Don't Take The Boy.

It semed that at least one of the little pencilnecks from the barfight knew more about Billy than was good for Billy. He was also a sore loser. In the small hours of Sunday morning, Billy heard a noise. He got up carefully. Maybe he was indifferent to waking me, since I didn't wake up I couldn't tell. He went to investigate. Though I'm hard to wake up and harder to get moving, I'm not used to sleeping through the sound of gunfire and the shot brought me to instant consciousness.

Deb:  Billy?

I climbed out of bed and grabbed at my nightgown - as usual coming up
with his t-shirt instead.

Deb:  Billy, this isn't funny.  What's going on?

I walked down the hall, toward the living room.

Deb:  Billy, cut it out, man, you're scarin' me...Billy!...

This last was such a shriek I scared myself.  He was sitting on the 
floor with his back against the couch, surrounded by the shattered glass of
the picture window.  A side pillow from the couch was wadded up and held to
his abdomen.  It was soaked with blood.  How he was maintaining I didn't 
know, but he was, and his eyes locked on me.

Billy:  No...lights...

Deb:  I don't need lights to dial 911.

Billy:  No damn ambulance!  You...get dressed...drive me yourself...

Was he kidding?  Was he out of his everfreaking mind?  I was afraid
if I stood him up everything would fall out!

Deb:  Billy, no, let me get the EMT dudes.  I can't...

Billy:  Can't...be damned...y'have to.  Quit squallin'...punk...time's
wastin'...

Deb:  Billy, please.

Billy:  Move, woman!

I moved.  I yanked a pair of his shorts on, grabbed extra pillows and 
slid into my moccasins.  The boy's amazing stamina was all that was keeping
him going, anybody else would have been stone dead.  When I helped haul
him to his feet, he vomited a tremendous amount of blood that splattered all
over me.  I ignored it, and concentrated on guiding Billy to the Suburban
and getting him into it.  The fact that he wasn't going to tolerate my
going all squishy and shaky on him helped me not to.  He jammed the 
pillows against his belly and, leaning forward, managed to fish his wallet
out of his pocket.

Deb:  What's that for, Billy?

I wanted him to talk to me.  I didn't want him going to sleep until he 
was in the hands of people who could see to it that he woke up.

Deb:  Stay with me, Billy.

Billy:  Medical...card.  Veterans...benefits.  Use 'em.

Deb:  They'll have your address.  We might as well have called the EMT's.

Billy:  My address...hell!   They wanna...look for me...at 1313 Mockingbird
Lane...they c'n...go...ahead.

Deb:  You're always half a block ahead of me.  Okay, baby, you hang on. 
I'll take care of it.

Billy lost consciousness just as I was pulling into the ambulance 
turnaround of the first hospital I came across.  It was the wrong place, and
they took a few minutes to stabilize him before they airlifted him to the
regional trauma center across town.  By the time I got there they had 
already taken him to surgery and were desperately trying to repair his
shattered abdomen.  A nurse was waiting for me.

Nurse:  Mrs. Strannix?

Deb:  Now THAT'S a laugh.

Nurse:  You're not?

Deb:  I'm as close as he's got.  I brought him in.  I'm not leaving.  What
ever he told you, he meant it for me.

The nurse produced a bloodstained scrap of paper.

Nurse:  He said to tell you to call this number and give this name to the
person who answers.  He didn't say why.

Deb:  Sounds like one of his tricks.  He's good at finding dirty work for
me to do.  It's probably just as well I don't know as the knowledge might
tend to incriminate me.  Mine is not to reason why and all that.

Nurse:  It's liable to be a while.  Would you like a shower?  Maybe we can
clean your clothes up...our laundry is pretty good with bloodstains.

Deb:  A shower would be nice...I'm sticky.  Just let me take care of this
errand, and then I'd like it very much.

I made the call.  The person who answered the phone and took the name I
had for him sounded...rowdy.  I had a feeling the owner of the name I'd
given wasn't going to be terribly healthy for too much longer.  That taken
care of, I crumpled the paper and kept it in my hand.  I would take it to 
the shower with me.  I wouldn't run the risk of anyone getting hold of it 
who would be able to tie my Billy to whatever was going to happen to whoever
this was.

Deb:  How is he?

Nurse:  We're not sure.  He's lost a tremendous amount of blood but he's
unbelievably strong.  With what little they did for him over at the other
hospital to stabilize him before they sent him to us, he was awake and
talking to us when he got here.  Told us not to scare you.

Deb:  He did, eh?  Now, why would I be scared...he's only had half his
belly...

