicit.”
I nodded in agreement. “Clovis and TJ, that is Twin Junior are still hiding out, but a customer saw them come in for supplies, mentioned it to someone and it got back to the local FBI agent.
“They were going to send a squad of agents into the swamp after the boys, but the State Trooper Major talked them out of it. Sheer suicide to go after them in their own backyard. Especially the Atchafalaya.
“Jonas and Jane went back to Colorado together. They’re an item now. You know they were two of Crispin’s friends?” At my nod, he continued. “Sheriff Harris and Caitlin Holden. Together again after a hundred years.”
“Wha gun do?”
“I can’t move you, Cris. That’s kidnapping. The FBI would come after us and I’d be no good to you in jail. My Lieutenant suggested we declare you a protected witness and put you in a safe house with me. We're working on it. I'm also trying to get you declared my ward but because I have no physical claim on you, my lawyer isn't hopeful.
"The lawyers for the Trust won't budge, either. They could ask you who you wanted to be appointed as Executive, but they're fighting that. All except for one lawyer and he's my brother-in-law.
"Worst case scenario, if I think Neige is an immediate threat, I will take you out of here faster than lightning. Promise." He fist-bumped me.
He handed me a cell phone, a small flip-top that was a pre-paid, what they called a burner phone.
"My number is programmed in. Jake's, too. And my brother-in-law, Jason Levinger. He's one of the lawyers from the Trust. He's on our side even though he doesn't believe I was your father. But, don't call him except for the last resort; he'd call in the police and the FBI. Okay?"
I nodded. Pointed to the menu and he picked out a healthy lunch and dinner for me, promising to bring KFC chicken next time. Extra crispy. I would have preferred Popeye's, yet I didn't know if there were any around.
He stayed through lunch, came with me as the nurse made me get up and try to walk around the circular nurse’s station just outside my door. The first time I had been out of bed since I’d arrived at the hospital, I was made of spaghetti. I tried to ask how many days I had been there, but neither the aide or Matt wanted to listen as I mangled English. So, I wrote it on the dry-erase board that was clipped to the pocket of my robe. Which was none other than one of those gowns backward.
“Almost two weeks, Cris,” he said. “You were in an induced coma for nine days until your core temp stayed below 100˚. It took you another three to come out on your own. Then, the drugs for your broken leg made you out of it. Today’s the first day you’ve been yourself. So, to speak.”
I sat down in the wheelchair that the aide was pushing behind me, saw that I had only gone about four feet from my door. It felt as if I had walked ten miles. I was exhausted. If I were to try and escape on my own, I wouldn’t make it past my doorway, let alone down the hall and out of the hospital.
“Had enough, Cris?” she asked. I nodded, struggled to get up, but she pushed the chair back into my room. When Matt went to lift me, she stopped him.
“It’s better for him if he does it on his own, Mr. Eachann. He needs to exercise those muscles and bones if he wants to get stronger. No weight-bearing on the right leg, of course. Not until the orthopedic doctor puts a walking cast on.”
I used the walker instead of the crutches as I could not get the knack of walk, swing and hop. Plus, the walker had a seat on it for when I got too tired to go further. My legs and arms would tremble if I did too much. She told me that the aides would most likely get me up twice a day and the physical therapist another two times.
When I reached my bed, I was unable to climb in or swing my leg up, even with the bed down all the way to the floor. Matt took pity on me and lifted me onto the mattress while she raised me up on the pillows. Adjusting the head and foot, she asked if I was good, or wanted anything. I shook my head. My eyes closed in the sheer relief of lying down. Before I could answer her, before the pain of my leg from the unaccustomed use threatened to spike, I lapsed into a sleep so deep that it felt as if I were dead.
They could not wake me for supper. I didn’t open my eyes until late the next morning and was greeted by the sight of my untouched breakfast dishes. There was no one in the room and I turned my head to the big erasable board to read my aides, nurses and doctor for the day. There was also my schedule up, another MRI, Phys eval, speech and cognitive therapists to visit with me. A full day.
Sarah and Brian were the aides, Jenny the nurse and the doc was somebody named Sethi. I didn’t recognize any of them. When the aides came in, they were tall and short. A man and a girl. He was coffee colored with green eyes, over six-feet with huge hands and feet. She was under five feet, red haired with hazel eyes. Both carried towels and the stuff for a wash.
I wasn’t one of those kids who didn’t like to get clean. I hated to be grungy, so if they were expecting a fight, I didn’t give it to them. They were efficient, washed me and even did my hair in less than fifteen minutes. I was happy to clean my mouth, ran my tongue over the minty freshness and grinned at them.
“Thanks,” I managed, and it actually sounded like it was supposed to. He gave me a high-five.
“How ya doin’, little dude?” he asked.
I gave him a thumbs up. He looked at the pile of dishes. “You hungry? Want some fresh lunch?”
At my nod, he ordered for me, changed my bed after setting me in the recliner and then spent the next twenty minutes talking about his job, his girlfriend and the miracle of my life, starting with the bus accident. I was, he said, a celebrity, known across the US. Not just for being the John Doe of the huge Trust Fund, but also because I had evaded the state police, the FBI and my father for nearly a month while on a horse stolen from the killer market. He said that he had heard the Hollywood producers were optioning to make a blockbuster movie out of my ordeal.
I snorted. Wondered who would play me. By the time my lunch came, I wasn’t in any way sleepy. My leg was aching bad enough that I wanted to cry. I pushed the button for the nurse and begged for relief. She brought me a pill at the same time as my food, but I swallowed the pill first. Then, I fell asleep over my cheese ravioli and garlic bread.