July 24th
3:26 pm
Matthew Wheeler listened intently as he followed Philip Jenks through the hospital corridor with Thomas Maypenny close on his heels. As they walked, Jenks, a slender man in a brown sports jacket, filled the two worried fathers in on the happenings of the day. “Dan is still in surgery,” he explained. “The last I heard, it was going well, and they don’t think he’ll lose his leg. He lost a lot of blood, and they were concerned for a while, but the last report was very positive. The surgeon has been informed that you’re here, and he’ll have you paged as soon as he’s finished. Jim is in a private room; I figured you’d prefer that, Matt. It’s just down here.”
“What about the other man, Jannings?” Matthew asked.
“Also still in surgery,” Jenks replied. “It’s touch and go, but your two young men did a very good job just keeping him alive. The doctors think he has a good chance of recovering, barring infection.” He paused outside a room. “Jim is in there, Matt. I’m going to head home, now. If you need anything else, you call me.”
Matthew extended his hand. “You’ve done a fine job, Jenks. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”
“I’m glad I could help.” Jenks firmly shook the hand of both men, and then left them standing in front of the door.
“I can wait out here, Matthew, while you see to your son.”
“No, Thomas. Come in with me.” Matthew Wheeler placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “We’ve come this far, together; let’s finish the journey together.” He opened the door.
Jim sat in his hospital bed, his mind replaying scenes from his wild race through the woods. He was very tired, but far too keyed up to sleep. He worried about the boys, even though he had seen them less than an hour ago. He knew they were safe, together in a six-bed room, eating ice cream and watching cartoons. But still, they were very quiet and subdued, and Jim worried.
He worried about Ted, who hadn’t been conscious since early morning, and who, even now, fought for his life. What little information Jim had gleaned had sounded bad--broken ribs, infection, surgery...it made Jim shudder to think of it.
Most of all, he worried about Dan. Dan who had lost more blood in the twenty seconds it took for the rescue team to reach them than Jim had ever seen. Jim’s light blue Camp Kensey t-shirt had been soaked through with thick red blood. His hands and chest had been covered with the warm, sticky liquid. His stomach clenched at the memory, and he closed his eyes, trying to block it out. What could I have done differently? he asked himself. How could I have changed things, so that no one got hurt? What if...
The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. Anxiously, he turned his face to the door, anticipating, yet dreading, news.
Matthew Wheeler’s first feeling of joy at seeing his son was tempered by the pain and despair he saw reflected in Jim’s green eyes, as the boy turned towards him. Moving swiftly, he crossed the room and gathered his son in his arms. “Jim,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was so worried. We all were. I nearly had to tie your mother to a chair to keep her from coming with me. I’m so grateful that you are safe.”
Matthew’s words, or maybe just the raw emotion in his voice, touched something deep inside of Jim. His carefully controlled emotions broke loose, and he found himself sobbing in his father’s arms. Neither of them noticed Maypenny slip back out of the room.
Matthew rocked his son, at a loss for words. He stroked the red hair and murmured soft sounds that he hoped sounded comforting. Emotionally spent, Jim finally stilled, resting his head against Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew kept his arms around the boy, holding him tight.
“I’m okay, Dad.” Jim’s voice was quiet, but laced with bitterness. “I’m always all right, aren’t I?”
“Jim?” Matthew pulled himself away from his son. “Jim, what is this about?”
Jim stared into his father’s eyes, and Matthew felt his heart fall at the bleakness in the emerald eyes.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Jim asked. “No matter what happens, I always end up okay.” When Matthew didn’t respond, Jim continued. “I had a perfect childhood. I did, right up until my dad got so sick. And then, I found out I’m the sole heir to a fortune, and I get adopted by one of the richest people in the country. I’ve got friends, and money, and a rosy, happy future, and I felt like I deserved it. Like it was retribution for those three horrible years with Jonesy.”
“Jim,” Matthew began.
“No. It’s true.” Jim closed his eyes. “It all happened so fast, I never had a chance to wonder about it. After, I thought it was kind of cool, like God sent you to me, to make up for those years when He abandoned me. I’ve tried. I’ve really tried to be the kind of man I should be, the kind of son and brother and friend that everyone needs me to be, but it’s so hard sometimes. I screw up, and other people get hurt, but never me. Never me.” Jim pulled out of Matthew’s grip, leaning back against the pillows, his fingers twisting the sheet.
“I made some really bad decisions this time, Dad. I hit Bill, and he shot Ted. I pressured Dan to break into the house, and I made him steal the truck. I told him that I’d say I stole it, but no one is going to believe that I hot wired an old truck and managed to keep it running for almost fifty miles with a...a frozen...leaking...broken...whatever. I’m the one who thought it would be a good idea to split up and try to lead Bill away from the kids. My idea, and Dan’s the one that pays. Bill shot him! He was lying there, bleeding to death, and I’m fine. Hardly a mark on me. Again.”
