Fire Will Fall (23 page)

He cursed. "Wish I could rouse myself for the party."

"Hopefully, there will be many more," I whispered. "They're funny. They're brilliant."

He drew air through his teeth but managed to say, "Remember our conversation in the car about manipulating?"

"Sure."

"Watch me manipulate the whole lot of them."

I could hear Dr. Godfrey's footsteps as they came toward us, and he opened and closed the door as quietly as Mr. Tiger had done. By "lot," I supposed Scott meant both USIC and the medics.

"How's Rain?" Scott ran his heel up and down the sheet to cut the pain. "Truth, please."

The doctor whispered. "We're still not sure what it is—bee sting, snakebite ... You did all the right stuff. We had Owen lead Mike and me back to the site, and there's nothing back there but bramble, honest to god."

Scott thought for a minute. "Owen wouldn't make that up. He's not delusional."

"I know. Maybe he remembered the wrong spot, though he swears ... At any rate, I'm taking her blood back to see if anything strange turns up in it, but I wouldn't worry about that. Just worry if she starts showing signs of overload on her liver. That antivenin can do bad things to the wrong liver, and hers is already working double-time due to a couple of her medications."

Liver damage? Just what we needed to hear. I could not imagine this day containing any more anxiety. But Scott let out a long sigh, took the doctor by the arm, and whispered, "I want you to do something for me. Go down in my file. Get the DNR form. I need to sign it."

DNR.
Do not resuscitate.

Dr. Godfrey took all his vitals, reading with a penlight. "Your temperature's ninety-nine, and you have low blood pressure. That's not raising huge alarms, Scott."

Scott made some swiping motion at his head and discussed the aneurysm in his head in medical terms that I didn't understand, except that it really hurt. I was sure he wasn't lying about that much, and Dr. Godfrey must have been sure, too. He stood stroking his chin with his hand. "I don't think you kids ought to be allowed to sign those DNR forms. You're too young. Yet I'm only the physician, and far be it from me to question the State of—"

"Walk a mile in my shoes," Scott mumbled.

"I'll make you a deal. You know how I feel about morphine and you kids. It's a mask, and with an, um, illness this new, we need to know everything. But you've had a lousy day, son. I'll get you some morphine ... if you won't sign that form."

"Bring me the form
and
the morphine, and I'll decide," he said.

"You don't get both, not from me." He left the room.

Scott groaned again, and it was impossible to listen to. Fortunately, I saw another e-mail from hodjimontu22. As I clicked on it, Scott managed to say, "Marg was a great lay in that dream last night. What came over me?"

It was a courageous comment. I exploded with laughter that squirted out my nose in an effort to stay hushed, and I opened the first e-mail to be no less entertained.

So, answer my question, Princess Numero Uno. How do you overhear a USIC conversation? We'd have our best chance by sticking our heads down the nearest toilet with a straw in one ear. Tyler

I replied,

I didn't overhear it. Scott did. He wants to work for USIC.

A reply came seconds later.

Pfwaaa.

I ought to leave Tyler alone, but I was entranced. Before Dr. Godfrey could come back with Scott's wishes and I could get to see precisely how he was manipulating the doctor, we exchanged a series of rapid-fire e-mails.

ME:
You guys work for USIC. Can't you put in a good word for him?

TYLER:
We do NOT work FOR USIC. We bestow on them our most generous favors, and they show us no gratitude.

ME:
Then ... do you suggest that we give our photos taken in Griffith's Landing to Alan Steckerman, or should we not?

TYLER:
Let me ask the boss. He's in the other room doing bad things on his PC.

TYLER:
Kid says to please e-mail the photos to us immediately.

ME:
Unfortunately, they were taken with film.

TYLER:
Film???? What the fuck is that?

ME:
Ha. Sorry.

TYLER:
Do you have a scanner?

ME:
Not yet. I can get one tomorrow.

With that, Dr. Godfrey came back carrying a clipboard. He left the door open this time, so it was not so hard to see him from the light in the hall. He held a hypodermic needle up with one hand, the clipboard with the other, and said, "I suppose one could say I'm caught in a loophole, but I feel like I have my head in a noose."

