Merciless (33 page)

“Mmm?”

“Why’s it been such a long time?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, Lex. Me, too.”

Five minutes later, Lex was asleep. I glanced at the clock. Midnight. We’d been here
over three hours without any idea what was going on. Had they taken Mason to surgery?
Was he alone, wondering why I
wasn’t by his side, as he’d been by my side all the times I’d needed him in the last
year?

Was he . . . ?

No.
Fuck
no. I wouldn’t think that way. I couldn’t.

I watched people come in, wait around, and leave. Sick babies and worried parents.
An older woman with a hacking cough that sounded like pneumonia. A couple of drunks
who’d done stupid things and were bleeding all over the tile.

The clock ticked from midnight, to one o’clock, to two o’clock. I tried like hell
not to freak out that I hadn’t seen a single medical person in five hours.

I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back against the wall. I wondered if anything
was going through Dawson’s mind right now, or if it was blessedly blank.

I’d had my share of concussions. The worst one had happened as a fluke. Our elite
squad was supposed to be in Fallujah only overnight, long enough to sneak in and eliminate
our target. But the assassination infuriated the locals, and they stepped up their
aggression. We had no choice but to stay and return fire until reinforcements arrived.

The shit vehicle we were assigned for patrol had no protective combat panels. It was
an open jeep with a turret rifle mounted in the back. I was in full battle rattle,
manning the turret, scanning the area for sniper activity. Then we were so busy trying
to return fire that the driver didn’t see an IED until the front tire hit it.

The last thing I remember was flying through the air, in slow motion, like in a scene
from
The Matrix,
before I smacked into a concrete wall headfirst and the lights went out.

The combat helmet saved my life, but I’d hit hard enough to crack it in half like
a walnut. The impact knocked me out cold. Because they weren’t sure if my brain would
swell, the medical personnel kept me out and under observation for twenty-four hours.
I freaked out when I woke up in a flimsy hospital gown, with a severe headache, smelling
like dirt, antiseptic, and unwashed gym socks.

My smart-ass teammates had taken my cracked helmet and strung the two broken pieces
together with cord, gluing dead brown weeds and sand on the outside, turning it into
a gigantic coconut bra.

I must’ve dozed off because a hand on my shoulder gently shook me awake. “Mrs. Dawson?”

I blinked groggily at the nurse in blue scrubs. “I’m Mason’s fiancée. Mercy Gunderson.”

“The doctor would like to speak with you.” She glanced at Lex, who sat up and rubbed
his eyes. “Do you want me to stay out here with your son while you go back?”

“No, he’s coming with me.”

“That’s fine.” We followed her. She coded in a number on the keypad and swiped her
ID. The big doors opened.

It was eerily quiet in the ER. I expected people to be yelling and machines to be
beeping. Nurses and doctors racing about. But the action seemed to be centered on
banks of monitors. The overhead lights were dim. I caught sight of medical personnel
with their feet up on the desk, heads back, taking a nap in the lull. One person wearing
vibrant purple scrubs dotted with horses restocked a medical supply cabinet. Another
person changed the physician’s name on a white dry erase board.

Along the corridor were rooms with curtains drawn and rooms with doors shut and rooms
with doors open; empty gurneys lined the hallway. So much to look at I nearly ran
into the back of the nurse as she let us into a tiny cubicle-like office.

The man offered his hand. “I’m Dr. Jeffers.”

“Mercy Gunderson, Mason Dawson’s fiancée. This is Lex, his son.”

“Have a seat. I know it’s been quite a few hours since Mr. Dawson was brought in,
but we needed to observe him before we decided on a course of action.”

“Has he regained consciousness?”

Dr. Jeffers shook his head. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Here’s why: the impact
with the bull caused massive swelling in his brain.”

I felt like I was going to throw up right on his neatly ordered desk.

“At this point we have no idea if there’s brain damage. In the first hours he was
under observation, the swelling increased significantly.”

“What does that mean?”

