Chapter Twenty-Five
Two days later…
Emily Quartermaine staggered under the weight of the big cardboard box that she carried down the hall of General Hospital. After school let out, she'd gathered the items together and packed up the box to bring to Lucky's room.
Lucky had been moved from the ICU to a regular room that day. Emily paused at his doorway, knocked, then entered. She threw the box down on the floor and let the air out of her lungs. "Gee…." she laughed.
Lucky opened his good eye, looked over at the box, then to Emily's face. "You moving in?" he asked. "The service is good, but the food sucks."
Emily laughed again and sat down next to
Lucky's bed. Lucky was looking much better than he had yesterday.
*** When Emily entered Lucky's ICU room, Tony Jones was there by his bedside. "Tony!" she gasped when she saw her best friend. "What's wrong with Lucky? Please tell me he's okay."
Lucky was deathly still and pale with a huge black eye and what looked like tubes everywhere. He looked much worse than when Emily last visited.
Tony's face softened when he saw Emily's trembling lips and upset face. "Lucky's okay, Emily. He tripped yesterday, hit his head and gave himself that black eye. He has a feeding tube now that will give him better nutrition so he can recuperate more quickly." Tony reached out and took Emily's hand. "He's been asleep all day and probably won't be awake until tomorrow."
Emily took in a ragged breath. "He's my best friend, Tony. I don't know what I'd do if he…"
Tony squeezed her hand. "Lucky's going to recover, Emily. It will just take time. He has a lot of problems, but nothing we can't fix. Actually, I was thinking that there's something very important that you can do to help Lucky."
"What?" asked Emily. "I'll do anything you say. What can I do?"
"Lucky isn't adjusting well to being in an all-white, sterile hospital room. I think that it would do his spirit a world of good if you'd decorate his room for him with his favorite colors, posters, plants, anything that you know he enjoys. What do you think?"
"Tony, that's a great
idea!" Emily bubbled with enthusiasm. This is going to be so much fun!" ***
Emily first pulled out a large cactus in a brightly colored and patterned dish. "Memories of Arizona," she smiled, placing it on his bedside table. She placed a mini CD player next to the cactus and plugged it in. She fanned out six CD's and held them up in Lucky's face. "Your favorites!" she grinned. "At least they were last year!"
"You didn't stick in any Zamfir Pan Flute or Boxcar Willie CD's did you?" Lucky teased. "Cause a man has his standards, you know."
Emily lightly punched his arm and snorted, "You Spencers are such music snobs."
Finally, Emily pulled out four posters to tape on the walls. "I'll let you pick three out of the four," she stated. Lucky picked out the Arizona landscape and the two abstract art posters. He laughed when she opened up the Spice Girls poster. "It's been so long since we've hung out, that I wasn't sure if your tastes had changed," she said innocently, batting her eyelashes at him.
Lucky's face was bright and shining. "Thanks, Em," he said. "You're great." His eyes grew hooded and he stifled a yawn.
Emily bent over Lucky and kissed his cheek lightly. "Anything for you, Lucky," she said softly. "I'll be back to see you soon. You look like you need to rest."
Lucky fell asleep with his lips curved upwards.
~*~*~*~
Lucky woke about two hours after Emily
left. He still felt very ill and tired, like all the sleep in the world still wouldn't
make a dent in the endless, dragging feeling. He fingered the feeding tube. The idea of it
bothered him more than the actual physical reality, but Tony had explained why it was
necessary.
*** It was eight o'clock in the evening. Lucky had been sedated for twelve hours after his feeding tube was inserted. He'd already received two feedings while he was asleep. His stomach felt funny - it had been many months since it had been full. Lucky opened one eye, the other one was a combination of red, black and blue and was swollen shut. An urge to cough overwhelmed him, and he bent over his right side, coughing until the urgent feeling passed. His hand brushed something hard and cylindrical to the side of his nose and mouth.
