And I’m out.-JD
My reflexes work faster than my brain and I catch JD as he’s going down hard.
If I’d had time to think, I would have just let him fall. Hell, if I’d had time to think, I would have hit him a few times before going for the knockout punch. But I didn’t think, and even after what he’s done my instincts tell me to protect him, like I always do. Watching out for JD has always been so ingrained in my nature that I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop doing it. For Carla’s sake, I’ll have to. Even if what happened was caused by some sort of brain injury I can’t forgive him for hurting my baby like that.
It’s hard to imagine that just half an hour ago everything was normal. I’d finished my last surgery of the day and had stopped for a quick workout before heading over to JD’s when my cell started to sing ‘Rollin’ with My Homies’, earning me a look of disgust from Dr. Cox, the only other occupant of the weight room.
“Hey, V-Bear, whassup!?” I answered, a little surprised that he was calling. He was looking pretty sick when he left and I figured Carla would have put him to bed long ago. My baby gets all mother hen when someone needs looking after; she don’t mess around, you know what I’m sayin’? But then again, maybe they needed me to pick up a little somethin’-somethin’ or something.
Instead of hearing JD or even Carla’s voice, though, an unfamiliar one asked, “Is this Christopher Turk?”
“This is Dr. Turk,” I answered apprehensively. “Who is this?” I refrained from continuing to ask, “And what the h-ell are you doing with my best friend’s phone?”
“Dr. Turk, this is Officer Grant with the--"
“Officer?” I cut him off, my eyes widening. This couldn’t be good. “Is JD okay?”
“JD?”
“John Dorian. You’re using his phone. Is he okay?”
Dr. Cox set down his weights and pretended not to be interested though it was clear his curiosity was getting the better of him.
“I’m actually calling about Carla.”
This was clearly not good. “Carla?” I repeated anxiously as my heart rate skyrocketed. “Is she there? Is she okay? What happened?”
“Sir, I’m going to need for you to calm down.”
I took a deep breath. “Sorry. Is my wife…is Carla okay?” I tried to sound calm, though the tension had to be obvious in my voice. Dr. Cox even stopped pretending that he wasn’t listening and moved closer.
“I believe I’m with your wife, now, Sir.” He believes? He doesn’t know? “She’s being transported now to San DiFrangeles General. Can you meet us there?”
“SDF General? I-“ I licked my suddenly dry lips, trying to make sense of what was happening. SDF was all the way across town. Carla took the car. I was just planning to hop a bus or something to get to JD’s. The way the busses ran, it’d be at least a couple hours. That wasn’t good enough. What if she was dying? No. I can’t jump to conclusions. “I’ll be there,” I said more to assure myself than the officer. “What happened? Is JD with her? Are they okay?”
“I’m afraid I can’t release that information over the phone.”
In that moment, I was sure that they were dead. There’d been some sort of car accident and they were both dead! That’s why they wanted me to meet them at the hospital. They needed me to identify the bodies.
I was dimly aware of Dr. Cox taking the phone from me and sitting me down on the bench, but everything else ceased to exist. My wife and my best friend were gone. How was I supposed to…? How was I supposed to tell Izzy? She was far too young to understand what was happening! She was gonna grow up without her mama; she probably wouldn’t have any memories of Carla at all! How was I supposed to raise her alone?
Dan. Oh, God, I needed to call Dan. Or I‘d have to make him a cake. That’s what they did in their family, so it’s what I should do. But I don’t know how to bake cakes. Carla’s the one who…but she’s--
“Gandhi!” Dr. Cox snapped and I realized that he’d been trying unsuccessfully to get my attention. Once he saw me looking at him, he continued, “Get up, we’ve got to go.” We? At my look of confusion he gave a little snort. “You honestly think you could get yourself over to SDF right now? Now c’mon. I know it’s a challenge but you need to be strong. Carla needs you right now.”
She needed me? But she was dead.
“Gandhi!” I jerked as a hand slapped me across the face. I stared up at Dr. Cox. “Focus. Now’s not the time to fall apart.”
It was exactly the time to fall apart, but I nodded anyway and let him lead me out to his car.
“Did they…?” I tried to ask him if they’d said how it happened, but I couldn’t get the words out.
“They wouldn’t tell me anything. Just that she was being taken to SDF and that we should meet them there,” he answered as he turned the key in the ignition. He looked like he wanted to say something more, something comforting perhaps. But there’s one thing that Dr. Cox does not do. He doesn’t lie to give people false hope. So instead, he turned on the radio to let it keep me company so he wouldn’t have to try to keep me from going crazy.
