“Well, that missile was fired by Cunningham himself, as he stood behind his desk in the Oval Office. I know this, because I was standing opposite him with a gun to my head when he did it. And do you want to know why he did it? He did it to fuck with me. You see, the final stage of his plan was to actually attack the United States and frame North Korea for it. In his twisted wisdom, he had convinced himself that doing so would guarantee that every man, woman, and child on this planet would turn to him for protection. Protection from a war he started. He said it needed doing, but because he wanted to fuck with me personally and make some kind of point, he actually aimed the missile at the small town of Devil’s Spring, which was where I’d been living for the last two years or so. It was where my life away from all this was rooted. Where the woman I loved was… He put a hole in America just to make me suffer, so yes, I think he deserved to die.”
I’ve just realized I’m breathing heavily, like I’ve been running, and I’m grinding my teeth hard enough to make my jaw ache. The anger in Kaitlyn’s eyes has gone, replaced by what looks like sympathy and… understanding.
She walks over to me, stands at the side of the bed, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I… I had no idea. All this time, all our sessions together… you were trying to deal with this incredible burden, and the pain it’s been causing you, without actually telling me what you were going through.”
I shrug. “It’s not exactly something you can go into great detail about…”
She sits on the edge of the bed and smiles. “I’ll do you a deal, Adrian. You get us both out of this in one piece, and I’ll gladly continue being your therapist. And you’ll be free to talk about anything, openly and honestly, in our sessions. Okay? I’m very good at what I do, but I don’t need to be to see when someone really needs help.”
I take a deep breath and calm down. I smile back at her. “That’s… That would be great, thank you.”
Over her shoulder, I see the door to my room open. She looks around as a guy steps inside holding a tablet device. I’ve not seen him before. He’s younger than the first doctor, maybe early forties. He stands at the foot of my bed and presses the screen of the device a few times, looking at it thoughtfully. He has a thick, dark beard, trimmed and styled, and thin-framed glasses resting low on his nose.
He looks up at me. “Mr. Foley?”
Again, the English is impeccable.
I wave at him with my bandaged right hand. “That’s me.”
Kaitlyn turns and smiles at me, and then moves to sit in the chair she was sleeping in.
The new guy looks back at the tablet, taps the screen a few more times, and then looks up from it and holds it down by his side. “Mr. Foley, you have suffered some moderate damage to the flexor tendons in your right hand.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound good…?”
He shrugs. “It’s not really a case of it being good or bad, it’s just something that can happen. Obviously, the circumstances surrounding your injury are quite extreme. I understand you’ve also suffered some minor injuries to your back?”
“Yeah, cuts and bruises mostly, I think. Nothing to worry about.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem awfully calm and collected considering you were very recently in a building that was blown up?”
I glance over at Kaitlyn, and then look back at him. “I’m just… It’s over, and I’m alive… that’s all that matters, y’know?”
He smiles professionally. “Of course. It’s not really my place or area of expertise, but there are services available if you want to talk. Sometimes the onset of shock can come about after the events have transpired.”
I nod. “I appreciate that, thanks, but I’m okay.”
“Okay then. So I’ve taken a look at your x-ray, and you’re going to need surgery to repair the damaged tendons.”
Surgery? Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
He smiles, as if he’s trying to offer some comfort. I’m guessing because of the look I undoubtedly have on my face. He’ll have taken it as fear at the idea of surgery, but it’s not. I’m not scared of the surgery. I’m not scared at all. What I am, is very concerned about the fact I’m going to be incapacitated and completely defenseless when there’s someone trying to kill me.
“It’s a simple procedure and nothing at all to worry about,” he says.
“Yeah… that’s fine. Listen, is this surgery possible with a local or regional anesthetic by any chance?”
He shakes his head. “No, you will need to go fully under for the procedure. Recovery time, all told, is usually around three months, give or take, depending on the individual. Your hand will need to be fully splinted for the first few weeks. We can then start looking at rehabilitation. I see no reason why you won’t be able to fully recover from this, but it will take time to regain the strength and movement in your hand that you had before this.”
I lock eyes with Kaitlyn, and her expression very much mirrors how I’m feeling right now.
Like we’re in deep shit.
20
I open my eyes slowly. My vision’s blurry, obscured by a fog that only ever follows an unexpectedly deep sleep. I blink hard to clear it and wait for my surroundings to morph into focus. I’m lying on my side, staring at a wall. Sunlight is streaming in through the nearby window. I frown and squint as I try to remember where I am.
What—
I widen my eyes as everything comes flooding back.
Shit! I can’t believe I fell asleep!
I turn and sit bolt upright, immediately alert. I instinctively scan the room for any hint of a threat. The door’s still closed, which is a good sign. But I’m alone, which isn’t so good…
Where’s Kaitlyn?
Shit.
I look down at my right hand. The bandage is slightly discolored from the blood that’s still seeping from the wound. I try to clench my fist, but don’t even get halfway. The pain itself is manageable. The thing I’m struggling with is that it feels like I’m making a fist when I’m not. Like, it’s clenched as much as possible, when, in fact, my palm is practically open.
Shit.
Shit!
I can’t believe I need surgery on my shooting hand. I’m alright with my left, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t say I’m proficient enough with it to confidently use it instead of my right. That’s going to take some practice.
Not exactly the best time to handicap an assassin, either…
The door opens and Kaitlyn walks in holding two cups of coffee. She smiles. “Morning.”
I flick my head up. “Hey. You scared the shit outta me. Where’ve you been?”
She frowns, confused. “I… only went for coffee, Adrian…”
I look away for a moment. I need to pull my head out of my ass, stop myself from turning into an over-protective parent, and remember who I am, and start focusing on the goddamn problem at hand.
…
…
…
Okay — head’s removed, focus resumed.
I turn back to her. “Yeah… sorry. This whole thing with Lily has put me on edge, and now I’m basically one-handed, I’m worried about my ability to keep you safe.”
She smiles again, warm and friendly, confident. “And what about you? Who’s keeping you safe?”
I frown. “Well… me, I guess. But I’m not really concerned about my own safety — I can handle myself. I need to protect you. You’ve already been affected by problems… I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. I need to—”
She’s raised both eyebrows and is looking at me somewhat bemused.