CAPTAIN OF HIS SOUL
By Marcher
gama39@austarmetro.com.au


PG13

Chapter 5  ~  Well, Isn't That Just Like A Man!

"Somebody clean that up!"  The roaring demand from Ross Campbell echoed through the hospital's corridor, mixed with an angry cry of pain after slipping and landing heavily on his side.   Nobody had responded to his order by the time he had awkwardly found his feet and he shouted again.  "Where's everyone in this wretched place?!"  A lone employee poked his head around a corner, curious as to all the fuss, but wasn't quick enough to duck back out of sight before being spied by the irate doctor.  "You there!"  Campbell's jovial manner had receded in favour of distinct and precise orders.  "Get a mop and bucket and clean this, quick smart!" The Orderly nodded obediently, once again disappearing from sight and Campbell set about spitting into his handkerchief then vigorously rubbing at the blood which had soaked into his trouser leg.  A useless effort, for he only succeeded in smearing the stain further into the fabric.  "Blast that O'Connell!" he cursed in a low voice.  "Always know exactly the bugger's been!"

****

Evelyn slumped into the large, high backed armchair and gazed thoughtfully at her young son sleeping fitfully in the small bed opposite her.  To offset the harsh afternoon sun, she had cloistered herself and Alex  in the darkened bedroom beneath a modern electric ceiling fan, but it was to little or no good.  The room still grew overly warm and stuffy.   Her advanced pregnancy made it increasingly difficult to find a position that was remotely comfortable, especially now that the baby was delivering a series of strong kicks into her ribs and sides.   She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax and ignore the steady hum from the fan that grated on her nerves. 

Her patience abruptly reached the end of it's tether and Evelyn groaned with a fierce irritation.  It had been a good six hours since Jonathan was precariously stretched between Rick and that doctor friend of his to be carted off to hospital!  She had even heard them laughing at the foot of the stairs, more concerned with memories of the old days than with her brother's state of health.  "Bah!" She slapped the arms of the chair and hauled herself up, belly first!  "He even had the nerve to diagnose me!"

Alex roused slightly from the heat and the sound of his mother's sudden movement, making it almost impossible for Evelyn to stiffle a small cry of defeat.  She made her way across the room and fussed over him, gently placing a damp cloth to his forehead and praying silently that he would remain asleep a while longer.  The prospect of an irritated, over tired child in his heat was a little more than she could deal with right now.  As she hushed the child and stroked his head with the cooling cloth, her mind jumped to conclusions of where her husband was, how much he was laughing and drinking, and the price he would pay on his return.  Her frustration escalated at the same rate which Alex resisted her efforts to soothe him.  She frowned with the thought that neither Rick, nor his friend had thought it necessary, or even good manners, to send news of Jonathan.   When Alex howled his final refusal to remain in the bed, his mother released an exasperated cry of her own and plucked the child into her arms.  "Come on, Alex."  She
swayed the child, patting his rump.  "Let's find Daddy and see if he won't tell us where he's taken your uncle?"  Her sarcasm was wasted on the boy, but it made Evelyn feel better!

She placed her son onto the floor, her head spinning awfully when she straightened herself too quickly.   Gasping at the sudden wave of dizziness, Evelyn reached a hand out to the wall and managed to stop herself from falling.  Relying heavily on her support, she regained her balance and realized she was shaking from the fright.  Her immediate response was to blame her near accident on those who had left her to frett and worry in this dreadful heat!  Still standing, she placed a hand to her chest and inhaled deeply in order to calm herself.   Once recovered, the extremely determined Mrs O'Connell dressed her son and made her way to meet up with her husband.

****

The piercing ache eventually broke through the tranquility of unconsciousness and Rick reluctantly opened his eyes, solely aware of the throbbing pain in his right thigh.  He could remember dragging himself through the dust to collapse inside the hospital doors, but his recollection of what followed was hazy and fragmented.

