“Oh, God.”  This couldn’t be happening.  This was some awful dream.  At any moment, her alarm clock would go off and she would rise to find that everything was all right.  But no alarm clock rang.  In a haze of disbelief, Angie listened as the doctor continued to speak.

“The bullet penetrated and lodged in the left ventricle.  He would have died long before he got to the hospital if it hadn’t been for an amazing string of miracles, coincidences--whatever you choose to call them--not the least of which was this.”  He pulled out of his pocket the shattered remains of Rollie’s PDA and handed it to Angie.  There was a large hole clean through the case.  “If he hadn’t had that on, the bullet would have done fatal damage to his heart.  He would have died instantly.”

Angie stared down at the case, thinking about how she had teased Rollie about wearing it around his neck.  If he had listened to her and stopped wearing it. . . .  Angie shied away from that thought.

“I’m afraid that, even with all the miracles, he still lost a massive amount of blood,” Mark Langford said.  “We almost lost him before we got him into surgery and twice more on the table.  But he kept coming back.  He wouldn’t give up.”  He took Angie’s hands again in a tight grip.  “There’s something else you need to know.  Because of the massive hemorrhaging, blood flow to his brain was cut off for several minutes.  There is a strong chance that some brain damage occurred.  He’s in a coma.”

Angie felt like she was going to pass out.  It was almost more than she could bear.  ‘Oh, Rollie, why did you have to do it?  That bullet was meant for me.  Why couldn’t you let me die instead?  I wish it was me.  Why couldn’t it be me?’  There was no one to answer her silent questions.

Mira, sensing Angie’s anguish, laid a gentle hand on her arm.  “What are his chances?” she asked the doctor.

“With this kind of injury. . . .  I’m sorry, but it’s not good.  We’ve done everything humanly possible for him.  All we can do now is wait . . . and pray.  If he makes it through the next few days, he has a chance.  But there’s something you must understand.  Even if Rollie does survive, there is a chance that he may never come out of the coma and, if he does, there is a possibility of some physical or mental impairment.  You must be prepared for this.”  He looked down into the wells of despair that Angie’s eyes had become and knew he had to give her some measure of hope.  “Rollie is a fighter, Angie.  He has a will to live like no one I’ve ever met.  He’s a damn hard man to kill, as you and I both know.  If anyone can lick this, it’s him.”  He stood to leave.

“Can we see him?”  Angie tried very hard to keep her voice steady.

“His condition is very unstable, Angie. . . .”  The doctor saw the pleading look on her face.  “Well, perhaps a familiar voice is just the thing he needs right now.  But only one at a time, all right?”

Angie stood leaning against the wall just outside Rollie’s room, mentally preparing herself.  Mira and Francis had gone back to the police station to make their reports, saying that they would return as soon as possible.  They had asked Angie only a few brief questions about what happened on the set.  Concerned about the attempt on her life, and knowing that they could not be completely sure that the man who died was the only one involved in the killing, they had called for a police guard to watch over her.  Her watchdog, a young, burly, blond officer, was even now hovering a few yards away, trying to make himself inconspicuous, which would be about as easy as making a linebacker look inconspicuous at a tea party.

Taking a deep breath, Angie pushed away from the wall and walked into Rollie’s room.  The sight of him lying so still, his face so pale, almost broke her control.  Swallowing painfully, she quietly approached his bed.  The only sound that could be heard was the whoosh of the respirator and the beeping of the heart monitor.  Beep . . . . beep . . . . beep . . . . the monitor went, echoing the rhythm of Rollie’s heart.  Too slow.  It was too slow, Angie thought.  Each pause between the beats was like a sliver of eternity, every one seemingly longer than the last.  But no.  The beat was steady, unfaltering--a testament to Rollie Tyler’s will to live.

Light was coming in the room through the closed drapes, and Angie realized that it was morning.  If this had not happened, she and Rollie would be on the set, griping about all the extra work that Bill had made for them.  She would give anything in the world for them to be there doing that right now.

Angie sat in the chair beside the bed.  Her eyes went to the tube in Rollie’s month and followed it up to the respirator it was attached to.  She watched the slow rise and fall of the bag as the machine helped her friend breathe.  Her eyes then traced the paths of the many catheters running from Rollie’s arms and body to the various fluids, bags, and monitors.  There were electrodes on his chest and head, each one connected to still more monitors.  Some of the equipment she recognized and knew enough to understand what the readouts were for, if not their exact meaning.  But there were others that she had no clue about.  Maybe it was better that she didn’t know.  Perhaps ignorance was a blessing this time.

Gently, as if it were made of glass, she picked up Rollie’s hand in her own.  It felt cold.  She brought it up to her cheek and held it pressed there.  A single tear slid down her face to wet his skin.

“Rollie,” she whispered, knowing in her heart that, somehow, he could hear her.  “Oh, Rollie, I thought I’d lost you.  It hurt so much.  I wanted to die.  I wished that you had let me die instead.  Then you came back to me.  Please don’t leave me again.  I couldn’t bear it.”  It was time now, time to open her heart to him.  “I . . . I love you, Rollie.  I think I always have.  But I couldn’t admit it, not even to myself.  It wasn’t until Loubar. . . .  When I thought it was you making love to me, I felt so complete.  I never felt like that before.  It was like I’d waited for something my whole life, and it was finally being given to me.  Then, when I realized it wasn’t you, it hurt so much.  I think that hurt as much as realizing that I'd been raped.  I felt like I’d been handed the world, only to have it ripped away from me.

“Throughout almost every day of the past two weeks, I’ve wanted to hold you, make love with you, but I didn’t know if that was what you wanted, so I said nothing.  I hid it from you.”  Angie closed her eyes for a moment as a shuddering sigh passed through her.  “You’re my best friend in the whole world, Rollie.  I don’t ever want to lose that.  If you don’t want things to change, then they won’t.  I won’t ever mention this again.  I just had to tell you now.”

If this had been a movie, Rollie would have woken up at that moment, declared his own love for her, and taken her in his arms.  But this wasn’t a movie.  Rollie’s eyes remained closed.  The beeping of the heart monitor did not change.

Angie lay her head down on the bed beside her friend, his hand clasped tightly in hers.  Physical exhaustion and the emotional drain of the last few hours suddenly overtook her, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Angie had no idea how much time had passed when a gentle voice woke her.  She looked up into the face of Doctor Langford.  Instantly, her head shot up.  “Rollie?”  She looked at the Aussie, then at the heart monitor, relieved to see the glowing light was still moving up and down, that the beeping continued its steady cadence.

“I’m sorry, Angie.  I didn’t mean to scare you.  Nothing has changed, except that his vitals seem to have stabilized for the moment.”  Seeing the look of hope growing on her face, Mark quickly added, “But, his condition is still critical, Angie.  His chances are still . . . unchanged.”

The doctor’s last words were like weed killer on the blossoming flower of hope within her.  Her shoulders slumped.

Mark Langford, seeing what his words had done to Angie, suddenly felt like a first-class jerk.  He put a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Angie.  I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up too high in case. . . .  Well, you know us doctors.  We’re trained to be very cautious in these situations.”

“I know.  It’s all right, Doctor Langford.  I understand.”

“Now, I’ve known you and Rollie for what, three, four years now?  I’ve treated you two for everything from broken bones to nearly being blown up in a car.  You are two of my best, and most frequent, patients, especially Rollie here.  Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Mark?”

Angie looked at the doctor, knowing that he was trying to cheer her up in the best way that he could.  She forced a smile to her lips.  “I guess you’re right . . . Mark.  It is about time.”

Pleased, Mark Langford gave her shoulder a pat.  “Now, back to why I came in here.  You really should be at home getting some sleep, young lady.  You've been here all night.”

Doctor Langford was one of the only people on the entire planet who could call her “young lady” and not set her temper flaring.  It was probably because she knew that, to him, the term was a form of endearment and not meant to make her feel like a child.

Realizing that the doctor was telling her she should leave, she turned pleading eyes on him.  “Please, Mark.  I have to stay with him.  I can’t leave him.”

Mark Langford looked at the terror on her face.  He knew what it was that she feared--that Rollie would die while she was gone.  He understood that fear all too well.  His own wife had died alone, with no one beside her.  For nearly ten years he had wished that he had been with her in those final moments, feeling a terrible guilt that he was not.  He would not wish that pain on anyone.

“All right, Angie.  Hospital policy be damned.  You stay here as long as you like.”  He gave her hand a squeeze.  “Are you hungry?  I could have someone bring you something from the cafeteria.  We’d have to keep it under our hats, though.  Our hospital administrator’s heart was chiseled out from a quarry somewhere in Antarctica.  He’d pop an artery if he found out we were giving room service to a visitor.”

The smile that came to Angie’s lips this time was genuine.  She was so glad that it was Doctor Langford who was taking care of Rollie.  He really cared about his patients and about the people who loved them.  “No, I’m fine, Mark.  I’m not hungry.”

“You sure?  Well, I’ll be on my way then.  My shift actually ended several hours ago, but I’m going to stay here a while longer to make some calls to a couple of specialists about Rollie’s case.  So, if there’s anything you need from me, just have someone page me.”

“Thank you, Mark.  You’re the best.”

“Nonsense.  I just want to be sure that Rollie is in the best of hands. Oh, by the way, I called Rollie’s primary physician, but it turns out that he’s out of the state until after New Year.  The doctor who is handling his patients while he’s gone said that he would keep abreast of Rollie’s condition, but I don’t think that we can expect him to show up here any time soon.  Therefore, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“I’d rather have you than anyone else, Mark, and I think that the same would go for Rollie,” Angie said.

“I’m touched that you would feel that way, Angie.  Thank you.”  The doctor gave her a fatherly smile.  “Well, I’d better get out of here and start making those calls.  Remember what I said about paging me.”  He gave her hand a pat, then left.

Feeling wide awake, Angie looked down at Rollie and took his hand in hers.  Quietly, she spoke to him, telling him her ideas on some effects for the climatic battle scene in Doubled-Edged.  After she’d finished with that, she moved on to discussing their next project, White Light, which was a little over four months away.  Periodically, she was interrupted by a nurse coming in to check Rollie’s vitals, change IV bags, or to make note of the various readings on the monitors.

As the clouds parted for a moment, letting the sun peek through, Angie left her chair to look out the window.  Another day was well on its way.  She refused to accept the very real fact that it might be the last one she would have with Rollie.  “He isn’t going to die.  He isn’t,” she whispered, so softly that not even Rollie could have heard her.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO -- VOICES

Around an hour later, Mira and Francis were there, hovering just inside the doorway to Rollie’s room.  She could tell that neither one of them had gotten any more sleep.

The two detectives took one look at the dark circles under Angie’s eyes and knew that she had never left.  It worried them to see her so.  They knew that Angie was closer to Rollie than anyone else in the world.  He was the only ‘family’ she had.  If he died, it might be more than she could bear.

Mira’s eyes reflected the concern she felt.  “Have you eaten, Angie?”

“No, but I’m okay.”  Actually, she was getting pretty hungry, but she knew that if she admitted this, they would insist that she go someplace with them.  Angie still could not bear the thought of leaving Rollie alone.

Somehow, Francis must have guessed what was going through her mind.  “How about if we bring you something?” he suggested.  “Mira’s purse looks big enough to smuggle something in.  I know a place nearby that has killer breakfast burritos.”