I lost it then.  I figured it was probably better to do it before I saw
him.  There would be no end of grief from him if I made the mistake of
crying in his presence.  The nurse left me in the doctor's shower room with
a clean pile of hospital scrubs and a pair of thick white socks.  My shoes
were totaled, Billy's clothes she took to the laundry.  I stayed in the
shower until I had control of myself, and until the little slip of paper
was sodden and pulpy in my hand.  Then I dressed and went to the surgical
waiting area to begin my vigil.

Within eight hours of my arrival at the hospital, Sam and Beth joined me.
When I saw my friend and my big brother come through the door, when I knew
that I wouldn't have to wait it out alone, I felt a knot in my chest 
loosen that had been slowly tightening since my last good cry in the shower.

Beth:  What happened?

Deb:  You know, I'm not sure.  We'd gone out earlier...not exactly Chez 
Suzette stuff... and he landed in the middle of the mother of all bar
fights.  The police were called but I managed to get him to leave before
they showed and started hauling people away wholesale.  We went home...went
to bed.  The next thing I know, I hear something.  He's gone, so I get up
to go see where he is...and I find him in the middle of the front room,
window glass all over...trying to hold his belly in.

Beth:  How is he?

Deb:  I don't know.  He's been in surgery since he got here.  How did you
two know?

Beth:  Sam got a page.  Police and hospitals...and morgues...have been
instructed to notify the Marshals if he turns up.

I turned angry eyes on Sam, even though I knew it was unfair, he was
only doing his job.

Sam:  Sshh, baby sister...doesn't sound like he did anything dumber than
stopping a bullet this time.  It's just as well we found out.  At least we
can wait with you.  Have you talked to anybody?

Deb:  They won't tell me anything.  They say they can't, I'm not his wife
of a member of his family.  It doesn't do any good to tell them that I'm
as close as he comes to family, or that he's my world.  They don't care.
Regulations.  There was a nurse helping me out, but she went home a few
hours ago.

Sam:  Come on, honey, I'll find somebody who'll talk.  Beth?

Beth:  Right here, Sam.  Come on, Deb.  This could be pretty educational.

Sam was ahead of us, already at the nurses' station.

Sam:  ...young woman here who needs some information about William Strannix'
condition.

Drone:  We know that, but we just can't release that information to anybody
but family.  She's not family.

Beth:  She's as close as he's liable to get.

Drone:  I appreciate that, but the fact remains that she's not listed on his
chart as a wife or a sister and we're not...

Sam's voice did the whipcrack thing again and the kid snapped to
attention as though somebody'd put a charge through him.

Sam:  You can't?  That's good.  Get me someone who can, right now, young
man.

As a finale, Sergeant Rock flashed his badge while his eyebrows shot 
hairlineward in a way that invited the kid to question his authority.  The
youngster disappeared, returning with someone who appeared to know a little
something and to have the wherewithal to tell somebody about it.

Worker:  Mr Strannix is holding his own...we don't know how, but he is.
Anyone else would have simply died of the shock and we can't promise he 
won't.  He took a load of 30-ought buck in the belly and the only reason
it didn't tear him apart is because it had to go through a window.

Beth:  Nine lives, what'd I tell you?

Sam:  Is he out of surgery yet?

Worker:  Not yet.  They're still trying to patch him together and it's like
quilting with a bunch of torn pieces.  They're trying to save the gut and
avoid a colostomy.  It could be a few more hours.

Sam:  Thank you.  Now will you tell your people to talk to this young woman
when she asks a question?  She's all the family he's got.

Deb:  Sam, hush.

Worker:  I can't promise.  I'll do my best, but I can't promise.

Beth:  See.  I told you he'd get something out of them.  Are you going to
be alright?

Deb:  Oh, yeah.  I'm past freaking out now, I'd have done it if I was going
to.  I should be able to manage.  Sam...Sam?

Sam turned from the recalcitrant vending machine he'd been glaring at.

Sam:  Hm?  What?

I went to him and put my arms around his waist.  I hugged him tightly.
I'd never done that before and I think it took him by surprise.  It was a
second or two before he decided to hug me back.  I felt so much better.
It was funny how Billy's arms were so completely thrilling, and Sam's were
so completely comforting.

Deb:  Thank you for making them talk to me.

Sam:  You're welcome, monkey.  Buck up, now.  He's a tough old bird.  He'll
pull through this just to piss me off.

Deb:  You're a brat, Sam.

I stepped away from him actually grinning.  It felt wrong on my face
but there was never anything so tragic that a laugh couldn't be found in
it, or anything so joyous that a few tears wouldn't crop up now and again.
I decided I needed a breath of air, and wandered toward the emergency room
entrance.  Beth went with me, leaving Sam to rattle the vending machine.

Beth:  If that ever happened to Sam...

Deb:  Don't even think about it.

