Chapter 8: Chapter 7
"You have to help me. You have to stand." – Belle (2017)
Spencer
" Viv, it's probably nothing. I'm sure he just let his phone die," I said as I put on my sweater and grabbed my keys from the bowl near the front door.
" It's been a week since you've heard from him. That isn't just letting your phone die, there must be something wrong," she said worriedly.
" That's why I'm going to check on him. To make sure that he is doing ok," I said trying to disguise the fear in my voice.
" Have you tried calling his new wife, she may know something?" she asked.
" No, I don't know her number and they don't have a landline," I replied.
I gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and walked out the door. I unlocked my Jeep and got in, immediately firing up the engine and backing down the driveway.
Scott had gone days without calling me in the last years that we have been partners, but they usually coincided with things pertaining to Claire or her death. Her birthday, their anniversary, the day of her first gallery opening, and her...death day. I had long since marked those on my calendar. I was always prepared for those weeks when I would have to get him away from Wick, so that he would be able to do whatever he needed to do alone. Those weeks were also the ones that his father always decides to visit on. But this was different it was months till anything having to do with Claire happened. He would usually come out of his episode by now anyway...
I sped up a little thinking about what he could be doing to someone or to himself right now. When he gets into these moods, he is unpredictable and uncontrollable. His anger and pain lead him to do many things in the past and I don't want to see him go through that again. He bottles everything up until he can't. Until it comes rushing to the surface. By then he has no power over anything he does. There was a huge car pile up on the usual road that I took to get there, so I had to take a detour which added fifteen minutes to my trip and I was sure that my pounding heart would beat out of my chest before I got there.
When I finally got onto the private road that leads to the house, I sped up even more. Pulling into the driveway, there was an audible screech from my tires. I got out and slammed my car door shut, not even locking the doors. When I got to the front door, I knocked loudly but no one came to answer it.
What day is it? Thursday...Friday...Sat...Sunday. Everyone has religious leave right now...Bollocks!
Coming to the realization that none of the staff was here right now, I fumbled with my keys looking for the key that Scott gave me a few years ago, for situations just like this. Once I found it, I unlocked the door and pushed it open quickly. I shut it behind me and nearly ran to Scott's bedroom hoping that he was just sleeping or working. I burst through the bedroom door, but the bed was empty and it looked untouched. I walked in and went around the wall to his ensuite bathroom; he wasn't in there either. I went to the kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, the backyard, the library, the music room, the banquet hall, but he wasn't anywhere. I had one room left, the one I had saved for last, his study.
I knocked on the door, but I didn't receive an answer. As a result, I went in anyway. The scene in front of me has harrowing. There was a pile of glass shards in a small pool of brown liquid next to the door. There were copious amounts of empty liquor bottles splayed on his desk and the curtains for the back window were ripped from their rings. The window that the curtains once hung in front of was cracked as well as the mirror that hung behind the desk. The books that were once organized perfectly on the shelves were thrown around the room and I could see numerous ripped pages on the ground. As I walked further into the room, it got worse. The desk lamp was slumped in a pile on the ground opposite the desk and the paperweights were embedded in the wall above it. Worst of all, behind the desk laid an unconscious Scott. He had a large gash on his face right above his eyebrow that had a created a small puddle of blood on the floor next to his face.
I raced over to him and kneeled. I put my head on his chest listening for a heartbeat. It took a minute, but eventually, I heard one. There was momentary relief, but then I went back to high alert. I have no idea what he has eaten or drunken since I saw him last; he could have ingested anything. I got his body leaned up against the side of the desk, but soon realized that I was not going to be able to carry him all the way to my car alone. I was a strong guy, but his 6'5 stature towered over my 5'10 one. On top of that, he was quite a bit more muscular than I was; thus, making him heavier.