It was after the third song, while we were stuck in traffic on the interstate, that the news came on. “I’m Jill Greene and I’m here live with news on the apparent Stop-n-Shop kidnapping. In case you’re just tuning in, earlier this afternoon one of the store’s clerks reported that a gunman held up the store on Auckland Avenue and took the store clerk, his store manager, and an unidentified female hostage.”
The Stop-N-Shop on Auckland was the little convenience store a few blocks from Sacred Heart. Huh.
“I’m here now with the store clerk of the Stop-n-Shop. What a harrowing ordeal! How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, Jill. A little shaken up, but I’m okay.”
“Define ‘okay’,” Cox muttered. He glanced at me. “I’ve been to that hole-in-the-wall. The kid’s a moron.” They didn’t even identify the guy, how’d he know that? At my questioning look, Cox scoffs, “Everyone who works there is a moron.”
I nodded knowingly, though I wasn’t really paying that much attention as the guy started regaling his tale.
“And then I tried to wrestle the gun away from him and I totally would have except my asthma was totally acting up…”
“Of course it totally was,” Dr. Cox retorted, clearly not buying the kid’s account. I smiled faintly before closing my eyes and resting my head against the cold window while the guy on the radio continued boasting of his heroic encounter with a crazed gunman.
“We have gotten word that a suspect has been taken into custody and the hostages have been recovered by SDFPD. They are reportedly being taken to an area hospital. Their names and conditions are not being released at this time,” Jill Greene updated the story.
It wasn’t until the mention of the SDFPD that I really took note of the story. When I did, though, I rewound it in my head and played it over again. Unidentified female hostage? That couldn’t be Carla. Why would she be at the Stop-n-Shop? She usually avoided that place like the plague. Besides, if Carla was there, JD would be, too, and there was no mention of him. Nah. It was nothing. It was just a coincidence that an unidentified female was taken hostage from a store only a few blocks from Sacred Heart and had just been recovered by police and was being taken to a local hospital like SDFG. That couldn’t have been why the police called me to meet me there. I can’t think of any reason Carla would have been there without JD…
“In a strange twist,” the radio newswoman continued her story, “according to an unconfirmed report, the gunman may possibly be a doctor from near-by Sacred Heart Hospital,” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, “and may have actually treated the injuries he inflicted on his victims there at the scene before the police arrived.”
I stared at the radio in disbelief. That could not possibly have been JD. Could it? “No way,” I answered my own question.
Dr. Cox let out an amused puff and I caught him glancing at me sidelong.
“The SDFPD expects to make an official statement later this evening,” the reporter concluded her story and went on to a new one. My brain wouldn’t leave it alone, though. The pieces totally fit together. Well, except for the one where JD might possibly be a crazed gunman.
Then again, he had hit his head and had a concussion. Maybe we should have made sure there wasn’t more than that going on. Rage can actually be a symptom of damage to the cerebral cortex. Good God, what if JD…?
“Oh-ho!” Cox crowed. “Please, oh please, tell me. You actually think that Clarice did this!” His face had lit up as though it were Christmas morning.
“No!” I blurted. “I mean, no.” I let out a snort, though it was somewhat forced. “C’mon, JD?” I laughed uncomfortably. Cuz what if he had? They said it was a doctor from Sacred Heart. “Besides, where would he get a gun?”
“Well, he did say someone hit him with one earlier. Maybe he found it and picked it up?” Cox egged me on. I frowned. That was possible. Maybe. No. It didn’t make sense. I was told that the janitor found him unconscious, and there was always someone with him after that point, so when would he have picked it up? “Or maybe the janitor found it with him and gave it to him,” Cox suggested. Now that wasn’t as far-fetched as it might seem. The janitor’s weird, and just a little creepy. Yeah, I could actually see that. But then where would JD have put it? “I mean he might’ve had it stashed in his pants. I didn’t check his pants. Did you?” Now I know Cox is totally messing with me, but…what if? “You do! You think he did it!”
“No. But…JD did hit his head,” I started to justify why it could possibly have been JD. Even though it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been!
“Brain damage!!” Dr. Cox sang merrily. “Ding ding ding…”
“Shut up,” I mumbled and went back to looking out the window. I was too worried to handle Cox’s torment.
“Oh, come on, Gandhi!”
I ignored him, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against the cool glass.
I was sort of hoping that once we reached the hospital, Cox would just drop me off and go on his way, but I couldn’t be so lucky. I know that he was only being Cox, though, and that, despite his almost giddy teasing, he was almost as worried as I was. He parked in the Emergency lot and escorted me into the building.