He gingerly attempted to stretch his leg and angrily cursed the bolt of pain which should have served as a warning against any further effort.    Still, gritting his teeth, he placed both hands around his knee and raised his leg into an arch, once again swearing violently against the excrutiating exercise.  He stuffed a pillow beneath his knee and began peeling away the bandage to examine the damage.

Casting the dressing aside, the ex-Legionnaire stared curiously at the wound.  Seven neat, black stitches presented themselves amid a circular patch of cleaned skin, itself surrounded by brown, dried blood.  He carefully moved his hand to the underside of his thigh, checking for an exit wound, becoming somewhat grateful of the negative.  Placing a grip on his knee once more, he held his breath and dropped his leg over the side of the bed.  Using the iron bedhead as a bolster, Rick placed his entire weight onto his good leg, before softly pressing the ball of his right foot onto the floor.  The pain was quick and sharp, but not enough to deter him.  There was no way of telling how long he had been unconscious; and if Furborough wasn't dead, or even if he was, O'Connell knew he couldn't afford to hang around convalescing in a hospital ward.   It wouldn't take a genius to figure out how to follow a trail of blood!

He grabbed his trousers from the back of the single chair crammed beneath the window, barely noticing their ripped and bloodstained state, and proceed to put them on.   The pain surged to mock his strained efforts and O'Connell closed his eyes and sighed at the dark prospect of pulling on his boots!

With the ordeal completed, he shuffled himself along the bed, then lunged towards the wall.  Taking a moment to steel himself, Rick pulled open the door and began what was only going to be a long arduous journey to the front steps of the hospital. If he allowed himself to think any further than that right now, he might well re-consider the whole escape.

Half way down the corridor he was ordered back to his room by an angry doctor speaking fluent Arabic.  Ignoring him, the American persisted on his way.  The smaller man blocked his path, again insisting the wayward patient get himself back to bed.  Nevertheless, O'Connell refused once more.

Bristling, the medic announced, "Would you understand better if I speak English?"

"No, I got it the first time!"  he sneered, "I'm just not gonna do it!"

"Then you are a fool.  Your wound will open."

"I'll be fine!"  And with that, O'Connell pushed his way past.

"The man's right, ya know!"  Rick leaned his back against the wall and looked down the length of the corridor to see Ross strolling towards him.  "Ya be in worse a state than ya opponents after we dragged 'em in off the street.  At least  they weren't bleeding all over the floor."  Campbell nodded to his fellow doctor, indicating that he would handle the errant patient and the man happily took his leave.

"I see that ya idea of delicate business hasn't changed much over the years." 

Rick snorted at the intended gest, but refused to be lured back.   "You pulled that bastard in off the street?"

"Oh aye.  One of 'em woke up and left in one piece soon enough.   Other one hasn't come 'round as yet."  Campbell stood with his hands plunged deeply into his pockets, looking his friend up and down, half smiling at his sorry state.  "If it's yourself that's responsible for 'is condition, ya might be pleased to know ya broke 'is nose and sent 'im comatose for the last four hours." 

"The other one's gone?"

"Aye." Campbell knit his eyebrows, taking note of the disturbing effect this news had on O'Connell.  "Which sort of trouble 'ave ya stirred up  now?"

"None.  Take me home, Ross."  There was a degree of seriousness in the American's voice which Campbell could only ever recall  hearing once or twice, but the look he offered his friend revealed an unwillingness to discharge him.  Exasperated by the series of events since he went searching for Furborough, Rick resorted to pleading, "Look! I'm stitched and fixed. There's nothing I can do here that I can't do at home."  A silent pause followed his request.  This time he held Campbell's gaze with an intense urgency that left nothing to be questioned.  "If one of them's already left, then I don't have any other choice."

The Yorkshireman simply nodded and lent an arm to support O'Connell, pacing him slowly as they made their way out.  "That little wife of yours?"

"Yeah?  What about her?"

"Placid, is she?"

Rick laughed, "No!"

"Then I'd say that's unlucky for you."

Whatever Evelyn had to say to him, didn't bear thinking about right now.  "Yeah. You can say that again!"