After a moment, Scott took the clipboard and the pen that was on it, and I heard scrawling. My heart lurched. We hadn't discussed the DNR form at all, except to hear that it might be wise to sign if we "felt death coming on" and really wanted to go, as no surgeries would be performed unless our blood vessels had strengthened. I knew Scott felt bad, and like he said today in his manipulation speech, people generally don't lie. But I wondered in confusion where the line of truth was.

Dr. Godfrey let the clipboard sit on the bed while he studied Scott with his hands on his hips. Tyler was taking his time replying, so the room was deadly silent. He finally swept the clipboard up and moved toward the door. But he turned around and came back with a sigh when Scott groaned again.

He said, "Okay, I guess I'm a softy. Roll over."

So, Scott had manipulated a morphine shot out of him, but he could have gotten that without signing that dreadful form. So I was clueless as to all the fuss.

This time, a lengthier e-mail came. It had that more dignified, less comical tone to it, and I noticed it was signed by the Kid and not Tyler.

Miss Cora, I do not have much time to talk as I am detained by pressing issues at my terminal. Unfortunately, you cannot see us nor meet us nor know where we are. But you can e-mail the photos as soon as you get your scanner. We thank you for your help. As for telling the Jersey or New York squads what you have found before showing us, I must be honest in saying that USIC has left us in an unsafe and compromised situation, and our trust in them is severely breached. We would not be the best advisors on whom you should trust. Best of luck with your overhearing. And welcome to the Show. We think of you every hour and hope someday for the privilege of looking upon you in person and hearing your beautiful voices. Be strong. Our friendship is with you always. K.

After that, I did not dare answer, but I felt torn between embracing the laptop to get a second blast of their courage or leaving it on the bed for Scott to read and fleeing the room. "
Welcome to the Show.
" I felt Aleese laugh all over the place.

Scott moaned, but it sounded like a moan of relief, like maybe the morphine was working. I walked to his side, clutching the laptop. Between his blinks, I could see the whites of his eyes.

"How are you now?" I whispered.

"Cut the pain in half." He sat up slowly, and I sat beside him on the bed. "Half is not great. Half is ... better. I wanted to be alert and sane enough to e-mail them."

"Unfortunately, they're gone for now. Party's over. But you can read it all. It's a bit disturbing."

He muttered a few more bad words and said, "It's payback time from God ... for going to too many parties in high school." He read through all the exchanges twice, saying nothing until the second time through. Then he let out a groan that sounded like he'd been saving it up.

"USIC betrayed their trust..." he mumbled. "Betcha it's got to do with their ages. Some red-tape clusterfuck over not being allowed to take intelligence from minors...
'And therefore we have no budget to assist minors...'
"

He lay back slowly, obviously in pain in spite of the morphine. I could sense the situation upsetting him and tried to draw him away from it.

"Why all the fuss with the DNR form?" I hissed. "You didn't have to sign it to get the drug."

He pushed against his eyes with his fingertips and said, "The DNR form was how I got him to loosen up about the morphine."

I understood.

"As for actually signing it? I agree with him ... You guys aren't old enough. But I am. There's only one thought that's kept me putting one foot in front of the other. That's wanting to catch the guys who killed our moms and did this to us. If I can't do that here? I'll wait for them in hell."

"How can you be so crude?" I whispered, angry at what could almost be taken as suicidal thoughts, and for his seeming ignorance of the bigger issue. Aleese poured through me, laughing as usual, muttering that it was about time I got angry. "
Say it!
" she screamed.

"What about—" I couldn't.

"What about Owen?" he asked.

I nodded, feeling my eyes well up, supposing Owen was important also.

"Truth? I'm starting to think Owen won't make it through this. He's deteriorating too quickly. Takes him an entire minute to walk down a flight of stairs. I haven't watched him go up yet. I'm too scared."

I stayed silent, thankful for the blackness, thankful for this gift I had of being able to cry without spazzing and making noises. But he reached up, found my face, and brushed a tear away. I heard him suck it off his thumb.

"There. You can tell Miss Haley we swapped body fluids," he said.