Less than pleased that her purse was going to be used as a doggy bag, Mira, nevertheless, agreed to the plan.  Angie smiled gratefully at the two detectives.  After they’d gone, she turned to Rollie.  “They’re really great friends, aren’t they.  I never told you how much Mira helped me after the . . . the rape.  I couldn’t have gotten through it without her.  And Frank. . . .  You’d never guess it by looking at him, but he has such a strong heart.  He’s like a rock.”

Angie had never talked like this before.  She never shared her feelings about her friends with others.  But she felt like she needed to tell Rollie everything, to open her heart to him.  Deep down inside, she knew that this need arose from the knowledge that he might not be with them for much longer.

And so it was that she finally told Rollie something she had kept bottled up inside for over eight months.

“I remember when Leo would come to you for help on a case.  Sometimes, it made me so mad.  I was afraid that you would get hurt.  But after he died, I felt so horrible.  I knew how much you loved him, and I wished that I could take back all the things I said about him taking advantage of your friendship.  He was a good friend, Rollie, and I know that he would have given his life for you.  I wish that he was here now.”  She could almost hear the tough detective’s voice say to her, “Hey.  Keep your chin up, Angie.  Rollie Tyler isn’t going to let a little thing like a bullet in his heart beat him.  He’ll be just fine.  Count on it.”  And, because he said it, she would have known that it was true.  Somehow, thinking of Leo made him seem very close.  She could almost feel his presence in the room.  She knew that it was just her imagination, but the feeling was very comforting, all the same.

Then something happened that shattered her sense of peace.  The beeping of the heart monitor on the other side of the bed abruptly changed.  It became fast, erratic, then, to her utter horror, suddenly changed to a steady, unending tone.  Terrified, she stared at the straight line being traced across the face of the readout.

“No!  Rollie, no!  Please don’t leave me!” she cried.

Just then, several people rushed in with crash cart.  Doctor Langford was following close behind.  Angie moved back out of their way.  Huddled in the corner, she watched as the doctors and nurses tried desperately to save her closest friend.

“Clear!” Mark Langford cried, and Rollie’s body convulsed as the electrical current from the defibrillator paddles coursed through him.  The EKG readout on the monitor jerked violently, then returned to a flat line.   The doctor ordered the defibrillator setting turned up to three hundred joules.  Again he called, “Clear!” and, again, Rollie’s body arched.  The monitor kept up its awful, steady tone.  A third time Rollie was shocked, and a third time it failed to start his heart.

“Damn it, Tyler!  Don’t you quit on me!” yelled Mark.  He turned to a nurse. “One mil epi!”  A syringe was placed into his hand.  The doctor plunged the needle into Rollie’s chest, injecting the fluid into his heart.  He then took up the paddles again.  Once more, he placed them on Rollie’s chest.  Again, Rollie’s body convulsed as the electricity coursed into him.  The line on the monitor jerked, went flat, then jumped again, then again.  It settled down to a slow, steady pulse.  Angie thought that its resumed beeping was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.  She looked over at the man who had again saved Rollie’s life.  She saw the doctor’s eyes close for a moment.  His lips moved, as if in silent prayer.

A few minutes later, the medical personnel filed silently out of the room, taking the crash cart with them, only Mark staying behind.  He walked over to Angie and took hold of her shoulders.

“He’s still fighting, Angie.  He hasn’t given up yet, and we haven’t either,” he told her firmly.  Then he left as well.

Alone with him again, Angie rushed to Rollie’s side.  “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Rollie!  Do you hear me?”  Her voice was shaking so badly that the words came out more as a stammer than a yell.  She sat down abruptly.  Taking his hand in both of hers, she held it pressed against her breast where her own heart beat fast and hard.  Tears coursed down her cheeks and dripped onto hers and Rollie’s hands.  For the first time in many years, Angie began to pray.  “Dear God, please don’t let him die.  I couldn’t live without him.”

Suddenly, she heard Rollie’s voice call to her.  “Please don’t cry, baby.  I won’t leave you.  I promise I won’t.  I’m going to be all right, Angie.”  Angie stared down at Rollie.  Her friend still lay deep in the coma, but there was no mistaking that voice.  ‘Am I losing my mind?’

“Rollie?”  There was, of course, no reply.  But, irrationally, for one brief moment, she could swear that something touched her, not physically, but in a place deep inside her mind--a presence unmistakably that of Rollie Tyler.

Suddenly, Angie knew, beyond any doubt, that Rollie was going to be all right.  The weight on her heart lifted and she smiled down at her friend.  She kissed his forehead and murmured in his ear, “I’m holding you to that promise, Rol.  Don’t you dare break it.  You know how I get when I’m really mad.”

Moments later, Mira and Francis walked in.  They had heard what happened, and their faces were drawn with worry.  One look at the expression on Angie’s face stopped them dead in their tracks.  She looked radiant.

“Rollie’s going to be okay,” she told them with conviction.  “He’s going to be just fine.”

The two detectives glanced at each other.  Only minutes ago, Doctor Langford had told them that Rollie’s condition was not good.  Now, Angie was beaming at them, declaring that their friend was going to be all right.  Had something happened in the last couple of minutes?

“Angie, Doctor Langford said--” Mira began, but was interrupted by the younger woman.

“Doctor Langford doesn’t know.  I know.  Rollie told me so.”

“He spoke?” exclaimed Francis.  He looked down at the Aussie.  Rollie’s condition seemed unchanged.  He appeared to still be comatose.  He also still had the respirator tube down his throat, which would make talking impossible.

“Not . . . out loud.”  Angie was beginning to regret her outburst.  How could she explain to these two that she had heard Rollie’s voice inside her head telling her that he was going to be okay?  They’d think she’d lost it for sure.  Even now, her more logical self was arguing that she couldn’t possibly have heard anything and that she should stop thinking such nonsense.  But her deeper self, the part of her that could believe in miracles without question, knew that something wondrous and special had occurred.  Rollie had spoken to her, mind to mind.  He had reached out to her from the darkness of the coma and told her that he was going to live.

“I know it sounds crazy.  You don’t have to believe me, but I know what I heard.  Rollie’s going to live.  He promised me, and he’s never broken a promise.”  Angie turned away from them.  Let them believe what they will.  She really didn’t care.  Her life was being returned to her.  That was all that mattered.

Angie felt a hand touch her shoulder.  She looked up into Frank’s eyes.  They smiled down at her.

“If you believe it, Angie, then that’s good enough for me.”

Angie laid her hand over his.  He patted it with his other hand.  “We’ll leave your breakfast on the table in case you want to eat later.  It’s better warm, though.”  He placed a paper sack on the table, then turned to leave.  Angie’s gaze went to Mira, who was still standing beside the door.  The expression on her face was one of deep concern.  Angie could tell that the woman didn’t believe her and was worried that she was building false hopes.

“Angie?  Could you please talk to Doctor Langford?  I really think that you should,” the detective said.

“So he can tell me that Rollie’s condition is still critical and that I shouldn’t believe anything that my desperate mind might have made up?”  Angie couldn’t help the touch of anger that crept into her voice.  “I don’t need to talk to him, Mira.  I know I’m right and, pretty soon, you’ll know it, too.”  She turned back to Rollie with finality.  Conversation over.

Mira continued to stare at Angie’s back until Francis pulled at her arm.  With a sigh, she left the room.

“We shouldn’t leave her like that, Frank.  The way she’s feeling, if Rollie dies, it might send her over the edge.”

Francis stopped and turned to Mira.  “There’s something that I could tell you about, Mira, but, frankly, it’s really none of your business.  I will say this, though.  There is a whole lot that we don’t know about the human mind, about a lot of things.  Maybe, somehow, Rollie did speak to her.  I don’t know.  I’m not going to say it’s impossible.  Neither should you.”  Without another word, he continued down the hall.

Mira watched his retreating form for a moment, then followed after him.

The day dragged on endlessly.  Angie refused to leave Rollie’s room, not even to get something to eat.  The only time she did leave was when she was forced to go use the bathroom.  Concerned about her, one of the nurses had brought her a sandwich and juice from the cafeteria vending machines.  She had also brought some magazines for Angie to read, but the blonde had been unable to concentrate on them.  Instead, throughout the day, she sat unmoving in the chair beside the bed and held onto Rollie’s hand.  Sometimes, she talked to him, telling him about how much she loved him and all the wonderful things that they were going to do together once he was well.  Other times, she just sat and watched him.  The desire to see his eyes open, to hear his voice, was a constant ache within her and made her feel terribly lonely for him.

It was late afternoon when Angie looked up to see Joyce enter the room.  The officer who was guarding the room was behind her.  Joyce’s face paled when she saw Rollie.  Then her gaze went to Angie.

“Oh, honey.  I just found out.  I saw it in the newspaper.”  She came forward and took Angie into her arms, hugging her tightly.  “What happened?  The paper said something about you witnessing a murder and the murderer coming to kill you.”

Angie nodded to the officer, letting him know that it was all right, and he left.  “When I was on my way home Sunday night, I saw someone murdered in an alley,” she told Joyce.  “I couldn’t see the killer’s face because it was too dark.  We thought that I was safe because we figured that the guy wouldn’t have been able to see me either, but he found out who I was, somehow, and came to kill me where we were setting things up for a shoot.  Rollie lured him under a pallet of bricks that had been rigged to fall.  But then, the guy aimed his gun at me and was going to shoot me, and . . . and Rollie jumped in front of me.”  Tears came to Angie’s eyes.  “He took the bullet that was meant for me, Joyce.  H-he died.  I was holding him in my arms, and he was dead.”  The tears were rolling freely down her face, and her voice was shaking.  “But then, he came back to me.”

Joyce hugged her again.  “Oh, Angie.  I am so sorry.”  She turned to Rollie, seeing how still and pale he was.  “How bad is it?”

“The bullet hit his heart,” Angie replied, the mere thought of it still making her feel sick inside.

Joyce’s hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with horror.

“He’s in a coma, and the doctors say that his chances aren’t good,” Angie continued.  “But I know he’s going to make it, Joyce.  I know he is.”  She studied her friend’s face, trying to decide if she should say anything about what she thought she had heard.  “Do you believe that it’s possible for someone to somehow talk to another person mind to mind?”

“You mean like telepathy?”

“I don’t know.  Kind of, I guess.”

“Yes.   Yes, I do.  Why?”

“When Rollie was coming back, I thought I heard him call my name.  Then, this morning, he went into cardiac arrest, and we almost lost him.  Afterwards, I was crying and praying to God that he'd be okay, and I heard him again.  He told me not to cry and that he was going to be all right.  It was so clear, like he was actually talking.”  Angie took Rollie’s hand and began to caress it.  “Mira thinks that I just imagined the whole thing.”  She looked back up at Joyce.  “Do you think it’s possible that I really heard something?”

Her friend smiled.  “I think it’s very possible, Angie.  I think it’s possible that Rollie found a way to reach out to you.”

Angie relaxed.  She smiled faintly.  “I’m glad you believe me.  I didn’t tell the doctors.  I figured that they’d think I was cracking up and make me go home.”