I was about to stop at the information desk, but Cox stopped me and nodded toward where a couple police officers were talking to a doctor. Suddenly all I wanted to do was turn around and leave. I couldn’t handle this. What if she was dead? Or what if she was like paralyzed or something? Cox gave me a little prod and gave me a pointed look. He didn’t have to say it; I knew what he was thinking. It was time to man up and go find out what happened. Good news or bad, I had to find out what I was dealing with. I headed over to the group.
“Excuse me,” I cut into their conversation. “I’m Dr. Turk. Someone called me about my wife Carla. She was brought here?” I knew I was rambling just a little bit, but they all took it in stride.
“Yes, Dr. Turk. I’m Dr. Silver, I tended your wife in the ER,” the doctor introduced himself. “Why don’t you come with me?” I looked helplessly at Dr. Cox and followed Dr. Silver toward one of the private consult rooms. Just because we were going to the consult room didn’t mean it was bad news, I reminded myself, though I would have felt a whole lot better if he’d at least given me some sort of sign that my baby was okay. Cox looked at me questioningly and I nodded, wanting the moral support.
After Cox and Silver made their introductions and we were all seated in the privacy area, Dr. Silver got right to the point. “Your wife was brought in with a gunshot wound to her shoulder,” he began his explanation. Relief washed over me as he continued on to tell me that she was stabilized in the ER and had briefly gained consciousness before going into surgery. She’d been alert and aware of her surroundings. I let out a breath I wasn’t even aware that I was holding at that revelation. I barely listened as Silver explained in detail what the surgeons were doing to repair the damage. None of that really mattered; Carla was going to be okay. I could get the rest of the details later. It was clear that Dr. Cox was asking all the questions I probably should be, but I was just so relieved. She was alive and she was going to be fine.
It wasn’t until after Silver had escorted us back out of the consult room and taken his leave that I realized that there was still a major question that nobody had answered. “What about JD?” Cox looked at me for a moment, and then nodded toward the police officers that were still lurking near the triage station.
“Is one of you Officer Grant?” I asked as we approached them. When one of them stepped forward, I turned my attention to him. “I’m Dr. Turk. You called me earlier from my friend’s phone--”
“Your friend?” the cop sneered. Cox and I exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, some friend you got there. He shot your wife.”
I know I cringed when he said the words. I’d thought them, but to have someone else actually say it made it far less believable again. “I’m sure there’s some sort of mistake, you see he was sick and she was taking him home,” I started to defend JD.
“No mistake,” Officer Grant contradicted. “He admitted it. And we have a witness that’s confirmed it.”
What?
Dr. Cox thumbed his nose and his face contorted into an exaggerated expression of disbelief. “You’re telling us that Priscil--that John Dorian confessed to shooting Carla.” His voice was strained and it was clear that he was demonstrating great restraint in not antagonizing the officer. “John Dorian. About yay high, dark hair, incredibly annoying…”
“Yeah. That’s the guy.”
“There’s gotta be a mistake,” I tried once again. “He…he’s sick today, she was taking him home. Maybe he didn’t know what he was saying.”
Officer Grant looked slightly uncomfortable, but he shook his head firmly. He exchanged glances with his partner. “Look…I really shouldn’t be tellin’ you this, but when we got there, he was…well…” he looked really sympathetic.
Dr. Cox folded his arms across his chest and looked utterly disgusted, but remained silent.
“What?” I prompted.
“Your friend,” Grant ground out the word sarcastically, “robbed a store, shot two people and tried to rape your wife.”
What? My mind froze. There was…no response to that. I couldn’t conceive of it, and I couldn’t possibly string together a coherent thought, let alone voice one.
Dr. Cox was staring at Officer Grant as though the man had grown an extra head, and I’m sure my expression couldn’t have been much different. “Now wait. Newbie wouldn’t know what to do with a gun if he had the manual in front of him. And he certainly wouldn’t--" he started to angrily voice his doubt but Officer Grant cut him off.
“He had the gun on her,” the officer insisted defensively, his voice rising to match Cox’s intensity. “Hell, it’s lucky we got there when we did. Bastard had her shirt torn off and was on top of her, pinning her down.”
What?! I felt a rage building in me as he described how JD was caught literally pants down. It was crazy, and…I didn’t want to believe it, but the case the officer was building as he continued with what he’d seen was pretty strong. JD was caught practically naked on top of my wife and was tearing off her clothes. When confronted, he’d confessed to the shooting, and after he’d passed out, the police had confirmed it testing his hands and chest for gunshot residue.