Tony Jones reached out and carefully removed Lucky's hand from his face and lowered it to the bed. "Lucky," he said quietly. "You've been out for about a day after you fell and hit your head. Dr. Thornhart decided that you needed more nutrition than you were receiving from your IV, so a feeding tube was inserted into your stomach. It is temporary, just until you gain enough weight to help you heal."
Lucky looked into Tony's kind eyes. He turned his head and squeezed his eyes tightly in embarrassment and humiliation.
Tony saw his reaction and said, "Lucky, strong people accept help when they need it. Your need for the hospital and a feeding tube don't make you a weak person. The quicker that you can gain weight, the sooner you can leave this place. That's a good thing, right?"
"I don't know," Lucky
answered in a small, wavering voice. ***
~*~*~*~
Lieutenant Taggert walked into Lucky Spencer's hospital room with a letter in his jacket pocket.
Lucky was sleeping, his head to the side, chest rising slowly and carefully with labored breaths. Taggert was a bit shocked at the sight of Lucky. The last time he'd seen him, Lucky was unconscious and dying, but he expected that he'd be fine after a couple of days in the hospital. The beat-up Lucky that he was looking at had a terrible black eye with bruises running down the side of his face, complete with tubes, IV's, and oxygen apparatus. Maybe I wasn't misleading Luke Spencer, he thought as his forehead creased.
Lucky woke up to see Lt. Taggert staring at him intently. Omigosh, why is he here? Am I busted? Lucky continued to look at him warily, shifting in his bed. Taggert walked over and asked, "Mind if I sit down?" Lucky shook his head.
"You looked like a corpse last time I saw you, Lucky. Glad to see that you're doing better," Taggert said seriously. When Lucky didn't reply, Taggert continued. "I have some of your things down at the station - stuff you left behind in the park." If Lucky were still wearing a cardiac monitor, it would have gone off the scale as he waited in terror for the inevitable.
"Since we weren't sure if you were a crime scene or not, we went through your bags of possessions," Taggert stated calmly. Lucky started choking and coughing. Taggert stood up and poured him a glass of water from a tan, plastic pitcher. After he recovered, Lucky sat up and took the glass from Taggert, sipping the water slowly while his mind raced. What did I leave in there? I think I took any drugs that I had, but I don't remember. Ohmigod! The money. He has the money I stole from Roy. Think! Think! What am I gonna do?
Taggert regarded Lucky with his steely gaze. "It's good to see that you believe in registering your gun, Mr. Spencer," he said with his eyes never leaving Lucky's face. Lucky cringed. He's torturing me on purpose! Just pull out the cuffs and get it over with. "You can stop by the station to pick it up after you've recovered. Of course, we did run a check on it." Taggert paused for his statement to make its full effect. Lucky just regarded him with as stony of a face as he could manage. If he were wearing pants, he'd surely have messed them by now.
"The gun's clean," Taggert finally said. "But, of course you knew that." Even Taggert had a sense of humor, and the corner of his mouth twitched with his effort not to laugh. Lucky suddenly couldn't remember when the last time was that he'd taken a breath. He started breathing a bit faster and making puffing sounds.
"Oh, and there was this strange bag full of money. About $1500 worth, all small bills," Taggert gravely intoned. "You'll have to share your stock market tips with me someday. Or, are you just living on the streets so that you can save up a pile of money from the minimum wage job that you have, or should I say, had?" This is it, Lucky thought. My last minute as a free man. Lucky just looked at him with a panicked expression.
Taggert rose from his seat, dusted off his pants, and said, "You can pick up your money, too, when you stop by the station. Oh yeah, this letter is for you, Lucky. It's from your father." Taggert smiled widely and handed Lucky the envelope. Lucky was too stunned to speak, and he reached for the envelope. "Thanks," he whispered. "Don't mention it," Taggert replied. "Here's some letterhead, envelopes and stamps for you to use when you reply." Taggert reached into his pocket again and pulled out a slip of paper. "And here's the address for your dad. Have a good day, Lucky," said Taggert as he turned and walked out the door.