Jim covered his face with his hands. Matthew tried to pull the boy close again, but Jim pulled away. Matthew closed his eyes, hoping for the right words. Help me, Win, he thought. Help me help our son.
“Jim,” he said, his voice calm, yet stern. “I want you to listen to me, and I want you to really hear what I’m saying to you. Look at me.” Slowly, Jim removed his hands, his eyes wary, as they met Matthew’s gaze. “No one expects you to be perfect, except you. I’m not going to second guess the decisions you made up there in the mountains, because I wasn’t there. I can’t imagine the amount of pressure you and Dan were under. I do know that you are not responsible for Murdock shooting Ted. Murdock chose to point the gun, the bullet is his responsibility.”
“You and Dan got a seriously wounded man and six little boys safely down that mountain. I don’t know what truck you are talking about, but I can say, absolutely, that neither of you are going to have trouble because of it. That I can promise. As for Dan getting shot, again, you didn’t pull the trigger, and from what I was told, you helped keep him from bleeding to death out there. Am I wrong?”
“No. No, sir. I guess not.” Jim looked at his fingers, his face pale. “Dad, there was so much blood. It was all over him, all over me. I tried to remember everything I learned in first aid class, but it all jumbled together. I don’t know if I helped or just hurt him. What if I screwed it up? What if something I did, or didn’t do means that Dan...”
“Stop!” Matthew reached for Jim’s hand. “Just stop it! You can’t go around ‘what iffing’. From all accounts, Dan is going to be okay.” He sighed. “We all screw up sometimes, son. I think that your mother and I might have made a huge mistake when we decided not to send you to counseling, after the adoption. You just seemed to adapt so well, but Jim...We’ve never expected you to be perfect, and we aren’t going to love you any less if you aren’t. You are a decent human being, a caring young man, and you do your best. That’s all anyone can ask.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Jim whispered. “Are you sure Dan is going to be okay? No one has told me anything, and there was so much blood.”
“I think he’s going to be fine.” Matthew looked around, noticing for the first time that Thomas Maypenny had gone. “Are you?”
“I always am.” Jim’s voice had lost the bitterness, but the flatness remained.
“No,” Matthew told him. “You aren’t. You might not have a bullet in you, but you hurt, all the same. This happened to you, too, son. Maybe you weren’t physically harmed, but you are not okay. Admit it.”
Jim was silent. When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely audible. “You’re right, Dad, I’m not okay. I keep asking myself what I could have done to make things different, to keep everyone safe, but I can’t think of anything.”
“Did you do your best?”
“I thought so at the time.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Matthew smiled. “I love you, Jim, and so do your mother, your sister, and a great many other people. Warts and all, good choices, bad choices, we love you. Try to remember that, please?”
“I will,” Jim sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m suddenly very tired.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Matthew replied dryly. “I’m going to check on Dan. Try to sleep a little, and I’ll be back with news as soon as possible.”
“Okay.” Jim rolled onto his side, facing his father. “Thanks, Dad.”
You’re welcome, son.” Matthew rose from the bed, and brushed Jim’s hair off of his forehead. “I love you. Don’t forget that.” A faint smile was his only answer.
“Funny how we love them all the more because they’re damaged, isn’t it?”
Thomas Maypenny’s voice startled Matthew out of his reverie. He turned to find the older man standing in front of him, hands in his pockets.
“I’m only beginning to realize that,” Matthew replied. “Where did you go?”
“I took a little walk. The two of you looked like you could use some private time. Jim’s feeling guilty, isn’t he?”
“How did you know?
“Survivor’s guilt. I felt it after I lost my family. Jim, well, he’s a sensitive young man. I reckon he didn’t take well to his people getting hurt.”
“That’s an understatement,” Matthew sighed. Anything else he wanted to say was cut off as he heard his name over the intercom system. “That’s probably about Dan. Let’s head over to the desk and find out where the heck we need to go.
“Are you sure you are a relative?” asked the white coat clad doctor, giving the older man a thoroughly suspicious up and down look.
“Yes. At least I will be as soon as the papers are signed,” Thomas Maypenny grumbled. “I am his legal guardian, and I want to see him, now please.”
“How long has Mr. Mangan been in your care, sir?”
“Daniel has been with me a little over a year. About seventeen months, to be exact. Why do you ask?”
The doctor relaxed slightly. “I ask because during the course of treatment, we noted some...indications of past abuse. We took some films, and noticed some bones that had been broken, and not set quite right, some...scarring. None of it appeared recent, but before I let you see him, I needed to check.”
Maypenny’s eyes narrowed. “I can appreciate your concern, but we haven’t discussed the things that happened before he came to live with me,” he said. “We concentrate on living in the here and now. Speaking of now...”
“Doctor,” Matthew Wheeler intervened. “Thomas has been very patient. We would very much like to see Daniel.”
“Of course, sir.” The doctor was definitely more impressed by the millionaire than by the woodsman. “But I warn you, Daniel is still pretty out of it. The bullet was slowed down some by the tree, but it still lodged in the muscle of his thigh. It nicked the femoral artery, but fortunately his friend put pressure on it, and the paramedics were able to stop the bleeding before he suffered irreparable blood loss. The surgery was long; there was quite a bit of soft tissue damage, but it went very well. The bullet was removed, and he should make a full recovery within a month or so.” The doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic jar. Inside were a good many large slivers of wood. “These also came out of various parts of his body; it’s shrapnel from the tree.” He handed the jar to Maypenny, who took it with a grimace. “This way.”
The Recovery Room was very sterile. Dan rested on white bed linens, his dark hair the only contrast against the starkness of the room. Maypenny pulled a chair up next to the bed, and lowered himself into it, as his knees suddenly felt less supportive than he was used to. Matthew took in the IV drip and the heart monitor, staring at them as if they actually made sense to him. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go make sure they move him in with Jim as soon as possible. Is that okay with you?”
Maypenny nodded. “He’ll like that. Thank you. I’ll just sit here with him until he wakes.”
As Matthew left, Thomas Maypenny leaned forward and covered Dan’s hand with his own. It was warm, and that warmth brought some comfort to the man, despite the pallor of his son’s skin.
Spokane, WA
6:27 pm PST
Dan felt as if he were floating and sinking at the same time. His mind was free and light, like a feather caught in a gentle breeze, while his body felt as if it were filled with sand. With a little effort, he managed to force open his eyes, but closed them quickly when they encountered bright, white light.
“I saw that, Daniel.” The voice was gruff and familiar. As he pushed his eyes open again, Dan became aware of the work-roughened hand gently grasping his own. Rolling his head to one side, Dan gazed into the weathered face of Thomas Maypenny.
“Hi,” he whispered, concentrating to make his lips form the words. “How did you get here?”
“On Matthew Wheeler’s fancy-schmancy Lear jet, that’s how. Damned newfangled piece of tin.” Maypenny growled the words, but he couldn’t disguise the twinkle in his eye, or the grin that split his face from ear to ear. “I’m glad you’re awake, son.”
“He shot me.” It was a statement. Maypenny nodded.
“That he did, my boy. Fortunately, he shot the tree first, and slowed the bullet some. You will be fine in no time at all.” He handed Dan the jar of splinters. “The police needed the bullet for evidence, but they said you could keep these as a souvenir.”
Dan tried to wrap his fingers around the jar, but failed. “What are those?”
“The hemlock splinters the doc pulled out of you.” Maypenny chuckled. “Jim Frayne has a similar jar. He’s in a room downstairs. Matthew went to make sure you two could be roomies for a day or two.”
“Jim didn’t get shot.” Dan was thoroughly confused. “Did he?”
“No, no. He’s worried about you, of course, as I hear you bled on him quite a bit, but physically, Jim’s fine. The doctors want to keep all of the campers here for a day or two, make sure everyone is rehydrated and all. You might have to stay a couple extra days, depending on how fast you heal.”
“What about Ted?” Dan’s mind was clearing, but he felt so weary.
“The man who was shot?” Dan nodded. “He’s still in surgery, but it was going well, the last I heard,” Maypenny assured him. “You and Jim did a good job keeping him alive.” Maypenny looked sharply at Dan. “There’ll be time for talking later, son. Right now you look tired. Sleep a bit, why don’t you.”
Dan nodded, his long, dark lashes sweeping his pale cheeks. “Don’t let them drug me anymore,” he whispered. “I hate it. It makes it too hard to think.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Maypenny patted Dan’s hand.
“Will you stay?”
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me out of here, boy. Sleep. I’ll be with you when you wake.” Dan moved his fingers slightly, so that he was grasping the old man’s hand, and gave himself back over to sleep.
Spokane, WA
8:30pm
Maypenny waited quietly, watching as Dan slept. Finally, the boy’s fingers relaxed, and released their grip on Maypenny’s hand. He rose then, pulling the pale blue blanket up and tucking it securely around the boy’s body. Dan made a sound, kind of a cross between a groan and a sniffle, and Maypenny smiled down on him, one calloused hand brushing gently against the pale cheek, before moving to stroke the dark hair.
Memories assailed him, dragging him back nearly forty years, to Jacob’s room. He could see the blue painted walls, with the baseball bats and balls stenciled on the walls. He had stood over his son’s bed back then, stroking his hair, with a heart filled with love and pride, and just the smallest amount of awe.