Joyce pulled up the other chair, and the two women sat beside Rollie, Angie again holding his hand.  Her eyes passed over his face as they had done a thousand times in the last few hours.  “I love him so much, Joyce.  If he died, I don’t think I could go on.  When I thought that I had lost him, I. . . .  The killer’s gun was only a few feet away, and. . . .”  She couldn’t say any more.  But she didn’t have to.  Joyce had guessed what she was saying.

“Angie, when Luke died, I went through a really bad time.  I hurt so much.  I even thought about taking my own life.  But that isn’t the answer, honey.  Suicide isn’t an answer to any problem.  It’s running away.  And it’s cheating yourself and the people who love you out of the life and good times that you could have had.  You know that Rollie would never want you to do that, don’t you?”

Angie nodded.  “Yeah.  He’d want me to live.”

“Then that’s what you have to do, Angie.  No matter what happens, you have to live, live for Rollie.”

Joyce stayed for an hour, during which Angie told her about the brain damage and what the doctors had said about physical impairments.  After she left, Angie felt even lonelier than she had before.  She got up and sat on the bed, then, taking care not to jostle any of the catheters attached to him, she laid her upper body upon him, resting her head over his heart.  Her arms hugged him gently.  She could hear his heart’s slow beating through the bandages covering his chest.  She closed her eyes and just lay there, taking comfort from being so near him and feeling the life within him.

“I love you, Rollie.  I will always love you.”

Angie remained like that for a couple of hours until a nurse came in to check on Rollie.  The woman, upon seeing Angie, looked at her in a sad, pitying sort of way.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Angie asked.

The woman paused in her duties.  “What way is that?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“I think you know.”

The nurse sighed and turned to Angie, looking straight in her eyes.  “I just hate to see loved ones building false hopes.  It only makes it harder in the end.  I think that you should call a priest or minister and have him come down here.  He might help you accept what’s going to happen and give you some peace.”

Angie felt rage boil up inside her.  “How dare you,” she said, her voice shaking.  “How dare you just write him off like that.  What kind of nurse are you?”

“Ms. Ramirez, we all know that Mister Tyler isn’t going to make it.  When you come to accept that, too, you’ll be a lot better off.”

“Get out!” Angie exclaimed, keeping the volume of her voice down with an effort.  “I don’t ever want to see you in this room again.  Rollie isn’t going to die, and I don’t want people like you anywhere near him.  I’m going to tell your superior about this and make sure that you’re kicked out of here.”

“That won’t be necessary, Angie,” said a familiar voice.  Both women turned to see Doctor Langford standing just inside the doorway, anger on his face.  His eyes focused on the nurse.  “I want to speak to you outside, now.”  He strode out of the room, the nurse behind him.  Angie got up and watched as Mark moved quickly down the hallway, forcing the nurse to almost run to keep up with him.  They exited through the doors of the ICU and disappeared from Angie’s sight.

Angie returned to her chair, still furious with the insensitive nurse.  “Just ignore her, Rollie.  Everyone hasn’t given up on you.  And, even if they have, it wouldn’t matter.  Even if the whole world gave up on you, I wouldn’t.  I know that you’re going to get better and so do you.  That’s all that counts.”

About five minutes later, Mark Langford came back in.  “Angie, I want to apologize for Nurse Graves.  She had no business saying what she did.  It was unpardonable.  She was just recently transferred to the ICU, and I can see that she does not have the personality to work here.  Be assured that you will not see her again.”

Angie nodded.  “Is it true what she said?  Has everyone given up on Rollie?  Have you?”

“Angie, no,” Mark said, looking distressed.  “It is not true.  We do not write off our patients just because the odds are against them.  We’ve all seen how hard Rollie is fighting.  We all know that him being alive at all proves that he has an incredible strength and will to live, and those two things are just as important, even more so, than anything that we could do for him.  We have not given up on him.”

“Thank you, Mark.”

The doctor smiled and patted her hand.  “Now, what was it that I came here for?  Oh yes.  I’m here to kidnap you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Angie, you haven’t set foot outside this room in some ten, eleven hours.  You need to stretch your legs, take a break, eat something.  My shift doesn’t start for another hour.  Why don’t you come with me to the cafeteria and we can get some dinner.”

Angie shook her head.  “No.  I don’t want to leave him.”

Mark lifted her chin and looked into her eyes.  “Angie, you leaving this room isn’t going to make Rollie die.  He’ll still be here when you get back.”

“I-I know.  I just want to stay with him.”  She looked at the expression in the doctor’s eyes and sighed.  “All right, but just for a little while.”

Mark smiled delightedly.  “Good.  Actually, I’m probably saving your life by taking you to dinner.”

“How so?”

“Well, if you had chosen to risk the cafeteria on your own, you wouldn’t have had me along to steer you clear of the deadly items on the menu.  I, personally, have discovered each and every one of them and have taken it upon myself to make sure no unwitting souls suffer the same harm I did.  I think that’s even written in the Hippocratic oath somewhere.”

Angie laughed softly, deciding that she liked Doctor Langford more and more every time she saw him.  They went down to the cafeteria and, with Mark’s guidance, Angie got some dinner.

“So, how have things been with you two lately?” the doctor asked as they ate.

“Good.  We’ve had our ups and downs, as always.”

Mark nodded.  “I couldn’t help but notice the bruises.”

Angie’s hand went to her neck.  Though they had begun to fade, the bruises from Lambert’s attack were still quite visible.  Angie had been covering them with either makeup or high-necked sweaters to avoid questions, but the makeup she’d put on yesterday had worn off.

“Um, a man attacked me week before last.  Rollie got there before the guy really hurt me, but I ended up with some bruises.”

“You’re all right, then?” the doctor asked in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Angie assured him.

“Is that when Rollie got shot in the arm?”

“Oh.  Uh, no, that happened a few days earlier.”

Mark shook his head.  “You must both keep your M.D.’s busy.  If I was Rollie’s personal physician, I think that I would probably keep a slot free in my appointment book for him every day just to be safe.”

“Well, if you ever decide to take up private practice, you may have to do that because both Rollie and I would want you to be our doctor,” Angie told him.

“That’s very sweet of you, Angie.  I might just do that someday.  I’m getting tired of the hospital politics.”

Not wanting to be away from Rollie long, Angie quickly ate her dinner.  Though, in her heart, she had known that the Aussie would still be alive when she got back, she still felt herself relax when she entered the room and saw that nothing had happened to him.

Mark had given her some literature and case studies about coma, brain damage, and traumatic injuries to the heart, figuring that she might want to do some reading about those things.  Angie was grateful for them.  She had a lot of questions about what she and Rollie could expect during his recovery period.  She dug into the literature enthusiastically.

Angie was so engrossed in what she was reading that she wasn’t aware someone had come in the room until she heard a sharp gasp.  Eve was standing in the doorway, supporting herself on crutches.  Her left leg was in a cast.  Eve’s gaze was glued to Rollie, and she looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach.

“My God,” she whispered.  Slowly, she came into the room, the guard watching her until he was satisfied that there was no danger.  She came to a stop beside his bed, never having once take her eyes from him.  Her hand began reaching out to him, then stopped and dropped back to the crutch.  Finally, her gaze lifted to Angie.  The blonde was shocked to see a faint glimmer of tears in the woman’s eyes.

“I just found out what happened.  I went to the class tonight.  It was the first time I’d gone since I got out of the hospital.  I was just there to watch.  Linda made an announcement about what happened, and I came right over.”

Angie stared at the woman, amazed to hear that Eve had actually left the class to come see Rollie.

The woman’s eyes had returned to the Aussie.  “Linda said that it was really bad, that he might. . . .”  Her voice halted.  Again, she lifted her gaze to Angie.  “Is he going to live?”

“He’s still critical, but I know that he’s going to be all right.”

Eve’s eyes had yet again gone back to Rollie’s face.  “Why did this have to happen?  Why him?  For so long I’ve hated men, especially after the rape.  I thought they were all slime.  And then he showed me that wasn’t true.  He has no idea how much he gave back to me.  He’s. . . .  I’ve never met anyone like him before.  And now this happens.  It isn’t fair.  He can’t die.”

Angie stared at Eve.  Perhaps it was the words the woman had spoken or the way she was looking at Rollie, or maybe it was instinct that told Angie, but whatever it was, she suddenly realized that Eve had fallen in love with Rollie.  Maybe it wasn’t real love.  It could be that it was more like what happens when a patient falls for their nurse or doctor or a victim becomes infatuated with the person who rescued them from danger.  But, no matter what it was, it was probably the first time in her life that Eve had ever experienced such an emotion.  Strangely, Angie didn’t feel jealous.  Perhaps it was because she kind of felt sorry for the woman or because she somehow knew that Rollie would never return Eve’s feelings.

“Would you like to sit down?” Angie asked.

Eve nodded.  Angie pulled the other chair over to her.  Eve’s eyes went to Rollie’s hand, which lay on the bed.

“It’s all right for you to touch him,” Angie told her softly.

Eve’s gaze went to her for a moment, then she tentatively touched Rollie’s hand, as if she expected it to break at the touch.  Her hand rested over his.  “Eleven days ago, I’d rather have stuck my hand in fire than touch a man like this.  It’s incredible how your whole life can change in such a short amount of time.”

“Yes, it is,” Angie agreed, thinking about how short a time it had taken for her own life to be changed forever.

“How long have you known him?”

“I was eleven when we met.  He went to work for my father.”

“I had no idea it had been that long.  But I’m not really surprised.  You seem so close, like you’ve known each other forever.  If you don’t mind me asking, when did you become romantically involved?”

“We . . . we’re not.  Our relationship isn’t like that.”

Eve’s brow puckered in confusion.  “But I thought. . . .  I mean, by the way you were with each other and the things that were said, I believed that you were lovers.”

“No.”

The woman searched her face.  “Are you in love with him?”

Angie didn’t even bother denying it.  “Yes.”

“Does he know?”

The blonde shook her head.  “I never told him.  I never had the guts.”

“He loves you, too, you know.”

“I know he does, but I don’t know if it’s that kind of love.”

Eve opened her mouth, then closed it, as if she had been about to say something, then changed her mind.  Her gaze returned to Rollie.  “I hope you know how lucky you are.  If he. . . .  If I had someone like him in my life, I would feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”  A look of sadness and longing filled her eyes.  “But I don’t think that will ever happen.  Though I’m seeing a psychiatrist now, I still don’t think that I’ll ever really be able to open myself up to a man enough to allow him to love me.  The scars run too deep.”  She reached for her crutches and got up.  “I should go now.  Thank you for talking to me.  I was a real witch when we first met, and I apologize for that.”  Her eyes went back to Rollie one last time.  “When he’s better, tell him that I’ll always be grateful to him and that he will always be someone special to me.”

“I will,” Angie promised.  She watched as Eve left, saddened by the loneliness she could see in the woman.

Mira and Frank dropped by a short time later.  Mira had brought Angie a change of clothes and some toiletry items, all of which were greatly appreciated.  The detectives stayed until the end of visiting hours.

Late that evening, as Angie prepared for another night sleeping in the chair, two nurses came in bearing smiles--along with blankets, a pillow, and a fold-up cot.

“We thought that you might like something a bit more comfortable to sleep on tonight,” one of them said.

“Thank you.  This is really nice of you.”

“You’d better tuck it out of sight in the morning, though,” the other woman warned.  “If some people found out you were sleeping here, they’d see to it that you couldn’t stay.”  With more smiles, the nurses left.

