Shad again moved over to Bliss and spoke sadly. "It's a real mess outside...""I imagine it would be, explosions can do that."
"I just can't believe the violence that is in our streets these days," Caine said, tsk tsk tsking under his voice.
"Siena is gonna throw a fit," Bliss foretold.
"Oh yes ... that is his group, isn't it?" Caine contained his smile.
"From what I've been told."
"Violence is getting boring ... and tiring…" Shad declared. "Wish there could be some rest from it..."
"Shad," Bliss turned. "Remember that ganger we were listening to the night we danced?"
"How can I forget?" He managed a slight smile as a tune emanated from the strings ... soft, slow ... one would almost be led to say haunting. Shad glanced to Az.
"He's in the lobby tonight and it's making the back of my skull humm like crazy."
Shad was listening to the music and said, "Siena? Uh-oh..." and his hand darted back to his coat.
"No, the ganger."
"Who? Who that one ... the one that was bossin the other ganger around huh?" He shivered. "Something about him..."
Caine and Sierra sat quietly exchanging glances and then as quietly, and seemingly unnoticed, rose and left the hospital. Az’s music sent chills through the drowsing Alexia and she glanced around, half asleep before falling again into a lulled nap.
"The one who likes young blondes ‘cause they scream more ... gawd Shad you are tired."
Shad cringed at her words. "I've been having nightmares..." And though he didn't say so, they were really bad nightmares.
"Shad, keep an eye on Mera. I'm worried that the ganger might be going to try and carry out on his threats against the hospital."
"Mera is in danger... I don't know why ... the ganger?"
"Everyone here is in danger of one sort or another but she is young, pretty and female. So she may be in more than most."
"Yes, but most of them know the consequences ... it's a wonder no one's targeted 'er... sheltered here ... good."
"Listen to the dreams, watch over Mera," Bliss told him.
"I will." It was spoken like a solemn promise.
"Me too," Bliss grinned. "And Terra and Ash, whether she likes it or not. Even sleeping beauty over there but she'll never know it."
"Yeah..." Shad listened. The music Az played as he plucked away at his whatchamacallit got louder, gradually, so that the sound wafted through the room. He wasn't really concentrating on what he was doing, looking about casually, and yet the music seemed to be perfect. Whether this was because it was so practiced that it was routine or whether because he just had amazing improvisational skills was unclear. Shad could see the female ganger watching the male ganger play. She watched his hands with something more in her eyes than merely simple acknowledgment of his skill.
Bliss was saying, "We shades of gray have got to look after the light or the dark will engulf them."
"Guardians..." Shad agreed.
"Watchers," Bliss smirked.
"I'm gonna go hide in the shadows and make sure everything works out," Shad told her, rising from his chair. "Better get to work ... wish me luck."
====
Az’ hands still worked the strings as he turned to Sal. "Whatcha been up to lately?"
"Oh, nothing." She said, her eyes glanced down at her stomach. "It's. . .it's official now."
He understood that she meant she was pregnant. She’d told them before ... all but Ritchie who’s bun it was. "I just wish ya the best, Sal." Somehow, he still didn’t know. She coughed as she yanked nervously at the hairs of her eyebrows. Az raised his brows at her actions. "Somethin' wrong?" She didn’t answer right away and so he shrugged and continued playing. He diverted from the haunting melody he played with small flares, bits of technique that greatly enhanced the tune. Sal’s lips slipped into a steep frown. His gaze swiveled once again to the waifish form of Sal. His fingers still moved expertly about the strings. "Have you figured out whatcher gonna do?"
She shook her head. "I don't want an abortion. But, I know he'll find out, somehow." Her voice was even lower than usual.
Az gave a thoughtful nod ... as if he were mulling over something. "You don't think... " he paused. "You don't think we could ... get you away, do you? Like, find someplace for you to stay? Where Ritchie wouldn't find you?"
"I don't know ... it's... I've tried it before; he found me once. . ."
"That couldn't've been pretty." Azrael winced.
She shrugged. "Well, he was very angry with me ... That much he made quite clear." The object of their discussion passed by the open cafeteria doorway on his way to the lavatory and spared no glance for them either going nor returning as he wended his way back toward the lobby. Az had tried to change the subject of their conversation, but it hardly mattered. Sal gave him a nostalgic smile; then she offered the not-quite-whisper to Azrael. "We do not exist."
His eyes watched Ritchie as he leered off on his ‘mission,’ and then he looked back to Sal, his voice kept low. "Sorry 'bout that. But ... it’s true ... so true."
"No one's fault. . ."
The music softly continued, unconsciously created as he strummed along. But in its haunting tone, there was perhaps not such a contrast as one might first think ...
Sal spoke softly, after clearing her throat for a moment. "You're a splendid musician."
"What?" He blinked, looking down at the instrument, and then back up. "Oh, this? Just a hobby of mine. Found it lyin' around in some ruins."
"That's the reply of every gifted person. . ."
"C'mon... I mean, yer embarrasin' me here, Sal." His sheepish smile became a soft chuckle. "Gifted, she calls me. Heh."
"No one's listening, Azrael. . ."
"I guess..." He shifted in his seat. The people he hadn’t been playing for had mostly left the cafeteria, but for the one called Bliss and the other woman, the sleeper. "Jest makes me feel weird, is all."
She could have just kissed the man, but he was the only one who'd ever been reluctant around her. She didn’t want to scare him off, so she nodded and said quietly, "I understand."
He smiled a small smile as he plucked away skillfully. "Y'always do, Sal." All she did was smile in reply, her eyes diverting from the man to some other destination.
Arty woke abruptly, moaning, "Gods," and Bliss chuckled softy at her, suggesting she go find an empty exam room to nap in, provided the staff didn’t try to draw blood or take something even more precious from her while she napped. Arty smirked and the two exchanged tired pleasantries for a few moments ... bonding in the paranoia and futility of all too brief quiet moments in Sabattann. Arty had to leave and Bliss found herself with a headache. She sat a while with her feet up, cracked her neck, got lost in thought. When she came to herself again, she sipped her cold coffee and decided to call it a night in NRMH with a ride on her bike.
The muffled explosion had jerked him from his sleep. Dr. O'Bannion ran a hand through his now mussed up red hair. With a sudden urgency he slithered off the gurney he had stolen a few moments of sleep upon, then headed to the lower floors via the stairs. In the process he slipped on a pair of sterile gloves. He used a lowered shoulder to the back way ER doors and he suddenly blinked at the commotion. A slightly blue colored mutter was followed by, "Holy …" He strode past the two docs already deep into emergency surgeries and poked his head into the lobby. He nodded to Meralynn Harperr at her desk, not as yet having had the pleasure ... but knowing from the files he had been handed to learn the staff. "Whatta we got left?"
Mera lifted her head, noting the doctor and she smiled. She looked down at the charts on the table and stood to hand one to the doctor. "35 year old male ... possible fracture to the left leg ... complains of chest pain."
He took the chart and walked past her. "Room?" He swung his stethoscope behind him in one smooth motion.
"3C."
"Do I have nurses or are you it?" He tried to smile, but wasn't sure how it came out, yet he continued on to 3C.
"You have me," She said, understanding the way of doctors.
Before reaching the door he turned back to her. "Well, then, come on...just in case." Mera shuffled to catch up as he pushed through the door to 3C. He went right to the side of the gurney, then looked back to his chart. The man was shaking as if cold, but his skin looked fine. With a nod and swing of his head the steth came floating back around and into his hands, his fee one lifted the mans shirt. Mera stood by, waiting for anything he might need to order.
He tilted his head upwards. "Meralynn, right?"
She smiled ... and nodded. "Yes... that’s right. You must be the new doc ... I haven't seen you before...but I had heard..."
