He pulled the towel from his head and felt his face screw up with puzzlement. Roxy had NOT CHANGED AT ALL. Natalie's mother was always a bit of a nut. He was fortunate she did not recognize him or, for that matter, remove the towel from his head. He'd grunted to sound like John McBain. "Let's face it," he said aloud, "he's the tall silent type."
The day went along as pretty much normal after that. He's sat, thinking, or reading The Sun, or watching television daytime drama. "Who writes this stuff? And what the HECK is 'The Chew'?" He was considering a nap, or at least some rest, after last night's interrupted sleep, when the phone rang. It was Tomas Delgado, calling to speak to John McBain. He took a chance, scrambled to the phone and answered it. His best impersonation of McBain landed the cop with an appointment to talk to Tomas at the premier that evening. He'd have to break it to McBain when he got back.
He found himself hungry, hungry enough to raid McBain's pantry without asking. Not the nicest thing to do to someone helping you out, but it had been a long couple of days. The last thing he'd eaten was the apple that McBain had given him the night before. Before the dreams. "Manning, you sure have been through it all," he heard himself say, "and to think, Ireland used to be the worst of it. Until 8 years ago." A sharp pain shot through his temple, and he immediately stopped. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. He was still in McBain's apartment. "I might be crazy," he said again. "I just might. How do I know I am not? Those dreams, the memory flashes . . ." he paused. "Damn I'm hungry," and his thoughts went back to another time.
There was nothing better he had experienced that he could remember (which was not far at all) than the breakfast he ate that morning. The eggs, lightly salted and peppered, the bacon, perfectly done, and the coffee, nothing but black - but although not fancy, it was the best. Even though he had to be fed, by Lilly, bite by bite and sip by sip, he felt alive and priviliged. For that moment, he felt a bit of grace come over him, in some way, and the sun helped by peeking through the window and bouncing off the mounds of snow.
The coffee was the hardest part. He could not, at this point, lift either arm to grasp the cup. Lifting his head too far off the pillow made it hurt profusely. He and Lilly, over the last few hours, had developed a system of how exactly to help him ingest liquids and it did not include an IV drip.
Aman sat at the kitchen table, eating in silence. He could see the man from his bed, serious-faced and strong. Everything seemed simple. Their clothes, their home, and them. So easy. Lilly began to clean up the kitchen and scrape the leftovers into a pail.
"Okay, someone has a promise to keep."
"I don't remember making a promise, lad." She answered, her back to him.
"You did."
"All right, the two of ya, cut this out." Aman said. He was sucking down the last of his coffee.
"Aman," his voice got serious and softer. "please. Tell me what happened to me."
Aman pulled a chair by the bed. He rolled up his sleeves, as if digging into a deep, dirty job. "All right, lad." He stopped for a moment, and pulled out his pipe. Todd could smell the cherriness before he even lit it.
"You had a concussion. You had a fever, that put you into a deep sleep for two months. You broke your collar bone. You broke your arm. You cut open the other one. Both your legs are broken in several places. You broke your pelvic bone. You broke 10 ribs. And, you were shot in the back."
He didn't respond. Instead, he turned his face away, toward the window. The sun was still peeking, and the glare of the snow diamonds was bringing him some head pain.
"You're alive, boy. That's the biggest thing."
His eyes stung with tears. He couldn't imagine being better, or being able to walk. His legs were dead to him. He felt Aman's hand on his shoulder, tentatively and light as not to injure him. "You're alive."
He closed his eyes. Letting the tears fade a bit, he turned back to Aman. "Thank you for telling me this. Who shot me?"
Aman didn't know how to explain, or even if he was right. "I don't know for certain, lad, but a friend of mine was outside behind the Wild Swan, relievin' himself, when it happened. We think it was the Men of 21."
"Who are they?" He thought of the man's sneer in his mind-pictures. Somehow, he knew that man had nothing to do with The Men of 21.
"Let's just say, you don't want to know them. A kind of evil, I guess you might say."
Confused, he asked politely, "Aman, can I rest a while? I didn't sleep last night."
"Of course, lad. And I know what you're thinking. But you're wrong. You will get well. If you could make it this far, through all of that, and whatever came before, you can get well." And with that, he got up, leaving Todd with stinging eyes that turned back to the window's gateway to crystal snow.
He trapsed into the kitchen and noticed that there was practically nothing there. In the freezer, he found a tray of mac and cheese, and decided it would have to do. Thinking of eggs and bacon, he hit power on the microwave.
I'm all caught up now!
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