“Rollie, if you had to end up in the hospital again, I’m glad it was this one,” Angie told the Aussie.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -- GIFTS OF LOVE

The next morning, Linda and her son came to visit.

“Angie, I am so sorry this happened,” Linda said.  “When Joyce called me yesterday, I almost canceled the class and came down here.  I told everyone what happened.  They all took the time to write little notes to Rollie.”  She handed the blonde a small stack of paper.  Then she pulled a greeting card from her purse.  “And this is from us.”

Angie looked at the pile of letters, feeling a sense of wonder and gratitude that these women, all of whom had good reason to hate men, cared enough about Rollie to do this for him.

“Please thank everyone for us,” she told Linda.

“I’ll do that.”  Linda’s eyes went to Rollie.  “How is he?”

“Holding his own.  We had a scare yesterday morning, but since then, he’s been holding steady.”

“What do the doctors say?” Mark asked.

“They’re hopeful.  He has a chance, which is more than most people would have with that kind of injury.  I know that he’s going to be all right.  Rollie is too stubborn to die.”

“I can believe it after what I’ve seen,” Linda commented with a smile.  “Joyce told me about his injuries and the possibility of brain damage.  Have the doctors talked to you about his rehabilitation?”

“No, not yet.  They probably figure that they shouldn’t be bringing that up until they can see how much damage there has been.  His attending physician gave me some literature to read, though.  You’d like Doctor Langford.  He’s a really good man.  His first name is Mark, by the way.”

“Really?  Well, with a name like that, he must be a good guy,” Linda’s son said with a grin.  “Actually, my first name isn’t Mark, it’s Everett, but that’s also my father’s name, and, somewhere along the line, everyone just started calling me by my middle name to avoid confusion.  We stuck with it even after Mom and Dad got divorced.”

“Angie, I want you to keep us updated on Rollie’s progress, and you have to promise me that, as soon as Rollie is out of this hospital, you and he will come visit us at the center,” Linda said.  “Of course, by then, all the ladies whom you met will have finished their training, but I’d still like to have you visit.  You know, we’re going to miss having you two around.  When you can, you’ll have to come back and finish your lessons.”

“We will, Linda.  I promise.  Oh, by the way, Eve came here last night.”

“She did?  When I told everyone about what happened, Eve just suddenly got up and left.  I’d never seen her so upset.  I just hope that she hasn’t--”  Linda cut herself off as if realizing that she was going to say something she shouldn’t.  Angie had a feeling that she knew what the woman had been about to say.

“Well, I’m glad that she came here to see Rollie,” Linda continued.  “It proves that she really is well on her way to putting her past experiences behind her.”

After they left, Angie read to Rollie the notes that the women had written.  They all wished him a speedy recovery.  Teresa’s letter had been the longest, with the girl talking about how nice Rollie had been to her and how grateful she was for him talking to her father.

That afternoon, Mira and Francis dropped by.

“Why don’t you go home, Angie, at least at night,” Mira said upon seeing the shadows under her eyes.  “You need to get a decent night’s sleep in a regular bed.”

“No, I’m not leaving, not until Rollie wakes up.”

“Angie, that could be a long time,” Frank said softly.  “There’s no way of knowing how long Rollie will be in this coma.  It could be weeks.”

Angie appreciated Frank’s understatement of the facts.  The truth was that it could be months before Rollie awoke, if he ever did at all.  But, no matter how irrational or hard it might be, Angie had promised herself and Rollie that she would stay there until he came out of the coma or until the hospital forced her to leave.

“I know how long it might be, but I need to stay,” Angie said.

Mira sighed, then smiled gently.  “Well, in that case, you’re going to need more clothes.  I can get some stuff for you from your apartment, if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Mira.  That would be great.”  Angie gave her the key to her apartment.  “I just thought of something.  Is the van still sitting at the warehouse?”

“Yes, I guess it is.  As far as I know, no one’s moved it, since they wouldn’t have had the key.”

Sam fished the key out of her pocket.  “Could one of you take it back to the loft?”

Frank took the key.  “Sure, Angie. We can do that.”

Angie gave Frank the code he would need to disarm the loft’s security and told him how to open the garage door with the specialized garage door opener that Rollie had installed in the van.

Both detectives were aware that Angie’s continual presence there was being kept secret from hospital administration.  Being a smart lady, Mira figured that carrying a suitcase through the ICU might look more than a little suspicious.  That is why, when she returned later that afternoon with the clothes, Angie found that her stuff had been put in a very large briefcase instead.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” the detective told her.

“I will.”

Mira looked at Angie closely.  “Are you okay?  Really?”

“Yeah, I’m all right, Mira, as well as can be expected, I guess.”  Angie sighed.  “Sometimes, I find it hard to believe that this really happened.  I find myself thinking that I’m caught in some kind of nightmare.  But other times, I admit that I’ve known for a long time that something like this might happen.  I’ve feared it for years.  But I always thought that it would be while he was working on a case for the cops or the feds.  I never thought that it would be this way, that it would be because of me seeing something that I never should have seen, that he would take a bullet meant for me.  I didn’t tell you this, but I wouldn’t even have been at that alley when the murder took place if Rollie hadn’t sent me home early.  There was still equipment to be put away.  I knew that I should stay and help Rollie finish, but he told me to go home.  I was really tired, so I left, and this is the result.  Why didn’t I stay?”

“Angie, you can’t blame yourself for this.  We can’t second guess every decision we make.  Everyone’s life is full of what-ifs.  If there was a way for people to turn back time and redo things every time they made a choice that they later regretted, we would forever be living in the past.”  The detective looked at her watch.  “I have to get going.”  She gave Angie’s arm a squeeze.  “Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

“I will.  Thanks a lot, Mira.”

It snowed all that night, and was still snowing the following morning.  Angie looked out at the snow and recalled the snowball fights that she and Rollie used to have when she was a kid.  Those had been such great times.

Angie stifled a yawn.  She had not been sleeping well since the shooting, and it was really beginning to wear her down.  Part of it was that she kept having nightmares about Rollie dying.  She would see the blood covering him and look down into his dead eyes and know that he was gone forever.  They were far, far worse than the nightmares she’d had after Loubar raped her.

“Good morning, Angie,” greeted a nurse as she walked in.

“Good morning.  It looks pretty nasty out there.”

“Yeah.  Unfortunately, that’s going to end up increasing our business around here.  I’d have thought that you’d be spending today with family, like everyone else who doesn’t have to work.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Christmas Day, Angie, didn’t you know that?”

“I. . . .  No, I haven’t been paying attention to the days.  I didn’t realize it was already here.”

“Don’t you have any family?” the nurse asked.

“No.  Rollie is the closest thing that I have to a family, except some relatives in Cuba whom I haven’t seen since I was very small and some distant cousins whom I’ve never met somewhere in the Midwest.”

“Oh.  Well, we’ll have some cake and ice cream at the main reception desk this afternoon.  You’re welcome to come have some.”

“Thanks.”

The nurse finished what she came there to do and left, wishing Angie a Merry Christmas on the way out.  Angie sat down in the chair beside Rollie, staring at nothing.  It was Christmas.  Last night, she and Rollie were going to have their private party together.  This morning, she would have given him his Christmas present, the ticket that she’d never gotten the chance to buy.  They should have been spending today having a good time and enjoying each other’s company, not like this.

Silent tears spilled down Angie’s cheeks.  She laid her head down on Rollie’s stomach and wept. Minutes later, the lack of sleep finally caught up to her, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Angie stood in the center of the loft, wondering how she had suddenly got there.  Everything looked strange, translucent, as if they were but ghosts of the objects they appeared to be.  Angie walked forward, her footsteps echoing on the floor.

“Where am I?” she asked the empty building.

“Angie?”

Angie spun around and saw Rollie standing a few feet away.  He looked strong and healthy, and there was no sign of his injury.

“Rollie?  I-is that really you?”

The Aussie smiled gently.  “It’s me, Angel.  I’m here.”

With a cry of joy, Angie threw herself into his arms.  “Oh, Rollie.  I’ve been so worried.  I thought that I was going to lose you.  I thought that I’d never get the chance to tell you how I feel.”

“Shhh.  You won’t lose me.  I’ll always be with you.”  Rollie gazed into her eyes.  “I love you, Angie.  I’ll love you forever.”

With those words, Rollie’s lips descended upon hers, and everything else ceased to exist.  With a sigh, Angie melted into him, feeling their hearts unite into one.  Passion and desire rose within them, deepening the kiss.  Their lips and tongues grew bold as the hunger to taste each other became a need they could not resist.  Yearning to know all of him, Angie pressed herself against him, feeling his matching need for her.  A shudder passed through Rollie.  His lips left hers, and their eyes met.

“I want to make love with you,” he whispered.  “I want to make love with you for the rest of my life.”

Angie smiled up into his eyes.  “I want that too, so very much.”

Rollie lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.  He laid her down on the bed, and his mouth returned to hers, then moved over her face, kissing her eyes, cheeks, and forehead.  Rollie’s hands went to her blouse, and, as he slowly opened it, his lips followed the release of each button, placing soft kisses down her body.  Soon, her blouse was gone, then his shirt.  With trembling hands, Rollie removed Angie’s bra and began to touch and caress her breasts with gentle reverence.  Then his lips lowered to them.  Angie moaned and held him to her, her fingers curling into his hair as a tremor passed through her.

An eternity later, Rollie’s head lifted from her breasts, and his mouth captured hers in a kiss full of all the years of denied passion and love.  His kisses then traveled to her throat as Angie’s lips caressed his neck and the swell of muscle that joined it with his shoulder.  Rollie’s hands moved down to her jeans and slowly removed them and the clothing beneath.  He followed them down her body, placing kisses here and there on her legs.  He then slid back upward to capture her mouth in another kiss, his fingers caressing her skin.  Her hands shaking, Angie removed from Rollie the remaining clothing separating them.

Finally, Rollie’s gaze rose to hers.  Angie looked into eyes dark and deep with love as his body covered hers and they became one.  Ecstasy beyond anything she had ever known filled her.  Her eyes slid shut, her body trembling from the joy of their union.

Rollie’s fingers found and entwined with hers upon the pillow as they made love with slow and perfect rhythm.  Lost in the rapture, their bodies and souls merged into a single being, each feeling what the other felt, knowing the other’s thoughts.

On and on their lovemaking went, the fires of their passion rising higher and higher.  Angie wrapped herself about him, wanting this moment of time to never end.   But, at last, with a mutual cry, they exploded upward in the ecstasy of culmination, feeling reality shatter into a million burning pieces.

Slowly, Angie’s scattered senses returned.  A feeling of utter peace and fulfillment arose in her, bringing tears to her eyes.  She gazed up at Rollie and saw wetness in his eyes as well--and something else.  There was a difference there, a deepness that she had never seen before.  He gazed at her as if he was peering into her soul, and within his eyes, she could see his.  Angie had a sudden feeling that something had happened, something very important, a union beyond the consummation of their love.

“I love you, Rollie,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The depths of Rollie’s eyes filled with light.  His lips met hers in a long, tender kiss.  “I love you, Angie, more than I could ever say.  No matter where I am, there will always be a part of you within me . . . forever. . . .”

Angie’s head jerked up, her eyes darting about in confusion.  Then she realized that she was in Rollie’s hospital room.  Her gaze went to him.  He lay as he had before.  Nothing had changed.  It had all been a dream.

“No!” she cried, tears welling up at the cruel unfairness of it.  She dropped her head into her hands.  Why did it have to be just a dream?  It had been the most wonderful, joyous experience of her life.  Never had she known such rapture with a man.  There were no words to describe it.  But it hadn’t been real, none of it.  Yet, even now, she could still feel his touch upon her, his lips covering hers, his body melding with her own.  She could actually feel the lingering euphoria of lovemaking and was still experiencing that wondrous feeling of fulfillment deep down inside her.

Once before, Angie had dreamed of making love with Rollie, and she had been awed at the joy and ecstasy she felt.  Yet this dream made that one seem hollow in comparison.  This had been so real, so incredibly intense, that her body, and even her mind, did not seem to want to accept the fact that it hadn’t really happened.

Angie got up and was surprised at the weakness and shakiness of her legs.  She glanced at one of the monitors and was startled and frightened to see a red light blinking on it.  Just then, Mark Langford came in, a look of concern on his face.  He immediately went to Rollie.

“What is it?  What’s wrong?” Angie asked, terrified.

The doctor bent over Rollie and checked the reaction of his pupils.  “There was a sudden change in Rollie’s EEG.  Nobody was even aware that it was happening until a couple of minutes ago because the alarm at the monitoring station had gotten turned off somehow.  For some reason, Rollie’s brainwave pattern became extremely erratic, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, then it took a dramatic dip.”  He studied the EEG monitor beside the Aussie’s bed.  “But now, it appears to be back to the way it was before.”  He shook his head and performed a few more physical tests to check the Aussie’s responses.

“What does this mean?  Is he getting worse?”

Mark straightened and turned to her.  “Frankly, I don’t know what it means.  Doctor Stanley Ridenhour, the leading neurologist in the state, is coming here on Monday.  Maybe he’ll have some answers.”  He saw the look on Angie’s face and patted her hand, smiling reassuringly.  “Now, don’t start worrying yourself sick, Angie.  Everything appears to be the same as before.  All we can do is wait and see if something else happens.”

Angie took a deep breath, trying to relax.  “What are you doing working on Christmas Day?” she asked in an effort to calm her mind.

“I always volunteer to work holidays.  I have no family, so I figured that I might as well work and give someone else the day off to be with their family.”

“I didn’t realize that you had no family.”

“Well, there are some distant relatives, but that’s all.  Claire and I had no kids, and we were both only children.”  Mark’s beeper went off and he looked at it.  “I have to run, Angie.  I’ll drop by after my shift ends.”

Angie sat down and stared at Rollie.  What had happened?  What had caused the sudden change in Rollie’s EEG?  She couldn’t help but wonder about the fact that it had happened at the same time as her dream of making love with him.  Was it possible that if Rollie could talk to her mind to mind, he could also somehow. . . .  No.  That was impossible.  She was not even certain anymore that she really had heard Rollie that day.  No, this had just been a dream, that’s all.  Granted, an extremely vivid and realistic dream, but a dream, nevertheless.

The growling of her stomach made Angie realize that she’d slept through lunch.  She made a quick trip down to the vending machines and got a sandwich and soda.  “This food is going to be the death of me,” she muttered as she ate it.  She would kill for a pizza.  Deep dish, with mounds of mozzarella, sausage, and mushrooms.  Just the thought of it was making her mouth water.

Shoving the pizza thoughts from her mind, Angie went back to reading the literature that Doctor Langford had given her.  She’d been at it for about an hour when the phone rang.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hi, Angie.  It’s Sarah.  How are you doing?”

“Hey, Sarah.  I’m okay.  What are you doing calling me?  Aren’t you guys in the middle of Christmas stuff?”

“Yes, and that’s why I’m calling.  We’d like to come over and visit for a while, but we have a problem.  The girls really want to see Rollie, but the hospital isn’t going to let them into the ICU.  Is there any way that you might be able to talk someone into allowing it, just for a few minutes?”

Angie smiled at the thought of the Gatti children coming to visit.  Rollie loved the kids, and they loved him, calling him Uncle Rollie.  “I don’t know.  Hospitals are usually pretty strict about children.  I could try.  But do you really think that it’s a good idea for them to see Rollie like this?  Won’t it upset them?”

“We thought about that, and we did explain that Rollie had been hurt very badly and had lots of machines hooked up to him to help him get better, but they want to see him so much.  They want to give you and Rollie the presents they got for you.”

Angie felt her throat tighten.  “We got presents for them too, but they’re all back at the loft.  We would have brought them over today if this hadn’t happened.”  She looked at the Aussie and thought about how wonderful it would be, for him and for her, to have the children there.  “I’ll talk to Rollie’s doctor.  Maybe he can arrange something.”

Angie paged Mark Langford, who showed up about fifteen minutes later.  The blonde explained the situation to him.

“Hmm.  I don’t know.  It’s one thing to work things out so that you can stay here, but it’s another thing to get children into the ICU, especially ones who aren’t related to Rollie.  Sneaking them in is out of the question.  There are too many patients who might let it slip to the wrong person that they were here.  And that’s another concern.  If some of the patients with children see the kids here, they might start making noises about their own kids being allowed to visit them.  I’m sorry, Angie.  I just don’t think that there’s a way we can do this.”

Angie sighed in disappointment.  “That’s what I figured.  It would have been so nice, though, and I think that it would have been really good for Rollie.”  She had never stopped believing that Rollie was somehow aware of what was going on around him, at least on some level.

Mark looked over at Rollie.  Angie could tell that he was trying to think of something.  After a few seconds, a faint smile came to his face.  “You know, there might just be a way after all.  How old are the kids?”

“Um, five, six, and eight.”

“Do you think that they could play a game of hide and seek without making any noise?”

A grin started to grow on Angie’s face.  “Yeah, I think they could.”

“Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” Mark said.  He explained his plan to her.  A few minutes later, Angie was repeating the plan to Frank.  After she hung up the phone, she went over to Rollie.

“Hey, Rol.  Natalie, Jessica, and Bethany are coming to visit.  Won’t that be wonderful?”

Exactly one hour and ten minutes later, Frank and Sarah walked in the door, secretive smiles on their faces.  A few seconds later, an orderly came in pushing a laundry basket.  After closing the door, he reached into the basket, pushed aside some towels, and up popped the three girls, giggling.

“Shhh.  Remember what we said, girls.  This is a secret visit.  You must be very quiet,” Sarah warned.  She and Frank lifted the girls out of the basket, and the orderly left with it.

Sarah turned to Rollie, and the smile left her face.  She walked up to him, and her hand brushed the hair from his forehead.  “How is he doing?”

“I’m not sure.  There was a temporary change in the EEG early this afternoon, but we don’t know what caused it.  A top neurologist is coming to see him on Monday.  Maybe we’ll know more then.  Other than that, nothing has changed.”

The girls slowly approached the bed.  “Uncle Rollie?” said Natalie, the eldest.  When he did not move, she turned sad eyes to her mother.  “Mama, what’s wrong with him?  He looks like Grandpa Joseph did.  I-is he going to die too?”

At her words, Jessica, the six-year-old, began to cry.  “I don’t want Uncle Rollie to die.  Make him not die, Mommy.”  Seeing her sister crying, made the youngest, Bethany, start to cry, too.

Sarah got down on her knees and pulled all three girls into her arms.  “Shh-shh-shhhh.  Don’t cry, darlings.  Rollie isn’t sick like Grandpa Joseph was.  Your grandpa was very old, and it was his time to go, but Rollie is young and strong, and he’s fighting really hard to get better.  And all the doctors are taking really good care of him and giving him all the medicine he needs to get well.”

“Then he’s going to be all right?” Natalie asked.

Frank knelt before her.  “We pray that he is, Natty.”

“But you don’t know.”

“No, we don’t.  I wish that we did.  Rollie was hurt very, very badly, but, like your mama said, he’s young, and he’s strong, and he’s fighting as hard as he can to get better.”

Natalie nodded her head and went to Rollie’s side.  She began to stroke his hand.  “Please get better, Uncle Rollie.”  Jessica and Bethany joined their sister and repeated her words, speaking them at the same time.

Angie fought to keep the tears back, not wanting the girls to see them.  An ache had formed in her chest and would not go away.

“Can I sit on the bed with Uncle Rollie?” Jessica asked.

“Me too.  Me too,” piped up Bethany.

“Well, if you are very careful and don’t move around, you can,” Frank told them.

“We’ll be careful,” Jessica promised.

Frank picked up his two youngest daughters and sat them at the foot of the bed.  Natalie chose to remain standing where she was.  Her hand was still stroking Rollie’s.  For some reason, this seemed to upset Sarah.  She turned away, and Angie saw that her eyes were bright with tears.  Frank noticed and began talking to the girls, distracting them.

Angie followed Sarah over to the window.  “What’s wrong?”

Sarah wiped away her tears.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just that Natalie did that, the hand-stroking, with Frank’s father when he was dying, and she did it again with her dog, Butchy, a few weeks ago when he got sick and died.  She just kept stroking his paw, even after he was gone.  I know that it’s her way of trying to bring comfort, but it upset me to see her doing it with Rollie.”

“Rollie’s going to be all right, Sarah.  He has to be,” Angie said.

“Frank told me about you thinking that you heard Rollie.  Do you still believe that?”

“I don’t know.  I was so certain of it before, but now, I just can’t be sure.”

“Angie, let me tell you about something that happened to Frank a long time ago.  This was back when he was in high school.  Did you know that he had a little sister?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, Frank was at school one day, and he suddenly got a feeling that something terrible had happened.  An hour later, he found out that his sister had been hit by a car coming home from school on her bike.  She was killed instantly.”

“Oh no,” Angie whispered.

“Frank never forgot about that feeling he had.  Somehow, he had known.  I think that he really believes you did hear Rollie.  I know that he wants to believe.  Frank cares a lot about Rollie, even more so since Leo died.  I think that their shared grief over his death brought them closer together.  I’ve tried to get Frank to come here more often, but it’s hard for him to see Rollie like that.  It reminds him of his father, and I also think that it brings back the pain of losing Leo.”

Angie looked over at Francis and could see the anguish in the detective’s eyes as he looked at Rollie.

“Why doesn’t Uncle Rollie wake up, Daddy?” Angie heard Bethany ask.

“Well, it’s because Rollie is in a very deep kind of sleep from which it is really hard to wake up,” Frank explained.

“Like Sleeping Beauty?” asked Jessica.

All three adults smiled at the question.

“No, not like that,” Frank said.  “Sleeping Beauty was put under a spell that would make her sleep for many, many years and could only be broken by a kiss from her true love.  Rollie is sleeping because something went wrong inside his head, and I’m afraid that a kiss wouldn’t wake him up.”

“How do you know a kiss won’t work?  Has Aunt Angie kissed him and tried to make him wake up?” Jessica asked.

A blush came to Angie’s cheeks.  She saw Sarah hide a smile.  Frank looked at the blonde sheepishly.

“Um, I’m sure that Aunt Angie has probably given Rollie a kiss on the cheek.”

“But that won’t work,” Jessica objected.  “She has to kiss him on the mouth.  It only works that way.”

If Angie had been blushing before, she was downright crimson now.

“Uh. . . .”  Frank struggled for words, looking more embarrassed by the moment.  “How about if you kiss him, Jess, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Okay.”

Frank lifted her up and bent over Rollie with his daughter in his arms.  Jessica leaned down and placed a little kiss on Rollie’s mouth.  She looked disappointed, but not very surprised when Rollie did not awaken.

“It won’t work with me.  I’m not his true love.  Aunt Angie has to kiss him,” Jessica stated.

Angie’s mouth dropped open at the little girl’s words.  Is that what Jessica thought her and Rollie’s relationship was like?

Taking pity on Angie, Sarah spoke up.  “Jessie, honey, Rollie and Angie are just friends.  We’ve told you that before.  They’re not like Mommy and Daddy.”

“But I heard you and Daddy say--” Her voice was silenced by her father’s hand over her mouth.  Frank’s face was bright pink.  His eyes refused to meet Angie’s.

“Never mind what Mommy and I said.  We were just talking,” Francis told her.  “Like I said before, a kiss isn’t going to wake Rollie up.”

The two youngest children looked extremely disappointed.  Natalie had said nothing through the entire exchange.  She had simply looked on, never ceasing her caress of Rollie’s hand.

“I’ll . . . I’ll kiss him if it would make you feel better, Jessica,” Angie said, wishing that she was anywhere but there right now.

The eyes of the two girls lit up.  “Aunt Angie’s gonna kiss Uncle Rollie!  Aunt Angie’s gonna kiss Uncle Rollie!” Bethany exclaimed happily, which succeeded in making Angie feel so excruciatingly embarrassed that she wanted to sink through the floor so deep that she’d end up in China.

“Hush, Beth,” Sarah scolded.

Jessica came over to Angie.  She took her hand and led her to Rollie’s side, then looked expectantly up at her.

Her face flaming, Angie looked down at the Aussie.  ‘You had better not find out about this, Rol, otherwise, knowing you, you’ll never let me live it down,’ Angie silently told her comatose friend.

Trying to calm her jumping nerves and racing heart, Angie leaned over.  Rollie’s mouth was slightly open because of the ventilator tube, and she could feel his warm breath on her mouth as she pressed her lips to his.  For an instant, the memory of the dream came back to her, and she felt a tingle of pleasure pass through her.  After a few seconds, Angie straightened and turned to the others in the room.  All three girls were gazing at Rollie expectantly, whereas their parents seemed to be more interested in Angie.  There was a little sparkle in Frank’s eyes.

“It didn’t work,” Jessica said, her voice heavy with disappointment.

“I told you that it wouldn’t, sweetheart,” Frank said.  “We have to wait for him to wake up on his own.”

“But what if he never wakes up?  What if he sleeps forever, and ever, and ever?”  Jessica was starting to cry again.

Angie knelt beside her.  “Would you like me to tell you a secret?”

The little girl nodded, sniffling.

“I know that Rollie is going to wake up and get better.  You know how?  He told me so.  I heard him talk to me inside my head and tell me that he was going to be all right.”

The eyes of all three girls grew huge.  “Really?” Jessica asked.

“Yes, really, and Rollie has never broken a promise to me, so I know it’s true.”

Both Jessica and Bethany smiled brightly.  Natalie smiled as well, but a faint shadow of doubt in her eyes marred it.  Angie decided that it was time to ask the eldest girl about what she was doing.

“Natalie, why do you stroke Rollie’s hand like that?”

“Because I want him to be better.  Grandpa Joseph told me that, a long time ago, when Grandma Martha got really sick, he sat by her bed for hours and hours just stroking her hand, and she got all better.  I tried to make Grandpa Joseph better, but it didn’t work, and it didn’t work on Butchy either.  Maybe I’m not doing it right.”

“Natalie, honey, Grandma didn’t get better because Grandpa stroked her hand.  She just got better,” Sarah said.  “And Grandpa and Butchy didn’t die because you did something wrong.  We can’t make people better just by touching them.  I wish we could.”

The girl sighed, and her hand dropped from Rollie’s.

“But that doesn’t mean that you holding and touching Rollie’s hand doesn’t make him feel better,” Frank quickly said.  “I bet that if he was awake, it would make him very happy.  I know it would make me very happy.”

Natalie smiled and lifted her hand to Rollie’s again, this time just holding it.

“So, how about if you three give Rollie and Angie their Christmas presents?” Sarah suggested.  She fetched the bag that she had sat beside the door.  All three girls dove into it.  They pulled out brightly wrapped packages.  Bethany ran up to Angie and handed her two packages.

“I got these all by myself.  Mommy even let me give the lady the money for them,” she said proudly.

“Really?  Well, that was a very grown up thing to do.  Thank you.”  Angie set Rollie’s present down and unwrapped the gift that had her name on it.  It was a plastic Garfield cat hunched over a computer, his tongue curled over his upper lip and a look of concentration on his face.  A big grin spread over Angie’s face.  “This is great!  I love it.”  She bent down and gave the five-year-old a kiss, then looked up at Sarah with a smile of thanks, knowing that Bethany’s mom must have helped with the selection of this present.

Angie picked up the other present.

“That’s Uncle Rollie’s,” Bethany told her.

“Is it all right if I open it up for him?”  At a nod from the girl, Angie removed the wrapping and opened the box.  Inside, was a toy police badge with a cartoon face of a bloodhound on it.

“Now, when Uncle Rollie helps Daddy, he can wear a badge like Daddy does,” Bethany stated.

Angie couldn’t help but laugh.  She couldn’t wait to show this to Rollie.  He would be delighted.  “I’m sure that this is going to be a really big help for Rollie.  Thank you.”

Next came Jessica.  She handed Angie her present first, which turned out to be a little China kitten playing with a ball of yarn.  “This is beautiful, Jessica.  Thank you.”  She gave a kiss to the little girl.

“I picked out my kitty before Beth got hers,” Jessica informed her.

“Well, I love them both.  You know that I like cats a lot.”

The six-year-old gave her the other present, the one for Rollie.  Angie opened it up to find another figurine, only this one was of a puppy licking the face of a kitten that looked suspiciously like the kitten playing with the yarn.  Angie attempted to ignore the reason why Jessica would get this particular figurine and simply thanked her for Rollie.

At last came Natalie.  She gave Angie her present with a shy smile.  When Angie opened it, she was surprised to find a framed photograph of her and Rollie at the Fourth of July picnic.  The photo showed Rollie carrying Angie in his arms, a look of determination on his face and shock on Angie’s.  With a smile, Angie remembered the incident.  She had been teasing Rollie mercilessly about his new relationship with Dani and had pushed him too far.  He had suddenly picked her up and thrown her in the Gattis’ pool.  Fortunately, Angie had been wearing a bathing suit underneath her shorts and blouse, otherwise she would have been even madder than she was.  As it was, she had been furious and had later gotten even with him by squirting him with the hose while he was fully clothed.  A water battle had ensued, leaving both of them drenched--and laughing.  Angie hadn’t realized that someone had caught any of it on film.  Then she remembered that Natalie had been carrying around one of those little disposable cameras.

“Did you take this?”

“Uh huh.  Do you like it?  I showed it and the other pictures to Rollie when he came over, and he laughed so hard he almost fell down.”

“Other pictures?”

“I took a picture when you were coming out of the pool and when you and Rollie were squirting each other with the hoses, but the others didn’t come out so good.  They were kinda blurry.  Rollie told me that you would love to get this for a present.  Mama had it made bigger, and I decided to give it to you for Christmas.  Do you like it?”

“Like it?  I love it!  Thank you very much, Natalie.  You’re a good photographer.”

“I like taking pictures.  That’s what I want to do when I grow up.  Mama and Daddy promised to get me a real camera on my ninth birthday.”  She handed the second present to Angie.  “I got this for Rollie day before yesterday.  I had another present for him, but when Mama and Daddy told us that he got hurt really bad, I wanted to give him something different.”

The smile left Angie’s face as she slowly unwrapped the gift.  It was a framed drawing of a mother koala with a baby on its back.  Several paragraphs of text ran down the right side of the page beside the koala.  Tears came to Angie’s eyes as she read it aloud.
 

Why I Love Uncle Rollie by Natalie Gatti

I love Uncle Rollie because he makes us laugh.  He does puppet shows for us and makes funny faces and uses funny voices.  He plays with us whenever he comes to our house, even when he’s really tired from working.

I love Uncle Rollie because he helped my daddy when Daddy got hurt really bad and was in trouble.  Daddy said that Uncle Rollie put himself in lots of danger to help him and make the police see that Uncle Leo was a good policeman.  Daddy said that Rollie was the best friend that anybody could ever have.

I love Uncle Rollie because he loves me.  When I was sick, he came and sat with me, telling me stories about Australia and the aborigines.  When I didn’t want to take my medicine, he took it and pretended that he was dying.  It was so funny that I didn’t mind taking the medicine then.  When it was time for me to go to sleep, he sang to me.

I love Uncle Rollie because he’s a good person.  He helps the police put away bad people even though he isn’t a policeman.  Daddy says that the police like him because he respects them and because he helps them just because he wants to and doesn’t go bragging about what he did to reporters afterwards.  He helps his friends whenever they are in trouble or get hurt, no matter how hard or dangerous it is.  Mommy says that Uncle Rollie gets hurt a lot because he cares more about other people than he does himself.

When I grow up, I want to be strong, and brave, and funny, and good like Uncle Rollie.  He’s my favorite uncle, even though he isn’t really my uncle.  I’ll love him forever and ever.

Angie got down on her knees and hugged Natalie tightly.  “This is the best present that you could ever give Rollie, Natalie.”

“It is?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I told Mama what I wanted to say, and she wrote it down so that it sounded good, then we took it to the mall to a place where they use a computer and put what you want to say on a picture.  I picked the koalas because they live in Australia.  Do you really think that Uncle Rollie will like it?”

“He’ll love it.  It’s going to mean so much to him.  He’ll keep this forever.”  She looked at the other two girls.  “And he’ll keep your presents forever, too.”

All three children grinned happily.

Angie rose to her feet and smiled at Frank and Sarah.  “Thank you so much for coming.  I know that if Rollie could, he would thank you, too.”

“We got presents for you and Rollie too, but they’re not anything special,” Frank said.  “If you don’t mind, we thought that we’d wait until Rollie was better before giving them to you.”

“Sure.  That would be fine.”

Frank pulled a greeting card out of his coat pocket.  “Everyone at the precinct signed this, as well as some of the guys in S.W.A.T. and the bomb squad.  I had to get one of those triple-fold cards to fit everybody’s name and message.”

Angie took the card and gazed at the endless list of messages and signatures.  There wasn’t a free space left on the card, front or back.  “Thank you, Frank.  This will mean a lot to Rollie.”

The Gattis stayed until the orderly returned with the laundry basket to smuggle the kids back out.  The three girls all kissed Rollie goodbye before they left and told him that he was in their prayers every night.

After they were gone, Angie sat beside the Aussie and chatted about the visit.

“You really are great with kids, Rollie.  You would make a terrific father.”  A gentle smile came to her face.  “I can just picture you bouncing babies up and down on your stomach and playing games with them.”  She didn’t add that the babies she saw in her mind were their babies, hers and Rollie’s.  The thought of having a family with Rollie made her feel incredibly happy.

The rest of the day passed surprisingly quickly.  As Angie got ready for bed, she had a feeling that she was going to sleep well.

As the night passed in sleep, Angie’s dreams remained free of terror and pain.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR -- TESTS

Friday and the weekend passed almost uneventfully with a few visits from friends of Rollie's, another visit from Joyce and several from Mira, Frank, and Sarah.  The two detectives had talked a little about their progress in the murder case or, rather, their lack of it, and about the attempt on Angie’s life.  So far, they had been unable to identify the body of the man who came to the set, which meant that he did not have a criminal record.  A sketch artist came to the hospital and made a drawing from Angie’s description.  The police circulated these around the area and sent them to numerous law enforcement agencies, all with no success.  Mira had come to believe that the dead man was most likely working alone.  The department agreed and had reduced Angie’s police protection.  Her watchdog at the hospital had been removed.  Mira had told her, though, that if she decided to leave the hospital for any reason, she was to let them know so that they could provide her with a police escort.  The police woman did not want to take the chance that they were wrong about Angie being out of danger.

The most important event that happened that weekend was the announcement from Doctor Langford that they were pretty certain Rollie was out of danger.  Barring sudden, unexpected complications, he was not going to die.  Angie, already certain of this, was nevertheless delighted at the doctor’s announcement.  Unfortunately, there was no change in the state of the coma.  Rollie remained deeply unconscious.

For the first time since Christmas, Angie did not sleep well Sunday night.  She kept thinking about the neurologist and what he would say about Rollie’s condition.  By the time Doctor Langford walked in on Monday morning with a short, bearded man in his fifties, she was so nervous that her stomach was tied in a knot.

“Angie, this is Doctor Ridenhour,” Mark said.

The man shook hands with Angie, then he turned his attention to Rollie.  He performed many of the same tests that she’d seen Mark doing, plus a few more.  The two doctors talked to each other in low voices.  Some of what they said, Angie recognized from the literature she’d read, but other things went right over her head.  Finally, the two men turned to her.

“How much do you understand about Mister Tyler’s condition, Ms. Ramirez?” Doctor Ridenhour asked.

“I read the literature that Doctor Langford gave to me.  I know that Rollie is in what they call Level One of the Rancho Los Amigos Scale for determining levels of coma.  I also know that there’s no accurate way to tell how severe the brain damage is at this stage.”

The neurologist nodded.  “Yes.  We must wait until Mister Tyler starts responding to stimuli before we can truly determine that.  However, I would like to perform a more comprehensive test to gauge the level of coma.  Have you read anything about the CNC scale?”

Angie nodded.  “The Coma/Near Coma scale.  There are eleven tests that you give to determine auditory, visual, olfactory, tactile, pain, and other responses.”

“That’s right.  The CNC is an excellent way to measure small clinical changes in patients who are in the state that Mister Tyler is in and also to assess the progress or lack of progress in the patient’s condition.”

“When do you want to run the tests?”

“Later this morning, if possible, and again this afternoon.”

“Okay.  What about what happened on Christmas?  Do you have any idea what caused that?”

“Doctor Ridenhour hasn’t been updated yet, Angie,” Mark said.  “He’s been out of state on vacation since Christmas Eve.”

“What is she talking about?” the neurologist asked.

“There was an unusual change in Rollie’s EEG on Christmas Day.  I have the readout for you to analyze.”

An expression of curiosity came to Ridenhour’s face.  “Well, let’s take a look.”  The two men headed for the door.

“I want to come with you,” Angie said, following them.

Both men turned to her.  “Ms. Ramirez, you probably won’t be able to understand most of what we say,” the neurologist pointed out.

“I don’t care.  I want to know what you honestly think about what happened.”

The man studied her face.  “Very well, then.  Come along.”

Angie looked over her shoulder at Rollie.  “I’ll be back in a little while, Rol,” she told him, ignoring the odd look that Doctor Ridenhour gave her.

She followed them to an office that was used for visiting V.I.P.’s.  She sat on the sofa on the far wall while the two doctors began examining the readout of Rollie’s EEG.  After a minute or so, Doctor Ridenhour started shaking his head.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he said.  “The closest comparison is what you would see in a person during a severely agitated R.E.M. sleep, but even that is quite different.”

Angie grew excited at the mention of R.E.M., the time during sleep when a person dreams.  Again, the thought leapt into her head that maybe her dream had been more than just a dream.  Shoving the thought aside, she focused on the words of the neurologist.

“This makes me wonder.  I have been doing some research on the possibility of speeding brain injury rehabilitation by getting the patient’s subconscious mind to aid in the healing process and help the conscious mind retrain itself.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Angie commented.

A startled look came to Ridenhour’s face as he looked at her.  He had apparently forgotten she was there.  “I’m not surprised,” he said.  “It’s considered, at best, New Age and, at worse, witch doctor medicine by most people in the medical community who know about it.  I became interested in the idea after seeing people heal themselves by placing their mind and body in deep meditative states.”  A glimmer of enthusiasm was in the doctor’s eyes.  “The subconscious mind is a fascinating thing, and there is so much that we still don’t know about it.”  He looked down at the readout.  “This could very well be some kind of extreme activity on the subconscious level.  And this,” his finger pointed at a portion of the readout, “where the EEG takes a dramatic drop, is similar to the pattern I’ve observed in subjects placed in a meditative state, though at a far deeper level than anything I’ve ever seen.”  Ridenhour looked back up at her.  The enthusiasm on his face had grown to excitement.  “Something very interesting is going on inside Mister Tyler’s head, and I’d love to find out what it is.”

For a moment, Angie toyed with the idea of telling them about the dream, but decided that it was far too private a thing to tell a virtual stranger.  Besides, she was still pretty sure that the dream was just a coincidence.

The three of them returned to Rollie’s room.  A nurse came in, and she and Mark removed the ventilator tube from Rollie’s throat.  He was now breathing completely on his own.  Doctor Ridenhour had brought a case with him.  He set it on the table, opened it, and took out a small bell and a sheet of paper with a form printed on it.  He handed the form to Mark.  The neurologist then rang the bell five times, closely watching Rollie’s reaction.  He waited about ten seconds, then rang the bell five more times.  There was another pause of ten seconds, then he again rang it five times.  There was no response from Rollie.  Angie saw Mark jot something down on the form.

Ridenhour put the bell aside, then leaned over Rollie.  “Mister Tyler, my name is Doctor Ridenhour.  Angela and Doctor Langford are here as well.  We know that you can hear us and that you’re trying hard to come back to us, and we’re all very hopeful that you’ll succeed.   I’m going to be running some tests on you, but it’s nothing to worry about.  I’ll be asking you to do some very simple things, and I want you to try your best to do them.  First of all, I’m going to ask you to open your eyes.  Open your eyes, Mister Tyler.”

Surprised at the way that the neurologist had talked to Rollie, she watched the Aussie for a response.  There was none.  A few seconds of silence passed.

“Okay, Mister Tyler, now--”

“Doctor Ridenhour?” Angie interrupted.

The doctor turned to her, a look of irritation on his face.

“Call him Rollie,” Angie told him.

Ridenhour paused, then nodded.  He turned back to the Aussie.  “Rollie, I’m going to ask you to do something else now.  I’m going to ask you to move one of your hands.  Move your hand now, Rollie.”  Again, there was no response.  A few more silent moments went by.  The neurologist went to the foot of the bed and uncovered Rollie’s feet.  “All right, Rollie.  One more time.  I’m now going to ask you to move one of your feet.  Either one.  Move your foot, Rollie.”  Yet again, the Aussie did not respond.  As Ridenhour covered Rollie’s feet, Mark filled in another space on the form.

And so the testing went, with Doctor Ridenhour checking Rollie’s responses through sight, sudden movement toward his eyes, smell, touch, and pain.  Through it all, the Aussie showed no sign of awareness or reaction.  By the time the testing was done, Angie was experiencing a terrible feeling of depression.  The worse had been when the doctor held Rollie’s eyelids open to conduct the visual and threat tests and Angie had watched as her friend’s eyes remained dull and lifeless, not even trying to blink when the doctor’s hand moved quickly forward to within a couple of inches of the Aussie’s face.

“What does this mean?” Angie asked, unable to keep a small tremor out of her voice.  “It’s bad, isn’t it.”

“Not necessarily,” Ridenhour replied.  “This simply means that Mister Tyler is in what we call an extreme coma.  That doesn’t mean that he will not come out of it or eventually make a full recovery.  We’ll run the tests again this afternoon and see if we get a response then.”

After the doctors left, Angie sat beside Rollie and took his hand.  “Don’t you worry about this, Rol.  You’re going to be fine.  I know you will,” she told him, the tremor still in her voice.

That afternoon, Ridenhour conducted the tests with the same result.  He told Angie that he would run them again tomorrow morning.  Mark stayed behind as the neurologist left.

“Maybe it would be better if you left the room while we do this,” he suggested in a concerned voice.

Angie shook her head adamantly.  “No.  I want to be here.  Rollie needs me.”  ‘And I need him,’ she silently added.

“Angie, you haven’t left this hospital in a week.  You can’t keep going like this.  Eventually, you’re going to have to get back to your life.”

Life?  What kind of life did she have without Rollie?  It was not one she wanted to think about.  “Mark, please.  I need to stay.  Please don’t make me leave.”

The doctor sighed, then patted her hand.  “All right, Angie.  I won’t make you go, at least not yet.  I’ll give you a few more days.”  A gentle smile came to his lips.  “You know, this has become quite a little conspiracy in the hospital.  Everyone has been doing all they can to keep your presence here at night a secret from Administration.  But I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before something leaks out.”

Angie was very grateful for the help and support she had received from the medical staff.  Some of the nurses had even managed to sneak her down to the staff showers so that she could freshen up.  They all understood how she felt.  Angie realized that, by now, just about everyone there knew that she was hopelessly in love with the patient in Room 346.

“Thank you for everything, Mark.  I really appreciate what you and everyone else are doing,” Angie said.  She knew that Mark had rearranged his usual shift schedule in order to be there during the times that Ridenhour ran the tests.  She was extremely grateful for the doctor’s concern and dedication to Rollie’s recovery.

The following day, Doctor Ridenhour ran the CNC tests again, and, again, there was no response at all from Rollie.  As the doctors left after the second set of tests, Angie stopped Doctor Langford.

“Mark?  Is there any way that I could run the tests myself, like at night or during the day between times?” she asked.

“No, Angie, I’m sorry.  These tests must be run by trained people and should only be conducted under the schedule that’s been established.”

“Mark, I have to do something,” she said, her voice rising in desperation. “I feel so useless.  I need to do something to help him.”

Mark took hold of her shoulders.  “Angie, you are helping him.  Being here every day like you’ve been, talking to him and encouraging him, are the best things in the world that you could do for him.”

Angie sighed and closed her eyes, nodding her head.  She had wanted to run the tests herself, secretly hoping that, somehow, Rollie would respond if it was she who was doing the testing.

Angie felt something pressed into her hand.  She looked down to see the tiny flashlight that Mark used to check patients’ pupil responses.

“You’ll need to come up with something on your own for the bell and you’ll have to do without the nasal swabs and ammonia capsules, but I think that you’ll be able to figure something else out,” he murmured.  Then, before she could thank him, he was striding out the door.

That night, when she was sure that she wouldn’t be disturbed, Angie conducted her own tests.  Instead of a bell, she borrowed a glass from the nurse’s lounge and struck a pencil against it.  Instead of a nasal swab, she lightly ran the corner of a tissue across Rollie’s nostrils in an effort to get him to twitch or draw away from the touch.  To replace the ammonia capsules that were broken under Rollie’s nose to test his reaction to the harsh smell, Angie had called Mira and had her bring from the loft a small vial of a dreadful-smelling yet harmless chemical that Rollie had created a few weeks ago as a practical joke on a jerk of an actor who’d gotten one of the stuntmen fired.

But, despite all this, Angie failed to get any response from the Aussie.  By the time she finished the tests, there was a tight ache in her chest.  There had been two tests that she’d been unable to force herself to do: the two that required that she open Rollie’s eyelids.  She just couldn’t bear the thought of looking into those beautiful eyes and seeing nothing but emptiness within their depths.

Angie spent a good part of the night silently crying, feeling the desolation of hopelessness descend upon her no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that the failure of the tests did not mean that Rollie would never awaken.

The next morning, Mira and Frank came to visit.  The second that they spied her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, they knew that something was wrong.

“What happened?” Frank asked anxiously.

“Nothing.  Nothing happened,” Angie replied.  She glanced at Rollie.  “Let’s go take a walk, okay?”

They left the ICU and ended up in the hospital’s chapel, which was empty at the moment.  There, Angie told the detectives about the tests and Rollie’s failure to respond.

“What do the doctors say?” Mira asked, worried over the depression she saw in Angie’s eyes.

“They say that it doesn’t mean for sure that Rollie won’t wake up, but I’ve been reading some things.  I know that the longer he stays like this, the more likely it is that he sustained significant brain damage and the less likely it is that he’ll recover fully.  I’ve also been reading about the attitude that some medical personnel have about people who are in prolonged comas.  Did you know that in some countries they’re called cabbages?  Cabbages!  Like they’re just unfeeling lumps of flesh and bone!”  Angie had begun to breathe hard, tears in her eyes.

“Angie, please don’t do this,” Frank pleaded, a look of pain on his face.  “This is only the ninth day.  You can’t give up on him.”

“I’m not, Frank.  I’ll never give up on him.  I just. . . .  All along I kept telling myself that he was going to recover completely, that in a few months, he’d be back to the way he was before.  What if that doesn’t happen?  What if he won’t be able to walk again, or he’ll be blind or won’t be able to talk normally anymore?  What if. . . .  What if that wonderful mind of his won’t ever be the same again?”

“Angie, whatever happens, whatever you and Rollie have to deal with, I know that you’re going to make it,” Mira said.  “And if it does turn out that Rollie will have to live with a disability, that isn’t the end of everything.  He can still lead a happy life, and there’s a good chance that he’ll still be able to work, even if it’s not in the same way as it was before.  Rollie’s strong.  He’ll get through this.  But he’s going to need you to be strong, too.”

Angie nodded, knowing that Mira was right.  Lots of people lived full and happy lives with disabilities.  She had to believe that Rollie would, too.  And she would be there to help him in any way she could.

The tests that day were the same as the previous ones.  Angie tried not to let it upset her, but it was hard seeing him lying there so still as the doctors did all those things that should have had him moving and complaining about the treatment.

Not feeling hungry, Angie just sat by Rollie at dinnertime, caressing his hand.  She didn’t have the will to give him the tests again.

“Rollie, I know that, someday, you’re going to wake up, but it’s just so hard seeing you lying there.  I need to see you open your eyes.  I need you to hold my hand.  I need to hear you speak to me.”  She picked up his hand in hers and held it against her cheek.  “Please, Rollie.  Hold my hand.  Please hold my hand.”  A single tear slid slowly down her cheek when there was no response from her friend.  Her eyes closed, a sad sigh escaping her lips.

And that’s when it happened.

Angie gasped, drawing her face away from Rollie’s hand.  She stared down at it.  His fingers had moved.

Excitement growing within her, Angie said, “Come on, Rol, you can do it.  Squeeze my hand.  Just squeeze my hand.”

Angie held her breath for long seconds as nothing happened.  Then, slowly, Rollie’s fingers curled around hers.  Angie began to laugh, tears of joy springing to her eyes.  “You did it, Rol!”  Not letting go of his hand, Angie called Mark’s pager number.  Ten minutes later, the doctor came in the room wearing a coat and carrying an umbrella.  He had apparently just been leaving.

“He squeezed my hand, Mark,” Angie announced excitedly.  “I asked him to and he did.  I mean, it wasn’t really a squeeze, but he moved his fingers.”  She stopped, realizing that she was babbling.

Mark immediately put the umbrella down and went to the Aussie’s side.  “Rollie?  It’s Mark.  Open your eyes.  Can you do that for us?”  There was no response.  Mark then reached down and pinched the back of Rollie’s hand.  The Aussie’s hand jerked slightly.

A smile on his face, the doctor looked up at Angie.  “This is a good sign, Angie.  I’m going to call Doctor Ridenhour and have him do another CNC test right away.”

Forty minutes later, Ridenhour walked in the door and got started with the test.  As always, he began with the bell test.  Everyone was happy when Rollie reacted by turning toward the sound once out of the three times.  Next came the command response test.  Rollie failed to follow the doctor’s commands all three times, and Ridenhour was moving onto the next test when Mark stopped him.

“Let Angie try,” he said.

The neurologist frowned.  “I don’t think it will make a difference.”

“Humor me.”

“Very well.”  Ridenhour moved aside, letting Angie moved to the side of the bed.  She rested her hand on the Aussie’s wrist.  “Rollie?  Move your hand.  Move your hand for me, Rol.”  A huge smile came to her face as her friend’s fingers moved.  She gave them a squeeze.  “Good, Rollie.  Now, can you open your eyes?  Open your eyes and look at me.”  She waited with bated breath, but the Aussie’s eyes failed to open.  Refusing to be disappointed, Angie moved down to the end of the bed and pulled the covers from his feet.  She softly touched the instep of each of them.  “Move your toes, Rollie.  Come on.  You can do it.”  Another smile came as the toes of both feet twitched, then slowly moved.

“Amazing,” Doctor Ridenhour said.  “He is obviously recognizing your voice and is responding better to your commands because he knows you.”  The neurologist conducted the rest of the tests with results far better than he had apparently anticipated.  “This is an incredible improvement over just a few hours ago.  A very positive sign.  We’ll conduct another test in the morning.”

After the neurologist left, Angie looked at Mark.  “Rollie’s going to be all right, isn’t he.”

“Like Doctor Ridenhour said, this is very promising.  Remember, though, that Rollie’s still got a long way to go, Angie.  This is just the beginning.”

“I know.  But I also know that he’s is going to be okay, Mark.”

As soon as Mark left, Angie called Mira, then Frank to tell them the good news.  The detectives were ecstatic.  Angie heard Frank call to his daughters and tell them that Uncle Rollie was waking up.  The sound of three little children cheering with happiness filled the receiver.

Late that night, as Angie looked out the window, she heard the muffled sound of horns and fireworks going off.  With a faint smile, she turned to the Aussie.

“Happy New Year, Rollie.  I know it’s going to be a good one.”
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE -- AWAKENING

In the movies and on TV, people often arise instantly out of comas.  One second, they would be deeply unconscious and the next they would be wide awake and talking.  In reality, it wasn’t like that.  Rollie’s emergence was slow.  It started with voluntary movement of the extremities.  Angie would squeeze Rollie’s hand and often be rewarded with an answering squeeze.  Then came the sounds.  Every now and then, Rollie would groan or make a sound, as if he was talking in his sleep.

Doctor Ridenhour continued conducting the tests, seeing a slight improvement every day.  He and Doctor Langford encouraged Rollie’s friends to give him every kind of sensory stimulation they could think of.  Angie had Frank bring in a radio, and she kept it on throughout the day.  Both she and Mira massaged his legs and arms.  Francis brought in all kinds of wonderful-smelling food, placing tiny morsels on the Aussie’s tongue.  Every morning, as soon as the sun came up, Angie would open the curtains wide, letting the light pour into the room and across the bed.  She talked to him almost constantly about everything imaginable.  When she wasn’t talking to him, then someone else was.  Mira and Frank were there every day.  Several other people from the station, as well as a number of movie people that Rollie had worked with in the past, also came to visit.  Among them were the director and the producer of Double-Edged.  Bill Harris looked distinctly more subdued than he had the last time she saw him.  Apologizing continually, the two men explained that they had gotten another F/X company to finish the movie.  They’d had no choice.  Their budget simply could not afford a lengthy delay.  Angie assured them that she and Rollie understood.  They then told her that if there was any computer work that she had already gotten started on, it would be fine with them if she contacted the other F/X company to arrange things so that she could finish what she started, then give it to them.

Jack Traber, the producer of White Light, also stopped by.  Angie was honest and told him that she didn’t know if Rollie would be well enough to work by the date they had scheduled to start filming.  Jack, a longtime acquaintance of theirs, told her that he would hold out till the last possible moment before hiring someone else.  Grateful for his consideration, Angie thanked him.

Rollie’s response to all the stimuli was very promising.  He moved his arms and legs often and was very vociferous at times, sometime uttering an almost recognizable word.  His eyelids would open and close occasionally, staying open for no more than a second or two.  Angie knew that Rollie had to recover at his own pace, but, more than anything in the world, she wanted him to open his eyes and look at her.  She wanted to gaze into those warm brown depths and tell him that she loved him.

Rollie had been moved out of the ICU and into the hospital’s rehabilitation facility.  Therapists came in every day to massage and stimulate Rollie’s muscles and limbs.  The Aussie often reacted to this with increased vocalization and movement, especially when the therapist hit a ticklish spot.

Even though, since being moved out of the ICU, Rollie was no longer officially under Mark Langford care, the doctor was still involving himself closely in the case and visited pretty much every day.  Angie deeply appreciated his concern and had begun to think of him more as a friend than a doctor.

It was late one night and Angie was dosing in the chair beside the bed, her hand laid lightly on Rollie’s, when she suddenly came awake.  Rollie’s hand had moved.  She picked it up, holding it tightly, her eyes glued on the Aussie’s face.  The eyelids twitched once, twice, then slowly opened.  The eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing.

“Rollie?  Hey there, sleepyhead.  It’s about time you woke up.”  She bent closer.  “Do you know that I love you?”

Slowly, his eyes turned toward her.  There was no recognition in the brown depths as Rollie looked at her.  Doctor Ridenhour had told her that this would probably be the case, so she was not overly upset.  After about half a minute, his eyelids closed, and he lapsed back into sleep.  This was also to be expected.

Over the next couple of days Rollie opened his eyes several more times.  Each time, they stayed open longer.  Sometimes, there was a faint look of recognition in the brown depths, and other times they looked distant and confused.  Then a morning came when Rollie’s eyelids opened, he turned, and stared straight at her.  His eyes were clear and questioning.

Smiling down at him, Angie said, “Hey there, stranger.  How are you doing?”

Faint noises started coming from his throat, as if he were trying to speak.  She saw him struggle to form words an