Absolution(86)

“Hey, you awake?” he called through the closed door, straining to hear sounds of movement from within.

He opened the door and peered around the corner. Like the image of Jack bending over her still form on that chilly evening a year earlier, he didn’t think he would ever forget finding Ally lying unconscious in her bed in the dark two weeks ago. A chill crawled up his spine as he tried to banish the memory.

She lay on her side, facing away from him. He pulled the curtains back and mid-morning sunshine flooded the room.

“Pills,” she croaked, voice laced with pain.

His heart leapt into his throat and he covered the distance between the window and her bed in seconds, almost dropping the coffee cup on the bedside table. She stared up at him, sweat beading her brow.

“Shit! Why didn’t you call me? Just… hang in there, I’ll be right back!”

He ran out of the bedroom and across the hall to the living room, reaching up onto the top shelf of the bookcase on his tiptoes and grabbing the bottle of painkillers. Sprinting back to her room, he skidded to a halt next to her bed. He fell to his knees, fumbling over the lid of the bottle as he elbowed her wheelchair aside.

“One or two?”

“Two.”

He tipped two pills out into his palm and grabbed the small bottle of water on the bedside table next to her, opening it and discarding the lid. She groaned quietly, her face twisting into a grimace as she reached with trembling fingers to take the pills from him, slipping them on her tongue slowly and taking a sip of water, spilling some on the pillow.

She closed her eyes and he sank back on his heels, anxious for the pain medication to take effect. He smoothed her hair away from her clammy forehead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I thought you’d just overslept.” He took her hand and she breathed out carefully. “Can I do anything? Do you need anything else?”

She opened her eyes and he could see the pain embedded within them. “Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He squirmed into a more comfortable position on the floor beside her bed. “Just hang in there. The meds will kick in soon.”

The minutes ticked by slowly. She lay perfectly still in the quiet room, eyes closed. The grandfather clock chimed in the hall.

Finally, the pain eased enough to allow her to sit up, and he helped her, carefully lifting her legs over the side of the bed.

“Sorry,” he winced as she took a sharp intake of breath. “Maybe you should just give it a few more minutes?”

“It’s better when I’m up,” she mumbled.

He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed beside her as she held onto the mattress, breathing out through her teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We’re gonna have to rig up some kind of system so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Give me back my meds and it won’t.”

“I can’t do that, not yet.”

Her fingers dug into the mattress. “I’m not a child. I don’t need babysitting.”

Callum fought the nerves that seemed to cloak him, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “I know, and I’m sorry if it feels shitty right now, but it’s for the best. We’re just worried, that’s all.”

They sat beside each other in silence for several long moments. His heart boomed in his ears.

“I’m gonna take a shower. The warm water helps.”

He pulled her wheelchair closer to the bed. “Do you want me to help you transfer?”

“No, I can do it.”

She took hold of the chair and repositioned it, applying the brake. Slowly, she transferred her pain-wracked body into it and made her way to the bathroom.

Sighing, Callum ran a hand down his face. When were things going to get better? Just when she was starting to get things under control, this happens.

Where the hell is Jack? He should be here!

He gritted his teeth and stood up, heading for the kitchen to put a fresh pot of coffee on while Ally was in the shower.

When she appeared in the kitchen some time later, he had prepared a light brunch for both of them. He got the feeling that if he didn’t insist she eat, she wouldn’t bother.

“How do you feel now? Did the shower help?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

As she reached for the coffee, he noticed she still moved gingerly. She sipped her coffee in silence but didn’t touch the food.

“You should eat something to line your stomach,” he cautioned, his tone aiming for ‘concerned friend’ but overshooting the mark and landing smack in the middle of ‘overbearing parent’ instead.