I was dimly aware that Cox was still trying to convince them that they were wrong, and further that they were incompetent idiots if they believed that JD did this, but…he did it. He hurt my baby.
“Where is he?”
The officers exchanged glances and seemed to realize that they’d definitely revealed too much. Grant’s partner shook his head and undoubtedly they weren’t about tell me where my former friend was located. Fortunately they didn’t have to.
“Turk! Turk, I’m over here!” I heard JD calling me from inside one of the exam rooms.
The goofy smile on his face when I burst into the room makes me fly into an almost blind rage. How dare he smile about what he’s done? “You son of a bitch!” I don’t remember crossing the room or hitting him. My reflexes work faster than my brain and I catch JD as he’s going down hard.
Moments later I find myself being swarmed by the officers, a nurse, and Dr. Cox, who immediately takes control of the situation, taking JD’s dead weight from my arms. I feel only slightly guilty as JD makes a pained whimper as he comes to. I watch, transfixed, as the nurse helps Cox get JD back onto the bed, a handcuff connecting JD’s wrist to the side rail preventing them from rolling him onto his back. I frown as JD’s hospital gown falls open and reveals several bruises as well as a large bandage on his backside. Cox hastily pulls a sheet over him to protect his dignity. What happened to him?
Not that I care.
Except, of course I do. Old habits die hard. Especially when I see tears rolling silently down my best f--former best friend’s face. In all the years that I’ve known him, I can’t think of a single time he’s actually cried, not even the times he’s had damn good reason. Make no mistake, he’s an emotional guy. He just doesn’t like to show that particular emotion in front of anyone.
In an unusual show of kindness, Cox gently wipes away the tears as well as the sweat that has broken out on JD’s forehead. His face looks unusually flush. Noticing that I’m watching, Cox steps into my line of sight and motions angrily for me to get out.
Officer Grant and his partner usher me out of the exam room while the nurse and Cox tend to JD. “Considering…everything, we’re gonna pretend that didn’t just happen,” Grant tells me. The warning not to do anything more hangs unspoken in the air.
He doesn’t have to worry. The initial rage has worn off and I’m thinking a little clearer. I know what happened wasn’t entirely JD’s fault. He wouldn’t ever hurt Carla on purpose. I know that. We really should have made sure he was really okay before releasing him from Sacred Heart. Even so, I don’t know that I’ll ever really be able to completely forgive him. And no amount of anger is an excuse for what he tried to do. There’s no way I can ever ask Carla to forgive him, or even face him again. So I have to get used to the idea that me and JD are done.
I sink down into one of the waiting room chairs, my depression and worry completely exhausting me. What is taking so long? Shouldn’t Carla be out of surgery already? It took Cox and I quite a while to get here, and it didn’t sound like the surgery itself should be all that complicated. She’d have quite a lot of physical therapy ahead of her, but the surgery was fairly minimal. What’s taking them so long?
I look up as Cox emerges from the exam room. I see him drop what looks like JD’s cell phone into his pocket. He reaches up and plucks JD’s chart from the wall hang and begins skimming over it. He shakes his head and lets out a small huff before glancing over at me, his lips curving into a grim mockery of a smile. That can’t be good.
“You can’t be looking at that!” the nurse snaps as she yanks the chart from his hands. She starts to put it back, but changes her mind and tucks it under her arm, giving Cox a suspicious look.
“Why is this man not yet in surgery?” he demands. Surgery? What the…? Why does JD need surgery?
I silently berate myself for not even being able to go five minutes without worrying about him. I have to stop it.
I tune Cox out as he continues some sort of heads-will-roll rant. I think I overhear him saying something about untreated infections and a lawsuit and within a few minutes a surgical team is there whisking JD off to do whatever it is they need to do.
Cox thumbs his nose and crosses his arms, glaring after them for a few moments before wandering back over to me. He doesn’t offer to tell me what he saw on the chart, and I’m not going to ask. I don’t want to know. The way Cox silently stares at me, studying me, makes me even more uncomfortable.
“You really think he did it, don’t you,” Cox finally speaks.
I don’t answer, but that seems to give Cox his answer anyway. He lets out a disbelieving huff as he reaches out and cuffs--
--him in the back of the head.
“Ow!” Gandhi complains as he reaches up to rub his shiny head.
“You know, I’ve always had my doubts about you,” I inform him, and wait until he’s opening his mouth to protest so that I can cut him off effectively. “I was beginning to think maybe--just maybe--I had you pegged wrong. I mean you always seem like you could be a pretty decent guy. But don’t get too excited here, Gandhi, I’m not saying I’d ever invite you over for Thanksgiving dinner or anything, but you’ve got a good foundation. You went to all the right schools, earned fair enough grades to get through without being good enough to qualify as a loser with no life. You’re black, so you’ve got that built in ‘cool’ factor. You play a pretty so-so game of basketball…” I cut him off as he once again tries to protest. “You somehow got Carla to marry you, and make no mistake she is the fa-har better half but you seem like you could be a good guy. But I’ve had my doubts.” His brow furrows as he looks up at me. “Now don’t get me wrong, normally I frown on beating on women, but in Darla’s case I’d be there in the front row cheering you on. Most days I’d probably even sell tickets and hock stuff at the concession stand.” It shouldn’t surprise me that he doesn’t seem to know where I’m going with this. I take pity on him after heaving a big sigh to let him know that he’s a moron. “That said, for some unexplainable reason you took him as your B-F-F, and that means for whatever god-knows-what reason, you chose him to be your friend forever.” His mouth opens again and I hold up my hand to stop him. “Bup-bup-bup! Look, Gandhi. I know Newbie isn’t a perfect friend, and lord knows you could have chosen better, but then you haven’t always lived up to your ‘best friend’ end of the bargain, either.”
“He shot my wife!” Gandhi finally gets the guts to cut me off. “And he tried to…he…”
I let out a disgusted growl and take another swipe at the back of his head, though this time he sees it coming and ducks. “Do you honestly believe he’d do that? Think about it, Gandhi.”
“But he admitted it!”
I rub my temple, hoping it will alleviate my headache. I knew I shouldn’t get involved in this unfolding drama between the two lovebirds. “Don’t you think you at least owe it to him to get the story from him before you take the word of those morons over there?” He scowls in answer and folds his arms across his chest as if to cut off any further discussion of the matter. I will admit that the idiots talked a good case with their talk of gun residue and confessions. If they were talking about just about anyone but Sally, I’d possibly believe them, too. But I do know that Olivia wouldn’t hurt a fly, or if he did, he’d be crying about it for days.
As for what the officers told us about catching him in the act of attempting to rape Carla? And holding up a store? Taking into account that it’s Newbie we’re talking about, and that he has the tendency to get caught in completely insane situations on pretty much a weekly (if not daily) basis, I’m guessing that it’s absolutely nothing like what it looked like and there will be some totally innocent explanation. After all these years, how can Gandhi not know that? When whatever this misunderstanding is comes to light, Gandhi is going to hate himself for what he’s done, especially when he finds out that his wife wasn’t the only one who was shot.
All in all, if it weren’t for the fact that two of our own were hurt, it would make for a very entertaining evening. Well also excepting the fact that waiting rooms are incredibly boring.
I know when Dr. Moronic makes an appearance to let Gandhi know that his wife is out of recovery that I should give him a few minutes to see her alone, but damned if I am going to stay another minute in the torture room. I swear they must have an endless loop tape of “Judge Judy” reruns somewhere that they pipe into these rooms.
As it turns out, we’re not even her first visitors. Officer Dumbass is standing in the doorway. For a moment I think he’s going to prevent us from entering and prepare to give him a verbal beat down, but he seems to reconsider and steps aside to allow us entrance. As it turns out, Officer Dumbasser is seated in the visitor chair nearest the bed and seems to be there to grill her for information.
“Hey, baby,” Gandhi greets his wife as he carefully leans over her to give her a kiss. A much too long kiss, that involves a bit more tongue than the situation really calls for. I mean we all are glad she’s going to be okay, but they’re not alone and if they don’t stop soon, I may actually have to vomit.
When he finally lets her up for air, I hear Carla murmuring, “Oh, baby, I was so scared…”
“It’s hard to imagine you ever being scared,” I greet as I pull up a couple more visitor chairs for Gandhi and I. As he takes her hand and drops into one of them I lean over and give her a small peck (see that’s how it’s done!) on the cheek. “Glad you’re still with us.” She smiles, though her eyes are still a bit misty.
Officer Dumbasser clears his throat to get our attention. I roll my eyes, but quietly take my seat. “You were about to tell me what you can remember about what happened,” he prompts Carla, who nods slightly, and then appears to become lost in thought.
After a few moments her eyes widen and she looks wildly over at us. “Bambi! Where’s Bambi?”
“He’s being taken care of,” Gandhi tells her, rubbing her hand gently. Apparently Carla doesn’t catch the edge to his voice, and relaxes just a little bit, though she still looks quite distressed. I raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.
“We talked with the store clerk and he told us about some of it, but we really need to get a statement from you,” Dumbasser tries again.
Carla nods slightly again and turns her head toward him. After a few moments she closes her eyes and I notice that she’s shaking a little bit. Gandhi must, too, because he reaches out and pulls her blanket up a little bit.
“I know this must be hard for you, Ms. Turk,” Dumbasser recites a line he’s clearly learned to speak by rote.
“Did you catch them?” she asks softly, pleadingly. Ha! Them, not him. I knew it. I decide to keep my gloating to myself for the moment, but I give Gandhi a knowing look. He doesn’t look my way at all.
“Yeah, we got him,” Dumbasser provides further proof he’s an idiot, but neither Carla nor her clueless husband seem to catch the change in pronoun. I know I should probably speak up to make sure this gets clarified, but decide to let it play out for my own amusement. I have some time to kill and anything is better than going back to the torture room until Clarissa is out of surgery.
“We shouldn’t have even been there, but Bambi was sick and I thought I’d pick up something to help settle his tummy,” Carla started to explain. She really is a mother hen. And I do have to hide my amusement as she continually refers to Lois as ‘Bambi’ and Dumbasser doesn’t even think to ask her who that is. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he figures out he got it all wrong. Though that won’t be nearly as priceless as Gandhi’s.
“And then this guy comes in and he’s all showing his gun around, and telling us all to get down or he’s going to shoot us,” she continues her story. “But he’s mostly okay until he’s about to leave and sees that there’s a cop sitting outside.”
I can’t help but wonder why Gandhi isn’t yet figuring out that his boyfriend has been unjustly blamed. At least if he has figured it out, he’s not showing it. Then again, it doesn’t look like he’s really paying much attention to what she’s saying. He’s just sitting there rubbing her hand and playing the concerned husband.
At one point Dumbass interrupts Carla to ask about the store clerk’s heroic attempt to disable the robber. She looks confused for a moment, but then shakes her head. “No. That was Bambi. The clerk fainted and was unconscious. But Bambi hit the guy and knocked him out.”
I’m just impressed that apparently Ingrid has a mean right hook, but Gandhi only scowls again and I can just imagine that he’s now thinking that this must be when Newbie got the gun.
“So the robber was knocked unconscious?” Dumbasser looks up from his notes in surprise. “Why didn’t you…?” he stops the question and looks apologetic. “I’m sorry. Why don’t you go on? What happened after um…‘Bambi’ knocked out the robber?”
Carla’s expression darkens and she looks down at her hands. “We thought it was over,” she murmurs softly. “But then…” She looks even more upset. “He picked up the gun.”
After a few moments it becomes clear that she isn’t going to continue without prompting, so Dumbasser does it. “Your…friend picked up the gun?” he tries to clarify.
Carla looks up, startled. “No,” she shakes her head, clearly confused why he’d think that. Oh, this is going to be good. “The store manager,” she says, surprising even me a little bit. I find myself forgetting all about Gandhi’s looming downfall as she recounts how they were forced into the car and later how their captors beat Joanne and then forced them both into the car trunk. “I was so scared,” she admits again. “But Bambi…he was so brave. You’d be so proud of him, baby,” she looks at Gandhi a look that can only be described as one of motherly pride. Normally I’d be thoroughly disgusted by it, but under the circumstances I can only barely hide the grin as Gandhi shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “He told me that when we got out he’d distract them and that I should run.” Carla continues singing Newbie praises as she regales how he realized they were being poisoned by carbon monoxide. I’m impressed with her, too, as she explains how she tried to draw attention to their plight by knocking out the tail light and trying to wave at other cars. I think I may have seen that on Oprah once…
“We did get a report about that,” Dumbasser acknowledges. “That’s why we were searching the area, but we didn’t know where to find you. So then what happened?”
I listen intently as again she continues her tale. I feel a little bit guilty myself as she mentions how they were forced to walk through the woods. That explains the lacerations on Newbie’s feet. I’m still wearing his shoes. Given I wouldn’t be if he hadn’t yarped on mine. Still my guilt is nothing to what Gandhi is displaying as she tells how they were forced to kneel and were so close to being executed when JD once again proved his bravery by trying to fight back.
“He told me to run,” she relates to us, her eyes misting again. “But I…I grabbed the gun.”
I lean forward in my chair, completely surprised by this new twist.
“And Michael was choking him. I could see him struggling and I could tell he couldn’t breathe!” she continues her voice rising as she gets even more distressed. “I…” she looks helplessly at me but seems to not be able to get the next part out.
“It’s okay, baby,” Gandhi assures her, reaching out to wipe away the tears that are starting to roll down her cheek.