"Not funny." I waited an eternity for him to wipe more away or rub my hair or ... anything. But he only tugged a strand affectionately, which made me sniff loudly.

"You'd be fine without me, Cora Holman. You'll be amazed at how fine you'll be."

There was something about the tenses he mixed that made it sound half prophetic. Aleese badgered me, "
Go, girlie. Frost him. Don't look back.
" Or maybe it was something inside me that suddenly realized how exhausted I was making myself by chronically thinking that I was so weak, so needy, so stuck on seeing Scott Eberman as a legend. I didn't know why a selfish thought should hit me at a time like this. Maybe it was a defense mechanism.

But I snapped my laptop completely shut, straightened my posture, and stood up. I said, "While you're busy dying, I'll be out here writing my blog for the Americans who love us. Call me if you need anything."

He said nothing. I left.

OWEN EBERMAN
SATURDAY, MAY 4, 2002
7:05
P.M.
RAIN'S BEDROOM

W
E ACTUALLY ATE THE FOOD
Marg served us for dinner, having been convinced by Mr. Tiger that the mistake was theirs and not hers. But we ate in Rain's bedroom. Rain wasn't supposed to get up, and after the running and the trips up the stairs after her injury, my hips were done for the day.

Cora ate with us. She picked at her food and looked so distracted and tense that I wanted to go check on my brother. Before I could get up the energy to hobble down there, a voice called, "Anybody home?"

"Dempsey!" Rain's fork dropped and bounced eagerly on the bed.

John Dempsey, one of our best buddies, came through the door. Rain crawled to the edge of the bed, got up on her knees, and gave him a huge hug.

"I hear you got bit by a water moccasin," Dempsey said, rocking her sideways. "Touché. That means you can join in with all us guys who love freshwater fishing. I've been bit twice."

He kept patting her back, waiting for her to let go, but she didn't.

"Rain," he finally said. "It's only been two days."

He and maybe six other friends from school had been at St. Ann's to see us the night before we were released. I'd been laid up and missed it.

"Yeah, but I was afraid it might be longer."

"We told you we wouldn't do that to you. Dobbins, Tannis, and Jeanine are downstairs getting a house tour from your nurse." He checked out Rain's butterfly and laid a kiss on it. "The antivenin isn't too bad. Starts making you seasick about four hours after you take it."

"I feel great. I'm not sure I needed it," she said, turning her pinkie this way and that. "You should have seen Scott. He's gonna be a surgeon somehow, someday, I'm telling you. He opened up the wound and used a venom extractor to suck everything out. I thought it was going to suck my finger off. It still burns, but he must have gotten it all or I'd be dead. Right?"

"You'd be really sick," Dempsey said. "Godfrey says you're cool?"

"He's taking my blood back to St. Ann's to see if he can decide if it was a snake or a bee or something else. He says in the meantime, I have to stay lying down. I'm on observation for liver damage, but ... forget about that. No bummers. I'm so happy to see you guys."

Dempsey went around to the far side of the bed and got a hug from Cora. Bob Dobbins, Tannis Halib, and Jeanine Fitzpatrick came in next. Bob and Tannis played football with me. Jeanine had been Rain's co-captain on field hockey. Dobbins was carrying a grocery bag.

"S'up?" I said, knocking knuckles with him. "What's in the bag?"

"Party goods. We were going to see if you guys were copasetic to party in the woods. But we'll be okay in here."

Our friends were good sports. Dobbins tossed a bag of Fritos, which were Rain's favorite, into the middle of the bed, then pretzels, which were my favorite, and stuck a Mountain Dew in her hand and a Dr Pepper in mine. They were our favorite sodas. We weren't supposed to be having any of this stuff, but you gotta live a little. Thank god we had big beds. Cora moved over to Rain's chair, having decided to open her laptop, and the six of us piled on.

"Where's Scott?" Dempsey asked.

"He's down," I said. "Down" meant anything that prevented one of us from getting out of bed. We didn't discuss symptoms too much with our friends and tried to keep things upbeat when they were around. Dempsey just accepted it. He got up and leaned down beside Cora, put his chin on her shoulder, and said, "What are you doing? Studying for a test?"