He smiled and it came off better this time but he cut her off. "I'll need a monomine oxidace inhibitor. So get me 30cc's of doxlamine succinate. And bring the crash cart ... just in case." His hands felt the man’s chest gingerly.
Mera nodded ... and went to fetch the requested items, returning just a moment or two later, and she filled a hypodermic with the medication before handing it over. The doctor took the syringe from her carefully, tapping at the top to clear any bubbles. He made one quick squirt upwards into the air, then the long thin needle he set to the man’s upper arm. He bit his lower lip and watched the man as he absently set to work on the leg. "Mera?" She nodded at his use of her first name. "I'll need a splint and gauze for the leg." He pulled a tray over to him and toed a stool from behind to take a seat next to the man’s injured leg.
While she readied the items, O’Bannion took from the tray an odd looking sharp blade, and began to scrape at some charred remains of the mans lower leg. The man had begun to calm, and shake a little less from the inhibitor. "Mera, the chart doesn't mention a morphine shot. Did he get one yet?" The man suddenly flinched at the downward scrape of the blade which was answer enough even though Mera indicated the negative.
"There were so many...this one might have got past it."
O’Bannion started to agree with her, but an arch of blood suddenly spurted up from the leg. "Son of a ..." Mera set up the next syringe with morphine while the doctor set up a tourniquet on the man’s thigh quickly and deftly. As he took the hypo from her, he nodded to an empty gurney and the pillows upon it. "Need those … quickly." Eyeing the hypo carefully first, he then set the needle to the man’s thigh and injected the pain quelling fluid into the man. Once the needle was tossed to the tray he lifted the mans leg and waited for the pillows. Mera brought them and he adjusted the man’s leg back down onto them.
"Sutures." He calmly stated as he pinched off the rough hewed skin. Mera again obeyed, setting up the sutures as needed on a tray near his hand. The doctor slid his stood upon the tiled floor, checking the man’s heart rate again.
==
Ritchie had ensconced himself there on the couch, watching Mera talk to the doctor, though in a way that noone could tell exactly what he was looking at. He sat there, rubbing his temples, mumbling. "Man ... I gotta have a fix ... and before long..." He stood up, moved over to the reception desk to speak to a nurse who had taken Mera's place. "You gotta cesspool ‘round here?"
The nurse looked at him, not getting it. "Excuse me, sir?"
"You know ... a cesspool ... a john ... a head ... a ummm ..." He didn’t know the proper word."
Dr. Jansenn smiled to Ritchie and stepped up behind the nurse. "Bathroom, go past the cafeteria, second door past the drink fountain. There's a sign of a man on the door."
He looked to the doctor. "Thanks, man." He moved back toward the cafe, and following the doctor's instructions he entered the bathroom.
While Mera stitched up the wounded man’s injury, Dr. O’Bannion discovered that the man was addicted to the morphine they’d just given him. They took measures to counteract the problem and when they were done, O’Bannion told Mera to go take a breather in the hall. It hadn’t been a pleasant procedure. Mera propped herself up against the wall, taking a deep breath.
Unaffected, O’Bannion went about his work, setting a needled syringe to a vial. He tapped it just so and he took one glance at the chart, then set the needle to the mans arm. He held the arm upward and crooked it at the elbow. All the while, he kept the man’s heart rate under observation. A few moments passed and O’Bannion set the mans arm to the side. He rose, wiped the blood from his cheek with the material of his lab coat that covered his shoulder. He rasped out a breath and it tickled his nose as it bounded upwards. He cracked his neck with a slight roll of his head, picked up the patient's chart and scanned it, removing a pen from his pocket.
Walking around the gurney he made little check marks in all the proper boxes. When done with the chart, he hung it on the wall and flicked the lights lower. Then he pushed through the door and took a lean on the frame while he peeled the gloves off he crumpled them up and tossed them in a bin, then moved out toward the lobby.