“No, it’s not!” she begins to sob in earnest.
“We can take a break if you want,” Dumbass suggests, but Carla shakes her head.
“No. I’m okay. It’s just...” she squeezes her eyes shut. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay, baby,” Gandhi repeats, at a loss as to how to comfort her. He glances at me, his expression almost as helpless as hers. What does he expect me to do?
“No! You don’t understand!” she cries out in anguish. “I…” Her eyes open and for a moment she appears fearful as she glances first toward Dumbasser, then gazes longer at Gandhi before finally settling her look on me. “I…” She seems to find me the easiest to look at, though it’s still obvious that she’s having trouble with what she wants to say. I offer her a small reassuring smile, and that’s when she just blurts it out. “I shot Bambi!”
“Oh-ho!” I crow before I can think to stop myself. “I so did no-ought see that coming. Oh, Gandhi, how you must be feeling about now!” I find a malicious glee in this that I know I should feel bad about, but I just can’t. At least I can’t until I look back at Carla, and then I sober quickly, the grin immediately vanishing from both my face and my mood.
At the same time, Gandhi drops her hand as if it’s burning his skin and I can see the stricken look on her face at both of our reactions. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to! Michael was choking him and he couldn’t breathe and I was trying to help, but they rolled at the last second and--"
“Carla, it’s okay! Gandhi forces himself to focus on her again, though I think I can actually feel the guilt radiating off of him.
“I shot Bambi,” she repeats, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. “How is that okay? He tries to save my life and I shoot him?”
The Dumbass twins exchange glances and I can tell they’re both starting to get a bad feeling about where this is going. It’s about time everyone’s starting to get the picture!
“Is that why he shot you?” Dumbasser asks weakly. Or maybe they’re not.
Carla stares dumbly at him. Not that I blame her, it’s an incredibly dumb question. “No. I don’t think he even meant to shoot me. He was just trying to get the gun and I was so upset and…it just went off.”
“So he shot you by accident, then?” Dumbass tries to clarify, still stubbornly clinging to the idea that JD is guilty even though it should be crystal clear that he’s not. I want to scream at their incompetence. Evidently, so is Carla.
“I guess,” she answers slowly, her voice taking on a slightly angry tone. She must be starting to realize what has gone on while she’s been in surgery. She’s stopped crying and is struggling to sit up a little bit. Gandhi gets to his feet and tries to help her. I frown as her face contorts with pain. It’s time to put this to rest so that she can as well.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I cut the officer off before he can continue his questioning. “I think there’s something you rea-heally need to clarify here, Carla.” Everyone looks at me and I can’t help but beam just a little bit at the fact that none of them have put the puzzle pieces together yet. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell us all who shot you. No, no…wait for it…” I hold up my hand, glancing at the officers than settling my sights on Gandhi. “Okay now go,” I point toward Carla.
“What do you mean who sh--?”
“Bup!” I cut her off. “You’re going to ruin my moment,” I add and then motion for her to try again.
“Kevin. Kevin shot me.”
And there it is. The look of complete and utter self-loathing I’ve been waiting for. I feel like I’m glowing. Am I glowing? I actually think I have tears in the corners of my eyes.
It’s a good thing that there’s a chair directly behind Gandhi or he’d be sprawled out on the floor instead of simply dropping into it. His jaw has dropped and he looks completely devastated. As he should! “But…what about…?” he starts, looking suddenly lost.
“What?” Carla looks around, alarmed at everyone’s reaction.
“You see, Carla,” I decide to let her in on the ‘joke’. “These idiots here all seem to have it in their heads that JD is the one who shot you.”
“What?!”
“Oh-ho. It gets even better than that,” I continue, though I do feel a bit cruel when I see how upset she is. She really should be resting, not getting all worked up. Still, I can’t help myself from wanting to twist the knife just a little bit more. “Why don’t you tell us what happened next?”
I sit back and just listen as she angrily recounts the rest of the story to the three idiots, from how JD--still recovering from nearly being strangled to death and with a bullet in his ass, no less--managed to take out the first captor, got the gun, and shot the second one. Each bit of the story she tells, Gandhi sinks just a little bit lower in his chair. By the time she mentions when JD tore her shirt open so that he could bandage her up, I’m surprised that he hasn’t slithered all the way to the floor.
“What did you think happened?” she asks, her voice no longer weak as she looks heatedly from one occupant of the room to the next. Forget mother hen, she’s more like a mama tiger defending her cub.
Gandhi looks so ashamed and miserable that I almost pity him.