I dialed 999, but the call lines were busy undoubtedly because of the accident that I passed. None of the staff were here and Albert wouldn't get here fast enough no matter when I called him. Then I thought of the only person that would be here right now...the American that wasn't Roman Catholic. Francesca! I got to my feet and ran over to her side of the house. Taking two steps at a time to get to her bedroom. My modesty and manners totally forgotten, I burst into her room; she was sitting on her bed staring at me with a shocked look on her face. I took a moment to catch my breath before speaking.
"Something is wrong with Scott and I need your help. No one else is here!" I said loudly. She looked taken back by my volume, but nods.
We run back over to Scott's side of the house and into his destroyed study. She looks as surprised as I was but when she sees his crumpled form a look of fear cross her features. She looks to me with a calm, collected expression.
"What do I need to do?" she asks.
"I need help getting him out to my car; I can't carry him on my own," I say.
She nods and goes over to his feet, she grabs them while I grab under his armpits. He smells strongly of alcohol and like he hasn't showered since I saw him last. With difficulty, we get him out of the house and into my car. Francesca and I sit in the front while he lays quietly in the back. I speed all the way to the hospital and when we get there I run into the emergency room yelling, "I need a doctor!"
Nurses run out to the car with me, rolling a gurney behind them. Upon seeing his state, they all start yelling in medical terms that I don't understand. The yelling became a jumbled mess of syllables that didn't even sound like words. They get him onto the gurney and rush into the hospital. Francesca runs by his side. Coming to some form of consciousness Scott grabs her hand and calls her the name that I'm sure got him into this mess.
"Claire…" he says weakly, his voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard.
We run at his sides until we are stopped by other nurses telling us we can't go any further. Scott's hand was ripped from Francesca's as he was rolled away. They tell us to sit in the waiting room until he has a room and that they will update us when they have more information. I pace the floor as Francesca sits in a chair staring at her hands. My phone rings breaking the silence of the room. I don't even bother looking at the caller ID before answering.
"What?" I ask harshly.
"Spencer, it's me. The hospital just called me in saying that there is a man with a possible brain hemorrhage in the ER. Please tell me that's not Scott?" she says worriedly.
"It could be. His wife and I just brought Scott in...he's in a bad way, Viv," I reply with an audible voice crack.
"Ok, I'm on way now," she says then hangs up.
I take a deep breath and sit down next to Francesca. I put my head in my hands and stare at the gray, speckled tiling. My knee was violently bouncing up and down. My heart was pounding and the idea that I was going to lose my best friend...my partner kept running through my mind. This can't be it...he can't go out like this. Not without forgiving himself. Not without finding someone that can make him happy. Not without being in love again…
As these thoughts ran through my mind, I couldn't help but look at the woman that sat beside me. She was beautiful, smart, and her cunningness could match up to Scott's any day. They could be so good together if they weren't already in love with other people. If they had met first, before Claire and Brandon, there is no doubt in my mind that they would've gotten together. They're so alike, yet still different enough to where they wouldn't drive each other insane.
My mind only went there for a few seconds before it went back to its original track of Scott dying.
"I wish they would just tell us what's going on, instead of making us wait," I said out loud to no one in particular.
"He's unconscious, unresponsive, he has a laceration on his forehead. His pupils are dilated. His breath is extremely slow. He is abnormally cold and his skin is pale. His pulse is under sixty beats per minute," Francesca says all in one breath.
I look up at her as she now looks into my eyes.
"How do you know that?" I asked clearly shocked.
"I heard the nurses talking about it when they were walking him from the car," she replied.
"You understood everything they were saying?" I asked incredulously.
"I finished a Pre-med program at Georgetown and was going to start a master's in biochemistry in the fall. I was also due to start working as an intern at my local hospital in two months," she replied.
I was shocked; I knew she was smart, but I had no idea the lengths that her intelligence went. Georgetown is pretty prestigious. I knew that getting into America's Ivy League wasn't easy.
"My wife, Vivian, is the head of the neurology department here," I said.
"That's an amazing career," Francesca replied.
"Who is here for a Mr. Scott Jackson?" a nurse asked aloud.