Just like now.
The thought flitted across his mind, and the past faded back into the white walled sterility of the hospital room. Thomas Maypenny looked down at the sleeping figure, and knew without a doubt that he had made the right decision. He had lost his chance--and his son, the first time around. He would not take this second chance for granted.
The door opened, and light flooded the room, the sudden brightness startling the patient awake. Squinting, Dan‘s eyes met Maypenny’s, and he relaxed. The nurse bustled in, and Maypenny barely had time to smile down at Dan, before he was shunted off to the side.
“Glad to see you awake, Mr. Mangan,” the nurse said cheerfully, as she began checking his vital signs. “How are you feeling? Did you have a nice nap?”
“Yes, thank you,” Dan rasped. “But I am kind of thirsty.”
“That’s to be expected. Let me get you situated, and you can have some water.” The nurse pushed a button on the end of the bed, and Dan’s head and shoulders began to lift. “I’m going to check you over, and if you pass inspection, we’ll be able to move you downstairs with your friend.” She poured a glass of water from a pitcher near the bed, added a straw, and held it so Dan could sip. “I’m going to ask your grandfather to step out into the hall for a moment, okay?”
Dan swallowed, the cool water soothing his arid throat as he shook his head. “He’s not my grandfather,” he corrected, his words slurring slightly. “He’s my father.”
“Oh! I am so sorry, sir.” The nurse blushed as she apologized to Maypenny.
“It’s a common mistake,” Maypenny said, his eyes on Dan, the emotion in them ringing as clear as day. “I’m going to step out for a few moments, son. I promised your uncle I would call, and I haven’t done that yet. I’ll be back.”
Dan smiled, almost shyly. “I know...Dad. Tell Uncle Bill that I’m okay.”
“I won’t lie to him anymore than I’ll lie to you,” Maypenny told him gruffly. “So I guess I will have to tell him that you are awake, and that it looks as though you’ll be just fine.” He placed a hand on Dan’s head, and said again, “I’ll be right back.” He fumbled for his handkerchief as he left the room, unwilling to let either the nurse or the boy see his tears.
Sleepyside, NY
11:48 pm EST
Bill Regan was sitting perfectly still on his couch, his hands clasped in his lap, his eyes staring off into an unseen distance. If any of his friends had seen him, they would have been stunned, as Regan was not known for his immobility. In a normal situation, he would be pacing, or cleaning, or working in the stable. This was anything but a normal situation. This was waiting, and it was sheer hell.
Madeleine Wheeler had invited him to wait in the big house with the family, to share in their worry and joy. Regan couldn’t do it. Madeleine’s son was fine. Whole and healthy and unharmed. The same could not be said of Regan’s nephew. And so he waited, with the telephone inches away, waiting for a call that could completely change his life.
He stared at the wall, but what he saw was in his memory. Regan replayed each moment he had spent with his nephew--from their hostile and difficult beginning, all the way through the easy camaraderie they mostly shared at the end. Now, he reminded himself. Not the end. Now. It can’t be the end. Please, God, don’t let it be the end. Regan’s chin trembled, and he stiffened, pulling himself still.
That first phone call from Thomas Maypenny, coming just before seven, had been light on information. Jim was fine, but Dan had been shot. Shot! Regan had stood as if frozen, the receiver like a lead weight. Maypenny’s voice had faded, almost as if he were under water, as Regan had struggled with the news. Surgery. Blood loss. Amputation. Death. None of those words belonged in the same sentence with Regan’s nephew. Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease!
The telephone shrilled, interrupting Regan’s prayer. With trembling fingers, he picked up the receiver and croaked, “Regan.”
“Bill, it’s Thomas. Daniel is awake, and I think he’s going to be fine.”
“He’s okay?” Regan asked, tightening his grip on the phone. “Truly?”
“So he wanted me to tell you,” Maypenny chuckled. “I’m not sure that is the term I would use.” He sobered. “He’s pale as a ghost, he’s drugged up pretty good, and I’m guessing he’ll be feeling poorly when the medication wears off. Considering what might have happened though, yes. He’s doing well.”
“Thank God. Thank God.” Regan felt himself beginning to shake, and was happy he was still sitting down. “Tell him...” he stopped, trying to swallow the tears that threatened to choke him. “Tell him, I’m happy. And relieved...and tell him that I...love him, okay?”
“That I’ll do.” Regan heard the emotion in Maypenny’s voice, clear as a bell despite the distance. “They’re planning on moving him out of Recovery very soon. If he’s up to it, I’ll have him call you tomorrow. Then you can tell him yourself.”
“Thanks, Thomas.” Regan was barely able to manage the words. “Thank you for everything.”
Maypenny simply said, “Take care, Liam Regan,” and the phone went dead.
Regan carefully replaced the receiver, and then buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