Beth:  I don't want to think about it.  But it could.  And if it did, 
would you come to wait with me?

Deb:  I'd be there, Strannix or no Strannix.  No way I wouldn't.  I'd watch
with you.

An ambulance came in, lights running.  We instinctively stepped aside,
hugging the wall as a trauma team charged through the automatic doors to
meet it.  A gurney emerged from the back of the vehicle and the team 
descended on its occupant, but not before I caught a glimpse of him.

Deb:  I'll be damned.  It's the kid Billy was pounding on in that stupid
fight.  He was on the floor with most of a chair hanging from his ears
last time I saw him.

Beth:  Who'd you call?

Deb:  I don't know...I thought I heard somebody call him Elmore.  I'm
afraid to ask.

Two or three more hours passed.  Beth leaned against Sam and slept.
Sam leaned against the wall and did the same.  I tried, but I couldn't.
Until I knew how Billy was, I would be unable to relax.  When a doctor
finally came through the door, looking exhausted but satisfied, the
morning was gone and the afternoon just starting to advance.  It was Sam
he was looking for, not me.

Doc:  Mr Gerard...excuse me, I'm Bill Strannix' surgeon.  We're through.
I thought you'd like to know how it went.

Sam:  Yes...yes, Beth wake up, hon, the cutting party's over, come on...
tell you the truth, Doc, it's not me you want to be telling, but this
young woman over here...Come on, Deb...

Doc:  Odd, they told me you had to be his brother, you looked so much
alike.  And they mentioned you, ma'am.  Well, he's in critical condition
right now and we'll be monitoring him for the next several hours until
he wakes up.  His belly was pretty well torn up and we're not completely
sure he won't eventually need that colostomy, a lot will depend on the
next few hours and if all the holes in the gut were closed up.  We gave
him 14 pints of blood on top of the plasma he got across town.  His heart
rate is good, he's still on a ventilator and his blood pressure is a little 
low, but we'll continue to watch it.

Deb:  When can I see him?

Doc:  I don't know that you can.

Sam:  We're not goin' through this again.  You let her in, I'll be
responsible to your administration.

Doc:  Until he's awake and oriented, it doesn't matter.  He's off limits.
Whe he's out of recovery and on the ward, we'll see.

Sam and Beth left after that.  I made them go.  I told them not to hang
around on my account, that I would be sure to call if he took a turn for the
worse.  Beth suggested that I leave, and I told her I couldn't.

Beth:  Are you sure?

Deb:  Yeah, I'm sure.  Take your man home, Beth.  Shower with him, curl
up under his chin, thank God he's there.  I'll keep watch over my man and
the minute anything changes I'll let you know.

Billy was back in surgery within two hours.  They had decided, when his
blood pressure started an alarming nosedive, that he was still bleeding
internally.  Sure enough, they found a piece of shrapnel lingering in his
belly.  They went after it, fastened him back up, and he was awake and
demanding to be released by six o'clock.  They took him up to the ICU and
filled him full of painkillers.  Did they tell me this?  No.  I had to call
Sam.

Deb:  Sam...Sam, I'm sorry to wake you up, but they're still playing games 
with me.  They won't tell me anything.  How many times do they need to be
told...

Sam:  Ssh, ssh, ssh, kiddo.  On my way.

Within ten minutes of Sam's arrival on the ward, I was in Billy's room,
staring at him, trying to make sure that everything was still there.  He
looked so impossibly young and defenseless when he slept that it hurt my
heart.

Sam:  Go on...go see how the big ass is doing.

Deb:  Samuel P.

Sam:  What?

Deb:  I owe you bigtime.  I don't know what I could ever do to repay you
for this.

Sam pulled a notepad and pen from the USM jacket that he'd managed to get
away from Beth.

Sam:  What's his address?

Deb:  I don't owe you that big.

Sam:  You've got ten minutes.  Go on, smartass.

Deb:  Thank you, big brother.  I love you, too.

I sat beside the bed, carefully holding his hand and trying not to 
disturb the IV line with its multiple drips.  They had tried to clean him
up but there was still dried blood under his fingernails and it made me
want to start crying again.  There was a lot I wanted to say to Billy,
most of it along the lines of 'you die on me and I'll kill you'. But what
it all sounded like was what he had said to me.

Deb:  Don't ever leave me, Billy.  Please don't ever leave me.  I'll die
if you leave me.

I saw his head turning toward me and I stopped the litany to see what 
would happen.  His eyes opened slightly, slitted against the bright light.

Billy:  Woman, quit talkin' shit.  I ain't goin' noplace.

But I was...slung over Sam's shoulder.  I was put to bed on Beth's couch
and I was forbidden the hospital until the two of them thought I had
recovered from the shock.
TO BE CONTINUED...