We both jumped up and raised our hands. Recognizing the name everyone in the room turned towards us and gasped. We rushed over to the nurse that asked and she looked up at the two of us.
"Are either of you his family?' she asked flatly.
"I am his wife and he's his brother," Francesca replied.
"Ok, follow me right this way," she said.
With that, the short, stout woman turned and lead us through the set of doors that they stopped us at earlier. She took us up to the third floor and to a smaller waiting room that had nowhere near the number of people in it. She told us to wait and the doctor would be out to talk to us. We both sat back down in the uncomfortable plastic-like chairs and waited again. The seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and soon I lost track of how long we had been sitting there. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife and I could feel how nervous we both were for the prognosis. The waiting was only making it worse. I had gone from sitting in the chair to leaning up against the wall, to sitting on the ground, and then back to the chair.
"Spence," I heard a woman say.
I took my face out of my hands and looked up at the woman that had spoken. It was none other than my beautiful wife. I stood up quickly for the ground and then walked over to Francesca; she had fallen asleep a little while ago. I woke her up and then Vivian walked over to speak to us. She gave me a quick hug and then shook hands with Francesca.
"It is nice to finally meet you. I have heard many things about you," she says.
"All good things I hope," Francesca replies.
There was a significant shift in the feeling of the room and I knew that we couldn't avoid talking about Scott forever.
"Ok, so Mr. Jackson has a case of chronic alcohol poisoning. We had to flush his stomach to remove the copious amounts of alcohol so his blood alcohol level wouldn't raise any higher. There is a large laceration on his forehead because of the possibility of a brain hemorrhage, we did a CT scan. Thankfully, we found no bleed, but there was some slight swelling; nothing too serious, so it should go down in the next few days. We stitched up his face, so there is a bandage. Coupled with the cut, he also has a concussion.
There was also some severe bruising to his ribs. They will be uncomfortable for a while but there isn't much we can do about that. I have written a note to the chemist for some minor antibiotics to prevent pneumonia and some pain meds. He was abnormally pale and dehydrated, so we have him hooked up to an IV and have a blood transfusion going. We are slowing working on raising his water, blood sugar, and vitamin levels," she started, "when we first got him upstairs and started working on him, he came to consciousness and any time we touch him he flinched. It got to the point of him trying to get off the bed and pushing our hands away from him. There were no visible wounds though that would cause him so much pain; we were forced to sedate him though so he is not conscious right now," she finished.
I looked at Francesca and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. I had understood some of what Vivian had said but most of it went right over my head.
"Can we go in and see him?" Francesca asked.
"Yes, of course. He could wake up in a few hours, but usually, with any kind of brain injury people will sleep for a long time so that the body can have time to heal," Vivian replied.
Francesca nodded and followed behind Vivian as she walked back to Scott's room. We stopped at the usual hospital gray door and she opened the door for us. She didn't come in with us though; she politely excused herself to give us some privacy with him. When I saw him I was stunned. He was hooked up to a number of different machines, had a bunch wires coming off of him, and he looked....so...pale. There was no color in his cheeks; there were dark purple circles under his eyes and an oxygen tube was stuck in his nose. I walked slowly over and sat down in one of the chairs at his bedside. Francesca sat in the other one and we just stared. Neither of us saying anything, not knowing what to say…
Behind my eyes, I could feel the familiar burn of tears welling up, but I shouldn't cry; he is going to be fine. He is going to wake up and I am going to slap him for scaring me. I wipe my eyes as a tear fell and then looked over at Francesca. She didn't notice my tears because her eyes were glassy and a few tears had already run down her cheeks. Her hand had grabbed his hand and she was staring down at his busted knuckles.
"I didn't think that you were very fond of him, Ms. Chase," I said inquisitively.
"I may not like him very much and he may treat me pretty poorly, but that doesn't mean I want him dead. Nobody deserves to die so young," she said as she wiped the tears from her eyes and released his hand.