“Well?” she demands.
“Well, ma’am,” Dumbasser sounds quite contrite. “When we found you...” He looks to his partner, but the other man has suddenly found something out in the hall to be quite interesting. I peek out and see another officer standing in front of the room across the hall. It’s probably JD’s room, and that’s probably Officer Dumbassiest, the way things are going.
“What happened when you found us?” Carla’s voice is slightly on the shrill side.
“You see, he was um…pretty much naked. And your shirt was ripped. And he was on top of you…”
I can see the exact moment when Carla realizes what’s happened. She looks wide eyed from the officer to Gandhi. Her eyes narrow. “What did you do?” she demands.
My work here is done, so I decide to give them a moment of privacy and get up to wander across the hall to see how JD’s surgery went. Officer Dumbassiest doesn’t even question it as I pluck the chart from the bottom shelf of the wall hang.
It’s not JD’s, though, I realize as I glance at it. Apparently there’s more than one jailbird in house today!
“Hey!” I look up and see the same nurse who caught me with a chart earlier. What? Does she have some sort of radar? I see that she still has a chart with her and wonder briefly if it’s JD’s. I hold up my hands as if in surrender, but she snatches the chart from me. “I don’t care if you’re a doctor. You’re not a doctor at this hospital,” she chides me. “I catch you doing this one more time and I’ll have Officer Harold here escort you out,” she warns. She drops the chart into the top shelf. I almost correct her, but decide against it. There’s only one patient in the room anyway, so it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out which bed he’s in. Then again this is SDFG we’re talking about. I should probably correct her. But I don’t.
Instead I wander back into the room where now Carla is pointing her finger at Gandhi and rapidly cussing him out in Spanish. Now there’s the Carla I know and love. The officers look majorly uncomfortable, as they should, since I’m pretty sure they’re next.
“Now you are going to go find Bambi and apologize until you are blue in the face,” she eventually sums up her rather impressive rant a few minutes later. Gandhi nods meekly and slinks out of the room like the rat he’s been acting like.
Then Carla turn her wrath on Dumbasser, her eyes wild with fury, her finger poking toward him angrily, “And you are going to go do whatever you have to do to make sure he’s cleared of all charges,” she grinds out the word. “And you better not have hurt a single hair on his head! I can’t believe you arrest Bambi and let the real creep just walk on out of here!” She begins swearing again.
“We’ll get him,” the Dumbasser lamely tries to appease her. “It’s just that…the clerk didn’t say anything about him being involved and the way it looked…” At her warning look, he trails off, looking sufficiently scolded.
As soon as they have her sign her statement, the officers quickly scurry off before she can start dressing them down again. As soon as they’re gone, she instantly deflates, her energy completely sapped. I tactfully ignore the way her eyes mist over again and sit in the chair next to her. She smiles weakly as I reach out and take her hand. “I can’t believe you’re the one who was defending him.” Neither can I. “I’m sorry, I’m just so tired,” she apologizes as her eyes fight to close.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Go ahead and get some rest.”
“I don’t want to be alone,” she admits.
“I’ll stay until Gandhi’s back.” She rolls her eyes at the nickname, but the corners of her lips still curl upward.
“Promise me you’ll watch out for Bambi,” she murmurs.
I actually have to force myself to growl, a little bit, and she opens one eye just a little bit. “I promise I’ll watch out for JD.”
At that her eyes both open to half-mast and she smiles wider. “You called him JD!” she says, sounding both teasing and proud.
I blink. Damn. I did. I’ve even been thinking of him by name. When did that happen?
I don’t have time to really consider when a cell phone begins to sing, “Obscene Phone Caller”. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the phone I picked up down in the ER. JD’s phone. I pull it from my pocket and look at the caller ID. SDF Police Department. I better answer it.
I regret it when I do, frowning as I listen to what the officer on the other end has to say. God. I really don’t think this day can possibly get any worse for JD.
But then, of course, it does.
“Uh…Officer?” I hear Gandhi addressing the guy keeping guard across the hall.
“Yes?”
“I was told that John Dorian was supposed to be in this room right now…”
“Right,” the officer confirms.
“I hate to tell you this, but that…in there. That ain’t JD.”
To borrow a phrase from one of my more annoying colleagues:
Frick!
Author's Chapter Notes:
I did a little bit of experimenting with POV and tense, but I think it’s followable (which isn’t a word, but hey…)
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading. As always I truly appreciate any and all comments and criticisms. If you have suggestions for improvement, I’m happy to hear them. (And just letting me know that you’re reading is a big boost to my muse as well!)