“We needed to take immediate action to stop the swelling. We gave Mr. Dawson an IV
with Mannitol, a chemical compound that helps suck water out of the brain and reduces
intracranial pressure. This procedure alleviated some of the pressure. Then my colleague,
Dr. Masters, an anesthesiologist, recommended Propofol, a sedative used during surgery,
to put Sheriff Dawson into a medically induced coma.”

“Coma?” Lex repeated.

I gently squeezed his shoulder.

“There is some controversy surrounding choosing this method, but I spoke with colleagues
after our first corrective attempt didn’t produce the hoped-for results. We believe
a medically induced coma is the best course of treatment because Sheriff Dawson is
young. He’s in excellent physical condition. Putting him under allows an opportunity
for the brain swelling to recede, which limits the amount of brain tissue that can
be permanently damaged.” Dr. Jeffers gave me a considering look. “Do you want to hear
all this now? I know it’s late, and you’ve been here for hours.”

“I’m fully awake, so fill me in.”

“The benefit of this type of treatment is that the coma is reversible. We can adjust
the amount of Propofol entering his system and bring him out of it at any time. Naturally,
we want to do that only when his brain has had a chance to heal. During a brain injury,
the metabolism of the brain is altered. With drugs that put the brain at rest, we
can try to keep it from shutting down other important body functions. But because
the main effects of the sedative are outside the brain, that also means he’s on medication
to keep his blood pressure up and to keep his heart pumping. He’s also on a respirator,
so we can mechanically control his respiration rate. We are closely monitoring his
EEG—his brain waves. Any questions so far?”

About ten million. “Any idea how long he’ll be under?”

“There is no set time. I’ve dealt with this situation before, and if I
had to hazard a guess at this point, I’d say we’re looking at around six to seven
days. Obviously, we want Mr. Dawson brought out of it as soon as it’s safe because
of the other potential health issues associated with his being in this state.”

“What other health issues?”

“Pneumonia. Blood clots. Muscle paralysis. All conditions that stem from patient immobility
during the coma and that could linger after he regains consciousness.”

I closed my eyes. So many thoughts racing through my head. Would Mason ever be the
same? And if he wasn’t . . . would he push me away? Would he think I couldn’t handle
him being less than perfect?

“I understand it’s a lot to comprehend, Miz Gunderson. And the ‘wait and see’ diagnosis
is never ideal, but it’s the only one I have right now.”

“Thank you. Thanks for . . . working to save him.” That sounded lame, but I really
didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be monitoring his condition personally. And I’ll keep you as
up-to-date as possible.” He looked at the chart. “This cell number is the best way
to reach you? Do you have a work number during the day?”

“I’m a federal agent with the FBI, but that number is your best bet for reaching me
at any hour of the day or night.”

His eyebrows rose, and he looked at me a little differently after I disclosed my occupation.

Lex blurted, “When can I see him?”

“He’s in ICU,” the doctor started. “It’s been a long night, and maybe if you come
back tomorrow—” Dr. Jeffers stopped speaking when I shook my head.

“We need to see him. If only for a minute.”

After a couple seconds he nodded. “I’ll arrange it. But you should pass on the ‘no
visitor’s’ policy to other family members.”

“His coworkers, too?”

He nodded. “The slightest infection is deadly for him. So if either of you develop
even a case of the sniffles, you’d best stay away.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll take you up to see him right now. That way I can answer any questions.”

“Sounds fair,” I said to Lex. “I know you’ll make your dad proud and follow all the
rules, right?”

Dr. Jeffers talked to Lex, trying to put him at ease. He led us out of the ER through
a maze of hallways until we were at a bank of elevators, a different set than the
ones I’d used before.

We stopped on the fourth floor and took a left. The doctor spoke briefly to a nurse,
and she directed us to an area where we put on protective clothing. Surgical masks.
Latex gloves. Plastic gowns. Once we were suited up, Dr. Jeffers stopped in front
of room 406.

I froze outside the door, waiting for courage to muscle past my fear. Waiting for
Dawson’s gentle hand to touch my face, urge me to open my eyes and reassure me that
this was just another bad dream.

Come on Mercy, wake up. It’s me. It’s just us here, remember?

But the hand clutched in mine was small. The doctor had tried to prepare Lex for what
he might see once we were in the room, yet I’d in no way prepared myself.

I couldn’t do this.

The hiss of a breathing apparatus echoed like a steam radiator, jarring me when Dr.
Jeffers opened the door.

I inhaled a deep breath. I clenched my teeth together as I exhaled out my nose.

I couldn’t do this.

“Come.
On.
” Lex dragged out those two words. Not even his impatience spurred me. He tugged at
me until I followed him.

We both stopped at seeing the big man lying in a hospital bed. The gown he wore left
his body uncovered from midthigh. I had the overwhelming urge to cover him, knowing
he’d hate being so exposed. His feet were encased in socks. I wanted to yank them
off. He hated wearing socks to bed.

I didn’t want to look higher than his feet, but I did.

Mason was hooked up to machines and IVs, and I heard the respirator’s sucking, wheezing
sounds as the machine breathed for him.

“You can come closer,” the doctor said softly.

Lex had to jerk hard on my arm to get me to move.

A bunch of apparatuses surrounded his head, so I knew he was there, but I couldn’t
actually see his face. His hands were by his sides. Even in sleep Dawson’s big hands
were curled into fists. Or his hands were on me. They were never like this. Flat.
Posed. Pale. Artificial-looking. Lifeless.

Don’t even fucking think that way.

“Dad?” Lex said. “I know you can’t talk, but I wanted you to know I’m here. Lex. And
Mercy.”

The surgical mask muffled the words, but not the earnestness in them.

Stay strong. For fuck’s sake, stay strong for this kid.

I held myself together even when everything inside me was starting to fracture.

“Mercy?” Lex said. “Don’t you wanna say something to him?”

I swallowed before I asked the doctor, “Can I touch him?”

“Briefly.”

My feet felt encased in cement as I closed the gap to the hospital bed. I ran my latex-covered
fingers over his knuckles then up his wrist and thick forearm, stopping when I reached
the sleeve of his hospital gown. I leaned forward. “I love you. And if you don’t want
the wrath of a crazy woman on your head, you will pull your stubborn ass through this.
You will not leave me alone, goddammit. You will not—” My voice caught. Only through
sheer will did I manage not to throw myself on him and weep.

I turned away. The doctor had left and a young nurse stood beside Lex.

She looked at me. “I’m sorry. You have to go.”

Lex shook his head. “I can stay and talk to him. And when he wakes up, I’ll be able
to run right out and let you guys know.”

That’s when my tears fell.

The nurse squeezed his shoulder. “That’s real sweet of you to offer, but the very
best thing you can do right now? Allow your father time to heal.”

“But they say on TV that people in a coma can hear and stuff. I don’t wanna leave
him here. I don’t want him to think that no one cares about him.”

I tugged Lex against my side, and he burrowed into me. “He knows we care, Lex. I promise,
if I thought the doctors were wrong, we’d be bunking in your dad’s hospital room.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I
thought I might have problems staying awake during the drive to the ranch, but I
focused on the sunrise. The purple horizon morphed into pink—hues ranging from bubblegum
to salmon to cotton candy—finally bleeding into the orange and peach tones of dawn.

First thing we did after stumbling out of the truck was feed the dogs. Strange to
beat Jake to that morning chore.

Then I started making calls.

Lex stayed beside me as I gave Deputy Moore the lowdown about Dawson’s condition.
She didn’t say much. I realized I probably should’ve called her earlier so she could
have filled Mason’s shift. I shut off Dawson’s cell phone and put it in his T-shirt
drawer.

Next I called Hope. I pleaded exhaustion and promised to let her know when we woke
up.

I called Shay last. I needed his gruff demeanor more than sympathy.

Lex was damn near falling asleep on his feet, so I marched him to his room. He let
me tuck him in.

Too damn wired to sleep, I paced. I sorted laundry. Geneva called to inform me that
she’d be over later with food.

Word got around fast in Eagle River County, and the home phone began to ring off the
hook. I appreciated that the sheriff garnered such genuine concern, but it was emotionally
draining to have to repeatedly explain what had happened.

I checked on Lex and finally crawled into bed myself.