"You have no idea how right you are Francesca," I replied.
In the next few hours, Vivian and a couple of nurses had come to check Scott's vitals; once every hour like clockwork. Albert came to visit Scott making sure that he was going to be ok. Only when we had reassured him that Scott would make it out of this did he go. Then Francesca's maids came to make sure that Francesca had everything she needed; they brought us both a sandwich and a few other snacks. I had only taken a few small nibbles of the food they brought because my stomach would turn every time I tried to eat. Once the two ladies left, the room fell back into a comfortable silence between the two of us.
The sun had long gone down and the hospital had finally quieted. Vivian had made her last check on him and gone home to sleep, so she could be ready for her actual shift tomorrow. The hourly nurse visits had turned to more like every couple of hour checks. The lights had been dimmed and two cots were rolled in so Francesca and I could try to sleep, but we both knew that wasn't going to happen. In the wee hours of the morning, Scott stirred a little and mumbled something but he was still asleep. Hours went by and nothing happened. He would stir and I would sit up hoping that it meant he was waking up, but he didn't. Around breakfast time, Francesca 's maids brought her a bag of clean clothes and replaced the food from last night with breakfast. She disregarded the food but took the bag into the bathroom. She came out a little while later with a towel on her head and in a new pair of clothes. When she sat back down in her chair, she looked at me most likely noticing my observation.
"Who is Claire?" she asked.
I choked on my breath and went wide-eyed. "Where did you get that name?" I asked.
"Yesterday, when Scott grabbed my hand, he called me Claire," she replied.
"That is not my story to tell, but...she was a girl that Scott used to know a long time ago," I said.
There was a small groan from the bed between us and Scott stirred once again, but this time his eyelids fluttered and opened slowly. His eyes flicked around the room until they landed on me and his hand reached up to touch the tube in his nose. I looked over to Francesca in shock.
"Call the nurses. Tell them that he is awake," I said and she nodded.
I could hear Francesca yelling in the hallway for a nurse, but that didn't matter because he was awake and ok. I grabbed his hand and carefully went in for a hug.
"Welcome back, man," I said.
He grumbled a response and flashed me a small smile. The next few minutes were chaotic. Nurses came rushing into the room, pushing both of us away from Scott and started do check everything. They took the tube out of his nose; they did vitals, pulled the bandage to look at his stitches, and a whole list of other things.
Francesca
Through the spaces between all the nurses, I could see that Scott was very confused. He had just woken up and they were asking him all these questions that he couldn't answer fast enough. The jumbled speech of the nurses was even too confusing for me to follow. I could see the very top of Spencer's head as he stood on his tippy toes to see over the nurses, but the rest of his body was obscured.
He hadn't seen me yet and I didn't think I wanted him to, but I had to be sure that he was alright. Something inside me won't let me leave until I knew that he was going to be okay. I needed someone to tell me what to do...do I stay and risk upsetting Scott or do I leave? I couldn't decide and before I knew it the nurses had cleared out. Leaving me, Scott, and Spencer alone in the room together. Scott stared right at me and his face turned up in anger. I knew I should've left…
"I think I will go now. See you around, Spencer," I said as I turned to leave.
"Francesca...wait," Spencer said.
I turned back around and only looked at Spencer's face. I wouldn't dare look at Scott's again. I watched as Spencer lifted his hand and smacked Scott in the back of the head.
"What the hell, Spencer?!" Scott exclaimed angrily.
"Scott Azazel Jackson! You are a complete idiot! This girl is the reason that you are alive right now! She helped me carry you out to my car. She supported me by staying here while you were unconscious and explained to me what the hell all those nurses were saying. All you should be doing right now is thanking her!" He said loudly.
Scott rubbed the back of his head and once again looked at me. On his face, I could see some form of thankfulness and apologeticness, but he would never say it to my face. That would hurt his pride too much to admit that I helped him in any way.
"Now, what the hell were you doing Scott?! You could've killed yourself," Spencer said.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone